Warrior Fae Princess

by Breene, K. F.

  He staggered back, trying to put distance between them. She advanced, not letting him.

  “Charity—”

  “What do you think I am?” She blocked his weak attempt to shove her back, and this time she backhanded him. The slap rang out across the field. The onlookers gasped. She barely caught Steve out of the corner of her eye, striding their way with a big smile. “Breakable?”

  “Charity, you’re still recovering—”

  She swept his legs out from under him and then kicked him in the side, easily dodging his attempt to grab her leg. Her speed surprised even her—now that her magic was functioning properly, she was faster than he was by a mile, on par with some of the vampires they’d fought. Her strength was every bit as impressive.

  His magic pumped out of him, swirling around her in an intoxicating blend. This was what she’d wanted, needed, and the thrill of the fight flooded her body. A lovely tune floated on the breeze, and her hand itched for the sword she’d left in her bungalow. She opened and closed her fingers.

  He saw it. His eyes flicked to a spot behind her.

  She turned, and suddenly he was there, grabbing her and tossing.

  The bastard had finally decided to fight, and he’d started by fighting dirty.

  Adrenaline coursed through her. She kept a laugh from bubbling out, and instead rolled over and groaned, acting like she was fatigued. Or hurt. Either would do.

  Devon stopped the downward swing of his fist, buying it.

  “Oh God, Charity”—he crouched down next to her, laying a warm hand on her arm—“I didn’t mean to—”

  She rolled and punched, catching him completely off guard. If he wanted to fight dirty, who was she to say boo?

  Her fist slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back.

  She spun on the grass and kicked, but by then he was onto her, trying to dodge. Her foot clipped his shoulder, the force enough to knock him off balance. It would do.

  She hopped up and ran, reaching the wooden practice swords with him hot on her heels. She pivoted, caught his swinging fist, and pulled and then launched him over her shoulder and into the pile of practice weapons. She snatched up a blunted sword, palms tingling, and swung it at the center of his broad, muscular back. It wouldn’t do much more than form a welt. She hit him again for good measure before dancing back.

  He rose slowly, muscles popping along his powerful frame, his physique standing out like a deliciously sore thumb in the crowd of sleek, lean fae. His eyes were wild, ruthless, his alpha mentality having kicked into overdrive, and his whole person was bent on forcing his challenger to submit. On forcing his dominance.

  Something deep and feminine inside her mewed to be taken, to be claimed as only an alpha could claim his female.

  But the primal part of her insisted he prove his worth. That he earn his mantle as her protector here, for all to see.

  She opened up and let magic gush out of her, confident her new countrymen and women could handle it. Part of her wondering why they weren’t already up and by her side, sensing the call of battle on the air. Her magic filled her to bursting, and still she let it come, blasting out of her and covering the field in the feeling of budding flowers, growing plants, horses stomping on bloodied mud, and the agonized cries of a foe. She blended it in a heady mix, the beautiful and the ugly, the peace and the violence, and released it as a shock wave.

  We are warriors. Come fight by my side.

  Steve halted his advance, nearly to the gathering crowd of onlookers, and the humor dripped off his face. His eyes turned hungry.

  The lion emerged.

  His roar made half of those seated jump to their feet. The rest cowered from the might of his shifter form, not living up to the stories she’d heard of the warrior fae. Wondering if hiding away here in the Flush had dulled their abilities.

  Steve, on the other hand, stared at Charity. Ready for a command. Ready to battle.

  Devon saw it, and his eyes blazed. Charity was, in effect, pulling rank, and the alpha in him wasn’t having it. This wasn’t just about dominance and submission anymore—it was about the right to lead his pack.

  She’d raised the stakes.

  Game on.

  Magic swirled around him. A green mist enveloped him, and then his wolf form emerged. He lifted his head and howled, long and beautiful, the wolf song.

  Your alpha calls. Join me.

  She felt the power of it well up from her toes. Felt the need to fall in beside him. Saw the previously cowering fae straighten up, then stand, like awakening from a dream.

  Felt the smile spreading across her face.

  “Now. This is a battle.” She ran at him, stupid fake sword at the ready. Almost there, she shoved out her hand.

  A spark flared right in front of him. He opened his mouth for some reason, and then he was flying, tumbling through the air.

  She was on him in a flash, slashing down with the sword, aiming for his neck. “Honor system,” she grunted out, trying to get in a slash that would have decapitated him.

  He dodged away at the last moment, so much lither and more graceful in his wolf form. So much faster.

  He snapped at her ankle, making her dance away, before surging up and slamming into her body. How a man could weigh more in another form than his human form, she didn’t know, but the force of the tackle shoved her back.

  She cut her sword through the air while she fell, not wanting to waste an opportunity. Her back hit the ground as her sword banged into his front leg. That strike would’ve lopped off his limb.

  He rolled off her, and when he stood, he kept that leg held tightly to his body, honoring the strike. She shot him with another blast of magic, the spark alighting on his right side. Before it concussed the air, though, he spun and bit. The magic…unraveled, somehow. It died.

  “What the…” She tried again, sending a spark toward his other side.

  He turned and bit, chomping on the electrical ball of light. It zinged through his teeth before unraveling out around his body.

  He’d figured out how to circumvent her magic. Was that a bonus of their connection?

  Magic now boiled and built, bleeding acid into her body and leaking from her in waves. Bright white light buzzed through the sky, covering the whole field. Lightning rained down, narrowly missing a thick gray wolf—Rod—as he loped toward them through the grasses.

  “Need a little help here,” she yelled to the onlookers, all in rapt attention. None of them had stepped forward to help her, or offered to guide her in the use of her magic. They were transfixed on the fight.

  Devon surged toward her.

  Not stopping, she slashed at him, forcing him to change his attack path. A bolt of lightning zipped down next to him, singing his ear. He dodged in the other direction, his keen eyes tracking her as only a predator could.

  Rod ran to join the fight, but Steve pushed forward, blocking the way. A yeti’s roar made someone screech. Cole lumbered out into the field.

  Charity struck forward with her sword, the feeling natural, the choice terrible. Devon dodged and lunged, his teeth clamping down on her sword arm, although not hard enough to break skin. She cursed and dropped the sword, blasting him with barely controlled magic. Only then did those around her come to her aid, swirling their magic around hers. Calming it. But not quelling it. Keeping it vibrant for battle.

  Someone out here still knew what warrior blood ran through their veins.

  Devon flew through the air, not having moved fast enough to extinguish the spark she’d sent at him. She picked up the sword with her left hand. It felt just as comfortable in her non-dominant hand. Just as dangerous.

  With a manic grin, she charged, seeing the shifters spread out behind Devon, stopped in their advance by Steve. The fae, as well—a huge crowd now but kept to the sidelines so Devon and she could battle.

  She slashed at Devon, a dummy attack, and sent a spark at his other side. He bit into it, and she lunged. Her blunt sword tip grazed his side.

/>   He took the hit, that wound in real life hurting, but the pain didn’t stop him. He’d fought through much worse. He kept on coming.

  She pulled her sword back, getting into position for a strike, but he was already on her. He slammed into her chest, taking her down a second time. This time, though, his weight was centered. His teeth closed around her throat.

  He was badly wounded and missing a hand, but he’d claimed the fight.

  A proud smile lit her face. Heat licked her core. It had been a good fight. Next time, she’d take him, she’d make sure of it.

  But now…she wanted him to take her.

  “Take me to bed,” she said in a husky voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Devon wasted no time. He rose and picked her up, hugging her tightly to his chest. They’d fought for dominance what seemed like a million times, sometimes with words, sometimes with fists, but it had always been about finding balance with each other, establishing their places in each other’s lives.

  It had never felt like that.

  That had been…

  Words couldn’t express it. Saying he felt like an alpha didn’t do this sensation justice. He felt like a god. And he knew that, without her, he never would’ve risen to this level. He’d bested power even Vlad couldn’t touch. Power that had the entire field of warrior fae gawking.

  And now, as he looked into her eyes, and saw her pride in him…

  He felt like a man.

  Halvor and the Second stood slightly removed from everyone else in the field. Devon didn’t know how much of the sparring they’d seen, but judging by their postures and the smug delight in the Second’s eyes, they’d seen enough to know Charity had something special. Something even a full-blooded fae didn’t have. Moreover, she knew how to use it in battle. Not just on this field with their fake swords and useless competitions—she could rise from near death, in a haze, and still fight demons to save her pack. She was magnificent, and now they knew.

  One day soon, they’d tell him his time was up. That he was of no more use, and could return to his life. One day soon, he’d have to face reality.

  Today was not that day.

  He strode by them without a word.

  “You are on the road to greatness,” the Red Prophet shouted, crouching at the base of a large tree at the edge of the field. Her shock of red hair stood around her head like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. “First stop, Bang Train!”

  “She is a nut,” Charity murmured as she ran her lips up Devon’s neck. “And you need a shower.”

  “I’d love a shower.”

  Even with Charity cradled in his arms, the women they passed looked at him with inviting stares. They were very open in their sexuality, and almost aggressively open in their desire to bed a shifter. He found it harder to ignore the complete lack of regard from the men, who smiled and nodded at Charity, then looked away as though she were being carried by a donkey. Except on the battle yard or in meaningless sexual conquests, it seemed the fae were consciously trying to ignore the shifters and their obvious curiosity regarding shifter magic. It was almost like they’d been told the ways they could intermingle, but outside of that, shifter interaction was forbidden.

  Something he wouldn’t bother Charity with at the moment. His pack had decided that they needed to give her a fighting chance. Until she was secure here, they wouldn’t bring up their bad living conditions, how they were treated, or Dillon. It was the last that was hardest for Devon to bear, but he agreed that if they revealed all, Charity would internalize the guilt, and quite possibly start blowing things up. Sometimes you really didn’t know where her mood would swing, at least in her current magical situation. Until she was established here, they would lie low.

  She ran a finger across his cheek. “I forgot how handsome you are.”

  “It only took you a week to forget what I look like?”

  “No, don’t be stupid. I’ve been inundated with very attractive people, but they are all so…manicured. So polished.”

  “And you prefer an unkempt knuckle-dragger?”

  Her smile lit her up from the inside out. His heart dribbled down his ribs.

  “Yes,” she said. “I like the rough-and-tumble, smoking-hot shifter who has clubbed me and will now drag me back to his lair.”

  “Her lair.”

  “Fine, my lair.” She captured his lips, opening her mouth so he could fill it with his tongue. When he entered her house, the whereabouts he’d heard in passing from Kairi, Charity’s assistant, he let her down gently in the foyer, her body sliding against his, before backing into the door to close it. He worked her pants, pulling them open before pushing them down over her hips.

  Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, and he growled into her mouth. He used his foot to shove her pants the rest of the way to the ground. She shrugged out of her shirt and fumbled with the straps around her waist.

  “Curse these things—” she started.

  He tore one of the straps apart before unwrapping her. “Shower first?” he murmured against her lips.

  She dragged him across the room, her lips needy and insistent. Her hands stroking just right.

  The bathroom had a luxurious spa-like setup, the opposite of the camping-style facilities in the cabins the pack had been assigned. There was a stone stall for showering, and while there wasn’t plumbing in the Realm, the fae had arranged a gravity system whereby water would be released from a flat spout. A large copper tub sat on four legs beside it, without a spout. Kairi was probably in charge of arranging warm water to be brought in for a bath. Through a half-door was a little commode, needing a bit more privacy, and a basin was set up opposite the shower, the water kept in a pitcher.

  The wildly different accommodations were yet another reminder there was a distinct class system in this place—and while Charity was at one end, Devon was at the other.

  Charity turned to pull a lever, pushing her tight, round butt against his erection. A surge of lust stole through him, and he slid his shaft between her legs, flush against her warm wetness, so ready for him.

  “I missed you,” she said softly, angling, trying to get him inside her. He didn’t bite—he needed a wash before they went any further. “I know it was only a week, but—”

  “I missed you too,” he said, pushing her into the stone enclosure and pulling a fabric screen behind him. “More so because I worried about your recovery.”

  “Men. Always with the one-upping.” She turned in his arms with a sweet smile.

  Devon slid his hands down her wet hair as the warm water fell from the—bamboo?—spout three feet above them. It cascaded like a waterfall, shimmering against the blue-gray stone behind it and shining in the natural light from the many high windows.

  “Where’s the soap?” he asked, running his hands over the swell of her breasts and down her flat stomach.

  She turned and bent to the canisters tucked into one of the corners of the stall. He ran his fingers down the middle of her sex. She sucked in a sharp breath and braced her hands against the stone, ready for him.

  “Need to wash, love. I’m filthy.”

  “Then use your mouth. I’m clean.”

  He couldn’t fall to his knees fast enough. He licked up her center, digging his tongue into her core before reaching to give her attention where she needed it most. He backed up, then spun her around before pushing her back against the stone and throwing one of her legs over his shoulder.

  “Hmm,” she said, leaning her head against the wall

  The warm water washed over his back as he sucked in her clit before swirling it around in his mouth. He reached for the canister, washing his hands before returning to her. He threaded a finger into her, then two, pumping in time with the swirling of his tongue.

  She moaned and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Oh God, Devon,” she said in a breathy voice. “Harder.”

  He changed speeds, from slow and reverent to rough and fast. He flicked his tongue quickly before
sucking her in again, pulsing with his mouth and plunging with his fingers.

  “Oh God, yes.” Her grip on his hair tightened. Her hips gyrated toward him. “Hmm, yes, Devon.”

  He moved faster, working her to a fever pitch. She tensed, her hip gyrations getting smaller. More intense. His fingers pumping her to the goal line.

  She cried out. Her hips jerked, and she shuddered, climaxing. He licked, tasting her, as she shuddered again, releasing her fingers from his hair.

  “Do I have a second to wash now?” he asked with a grin, standing up and slowly running his hands up her legs and over her hips. He bent to run his tongue across her taut nipple before sucking it in.

  “Hmm, sure. But just one second.”

  He chuckled and grabbed the soap, working it over his body. But she pushed his hands away, taking over, sliding her palms over his chest, down his stomach, and over his shaft. He breathed out a sigh as pleasure coursed through him.

  She ran her hands back up to his shoulders, then turned him, letting the water wash down his body before taking the same time on his back. When she’d finished, she handed the soap to him.

  He applied it to her breasts and cupped them in both hands before letting his hands roam, refreshing his memory of all the secret places that made her moan in pleasure or flutter her eyes in bliss.

  As the suds washed away, Charity sucked in his bottom lip and ran her leg up the outside of his thigh. She hooked it over his hip and leaned in, using her hand to guide his tip to her opening.

  “I can’t decide if I want you to pound your love into me,” she murmured against his lips, “or if I want the tender side of the alpha you don’t show anyone else.”

  His tip kissed her opening, and her hand fell away. Her leg tightened around him, and he pushed forward, entering her slowly, heightening the pleasure. He’d give her whatever she wanted, but until she decided, he wanted to revel in every inch of her. It had been an insanely close call—so close that he still had nightmares about losing her forever.

  He pushed into her again and tightened his hold on her body.

  “Hmm,” she said, clinging to him.