Page 8 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Interruptus

DEVI

“ W hat the fuck?” Jonas reaches for his belt, struggling to put his pants back on.

The stranger stands a couple of inches taller than my lover, and while the detective is all muscle and brawn, this man is leaner, more athletic, but no less intimidating.

He doesn’t look away from our disheveled appearances, nor does he apologize for his rather impolite and ill-timed interruption.

Instead, he holds himself even taller, and the roguish curve of his mouth stretches all the way into an impish smile.

That, combined with his unwavering poise, tells me he’s well-born and bred, with the arrogance only a Fae royal can muster.

The undertow of his magic threatens to swallow me whole, so I steel myself against his bite of power and reflect a glimpse of the queen I used to be upon him, in lieu of warning.

“So…you’re Devi Eros.” His pupils dilate, and he lets out a low whistle.

“The monks weren’t kidding when they warned us about you.

” His tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip, his gaze gliding down my body in the most deviant way imaginable.

I’m accustomed to men’s lustful stares, but this Storm Fae doesn’t leer the way others do.

Instead of appraising my body, he watches me as if I’m both his hell and salvation, a rare, cursed treasure he’s spent a lifetime searching for.

“You are every bit as ruinous as the stories implied,” he rasps. The hushed, terrible compliment quickens my pulse before he shakes off my show of power with a full-bodied shiver.

The click of Jonas’s gun resonates in the air, but the intruder isn’t rattled in the least, so I grip the hilt of my weapon and press the side of the blade to his neck. “Who are you?”

He raises his hands up in surrender, his grin widening. “I’ll tell you if you remove the knife.”

I motion for Jonas to stand down with my free hand, my eyes never leaving the intruder as I scan him for clues.

His brown skin is smooth, untouched by time or imperfection.

His short, dark hair is tousled just enough to suggest he doesn’t care, or that he can’t quite tame the wind he carries with him.

An array of silver earrings marks the curve of his pointy ears, and his wet, embroidered black and gray ensemble clings to his muscles like a sexy unitard.

Any other man couldn’t pull that off, but his disheveled appearance only enhances his mystique.

He’s a figure fresh out of some dark, forgotten fairytale, the kind where the prince isn’t meant to save anyone but himself.

A shade of clear, unnatural purple swirls in his eyes, and I tighten my grip around the hilt of my dagger. The more handsome the Fae, the more trouble I’m in.

“Who are you?” I repeat. “I’ll slit your throat if you don’t tell me.”

“How can you be sure that would kill me?” he cracks.

“Ugh.” I slide the blade across the cocky Fae’s throat, willing to check, and he lets out an audible gasp.

He dissipates into mist and reappears on the other side of my bed, arms held in front of him. I suspect he hadn’t expected me to actually attack and that he won’t give me another opportunity to get that close again.

His jaw hangs open on an incensed scoff as he runs his thumb over the fresh laceration in his throat. “Not messing around, eh? Freya warned me that you were a bit of a lunatic.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re on first-name basis with the bitch who stole my life?”

A dark-skinned Storm Fae with enough power to melt into a rainy cloud in the blink of an eye, and with enough gall to mention Freya can only mean one fucking thing.

My uninvited guest smiles from ear to ear. “Not really. I usually call her Ma’am. Or Mother .”

Yep.

“You’re Seth Devine.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle at the mention of his name. “It’s a wonder we’ve never met, isn’t it? The two most hated Spring Fae alive.”

Freya’s only son…in my bedroom. The lure of the dark, handsome stranger fades at the knowledge that this otherwise very attractive man actually came out of the woman who stole my crown.

When life hands you the only child of the queen you spent most of your time plotting against, and the best of your days loathing, you make lemonade out of his very blood.

My brain calculates the quickest and cleanest way to kill him. Maim him. Filet his entrails and nail them to Freya’s door.

He’s as gorgeous and dissolute as the gossip suggested.

The only physical attribute he got from his mother is her darker skin, whereas his bone structure and build is the hallmark of a Storm Fae.

Thorald Storm—the Jackal—broke too many hearts in his prime, and his first-born, legitimate son Maddox is renowned for his rugged looks.

Seth is the black sheep of the family, the illegitimate child whose turning of age rocked not one, but two royal marriages and precipitated a decade-long feud between Spring and Storm.

He slicks his wet hair over his head with crafted nonchalance. “Elio Lightbringer sent me.”

The mention of the Winter King brings me pause.

Seth can’t lie. I wouldn’t put it past him to invoke Elio’s name in vain, but it does make me curious as to why the Winter King would even deign to speak to him. He’s not a very social person. “Elio knows better than to send strangers my way in the middle of the night.”

“According to him, you’re the best tracker in this realm.”

I huff. “I’m the best tracker in all the realms.”

“Then you’re the woman I need.”

Ah! If I had a dime for every time a man hunted me down to use me in some shape or form… I let my weapon fall at my side.

“Not if I kill you first, pretty boy," I mumble, turning my back on him in a display of self-confidence, as if I can’t be bothered to track his next move. Then I face my nervous lover. “You should go, Jonas.”

He raises his hand, signaling for Seth to stay back. “Not before you tell me what’s going on.”

“Is that your boyfriend? A police officer?” Seth teases.

“Detective,” Jonas corrects him.

The two men stare each other down until a wistful smile stretches the Fae prince’s lips. “Isn’t he a little young for you?” he cracks.

Jonas’s jaw clenches, and he exhales through his teeth, biting back whatever he was about to say.

The answering twinkle of victory in Seth’s gaze boils my blood, but I school my face into a mask of boredom.

Seth can’t know the handsome detective means anything to me, or he might use it to his advantage.

And, despite all his bravado, Jonas knows he’s outmatched.

That’s the other reason why magic-less mortals should never fall for a Fae.

Deep down, all of them regard us as freaks of nature.

“I want you both downstairs, now,” I order.

“Your wish is our command,” Seth quips, motioning for Jonas to lead the way.

I inhale deeply before following them down the stairs and guide my lover out through the front door without much fanfare or apology. “See you around, Detective.”

If he was having second thoughts about fucking me tonight, this intrusion is certain to drive the nail into our friends-with-benefits coffin.

“Text me later, alright?” he whispers, his eyes never leaving Seth.

He leans in to peck my cheek, but I brace myself against the open door, keeping my distance.

“I’ll be fine.”

The door slams shut at the dismissive answer, and my heart pounds in a wild, unexpected rhythm. I spin on my heels to face Seth, lifting my chin as I eye the small puddle of blood-tinged water at his feet. “Are you going to offer me some context as to why you’re drenched to the bone?”

“Nope.” He shrugs off his wet jacket. The white dress shirt underneath is see-through and offers an enticing view of his stomach. “Gods, I pity the man, really. Having to stop seconds before entering you… The poor guy might never recover. You’re really as cruel as the legends say.”

I huff and move to the kitchenette area to prepare some tea. “Your bad timing did this. Not me.”

He watches me fill the kettle with a dubious smile. “What did you expect me to do? Stand by and watch?”

I click open the portable stove and bite my bottom lip, still percolating with different brutal scenarios, all ending with Freya mourning her precious weed. The wound I carved into his neck is still gushing.

Seth pushes back through the glass bead curtains, their soft clatter echoing in tandem with the scrape of his boots against the floorboards. “It’s harder to concentrate with blood raining down my neck. Give me a sec.”

He heads straight for the washroom, and I follow. I don’t like strangers poking around my things.

Seth picks up a fluffy white hand towel, and holds it to his wound.

I click my tongue. “This isn’t some wayward inn where you can just?—"

“Fix my bleeding throat?” He twists open the faucet with his free hand, rummaging through the cupboard until he finds the bandages I used earlier to patch up my leg. “I thought even a banished old witch wouldn’t deny me that.”

Old? My red locs tumble over my shoulder as I spin around and return to the kitchenette. I dump a spoonful of tea leaves in the infuser. “A witch, am I? Funny, I thought it was your filthy blood dripping all over my floor.”

He’s not entirely wrong, though. I’ve picked the perfect tea for him—poppies and skullcaps, a blend that’ll dull his wits and kill his libido.

He crams his wet, tainted shirt into the stacked dryer and presses the power button. The quick, mechanical beep raises goosebumps on my arms.

A half-naked Seth joins me in the main room and shakes off his hands, droplets of water splashing onto my chest. "You’ve been out of Faerie for a long time, and from what I’ve heard, keeping witches as friends, family, and lovers. Who knows what malevolent blights you might have picked up?"

It’s not every day a Fae prince I’ve never met invades my little corner of the world. It’s even rarer for him to rattle me. “So…you’re the kid Freya so desperately wanted to have.”

His dark skin gleams under the dim light, faint traces of electricity crackling along his arms like the first whispers of a storm. “And you’re the rebel granddaughter?—”

“ Step -granddaughter,” I correct him, reminding him in no uncertain terms that we have no blood relation at all.

“—the rebel step-granddaughter who used to wear her crown.”

“You mean my crown.”

He matches my smirk tenfold. “By the spindle… You’re as beautiful and delusional as they say.”

I roll my eyes in response, but the back-handed compliment squeezes my belly.

This man probably grew up in a world that couldn’t stop whispering about me, and that thrills me more than it should. To know he heard my name, synonymous with beauty and guile and revelry. An object of many forbidden fantasies. Outlawed. Taboo.

Only minutes ago, I was about to get fucked against a wall.

Naughty promises were made. My body expected sex.

It’s the only reason why I’m attracted to this prince of nothing.

Not the fact that his sculpted abs are on full display, or that he’s the only darkling I’ve ever met who also possesses the lure of a Spring Fae.

I’m a sucker for tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable men, and Seth can probably smell the arousal between my thighs. That’s a recipe for bad decisions, and he strikes me as the kind of man who excels in disastrous choices.

His gaze flicks to the swell of my breasts. The cold draft he dragged in—along with the weight of his stare—makes the peaks tighten beneath the black spandex. “That’s some fatal attraction mojo you’ve got going on… Should we get it out of our system now?”

I meet his offer with an overly magnanimous smile. “Oh Seth… I’m never having sex with you.”

“Hey, it’s in our blood. We’re bound to be at each other’s throats, all wired and restless, until we fuck.” He arches a brow, inching closer. “If it had been me up there with you earlier, I would’ve done things quite differently.”

The fresh, airy scent of rain mingles with a metallic tang of steel at his closeness.

“And what would you have done, pray tell?”

His husky voice is full of greed and confidence as he answers, “I would have fucked you against that wall, window opened or not, storm or no storm.” He rests his thumb below the angle of my jaw, right over my pulse point.

“Fed you my cock in one hard stroke. Hard enough to soothe the unsatisfied hunger in your belly. Deep enough to leave a mark on your soul. Isn’t that what fucking the most beautiful Fae in the worlds is all about?

For her to remember you for all eternity? ”

Damn… I like how he thinks.

A quickie with Jonas would have been nice, but a night of unscrupulous sex with a Fae as powerful as Seth would soothe the ache in my bones for days to come. Bloody hells, he’s probably a very talented lover.

But I hate this man, and everything he stands for.

I lick my lips, unable to stop myself from picturing it. “And what if we were being attacked?”

“Then our attacker would’ve had the privilege of seeing the rapture on your face before I killed him.”

I tilt my head to maintain eye contact as he draws closer, his body heat radiating from his tall, muscular, and completely off-limits frame. He grazes my waist over the soft fabric of my dress, and the small, yet incredibly intimate touch goes straight to my overheated core.

I shudder all over, dizzy with the possibility of letting him claim a prize he’s clearly been daydreaming about for years, and nudge his side with my hip. “So cocky… Don’t you know what having you as a hostage could buy me?”

He steadies my hips, holding me to him in a gentle but brazen manner. “You want to tie me up that badly?” he asks, his gaze fixed on my bottom lip.

I drum a slow rhythm over his pecs. “Believe me, pretty boy… If I tied you up, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Not for you.” I slam my open palm to the middle of his chest and shove him back, forcing him to retreat by several inches. “Now, stop wasting my time and tell me why you’re here.”

Bottomless lust burns in his gaze, but he doesn’t bridge the gap between us. “I’m here to offer you a deal, Devi Eros.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “By all means. Dazzle me.”

“Oh, but I might.” He flashes an annoyingly perfect row of white teeth. “Faerie is in upheaval. The magic is going haywire, and if we want to avoid an all-out war, we need to mend all the torn fences. Come back to Faerie with me, and I’ll find a way to end your banishment.”

When a handsome devil offers you what you crave most in this entire universe, it’s hard to say no. But what is he playing at? What good would it do me to return to Faerie when I can’t use my magic?

Curses do what curses will. Freya wove that curse, but she couldn’t take it back even if she wanted to. Only the gods themselves would know which loose thread could unravel it and rid me of my monsters.

Perhaps Seth doesn’t know a thing about the curse.