by A. K. Koonce
Yeah, she definitely checked out that brain in exchange for an erotic library book.
“That’s a fuckin’ shit plan. I just said keep us under the radar, and your suggestion is for me to stride right into the radar?” My arms fold over my chest, and as much as she stumbled around to get them on, she walks in those heels like a feather caressing skin. In her heels and her newly polished spiraling, black horns, she’s nearly as tall as me. She now meets me at almost eye level instead of practically dick level.
A nice change, I’ll admit.
“My brother’s party is a mixture of high fae and low demons. You look high fae.”
“And you look like a fucking half-demon, half-fae,” I note, breaking apart her shiny plan more and more with minimal fucking effort.
Her eyes close slowly, and as she does so, her fine black wings tuck in tight against her small back. I watch curiously for several seconds. She takes a deep breath, inhaling for a long moment. Her wings grow smaller and smaller. The feathers tickle above her shoulders before . . .
Disappearing completely.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
“You . . . you can hide your wings?”
“I’m a dark fae of high decent. Changing appearance with basic glamours is something any common fae can do, but only those with pure magic and pure blood can alter the physical form with powerful glamours.”
I nod slowly. “Okay, so you look like a wingless demon. Demons aren’t welcome within the castle without a handler.” I smirk at how easy it is to debunk her fucking thoughtless ideas.
“Well, that’s where a wannabe fae like you comes in.” She tilts her head at me so swiftly that her long silver hair sways against her breasts.
My eyes narrow on her, and it just makes that pure white obnoxious smile of hers widen.
“Be my handler,” she proposes like the out-of-her-fucking-mind woman that she clearly is.
“As much as I love you begging me for something, I’m not risking what my brother has going here for a girl I barely know.”
She has no idea what I’ve been through for my brother and what my brother’s done for me. I won’t fuck it up. Not for her.
She never lowers her determined silver gaze from mine. With swift moves, she slices her index finger down the sharp edge of the blade hung near the door.
Crimson blood trickles down her palm, and yeah, she’s definitely all sexy curves and absolutely no fuckin’ brain.
She strides closer, and I glare at her as she brushes her soft body against mine. The sleek material of her bra melds to my crossed arms, and my gaze veers momentarily to note how perfect her tits look pressed against me. My fingers twitch against my palm to pull her closer but I don’t give in. Her hand lifts. I never break eye contact. I never lower my arms. I never show her the hint that I care about her.
But apparently, it’s the wrong fucking thing to do.
Her fingers tug lightly at the ends of my bright white feathers, and I grimace, but she only smiles charmingly at me as she pulls back. Step by step, she puts space between us, as if she’s really assessing my appearance as a whole.
“I think that should do the trick,” she says quietly, her eyes shining with a mischievous glint while she wraps her palm in a dark scarf.
I follow the line of her pleased attention. It’s an eerie feeling, like I know something unimaginably bad is about to happen. Something sinisterly awful. Something . . .
Holy. Fucking. Cock.
Deep pink feathers sprout from over my shoulder where my glorious white ones once were. They’re flamboyant and look like the feathers of a stripper’s boa rather than the feathers blessed by the mighty gods themselves.
“You fucking painted my wings pink?” I growl out, flinging my blazing glare back at her smirking face.
Her strange silver eyes sparkle when she’s happy.
She’s always happy when I’m pissed.
“Well, it’s magenta, actually. The deep pink really compliments your dark hair, I think. Sets off those eyes, too.” The long index finger of her right hand that was previously bleeding is now clean and nearly healed as she taps it against her chin and really studies me.
“Change them back,” I command.
Her empty head tilts this way and that. “No.”
I’m going to fuckin’ kill her. Even if her high fae powers do seem to heal her faster, I’m going to kill her.
I’m going to murder the most beautiful woman who never had a brain.
“Maybe I will change them back,” she says. “If you go to the party as my handler.” She pulls a leash from the back of her sister’s closet, and it’s like she had this entire conversation planned out before I ever entered the room.
My fingers fist into my palms so hard, I can only imagine them wrapping around her slender neck and really solving this shit once and for all.
But that’s not what Damien would want. I owe him. I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay.
And more importantly, then I’d be fucked with pretty pink wings for the rest of my miserable fucking existence.
My teeth grind hard at the back.
“Fine,” I snap.
Once more that smile lights up her face.
“Good.” She sways past me, shoving me out of her way as she dances down the hall in just her underwear and heels. “Meet me outside in five minutes,” she calls to me.
I stand there fuming for a long moment and try to tell myself it’s just a few hours. It’s a tiny blip of time in my endless life.
“Nice wings,” Ryke murmurs with a smirk I can hear.
“Fuck you.” I turn and lean against the carved door frame. He stands in the dark hall, and I can’t help but wonder how long he’s been here.
“You know, if she can change your wings pink and make hers disappear, she could probably alter herself to look like a high fae who no one’s ever met before.” He arches a dark eyebrow at me and for a moment, I don’t follow. “She could go alone without any problem, asshole. She doesn’t want to go by herself, but instead of asking you nicely, she’s manipulating you into escorting her because she has no idea how to be a rational fucking person.”
My arms lower, the tension in my shoulders easing as I stare after the nice curve of her ass.
Her hair shakes out around her. Like magic dust clinging to her locks, the shining silver color bleeds until it’s completely black. She clips the leash to the diamond collar like a good little kitten ready for me to handle her just right.
Realization slams into me at once as Ryke and I both watch her with hooded eyes.
She is manipulating me. And I’m letting her.
Fuck me.
13
A Private Party
Aries
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.
Not that taking a stroll through a dark forest on a leash that’s being held by a brooding fucker like Zaviar is my idea of a good time.
But it does feel nice, in a way. It’s intimate to think I’m not alone in this chaos I’ve created. For the moment, anyway.
Staggering, he kicks up dirt as he sways on his feet before righting himself in the shadows.
“Fuck. These tree roots are like massive tangling logs. How much longer before we get to the castle?”
Walking. It’s tedious to him, it seems. I don’t recall him bitching about it every time he walked somewhere for Damien, though.
“Just a bit further,” I tell my charming date sweetly.
“You said that a fuckin’ hour ago, Crow.”
Wow, he is not getting lucky tonight with an attitude like that, let me tell you.
With a roll of my eyes, I lift a massive leaf and step out onto smooth, trimmed grass. My heels sink in and twinkling lights shine down on us from the distance.
The smell of big red roses twists my stomach with too many memories, and I shove every one of them down as I guide Zaviar to the bushes of the garden up ahead.
Dozens of guest
s file in at the front of the double doors of the castle, but the side entrance is safer. My father’s guard never were too worried about the side entrance when the King’s rooms were all the way in the back.
I notice Zaviar’s gaze lingers on the fat petals of my mother’s deep red roses. He plucks one off and it’s larger than his massive palm. In the slicing moonlight with the sound of a piano singing into the silence, it’s hard not to think he looks like a fairytale come to life. His strong jaw is always so tense. As tense as his wide, bare shoulders. The shadows that dance along his chest are the most alluring darkness I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I truly want to get lost in that darkness.
And I can’t shake the deep look in his eyes as he stares down at the beautiful flower.
What’s he thinking?
“This part of the fae realm is called the Kingdom of Roses,” he whispers.
I step away from the door and come a bit closer to him, trying not to shiver from the cool night breeze skimming along my near-nudity.
“It wasn’t always. Centuries ago, our Kingdom was in ashy shambles because of a hellacious curse my father brought upon himself. It was a dark mess with more demons than fae.”
His pretty shining eyes look up at me. He’s flawless and handsome but he isn’t kind like Damien. It makes me wonder how he’s kept his angelic appearance for so long while Damien’s turns more demonic every day.
“And then my father met my mother. And with a single touch, roses grew everywhere she walked. She was a powerful fae.”
“Was?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“Her magic depends on her happiness,” I whisper with a near soundless voice.
And she hasn’t been happy with my father since their wedding day.
He got what he wanted. A thriving woman who made fae from all the kingdoms join us just to bask in her and her children’s magic. She was someone the kingdom loved.
Even if he never did.
“Happiness is vital in life,” I tell him, my attention fixed on the hundreds of petals filling his hand. “Happiness breeds prosperity.”
The pale blue of his eyes isn’t glaring when he peers up at me through thick, dark lashes. He steps closer, and it startles me when he slides the flower into my hand, his warmth skimming my skin with a tingling scorch. “You’re the most confusing fucking woman I’ve ever met, Crow,” he whispers, his breath fanning against my breasts with his closeness.
My fingers tighten into the thorns of the stem, and I take a careful step back from the hauntingly beautiful man.
The man who hates me.
“When we get inside, never let me step in front of you. Always lead me. Never ask my permission. Do as you please with your property. But—” I say sharply, “do not fucking smoke me unless I ask. You have to be just outside the castle walls anyway. The castle is protected against demonic magic. And if I ask, do it immediately. Do you understand?” My eyes are wide as I imagine the worst-case scenario in which I’d need him to smoke me as far away as his demon magic will carry us.
With a single step, he crowds that space I put between us. A carving smile pulls his lips to one side.
“You don’t have to worry about me smoking you,” he says oddly. I don’t really know why he says that. Perhaps just like Damien, most of his demon powers are muted with the dark magic Corva is using. “I understand.” He reaches for the door, and when he pulls it open a sliver of an inch, the music that always hangs over Nathiale’s birthday streams out to us. “One question, though.”
I arch a brow at him and wait as he brings the door all the way back and reveals an orgy of a scene.
“Why the sexy underwear, Crow?” he asks, but then his smile drops when his gaze scans over every thrusting body littering the couches, the floors, and the stage against the far wall.
Demons kneel before their handlers, their lips sliding down hard shafts, faces contorted in bliss and ecstasy. Moans and screams of delight accompany the beautiful piano music and for a moment, I consider not answering the obvious.
But I have pity on the innocent fallen angel.
“Because this is a sex party, Faehole.”
Obviously.
My body hums to life with the sound of orgasms and teasing release. I pretend not to see it all, though. I walk through the crowd behind Zaviar like a good little pet demon. A demon with a goal, and not even a sight like this will distract me.
But I have a part to play. And it seems Zaviar is ready for payback for me not revealing all the dirty details of tonight’s itinerary.
“I’m really parched, Pet. Fetch me a Rain Tonic. One cube, not two.” To top that command off, he jerks on my leather leash, and I stumble forward to the drink table he’s idly leaning next to. He stands there between a small table lined with cups and drinks and a navy velvet couch. The gold and cream-colored wall supports his back, and he looks entirely like he fits here.
I cut him a sharp glare, but my hips sway to the music as I do exactly what I’m told. I notice he’s playing his part as my sweet date very well, but that tension is still lining those smooth hard shoulders of his. Cold blue eyes scan from one side of the room to the other while he lounges casually, one leg crossed over the other.
Like him, I discreetly pick apart our surroundings. My gaze swipes to the stage first but, instead of finding my brother tangled up with his many lovers, the oval bed is vacant, the covers tucked in tight and untouched.
It’s . . . strange. He should be here. He’s always the first in this room and the last out. The last to pass out naked and in a drunken haze that he’ll sleep off for the next four days. And while he does that, his lovers will quietly close the thick red curtains around his bed, secluding him in peace.
And not check on him until he wakes.
Which makes tonight the perfect night for my plans.
Without much care, I slosh some Rain Tonic into a cup from the glass pitcher that ornately displays the clear sparkling liquor. Its wafting odor hits my nose, but it’s a pure scent. The smell of fresh nature instead of the pungent drinks humans have. Not that I’d turn away a bottle of whiskey right now if Catherine gave me reason to.
I’m still skimming the crowd when I make my way over and slide the drink into Zaviar’s hand. A high fae with a sharp chin and even sharper purple eyes is at his side, and I lower my head as they speak around me.
“She your first? You got to break them in hard. Set an example. They’ll give you the power of their magic for as little as a trick of a glamour or a taste of your soul, but to keep them you have to work at it. Show them who owns them.” The stranger says in a nasty tone that slithers over every exposed part of my skin.
His fingers reach out, and he barely skims the curve of my ass when Zaviar snatches the man’s hand in one twisting grip. The fae yelps in pain, and I barely look up from beneath my lashes to see Zaviar wrenching the asshole’s wrist back at an unnatural angle.
“Seems demons aren’t the only ones you have to break to set an example. Do not touch what’s mine.” Zaviar’s jaw isn’t tight like it always is when he speaks to me. It’s open, and he holds himself as if threatening someone with more magic than him is the most natural thing in the world. The fae cuts his beady attention toward me, and he looks like he might simultaneously apologize and piss himself all at once. “Do. Not. Look at her with your nasty fucking gaze. If you so much as think about her again, I’ll shove that hand so far up your ass you’ll be your own puppeteer for the rest of your fuckin’ life. Faefucks like you give us all a bad name.” Zaviar shoves the man back, and he stumbles for several seconds before skidding to the tile floor near two demons double penetrating their handler.
I’ll admit I’m pleased, but my drifting attention does get a little caught up in what those two demons are doing to that woman. I didn’t even know a vagina could take that much demon sausage.
The more you know, I guess.
Zaviar straightens at my side, and he looks down at his half-spilled glas
s of alcohol I fetched him.
I smile at him anyway. He’s cruel but amusing.
And also…
Do not touch what’s mine.
Why the hell did that make me shiver so fucking hard?
Barbaric claims are what get me off now, huh? I’m going to have a real talk with my ovaries’ incredibly low standards.
Zaviar points swiftly to his drink.
“No ice.” His tone is a flat sound of discipline. “That’s one strike, Pet.” He takes a slow, predatory step toward me. His palm is a shadow of a touch that caresses down my ribs before his fingers dig into my hip.
My body reacts despite my narrowed glare.
He smirks like dark sin.
I feel the asshole fae man still watching us, but I don’t think Zav is performing for him at all. He likes this game. I hate it.
But I did ask for it, didn’t I?
“Well, it’s a good thing I have two more strikes then, isn’t it, Remorseless?” I force my hand up and slide my fingers down his chest. It starts as a conscious effort to seal our performance, but my greedy fingertips seem to have other plans.
“Actually, you’re on a no-bullshit system,” he whispers, his tone catching in a rasping way that makes my thighs shift while my hands slip a little more.
“Oh, really?” I ask with big, innocent eyes.
He nods, licking his lips in a more languid way. “Just one strike for you, Pretty Pet.” His big hand slides up, and his fingers twist through my hair, jerking my head sharply up to him, almost brushing our lips but not quite.
I hum a sound of understanding, but it comes out more like a moan than anything.
Are we playing a game still?
Farther and farther down the delicious lines of his stomach my hand trails. His muscles tick beneath my every move. His eyes are hard on mine, but our bodies don’t act like enemies at all. My breasts push against his chest, and he doesn’t bat an eye when the flat of my palm grinds down against the new hardness beneath his jeans.
Oh. So Zaviar didn’t sell his erection for Corva’s magic. Good to know. Really good.
