by Bella Jacobs
And since Bane burned that kid alive not long after…
Well, bygones could be bygones and Victor was happy to give Bane his loyalty and support.
So far, things have been so easy for Bane. Even with his mate and dozens of his supposed followers working against him from within, his rise to power has been swift and smooth.
Deep down, I’ve never really believed that we could stop him.
I’ve worked as hard as I could to bring about his downfall, but always with a sense that I’m shoveling shit against the tide. No matter how many times Elsbeth assured me that the stars are on our side and that a queen will rise, when I close my eyes, I see Bane on the throne.
He’s loomed too large in my life for too long. He will always rule me, haunt me, even if by some miracle I manage to live to see him burn on a funeral pyre.
And that—that exact thought—is what I’m turning over in my head when Elsbeth opens the door to the cabin and says, “He’s dead, Kelley. Bane’s dead.”
My stomach begins to fizz and the hairs lift at the back of my neck in silent celebration, but my brain rejects the information outright. “No.” I shake my head slowly back and forth. “He’s not. I would know. I’d be able to feel the severing of our bond.”
“He hasn’t been your mate like that in a long time, sweet girl,” she says, crossing to crouch beside me on the floor, moving with strength and grace despite her age. And when she takes my hand in both of hers, I can feel her determination flowing across my skin. “The retrieval team just returned with his body. But it was just Kieran, Wesley, and Hamish. The rest of the Fey team were killed in the fighting with Maxim and Willow.”
I look up sharply, meeting her gray eyes and widening mine.
She answers my silent question with a nod. Most of the Fey were loyal to me to begin with and now the few who might have stood against us are out of the way.
And if Bane really is dead…
“The rest of the alliance will look to you to fill the void your mate left behind,” Elsbeth says. “They’ll support your rise and your need for vengeance. We’ll do the ritual out in the open now, let all of our people see you pledged to the sword and to uniting our people under just and humane rule.”
She tightens her grip on my fingers and lowers her voice, “This will be even better than what we planned. You, we can count on. Willow was always going to be hard to control. She’s too sheltered and innocent. She doesn’t understand what’s at risk. She would have shied away from the sacrifice. She would have seen only the horror, not the hope. But you… You weren’t just born for this, sweetheart. You were bred for it. Every time he laid hands on you, every time he showed you the monster in the hearts of men, he was preparing you for this moment and what comes next.”
I pull in a breath, hope and despair warring in my chest. “But if he’s dead, I can’t use him as a sacrifice to bind my fate to the sword’s. And even if he were still alive, we wouldn’t be able to conceive. We’ve been trying for years and even with the fertility charm, we couldn’t—”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Elsbeth says, a smile curving her lips. “When I was healing you yesterday, Kelley…I felt it. Another heartbeat, soft, but strong.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer.
Elsbeth nods. “Your scent was different, too, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything. I took a small blood sample to the medical tent. They confirmed it this morning.” Her smile widens. “You’re pregnant.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I press my free hand to my belly, wonder and revulsion rushing hot and cold through my veins. I’ve wanted a child for so long. I’ve begged the universe for a miracle more times than I can count.
And now my wish has finally been granted, at the worst possible moment.
If I go through with the ritual, this child will never be born. I will never see it smile or laugh or hold its sweet, heavy body warm in my arms. It will remain locked inside me, a power source for the sword, the third point in the trinity of connection needed to make me a queen it will be almost impossible to overthrow.
Trinity…
That part of the puzzle is still missing. “But will it be enough for the ritual?” I ask. “Just the child?”
“No, we’ll still need your mate bound and suffering,” she says. “But leave that to me. We don’t need him to be the man he was before. We just need him in the land of the living and there are ways to make that happen.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Our witch allies from New Orleans are preparing the body for the pyre,” she says. “They’ll switch Bane’s corpse for another the same size before they wrap it in linen and remove Bane to the underground cell. They assured me that summoning him won’t be a problem, as long as we don’t mind if he comes back with a taste for brains and the IQ of a slab of rotting meat.”
“A zombie?” I croak, shocked though I supposed I shouldn’t be. Elsbeth has dedicated her entire, very long life to the rise of a queen. She isn’t about to let something as minor as a supernatural treaty banning the creation of zombies stop her now.
“Yes.” She arches a brow. “Do you object to the plan?”
Do I? If I’m willing to sacrifice my own child is there any line I won’t cross?
“No, I don’t object but…” The tea I drank earlier rises in my throat. I swallow it down and tighten my grip on her hand. “We have to make sure he never gets out, Elsbeth. Never. If he does, he’ll—”
“He’ll do nothing,” she assures me. “Once he goes into that room, he’s never coming out. And even if he managed to escape, as long as the ritual is complete, we can put a bullet through his head before he causes any trouble. If that happens, you’ll begin to age faster, but you’ll still lead a much longer than average life and have all the power of the sword on your side. We need him to start this fire, that’s all.”
Him and my baby.
My baby…
There is no baby. The spark in my womb is tinder and that’s all it will ever be. It’s a power source I’ll hold inside me, my perpetually swollen belly a testimony to what I’ve sacrificed for my people.
For power.
And for the knowledge that no one will ever put me on my knees again.
I release Elsbeth’s fingers and stand, accepting the long-sleeved black gown she’s brought for me to wear. The mourning dress will hide my bruises and the baby bump that will begin to grow quickly once the ritual starts tonight.
Once I’m dressed, I let her comb my hair and arrange it to hide the ear that’s still red and angry from Bane’s fist. I still can’t hear from that side as well, either. Elsbeth has to repeat herself twice before I finally understand that she’s asking about Willow.
Will I be able to do what needs to be done?
Will I be able to kill my sister and her mate to appease the bloodlust of my people? They won’t settle for Bane’s murderers being banished or locked away.
They will want blood. And I will be obliged to supply it.
Unless…
“Reach out to Victor,” I tell Elsbeth. “My old Alpha. Tell him I have a proposition for him.”
There may still be a way to save Willow, and if there is, I mean to find it.
I will keep her alive if I can.
Even if she comes to hate me for it.
Chapter Seven
Willow
The Palladium is the swankiest hotel in Manhattan.
So swanky it doesn’t even have a sign on the building or a public lobby. Those rich and fabulous enough to secure a reservation are met at the curb by a personal concierge who ushers them through the plush, spa-like lobby to an elevator that delivers them to their suite.
Rooms start at four figures a night.
I never fathomed that I might be a guest here, but if I had, I’m sure I would have imagined arriving in a swanky SUV or maybe a limo.
Instead, Maxim and I roll up in our ancient station wagon.
The valet’s eyes nearly
bulge out of his head, but to his credit, he rushes to accept the keys from Maxim and asks what luggage we’d like sent up to our room.
“No baggage, just this,” Maxim says, nodding toward the duffel on his shoulder, now filled with treasure collected from his connection in luggage storage at Grand Central. In addition to several thick wads of cash, we now have credit cards and a handgun made entirely of plastic so it wouldn’t set off the sensors in the luggage handling area.
Maxim also has a fake I.D. he used to make the reservation.
Still, when our concierge—a gorgeous redhead in a clingy green dress—greets us on the carpet outside the hotel with a soft, “Welcome to the Palladium, Mr. Campbell,” it takes me a second to remember who she’s talking to.
Maxim, however, is on point. He inclines his head her way, managing to pull off “king of all he surveys” even in ill-fitting jeans and a grungy sweatshirt. “Thank you, Greta. I assume you’ve taken care of the things we discussed on the phone?”
What things? I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone, even long enough to hit the bathroom at Grand Central.
My brow furrows, but I force a smile as Greta’s attention shifts my way.
“Of course,” she says in her silky voice as she skims me up and down with an assessing glance. “The correct sizes were ordered and should be delivered to your suite within the hour.” She turns back to Maxim with a smile. “And Bartleby’s is happy to make an exception to their ‘no takeout’ rule for a special guest. There are menus in your room. As soon as you make your selections, you can dial my private number, and I’ll take care of everything.”
She turns, motioning for us to follow. “Come. You must be exhausted after filming all night. Let’s get you settled.”
As she pushes through the heavy silver door, I shoot Maxim a sideways glance and mouth, “Filming all night?”
“Mr. Campbell is a filmmaker shooting a documentary on modern nomads who live in their vehicles,” he says softly. “I explained we’d be arriving in the car we’ve been using to go undercover.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Impressive. But I think someone already shot that documentary.”
“But Mr. Campbell doesn’t know that,” he murmurs as we follow Greta across a lobby decorated in muted browns and blues that smells of fresh laundry and clean sea air. “I’m a wealthy, privileged man who assumes all my ideas are original and amazing.”
I snort. “Ugh. Wealthy, privileged men are the worst.”
“We really are,” he agrees. “But we do know where to shop. And to eat.” His eyes dance as he adds, “By the time your parents arrive this afternoon, you’ll be so rested, well fed, and impressively dressed, they won’t recognize the ragamuffin they left behind.”
I shake my head, fighting a grin. “Hope you ordered clothes for yourself, too, big bad. Hate to break it to you, but right now you’re winning the ragamuffin award.”
He smiles but doesn’t answer. It’s time to join Greta in the elevator and be whisked away to a place above all the grit and grime of the city.
As we shoot into the air, excitement shivers across my skin.
A part of me feels awful for looking forward to something—even something as necessary as clean clothes and a proper meal—when so many of the people we love are in danger and the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
But the other part of me insists life is sufficiently hard at the moment. There’s no need to make it harder by refusing creature comforts. If it comes down to it, I know both Maxim and I are willing to die to protect our people but playing the martyr won’t do anyone any good.
In fact, until we’re back in the line of fire, I mean to savor every not-horrible thing that crosses my path.
Up in our room, I turn in slow circles, taking in the details of the sumptuous pale blue and muted orange furnishings, upscale kitchenette, and incredible view of Manhattan. I accept Greta’s offer to make me a drink before she leaves and take my strawberry lemonade with fresh mint into the gloriously appointed bathroom to sip as I soak in the tub.
The tub—a monstrosity big enough to fit three of me—is carved from a solid slab of marble and one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. Impressive and strangely…comforting.
I swear as I float on my back at the center of it, I can feel the stone silently assuring me that everything is going to be all right.
The earth has made it through harder times than these.
Once, lava bubbled on its surface and poison filled the air and no one looking down from above would have imagined life could ever thrive here. But it did, and it has, and it will continue to do so long after my fragile body and even this noble stone has turned to dust.
“And adversity can be a good thing. I mean, take this stone. It was hacked from a mountain, hauled away from its home, and tortured by a sculptor for thousands of hours,” I tell Maxim when he steps inside to announce that the food has arrived. “And look how that turned out. It’s even more beautiful than it was before.”
He arches a brow and murmurs something I can’t understand as his gaze tracks up and down my floating body.
“What was that?” I ask. “I can’t hear you. My ears are underwater.”
His lips twitch and he repeats himself in a louder voice.
“Nope.” I sigh and swish my hands, sending myself on a slow circular spin. “Still can’t hear you. Guess you’ll just have to leave me here alone in this lovely warm water, wishing I had a special friend who liked taking baths together. And washing my back. And sex before brunch.”
The words are barely past my lips when Maxim splashes into the water fully dressed and scoops me into his arms. I laugh and squirm free, chastising him for making it harder to get his clothes off now that they’re soaking wet.
But get them off, we do, and then Maxim’s mouth is hot on mine and his hands are all over me, touching me in the places he already knows I like best.
“I think you missed a spot or two here,” he says, bringing his soapy hands to my breasts. “Best give these another wash.”
“Good catch,” I say, moaning as his slippery fingers tease at my nipples, building the ache already fisting between my legs.
I’ve been ready for him since the moment he walked into the room. Meeting his gaze is enough to make me wet, but I don’t rush the foreplay. Instead, I arch into his talented hands, moan into his mouth, and do my best to memorize every second of making love to this beautiful man.
He really is glorious, almost too good to be true.
“Thank goodness for your chest hair,” I pant, clinging to his shoulders as he works his fingers against my clit beneath the water.
“Why’s that?” he asks. “You like chest hair?”
“Well, yes,” I say, my teeth digging into my bottom lip as the ball of heat he’s building low in my body begins to give off sparks. “But it’s the…patchy places I like best. If it weren’t for the patchy places, I wouldn’t believe you were real. You’re just too hot, too…perfect.” My breath hitches. “Oh yes, like that. So perfect. God, Maxim, don’t ever stop doing that. Don’t ever stop.”
And he doesn’t, not until I’ve come so hard sparks are still dancing in front of my eyes as he stands with my legs wrapped around his hips, bringing us both out of the water before he impales me on his cock with one long, smooth stroke.
“Oh yes,” I sigh as he cradles my ass in his big hands and begins to fuck me hard and fast. “Just like that. Harder, oh please harder!”
“Bossy little wolf,” he chastises against my lips as he kisses me, but he gives me exactly what I asked for, pounding into me so hard it hurts a little.
But it hurts in a sweetly wicked way, and the bliss that floods through me a moment later is even more intense than my first release. It’s so intense that I’m still making loud, shameless coming sounds nearly a minute later when Maxim follows me over the edge.
“Yes,” he growls as his cock pulses and jerks inside me. “So good, so fucking good. Love
how your pussy milks me. Every fucking drop.”
I tighten my legs around him and moan my agreement. With Bane out of the picture, we probably don’t need to worry about the prophecy or being the first couple to conceive anymore, but I don’t regret skipping protection again. I love the feel of Maxim inside me bare and I want his baby. I want to be pregnant with his child, my swollen stomach a sign to any woman dumb enough to think she might be able to tempt him away from me that he’s mine. My mate, my man, the father of my children, and everything else a man and a woman are to each other when they’ve made the promises we’ve made.
“I’m going to tear that steak apart with my bare hands,” I say after he’s dried me off and wrapped me in one of the complimentary robes. I sit, weak-kneed on the edge of the tub, watching him dry his own gorgeous body and hoping for dozens more memories like this. Hundreds more.
He arches a playful brow. “Feeling savage after a good fuck, are you?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m going to devour my meal and then I’m going to run my steak-juice covered fingers all over your cock and lick it off.”
“A touch too cavewoman for my taste, but I appreciate the offer,” he says, fighting a smile.
“Turn down my cavewoman side at your peril,” I warn. “She seems like a good time. She’s probably into butt stuff and all kinds of other kinky shit. In addition to steak juice play.”
He snorts. “It’s cute that you think ‘butt stuff’ is kinky.” He meets my gaze in the mirror as he shrugs into the other robe. “I could show you kinky, little wolf. And then some.”
“Oh, please do,” I murmur, giggling as he tosses me over his shoulder and carries me into the suite.
Chapter Eight
