Nymre’s aura flickered like a candlelight. She hoped it wasn’t visible, but Lorian could read her thoughts – though he should be true to his word and not enter her mind against her will. Her clawed hand passed over the pale skin of her human rival. She could feel the weak and thin thread of sanity that Leira still used to keep herself from going completely astray. Her skin was dry, the droplets of sweat quickly dissipating after her arrival. Dry, and drier by the minute. Her fever was eating her alive, while her emotions were being put to the harsh test of nightmares.
She could kill her now.
So easily.
She killed for lesser offences.
Lorian would be displeased, of course. But he had to know, deep in his cursed soul, that Leira was a wind between his fingers. Their relationship was already on fire because of the secrets he was hiding. Perhaps if the most painful shard was removed from their lives… they could return to what was before.
Lorian felt the pain and it changed him. There was no going back.
He sat near Leira’s bed, casually, his eyes fixed on Nymre. She could swear he read her now, her doubts, her will to return to a simpler life, to happier moments. Now she would even want it. So he broke another promise he had made to her, and her decision was easier because of it.
Frail human woman. She will die one day, long before they do. Immortality can last a long time. But human bodies begin to reject it after four hundred years. Their bodies cannot be fooled. Eventually, Leira will live no more than five hundred years, not losing her youth, but her mind will gradually be damaged by age.
Lorian had to know this. She was not the first – even if he had given it to her for the first time in good faith. A human cannot be turned into a Fae. Her blood was based on iron, and that alone would cause all the spells that worked in Ain’asel to wither in her.
Leira’s breath was shallow, her eyelids moved frantically.
“Why me?” Nymre’s anger flared beneath her delicate features. “You have cohorts of lesser fey healers. They can heal her just as well.”
Lorian didn’t move, but his night danced around him like entertainers, dangerous ones, amusing him with blood.
“But you are the best.”
“You want the best for your human slave,” she said with barely concealed disgust. He slept with her. And then… he came to her to do the same. “Lorian, you cannot mean that.”
“She is truly an extraordinary being,” Lorian’s voice slithered cruelly into her heart like the fang of a poisonous viper; before she spat in his face that yes, she knew everything he did behind her back, he added. “You always wondered who worked for me, all those long years. Sentencing lives to death, and not because I was petty and wouldn’t let anyone insult my toys,” he chuckled gracefully. “I am not petty, Nymre, but others better think so, better think of me as a spoilt one, than to unfold the real reasons of their own fall.”
Leira groaned in her bed, her skin parched, her lips dry as paper. If Nymre refuses, nothing will be the same. But the same will happen if she agrees to help. The circle of her own decisions, of her weaknesses and her fears had come full round.
She wasn’t going to let this woman come between her and Lorian any longer. He was unbearable. Terrible. Despicable. But that was why she wanted him so badly.
“You deserve something vile, Lorian Ain’Dal,” she said finally, her voice calm, calmer than she felt inside.
“Perhaps,” he smiled, a slight tease at the corner of his lips. Shadows gathered behind him, a misty reminder of his power. “Take it as an advantage we have. She is a truly inspiring enforcer of my will. As a human, she can be imbued with the only spell that doesn’t work on Fae. Others can’t detect her when I use it on her. She can lie to any of us without consequence. And I know how you respect a good spy, my fiach dubh.”
Nymre wanted to laugh. She found herself like this every time. He always had a reason, a motive, a solution. And she couldn’t say no, never, never, submitting to him, like a willow bending to the wind. Not because she feared him, but because they were one and she wanted it. It was time to end it. He played her, with everything, and she worshipped him and his charm. But this… was enough. Not like this.
She approached him, her wings slowly closing over him in an erotic, teasing way. His black gaze, as deep as the deepest abyss, drew her in, inevitably, but she had to resist the temptation to simply drown in it and surrender to his will. She leaned over him, tracing a path across his tunic. Her fingers went lower and lower until it was between his legs.
They both smiled, cruel, dark and hungry smiles of beings over a thousand years old who know each other all too well.
“I’m willing to do whatever you want,” she purred, her feathers caressing his back. She knew how he liked it. Her hand pressed harder. “But… I must have something of this as well.”
If he got into her thoughts, he knew. How many promises had he broken? Was this one of them?
“I will give her my healing power. But I am a Fae, of blue blood and starlit bone. You will give me half of your slaves. Your favorite ones. The ones you loved to fuck most. And the ones who you kept closer than others. The ones you like. And you will send Areltha back to her husband in lesser realm. Poor man, has to suffer a lot, knowing his wife warms your bed. I wonder what he will do, having her again…”
She squeezed him so hard, bringing pleasure with her touch. The tension burned between them, with black and high flames. She was weak beside him… but she won’t give in. Not now, not in this case.
His lips curled, adding a sharp edge to his handsome features. His black eyes narrowed, heavy eyelids almost falling on his eyes. He looked like a lazy hoscral, wondering if it’s worth continuing the hunt.
And he laughed, so soft, a breeze from the sea. Her very own scent.
“You impress me, my cruel raven.”
She chuckled.
“I live to impress you.”
“Your purpose is fulfilled in every minute detail.”
She sneered and withdrew, her wings spreading behind her like a dark cloud. Her hand stopped caressing him and turned fluidly, like a wave, from him to Leira, who’s facial muscles danced in a deadly jig.
“That was someone who doesn’t like you sending a human after your court,” she pouted. “Just like you did with your Arsa’lien. Your own court of lies and pleasures. Undermining their power and influence.”
“Taking their lives when they went too far.”
“Ah, did your Leira kill for you? Bathed in blood, as I have, to please you? That would be so you. A master at shaping minds into something unrecognisable.”
His look was too playful for the situation. And his silence too revealing.
“Where is this Roga?” she realised that she was the only Fae who knew about the assassination attempt and that the assassin was not in the chamber. “You… didn’t kill him, did you?” her brow lifted, her expression tense. Nevertheless, she leaned over Leira, running her hands down her heaving, naked chest. Her skin was hot, like a touch of Lorian’s shadows.
She could end her life so easily. But at the same time, she couldn’t. She was one with him, and she was still bending. He was her bottomless well, in which she sat, drowning, even though the water had long since dried up. The shackles on her wrists, enslaving her even though the locks were open.
A gossamer force burst into Leira’s limbs like a cruel ocean wave. But instead of destroying everything on its way, it slowly surged through her nerves, through her veins, straight into her mind. Lorian had to feel it, he surely read Leira like an open book.
Lorian stood and supported over her, bathing in her aura, pressing against her feathers. His presence was more than pleasant, almost shattering her focus. Dark suns over Dal’coler. No foolish human would change that.
Leira’s skin turned white at first, as if touched by the moon itself. Nymre slid her aura between her shoulder blades, lifting her up. Leira’s eyes fluttered under her eyelids, as if she knew who was standing next to her.
“I live with my failures,” she whispered, her voice reaching Lorian and only him. “You will live with yours, you foolish child.”
Lorian sighed into her ear, burying himself in her, in her feathers and skin, clinging to her with his shadows, draining her of her strength.
“You will have your… spy, my beautiful king,” she groaned, feeling him press against her bottom. “I must admit, I am learning more and more of your secrets.”
“Perhaps they have always been open to you,” he laughed into her ear, his jasmine and violets reaching her nostrils, familiar scents that made her want more.
“That would make you a reckless man, Lorian,” she watched Leira fall onto the bed. A prey. A prey that had eaten so many wolves.
And he wasn’t reckless.
He wasn’t at all.
Leira’s body stopped gleaming. Nymre took her by the cheeks, to observe how she opens her plae blue eyes. Leira’s body though… was maybe less rigid, less dry… but her eyelids still moved, like her mind wandered further into the forbidden passages.
It should work. She was old and powerful, her will could break mere sprite’s spell.
She bit her lower lip, resembling now a beautiful child, young and so being used to getting what she wants. She promised him his spy.
Against her own will.
A low whisper broke from her throat, annoyed, almost angry.
“Where is this Roga’eus?”