by May Dawson
“What has gotten into you, Skyla?” Jennifer asked.
“That is not a social worker from CPS,” I said. “I’ve read about being a social worker—”
“Of course you have,” Jennifer sighed.
“And I’ve read about how CPS works. Do you know how much work goes into a social work degree? Those people are highly trained professionals who are grossly underpaid, if you ask me, and they know how to talk to kids. That? In there? That is not years of study and unpaid internships and intense passion because like, there are easier ways of making a living.”
Jennifer stared at me, her lips falling open.
That happened sometimes when I talked. It happened at school a lot too, but at least since we moved here, the kids didn’t make fun of me. They just gave me a puzzled look and said, “Okay.” Chase said I had to adapt, but that was a lot easier here, where at least, kids weren’t trying to torture me for being different.
After a pause, Aunt Jennifer seemed to reboot. “I know you don’t want this to be true,” she said. “but I had a call already from CPS. And she knows the name of your teacher and your principal. Her paperwork seems to be in order. The school referred you to her, and I can understand why. You are being cared for by other children.”
“Okay first of all, I don’t talk about our situation at school,” I said. “First rule of a slightly offbeat lifestyle choice, don’t talk about it around noobs.”
She closed her eyes as if she was praying for strength.
“Second of all, you can’t know that much about her paperwork because you spent like fifteen seconds at the door with her before you decided to invite her in,” I said. “You don’t know who she is. She could be a serial killer. She could kidnap me. If she says she’s taking me to CPS headquarters, don’t let her do it. It’s a kidnapping.”
“There’s no such thing as CPS headquarters,” she said. “That’s not how it works.”
“Oh good! You do know something!”
That was Aunt Jennifer’s tipping point. Adults really hate it when you remind them that just because they’re older and should be wiser doesn’t mean they are, in fact, smarter.
She leaned down so we were eye-to-eye and hissed, “You’re embarrassing me right now,”
“Yeah, you would hate for the serial killer to think you were a bad mother-substitute after you let her into our home.”
“I thought we agreed no more true crime shows for you,” she said. “Skyla Freeman, you are going to go in there and you are going to politely and honestly answer her questions, and then this will all be over. It will be fine.”
I stared her down. “You can make me talk to her. But you can’t make everything be fine. Nothing about this is fine, Jennifer.”
“Aunt Jennifer,” she corrected. “And great, okay, I’ll take what I can get. Let’s go in there and talk to her.”
She held out her hand, and with a sigh, I took it.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something very, very bad on the way.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Maddie
Vines and flowers dripped from the walls, and the ballroom was softly lit by twinkling white globes that seemed to hang suspended from the air. Rich tapestries were pinned open to reveal little stone nooks dug into the stone walls.
There was a stone dais at one end, with an empty throne, surrounded by musicians.
“I’ll take that dance now,” Turic said, taking my hand in his. Lively music played, and the laughter of the knights seemed to echo through the room, filling it with warmth. A surly-looking Arlen danced by, holding a beautiful Fae female at arm’s length as if she might bite him, and I almost smiled.
I didn’t answer Turic, but I followed his lead. He didn’t care what I said anyway.
His every movement was graceful and agile, and I felt stiff and ungainly in comparison as he tried to whirl me around the room. I didn’t want to dance with anyone but my men, even though I knew the culture might be different here.
He stopped abruptly, though the music played on and other dancers whirled around us. He eyed me as other dancers orbited around us, breaking the smoothness of the dance.
“You need some wine,” he said, humor in his voice. “You desperately need to loosen up.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know the steps.”
“You don’t know how to follow,” he said, but he didn’t seem offended by it. “I pity that male of yours, if that’s true as a general rule.”
He steered me toward long tables at the corner of the room, filled with elaborate desserts—cookies molded like flowers, a cake that seemed to soar into the air in dainty layers, dozens of shiny-glazed chocolates—and crystal bottles of wine. He poured me a glass and passed it to me.
“Are you married?” I asked, because I’m terrible at small talk.
“Not anymore,” he said lightly. “She was bitten by an asp in our garden.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” His gaze swept through the crowd. I followed where he looked, curious to see what he was searching for. But my eyes met Rafe’s, dark and smoldering even though he stood across the room, talking to several of the Fae knights.
“Those males you travel with seem quite protective of you.”
“We’re all close. Family.” I said.
“The warrior’s way,” he said, and clinked his glass with mine. “My own warriors are the same.”
He raised his glass to his lips and took a long sip, and I followed suit with a much smaller sip. When he lowered the glass, his upper lip was stained red.
“Thank you for letting us attend your party tonight,” I said. “It’s interesting to get a glimpse into Fae life.”
“You could stay,” he said, without hesitation. “While some of your males travel to retrieve the Hooksbane. There’s hardly any need for all of you to traipse across the spring court. You could explore our city, our forests. It’s a beautiful world.”
“That’s a very kind offer, thank you,” I said, with no idea if it was kind or not.
The entire Fae court gave me a headache. But with a little luck, we’d be out of here in twenty-four hours. We’d be back on that beautiful blue planet they called ‘dirtside’ so rudely.
“But you would never let yourselves be separated.” He watched me over the top of his cup as he took another sip.
“We’re stronger together.” I mimicked him with a smaller sip. We knew the wine wouldn’t hurt us after our meals here, but I still wanted to take it slowly.
“Yes you are,” he said, and I wasn’t quite sure I cared for the subtext of his words.
He squeezed my elbow and said, “I see someone I must speak with tonight. I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to enjoy the party—but thank you for the dance, Maddie.”
“Thank you.” Relief flooded at my chest to be left alone.
“Drink more wine,” he said, raising his glass, “and maybe you’ll find me more charming the next time I see you.”
I smiled at that, raising my glass in return, before he wound his way through the crowd. People melted away from him, as if he were frightening.
“I don’t like him,” Rafe muttered, materializing at my side.
I jumped. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m always here,” he said.
“Stalker.”
“You’ve been sharp with me today.” He took the glass of wine out of my hand and glanced into it, as if he were gauging how much I drank, and I frowned and took it back. Electricity seemed to spark between us when our fingers overlapped. “But then, you’re always sharp.”
“And you’re always bossy.”
“But I love it about you,” he added.
“I feel like I should say the same to be polite, but I’m not sure I mean it.”
“The Lord Regent seems interesting,” he said.
“Not very,” I disagreed.
“You shouldn’t drink much tonight,” he said.
“Neither should you.”
“One glass, perhaps. That’s all I’m having.”
“Same.” I clinked my glass against his. We both took a sip. My headache was fading into something giddy and light. At least I knew from experience one glass didn’t make a difference for either of us.
“Give me a moment of your time, please,” he said, his hand going to my hip.
“I am, Rafe.” As I gazed up at him, there was sudden heat in his eyes that made me uncertain what kind of moment he meant, and my nipples pebbled against the soft, silky fabric of my dress.
“Are you jealous?” I almost laughed. “Of the Fae? I’m trying to be a good teammate.”
“You’re not just my teammate and you know it,” he said.
“But you’ll always put the mission first.”
His eyes blazed, though his face was emotionless, and I knew I’d just misstepped.
My lips twisted, trying to contain my smile. “You’d be angry if I thought you wouldn’t put the mission first.”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “I can protect you and put the mission first.”
No, he couldn’t. But he wanted to—and if I knew Rafe, he would twist himself into a circle of angst and misery trying. But I didn’t want to talk about that right now; I’d file it away on my long list of things to worry about with these men.
For now, I just gave him a slow smile I knew he wouldn’t return. “Or maybe it’s not complicated at all, and you just like being angry at me.”
He took another sip of his wine, his eyes still smoldering over the top of the cup. Then his hand tightened on my hip, walking me back, and I moved with him—in a much smoother dance than with the Lord Regent.
“Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe I want to be angry with you right now.”
I took another sip of my own wine, realized it was empty—when I had drained it—and set it down on the table. I wanted both my hands free.
Rafe walked me back until my back hit the stone wall, the tapestry to my right brushing the bare skin of my shoulder. He dropped the cup, and it hit the stone floor with a clink. I knew it was already empty.
He probably didn’t remember draining it either.
“There’s something happening to us,” I said, stopping him with a hand on his broad, hard chest. The planes of that chest were distracting, even through his shirt, and my fingertips traced up the fine, crisp material of his shirt, feeling his heat. I almost forgot what I was saying, then managed, “Some kind of magic.”
His eyes were dilated with desire, like an addict’s, but he seemed to hear my words. He shook his head as if to clear it, and relief flooded my chest. We’d get through this together.
“You’re right,” he said. “That wasn’t the same wine… we have to get everyone and get out of here.”
“I bet Silas—” I began, and he stopped me, pressing his thumb over my lips.
I stared up at him as he dragged his thumb down my lips, parting them. “I am happy to share you, Maddie, but at this particular moment, after seeing you flirt with the Regent, I don’t want to hear another man’s damned name on your lips.”
“You are jealous,” I said, and it made me smile.
“You little imp,” he said, and his head bent toward my throat. He kissed the lobe of my ear softly, and I made a small sound of need, a keening sound that came from deep in my throat. His knee slid between my thighs, pinning my skirt to the wall, and I ground down on his hip. He nipped my earlobe, his tongue darting against the curve of it, and I ran my hands under his jacket, across the hard width of his shoulders. “You gorgeous reprobate.”
“I love when you call me names,” I said, and it reminded me of how he used to scold me, and I jolted. I glanced around the room—no one seemed to be looking at us—caught his wrist, and towed him behind me, flicking the tapestry shut behind us.
Then we were in the dim glow of one of those stone nooks. There were pillows on the floor and on the carved wooden bench, as if to make this a pleasant place for private conversation, but there was no one here.
“Stay with me, Rafe,” I murmured. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Out of this whole damned world,” he said, as if he remembered.
“It is beautiful, though,” I said, looking at his lips, which were beautiful too. “Part of me hates to leave it.”
“Clearly, you have an invitation to stay if you’d like,” he said, his brows arching. “You make quite an impression in every world, Northsea.”
“Oh, last names. I’m in trouble.”
He was close to me again then, pressing me into the wall, and I made a small sound of need as his hands caressed my thighs, swept up the curve of my ass. I pressed forward into him, our bodies swaying together, as close as possible as his lips found mine.
He kissed me as if he was branding me, like he was trying to punish me with his hard, demanding mouth. But he’d never hurt me in any way that didn’t make me happy, and I almost smiled against his mouth, before he commanded my full attention by nipping my bottom lip.
He nudged my lips open with the tip of his tongue, and I retaliated by tilting my head, my tongue gliding against his, kissing him back just as furiously. I breathed his spiced, dark scent in, as intense and heady as it had felt in my wolf days, when my senses were sharper, and my knees went weak.
His hands splayed across my ass, pulling my hips taut against his, and I felt the hard swell of his cock hot against my stomach.
“So mad at me,” I murmured into the space between our mouths, my hand sweeping down the curve of his lean thigh until I could grip him tightly in one hand. He was hard, straining against the front of his pants, as if his cock longed to be freed.
“Are you worried I am,” he asked, before his lips found the side of my throat and began to suck a bruise. His lips hurting me so sweetly burned straight to my aching core. He pulled away to press a kiss to the spot he’d just hurt. “Or are you asking me to be?”
“Never worried,” I promised him, and even though the two of us were drunk on each other just then, his lips curled up as if that pleased him.
His hands were tight on my hips before he spun me around, and my hands sought purchase on the cool, slick stone in front of us. He rucked my skirt up inch by inch. My breath caught at the feel of his rough, warm palms when they swept across my thighs.
Then his lips plundered my throat and shoulders again. My knees turned soft, and my forehead met the cool wall as I let him wash over me, as if he were a storm I couldn’t resist.
He seemed to be trying to devour me, kissing and biting and sucking on my throat, and I tilted my head to one side, welcoming him in. His lips on my neck sent an electric pulse down my spine, and I rocked my ass back against his hard cock, wanting more of him.
The band played music that seemed frantic now, intense as the storm that took us both over. It seemed to echo my feelings as his hand swept up the inside of my thigh, until his fingers stroked over my throbbing core, and he paused.
His fingertips paused against my clit, slick with my wet heat, and my body rippled with desire. If I’d dared, I would’ve pressed myself harder against those fingers—but I knew his games.
“No underwear?” His voice was a low rumble in my throat. “You wicked girl.”
“Your wicked girl,” I reminded him, and the words seemed to light a fire inside him.
Those fingers caressed me, hard and unforgiving as if he knew exactly what I liked, finding the aching spot and thrumming it as my whole body lit up like the lights that hung from the ceiling. My back arched, my head finding a spot on his chest that felt like home, and his fingers stroked an unspooling feeling that rose through my body until it came out as a long, desperate, heady moan from my throat.
His hand dropped away suddenly, and I almost fell as he released me. I turned to look at him over my shoulder, cold air skating over my heated clit, thinking this was the punishment. But his pupils were still blown as if I were some kind of addi
ction for him.
“I want to taste you,” he said, pushing me down on the bench. Cold, polished wood—a bench older than our own country—met my ass, and I might’ve thought that was funny, except he gripped my thighs, pushing them up until they met my stomach.
He fell between my thighs as if he desperately needed to have his mouth on my clit. He licked me, a long, slow swirl of his tongue as if he were gathering every bit of my heat in his mouth, working around my clit, between my folds. I gasped, my thighs tensing and trembling at the sensation, but he was already plunging his tongue inside me. There was nothing to do with the restless power that swept through my body—I ran my hands through his hair, then through my own as my back arched.
Rafe was a fire of desire, consuming me, every bit of me, as I writhed and arched against that bench, knowing I would fall if he would let me, but he gripped me tightly, forcing me to take every bit of pleasure he could spark with that wicked tongue.
The disparate points of lights above me blurred into one glow that slowly grew more blindingly bright as release, white hot and crackling, swept through my body.
I couldn’t hold back a scream as I came, but the wild music playing just seemed to rise, covering the sound.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tyson
My friends were slipping into madness.
I didn’t realize it at first. Not when Rafe and Maddie disappeared behind the curtain into the alcove. Not when Jensen and Arlen got into a friendly grappling match that led to bared chests. They’d been surrounded by clapping, laughing Fae ladies who turned to each other with sparks in their eyes and unsavory murmurings on their colorful lips. Then Lex, laughing at Jensen, dragged him out of the ballroom to tend his wounds, though Arlen seemed to be nursing just as many.
But as the music grew more frantic, more wild, the Fae players’ bows screaming across the fiddles so fast that there was something not quite natural about it, Penn let one of the Fae ladies draw him out onto the dance floor. That wasn’t like him, but we had our mission, to keep peace until we could escape in the morning, so I sipped my wine and smiled at the sight of my friend, always a far more agile dancer than one would expect, keeping up with the Fae. She seemed charmed by him, her eyes fixed on his face.
