“Name it.”
I stabbed my finger at Celeste’s swords. “Make me a pair of those. Just in case we ever do run into more ren-faire assassins. You never know in Ashland.”
Owen nodded, and his eyes narrowed, as if he was already mentally designing the weapons. “Two silverstone swords. With long, sharp, plain blades. And some sapphires fitted together in the hilts to form your spider runes.”
I could already see the weapons in my mind, and I knew they would be just as exquisite as the knives Owen had made for me. I grinned. “You certainly know the way to this assassin’s heart.”
For dessert, we had warm oatmeal-cherry crumble topped with vanilla-bean ice cream and drizzled with my homemade chocolate sauce. After we finished, Owen cleared the table while I lit a fire in the den. Then we curled up on the couch together, our arms wrapped around each other, staring into the bright, cheery flames and lost in our own thoughts.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I finally asked. “About Darrell? I know the two of you weren’t all that close, but what he did still had to hurt.”
A betrayal by someone you knew and considered a friend always left a far deeper mark than a random attack by a stranger.
“I liked Darrell. He was always nice, polite, and friendly, and I thought he was good at his job. I just didn’t realize that he was a little too good at it.” Owen grimaced. “I still can’t believe he was plotting behind my back this whole time. And not just to steal money but to kidnap and kill me.”
He fell silent, still staring into the flames. Several seconds passed before he spoke again.
“I guess it just goes to show that you don’t really know some people the way you think you do. Maybe the ren faire should have a new theme next year. Maybe instead of Winter’s Web, the organizers should call it The Ides of Winter.” He let out a low, bitter laugh. “Hey, maybe I’ll even dress up like Julius Caesar next year. After all, I’ve been betrayed, just like he was.”
I kept quiet, sensing there was more he needed to say.
“And I can’t help but feel stupid that I fell into Darrell’s trap. I should have known something weird was going on when I supposedly won the faire tickets.” He shook his head. “And I can’t help but think that I could have done things differently. That if I’d just known how unhappy Darrell was, I could have done something to help him.” His voice dropped. “Instead of killing him.”
I sat up and looked at him. “It is not your fault that Darrell did what he did. People make their own choices, and they are responsible for their own actions and the consequences that come along with them. Darrell could have come to you and told you he’d made a mistake embezzling the money, and you would have helped him. I know you would have, because that’s the kind of good, decent, honorable man you are. But Darrell was arrogant and stupid and greedy, and he decided to take what he wanted no matter how many people he had to hurt. That was his biggest mistake, and it ended up costing him everything.”
Owen nodded, and some of the tension eased out of his body. “How did I ever get so lucky as to have you in my life?”
I grinned. “I could say the same thing about me having you.”
He leaned over and kissed me. The brief brush of his lips against mine sent warmth shooting through my body and ignited a spark of desire deep in my stomach.
I drew back, then grinned again and clasped my hands to my heart. “Oh, my dear, sweet, humble blacksmith!” I cooed in a high, falsetto voice. “Oh, how you make me swoon!”
I put my hand up to my forehead, let out a long, loud, dramatic sigh, and then flopped back against the couch cushions, as though I was a genteel lady overcome with a case of the vapors.
Owen laughed and then bent forward at the waist, as though he was taking a bow. “Why, thank you, fair lady. This humble blacksmith always aims to please his pirate queen assassin.”
I crooked my finger at him. “Then come here and prove it,” I murmured in a low, husky voice.
Owen grinned, leaned forward, and lowered himself on top of me so that we were both stretched out on the couch. I threaded my hands through his silky black hair and pulled his head down to mine. Our lips met, and I swiped my tongue against his. He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth. More sparks exploded in my stomach, and I sighed with happiness, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him closer.
Owen kissed his way across my cheek, then sucked on the side of my neck. I drew in a breath, drawing his rich metallic scent deep into my lungs. He kept kissing my neck, even as his hands slid up my shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and he cupped my breasts, gently tweaking my nipples with his thumbs. Those sparks burned even brighter and coalesced into a liquid heat that flooded my entire body.
“You are wearing entirely too many clothes,” Owen rumbled, still kneading my breasts.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I murmured back, running my hands down his strong, muscled back.
“Then let’s fix that.”
Owen grabbed me around the waist and sat up, pulling me up along with him. I lifted my arms over my head, and he stripped off my shirt, exposing my bare breasts.
His violet gaze darkened with desire. “Now, that’s more like it.”
He dipped his head to my right breast and gently caught my nipple between his teeth. Then he sucked on it hard before doing the same thing to my other breast. I gasped with pleasure and arched back to give him better access.
Owen kept sucking, licking, and kissing my breasts. That liquid heat in my body burned a little hotter with every sure stroke of his fingers and every sly slide of his tongue. I reached down to get rid of his shirt the way he’d gotten rid of mine, but Owen caught my hand in his and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “This blacksmith wants to thoroughly pleasure his lady first.”
He gave me a wicked grin, then laid me back down on the couch and undid my jeans. I lifted my hips, and Owen slid the jeans off me, along with my underwear and socks. I lay there and watched while he got rid of his own clothes, then grabbed a condom from his wallet. I took my little white pills, but we always used extra protection.
The crackling flames bathed Owen in a soft glow, outlining his broad shoulders, his strong biceps, his muscled chest, and his long, hard erection. I let out a low wolf whistle of appreciation.
“Not so humble after all,” I purred.
Owen winked. “Like I said before, I aim to please.”
He got down on his knees beside the couch. He smoothed his hands down my thighs and eased them apart. My breath caught in my throat. I knew what was coming next and just how good it would be.
Owen gave me another wicked grin, then bent forward and put his mouth on me, sucking, licking, and kissing just as he’d done to my breasts. I moaned with pleasure and rocked forward, and he plunged his tongue even deeper inside me.
That liquid heat in my veins flared up into something hotter and far more intense, the pressure and the pleasure built and built, and it wasn’t long before I cried out and exploded.
Owen kept right on sucking, licking, and kissing as the orgasm ripped through me, trying to bring me as much pleasure as possible. Finally, when my body had stilled, he lifted his head and looked at me.
“Is my lady pleased?” he murmured.
“Exceptionally. Now, come here, you,” I growled.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward me. Owen laughed and climbed back onto the couch with me. Our mouths locked together, our tongues dueled back and forth, and our caresses became quicker, harder, and more intense.
Eventually, I flipped him over and teased his long, hard length with my tongue and mouth the same way he had teased me, trying to bring him as much pleasure as he had given me, as though this was the first time we’d been together instead of the hundredth. But in some ways, every time with Owen felt like the first time, and I always loved exploring all the hard, muscled planes of his body, from the scar that cut across his chin to hi
s broad shoulders and all the way down his chest.
When Owen was ready, he covered himself with the condom, then picked me up and settled me on his lap. I looked into his eyes, then rocked forward, taking him deep inside me with one smooth motion. We both groaned, and he held on to my hips, urging me on as I surged forward time and time again, taking him deeper and deeper inside me, until we both reached the very peak of our pleasure and plunged over the edge together.
The humble blacksmith and the pirate queen assassin had pleased each other very much indeed.
Afterward, we lay tangled up together on the couch, covered with a soft blanket, basking in the afterglow, as well as the flames still crackling in the fireplace.
Owen drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped around me. I put my head on his chest and let the strong, steady beat of his heart lull me to sleep as well. My last thought before I slipped into the quiet, soothing blackness was about the ren faire.
Winter’s Web, The Ides of Winter, whatever you wanted to call it. The name didn’t matter, only the fact that Owen and I had survived it the way we always did, just as we would survive all the challenges with Tucker, Mason, and the Circle that were looming on the horizon.
Together.
About the Author
Jennifer Estep is a New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author, prowling the streets of her imagination in search of her next fantasy idea. She is the author of the following series:
Elemental Assassin: The books focus on Gin Blanco, an assassin code-named the Spider, who can control the elements of Ice and Stone. When she’s not busy battling bad guys and righting wrongs, Gin runs a barbecue restaurant called the Pork Pit in the fictional Southern metropolis of Ashland. The city is also home to giants, dwarves, vampires, and elementals—Air, Fire, Ice, and Stone.
Crown of Shards: The books focus on Everleigh Blair, who is seventeenth in line for the throne of Bellona, a kingdom steeped in gladiator tradition. But when the unthinkable happens, Evie finds herself fighting for her life—both inside and outside the gladiator arena.
Mythos Academy: The books focus on Gwen Frost, a seventeen-year-old Gypsy girl who has the gift of psychometry, or the ability to know an object’s history just by touching it. After a serious freak-out with her magic, Gwen is sent to Mythos Academy, a school for the descendants of ancient warriors like Spartans, Valkyries, Amazons, and more.
Mythos Academy spinoff: The books focus on Rory Forseti, a seventeen-year-old Spartan girl who attends the Colorado branch of Mythos Academy. Rory’s parents were Reapers, which makes her the most hated girl at school. But with a new group of Reapers and mythological monsters on the rise, Rory is the only one who can save her academy.
Black Blade: The books focus on Lila Merriweather, a seventeen-year-old thief who lives in Cloudburst Falls, West Virginia, a town dubbed “the most magical place in America.” Lila does her best to stay off the grid and avoid the Families—or mobs—who control the town. But when she saves a member of the Sinclair Family during an attack, Lila finds herself caught in the middle of a brewing war between the Sinclairs and the Draconis, the two most powerful Families in town.
Bigtime: The books take place in Bigtime, New York, a city that’s full of heroic superheroes, evil ubervillains, and other fun, zany, larger-than-life characters. Each book focuses on a different heroine as she navigates among the city’s heroes and villains and their various battles.
For more information on Jennifer and her books, visit her website at www.JenniferEstep.com. You can also follow her on Facebook, Goodreads, BookBub, and Twitter, and sign up for her newsletter.
Happy reading, everyone!
A Wilderness of Glass
A Novella in the World of the Wraith Kings
by
Grace Draven
The stretch of sea known as the Gray rules the lives of those in the village of Ancilar, including widow Brida Gazi. In the aftermath of an autumn storm, Brida discovers one of the sea’s secrets cast onto the shore—a discovery that will change her world, mend her soul, and put her in the greatest danger she’s ever faced.
Copyright © 2018 by Grace Draven
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.
Thank you for reading!
Acknowledgements
A sincere and heartfelt thank you to Mel Sterling and RJ Blain for their patience with the 11th hour.
Chapter One
The vestibule just outside the busy kitchens hummed with conversation and the thump of wet boots. One by one, the musicians shed their footwear for the clean shoes they’d carried with them during the slow wagon ride up the castle hill.
Brida Gazi laced her shoes with shaking fingers, still cold from the winds blowing off the Gray to scour the bluff on which Castle Banat perched. She blew on her hands to warm them before tucking them under her arms for additional heat. “I can hardly tie my shoes,” she complained to the woman seated next to her. “I won’t be much good on the flute if I can’t move my fingers.”
Haniss nodded, eyeing the fire they glimpsed in the kitchen with a longing gaze, flames dancing merrily in the giant hearth. “Maybe they’ll let us stand by the cooking hearth for a few moments to warm up and dry off a little.” She caressed the mandolin in her lap as if it were a favorite cat. “It isn’t just us who’ll need warming before we play. I don’t even want to hear what these strings sound like right now.”
The trip had been a miserable one with the salty mists spraying off the Gray to descend upon them in a light drizzle. She had huddled in her thin cloak, clutching her flute with one hand and holding her place on the low-sided dray wagon with the other.
Autumn had brought the annual rains, and this evening had been much like the ones before it for the past fortnight—wet and chilly. It could have been worse. Thunder boomed in the distance, heard even in the depths of the keep, behind thick stone walls. At their arrival in the bailey, the wagon driver had given their troupe a brief frown and a warning as he glanced at the horizon where lightning bolts split the heavy clouds.
“Be prepared for a drenching on the way home,” Odon Imre said. “And a long ride as well. I’ll not be pushing Voreg here to go fast on muddy roads. I’d rather get you home late than dead.”
A scullery maid appeared at the threshold between vestibule and kitchen, a spoon in one hand. She offered the musicians a quick smile. “Cook says you can gather by the fire to warm yourselves. Just don’t get in the way or have a chat-up with the rest of us.”
She leapt back to keep from being trampled as the five of them bolted for the kitchen and the promise of heat the hearth offered. Brida was the last to leave, and she paused before the wide-eyed maid. “I saw your mama today, Aliz. She wanted me to tell you not to forget that pot of pepper you promised when you come home in a few days.” She chuckled at the maid’s frustrated eyeroll.
“I wish I’d never said anything about it. You’re the fourth person who’s delivered that message to me. If I were my da, I’d start to feel jealous over the attention she’s paying to a container of spice!”
The various scents of food stewing in pots, roasting on spits, and frying in pans made Brida’s mouth water. She’d eaten at home a few hours earlier, but the meal had been nothing as tempting as the smells wafting through the great kitchen at the moment.
The castle’s cook, a tall, whip-thin man with a stare sharper than the knife he currently wielded, stalked toward them. Maids and undercooks scurried out of his path. He gestured with the blade and addre
ssed them in a startlingly dulcet voice.
“Once you get the cold out of your hands, you can have something to eat over there.” He pointed the knife to a long table set against the far wall. “Lord Frantisek says a well-fed musician plays better, and he expects you to give your best tonight.”
Exclamations of delight greeted his announcement, along with assurances that each musician would offer up their best performance for the pleasure of his lordship’s guests.
Haniss leaned down to whisper in Brida’s ear. “His lordship is much different from his wife, I think. If it were up to Ziga’s sister, we’d be playing in the bailey in the downpour.”
“If it were up to Lady Frantisek, we wouldn’t be here at all.” Brida had met the lady of the castle very briefly years earlier, before her marriage to Andras Frantisek. A brittle, high-born girl, very aware of her station in life, she had grown into a beauty who captured the attention of the powerful Frantisek family as a possible bride for the heir before their fall from grace. Sometimes Brida found it hard to believe the pragmatic Zigana Imre was her ladyship’s bastard sister. The two women were nothing alike in character.
After time in front of the hearth and a quick supper, the castle steward appeared to escort them to a chamber similar to the first vestibule, except that it was much warmer and contained a staircase that led to a balcony overlooking the great hall. Another doorway opening to the hall itself gave Brida a glimpse of the guests gathering for Lord Frantisek’s party to celebrate his wife’s naming day.
These were not the elite aristocracy who populated King Sangur’s court in Pricid. None of those nobles would deign to travel so far—or even so near—to attend a celebration hosted by the Frantisek Exile. Tonight’s guests were the more lowly gentry from the towns and villages within the lord’s demesne, eager to brush shoulders and have conversation with the last remaining members of a once-powerful family.
Seasons of Sorcery Page 9
