The Fallen (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  A smile curled my lips. I’d seen angel feathers before, but never one this pretty: golden, blending to burnt umber at the tips. In the dim room, light seemed to radiate from every downy fiber. I took it from her fingers, twirling it before my eyes.

  “Now this alone is worth paying a courtesan for.” Marveling at its perfection, I ran my fingertip over the edge of the down. A tingling warmth spread through my finger, up my arm. It swirled into my chest, and my skin started heating. “Now I understand why they don’t care about sex.”

  “You believe in angels, right?”

  “Of course I do.” Some people in Dovren believed in angels; others thought it was tosh. But when it came to magic and things not of this world, I was more open-minded than most.

  “Right well, there’s a trick us courtesans know that most people don’t. Angels elicit sexual desire. Like the rest of their bodies, feathers contain that same thrill. So use that on him, and he’ll be yours to control. But don’t forget to give it back. It’s the best tool I have.”

  I stroked it up my forearm again. Now, the delicate fabric of the robe felt deliciously sensual against all the bare skin. “Amazing.”

  “Stop stroking yourself and move your arse, seductress.” She held out a black, feathered masquerade mask, and I put it on. “Just try to make it through ten minutes without doing something weird.”

  “I would never do anything weird. You’re thinking of my alter ego, Skin-Monster Trevor.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Lila, just be normal for ten minutes.”

  She spun me around so I faced the door. I concentrated on staying steady, balancing in the high heels. In the corridor, the bass drum from the music hall pounded through the walls, and the sound of horns carried through the air.

  How and why did Zahra walk in these heels? Ridiculous. Humans hadn’t evolved to walk on little spikes. I steadied myself with one hand against the wall. When I reached the last door on the left, I knocked.

  A guard opened the door—kindly-looking, with a beard and dark eyes. He smiled and motioned me into a cramped vestibule of dark wood with a door on the other side. There was nothing else in it but a bench, and a candle guttering in a sconce.

  The man scratched his beard. “Zahra. I was wondering when you’d show up. Name’s Jack. First night. Bit nervous. Not that I have to do, uh … what you do. As it were.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said wistfully. “Lady Zahra has full faith in you.”

  Oh, good. I was already failing at the “don’t be weird” instructions.

  He loosened his collar, his face looking red and strained. He nodded at the next door. “I’m supposed to warn you before you go through there. We’ve got someone important coming tonight. Apparently he’s never been here before. He’ll be coming up the secret staircase. And it’s very important that he have a good night. I believe our lives may depend on it.”

  A chill skimmed over my skin. Bollocks. “What are you talking about?”

  Jack pushed open the next door, revealing a room with a silky bed and a velvet sofa. And along with that, furniture I did not recognize: the kind with straps and chains and appendages that looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  Zahra’s job really was complicated. And this was, perhaps, not a good time for me to take over. “Do you think I could come back in a few minutes?”

  “No, he’ll be here any moment. And they didn’t want you to panic,” he added. “I was supposed to assure you that everything would be fine, it’s just that, uh … We could all die if you mess it up.”

  My throat went dry. Bloody hell, was it Diamond Danny? The East Side Ripper? “Who are you talking about?” I asked.

  The guard cleared his throat. “He asked for the best we had. And Ernald said it was you, Zahra.”

  My nerves crackled. “Who is coming, exactly, Jack? What’s his name?”

  “It’s the count from Castle Hades. Count Saklas.”

  5

  Lila

  I felt like the floor was tilting beneath me.

  Rumor was that the count was an angel. Some people said that was bollocks, but I believed it too, after I saw his otherworldly eyes. He was a supernatural conqueror, and this was so much worse than the East Side Ripper.

  “Holy fuck,” I blurted, nearly forgetting that I was supposed to be the cool, seductive Lady Zahra. “You really think it’s him? The actual count? I didn’t know he left his castle.”

  “Was a bit of a surprise. A Clovian count like him. Didn’t think he’d consort with the likes of us. I have no idea what sort of strange things he, uh… but you know just call if …” He cleared his throat, then trailed off again. “Well don’t call unless something really terrible happens, because I’m probably not supposed to interfere in his case. What with him being able to shut this whole operation down and have us executed. He could hang us all outside his castle gates. One word from him and we’ll all be dangling at the end of ropes, feet dancing in the air.”

  My stomach was twisting in knots. “That sort of imagery isn’t really helpful right now, Jack.”

  “But that’s why Ernald said it had to be you. Cos you’re the best, like. That’s what he said. I didn’t ask what you do that’s so special, cos that’s none of my business. Though admittedly I was a bit curious. What you do with your uh…” He cleared his throat. “With your muff.”

  “Well, that’s my secret, Jack, and it’s what makes me the best courtesan in Dovren. For the love of God is there any alcohol in here?”

  He nodded at a small table. “Champagne. I don’t think you’re supposed to drink it yourself.”

  “Jack, it’s all part of the courtesan trade. You wouldn’t understand.” I crossed to the small table near the bed, and popped the cork. A little of it fizzed from the bottle. I poured a glass—one for me, and one for the terrifying angelic tyrant I was supposed to seduce.

  Jack was still adjusting his collar, as though he were already imagining being hanged. “Ernald said you could talk fancy and all that. You’re one of the sophisticated courtesans who can read. Speak a bit of Clovian like the upper classes. Fit in a bit more with a count like him.”

  Oh, bollocks. I downed a long sip of champagne, then wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “Any idea what the count is interested in?”

  He looked painfully perplexed, his forehead wrinkled. He shrugged. “Shagging?”

  “Do you believe in angels?”

  “Nahh… Angels? No. I think those feathers like that come from fancy swans and things.” He scratched his beard, then added. “I don’t believe in nothing, really.”

  Well, that was that. “Thanks. Good talk, Jack.” I started pouring more champagne for myself.

  “I’d better go.” He pointed at a door on the far wall, one that blended into the silky pink wallpaper. “He’ll be coming through there. Good luck with the uh …” he waved vaguely at my crotch, then gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  As soon as he left, I drank the entire glass of champagne. Then as I waltzed around the room, I gave myself a pep talk. “You can do this, Lila. Zahra. Get the upper hand. Get control of the situation. Tickle him with his own feather. Maybe murder him to save your kingdom. It’ll be fine.”

  My mind whirled.

  Much as I tried to convince myself this was fine, Jack did have a point. Count Saklas had complete power over everything. If I made him angry, we’d all be crow food. He could burn Bibliotek to the ground.

  I touched the little raven tattoo on my bicep. Idly, I wondered what would happen if someone got rid of the count. Maybe the Albians would rule Albia once more.

  When I thought of the count, it was hard not to feel a pang of grief. Because that castle had swallowed up my sister.

  The Clovians had ruled Dovren nearly as long as I could remember. I was ten when the Great War happened, when the Clovians invaded.

  Less than half our soldiers returned, and the ones who did seemed haunted by nightmares, fits of trembling. N
one of them were right in the head anymore. Whatever they’d endured had been unspeakable.

  And now? Every extra penny we made went to paying back the Clovians. Taxes for the war they started.

  What if someone could kill him? I swallowed hard, shocked that I was even imagining it. I had killed a man before—a drunk pervert trying to rip off my clothes. Didn’t regret it one bit. But he’d hardly been the sort of threat that the count was.

  I glanced at the door, wishing Zahra would knock on it to free me before I did something stupid.

  “Just go along with it,” I muttered to myself, twirling the feather between my fingertips.

  Ten years ago, when I was fifteen, Alice and I had scaled the outer castle walls, fingers and toes nestled between the stones. We were good at scaling walls. On top of a parapet, we caught a glimpse of the count himself, striding along the walkway. Tall and powerfully built, he walked with an unearthly elegance. As always, he wore a cloak with a cowl pulled up over his head. Though his face had been in shadow, I could have sworn he’d looked right at me. His eyes were an unnerving, unnatural gray , like steel. They glowed in the darkness.

  And they’d seemed wrong. Unearthly. Lethal, somehow. I’d felt my heart stop at that moment.

  That was when I knew he wasn’t mortal.

  Unconsciously, I was brushing the feather along my wrist, feeling my pulse race even as my muscles softened and relaxed. When I looked down, I saw that it had left a faint golden sheen on my skin, like a divine gloss.

  I’d heard fallen angels had a taste for human women. That we were their weakness.

  Even worse, I’d heard rumors that they drove mortals mad with lust. I hoped nothing like that would be happening in the next ten minutes.

  Zahra, where are you?

  What I needed right now was some luck. There was an old Albian folk tale—you knock on stone three times, and you ask the Raven King for protection.

  And if there was ever a time to ask for protection, it was now. I crossed to the fireplace, rapped on the stony mantel three times, and muttered a prayer to the Blessed Raven. Then, I tottered back to the bed.

  I perched on the end, crossed my legs, and smiled. I snatched the champagne, taking another long sip. The bubbles were starting to go to my head, which was good.

  I heard a creaking of the floorboards. Zahra, come to save me?

  But before I could explore that fantasy too deeply, the door opened.

  And in walked one of the tallest men I’d ever seen, his face shrouded by a cloak.

  Only his piercing gray eyes penetrated the shadows, and I felt goosebumps rise over every inch of my skin.

  6

  Lila

  He towered over the room, dominating everything in it with a tangible power. Beneath his cloak, I caught a glimpse of a sword slung around his waist.

  My breath caught, and I found myself standing, unsteady in my heels. While practically my entire body was visible through the sheer robe, he was almost completely hidden. And it was hard to tell with the dark material, but I thought I saw the faint sheen of claret blood on his cloak.

  Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself yanking the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around myself. Only the feather stuck out of the blanket, in front of my face.

  Possibly his feather.

  So I supposed it was a mercy he’d hidden the sex appeal for now. Easier to keep my wits about me.

  As he took a step closer, I tried to get a look at his face. I caught a glimpse of a sharp jawline, a full lower lip under that cowl. His shoulders were far broader than a mortal’s, and he exuded a sort of power that tingled over my body.

  I swallowed hard.

  Bollocks. He was already entrancing me.

  He took one more step, and I felt his eyes boring into me—the stormy gray of cloudy skies. My heart seemed to be leaping. Somehow, I felt like everything in the room was going dark except him. And here I was, just staring.

  An exhilarating, liquid warmth moved along my throat, pooling in my chest. It took me a moment to realize that his icy eyes were now staring at my neck. And that that was because I’d unconsciously started moving the angel feather back and forth over my skin, while pleasure rippled in its trail. Back and forth, back and forth.

  Mortified, I stopped. His body had gone completely still, a brooding silhouette of darkness before me. As for me, I was clutching the blanket around myself, breathing deeply. Neither of us had spoken a word.

  I dropped the feather on the bed, my cheeks flashing red.

  The count lifted his gaze again to my eyes. Curiosity was unfurling in me, and I found myself taking a step closer, wanting to see more of him.

  And I did see more under the cowl—gray eyes flecked with silver, eyelashes black as jet, the high curve of one cheekbone, a sweep of dark eyebrows. Beautiful.

  That was when I felt it—the full force of pure power pulsing off him in waves, undulating through my body. It was a magic that seemed to penetrate the blanket, rippling over me, making my skin ache for touch. My thighs clenched. I loosed a deep, shaking breath.

  Remember, Lila, that you loathe him. He is a tyrant who executes your countrymen.

  “Take it off.” The sound of his deep voice, like a tolling bell, vibrated up the nape of my neck.

  I swallowed hard. Even with the blanket on, I somehow felt exposed before him, like those piercing gray eyes could read all my secrets. He smelled like iron, and something sweet like figs.

  I dropped the blanket on the floor. I was acutely aware of his eyes on me, and the disturbingly sensual feel of his magic caressing every inch of my bare skin—a tingling heat brushing up the inside of my legs.

  My body felt exquisitely sensitive, like I was desperate for him to touch me, to pull off the rest of my clothes. My cheeks were heating.

  God, I hated him. I clenched my fists, my fingernails piercing my palms.

  Under the cloak, he cocked his head. “When I said ‘take it off,’ I meant your mask. I thought that was apparent. What sort of person wears a mask? Though the blanket was also odd.”

  I bit my lip, glowering at him. “I mean, you basically wear both with that cloak.”

  “Take it off,” he repeated more firmly.

  “Fine,” I said. “Will you take your cowl off, then?”

  “No.”

  I was already mucking this up, wasn’t I? Of course this wasn’t an equal relationship. “All right.” I pulled the mask off, working hard to school my angry features into a charming smile worthy of Zahra.

  He closed the last bit of distance between us, and lifted my chin, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me your name.”

  I swallowed hard. “Zahra.”

  “How well do you know this city?” he asked.

  His question threw me off guard. “I was born here. I know every alley in the East End and by the river. Okay, do you want me to tie you up now?”

  “Absolutely not. What do you do when you’re not working?”

  I was breathing deeply, chest heaving. “Are we making small talk?”

  “No. I just need to make sure you’re the right one.”

  The right one? “I dance. And I walk around the city. I love this city. The ancient Albian city, founded by the Raven King.”

  His eyes were so piercing, his gaze penetrating my soul. I wanted to hide.

  His fingers closed a little harder on my chin.

  My lip curled. You should be hanging from the gallows, angel. Not us. Your feet should cast shadows over the earth as they swing. The ravens should be picking at your bones.

  The darkness of those thoughts surprised even myself.

  “You …” he said, as if sounding perplexed, his face close to mine. “Zahra. You pretend that you’re happy. But underneath that veneer of cheerfulness, there’s anger. There’s a darkness. Rage, even.”

  I found myself transfixed by his strange, beautiful gaze, until everything went dark. I felt myself falling through the air, plummeting at a thousand mil
es per hour through a void. Completely alone in the darkness, the solitude an unendurable torture. It was like a physical pain that split me open.

  I breathed in sharply, and the world came back to me. I faltered, and the count caught me around the waist, pulling me against his hard chest.

  Under his cloak, the material of his shirt was exquisitely soft. And beneath it, the pure steel of a warrior’s body. With his powerful arms wrapped around me, I caught my breath for a moment. His magic skimmed over me, making my heart race faster. My cheeks burned as I realized my nipples had tightened to sensitive points.

  I pushed myself away from him and folded my arms in front of my chest, self-conscious. “Perhaps you’d be happier with one of the other courtesans.”

  “No. I don’t think another one will do.”

  I slid out of the high heels. Because fuck those shoes. I looked up at him, considerably shorter than I had been.

  Mentally, I mastered control of myself. Another smile plastered on my face. Thieving, brawling I could do. Running from cutthroats in the street I could do. But Count Saklas? He made me feel something I rarely did: panic.

  The count reached out and gripped my waist. He pulled me in closer to him, peering down at me. Sinful heat rippled through me, making my thighs clench. What was he doing?

  “You,” he said again. “But why?”

  “Why what?” I caught a glimpse of something gold on the side of his cheekbones, but it was hard to see.

  Instinctively, I understood. It was the edge of a face that mortals were never meant to see, because it could break our minds. A low, menacing voice knelled in the hollows of my mind. Death is upon you. Run or die.

  I tried to take a step back, but his hand was rooting me in place, possessive. Fingers locked on my hip while he stared into my eyes. Something screamed inside me, from the ancient part of my brain—a primal instinct to either run or fight.

  And apparently, fighting won out, because the next thing I knew, I was slamming my left fist into his face. It felt like I broke some of my fingers when they hit the pure steel of his jaw.