by Nyna Queen
Contents
Cover
Newsletter
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
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About the Author
Thanks a million for buying Web of Lies, Book Two in the Trueborn Heirs Series! You’re helping me living my dream!
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Levire Publishing
Levire UG (haftungsbeschränkt) & Co. KG
Teilfeld 8, 20459 Hamburg, Germany
http://www.levire.com
Copyright © 2019-2020 by Nyna Queen
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Levire Publishing, Levire UG (haftungsbeschränkt) & Co. KG.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Cover illustration and design by Teodora Chinde.
ISBN: 979–8-636-66090-3
Version 1
To my Dad, who introduced me to the world of fantasy books and gave wings to my heart and soul.
And to my Mom, for whose support there are not enough words in any dictionary on this planet.
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
Web of Lies is the second book in the Trueborn Heirs Series and while it was a super fun book to write, it was still a lot of work. Therefore, I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to all those who supported me during this next section on my path of paper dreams and ink hearts.
And here we go: First of all, a big thanks to Teodora Chinde and Victoria Villhauer, for creating another gorgeous cover – I absolutely love it! I would also like to thank my editor, Eluned Murphy, for all her suggestions, corrections, and tips. And another big thanks to the guys at Levire, for having faith in my books and for helping me with the layout, the publishing, and the marketing. And then, of course, there are the people, without whom this book just wouldn’t have turned out the way it did: Nadja Kunigk, Daniel Kiedrowski, Jan Thiel, Florian Hoffmann, Katharina Kiehn and the entire White Pearl crew (Sean, Dang, Nita, Les, Meiki) – thank you all for dealing with all my questions, crack-ups, and minor insanities, and for always being there.
The final thanks goes out to YOU, the readers, for following me on this amazing journey alongside Alex and Darken. You rock!
Let’s get the show on the road, shall we?
CHAPTER ONE
ALEX opened her eyes to a blurry white stretch that slowly sharpened into a stucco ceiling high above her head.
For a second she was completely disoriented. Panic lashed through her. Her eyes darted around the room. Modern but comfy wooden furniture: a dresser; a wardrobe; a wicker chair with fluffy blue and white pillows. A bedroom—obviously. And a posh one at that.
Muted morning light was falling in through half-open dove blue curtains. She was lying on top of a queen-size bed beneath creamy duvet covers, the kind they use in pictures of very noble hotels.
Alex’s heart leaped into her throat.
Am I dead?
As if this thought had been the key to some rusty lock, pain rushed her, together with a wild torrent of memories: the kids appearing in the Jester’s Inn; killing those would-be-guardaí; their hasty escape; clashing with Darken at the roadhouse; the car chase; bargaining with the Duke in Gomorrha; that fucking needle punching her neck for her venom; racing through the portal; Blayde and his iron wolves saving them in the Pacified Zone; Darken, burning with need and desire—Darken, all over her body and soul; the morning after, distanced and awkward; the false messenger; a letter from Darken that wasn’t from Darken, leading them into a pretty trap; the burning sense of betrayal at his supposed lack of trust; reanimated corpses and armed men coming for Max and Josy; racing across a grassy meadow; and pain—hot, vicious, searing pain and … Scarface!
Blind hatred flared in Alex’s chest like a jet of flame. Scarface, cutting her up with his little torture stick!
Instinctively her hands flipped down to her stomach, but instead of a gaping belly wound, she only felt smooth skin beneath soft fabric. No hole. No minced intestines. But … how? It had been a death wound. She knew it had.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Alex raised her hands to her face and stared at the perfect pearly skin around soft, pink nails which hadn’t yet keratinized enough to be anything but a thin, transparent layer over her nail beds. No sign of all the little scars and blemishes she had sustained over the last few years. She didn’t need to touch the nape of her neck to know that the needle wound would be gone as well.
She was perfect. Flawless. Like a newborn. Because, in a way, that’s exactly what she was.
Skin born from skin.
Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace! Somehow she had molted, renewing herself from the inside out. The question was, how in the Jester’s name had she done it? She had been too weak. Her recollection of the last events might be murky—those thugs had bashed her on the head pretty badly, and the torture and blood loss had done their part—yet she remembered that much. When Scarface had driven that hunting knife into her gut, she had tried to trigger the molting process yet there hadn’t been enough juice left in her to do so. And the kids—
The kids! Alex jolted upright and hissed in pain as the movement sent sharp needles of fire through her entire body. Sweet Jester, she had no clue what had happened to the children after she’d been dragged away. Josy had screamed and … and …
A chill wound around her limbs.
Were they—? Could they be—?
No! Alex forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. No, they had to be okay. Darken would have seen to that. Yes. He had come for them. Only in her case, he had been too late. And yet here she was, good as new, instead of being six feet under where she ought to be, and she had no clue how the hell that had happened. Or wherever here was.
Well, she wouldn’t find out by just lying there.
Slowly and carefully, so as not to damage her virgin skin, Alex pushed herself up into a full sitting position and dangled her legs over the edge of the bed. This small exercise felt as if she’d tried to shove a bulldozer
up a mountain slope. For a moment she just sat there, hunched over and dizzy, panting for breath, while she waited for the searing pain in her body to abide.
The blanket slid aside, revealing champagne-colored silk pajamas that were a couple of inches too short at her wrists and ankles. Someone had taken the chance to undress her. Alex felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. To think that someone had seen her naked when she was so horribly vulnerable …
Oh, come on, sugar! Whoever has undressed you, likely saved your life, too.
When the fiery needles in her skin had finally turned into mere prickles, she let her feet slide to the floor. The cold parquet boards bit into the hyper-sensitive skin of her bare soles.
A pair of velvety slippers had been placed next to the bed. With a shrug, Alex slipped her feet into them.
Draped over the back of a nearby chair hung a plum-colored dressing gown. When Alex reached for it, her eyes fell upon something on the plush seat. She froze. There, neatly folded like a piece of transparent, iridescent clothing, lay her shed skin. Revulsion slithered through her, squeezing her chest and throat. With a shudder, Alex snatched the dressing gown, and quickly averted her eyes, while she threw it around her shoulders. Even the soft fabric felt heavy and rough on her virgin skin and she knew that it would be scrubbed raw in the evening, no matter what kind of clothing she wore today. The first day after molting was always the worst. Still—better than being dead, right?
Belting the robe around her middle, Alex slunk over to the door, looking around on the off-chance she might spot something she could use as a weapon. Not that she actually thought she would need one—after all, if her mysterious host had meant her any harm, he or she could have just let her die. Yet, it never hurt to be prepared. And if nothing else, it would make her feel a little better. Especially now that she wouldn’t have access to her true skin for a while.
Alex grimaced. Despite the burning temptation, she didn’t try to let her true skin rise to the surface. Like her human skin, it would still be in development and utterly useless if it came to a fight.
That’s what made the ordeal of molting twofold for shapers, despite the obvious upsides: it left them completely vulnerable for a couple of days. Not to mention the fact that the first time that she unleashed her teeth and claws, they would rip open the connective membranes that merged her skins, and the pain would be horrific. The last time she had blacked out from the sheer agony. Like it or not, she was quite helpless right now and there was nothing she could do about it.
Alex paused by the door and listened for a moment but silence was all she got for her troubles. Oh well. As quietly as she could, she opened the door and poked her head out.
To her left stretched a hallway with several wooden doors on both sides. A mottled, sea foam green carpet bordered by wallpapers in various shades of pale blue, white, and gray gave her the impression that she was looking out over a windswept open sea. This was reinforced by the twisted lamps made of bubbly glass that broke the light, the arrangements of shells, and the bushels of reeds rising from long floor vases. To complete the picture, gauzy, green-blue curtains billowed at the end of the hallway like gently rippling waves, framing a glass screen through which a huge stone balcony could be seen. And in front of the glass door—
Alex’s heart did a double flip.
Darken was leaning against the wall with his back to her, staring out into the hazy morning.
He must have taken a shower at some point, for his hair and skin were clean and free of blood, and she could smell a hint of his masculine soap—a mixture of cedarwood, herbal spice, and musk. He had changed into a pair of black denim pants and a dark gray sweater that clung to his muscular shoulders and loosened towards his waist.
Apart from that, he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in several days. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and every inch of his body appeared taut with tension and tiredness. In the window, she caught the reflection of his face. His mouth was pressed into a tight line and dark circles shadowed his eyes. Worry was carving lines into his unduly handsome face.
Worry for her?
An unexpected warmth simmered through her.
Oh, now don’t be ridiculous, sugar! There were a thousand good reasons why he could be worried and her well-being was probably at the very bottom of that long list. First, there were the kids. Anxiety bit at her again, but Alex wrestled it down. If anything dire had happed to Max or Josy, Darken would be tearing this place down, instead of standing there, so deceptively calm. Yes, they were fine. Clearly, they were.
More likely, he was worried about her underbred shaper-ass being in this precious trueborn place. The thought made her chest tighten.
True, Darken hadn’t written that bloody letter, hadn’t ordered them to the “meeting point” at the border—all a well-wrought trap designed to lure her and the kids out of the safety of the Pacified Zone—he hadn’t given that insulting order to keep a watching brief over her filthy spider fingers. Yet that didn’t mean that any of it was less true. She wasn’t an airhead and Darken had acted extremely distanced and odd the morning after their little … fling. Just remembering how easily he had lied about it when the warmth of his skin had barely left her pillow …
Alex bit her lip.
Oh, he had saved her life, too, she was pretty sure of that. There was a blurry recollection of his face, hovering above her, blood-smeared and contorted with deadly rage. Terrifying and glorious.
There were other things, too: flashes of consciousness burning through pain-filled darkness; his arms around her, carrying her away; his voice, husky and soft, telling her—pleading with her—not to leave him. Yet she had no way of telling whether those were real memories or delusions born by her delirious state. Likely the latter. After all, she also remembered him calling her “love,” and that simply couldn’t have been real.
She had to be reasonable about this.
Alex took a deep breath and stepped forward on silent feet.
Like several times before, Darken somehow seemed to sense her approach, or, perhaps, he had seen her movement reflected in the glass of the window.
Alex steeled herself. Reasonable. Be reasonable.
But then he turned and all thoughts of reasonableness fled from her mind.
Their eyes met and she knew she was already lost.
DARKEN braced himself against the wall of the hallway. Fatigue weighed upon his shoulders like a heavy blanket, dripping weariness into the marrow of his bones.
Outside the sun was rising above the treetops. At first a mere sliver of light, it suddenly blossomed with breathtaking halos of white-gold, pearl, and pale pink, as if a skilled artist was spreading watercolors over the silken paper of the sky. Darken stared out through the window at the spectacular sunrise, oblivious to the beauty unfurling before his eyes.
After anchoring Alex to her flesh and conducting the first stage of the healing, Josepha had fainted from the rapid exertion of magic and the exhaustion of the previous days, which had caused a small riot among the maids. Summoned by their hysteric screams, he had raced up the stairs, heart hammering, prepared for the worst. He found them crowded around the lifeless bodies of his niece and Alex in the sickroom. Most horrible two minutes of his life. Even bringing back the memory meant his chest became so tight, he could barely breathe.
Josepha had woken quickly after and, against the combined outrage of the maids and his own concerns, had immediately thrown herself into completing the healing that she had started.
Too restless to even think about sleep, Darken had prowled the mansion, scaring the servants into hiding, while fighting against the cresting worry that fueled his already volatile temper.
Even after Josy had finally staggered out of the sickroom hours later, pale and swaying on her feet from tiredness, but with a content smile on her hollow face, and had told him that she was confident that Alex was over the worst, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. He had seen the damage. And while Jos
epha was without a doubt a very talented young healer apprentice, she had never attempted to heal anything so dire, and she had no experience with shapers at all. She couldn’t know.
So he had returned here—for whatever good it did—keeping watch over the spider from afar, fearing, hoping, and waiting.
The last few hours had given him plenty of time to get clear about some things.
He wanted Alex. Plain and simple.
He wanted her.
When she had nearly died in his arms last night, it had almost driven him out of his mind. The sudden feeling of imminent loss had opened a raging hole inside him as if a vital organ had been ripped from his chest, and the sensation had shaken him to the core of his being. It was a completely irrational feeling; they hadn’t known each other for more than a couple of chaotic, adrenaline-filled days and yet, to imagine the spider gone from this world … gone from his world …
His hands involuntarily clenched into tight fists at his sides. No more derisively risen eyebrows, no more sly winks, no more outraged snarls, or sugar-taunts.
Darken closed his eyes and released his breath slowly.
He wanted her. And not just in a sexual way. The physical attraction was one thing—she was an erotic dream, no man in his right mind would be able to deny that—but that wasn’t even beginning to cover it. The short time they had spent together had felt like a brief reprieve from the bleakness of his life. Being with Alexis Harper was a thrilling dance along the edge of a knife. No pretense, only truth, even if it came with a sharp, painful promise. She had seen the worst of him but instead of running, she had risked her life for him and the children. He had never met a woman like her and he seriously doubted there was one.
