I crinkled my brow. “You mean, I’ve been watched by a buried spirit my entire life?”
“For your protection. It’s a good thing.”
Good, but unsettling.
So very unsettling.
“Have you never had strange dreams that didn’t feel like your own?”
I jerked a little.
“You have, haven’t you?”
“Kajika told me Gottwa spirits could reach out to humans in the realm of dreams.”
“He still doesn’t know his Gottwa spirit is an Unseelie, does he?”
“I haven’t told him.”
“Hopefully, Negongwa has set him straight, now that he’s awake.”
A two-hundred-and-fifty-year old man had emerged from a casket filled with spelled rose petals, like a person emerged from a relaxing bath. How I hoped no one had been around to see. “He’s really awake?”
“He’s really awake.”
I shivered a little.
If I ever managed to return to Rowan, what would my world look like?
53
Love Potion
After Cruz dropped me off at the party, he left with his mother and Gregor to discuss battle strategies. My future husband was still playing the part of Lyoh’s lackey. And even though he’d shown me a little tenderness back in the cage when he’d carried my shattered body away, he was back to acting cold and superior.
The party tonight was held in the belly of the palace, in a vast chamber below the throne room. A landscaped medley of lavender and jade-colored succulents covered all four walls, while lianas dripping with roses as pale as cream and as large as water lilies ran across the ceiling, partitioning the sprawling room. Apricot-colored paper lanterns drifted between the clusters of voluble faeries, casting shallow pools of light over their sparkling jewels and gauzy, candy-colored outfits.
I stood in the darkened fringes of the room like a wallflower. Where had my earlier audacity come from? I no longer wanted to be here; I no longer wanted to prove anything to anyone; I wanted to withdraw to Cruz’s apartment, sit in my yellow chair, and rock the next four days away.
“Can you take me home?” I asked Dawson, to whom Cruz had entrusted me upon arriving.
He was bobbing his head to the haunting song rising from a chorus of willowy, half-naked women. “You want to leave?”
I nodded, my nerves as jumbled as the tangle of lianas overhead.
“But you only just got here.” He blew his long blond bangs out of his eyes. “Plus, it’s in your honor.”
“Catiri!” A grating voice rose from the crowd, followed by a delicate flapping hand. “Woo-hoo!”
Now that Angelina had spotted me—and had alerted half the room to my presence—there was no more escaping. Crap.
“Ace is so lucky,” Dawson mumbled. “She’s so beautiful.”
Angelina carved a path through the throngs of people. As per her usual, she wore an outfit that bared her taut, curved midriff. “How incredible is this party?”
Trying to pretend everyone wasn’t staring at me, I said, “It’s…something,” while Dawson blurted out, “It’s almost as incredible as you are, Angelina.”
The compliment burnished Angelina’s already bright ego. She laughed. “You’re sweet.” She pinched Dawson’s flaming cheek. “What’s your name?”
Dawson straightened like a snap bracelet. “Dawson. My name’s Dawson. I’m Veroli’s son and a licensed runa driver. If you ever need a lift, you can call on me.”
Angelina twittered some more, and then she coiled her arm through mine and tugged me into the crowd. “He’s as cute as a puppy, isn’t he? I wish I could have a puppy, but animals from your home can’t survive in ours. Shame, huh?”
I looked over my shoulder to make sure Dawson stayed with me. Even though his eyes were downturned, he followed close behind.
“There’s someone who keeps pestering me about an audience with you. Apparently you met back on Earth?” Angelina’s feet must not have been on the ground, because her head was level with mine. “She’s really taxing, but I promised her a couple minutes of your time.”
How kind of Angelina to manage my social calendar.
We stopped in front of a woman whose skin was so dark it seemed to have swallowed all the light in the room. Only her eyes were colorful, a web of amber-green that matched the rope of emeralds coiled around the black plait she wore as a crown. “Catori Price.”
Her name hit my brain like debris from a twister. “Patila.” Last time I’d seen her, she’d blistered three of my fingers with faerie fire. “Fancy meeting you here,” I muttered, gaze darting around me for a friendly face… Well, friendlier.
“Could we speak in private?” I wasn’t sure if she was asking me or Angelina.
“I…I…”
Angelina flipped her hair. “All right, but no more than five minutes. Catiri has many rounds to make. She is, after all, quite the star tonight. Surviving a cupola.” She winked at me as though surviving a cupola had been some silly game instead of a deadly punishment. “I’ll go get us a drink.” She let go of my arm and sank into the crowd.
Patila stared beyond me at Dawson. “Can you tell your friend to leave too?”
“I’d rather he stay.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
I snorted.
“You still wear a faerie brand. Only that faerie can kill you.”
“Some things are worse than death.”
“Why would I hurt the guest of honor? I’d end up in a cupola, which, unlike you, I most probably would not emerge from.”
My dust swirled in its tracks beneath my necklace, as though reminding me of its presence. My dust. When had I stopped thinking of it as Stella’s? I turned to Dawson. “Give me a minute, okay? After a minute, join me.”
He studied Patila’s stern face before saying, “If you hurt her, Ace will kill you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Patila led me back toward the dusky edges of the room, away from the crowd and the floating paper lanterns. “Everyone seems convinced Ace branded you, but I remember your brand. It was a V. Not a W.”
Her intimation propelled a chill through me. “You must’ve missed one of the Vs.”
“I don’t miss anything.” She moved her face closer to mine and dropped her voice. The heady scent of tuberose lifted off her smooth skin like smoke and snaked into my flaring nostrils. “When Cruz told the draca I must’ve misread your brand, she punished Marcus; said my lie made a fool of her.”
“What is it you want?”
She smiled. “I want Gregor to turn Marcus’s portal stamp back on.”
Marcus. The name called up silver hair, a man as white as Patila was black.
“He’s my husband.”
“What makes you think Gregor would listen to me?”
“He listened to you once already.” An oily smile curved her lips.
Like a spider watching a fly hurtle straight for a web, Patila sensed she’d entrapped me. She was wrong. She might’ve have stunned me midflight, but her web would tear like the mist in a few days.
“It will have to wait until after my wedding.”
She nodded just as a faerie breached the thicket of bodies next to us, looming over everyone else, even though his feet were firmly planted on the buffed stone floor. The second Ace’s eyes met mine, he moved toward me. “Patila.” His voice was sharp.
“Ace.”
“I hope you’re not bothering Catori.”
“We were just catching up.” She grinned at him, then at me. “Weren’t we?”
I returned her cutting smile. “Absolutely. It was such a pleasure seeing you again, Patila. Will you pass on my best wishes to Marcus?”
“I will. Have a pleasant evening.”
After she’d retreated into the crowd, Ace bowed his head toward me. “What did she want?”
“She wants me to have a talk with Gregor about Marcus’s portal stamp.”
“The nerve.” He studied the
crowd as though looking for her.
“She says she remembers my brand. That it wasn’t always a W.”
“Good for her.”
“I told her I’d talk to him after my wedding.”
“There you are!” Angelina’s high-pitched voice chafed against my already raw nerves. “Here.” She pushed a gold goblet into my hand.
I sniffed it.
“Relax. There’s no mallow inside,” she cheeped. “I heard you weren’t a fan. If you don’t believe me, ask my darling fiancé to taste it. He’ll tell you.”
I bit my lip, considered asking Ace. Finally, I took a tiny sip. It tasted like sweet wine that had been left to steep too long in a metal receptacle. When the world didn’t tilt or break out in strange hues, I took another sip, and then another. Soon I’d drained the goblet. As though it hadn’t quenched my thirst, I licked my lips. They tingled deliciously. I licked them again. The taste, the feel of my tongue was almost debilitating.
Ace seized the goblet from my fingers. “What was in this?”
Angelina grinned. “My wedding gift to Catori. Well, to Cruz and Catori.”
Anger fell off Ace in waves that pounded against me, inside of me. My thighs clenched as I felt his emotion everywhere. I must’ve moaned a little because his gaze snapped back to my face.
“You gave her Daneelie scales?” he yelled.
“Uh-huh. I bought a small packet at the market during Middle Month, but between the cupola and her coma, I haven’t had a moment to give it to her. Better locate Cruz fast, or she’ll be ravaging some of the guests. And even though a faerie revel wouldn’t be the same without an orgy, I feel like Cruz wouldn’t be pleased if he weren’t at least present.”
Angelina glowed like an angel, a gorgeous angel. Dawson had been right, she was incredible, dazzling even. I reached out to touch her arm, but Ace strapped his fingers around my wrist and hauled me over his big shoulder.
“Perhaps I should’ve saved some for her duobosi,” Angelina said with a little laugh that sounded like butterfly wings, like dandelion florets, like—
I was suddenly airborne.
I yelped as Ace hurtled up the grandiose stairway. But then I closed my eyes, and smelled the wind, the fire, the spice, and turned blissfully languid. I trailed my fingers up Ace’s back, over the stiff fabric of his blue tunic, then rolled up the hem to feel his hot skin.
“Stop it, Cat.”
“Why? Don’t you like this?”
His arms hardened around me. “Fuck. Fuck.”
Exactly what I wanted.
As I drew my nails up his spine, he flew faster. Goosebumps broke out over his golden skin. He flipped me, and I squealed with delight as I slid into his arms, as my swollen breasts pressed against his sculpted, heaving chest.
As though realizing the position gave me more access to him, he flipped me again. New, exquisite sensations exploded over my back. He grumbled as he readjusted his hold so that I wasn’t flattened against him, but hung like a ragdoll against the band of his rigid forearms.
I whimpered a little, not out of fear for the violet void, but from the lack of contact. I ran my hands around his forearms, stroked the long sinew, the strong bones covered by the softest skin.
He muttered something and heaved me back against him, and even though in some recess of my mind, the sound seemed outrageous, I purred.
54
Ace And Me
Ace soared so high I thought we would reach a lustrium. I extended my hand to stroke the glittery cluster of stars that illumined Neverra at night, but he swooped toward the apex of a calimbor instead.
He dove toward a platform identical to the one in front of Cruz’s home, then kicked open a door and carried me inside, cursing the entire time. He released me and I stumbled, catching myself on the thick edge of a clear guardrail that gave onto a sprawling bedroom. A four-poster bed made up of stone-colored sheets, silver fur pelts, and a medley of silken taupe pillows beckoned to me.
I turned back toward Ace, walked over to where he stood, and reached for him. He jerked away.
I blinked as a jumble of emotions twisted through my pulsating body. I wanted to cry, yell, laugh, touch, take, give. I settled on pouting. “I want you.”
His eyes shut tight, the only movement on his rigid body. “Cat, you’re not you right now. Angelina drugged—”
I approached him and ran my nose along the straight line of his jaw. He smelled like pleasure and safety and happiness and everything I’d ever desired. “I know what she did.” Like smoke, desire expanded from my navel to every single one of my limbs. It erased the sharp lines of my bones and bloated my blood vessels; it softened my muscles and electrified my skin.
His eyes flew open, and his voice swelled like sails fed by wind. “You’ll regret this.”
“Not in this lifetime.” My hands trekked over his arms, up the loose sleeves of his tunic, and wrapped around his biceps. “And if there’s a next one, then not in that one either.”
“Cat…no.” He shook me off. “Daneelie scales are the equivalent of ten faeries using captis on you. You. Are. Not. Yourself. And you’d hate me for taking advantage of you.”
My pulse tripped, and then my eyes filled with tears. Shame. “Don’t you want me?”
He cocooned my cheeks with his palms. “More than anything, but not under the influence of a drug.”
My lips wobbled. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
Tears cascaded down my cheeks.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” He swiped his thumbs over the wetness. “For not protecting you from my world. For what Cruz made you do. For doubting you. I’m sorry for not having been there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry for coming into your life and—”
Drawing a sharp breath, I slapped him. “Don’t ever say that.”
His eyes flared.
“I’ve been miserable without you.”
His forehead pressed against mine. “But if I’d kept my distance, if—” His hot, erratic breaths hit my trembling lips.
“I’d still be here.” I dragged one of his hands off my face and settled it over my pounding heart. “My pulse may beat faster because of a potion, but it beats for you.”
His lashes rose and fell, then rose again.
I waited him out. Waited for him to say no again. I wasn’t sure where this inner calmness stemmed from, for all of me was ache and need and want. I swept my hand over the soft bristles of his hair, down his warm, corded neck, then back up again.
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. I kissed it, and then I kissed the side of his neck and the ridge of his jaw.
A groan left his lips. “Cat—”
“I need you, Ace. Just like I needed you yesterday and I’ll need you tomorrow.”
His pupils danced in his magnificent eyes.
Like a current, my hunger pulled at me, dragging me away from shore and sweeping me into its magnificent depths. “Don’t make me beg. Please don’t make me beg.”
His hand slid off my heart, but didn’t leave my body. It cupped my breast, crumpled the fabric over it. Both my nipples tightened, even though only one was being touched.
His other hand gripped the back of my neck. I gasped as my necklace’s metal and stones imprinted into my skin. He drew away, hunted my eyes, and then he dipped his head and kissed the swell of my breasts. His hands tracked over my ribcage and to the back of my dawn-gray dress. He muttered as he searched for the ribbon holding the tight bodice in place.
I would’ve helped him seek it, but my hands were too busy racing over the jagged knobs of his spine.
I realized he’d found the ribbon when his tongue touched skin instead of fabric.
Another ribbon and the rest of the dress slid off my hips and pooled on the floor.
He leaned away and gazed. His breath caught as his eyes roved over my bared body. “Skies, you are beautiful.”
Only a tiny scrap of fabric still covered me. Too m
uch fabric covered him, though. I stepped toward him and pushed the hem of his tunic up. He raised his arms, and I rolled it up and off. My gaze dipped to the waistband of his pants that held with a strip of knotted leather. I tunneled a finger into the loose knot and tugged.
The pants slid off his hips and he sprang out. I almost purred again as I grazed his jutting hipbones with my fingernails, raising goosebumps on his fiery skin as I trailed my fingers lower, lower.
He was all smooth skin and male perfection. “How am I supposed to refuse you?”
“You’re not.”
Growling, he scooped me up and soared over the glass guardrail, landing in a crouch on his bed. With heartbreaking gentleness, he set me down. I reached out for him, but he bunched my wrists in one of his hands and pushed my arms away, locking them over my head the same way he’d done in that strange tavern atop a bale of hay.
“Let me touch you,” I whispered as he slanted his head and kissed the spot where my neck connected with my ear.
“Tonight’s not about me.” His silky stiffness trailed over my stomach, over my navel, over the fabric of my underwear.
His free hand followed the hot trail, his fingers rough as they caressed my skin. He drew his tongue over my collarbone and down the seam of my ribs, then released my wrists and traced the sides of my body and the indents of my waist with his fingertips. He dragged one of his hands over my navel, then lower, settling it beneath the lace waistband of my underwear.
He stroked the bundle of nerves that ached for his touch, teasing me until my body arched into him, wanting more…and more…and more.
He pushed my thighs apart with his broad shoulders and hooked one finger underneath the fabric, then pulled it away. I knew my mind was muddled with the potion, because I didn’t blush and I didn’t try coaxing him back up.
Rising Silver Mist Page 31
