The Dread King
Candace Wondrak
All Rights Reserved.
Cover by the wonderful Victoria Cooper over at Victoria Cooper Art!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter One
If there was one thing Faith Blackwell was tired of, it was the traveling. Go here, risk her life for this; run away like the failed hero she pretended to be. All in all, it just sucked. The kicker? Getting back to Springsweet only to find the Elves viewed her as a traitor, as Bul’ara’s murderer, when in reality it was one of their own—their precious, beautiful Court member, Ophelia.
Funny how now Faith actually remembered their names without difficulty. Maybe there was some upside to this Harbinger thing after all—a better memory when it came to useless stuff.
Though, what did it matter if she could recall a few names when she was destined to fight some huge, strong and very angry Dracon to the death? Put in perspective, names didn’t mean shit.
One thing that really sucked about being the Harbinger, other than the whole dying early business, was the awful feeling of responsibility on her shoulders. What sane eighteen year old wanted a world’s weight on their backs?
The Second wasn’t even her world. Why did she have to feel such a connection to it? Why did she feel like she had to put her all into this? The old Faith would’ve laughed, said it seemed like too much work, and kicked back in the apartment she shared with her grandma and binged some drama-filled TV shows. The old Faith would’ve gotten most of her kicks from bending the rules and making her friend Cara blush when she talked about guys.
The old Faith was a goner, in more ways than one.
First and foremost because of being the Harbinger. The second was that she tossed her family’s no-man rule to the wind and agreed to simultaneously date the members of her fellowship. Light, Jag and Cam—not Finn.
She would never agree to date Finn. A few years ago, maybe, when she was nothing more than a high-schooler who was head over heels for the boy, but now? Now she was too old, cynical, and tired to deal with his shit. And he had a lot of it.
She still fumed when she thought back to the kiss he’d laid on her. What was he thinking, confessing all of that bullshit to her, egging her on, baiting her? As if it wasn’t already embarrassing enough the rest of the group heard him, Faith also had to deal with the itty bitty fact the kiss itself wasn’t too terrible.
Okay, Finn was a great kisser, but so were the rest of them. Jag and Light, at least.
Cam…well, she hadn’t quite gotten there with Cam yet. She wasn’t going to rush things, and he seemed fine with it. Cam didn’t act like the type of guy who wanted to rush into things anyway. More calculated than the rest; he had to be, because of his Ulen side.
She couldn’t help but wonder what was he like, when he was an Elf, before he was turned. Was he always so dour and quiet, or was his attitude just a result of being turned into something that was basically a vampire? Faith had tried that word with him before, and he didn’t recognize it. Maybe the myths on Earth about vampires stemmed from the Second, somehow.
Faith wondered how long they’d traveled since their pointless return to Springsweet. Weeks, definitely. Maybe…probably. Time was hard to tell when the days blended into each other and the nights were spent fast asleep, usually. Truthfully, it did not matter how much time had passed, as long as they weren’t being followed. No more Elven assassins for her.
Of course, now Faith wondered if Ophelia had sent the assassin for her. Whatever the Elf’s plan was, it clearly did not include a realm with Faith in it. Just the Dread King.
The Dread King.
Faith shivered as she shed her clothing, stepping into a crystal clear pool of water while the guys made camp. Light all but pushed her away, scrunching up his nose and telling her she smelled and needed to bathe. Old habits died hard.
A part of her had hoped it was just him being an ass, but when she’d covertly sniffed her armpits, she had been hit with a whiff of body odor. The Elf got lucky, for she’d kept her comments to herself about him being smelly too.
Although…it was like Elves didn’t sweat. Anything she’d have to say about his body odor would’ve been a lie—because he didn’t have any. Light practically sweat rainbows and elegance.
Despite the warmness of the water, goosebumps graced her skin, as they did every time her mind somehow wandered to the Dread King. Her archenemy, her worst opponent. The Dread King and the Harbinger had fought time and time again—and each time he’d lost. That or a stalemate had ended in both of their deaths.
But this time Faith knew it was different, and it would end differently—and she knew it was partly because of the strange things she felt when she thought about him.
Strange things didn’t cut it. Not anymore, not after watching him rise from a pile of bones. Not after his whispered threats—and they were intended to be threats and not kinky promises, as she took them. And most certainly not after feeling him above her.
He was…impressive. In every sense of the word.
Whatever hatred her Harbinger status instilled in her dwindled by the day, replaced with doubt. Faith didn’t want to fight him, didn’t want to lose to him. She’d give it her all, but really, what did her all amount to when it involved running away and looking for some stupid Well?
Correction: some stupid Well in some stupid Cave no one knew the whereabouts of.
Fun stuff.
Not like it would change anything. Faith was going to die for some ageless feud that wasn’t even hers. A depressing thought. Thoughts like that she did her best not to dwell on. Buck up and look forward, as her mother never said. Then again, her mother was never in a situation quite like this before. Ophelia, though, did call her mother Penn, like they’d met. Which was ridiculous, because trips to the Second only started ten or so years ago, right after her mother had become New York’s director of operations.
Faith decided to get her mind off the High Dracon King by thinking of her mother and what secrets she could possibly be hiding. That was a normal train of thought, right?
Penelope was so uptight, totally focused on her job. That alone was the reason why Faith was able to live with her grandma, why Christine was more like a mother than she was. A quirky, anti-man mother, but still a mother. Penelope would probably give everything up for her job; she’d give her life, if Tullie asked for it. President Tullie was her idol, what she aspired to be, pantsuits and all.
Green eyes darting around the pool, Faith held in a sigh. They’d left the huge groves of forests a while ago. Now the scenery was less fantasy-forest like and more grassy-plains-of-the-American-midwest like. A tree every now and then, a shrubbery here and there. Mostly just grass with some boulders sprinkled in. Really tall grass, like hip-length. She’d joked about running from raptors more than once, but even Finn—th
e bastard—hadn’t laughed at her reference to Jurassic Park. What was a girl to do when no one found her jokes amusing?
The air felt cleaner here, too. Industrialization was a thing of Earth. Elves, at least, were one with nature, building from it instead of taking from it, like Humanity did. Rarely did they burn wood for fuel. They kept their air clean and crisp, and the weather was always temperate. The broken memories lingering inside Faith’s head told her not all of the lands of the Second were as balmy and nice.
Would she even make it to other kingdoms to experience it for herself? Doubtful.
Faith could hold in her sigh no longer. She let it out right before she dunked her head into the pool whose runoffs included three tiny streams. She had to stop thinking such depressing thoughts this instant. Spending what time she had left thinking about everything she’d never have the chance to do was sad and pathetic. She wasn’t that sort of girl.
When she was satisfied with the state of her body, her body odor rubbed away with the sheer force of her palms and the water, Faith heaved another sigh as she climbed out of the pool. What she would’ve done for a bar of soap and some deodorant. She bent to reach for her clothes, pausing as her ears heard a whistled tune. She glanced up, at the Malus who had interrupted her private time.
He liked to do that.
Faith straightened, leaving her clothes and boots bundled on the boulder beneath her wet feet. Her auburn hair dripped down her back, and she placed her hands on her hips, cocking her stance as she asked, “See anything you like?” She could barely get the question out seriously before her lips curved into a foolish grin.
Jag was Jag. He wore nothing but a loose set of pants whose strings dangled from their barely-tied position in the center of his muscular abdomen. No shoes, for his clawed feet got in the way, and no shirt, because he didn’t like the restrictive feeling. If the others weren’t so adamant he wear pants, Faith knew he’d gladly walk around naked all day, every day.
Though his most of his torso and his arms were lined with short black fur—and he had catlike ears sticking out of his head, not to mention the panther-like tail hanging behind him—he was cute. Less cute and more handsome when he gave her the knowing look he currently shared with her, but still cute. If a person was crossed with an animal, a malus would be the result. A manly, human-like body and face with just a few extra appendages and more fur.
His blue gaze traveled up and down her naked body more than once, and he gave her a toothy smile with teeth only slightly sharper than hers. “All of it,” he growled out before lunging at her. She let out a short chuckle as his hands found her hips, drawing her to him. He dug his face into the crook of her neck, tickling her as he nuzzled it. “I could stare at you constantly and never tire of it.”
She felt herself lean against him. His body was even warmer than the water, the fur on him soft. Her finger traced one of the blacker spots on his arm as she muttered, “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get something out of me?”
Jag withdrew his face from her neck, rose a single eyebrow, wordlessly telling her he didn’t have to try to get anything out of her, that she would more than willingly give him everything.
He was right, too. Damn it.
And then he picked her up and threw her back into the pool.
After being pressed against him, Faith shivered at the water’s contact. Her head bobbed up and she wiped her eyes, glaring at him with faked rage. “That wasn’t cool, Jag.” Her voice dripped sarcasm, much like her hair did again from the water.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jag said, tugging at the string on his pants. “But I’m going to argue that it was very cool.” His pants fell and, without a second thought, he leapt in after her, creating a much larger splash than she did by tucking his arms and legs in.
A cannonball. The Malus did a cannonball, not that he’d know what a cannonball was. They were both lucky the water was deeper than she was tall in the center of the pool.
Jag resurfaced in an instant, shaking his head. Water flew off the longer tuft of hair on his head, and he completed the waterlogged look by running a clawed hand through it, sticking it every which way.
Faith responded by splashing him, laughing all the while.
“My hair!” he exclaimed, giving her a wide-eyed, innocent look. She’d been played by the look before.
“Your hair’s already wet,” she said. “Nice try, though.”
He gave her a smile, wading closer to her. “I don’t have to try.” Beneath the water, an arm snaked around her, once again pressing her against him. This time he was as naked and wet as she was, and he was hard as a rock.
Her stomach fluttered; there was something about Jag she really liked. His wildness, his silliness, the way he nagged on Finn constantly for every little thing. Okay, maybe there was more than one thing. She was a pile of goo every time she looked at his body, too.
Jag was…Jag.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she said, “No, you don’t.” She couldn’t take a second more of his smug expression, so she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. Jag’s wildness made her feel wild, made her feel like an animal. That all she wanted to do was run her hands along every inch of his body, take him in—in every meaning of the word.
Suddenly, Faith found herself laughing into the kiss. Jag pulled back to ask, “What is it?”
She shrugged. “I just remembered how my grandma called you a furry.” Faith laughed even more. What would Christine think if she saw them like this? If she knew what they’d done together? Even if Jag didn’t have a tail and hyper-sensitive feline ears, Christine would pale and get sick, probably. All guys were a huge no-no where her grandma was concerned.
Jag shot her an adorable frown. “I don’t want to think of your elder right now, Faith.”
“Right, sorry.” Their mouths collided once more, though not for long.
This time it was Jag who interrupted, “What’s a furry? A Human who is hairy?”
Chuckling, she said, “No. A furry is…” God, how to explain it? Never in her life did she believe she’d have to tell someone what a furry was. Everyone back on Earth just knew, or pretended not to. “A Human who dresses up in animal costumes.”
“Like me?” He started to pull back, insulted, but she kept her grip around his neck, refusing to let him go.
“No, not like you. More animal than you.” Faith bit her bottom lip, watching him, angled up through her eyelashes. “Less of a man than you.” Best way to a man’s heart was to stroke his ego, whether it was untrue or not. In this case, it was entirely true. Furries didn’t have anything on Jag.
Jag smiled, keying her into the fact he wasn’t really upset at all. “I’m a man, am I? Hadn’t noticed.” He pressed his forehead against hers, whispering, “Have you?” His arm around her lower back tightened.
“Yes.” Her voice came out airy and wispy, the complete opposite of her usual tone. Her voice was strong and bold, not feminine and breathless, yet every time Jag got to her, it was more of this. More flirtatious moaning and banter she didn’t know she was capable of.
It wasn’t like she didn’t flirt with guys on Earth. She did. She even kissed a few, but they were nobodies. They weren’t important. She did it simply because her grandma told her not to. A stupid reason, really. At least she held off becoming a man-crazed sex fanatic until she wanted to. And, anyway, she had the feeling the guys on Earth would never compare to the group she had with her now. Finn begrudgingly included in their numbers.
The guys on Earth, not her group. Finn would never be a part of their group. Even if he wanted to, even if he was a fantastic kisser, it was something Faith’s pride wouldn’t allow. The asshole still thought she blew up a robo-cat in his face. The nerve.
“I could show you how much of a man I am, in case you are prone to forgetfulness,” Jag quipped with a grin. “The invitation is always open.”
“Maybe,” Faith said softly, drawing her hands down his chest,
feeling his muscles tensing beneath her touch, “you should show me now, just as a refresher.” Did Jag even know what a refresher was? She ran her mouth so much she never paused to think if it was an Earth saying he would understand.
Whether he understood it or not, Jag did not object. Not that she anticipated he would. He’d never turn her down, not when it came to something as important as the two of them coming together. Under the water, he hoisted her legs up, and she wrapped them around his waist, her arms once more clinging around his neck.
Her eyes closed. His scent of musky nature filled her senses, and she felt her whole body relax in his arms, ready to take him in. The anticipation was almost palpable in the air, the lust and the desire so strong neither of them could fight it.
But it wasn’t that easy, for a disgusted voice interrupted their reverie, saying, “Can you maybe not do that while I’m standing here?”
Faith’s eyes flew open, and both she and Jag turned their heads to see Finn standing twenty feet away, leaning on the lone tree in the area, arms crossed. His red hair hung over his forehead, missing the gel that usually combed its lengths back. His jade gaze was narrowed, lingering on Faith’s bare back.
“And why, pray tell,” Jag mused, hiding his annoyance well, “are you standing there? Unless you’d like to watch, in which case I think I say no, unless the lady says yes.”
“Hell no,” Faith said with a shake of her wet head.
“As she says,” Jag repeated, shrugging his shoulders, “hell no. Now, if you would, go away.”
“As if I’d want to burn my eyes,” Finn muttered half-heartedly. The entire group knew how badly that was a lie after the night when he epically failed kissing Faith. He’d held a grudge ever since. She couldn’t blame him, because it was kind of embarrassing.
Though not nearly as embarrassing as getting caught about to have sex.
Jag’s chest rumbled in what Faith could only call a growl. She hid her laughter behind a smile. “Well, you certainly seem to have the horrid habit of popping up where you’re least wanted. Perhaps you should make like a hyll and run away.” Jag’s voice was so firm and strong. When he growled out commands like that, Faith felt herself melt a little more. So manly it was ridiculous.
The Dread King: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 3) Page 1
