Claimed: Faction 3: The Isa Fae Collection

by Heather Hambel Curley

  I nodded. He was solemn; obviously whatever he was about to show me was deeply, vastly important to him.

  Letting go of me, he braced his hands against the rounded handle and pushed. In the dim light, I could see the muscles in his shoulders and back straining with the effort.

  The hinges screeched and shrieked as they turned, but the doors opened.

  All I could see was complete, utter darkness. There was no movement, no gleam of light past the threshold but, as I stared, I started to see shifts and changes. Maybe there was nothing concrete or living in that room—but something remained.

  Asher stepped to the threshold and snaked his hand against the wall, obviously fumbling for something I couldn’t see. I heard a faint whoosh and then, slowly, the room began to glow.

  I nudged him with my hip to get his attention and took the wine bottle back. “That some kind of unholy magic right there.”

  He chuckled, taking the wine away from me and pressing it to his lips. “Clockwork. This wing is all mechanically driven. The rest of the house went dark when the mills and plants shut down about ten years ago. Here, though, the lights are driven kerosene and light from the sun.”

  “So, solar power.” I pursed my lips together, cocking my eyebrows up. “Why not set the whole house up that way? Panels. Receptors, whatever. You wouldn’t have to rely on candles and fireplaces like you are now.”

  “The Ascendency won’t allow it. It requires energy to install them, manpower we don’t have, and the refuse to provide extra energy credits. This is the only room lit by the sun.” He slid his hand to my lower back and guided me into the room. “What do you think?”

  My breath caught in my throat. As the light brightened, I could make out the ornate gold and blue floor and a high, stained glass dome above. The walls in the room were carved from what appeared to be solid granite, with ornate depictions of stars, moons, and geometrical designs. Above the us was a second story, a pillared balcony with arches and segments. I could see paintings up there, flush against the wall in heavy, dark wood frames.

  “It’s beautiful.” I breathed out slowly, letting him pull me into the center of the room. The dome above us was bright, back by the sun, and sparking with colors like royal purple, cerulean, turquoise, and deep red. The room was like nothing else in the rest of the house; it was like a jewel against a black velvet cloth. Everywhere else seemed to highlight despair and death. This room was thick with joy and happiness. “What is this place?”

  “The ballroom.” He spun me around and, leaning heavily against me, motioned around us with a grand sweep of his arm. “This is where my great-great-great grandparents got married. Kings were celebrated here. My grandfather laid in state underneath this done for fourteen days, until the stench was so bad we had to bury him or burn down the house.”

  “As decor goes, my dear, this doesn’t fit with the rest of the house.”

  “No. It doesn’t.” He shuffled back several spaces and bowed low to me. “This room is who we should be—the rest of the house is who my parents are. Now, dance with me.”

  “Charming as that is…”

  “I’ll get us music.” He shoved the wine bottle into my hands and scampered back to the door we’d walked through. Directly to the right of it was a panel in the wall—smoother and less adorned than the rest—and he firmly pressed his hands against the stone. He was pushing upward and, after a moments effort, the section slid back and up.

  I couldn’t tell what it was; he fumbled for a moment and then pulled a lever down. Muscles tense, he cranked it forward. “This old girl hasn’t been called to duty since long before Isadora got sick, but she’s got life in her. I know it.”

  Crank. Crank. Crank. If I could have focused on him, I might have been concerned he’d hurt himself or snap the rusted lever. But, it didn’t matter. The room was swaying on its own—or maybe I was swaying. It didn’t matter. I was going to die here, right? So, nothing really mattered.

  He matters.

  I took a swig of wine. That voice could go away anytime now. Second sight or intuition or whatever it was, I wasn’t interested.

  Something pricked my subconscious. I couldn’t put my finger on it, it was too jittery and far off to accurately read. But I felt a sense of panic; of racing heartbeat and the sharp, prodding devastation that I’d been ripped away from him. I can hold it longer, if you need it. Tell me you’re okay. I smelled exhaust; the coppery, sweet scent of blood tinged my nose.

  A loud, tinny shriek jolted me back to the ballroom. It sounded like music, if music was played on an old gramophone sealed in a brick wall. There was nothing familiar about the tune or the beat or even the strange timing to the song. “What is this, 6/8 count?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He bowed again and then pulled me into his arms. “This is the music of my ancestors.”

  Our movement was nowhere close to the tempo of the music, but we glided across the dance floor anyway. I felt safe tucked against him, one of his arms locked around my waist, the wine bottle clasped in his hand, and the other cradling my hand in his. It wasn’t quite the waltz or a foxtrot. We were probably just stumbling around the floor like two drunks. Which we were.

  And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  He was humming in-between laughter, gently dipping me back and then pulled me up and pressing me to him. His smile lit up his face; he said, “You are a marvelous dancer.”

  “I’m not completely sure my feet are moving. You might just be dragging me around.”

  He laughed, again dipping me backwards. This time, he folded forward close to me and grazed his teeth against my throat. “Stop pretending you aren’t incredible. You are.”

  “You’re drunk.” I pressed my index finger to his dimple and giggled. “And I am too, but I can confidently tell you that you have had too much. Bad choices are made in the comfort of alcohol’s arms.”

  “We’re already married and I was completely sober then.”

  “Are you parents going to kill me? Or sell me?”

  “No, you’re worrying too much. You’re mine—and no one can take you away.” He nuzzled his face against mine again. “Unless you want to leave.”

  “I don’t.” I clamped my mouth shut the moment the words escaped. I don’t? What the fuck? Yes, I wanted to leave—I wanted to be free of this world and all the weird expectations placed on me. I wanted to be be free and in love and just sitting around, with Asher, making our own jokes and experiencing everything together. “But if I did, I’d take you with me.”

  He guzzled down more wine and shifted his hand from around my waist to the back of my head, holding me in place. His touch was gentle, but firm. “Do you think you’ll regret this in the morning?”

  “No. I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.”

  His eyes were locked on mine, the green still somewhat lackluster to how I remembered them looking the first time I saw him. We’d stopped dancing. He murmured something I couldn’t quite understand and then took a single step forward, dipping his head down towards mine.

  Our lips touched, gentle; almost teasing. His mouth tasted like sweet wine and his tongue lapped against mine with a shy, cautious trepidation. It was like he didn’t want to ruin it. He didn’t want to scare me away. I could feel the tremble in his touch.

  And then the kiss broke; we were laughing, again dancing and singing together. Something was different, though. Something changed between us. A touch that, before, was just light and friendly was now deeper. There was more behind it.

  Whether it was fueled by alcohol or move—fuck, even if it was just lust—I never wanted it to end.

  Twenty-Seven

  I opened my eyes. I had absolutely no idea where I was; just that I was warm, comfortable, and had a ridiculous, face-splitting headache.

  Asher was flopped on his stomach beside me, his hands shoved underneath his pillow and his hair cascading over his face. He was snoring lightly. So, that explained that—I was in his bed.


  Oh.

  I snuggled down further underneath the covers, trying to think back to the night before. Everything was a blur—I remembered the kiss in the ballroom and then running back downstairs with him to find more wine. Somehow we’d ended up in a library, sitting amongst books and scrolls and papers from other factions; from my world. We’d talked for what seemed like hours. It might have only been through one more bottle of wine.

  And here we were.

  He shifted next to me and, after a moment, I felt his hand brush against my leg. He mumbled, “For someone who has been in this bed as long as me, how the hell are your legs still cold?”

  “Poor circulation.” I rolled to my side to face him. “Did I fuck you last night?”

  “Not that I remember.” He pulled his arm out from underneath the blanket and flumbled with the leather bands around his wrist. “Still yellow. ‘Fraid not, my lovely lady.”

  I blurted out, “Are you sorry we didn’t?”

  Classy as always, Wren.

  He chuckled and pulled me into his arms, tugging the top quilt over our heads. “No. It was a good night. The first good night I’ve had in…shit, I can’t remember how long. The wine was good, but the company was better.”

  “Agreed.” I relaxed against him, comfortable on the plush mattress and incredibly happy in his arms. I felt safe; it was the first time I’d felt that was since before The Division. Since before Avi.

  A pang of guilt radiated across my chest. It felt like fire, a throbbing pain that seeped deep into each vertebra of my spine. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “What happened to the other girls at the auction house?”

  He scooted down closer to me; we were face-to-face. Cradling my face with his hand, he stroked my cheek. “Sold. Same as you.”

  “No, not like me. I could see the difference in your father when he started bidding. He has a different look to him, he wasn’t like the other bidders. They stood aside to make way for him—so I feel like he was respected—but they looked…I don’t know, like he wasn’t worth what they were.”

  “That’s probably exactly what they thought.” He dipped his head down and kissed my forehead. “They’re the new aristocrats, not highborn or given titles because of some grant feat, but wealthy enough to buy their prominence. They get their money from selling energy.”

  “Because they sell the girls.”

  He nodded. “Energy brothels. Serata’s laws are very specific: we’ve outlawed many of the vices that infested your world. No slavery, no prostitution, no illegal betting. But there are ways around it. Signing documents marrying two strangers, for example. Or, having them classified as indentured servants—working their way to buy their freedom—or, in this case—hiring them on as entertainers at dance halls.”

  “Dance halls?” I raised my eyebrow. “Like, saloons and dance halls in the wild west? Don’t look at me like that, like Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane running around Deadwood, shooting people up and losing all their money playing cards.”

  “Something like that. People can’t place bets, but they can engage in a friendly wager of playing cards. And, if they end up having sex with a girl or a witch, well.” He trailed his fingertip down my cheek and throat, then traced the cut of of collarbones. “It’s just one of those things that happens when the booze flows and people are having fun.”

  “So, these men—they’re buying the girls to work in their energy brothels? Until, what, they’re used up husks?”

  “I’ve never been to one, but that’s my guess.”

  “Because your parents bought you your own personal energy whore.”

  He didn’t even flinch; it was like he was expecting it. “That was their intention, yes, but I never saw it that way. And now that I know you—for you—I’ll never see it that way. Remember, I didn’t actually want you here.”

  “And now?”

  His lips pursed together in a coy smile. “Well, now, I want you to stay forever. I don’t want this.” He motioned to his bracelet and then again cupped his hand against my cheek. “I want this. You. There isn’t anyone else in the faction who can make me smile like you, Wren.”

  “Someone like that, like those men, bought my sister.” I tried to turn my head away from him, to avoid his gaze, but he gently pulled me back. “And…it just scares me, how close I came to that fate. I don’t know where she is; four of us were brought here in our group, we were all taken from the same place. I don’t know what happened to any of them.”

  His jaw tightened. It was a brief movement, over almost as soon as it started, but I noticed. I said, “You think she’s dead?”

  “I think she might wish she was…but…” He guided my head forward until our foreheads were touching. “She might still be out there. It’s only been three weeks.”

  Fuck. Three weeks. How had it even been that long?

  I nuzzled my face against his, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne and sweat. Even after everything that happened, I still blamed myself for being the worser witch.

  “Hey.” He slid his hand down my hip, guiding me closer to him. My body fit perfectly against his and, after just a moment pressed against each other, I could feel his body responding. He was trying to hide it, but it was damn obvious. “Wren. Look at me.”

  “I’m distracted now.”

  He tipped his hips forward, the pressure tantalizing against me, and said, “I’ll tell you a secret.”

  “That,” my breath caught in my throat, “is not a secret.”

  “That,” he dipped his head down, softly pressing his lips to the gentle curve between my neck and shoulder, “is your doing.”

  “False.”

  “I’d never lie to you. I was completely composed before you wiggled over here and took advantage of me.” He grazed his teeth across my collarbone. “Those big blue eyes, your messy hair. Human temptress.”

  I rested my hands against his chest, carefully unbuttoning the top button on his tunic. “I’ll give you credit, though. For as cold as this house is, you certainly have a warm bed.”

  He snaked his hand between my body and the mattress and, with ease, hoisted me on top of him. Rolling onto his back, he squirmed and adjusted until our hips were again locked against each other. “We could make it warmer.”

  My pulse was pounding between my legs; I could feel the pressure of his erection through his pants. The sensation, the hangover; the way he nibbled on his bottom lip as worked my skirt upward with his fingertips. God, I wanted him. Whether it was right or wrong; whether it was just the fact we’d been pushed together and just needed a physical release. It didn’t matter to me.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and then reached out, trailing my fingertips down his lips. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mmmm…are you so sure about that?”

  He tilted his hips forward, pressing his cock against me. The feeling between my legs was delicious; pleasure radiated down my legs and seemed to shoot out through my toes. “I think you’d like it.”

  “I think you would, too.”

  “It goes without saying.” He dragged his fingertips down my thighs, tugging down the stockings and caressing me with a gentle, trembling finger. “I don’t want to lose you…or make you want to leave me.”

  “I won’t.” I ran my hands down his shoulders and to his chest, savoring the strong, underlying muscles. He was so thin, but strong as fuck. “I need you—and you need what I can give you.”

  He chuckled. Lifting his hand to my face, he cradled my cheek and pushed his hand back into my hair. “Pleasure? Release? The feeling of your skin against mine; the way your mouth tastes? That’s all I want, beautiful, I don’t care about anything else. Just you.”

  My breath caught in my throat. It was too easy to fall in love with him, to lose my train of thought just by staring into those big, green eyes. His smile had faded, his gaze was intense, thick with desire. I whispered, “If you do
n’t mean any of this…it’ll break my heart.”

  He guided my face to his, the heat from his lips stirring a wave of desire across my low abdomen. “I’d rather die than break your heart.”

  I tipped my head forward, pressing my lips to his. The kiss intensified instantly; he rocked his hips against mine, mimicking his rhythm, and eased me down against him. One of his hands was buried in my hair, while the other was at my waist, working the cords of my corset. He was so hard against me, his cock grinding against the apex to my legs.

  This was taking far longer than it should.

  “Asher.” I peppered his mouth with kisses. “I need you. Now.”

  I could hear the desperation in my voice. Asher must have realized it too; his hands dropped to my hips and he started tugging on my lacy undershorts. His hands cupped my ass, he was sliding the fabric down—

  Someone pounded on the door; a voice followed. Nerys. “Master, your parents have returned to the mansion. They request your presence in the drawing room.”

  He pressed his forehead to mine. His lips brushed against mine with each word he spoke, “We are otherwise engaged.”

  “I cannot tell them—“

  He scooped me up, righting himself into a sitting position, and guided my legs around his torso. “You can and you will. You will tell them I am engaged, but my bride and I will consider dinner with them.”

  Nerys didn’t respond.

  “And you will tell them,” he cupped my face in his hand and roughly kissed me. “Wren will have a seat at my side. If they refuse, then she and I will no longer dine with them.”

  Nerys was silent; I assumed she just walked away. But then she responded, “Yes, sir, I shall, but your father pressed upon me the importance of you coming downstairs to the drawing room.”

  I shuddered. I didn’t actually want to know how he’d pressed it to her.

  Asher huffed. His breath was hot against my skin. Wrapping his arms around me and, pulling me right against this chest, he murmured, “Let’s get out of here.”

  I cocked my eyebrow upward. “How do you propose we do that?”