Page 3 of Temptation Unleashed (Talaenian Fae #3)

F loating, once more, in a void of murky darkness, somewhere between physical and spiritual, conscious and unconscious.

A muted sense of discomfort hovered where he believed his chest to be.

As with all previous near awakenings, he could not place his body with certainty, only sensations.

’Twas as if he existed outside his physical form.

As he floated weightlessly, he realized why he roused from unconsciousness.

Darkness. ’Twas his bed.

But a heavier darkness slithered through the viscosity surrounding him. Black, pitch as an endless void, humming along a low frequency tier of energy. So well camouflaged he nearly missed it.

The electrical sting as the tendrils of this strange power tried to break through his mental barriers had stirred him from the depths of his slumber, and it shocked him again as those tendrils insidiously caressed the edges of his shield. Seeking entrance…into his mind .

That power .

Thaddeus paced the tendrils, following their path along the fortress protecting his mind in his vulnerable state. Slithering serpents of foul magic. A gentle prod here. A subtle nudge there. Testing for potential cracks in his impenetrable wall.

Not a weakness was to be found, but his growing irritation over this breach of privacy disturbed the murky waters of this healing sleep.

No one was privy to his mind.

He resisted Cecir’s spell, mentally tearing at the intricately woven fabric of layered magic. The tendrils hastened their search, digging against his shield, attempting to burrow through the impassable.

Bloody fool.

Conjuring strength within this liquid space, he repelled the prodding wisps with a shocking blast.

The darkness shook as it pressed down on him in a fierce rush, a sensation of being launched skyward at an intolerable speed. Pain needled across his skin. Tension twisted his muscles. Teeth clenched so hard his head throbbed.

Until the darkness shattered as he roared back to consciousness.

“Never again.”

Thaddeus coiled dark navy strands of magic around his fingers, stretching the threads between both hands before extinguishing them altogether.

The thrum of regenerated magic resonated through his muscles, yet he couldn’t shake the muted resistance to perform spells and cast his power.

Something remained off, not entirely healed, subpar in execution.

Mayhap the poison had done more damage than anyone suspected.

After all, he’d never been the victim of iron arrows before.

With a scowl, Thaddeus pushed off the rock slab that had become his bed for however many days. Every bone in his body suffered the effects of the unyielding bed. Oh, to return to the luxuries he’d been accustomed to!

Luxuries that always included his princess.

Thaddeus flinched.

My dead princess.

The pain and grief of realizing, of accepting, Daeanna was truly dead surpassed any suffering he’d endured since that fateful day on the Talaenian lands. If he could have bargained his life with the Goddess for Daeanna’s, he would have. Her worth was invaluable, whereas his? He was replaceable.

She carried the promise for all pureblood Fae.

He carried only the ideas of obtaining her ultimate goals and visions.

Thaddeus shook the dreary thoughts from his head and quietly approached the crude panel of wood considered a door.

With a blind swipe of his arm, he cast this small alcove in darkness, extinguishing all candles to leave naught more than the suffocating rise of smoke.

For many minutes, he stood beside the door, listening for the occasional straggler to pass by in the passage beyond, waiting for valuable nuggets of information before he decided to emerge and face Grison.

The last three days, eves, whatever time ’twas in this desolate place, Cecir had paid him one visit.

A single visit to follow up on his regenerative progress and force him into a comatose state without answering any of his questions.

’ Twasn’t until yestereve that he realized Cecir’s sleep spells were a cover for Grison’s attempt to work information from Thaddeus’s unaware mind.

Yestereve, Cecir’s magic failed. Thaddeus had become strong enough to resist the spell, the forced slumber, and detected the deliberate and foul magic Grison tried on his mind.

Never again .

That serpent would pay for invading the private quarters of his consciousness.

He’d pay dearly, despite not getting the information he sought.

Grison’s frustration as he’d been hurled from Thaddeus’s mind proved that, and Thaddeus quietly thanked the Goddess for the powers she’d imbued him with at birth.

If ever there was a single lesson his father had taught him long ago, ’twas to always protect one’s mind.

He did, reinforcing the barriers, the steel walls, around his most precious and secretive thoughts.

No one, not even Daeanna—not for lack of trying, for he’d sensed her attempts to pass his shields many a time over the centuries—could break through.

Minutes of silence passed. Thaddeus slid down the wall and looped his arms over his bent knees, patiently waiting for the passersby to shuffle past the door, oblivious to his presence.

Patience was never a gift of his, but he’d learned over the last few days of consciousness that the only way he’d gain an understanding of what was happening, and an upper hand against Grison’s cunning attitude, was through patience.

Playing with his strengthening magic, curling coils of deep blues, indigos, and grays between his fingers and palms, he tapped the seconds by with the toe of his boot.

In the least, he’d been provided a fresh set of clothing, the linen less than suitable to appease his tastes but clean.

The fabric was itchy, uncomfortable, and far from the silks and leathers he preferred.

Shuffling steps brought his shoulders square. He fisted his hands, extinguishing the magic into mere tufts of smoke that fizzled between his fingers. Tipping his head, he angled his ear close to the small crevice between the door and the crudely-carved doorframe.

Two.

The distinct shuffle-step of two gaits.

Muffled whispers preceded their approach, becoming more defined the closer they came.

“…such a disgrace…n’t be forced into such squalor…storm the castle, take out the king. Reset the Fae world as it should be.”

“Silence,” the other voice hissed. Thaddeus’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, lit only by an intensifying glow from lantern light as the duo hurried along the corridor. “That’s blasphemy. And impossible.”

“Not impossible. Grison assured us he has a plan.”

“For over a week, he’s said such nonsense, but a plan has yet to be presented.”

One of the men snorted. “Look who dares speak of blasphemy. You joined this movement knowing the ultimate goal. To speak poorly against our leader is treasonous.”

“Do tell. Have you heard further of this plan he speaks of? Our movement was brought to its knees after that battle. We’ve naught more than a few dozen remaining, and that’s no match for the King.”

The footsteps slowed until both men came to a halt. Thaddeus twisted silently, peeking through the narrow sliver of space between door and jamb. Only the arm of one man could be seen, but the lantern’s light cast elongated shadows of the two figures against the far side of the tunnel .

“Brax, if what we witnessed on that field was no trickery of magic, that half-breed’s bloodline is far more powerful than most of us combined. If Dagda honors him and accepts him as part of his Council, and with Liam by his side, Dagda is indestructible.”

The brazen man huffed. “No creature, even the King of the Tuatha de, is indestructible. And rumor has it that the half-breed is a balanced match for that sniveling bed-pet Seelie scum, if he didn’t perish on the battlefield. Forget not, his body was never found.”

Interesting.

Thaddeus didn’t doubt for a moment they spoke of him—the petty name-calling would earn that man a painful blow at a later time—but why would Grison keep his survival a secret from the Fae who followed the bastard blindly?

And…

Only a fool would believe Dagda destructible.

Any Fae of worth knew Dagda possessed the pure blessing of the Goddess herself. Only Dagda could destroy Dagda, ’twas the final word. If Grison planned to raid Dagda’s castle, ’twould be naught more than suicide.

“Enough talk about this. Grison’s plan will come forth soon enough. I’m starved. Let’s get to the hall before our rations are consumed by slaves.”

Thaddeus imprinted the two men’s faces to memory—he’d not seen them before—and waited for their receding footsteps to fade before pressing to his feet and cautiously opening the rickety door.

’Twould be his first venture into the belly of this cave.

The musty scent of wet dirt and rock greeted him, as well as a chill that filled the crudely cut tunnel that extended to his left and right.

Faint veins of elemental magic flickered along the jagged walls, barely enough light to illuminate the pathway beyond a foot or so.

Magnified light came from patches of moisture that clung to the dark rock around the threads, not enough to cast a shadow.

Thaddeus’s lips pulled back in disgust before he could stop himself. This place was disgraceful. Pitiful. Below their standing in all realms. He was pureblooded Fae. Not a prisoner, a mortal, a beast .

These conditions were offensive.

The tunnel proved to be narrow, barely the width for those two men to walk side by side. Tipping his head up, he saw the teeth of the ceiling were naught more than a couple of feet above.

Primitive.