by M. J. Scott
“Why not?”
“Because if I let you in, I might do something stupid.”
“Are you forgetting the fact I can set you on fire?”
“No. But I have a feeling that you might be the type who does stupid things too.”
“Let me in, Fen. Let me help you.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then stepped back. “So be it. But this was your choice—don’t forget that.”
He let me past him, then shut the door. The room was nearly dark, the only light coming from a couple of almost spent candles set in brass holders on the mantel.
There were gaslights on the walls. I walked over and turned one on. Somehow illumination seemed a safer option than intimate darkness. When I turned back, Fen still stood by the door, watching me.
“Afraid of the dark?” he said softly. He leaned against the door, seemingly casual, but there was something too careful in his stance. Something trying to mask pain or . . . I couldn’t quite decide. Something both tightly wound and carefully held at bay.
“Anyone who lives in this City and isn’t, is an idiot,” I said, deliberately ignoring the challenge in his tone. I looked around the room, then moved to one of the low armchairs. I removed my boots with quick movements and sat, tucking my legs up in the chair, finding my favorite position. “Why don’t you come sit down and I’ll see if I can make you feel better.”
Fen cocked his head at me. “If you go around talking like that to all the boys you meet, Prentice DuCaine, then you have reason to be afraid of the dark.”
Apparently he thought flirting was going to scare me away. He needed to think again. I wasn’t going to play his games. “Right now I’m worried about you.”
“About the delegation, you mean?”
I shook my head at him. “That’s not why I came. But I won’t lie to you—”
“Well, that puts you in the minority,” he interrupted.
“Oh, be quiet. I have just as much reason to be upset with Simon and the rest of them as you do. If not more. Come and sit down.” I patted the velvet chair next to mine, trying to coax him like I did Hannah when she was in one of her moods.
He waited a long moment, then obeyed. But not before he picked up a shirt from another chair as he passed and dropped it over his head, hiding all that expanse of muscle and chest from my view. I tried to ignore the part of me that wanted to protest. I was here to help him. Nothing more. This was about ease and comfort. Nothing different from the touches we’d already shared.
But once he’d lowered his long, lean form into the chair, I hesitated, not entirely sure where to put my hands. Should I take one of his? Or lay my hands on his head? Simon would do the latter, I thought, but whatever it was that let me do this for Fen, it wasn’t healer power.
And Fen had been right—I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t do something less than sensible.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head back to look up at me, eyes half closed against the light. He looked like a big black cat, half languid ease and half coiled power.
He looked . . . tempting.
I was determined not to be tempted. “Nothing.” Setting my jaw so I wouldn’t ask him to put some more clothes on, I looked at his right arm, where the chain snaked around his wrist. “Have you been wearing that all the time?”
He made a noncommittal noise.
Even in the yellowish light I could see that the skin beneath the chain was bruised and angry-looking. But, if I judged his mood correctly, this was hardly the time to ask more about his visions. I should talk to Holly when I got a chance. Perhaps I could come up with an alloy that might work to block the visions without hurting him. After all, the main reason that metalmages with an affinity for iron were valued was because they did best at creating alloys with the same properties. Not that any one of us had actually cracked the code yet and come up with something that did everything iron did.
We had alternatives, but none of them were true substitutes. They didn’t last as long as iron, or if they did, they lacked the same strength when you tried to work them.
“If you’re going to do something, do it,” Fen said from beside me. His voice sounded slightly strained . . . as though he was fighting with himself.
I took a deep breath, then laid my hand on his forearm. That seemed safe enough. His muscles were tense beneath my palm, but as I closed my fingers gently, he let out a breath and I could almost see some of the strain releasing. His eyes drifted shut and he leaned his head back against the chair.
“You were hurting, weren’t you?” I said.
Another untranslatable noise.
“Men,” I muttered. Then, slightly louder, “We had a deal, you and I. I said I would help you with this. You should have asked me.”
“I had other things on my mind,” he said.
Simon, he meant. Ignatius. Atherton. Reggie. Things I didn’t want to talk about now. Not when I was so bone-tired and couldn’t really remember why I couldn’t just lie down on Fen’s bed and go to sleep. But still, there was no sleep to be had if I didn’t know whether Fen was coming back tomorrow to reaffirm his decision to join the human delegation.
First, though, a few minutes surcease for him. If nothing else, it might improve his temper.
I stayed quiet, watching him breathe. Feeling the rhythm of my own breath synchronize with his. His eyes stayed shut and I wondered for a moment if he had fallen asleep, but then decided not. He was more relaxed, but there was still an underlying awareness in his body, and traces of fatigue and pain still tightened his face.
And this was before he was expected to use his powers for us, to deliberately open himself to more pain. I believed in the necessity of the treaty, that the City would fall if we didn’t have it to limit the excesses of the Blood and Beast Kind. Fall for humans, at least.
But I was starting to realize that there was also a cost to keeping the peace. I’d known what Guy risked in the Templars, but he’d been a knight for so much of my life, I was almost inured to that danger. I’d learned how to shut off the worry and anxiety and wall it away in a part of my brain that I could ignore most of the time.
Simon had seemed safe enough once he’d left the Templars for the healers. Yes, his work carried risks, risks that had been amplified with the appearance of Lily in our lives. I hadn’t truly known how much risk until tonight.
And here was another man at risk. One who didn’t even seem to care, like Simon and Guy did. Which made me wonder exactly why I cared about him. Because the truth was, I did. Maybe that was why Holly and Lily had warned me off Fen. Because he could charm and snare an unwary woman. Well, charm me he may have, but I would do my best to avoid the trap. That would just be putting myself at risk of an altogether different kind. Right now I needed to focus on the negotiations.
If I got to be part of them.
If I could convince this man to stay with us. I knew one way to try, of course. That was simple enough. I could give in to temptation and try and snare him first.
I didn’t think he’d fight too hard, even though he might offer a token protest.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Fen stirred, his arm flexing beneath my hand. I fought the temptation to stroke him, to soothe, to run my own hands along the warm skin and see what happened. At his throat, I saw his pulse beating a little too fast.
And that made me wonder what he was thinking about. Made my own pulse bump up a notch or two.
Don’t be stupid, I thought fiercely. I needed to do something to break the air of intimacy that seemed to have stolen into the room and surrounded us, weaving a web that was drawing me closer to him.
I took a breath. “Are you feeling better?”
“Define better.” One eye cracked half open. “My head hurts less.”
“What about your temper?” It was a risky course of conversation, but I had to ask.
The other eye opened and his head lifted. “My temper?”
“You were . . . angry when you left.”<
br />
“Don’t you think I had a right to be?”
“I didn’t say you didn’t. I asked how you were feeling.” I pulled my hand away.
Fen winced. I reached to put my hand back and he moved his arm out of reach.
I leaned back in my own chair. If that was how he wanted it, so be it. “Well?”
“What you really want to know is if I’m still going to be part of the delegation.”
Well, so much for skirting the subject. I had to remember that he was quick, this man. “Yes.” I nodded, folding my arms across my chest. “Yes, I would like to know the answer to that question.”
“So that you get to go.”
“No. Well, not entirely,” I amended. “I want to know that you’ll do it because I think that we need you, Fen. You might be able to see something coming that no one else has a chance to. Something that might make all the difference.”
“Or I might see nothing. Or kill myself trying. Or get killed.”
Kill himself? Was the pain that bad? He’d added the “or get killed” as an afterthought. Trying to cover up the bit of truth he’d blurted unknowingly.
“If you don’t try, then you’ll definitely see nothing. As for the rest, well, the future is uncertain. You know that better than anyone.” I tried to coax a smile from him. “But I will help you with the pain and I’m sure Simon will too if you ask. There are Fae healers at St. Giles. Lady Bryony or—”
“Bryony sa’Eleniel would want nothing to do with my kind.”
“Bryony? Why would she have any issue with you? She was perfectly civil tonight.”
He looked away. “Tonight was different. You don’t know—”
“I do. And I also know that she has helped both Holly and Lily. And Lily’s a wraith.” The Fae hated wraiths. But Bryony had made her peace with Lily. Which meant she should have no issue with Fen’s heritage. “Bryony’s a healer, Fen. She’ll help you if she can.”
“I don’t want any help from the Fae.”
I bit down my retort. Exasperating man. “Have it your way. You’re the one who has to bear the pain.”
“Nice to hear that acknowledged.”
I sighed. I didn’t think that this conversation was going to get any easier. Or any more useful. Lily had been wrong. I should have waited until morning. Let him sleep it off and give him time to think. If Fen was anything like Simon and Guy, he would prefer time on his own to let his temper cool.
Pity that we’re almost out of time, the waspish voice in my head said.
I stood abruptly. “I should let you sleep.” I looked around for my boots, spotted them a little ways from the chair.
“Going so soon?” His tone was almost nasty and I felt myself flinch a little.
“I don’t think there’s anything else for me to do here.”
“Gods, Saskia . . .”
“What?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. You’re right. You should go.”
“And you should learn some manners,” I snapped, my own temper suddenly biting under the strain of fatigue and confusion and tangled attraction.
“Oh?”
“You could at least thank me for helping you,” I said. “And perhaps see that I got to a ’cab safely.”
“You want thanks?” He seemed to flow out of the chair, his eyes suddenly sparking green. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Then let me say thank you, Miss DuCaine.” His voice was almost a growl and I was too distracted by the glare on his face to react when he closed the gap between us with one sudden step and pulled me close.
“Wha—”
The protest died on my lips as his mouth closed over mine.
Chapter Twelve
SASKIA
He tasted dark and dangerous. Hot and sweet. His kiss was fierce, almost desperate, and an answering wave of desperate heat flowed up through me, making me wonder if my chain was burning. But no, it wasn’t the metal that was hot—it was my skin. As though all my nerves had sparked to life with wanting.
The chain against my throat was chill in comparison.
Fen pulled me closer, flush against him, so there was no escaping the evidence that he wanted me too. His erection pressed against me, sending another wave of pleasure shivering over me.
Desire. Gods. I wanted to lose myself in it, to chase away what had happened tonight, but I fought to keep my head above the rising tide of lust. To think rather than feel.
Because desire wasn’t the reason—or at least not the only reason—that he was kissing me, and with that realization came an equal one that if desire wasn’t the reason, then I didn’t want him to kiss me.
I pulled away, making the movement even more definite as he tried to pull me back toward him, until I was free from his grasp and several steps separated us.
“What did you do that for?” I said.
He looked both annoyed and half amused. “You wanted me to thank you.”
“You think that’s a thank-you?”
“I don’t usually get complaints.” His pupils were large, darkening his irises to a green like midnight.
“Then you are kissing the wrong sort of women.”
“Oh? What sort would that be?”
“Idiots,” I spat.
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“Of course I mind!”
“Why? Didn’t you enjoy it?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“I mind,” I said slowly, ignoring his question. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of answering. It was none of his business. “Because you were kissing me to make a point.”
“You’re wrong.”
Wrong? Did he think I was stupid? The chain around my neck suddenly felt very warm as my temper flared and I directed the power into the fire behind me, which suddenly whooshed to furious life. “Is that so? So why did you kiss me exactly?”
His eyes glittered dangerously, his mouth twisting, then relaxing before he spoke. “Because this has been a pretty horrible day, and right now I don’t want someone to hold my hand. What I want is another sort of touch altogether.”
My skin was catching on fire, I was sure of it. His voice seemed to slide over it like warm velvet, stoking the flames higher. “I—”
“Which is why you should leave. Because right now, I figure the only thing that might make me feel better would be tossing up your skirts and fucking you.”
My mind went blank as the breath left my lungs. And then with a rush, filled again with images of him doing exactly that.
My gaze slid to the bed, to the rumpled sheets, the dark velvet counterpane that was a deep and dangerous red. Deep enough to sink into. I could feel the cotton and velvet against my skin as truly as though I lay upon them, pressed into them with the weight of the man before me. The sensation, true or not, ignited another wave of desire, a pulse that started between my legs and exploded out from there so swiftly, I felt my knees tremble.
Control. I bit my lip, forced my gaze back to Fen. He couldn’t have meant it. He was trying to get me to leave.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t want to do the sensible thing, the right thing, the well-behaved-human-girl thing. I wanted what he wanted. Wanted to lose myself in whatever madness caused this heat between us and forget the world beyond the walls for a time.
But the fact remained that he was saying the things he was saying to scare me away.
Or was he?
There was color in his face too and his pupils were dark pools, shading out the green. His breath came, I fancied, a little faster than it should as he watched me.
What would happen were I to call his bluff? And how exactly could I do that?
“You should go,” Fen said, his voice a low hum that seemed to only increase the tension vibrating in the room.
My mouth was dry. I swallowed before replying. “What if I don’t want to?”
“Saskia . . . ,” he said warningly. “Don’t push me. I�
��m not one of your nice safe human boys.”
“Maybe not. Maybe I’m not who you think I am either.”
“Is that so?” He tilted his head, his expression suddenly intent. “I’m not playing a game here. If you stay, then I’m going to take you to bed. Is that what you want?”
I managed a single nod, unable to look away. Unable to deny what I was feeling.
“Very well. Take off your dress.”
I had the feeling he was still testing, still seeing if I would stay or flee. But even as I tried to work out how I felt about that, my fingers reached for the buttons that held the front of my dress together. One small mercy of wearing one of my student dresses, I could get in and out of it by myself. Only now I wasn’t by myself, was I?
I almost missed the next button at the thought. Glanced down at it to find my place again, glanced back up, hit the wall of Fen’s searing gaze and almost lost my nerve. My fingers trembled but I continued on, freeing the buttons one by one until I was able to shrug my shoulders and have the dress fall to my feet.
Fen sucked in a breath. I stayed very still, very aware of the thinness of the cotton of my chemise and my drawers, of the tightness of my corset against my skin. Of how that skin tingled as Fen watched me, motionless. The silence in the room seemed to sharpen, making the air crystal, likely to shatter with one false move. The only tiny sounds were the breaths we each tried to control.
Through that silence my pulse roared in my ears, a beat that grew stronger and stronger each second I stood there, submitting to his gaze.
Feeling the hunger for him fire within me as if his hands were stroking my body, finding all the places I most liked to be touched. Yet he hadn’t even touched me yet.
How could I stand it when he did?
How could I bear it if he didn’t?
Fen moved then, one step, two. Bringing him close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin, could smell the faint echoes of the cologne he wore and the scent of excited male and a trace of smoke and alcohol. Not close enough to touch, though.
I stayed still, not daring to move. Not wanting to move. Somehow, waiting for him to tell me what to do next was everything I wanted right in this moment, some relief from fighting so hard to be seen. Giving in to someone who saw me perhaps too clearly.
