Page 20

I wake in a tangle of silk and shadow, the remnants of a half-remembered dream still clinging to my skin like morning mist. For a moment, I’m adrift—lost in the space between sleeping and waking, where monsters and memories twine.

Then reality crashes back, and I bolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs. Obsidian walls, plush furs, sheets pooled around me. A room that reeks of power and spice, smoke and evergreen.

This isn’t my bed.

It’s his.

Memories surface in shards—fangs grazing my throat, cruel fingers digging into my hips. He must have carried me here after I fell asleep in his forest.

Cursing under my breath, I roll out of bed and find my boots neatly placed on the floor. The great Unseelie King removed my boots?

A smile curves my lips as I lace them up and stagger to the arched window.

Beyond the fortress walls, a bleak landscape sprawls to the horizon—gnarled trees clawing at an iron sky, frothing sea dashing itself against knife-edged rocks far below.

Behind me, the room looms, cavernous and cold.

Even scoured of his presence, the chamber feels drenched in him.

My power stirs in response, a deadly, volatile thing purring to wakefulness. It stretches languorous limbs, yawns open. Reaches out seeking the source.

I move cautiously, letting instinct guide me to the corridor outside the bedchamber, where the obsidian wall ripples like water. Ancient and arcane symbols swim beneath the dark surface before settling into the knotwork pattern of a door.

An invitation.

A warning.

I press my palm to the stone. It warms to my touch, a shivery sigh rattling the surface.

Then, a portal opens with a soft rasp, frigid air bleeding through from the other side.

Gooseflesh pebbles my arms as I slip through, every hair on end.

But the unease has nothing to do with the plunging temperature.

No, something nameless prickles at the back of my skull.

A sense of trespassing. Like I’m stumbling into places not meant for mortal eyes.

Not meant for me.

The narrow passage hugs the curve of the fortress’s bones, spiralling into a large hollow lit by an eerie blue-green glow. I emerge onto an outcropping that juts over a subterranean sea churning a hundred feet below.

Kiaran created a pocket realm inside his island stronghold.

In the centre of the watery expanse rises a sprawling island crisscrossed by bridges and platforms hewn directly from the rock, rough-edged and uneven.

They all lead to the same destination—a sprawling island in the grotto’s centre, where an army encampment has been erected.

It’s a small city full of training fields with soldiers locked in vicious bouts.

Clashing blades reverberate in the frigid air, the rhythm broken only by harsh shouts and grunts of effort.

Each fae warrior moves with lethal precision. Sparks fly as swords meet in blurs of silver, the grating screech of metal on metal setting my teeth on edge.

A familiar figure strides onto the central platform.

Kiaran.

The sight tugs at something visceral inside me. An invisible line binding us together.

Even at a distance, his commanding presence is unmistakable. Clad in form-fitting obsidian armour that seems to drink the meagre light, he’s a vision of deadly elegance. I’m too far away to make out his words, but the authoritative timbre of his voice carries across the distance.

Is he issuing orders? Directing them to slaughter?

Absolutely not, Kiaran MacKay.

Jaw clenched, I shut my eyes and reach for the thrum of magic pounding through my veins. The borrowed power strains against my ribcage like a wild thing scenting blood, desperate for carnage.

Ravenous.

I coax it from its lair. Exhaling slowly, I release it in a focused burst, directing the questing tendrils across the cavernous expanse. They sweep over the assembled troops in a wave, seeking any scrap of metal to latch onto—blades, arrow points, buckles, and fastenings.

A smile curves my lips as the magic finds its targets, sinking deep into the fae steel.

I make a sharp twisting motion with my hand. Far below, shouts of alarm rise as weapons begin warping and melting, the metal running molten over gauntlets to drip on the ground. Within moments, hundreds of blades have been reduced to puddles of slag. Smoke fills the air as leather grips ignite.

There. They won’t be going to war now.

Kiaran’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing on me.

Time to go.

I pivot and flee back the way I came. My lungs burn with each ragged breath, but I can’t slow down. Not with him right behind me, his power nipping at my heels.

I burst into the throne room. With a breathless laugh, I seat myself onto the monstrosity he calls a throne, arranging my limbs in an insolent sprawl across the grotesque tangle of fangs and claws.

Just in time.

The doors blow open with a boom that shudders through the chamber, announcing his arrival. His power rolls into the hall ahead of him, wrath straining against the fraying seams of his control. It steals the air from my lungs.

But I don’t flinch. I tip my chin up and fix him with a taunting smirk as he prowls closer, violence etched into the lines of his body.

“Looking for me?” I drawl.

He stills. The temperature drops even further. Ice spreads across the throne.

Rather than answer, Kiaran begins divesting himself of his armour. He unbuckles vambraces and greaves methodically, movements so efficient they border on violent. Then come the chestplate and leather gloves, the sweeping black coat with its high collar designed to shield a throat.

Each discarded piece hits the ground with a metallic clangour that echoes through the hall.

Until he stands before me stripped down to trousers and a thin shirt unbuttoned at the throat.

Baring the glowing vines carved into his skin—old scars and consequences.

He looks like a blade unsheathed. Lethal elegance honed by centuries of dealing violence.

If his tattoos are a map, they trace a long and bloody journey.

His eyes pin me in place. “If destroying the weapons was some misguided attempt at seduction, it failed. Now get off my throne.”

I stretch languidly, studying my nails. “I did once promise that if I ever laid eyes on this appalling chair, I’d steal it right out from under you.

And as your consort, I’ve decided unilateral disarmament is in order.

Next on the agenda is negotiating a mutually beneficial peace accord between warring parties. So pull up a seat, and we can begin.”

“If you won’t remove yourself from what’s mine, I’ll do it for you.”

My pulse kicks faster, but I keep my tone light. Teasing. “Oh? And what will you do with me then, I wonder?”

His eyes flash silver. “I told you to be gone by sunrise, or I’d end your life myself.”

“Death loses its sting after the first couple of times. You’ll have to try a more imaginative threat. Would you like some suggestions?”

In a blink, he’s caging me against the throne with the unyielding press of his body. Hands planted on the twisted armrests, leaned in so close I’m enveloped in his scent. So familiar it makes my chest ache.

“Get off. My. Throne.” A command whispered against my throat, punctuated by the barest graze of his fangs. “Before I rip you off it.”

I tip my head back in a silent challenge. “Make me.”

A soft snarl. Then shadows close on my limbs and haul me bodily off the seat. I hit the floor hard, landing in an ungraceful sprawl. More shadows wrap around me, slowly compressing. Choking off my air until I’m gasping shallow, panicked breaths.

Still, I don’t move. I shove back against his power with my magic, forcing the dark bindings to release me. As I stand, I catch the surprise flickering through his eyes at this display of strength. Good.

Let him wonder.

“I found a way to save everyone.” My voice echoes through the vast chamber. “The realms. Even you and Aithinne. All I need is my consort at my side, not the Unseelie despot holding court on his garish and frankly hideous throne.”

He makes a low, vicious noise, a clear warning. One I ignore. I won’t be deterred. Not when everything hinges on reaching the piece of him that still cares beneath the indifferent mask of the Unseelie King.

I need the one who carried me inside when I fell asleep in his woods rather than leave me out in the cold.

This time, when I push back with my magic, it’s an invisible force slamming into him. He crashes back onto that ugly throne with a startled hiss.

I’m on him in an instant, knees bracketing his hips as I climb into his lap. “Truly, this chair is an offence against basic decency and good taste. I’m half tempted to burn it and scatter the ashes. I’d be doing the world a great service.”

His brow arches in response. “For someone so adamant that I relinquish my throne, you seem rather determined to remain perched on it.”

I give a slow, deliberate roll of my hips, gratified when his breath catches. “I’ll admit it’s growing on me now that I have you trapped beneath me, at my mercy. The great and terrible Unseelie King laid low does have a certain allure. I’m toying with the notion of a punishment.”

“Then punish me.” His eyes glitter with challenge as they rake over me. “Do your worst.”

I draw the slender blade from my ankle sheath.

With one stroke, I slice his shirt down the centre, sending buttons pinging across the obsidian floor.

I follow it up with a few strategic cuts to the fastenings of his trousers, slicing the fabric away until he’s bared to me.

Looking like a ruthless, debauched king, all glowing vines and lean muscle.

Power coiled tight on the very cusp of unleashing.

And unmistakably aroused. The sight of his cock steals the air from my lungs, but I force myself to focus. I press the flat of the blade to the hollow of his throat—just shy of breaking skin.

Our gazes lock, the moment drawn taut.

“Why bring me here?” I keep my tone soft. Curious. “You could have left me to die of exposure in that forest. Carried through on your promise to end my life yourself. So what stayed your hand?”

His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on my hips. “Consider it an oversight soon to be amended.”

Ah. So that’s how he wishes to play this.

I set the blade aside and rise to my feet. Meeting his stare, I slowly unbutton my shirt, letting it slip from my shoulders. My trousers and underthings quickly follow.

The air thickens. Sweetens. Becomes a living current between us, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

I watch as his gaze drags over my naked body. Taking leisurely inventory of every dip and curve once so intimately familiar to him. His hands clench on the armrests, violence straining against its tenuous leash. Begging for a taste.

Good. Let him ache with wanting. Let him burn.

“If you’re so determined to behave as a beast, I’ll treat you as one.” I reclaim my dagger and settle myself astride him once more. This time, I press the flat of the blade over his pulse—closer now, nearly breaking skin.

Kiaran’s fingers bite into my hips. “Kiss me.”

A demand. A plea.

I lean closer, until our breaths mingle. “Want me.”

A flash of fangs, a snarl. Then he surges up, claiming my mouth in a clash of tongue and teeth. It’s more punishment than a kiss. All fury and ferocity and desperation. I taste copper but can’t tell if it’s his blood or mine. Maybe both of us, all tangled up.

He bites my lip hard enough to sting. “Fuck me.”

Another nudge of my blade, deeper. “Need me.”

In answer, he tips his head back, baring the column of his throat in invitation. Tempting me to draw more blood, carve my name into his skin.

“Keep cutting,” Kiaran rasps. “Remind me how it feels to need something. To hurt.”

Then his fingers are digging bruises into my hips as he lowers me onto his cock.

A wordless declaration that he would rather fuck me than concede an inch.

His pace is relentless, demanding. Each forceful thrust wrenches a moan from my throat as he takes me hard and deep.

A constant push and pull. The struggle for dominance, to unmake the other and leave our own indelible mark in the wreckage.

He surges up, tangling a hand in my hair to drag my mouth back down to his. I rake my nails down his shoulders and spine in punishment, relishing his broken hiss.

“Say my name,” I manage to gasp out between kisses, both of us panting now. I can still taste him on my tongue—copper and cloves and frost.

“No. This is just fucking, understand me?”

What a stubborn bastard.

I retaliate by grinding my hips down as I take him deeper, breathless and wanting. “ Say it .” My hand finds his, guiding it to my breast—above the frantic pounding of my heart. “Say my name. Or I’ll punish you.”

But he just watches me with silent defiance, grip tightening on my hips as he slams up into me even harder. As if he could use this to make me forget why I came here. Into forgetting myself.

Then he’s nuzzling my throat again, lips over my racing pulse. I tip my head back, silently granting permission as I feel the scrape of his fangs. Bright sparks of pain-pleasure before they sink in.

My release hits me, sudden and blinding, wringing a sharp cry from my lips.

My nails press into his skin as he works me through it with deep strokes as he feeds.

Chasing every last tremor. I climax again and again beneath his fangs, his tongue, the relentless drive of his hips.

He consumes me—blood, pleasure, energy—taking everything I have to give. And still, I crave more.

Control.

I bury my hand in his hair and wrench him away from my throat.

“I told you to say my name, or I’d punish you. Only good consorts get to finish.” My lips brush his ear as I lift myself off him. “So I suppose you’ll have to take care of it yourself now, won’t you?”

Before he can snarl out a response, I’m already gathering up my discarded clothes.

“ Come. Back. Here ,” he growls.

“When you’re ready to say my name, come find me in your wretched forest,” I call back. “I’ll be waiting.”

I feel the thunderclap of his power detonating behind me as I leave his throne room. But I don’t turn. I allow myself a small, satisfied smile.

Checkmate.