Page 47 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

M usic reverberated against the night sky, though it felt like it wasn’t coming from instruments at all. Rather that nature was belting out song into the world, weaving it into being, mixing magic and sound to create a symphony that Bryson felt down to her bones.

The air was sharp and fizzled with a drugging magic similar to when Fae wine was created. It immediately made her dizzy and lightheaded, and she tried not to sway on her feet as everything pulsed through her in a single, forceful shove.

Weylyn reached out to grasp her hand. His firm touch steadied her, and she found a brief second of comfort in it before he was pulling away. Almost like he was afraid of who was watching. She hated that, which was strange considering she hadn’t wanted him touching her at all.

But as far as Bryson was concerned, her rules went out the window when it came to being in the Unseelie Court. There were no rules here, or at least if there were, they didn’t apply to this situation. She wanted Weylyn to touch her. She needed him to.

If only so she didn’t feel quite so alone.

But this was a dangerous game they were playing, and she wasn’t going to desperately reach for him and let everyone scent her fear. She wasn’t going to be prey here.

She was going to be a predator.

“Stay by my side.” Weylyn’s voice flittered through her mind, beating frantically. She wanted to reach for him, but closed her nails into her palms instead and swallowed the rising lump in her throat.

Bryson focused her attention back on the party. Things had quieted down a fraction as the queen all but floated towards her throne. The same one she’d sat in when they first arrived. The difference this time was there were more bodies. There was the scent of food and drugging magic in the air, and things didn’t seem as tense as they’d been before.

But they did feel equally dangerous.

There was a beat of silence. And then the queen called out, “Feast and party, my subjects. For we celebrate my son and his mate tonight.”

There was a roar as sound crashed through the night once again. Bodies swarmed them, jostling Weylyn and Bryson apart. She turned, blinking blindly, letting her nose follow his scent. But it was useless. The bodies shoved at her, pulling her into the fray of the party. Music hummed and all manner of hands and arms reached for her.

She found herself clasping down on fingers as though to steady herself. But those fingers yanked her onto the grass and twirled her, over and over again until she felt like she was losing control of her own body. She looked up into the air, finding floating lights above her. Golden dust rained down over her face, trickling up her nose. Bryson sneezed to expel it, but all it did was invade her senses and cloud her vision.

“Weylyn!” She looked around, losing his scent and his form in the fray.

She caught sight of him, his long braid and dark skin and gold gleaming on his body. She reached out, grasping his hand in her own, and was shoved from behind. She landed against the solidity of his chest and gasped as a strange scent filled her nostrils.

Not of sweet and spice, but of something far, far different.

Golden-clad fingers gripped her hips, pulling her against the hard press of a tall, lithe body. She looked up, blinking, gasping, as she met a pair of eyes that glared down at her, so in contrast with the smile curving that mouth. A smile that was familiar but didn’t belong to Weylyn at all.

Curved black horns adorned with gold sat on his forehead. The man, the prince, one of Weylyn’s brothers, held her close. His palms closed over her hip, the other grasping at her hand.

“How very forward of you, little Fae.”

This wasn’t the brother who had found them and brought them to the queen in chains. This was a different one, and she tried to rack her memory for his name but came up blank.

“I thought you were Weylyn,” she defended quietly.

He chuckled low and his voice enveloped her. “An innocent mistake,” he purred. “One you will regret if you make it again.” His fingers dug into her skin, and she bit the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out. A moment later, he was twirling her, round and round and round until her head spun with dizziness. Her feet skidded against the ground as she tried to keep up with him but failed.

More of that golden powder sprinkled from the sky and coated her skin like a layer of dust. She had the urge to swat it away, but the prince was holding her too tightly.

She could feel the hatred in his very touch. In every word that dripped from his tongue. It was venomous, this poison he felt for his brother. So obvious that they all hated Weylyn. Even if her mate hadn’t told her that he was estranged from his own family, it would have been so very obvious. And that hatred, it seemed, extended to Bryson as well. Just by her association.

He held her tightly like he wanted to break her.

He would find that Bryson couldn’t be so easily broken.

“I should go find your brother.”

She started to pull away, but his growl stopped her, his hold on her tightening.

“My brother is occupied at the moment.” He twirled her in a circle and as he did so, she caught a whiff of Weylyn’s scent through her nose, and a flash of gold that could have very well been him, but she couldn’t be sure.

The prince caught her in his arms again, holding her even closer than he had before.

Warning ran through her mind. Of what Weylyn had told her about his brothers. About how dangerous they were. She needed to get away from him, but his grip was fast, the bodies pressed around them, making it almost impossible for her to pull away from him.

She wondered if shoving a prince would be considered a slight. If he would punish her for the audacity of harming him and decided she would rather not risk it. Not in this court. Not with him.

“What was your name again?” she asked, She didn’t want to even have a conversation with him, but she wanted him glaring at her in silence the whole time even less.

“What will you give me in exchange for my name?” he mused.

Bryson’s scarred eyes rolled. “You really don’t think that’s going to work on me, do you?”

He chuckled low and pulled her closer by the waist. His hand slid over her hip, though the act was more clinical and unnerving than outright sexual. “A Fae can make an attempt at trickery.”

Bryson scoffed.

“I am called Rainer.”

“That’s a mouthful.” It wasn’t, but she felt she needed to say something. If only because the power imbalance between them felt all too real, and she already felt entirely too small.

He chuckled and lowered his head so the tips of his hair grazed Bryson’s body. It felt like spiderwebs clinging to her skin. Sticky and creepy. She fought the urge to claw at her skin. “I know of something else that is also a mouthful, if you would be so inclined to try.”

Bryson flicked her gaze disinterestedly over his body then back up to his face. “I may be near blind but even I can see that you are overly compensating.”

Rainer laughed, and the sound was surprisingly... pleasant. Bryson was instantly on alert as he pulled her closer. So close it felt like she’d seep into his very skin. His arms wrapped around her in a hold that she knew she wouldn’t be able to break out of without a great push from her magic.

“You are very humorous, High Fae,” he said against her shoulder. A second later, his tongue darted out to taste her skin and she jerked in his hold, trying to shove away from him. “It is unfortunate you are mated to him.”

The vehemence in that single word made her stop struggling. She had no idea why they hated Weylyn so much, but she felt it like a palpable thing that she could reach out and choke herself with if she’d been so inclined.

“Such a shame to be tethered to him,” he went on, his clawed fingers slipping over her body, tracing along her freckles. “Such a shame a stunning creature like you is now to be caught up in our familial war.”

Bryson swallowed her discomfort. “What do you mean, war?”

Rainer smirked. “I suppose you will see soon enough, will you not? Since you are now a pawn in our game.” His lips caressed the shell of her ear. “And you will be the first to die.”

He shoved her away from him and her feet twirled in the dance, further and further from his arms. Golden dust followed where she went, bathing her in that dizzying sensation.

She nearly tripped but was caught again, this time by four arms that caged her between two bodies.

“Look at what we have caught, Gwyn,” a voice said.

“A sightless High Fae, Glyn!” a second voice exclaimed.

Bryson’s head darted back and forth. Her neck felt heavy, her eyelids even more so. But she managed to make out identical faces in front and over her shoulder. Twins. Princes. Weylyn’s brothers.

She tried to pull out from their hold, but their arms were like iron bars wrapped around her. Suffocating and demanding.

“Our brother’s precious mate,” the one named Glyn said. He whipped her around so she was facing the other brother instead. She wanted to get away, but more of that sparkling dust hit her nose, causing her strength to wane.

“How unfair a life when a murderer finds his mate above all others,” Gwyn lamented, sighing against her skin. “Did you know that, little Fae? Did you know your mate is a murderer?”

“She must know,” Glyn volleyed back. “If she does not, then she is a fool.”

“Maybe she is a fool, Glyn. Only a fool would fall in a mushroom circle.”

Her head spun as it tried to keep up with the conversation. She grasped at the first thing she could with trembling fingers, one of the twin’s shirtfronts, while her mind spun. “I didn’t fall in,” she defended. Her tongue was starting to feel heavy. “I was pushed.”

“Oh, our apologies, little Fae.”

Hands slid over her thighs, over the spiderweb material of the shimmering skirt. The hem lifted, exposing more of her than she wanted them to see. She jerked against them, slapping their hands as if that could shove away their wandering fingers.

“Oh, do not be so prude, little Fae.” Gwyn laughed against her shoulder. “You know Gwyn and I like to share our lovers. Weylyn owes us. He should share you, too.”

“He owes us a great deal, he does,” Glyn confirmed. “We would only be taking what we are owed. Would you like to know what he owes us?”

“It would cost you, of course.”

“A price. Everything always comes with a price.”

Her head lolled a bit to the side. It was on the tip of her tongue to agree. Her entire body felt loose and agreeable, but at the last moment, something in her skidded to a halt and she remembered just where she was and who they were.

Never make a deal with an Unseelie Fae.

Those were the rules. And whatever dust they were sprinkling against her nose was giving the effect of forgetfulness. She wanted to throw caution to the wind. She wanted to tell them everything, and she wanted them to give her every secret in return.

No .

She couldn’t.

It was dangerous.

She shoved at the chest of one of the twins weakly. “Let me go,” she slurred.

“What if we do not want to let you go?”

“What if we want to keep you for ourselves?”

“What if we want to kill you the same way Weylyn killed her?”

“No one would stop us, you know.”

“No one.”

“You’re all alone, little Fae.”

“So alone.”

“Blind and alone.”

“Ours to toy with.”

“Ours to torture.”

“ Hehehehe . You are ours now, little Fae. Come, let us play.”

Hands grabbed her from all sides, and she tried to shove them away. Tried to drown out the taunting voices, but they only echoed inside her skull, creating a loud pounding that made her temples throb. She wanted to drop to her knees and scream. She wanted to choke. She wanted to disappear.

Weylyn.

Where was Weylyn?

Why had he left her?

A void swallowed her up and she felt truly disregarded. Like there was no one there and never would be. He’d abandoned her and they were going to swallow her alive. There was nothing she could do about it. Nothing. Nothing. Nothingnothingnothingnothingnothing—

“Leave her alone Gwyn, Glyn.” A voice cut through the haze of her panic, causing the twins to stiffen around her. A moment later they released her and took a step away.

“Aw, you’re no fun, Cassimir.”

“Yeah, no fun.”

“Go pull the wings off pixies. It is my turn to dance with our new sister.”

The twins hissed and scrambled away, but not before they cursed in Bryson’s direction. “She is no sister of ours,” they spat in unison and then disappeared into the crowd.

With them gone, Bryson could breathe. Though her body still felt lethargic, she felt less clustered. Less suffocated. Now, she only felt dizzy and drunk.

But that wasn’t right, was it? she thought. She hadn’t had a drink all night. Why did she feel like she’d imbibed in way too much Fae wine?

Cassimir gripped her, pulling her back to the present. He held her close, but his touch wasn’t painful like Rainer’s had been, and it wasn’t roaming like the twins’ had been. His touch was careful. Not respectful exactly, but he didn’t frighten her as much as the others did. Maybe he was better at tempering the wild nature the others so freely let loose.

Still, Bryson couldn’t bring herself to relax at all.

“I would apologize for my siblings’ behavior, but I fear it would not be accepted regardless.” He twirled her, pressing her close. Her feet nearly stumbled, and she grasped at his hand for support.

“You’re right.” Bryson’s words came out slightly slurred. “I wouldn’t accept it.”

“Hmm.”

The music reverberated, drowning out everything else for a brief moment. In that moment, she lost herself in the sensation of the music of the wildlands. It was free, consuming, almost as consuming as the powder invading her system.

“Why do you all hate Weylyn so much?” Bryson found herself asking.

She shouldn’t engage in conversation with him. She knew that, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. The curiosity had been killing her since they arrived, and Weylyn’s answers were evasive at best. Not that she thought he would tell her the truth. Not that she thought she could trust anything he said anyway. But her tongue was thick and loose, and her head was spinning, her thoughts as cloudy as her vision.

“He has not told you?” He whirled her again, his hand warmed against her lower back.

Bryson didn’t reply.

“Hmm, I suppose he would not. He would twist the truth if he did. He would make you believe that which did not happen, if only to make himself look innocent. Free of culpability from something that was entirely his fault.”

Bryson’s head spun. “You’re speaking in riddles.”

“Am I?” His palm lifted against her back and he brought her hand between them, pressing it over her chest where he likely was feeling the rapid beating of her heart. His smile kicked up. “You are nervous.”

There was no point in denying the obvious. “I am. You would be too if you were in a strange court, surrounded by strange Fae who wanted nothing more than to kill you simply by association with your brother.”

“You must understand it is nothing personal, little Fae.” His palm splayed against her chest, trapping her hand against his. His grip was firm, but not painful. “At least not towards you. You are merely a means to an end here.”

They twirled again and more powder rained down. It made Bryson feel like she was floating. Flying.

“And what end is that?” she found herself asking.

Cassimir lowered his head. Close enough that his lips pressed against her ear. Close enough that his tongue flicked against her skin. “Weylyn’s demise.”

Her entire body tensed at the threat that was so obvious in his tone. It left no room for second-guessing. No room for anything but the truth. They wanted Weylyn dead. And they would stop at nothing to get it, even if it meant using her to get to him.

Fear snaked through her body, wrapping around her tightly and refusing to let go.

“But why?” she whispered. Her hold tightened on him, like she could rip out the truth from his throat, from his body. “What did he do to you?”

Cassimir’s eyes shuttered and the air changed with menace, danger, and she felt death merging along the horizon and it had nothing to do with the iron in the air.

And when Cass answered, that chill turned to ice and Bryson felt like she would crack and shatter into thousands of little pieces.

“He helped kill her.”

Cassimir spun her out and pulled her back. This time, he left a foot of space between them. His entire body was stiff as he bowed, the perfect picture of princely manners. His crown gleamed on his head, his horns shining like obsidian. That smile of his was feral. Knowing. Threatening.

“I thank you,” he purred. “For the honor of this dance. I believe my brother has need of you.”

She didn’t get a chance to reply before he turned and walked away.

A moment later, she was enveloped in the scent of sweetness and spice. Weylyn’s arms came around her, whipping her around. She could make out the worry on his features up close, the groove in between his eyebrows as he looked her up and down as if searching for injuries that weren’t there.

His gaze zeroed in on her eyes and a muttered curse left his lips.

“Are you alright?” he whispered low. His gaze darted around cautiously.

Up close, his scent made her as dizzy as the powder sifting through her nose. This close, she felt her anxieties and fears fade away. There was no longer the oppressive, cloying scent of the iron and powder. She no longer felt the creepy slide of his brothers’ unwanted touch against her skin.

This close it was just Weylyn and her. Weylyn. Her mate. Her chosen. This close, she felt protected. Her arms came up to rest against his shoulders. She had to stretch because he was so tall, and she enjoyed feeling just a bit delicate next to him, though she wouldn’t ever admit that out loud.

Her fingers played with the skin at his shoulders and slid down, over his chest, pressing against the thumping where his heart beat in a steady rhythm she wished she could match. Her hands went lower still to his waist only to wrap around him and pull him closer.

“Hmm,” she hummed, moving her hips. Pressed this close, she felt every pane of his body against hers. The silver, shimmering material of the dress she wore was practically nothing but a layer of webbing. It did nothing to conceal his warmth. Nothing to hide his arousal as his cock rose beneath his pants and pressed against her stomach.

She felt dizzy at the proximity and felt her body sway.

Weylyn’s hands came down against her own waist. His eyes flashed brightly, and she sucked in a breath.

“Bryson...” His fingers twitched against her hips. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm.” She pressed her hips against him, looking for friction. The warmth of the night air caressed her every inch, twining between her legs. A gush of wetness seeped from her, near begging for his touch. “Dance with me?”

“You’ve been drugged,” Weylyn whispered. His fingers came up to swipe at the golden powder that had been landing in gusts down against her face. “These are Unseelie drugs.”

“Is that why I feel like I’m floating?” She giggled, unable to stop the sound.

So that was why she felt high... high... high.

Her body swayed again, rubbing against him. She tilted her head back and let out a groan. Her skin felt like it was on fire and the only thing that could ease the burn was his touch.

“Weylyn,” she all but whimpered. “Touch me. Touch me, please.” Everything faded away. The music. The bodies pressing around them, dancing with as little inhibition as she felt swirling through her own head. They all moved, powder of all colors shimmering against bodies, pressed against their skin and sticking there.

His fingers came away golden as he tried to rub the magic off.

“Bryson.” His voice was firm. “No.”

Tears pricked her eyes at the rejection, but she only pressed closer, standing on the tips of her toes so their noses touched. She inhaled deeply, wanting him to invade her every crevice.

She hated it before. Hated him before. But now she was alone. Now she needed him. Now she relished in him, in his scent. All the reasons she had protested their bond seemed so far away now. And if she was going to die, then she rather it be drowning in him instead of by the cruel hands of those around her.

It wasn’t fair. A far part of her knew that it wasn’t fair to press this close. To let her lips hover over his own. It wasn’t fair when she might not want him after they left Unseelie. But there was no guarantee of survival.

And Bryson was so very tired of fighting the darkness. And Weylyn was dark. He was chaos. He was everything she tried to avoid but so desperately wanted to give in to. And why shouldn’t she give in? Why shouldn’t she be selfish? Why shouldn’t she want what was fated to be hers?

Her lips skimmed across Weylyn’s, sucking in the soft gasp he let out.

“Bryson,” he groaned against her mouth, though his fingers flexed against her hips, pulling her closer. Like he was too weak to push her away, even if his eyes said he wanted to. “We can’t.”

She arched her neck just a bit more and kissed him. A quick press of her lips against his own. Just a taste. A small little taste of what they could have, of what they could be.

She hadn’t tasted his lips before. Not like this. Not physically. Everything they’d ever done had been with the use of his magic. Mental, spiritual. It had all been a phantom, a product of desire and imagination. And it came up short to what he truly felt like. Solid. Warm.

She wanted him desperately.

“Weylyn.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth once again. “Just a taste,” she whispered. “Please, just a taste.”

His eyes closed almost as if he were at war with himself. As if he were fighting her words, the desire she knew they both were feeling.

“Just a taste,” she pleaded again.

His eyes opened and the gold burned a hole through her soul. His canines flashed and he echoed her words. “Just a taste.”

And then his lips devoured her own.