by C. R. Jane
"I don't know. It feels good to touch you. It feels like I need to touch you."
"Why, though? Is it only me? How did we manage to conjure a female grimdark? Where-"
She laid a finger over his lips. "Wouldn't you rather fuck than ask me a thousand questions right now?"
"You've got to be kidding," Barrington retorted. "Where the fuck are you? We can hear your voices, but it's too dark. Even Rodon's magelight can't cut through the shadows."
She leaned up and brushed her mouth against Ian's, lowering a voice to a whisper. "We could stay here in my shadows forever. They would never find us."
Rodon growled out a curse. "I'll start stabbing the shadows before I'll let you have him, demon."
Ian laughed softly. "I'd rather not be skewered today."
"Crimson Black," Barrington's voice rang out. "I demand that you dispel this darkness immediately and release our friend."
Her head tipped, a smile tugging on her lips. Though her shadows remained firmly in place.
"You are bound to obey the four of us," Ian reminded her.
Her smile deepened. "I can't comply with commands that are untrue. I can't release you, since I'm not holding you captive."
"Ian…" Barrington's voice rumbled with worry.
"Allow your shadows to dispel," Ian said, deliberately not putting any weight behind his words. He wanted to see how much effort it would take to control her demonic instincts.
Nuzzling his throat, she nestled against him, and started to pull back the shadows. He could feel them sliding past like the current of a gentle yet deep river as it flowed back into her.
"Holy fuck." Rodon shook his head. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine."
Rodon's gaze slid down her back, lingering on the hollows and curves of her body. She must have lost the coat when she'd come at Ian so fast. He waited to feel a surge of jealousy or anger. He held a naked woman in his arms, and another man was looking at her.
But this man was a lifelong friend. They all were to an extent, though certainly Garrett was much younger. They'd each added their collective power to the spell that had conjured her, so it wasn't a surprise they might each feel this same sense of attraction to her.
He paused, playing that thought back in his mind.
Conjured. She wasn't human. She wasn't even… real. She couldn't be.
Then why did she feel so fucking good pressed against him?
Barrington squatted down and poked the bits of the spell that were left inside the salt circle. "No wonder things went awry."
He fished out a wad of wet, soggy papers and held it up. Ian gasped. "My book. How'd that… Oh."
"Your ridiculous coat that I've begged you to throw into the rag bin for years," Barrington retorted. "The book must have fallen out of the pocket and into the circle when I poured the cauldron onto the knife, and spoiled the spell."
"That explains… much."
"Book?" She asked. "What book?"
Damned if Ian didn't feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. Which made Barrington guffaw and even Rodon cracked a smile.
"Despite his stuffy, scholarly ways," Barrington drawled, "Professor Gyles enjoys the cheap thrills of a penny dreadful."
Releasing Ian, she turned to the other men, though she didn't move away from him. "Why do you call him professor when he's a prince? And what is a penny dreadful?"
"How did you know he'd been skipped over for the crown?" Barrington threw back.
She shrugged. "I see things when I look at each of you. He will wear a golden crown and his full name was in my head as if I had always known it. It was the same for each of you. I asked your names to confirm what I already knew, and to see how you would answer. Some of your kind are less than truthful."
Rodon looked at her solemnly. "What did the crown look like?"
"It was made of gold and had four tiers. It stood very tall, but it also came down around his ears like a helmet. Diamonds sparkled like stars on every tier, but on the very top, the diamond looked like a large tear drop."
"She just described you wearing the king's crown," Rodon whispered.
Ian ground down the immediate surge inside him. Ambition. Competition. Drive. Those instincts had been carefully hammered and molded into something else long ago by his mentor. He could be in competition-with himself. He could have ambition-to be the best wizard.
Not to ever be the king of Malwyrd. The only way that would ever happen was if his brother, Rupert, died without any heirs. Even then, he'd face significant opposition.
No one wanted a wizard king. Fragile alliances with Cynister and Westwood would crumble. None of their allies would appreciate a wizard on a throne with the full weight of Malwyrd's military behind it.
"What do you see about the rest of us?" Garrett asked.
She stepped back against Ian, using her whole body to rub against him like a cat. "Can't we please fuck first? I need it. I hurt."
Ian met Rodon's gaze first, silently asking if he thought it was safe enough to take their conjure back through the gate, without the outer salt circle to keep her contained.
He inclined his head, but he also deliberately flourished the sword as he slid it into its sheath on his back. "Let me be perfectly clear, my lady. If at any time I fear that you are uncontrollable or dangerous to the general populace, I will send you back to the hell from which we called you."
"I understand, Lord General Commander. But what makes you think I came from hell?"
Barrington spluttered. "What? Where the fuck did you come from, then?"
Turning in Ian's arms, she hooked her arms around his neck and hopped up against him to wrap her legs around his waist. "I'll answer any questions that you have. After you make this pain go away."
Cradling her against him, Ian strode toward the archway that would take them back to the study in his manor house. "What pain do you feel?"
She quivered in his arms as she pressed kisses to his neck and cheek. "Hurts. So cold. So empty. You need to fill me."
Barrington slid between them and the gate, making him pause. "You're not actually going to… uh…"
"Fuck her?" Ian drawled out, watching as Barrington's cheeks flooded with color. It made him laugh. For all his aggressive and demanding ways, at heart, Barrington was very much an aristocrat, and a prudish one at that. "Why not?"
"She's a demon."
"That we conjured. That we control."
"But we didn't conjure her for that. It's not right. If the council finds out that we conjured a demon so we could fuck her…"
"Please," she whispered against Ian's ear, teasing with her tongue. "If you don't take me soon, I will pass back to nothing. I don't want to go there again. Please."
Ian tightened his grip on her. He didn't completely understand his motives himself. Maybe she was entrapping him with the promise of sex and the throne that he'd been denied, rather than the stories of passion and honor from the books he loved so much. Their original purpose still remained, and he could only hope that she would help them better understand the grimdark and how to stop them.
She was here, now, and she felt too good to let her go.
"If the council finds out we conjured a demon at all, then we'll all be in excommunicated," Rodon said. "We knew the risks when we decided to proceed with this plan."
"Yes, yes, I know, but…" Barrington began.
"Enough, Leonis," Ian replied. She gripped his throat in her mouth, lightly pressing her teeth into his skin, and his cock throbbed so hard he couldn't suppress a grunt of need. "We'll discuss tomorrow and decide how to proceed."
Jaws clenched, Barrington lowered his hand and allowed him to pass. "As you will, Your Highness."
Chapter Five
Ian kicked his bedroom door open and strode toward the large bed. He'd had the servants light candles and provide wine and gla
sses for two earlier, hoping that Barrington would spend the night with him before heading back to the city and his many duties in the House of Lords. Never in a million years had he thought he might be carrying a woman to his bed.
As he set her on the mattress, he had to gently push her away from him so he could undress. Luckily, he didn't need to call his valet. Another bonus to dressing simply. No one cared how his cravat was tied or how hard it was to peel off shiny knee-high boots. Instead, he toed off his slippers, shucked his pants, and pulled his shirt over his head.
A gasp of pain drew his attention to her. She'd averted her face, covering her eyes with her hand. His pendant gleamed like a captive star around this neck, a grim reminder of exactly what she was.
Not that he could find it in himself to care.
He drew the chain over his head and tucked the shining stone in a drawer. "Better?" She lowered her hand and it was his turn to gasp with concern. Blood dripped from her eyes. "Oh, no, I'm terribly sorry. Was that caused by the pendant?"
She wiped at her cheeks self-consciously and stared at her bloody hands, as if unsure what to do next that wouldn't stain the bedding. He grabbed his discarded shirt and knelt beside the bed to gently wipe her hands and her cheeks.
"Yes and no," she whispered, her voice raw with pain. "My need is great. You should send me back before it's too late."
He dropped the stained shirt and just looked at her, marveling at her beauty. Never in a million spells would he have ever thought to conjure such a glorious creature. Yet here she was, in his bed, crying blood from pain of her need.
For him.
"What should I call you?"
She smiled wryly. "My name, I suppose."
"Crimson?" It was an unusual name, and it certainly didn't roll off his tongue. "Rubrum is red in Latin. What do you think of something simple, like Rue?"
"Rue?" She said slowly, testing the sound of it. "I like it."
"Then I shall call you Rue."
"And what should I call you, Your Highness?"
He winced and shook his head. "No one calls me that any longer. I'm prince by blood only. I don't carry the title any longer, not officially."
"You won't always be a prince. I see the crown on your head, Your Majesty."
He lightly laid his fingers over her lips. "You mustn't say such things, Rue. Not to anyone, even me. If anyone overheard you call me that, they'd have me arrested and tried for treason against my brother. I would never betray him."
"You won't have to."
He narrowed his eyes, searching her face. "Why not? What does that mean?"
She shrugged, and her lips curved invitingly in that secretive smile that made his cock surge with lust. He wanted to lock that luscious bottom lip in his teeth as he thrust into her. "I know what I know, and that crown is yours."
Another bloody tear trailed down her cheek, making him frown. He picked up the shirt and lightly wiped the blood away again. "What can I do to help you?"
She cupped his face in her hands. "Warm me. Fill me. I need to feel your heat against me to remember that I'm alive and not dead."
He pushed up onto the mattress and she leaned back, drawing him on top of her. Her skin felt icy against his, colder than when she'd first come through the circle. She shivered and moaned as if she was freezing to death, so he stretched out on top of her, without concern for his weight, and wrapped her in his arms. A heavenly sort of torture.
Slowly, her body started to warm. She stopped shivering so much, but she shifted restlessly against him. "Your Majesty-"
He held his breath a moment, fighting down the lust thundering in his veins. "Ian."
"Ian," she whispered against his throat, slowly rubbing her mouth back and forth. "Please fuck me."
He gritted his teeth and took a deep, controlled breath. Another.
She moved again, opening her thighs invitingly. A delicious rumbling purr of pleasure rolled from her throat as she tipped her hips up against his. "Yes. You're so hot. So good. Please, Ian. I need you."
He rose to his knees and before he could reach down to position himself, she wriggled her hips up and took him inside her. His cock slid into her effortlessly, and he gasped, jerking against her. Ice encased him. It felt like he'd shoved balls deep into a snowbank.
Wrapping her thighs around his waist, she gripped him so tightly he couldn't even thrust. He didn't have to, not with the way she sinuously moved beneath him. Within seconds, the ice melted around his cock. She felt incredible. Tight, wet, delicious, and growing hotter by the moment.
Heat pulsed inside him, a wildfire centered at the base of his spine. She fanned that flame with the lithe stroke of her body against his, tearing at his control. He didn't want to rut like a raving beast… let alone come in a matter of seconds.
Though she seemed determined to do exactly that.
She was incredibly strong and so fucking hungry. For a moment, he really did fear for his life. His head swam, he panted for air, and sweat dripped into his eyes as he struggled to hold back.
"Please," she groaned, straining beneath him. "Give it to me. Give everything to me."
He shuddered as the fire exploded through him. He might have even yelled. He'd never climaxed so hard. So long. Maybe she was killing him.
But what a fucking way to go.
Groaning, he tried to lift his head. He blinked, trying to open his eyes. He couldn't see, and he felt so heavy. So tired. Was he dying?
"Shhh," she whispered against his ear, gathering him close. Her skin was hot against him and she felt so fucking good. "I've got you, sweet prince. Let my darkness take you."
And he knew no more.
#
Something woke him. A faint noise. A door shut ever so carefully. Soft, whispering steps across the wood floor. He forced his eyes open as she lifted the coverlet and climbed back into bed.
Groggy, he frowned, trying to remember what had happened.
She. His conjure. Crimson Black.
Rue.
Her eyes flickered with flames as she pressed a kiss to his lips. "All is well."
He closed his eyes and allowed her to pull his head down to pillow on her breast. She was so soft and warm now. Why had he thought she felt like cold marble? He stroked his palm down her stomach and felt something sticky on her skin. He pulled his hand up and stared at his fingers. "Blood. Are you injured?"
He started to sit up, but one of her hands stroked over his shoulder while her other combed his hair soothingly. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."
His eyes were incredibly heavy. Even his head felt like it weighed a ton. It was so much easier to simply lie against her and allow himself to drift back to oblivion.
Even when she whispered, "It isn't mine."
The End
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If you love #whychoose stories, check out the first book in Joely's Their Vampire Queen Series,Queen Takes Knights.
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About the Author
Joely Sue Burkhart has always loved heroes who hide behind a mask, the darker and more dangerous the better. Whether cool, sophisticated billionaire, brutal bloodthirsty assassin, or simply a man tortured by his own needs, they all wear masks to protect themselves. Once they finally give you a peek into the passionate, twisted secrets they're hiding, they always fall hard and fast. Dare to look beneath the mask and find love in the shadows.
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