The Immortal Queen

by Jennifer L. Hart

  He withdraws his hand. I sit up, ready to lodge a protest but his fingers move to the back clasp of my bra. “I want to look at you while I touch you. Is that okay?”

  I nod jerkily, a riot of emotions going on inside me.

  He unfastens the hooks and reflexively, I hold up my hands before the undergarment can fall away. He reaches for me again, cups my face in his big palms, his gaze locked on mine.

  “Trust me, Nic,” he breathes between soft, slow kisses.

  “I do.” I lower my shaking hands.

  Aiden doesn’t rush, he’s much too accomplished a seducer to pounce. His thumbs graze along my jaw bone, down my neck. His kisses are deep, thorough and make me forget my nervousness, stoking the fire within. He slides the strap of my bra over my shoulders, peels it from my arms.

  His lids grow heavy as he withdraws to look at me. “Gods, and I thought you were beautiful before.”

  “I was,” I say, hating the image of my dark haired former self and all her perfect curves. Compared to her I’m kinda pretty—in the right light. The perverts that I’d offed never complained.

  But the way Aiden’s drinking me in... it makes me think he hasn’t gotten the memo about my appearance being less than stunning. He doesn’t look disappointed. His hands are shaking as he reaches to touch me. The spark of contact as he caresses my bared flesh makes all my worries evaporate like water left in a tea kettle.

  The heat is building, too. Every pull and tug on my sensitive nipples creates an echo in the pit of my stomach. And lower. Much much, lower.

  He dips his head, taking one tormented tip into his mouth.

  My blissed-out mind churns out a word I’d never thought much about before this moment. Desire. I’ve wanted before. Yearned. For superficial things. I’ve had cravings, felt the need to stretch, to sleep, to kill. But nothing can match the sexual hunger that’s tearing me apart from the inside.

  My head thrashes on the pillow. It has to end. I never wanted it to end.

  His tongue teases and then relinquishes, and, moving to my other breast, sets in on that side, while his fingers continue to torment the wet peak. He’s diligent, patient, fanning the flames of feeling until they threaten to overtake me. Ravenous, I’ve been starving for this contact. It can’t get better than Aiden’s hands and mouth on my bared breasts.

  And then a hand traces down, following the seam of my jeans to the center of feeling. He presses in with the heel of his palm in a deliberate maneuver.

  I shatter. There’s no other way to put it. All that coiled tension breaks like a mirror under the onslaught of a sledgehammer. The pleasure so sharp it hurts, ripping a cry from my mouth. Leaving me in pieces. Sharp jagged little bits of Nic are scattered everywhere.

  And that scares me.

  The fear grounds me back in my body, still hot and sensitive, vulnerable and exposed. I don’t want to open my eyes, to look at him after what he’d...what we’d just done.

  Will he expect more now...would he want...everything?

  “Nic?” He lifts his head to look at me. “Did you just...?”

  “Yeah.” My eyelids squeeze shut.

  “Was that the first time you...?”

  “Yeah.” And yes, under the right circumstances, even a serial killer can blush. Reality is crashing back down and it’s a bitch and a half. I wriggle out from under him, doing my best to ignore my bobbing breasts, the same ones he’d been licking and sucking only a few altering heartbeats ago.

  My hands are shaking again, not from nerves but from agitation. No way do I want to struggle to put my bra back on but damned if I can find my shirt.

  I spot it, over near the door and move to retrieve it.

  Aiden catches my arm. “Is it over? Have the urges passed?”

  What urges? Oh, right, the testosterone poisoning. I’d forgotten all about it. “Yeah.” My voice sounds thin in my own ears.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, jerking my arm free and diving for the discarded shirt which I hold up like a shield between us. Sand still clings to it, abrading my already sensitive nipples.

  He lets go. “Why won’t you look at me?"

  “I’m not ready,” I blurt. It’s the only thing I can say. The truth, if not the entire truth. “To do anything else.”

  He stares at me a moment, his thick eyebrows pulling down. His lips part as though he’s going to say something but then he clamps them shut. When he does speak it’s a lackluster, “Okay.”

  I want to ask what he was going to say. Was he angry? Did he think me a tease? But I can’t seem to move, can’t do anything but clutch at my sandy shirt and stare at him.

  He chucks a thumb at the exit. “I’ll wait outside.”

  I sag when the door clicks shut behind him, though in relief or disappointment is anyone’s guess. I need something to do, to distract myself. My gaze falls on the tub. A bath, I could use one of those. I stand, drop the shirt and turn on the tap before stripping out of my sand encrusted jeans. Carefully, I remove the vet wrap from the Valkyrie scratch and my rune. The wound around the scratch is still red, the skin beyond that a hideous blue black, but I don’t think it’s infected.

  The rune is completely scabbed over, almost healed.

  The water is only about a third of the way up the clamshell but I climb in anyway, busying myself by investigating the collection of bottles lining a small indent beside the tub. One smells of coconut another eucalyptus, a third sandalwood. Shampoo or soap of some sort. None smell as delectable as Aiden, but I haven’t bathed since before the encounter with the Valkyries and work a decent amount of lather up for my skin and hair.

  Though I’m tempted to linger, I worry over Aiden standing out in the hall. He deserves an explanation. Problem is, I don’t have one. I’d been so caught up in the physical bliss, my first climax. When it ended, all the other things had crept back into my mind. Self-consciousness at my body’s release, and the indignity of desire. I had barely recognized myself as I begged, begged, him to keep going, to keep touching me.

  Once clean, I drip to the wardrobe and fling open the door, thinking towels. Just like the pixie claimed, the shelves are lined with fluffy white terrycloth. I pick one up and study it. Standard issue towel, though much fluffier than ours, since Chloe inevitably adds too many dryer sheets. I shut the doors to the wardrobe and think, clothes. Lo and behold, the towels are gone and in their place, several dresses hang. I frown. Dresses aren’t my first choice, a little too inconvenient if I need to run or fight. And the shoes. Broken ankle central.

  I return my focus to the wardrobe. How does the magic work? Is it sentient? Reading my mind somehow? Or is it just a storage facility? From the outside, it looks like a regular piece of furniture but the inside completely rearranged itself.

  After drying off, I wrap the towel around my sopping hair and another around my body before padding to the door and opening it a crack.

  Aiden stands there, his back to me. And he isn’t alone. A purple skinned fey woman with waist-length hair black as a raven’s wing is eyeing him like he’s an item on a buffet table and she hasn’t eaten in weeks.

  “You know where my room is,” I hear her purr. Her accent is much different than any of the fey or even the trolls I’ve heard here. It’s sultry and rich, flavored with Latin spice which adds weight to her invitation. “In case you change your mind.”

  I blink. Freaking really? Where did she even come from?

  “I won’t,” his tone is definite.

  “Oh, but I hope you do.” She reaches out and though I can’t see, I get the feeling that she’s dragging her silver nails down his bare chest. “You look like you could use a little fun.”

  I open the door wider, until she notices me standing there. She raises one eyebrow as though to say, can you blame me for trying?

  I don’t but I don’t have to like it either. “He’s good. We’re good, though we could use a bottle of wine. Be a doll and get us some?” I loop my arm through Ai
den’s and pull him back through the door, slamming it with excessive force.

  “Do you know who that was?” Aiden asks, his eyes wide.

  “No, and I can’t say I give a flying rat’s ass.” I snarl.

  “She’s Wardon’s seer.”

  “Seer? Like his own personal fortune teller?”

  “Much more than that. She’s his most trusted adviser, a noble in her own right.” He shakes his head. “And you treated her like the help.”

  I put my hands on my towel covered hips. “Well, she seemed so damn eager to be of service, I figured I’d throw her a bone before you did.”

  “Are you jesting?” He stares at me, a muscle ticking in his jaw. A sure sign of frustration. “After what just happened, you still don’t trust me to be true to you? You have no faith in me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I whirl toward the wardrobe, uncaring of what’s in there, just not wanting to continue the conversation while wearing only a towel. “I have faith in you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Even though they are impractical, I can’t help but admire the series of shimmering gowns in varying ocean colors, from the palest gray green to a blue so dark it is almost black. Though there are no tags, I have the feeling all will fit as though tailored just for me. A pair or black satin elbow length gloves rest in a box to one side. And the shoes....

  I pick one delicate pump up, marveling at the colors, the play of light off the transparent surface. A few pairs are greenish tinged, others blue, still others completely colorless. “Is this...?”

  “Sea glass,” Aiden confirms, coming up beside me.

  His nearness rattles me, almost as much as Wardon’s easy use of magic. “Why would he do this, build this place and furnish it with his magic? Wouldn’t he have had to pay the price each time?”

  Aiden shakes his head. “All of Wardon’s magic comes from his mind and is fueled by the sea. He can create anything he wants out of his element without paying Underhill’s price.”

  Carefully, I set the shoe back down and meet his gaze. “So, why can’t I do the same?”

  He offers a small smile. “You probably will, once you pass the gauntlet. Underhill doesn’t know what to make of you, a mortal able to wield magic. You’re a queen but not yet a ruler and until you run the gauntlet, you will continue to struggle here.”

  “But I could do it before? Use magic for everything?”

  He curls a finger around a tendril of hair that escaped my towel turban. “Not everything, but you could craft items from snow and ice, from shadows and air and even souls. The Veil had no need to repair itself, because you sealed up any rips or tears with half a thought.”

  And now there is a giant hole in the thing and no one to mend it. At least not until I get my abilities back. If I ever do.

  “Your display earlier probably fooled Wardon into believing that your magic still comes so easily,” he continues. “Your loss of temper might prove beneficial.”

  Dread fills my stomach and I can’t look him in the eye. “Until the trolls tell him how volatile I was afterward.”

  “They might not. Trolls can’t wield magic any more than Valkyries. They don’t understand how it works and most don’t know about the cost. It’s likely that if Wardon doesn’t think to ask them, they won’t volunteer any information about your condition.”

  “We need to find Nahini and the rest of the Hunt and get the hell out of here before he does.” I hesitate, again peering into the depths of the wardrobe, trying to decide which gown to put on.

  Aiden chooses for me. “This one,” he says, selecting a gown so pale blue it’s almost white. Ice blue. “It matches your eyes.”

  His own are hot, though I’m still too much of a novice at emotion to tell if it’s from temper or lust.

  “With my pale hair and skin, I think it’s more likely I’ll look like a corpse,” I mutter.

  “Please,” the word is quiet, not a plea so much as a simple request. “I want to see you in it.”

  “Okay.” I need to wear something to dinner and it’s really the least I can do for him, after the emotional roller coaster ride from earlier. The closest I’ll come to apologizing. And yet, it’s not enough.

  “I didn’t mean...,” I stop, suck in some air then blow it out in exasperation. Damn it, why can’t I just articulate my thoughts? “About earlier....”

  He kisses me lightly on the cheek, his green eyes alight with hope. “Believe me, Nic. You have nothing to worry about.”

  My lips part and I’m about to ask what he’s referring to, when he turns and, with typical ease, strips out of his jeans. I suck in a breath. No matter how many times I see his bared flesh, I can’t get used to it. My gaze is locked on his perfect form as he strides to the alcove and passes through the curtain to the clamshell tub.

  It takes effort to drag my eyes away, to focus on something other than the churning mess of feelings clamoring inside me. I take the dress, gloves and shoes to the far side of the room then lay them on the bed before turning my back and dropping my towel.

  A low growl fills the room. He’s watching me, taking in the sight of my naked body. That curtain is no real barrier to his keen eyesight. I can feel his gaze sliding down my back, over the flare of my hips, down my legs and then back up, taking his measure of every dip and curve.

  My nipples stiffen again, the reaction having nothing to do with the temperature of the room. I want to look at him, want to peek over my shoulder and catch him ogling my body the way I scrutinize his.

  But we have other things to think about, more important things. If only I could recall what they are.

  We’re supposed to be resting. Sense dictates that I take a nap, rebuild my reserves before my next run in with Wardon. But the idea of climbing naked into this bed, of Aiden also naked and wet in the tub....

  The temptation is too great. As is the fear.

  I pull the gown over my head, adjusting the spaghetti straps so they fall in straight lines crisscrossing my shoulders. The gown is slit high on the right thigh but otherwise it clings to me like a shimmering second skin. Once it’s in place, I remove the towel from my head and step into the shoes then pick up the gloves.

  “I’m heading downstairs. Meet me when you’re ready.”

  “No, Nic, wait!” There’s some splashing as he lunges from the tub, but I’m already out the door and halfway down the stairs.

  Aiden fears for my safety, I know this and I probably should wait for him. True, Wardon poses an unknown threat but being locked in that bedroom with Aiden wet and naked and wanting me is far more dangerous.

  An Offer

  The fact that my hair is still wet and slicked back from my head seems to fit in with the seaside palace. I’ve never been much of a beach person but the view of the rolling waves is hypnotic and treacherous. Much like Wardon himself.

  I meet a pixie on the stairs. She starts, probably to find me outside of our assigned chambers. A shower of bright yellow dust falls to the floor beneath her. Glittering like sand.

  “My companion is still getting dressed. I thought I would look around while I wait.”

  “Of...of course, your majesty,” she stammers. Her voice is higher, less sure than the one who’d shown us to the bed chamber earlier. “Would you care to wait here for him?”

  “We can go down.” I decide to use her unease to my advantage and poke around. Wardon has home turf advantage after all. Something needs to even the odds. “How long have you worked here?”

  “I was hatched here.” The pixie flits ahead, her dust turning an embarrassed pink, the color of a maiden’s blush.

  “Hatched? Like from an egg?”

  She nods. “A moon egg along with my seventy brothers and sisters.”

  “Seventy? Is that typical?” At her nod I add, “Family reunions must be confusing as hell.”

  “Most pixies don’t live into adulthood,” she says. “Only five of my siblings made it past the first year. It’s why so many of us are
born, because so few of us survive.”

  We pass by a window. The sun is high in the sky now. Down below the sounds of the marketplace have increased. “Tell me, how come it seems like the fey marketplace is set up to serve the trolls? And why can they move about in the daytime? I thought they didn’t possess any magic.”

  “They don’t. But the trolls serve the king as the royal guard. To curry favor with them can mean acknowledgment from his highness.”

  I wonder at the arrangement. Wardon can draw on fey powers, it’s what makes him a Seelie king. He’s lavish with using his own, this castle is a testament to his vanity. All the Seelie fey, from Samhain to Beltane are sworn to serve him. Why go to so much trouble to enlist trolls to his royal guard, to grant them the ability to move around under the sun and set them up in a position of power over his subjects?

  “Nicneven.”

  As though stepping from my thoughts, Wardon appears at the bottom of the stairs. I dip my head in acknowledgement. He offers me a hand down the last few steps.

  “Aren’t you becoming in my finery.” There’s a slight lilt in his voice, a brogue though it’s difficult to pick up. I’d missed it earlier.

  The king smiles and there is no warmth in it. “I thought for sure you would be...resting. Have you worn your consort out already?”

  “I have more important things on my mind than...rest.” I put the same emphasis on the word.

  He raises one brow. “I admire an ambitious woman. Come to my study and we can discuss your needs over a drink.”

  Though touching him makes my skin crawl, I allow him to escort me down the long corridor, my glass pumps clicking steadily on the sandstone floor. Wardon’s feet are bare and silent beside mine.

  He opens the door and ushers me inside. The décor is much the same as my upstairs room. Driftwood shelves and furniture, seagrass curtains, glass candle holders. The main difference is the double doors leading out to a balcony that overlooks the churning sea. It is here Wardon leads me, settling me in an intricate driftwood chaise before retrieving two sea glass tumblers from a glass sideboard. “Rum or mulled wine?”