Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court)

by Jessica Aspen

  His voice dropped low, echoing around the chamber, and something swirled through the air around them, something fae and magical and beyond her ken. “Bryanna MacElvy, I pledge to you that if you try, and are still unable to cure my curse, I will release you.”

  The hairs on Bryanna’s arm rose.

  “Do you accept this bargain?”

  She shouldn’t. There was something she’d forgotten, something important about bargains with the fae, but she was desperate. She would try, and then he would have to let her go.

  “I accept.”

  The air pressure in the room snapped, and a gust of wind blew through the chamber. Bryanna let go of the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  “One thing you should know, Bryanna MacElvy,” he said, re-seating himself at the end of the table. “Beezel is the queen’s servant, not mine. He’s her spy. If he finds out your name, you’re as good as dead, and all our opportunities will be wasted.”

  Bryanna gripped the arms of her seat. Where the hell had she landed, and what the hell had she committed to?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kian’s heart slammed in his chest as he led the girl down the twisting, underground corridors of Cairngloss. He’d done it. She would help him. Willingly. Or at least with the bright, shiny carrot of leaving dangled in front of her grasp. Soon, he’d be released from the torment of being held in this mishmash of shapes, then the queen herself would weep.

  His savior’s full skirt brushed against the stones of the walls behind him. The subtle swishing sound reminding him of dances long ago. Of women’s laughter…and flirting…and sex.

  “Why did the queen trap you here? It seems…odd.”

  Her voice cut into his reverie and he jolted back to the present. “Why put me in an abandoned palace, you mean?”

  “It is a palace, isn’t it? Not a prison.”

  He snuck a glance backward.

  She darted a wistful look into a dusty, open chamber. “I mean, it’s confusing and empty and dark, but hardly a dungeon,” she said.

  “The queen has a twisted mind,” he responded, and turned back around. He didn’t want to tell her this was more of a prison than a dungeon with fellow inmates would have been. By secreting him here in the abandoned shell of a palace, he had daily reminders of his isolation, and no fellow prisoners to rally to his cause. The queen knew him well.

  “We’re here.” He pushed the elaborately carved double doors wide, held his candelabra to the side, and bowed.

  She entered, the trail of her scent sneaking under his cloak, teasing him with its rosy, feminine lure. His eyes closed, and his muscles tensed as she passed dangerously close. He resisted the urge to touch the curve in her waist. Snag a golden lock of hair. Or use a claw to tear open the skirt of her dress and reveal the treasure beneath.

  There was a scraping behind him. He whipped around and growled at the trailing hobgoblins that followed him everywhere like faithful dogs. They scattered, shrieking and hooting into the dark.

  He carefully shut and locked the doors behind them. She was his, and he wouldn’t share.

  “It’s huge.” Her green eyes widened, her pale pink lips formed a wide O and he damned his current shape. If he wasn’t cursed, he would abandon the library and have her back in his chambers, her soft flesh twined around him in a quest for another kind of release.

  If he wasn’t cursed.

  “Where are all the books?” She moved into the center of the cavernous space.

  Grateful for the cloak covering both his bestial shape and his hard-on, he followed the tempting sway of her hips and held his candelabra high. The light flickered over the empty floor-to-ceiling shelves and wide, bare tables. “Once this held the knowledge of the Gnome King and his advisors, but they took it all with them when they fled the White Queen, and abandoned the palace.”

  “So, what are we using for reference?” Her voice wavered. “I don’t think I can do this without a spell.”

  The insecurity in her voice and the self-doubt in her eyes intrigued him. He’d always been a sucker for the lost ones, the victims. And here she was, sexy and vulnerable. If he didn’t know he’d done this to himself, he would think it was a clever move on the part of his mother to increase his torment.

  “What I’ve collected is over here.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, and she flinched. He breathed deeply in order to collect himself, but it didn’t do much more than take the edge off. He was so close to being cured, he didn’t think he could control his impatience for too much longer. He led her to the corner where he’d stashed his books and placed the candles on the table.

  “The queen let you have these?”

  He snorted as he looked at his pitiful collection of twenty or so tomes, gleaned painfully over the years. “The queen doesn’t think much of spells in books. The fae typically have no need of them.”

  “I don’t understand. If you can get the books in, why haven’t you left in search of a cure, or someone to help you?”

  “I can’t leave.” He forced the anger and rage out of his voice and explained his prison. “I’m trapped by a spell.”

  “But you still have the books.” She pointed to the books.

  “Like spell books and rats, the queen finds goblins to be beneath her notice. They can go in and out as they please. They bring me small gifts. Books, wine, trinkets.”

  “And none of them can cure you or bring you someone who can?”

  “Enough!” he growled. She startled, and he lowered his voice. “We’re wasting time. If the goblins could have saved me, they would have years ago. I am the Goblin King, you know.” His laughter bubbled up, rising higher and higher until he was sure he’d finally cracked. The irony of it all was that it was nearly pleasurable. He was closer than he’d ever been to getting free, and this girl wanted to waste time going over barren ground. She had no idea how close he was to breaking.

  And if he broke, she would be the first thing he would take with him.

  She edged away from him toward the center of the room, and the smell of her fear was an aphrodisiac.

  He forced his hysteria down. “I’m sorry. I’ve been alone far too long and forced to bear what no man should.” He pointed to a book lying open on his work table. “This is the best transformation spell I’ve been able to find. It’s witch’s magic. I’m hoping you can make it work.”

  It was more than hope. It was a desperate, clinging demand that held him back from forcing her over to the pages and saying the words. He needed this. Needed it more than he needed to touch her. And after fifteen years of no women, he found himself needing to touch her badly.

  “You said earlier you brought me here. Did you use magic?”

  He nodded.

  “Why can’t you do this yourself? Don’t all elves have magic?”

  He let the insulting “elves” go and answered her question. “We do. The oh-so-clever queen found a way to use my own magics against me.” Unable to keep still, he stalked away from her until he reached the nearest wall of shelves before turning and stalking back. “My Gift keeps me trapped, feeding the curse and keeping it strong.” He couldn’t keep the bitter irony out of his voice. “I’ve been trying to use witch’s magic. Witches pull power from other sources besides their Gifts; the sun, moon, the earth itself. But I continue to fail!”

  Kian crisscrossed the room, desperate to work off his anger, to not lose control and frighten her until she refused to help him. He slowed his breathing until he was able to speak calmly. “I’ve only had small successes.” He leaned in close. “Until I brought you here.”

  Doubt flickered across her face.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure you did bring me here,” she said slowly, her fingers flexing at her side.

  “What do you mean?” He moved in close. “I worked the spell, and you showed up.”

  “Not exactly.” She backed away, aiming for the door as she spoke. “We used something…a magic globe. It’s
what helped us escape.”

  The last of his elation at his success drained away. It hadn’t been him. It was never him. His power was locked away where he couldn’t reach it. Damn the queen. “A globe. Of course.”

  His one big success with witch magic and it had been assisted by an elvatian transport globe. “Did you all try to use the one globe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it!” Self-loathing and frustration coiled inside his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. He wouldn’t be any help. But he had her. “No matter,” he said. “You can do the spell.”

  “Kian, I’ve told you. I’m a healer. This isn’t my kind of magic.”

  “So heal me!” he roared.

  She backed away. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with you!”

  A deep shudder racked his body.

  He wanted to take her and shake her and extract her magic by force. He wanted to strip her of her faery princess gown that tortured him with each sway and rustle, and take her on the library table. She was his answer to everything; his curse, his loneliness, his lust.

  But she stood there, at the edge of the circle of candlelight, refusing to help.

  It all rose inside of him, rushing out, the dam on his emotions threatening to break.

  She lifted her hand and reached toward him. “Kian, I’ll try. But I need to see you.”

  “No,” he said, his voice as harsh and strained as his will. “You don’t need to see me to work the spell.” At dinner, she’d shown some sympathy to his plight, then she’d flinched at the sight of his paw. There was no way she’d have sympathy for a monster.

  Let alone desire.

  “How do you expect me to help you when I don’t know what I’m dealing with?”

  “Just read the damn spell!”

  She jerked, and another wave of self-loathing washed through him. He turned away, disgusted with himself. “What can I do?” he implored. “How can I make you see you’re my only shot?”

  She sighed. “I’ll look at it.”

  Each moment taking longer than the last fifteen years, he waited and watched her turn the pages back and forth, studying not just the spell, but looking at each page in the book until Kian shook with the strain of not tearing the vellum from her hands and throwing it against the wall.

  Her lips pursed. “I’m having a little trouble translating this, but I think it’s for a werewolf.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you a werewolf?” She rested a hand on her hip and cocked her head.

  He ducked, lowering his hood so she wouldn’t see his face. “No, I’m a…… It doesn’t matter. It’s to change an animal back to a human, isn’t it?” He’d had trouble with the ancient gypsy language of the text, but he thought he’d gotten that right. “Can you work it?”

  “It’s not that simple.” She tapped her chin with a slender finger. “It’s not a healing spell. I’ll need to alter the words, the intent and I need to make sure I’m translating everything correctly first. It won’t be easy.” She furrowed her brow and gave him a serious look. “And I can’t do it unless I know what you look like. I need to see you.”

  “No.”

  “Then you might as well let me go now.”

  A sudden trembling seized him, and for the first time in hundreds of years, he, Prince Kian of the Black Court, was unsure of himself with a woman. He didn’t know what to do. His desperation for a cure warred with his need for her to see him first as a man. To desire him. If he showed her his current form, even after he changed back, would she only see the monster?

  He’d done dark and dangerous things as a prince. Too much power, too little restraint, and raised by a mother who thought sex and torture were the same thing, had not combined to make his life angelic. But he had one thing separating himself from his mother: he’d never lowered himself to rape. And in his current form, taking her now would not just be rape, it would be bestiality.

  She extended a hand. “Kian, I’m a healer. It is not just my Gift, it’s my nature. You don’t have to be worried.” The flushed tips of her fingers reached out, beseeching him to show her and let her help.

  He turned his back on her and removed his cloak. Taking a deep breath, wearing only a kilt and feeling foolishly vulnerable, he turned around.

  Her face blanched. “Oh Kian.”

  He twisted the cloak between his fisted paws. Not since he’d been a boy with his first crush on a faery a thousand years older than himself had he felt this humiliated. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

  “I’m sorry. I said I would be professional. Let me look at you.” She circled around, examining him from all sides. Under the weight of his fur, a rush of heat swamped him, leaving him feverish and mortified.

  “You’re nothing like a werewolf. Do you change at the full moon?”

  “No. I’m like this always.” Day in, day out. Year in, year out.

  “This spell won’t work. It’s not a healing spell. Even if it were, I’m a terrible healer.”

  He squeezed the cloak, his claws digging into the fabric. She was giving up.

  “You said you would try. You must try!”

  He fought for control, but the beast within him burst out. His muscles bunched, his claws dug into the cloak, and his jaw dropped open in a raging roar.

  Her face went hobgoblin white. She wrapped her bare arms around her body as if sheltering her heart from a storm and ran for the door, reaching for the latch.

  “Please.” He fell to his knees on the cold, hard stone, shaking. Trying to contain the rage that he’d spent years nurturing. “I’ve no one else to help me. You’re my best chance. I believe you can do this.” He stayed where he was, head down and penitent. Waiting for her decision.

  She dropped her hand from the latch. Her small, even teeth worried at her full bottom lip. “I said I would try.” She took a step closer. “And I will.”

  Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and his chin dropped to his chest as a dizzying relief rushed through him. After all these years, he would have his revenge.

  Bryanna stared at the enormous creature kneeling before her, head bowed. Kian’s misshapen shoulders were covered in a moldering fur of many colors, thick coarse patches of black and brown hair. Long tusks ended in sharp points just beyond a wolfish pointy muzzle and, instead of human feet and hands, he had big, heavy paws with long, curved, razor-sharp talons.

  The pounding of her beating blood roared in her ears.

  He was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and now that she’d seen him, seen the rage and the power in his crystalline violet eyes, she was afraid. Afraid he’d gone insane trapped here, alone for far too long, in a shape never meant for him. Afraid he would break, and rage, and hurt her with those viciously sharp teeth and claws. Afraid, even if she tried, she’d fail.

  He lifted his head. She fought through the fear and focused on his supernatural eyes. Eyes she’d never seen on a human being that somehow conveyed a very human pain.

  “Thank you,” he said, his lyrical brogue somehow managing to navigate between impossibly sharp fangs and a lolling tongue.

  Bryanna struggled to sound normal. “I’ll need more light, and some paper, and something to write with.”

  “Of course.” He rose. His large shape blocked the feeble candlelight, and she reflexively backed away. He bowed his head, but not before she saw the flash of anguish in his eyes.

  He’d been just as large a presence under the cloak, but as he stood he seemed bigger. Powerful. His joints didn’t quite fit together, forming instead a random puzzle made from interlocking pieces of mismatched animals. Now she could see why he moved the awkward way he did.

  A pang of pity washed through her. “Is it painful?” she asked.

  His laugh was bitter as he ignored the question, and she was grateful for the low light that hid her blush.

  “I have paper and ink in the top drawer.” He waved a paw toward a narrow, painted cabinet hidden in the shadows.

  “Can yo
u write?”

  He snorted. “Alas, no. But Beezel makes a decent secretary.”

  She pulled paper, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink from the drawer. “Do you have all the ingredients listed in the spell?” She asked, examining the pen. She’d never even seen one of these outside of pictures.

  “I do.” Kian moved closer. She did her best to not flinch.

  “Even the…wolfsbane?” She pointed to the nearly invisible word on the leathery page, using the movement to put space between them.

  He leaned in, and she closed her eyes, fear stiffening her fingers on the paper. The spicy scent of musk, ginger, and fresh greenwood rose from him. She inhaled. His scent roused in her a response she didn’t understand, alerting everything inside of her that he was male.

  He spoke.

  “Yes, I have everything you could ever need.”

  And with her eyes closed, under the golden lilt of his affirming answer, she heard the soul of a man.

  Heat flushed her cheeks and a wave of desire prickled her skin.

  Her eyes burst open. This was not a man. He was a beast, and under that beast lurked something worse. Fae. The MacElvy’s sworn enemy.

  “Do you think it will work?” he asked, and once again, she thought she heard a strange misplaced vulnerability.

  “I…I don’t know, it’s written in a language we don’t use anymore. I know a little.” She reached out and touched his hairy paw lying on the table next to the book. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Don’t touch me.” He growled and snatched his arm back, lurching away from the table.

  Bryanna cowered and hit her hip hard on the table. “I think…”

  “Don’t think! You don’t need to think, just use your magic and do the fucking spell.”

  He scooped up the book, and paper, and ink and shoved it into her arms, pushing her out of the room and into the hallway. The door slammed behind her leaving her in the absolute darkness of the underground passage.