The vicious king, p.4
The Vicious King, page 4
“Taryn, we’re here,” I say softly.
It only takes a second for her to wake up fully. She blinks her lavender eyes up at me like she’s trying to place me and where she is.
“Hi,” I say, offering a smile. “Remember me?”
“Who are you supposed to be again?” she says wryly.
Her voice is smoky and smooth, like my favorite whiskey. I now have an affinity for both. “Just your friendly neighborhood hero.”
She snorts at that and straightens her legs to leverage herself up but pulls them back, hissing in pain.
“What’s wrong?”
Taryn rests her right ankle on the opposite knee to examine the bottom of her foot. A nasty cut slices across the arch. “Damn it,” she winces. “Must have cut it on something and didn’t notice with all the adrenaline and shock. I’m still too weak for it to heal.”
“You’ll get your strength back soon, but let’s patch you up in the meantime.” I grab the large black duffel bag that’s always in the back seat and open it up on my lap. I bypass the dozen or so coiled sections of different colored rope for the first aid kit, then gather the supplies I need before tossing the duffel in the back again. “Sit sideways and prop your foot on the arm console here.”
She visibly bristles. “I can do it. I’m weak, not helpless.”
I hold her gaze. “I know. But it’ll be easier for me do it, so why not let me take care of it?”
The tension in her shoulders melts as she turns and sags back against the door, propping her foot on the console. I don’t take her reluctance personally. She’s made it more than clear that she doesn’t entirely trust me, despite watching her brother make his oath, so even a capitulation as small as this is a win.
I can feel her gaze on me as I set to work cleaning the cut with squares of gauze and my bottle of water. Most people would feel the need to fill the silence—Tiernan practically breaks out in hives if there’s even a pause in conversation—but I find comfort in the silence. I learned a lot when I was younger by being quiet and observing. And sometimes it gets the other person to talk, even if they don’t necessarily want to. It’s a strategy often used in interrogations.
Not that I’m intentionally doing that now, but if the silence encourages Taryn to open up, I won’t be mad about it.
“Were you born on this side of the veil?” she finally asks.
“I was. I’ve never seen anyone from the Elemental Courts before. Not in real life, anyway. I’ve seen tons of paintings and sketches, but you never know how accurate they are. Your eyes, for example.”
“What about them?” she asks warily.
I pause in my task to meet her gaze and lose myself in the very things she’s wondering about.
“The color,” I say in a low voice, as though I don’t want to disturb my own thoughts. “The art always depicted deeper shades of purple, harsher. But yours are soft lavender with flecks of violet you can only see up close. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Her full lips part slightly in a moment of vulnerability before she clears her throat and affects a bored expression. “My eye color is common. Everyone in Tír Tairngire has them.”
“I don’t think anything about you could be considered common, upryamaya zhenshchina.” Lowering my head so she can’t see my smile, I finish gently cleaning the blood and dirt from the bottom of her foot.
“Ty ser'yezno tol'ko chto nazval menya upryamoy zhenshchinoy?” Did you seriously just call me a stubborn female?
I look up at her and grin. “Da.”
Taryn sucks in her cheeks to prevent the smile I can see trying to make an appearance. I pretend not to notice as I rip open an alcohol packet. To her credit, she barely flinches at the first touch and holds still, albeit tensely, until I’m sure it’s disinfected. Then I slather a bit of antibiotic ointment on it to finish it off. “There. Now I’ll just wrap it up and it’ll be protected until it heals on its own.”
The word “wrap” triggers images of her wrapped in my intricate designs and knots, the way the different colors would look against her light umber skin, posing her body into its own work of art…
“You know Russian.”
The simple statement wrangles my wayward thoughts and yanks them back to the safer task at hand. “I speak several languages; I’m what you’d call a perpetual student. I like learning things. I didn’t take up Russian, though, until I started working with your brother. But I’m close to fluent already, so don’t think you can get one over on the thickheaded Fae-American jock,” I say with a wink.
“Fair enough,” she says, her expression one of reluctant curiosity. “What’s with the duffel bag full of rope? A lot of females trying to escape your self-proclaimed heroics that need tying up?”
I chuckle. She’s only partly right. It isn’t only females I tie up. I’m an equal opportunity player when it comes to rigging, topping, and fucking. I enjoy all genders and races, whether human or other. And escaping my ropes is the last thing any of them want. But discussing my kink specialty with her is only going to start my mind going in the directions it has no business going, so I do what fae do best, and avoid the questions we can’t—or won’t—answer.
“I don’t know why you assume people don’t want to be around me. I’ll have you know I’m a very likable guy.”
Taryn pulls her newly tended foot down from the console and rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Come on. Everything we need is already in the safe house.”
We exit my truck and I give her a second to test her weight on her injured foot. When she nods that it’s okay, we walk over to the private elevator which takes us to the top floor with my access code. When the doors open, we enter a small vestibule reinforced with walls made of steel a foot thick so it’s not just as easy as blasting your way through with guns. You’d need a ton of C4 to get through here. I place my palm on an access panel and lower my head for the retinal scan. The locks disengage with loud metallic clicks, then I open the door and usher her inside making sure to reset the security system once we’re inside.
The foyer opens into the great room that was designed with our growing family in mind. Plush couches with built-in recliners face each other in the center of the room with a pair of large armchairs completing the U-shape. The far wall is comprised of a bank of windows made from bullet proof glass. They’re mirrored on the outside, so while we’re able to see out, no one can see in. That goes for all the windows in the bedrooms, too.
“You just casually have a safe house designed like Fort Knox that no one knows about in the middle of Vegas?”
“After Edevane made attacking us his new hobby, I wanted a place my family could go if we needed it, and it needed to be big enough that we weren’t on top of each other. Especially now that they both have mates and Bryn is pregnant.”
“Who’s Bryn?”
“Caiden’s mate. She’s due in the next month and my brother’s going out of his mind with worry. It’d be funny if it was a normal pregnancy, but the baby seems to have powers in utero which are making Bryn’s powers as a Darklight unpredictable.”
“Back up. How is it possible she’s both Dark and Light? One of my mother’s curses caused unstable magic combined with the power of suggestion, which is basically the power to compel, if anyone from the two courts ever procreated.”
“Believe me, her magic was highly unstable. But Fiona’s mom—Fiona is Tiernan's wife—was a conjurer and was able to mute Bryn’s powers while she learned how to control them. Unfortunately, pregnancy has kind of undone a lot of that control. But usually, if you keep her fed, she’s super chill. It’s when she gets hangry that it’s not a pretty sight.”
Taryn’s eyes are as big as silver dollars, the info probably a bit much at this stage. “A lot’s happened in our court while you were gone. I could spend all day trying to catch you up, but that can wait. I’ll show you to your room so that you can shower and get some more sleep.”
She sounds almost dazed as she says, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
I walk her through the main living area and point out the different things she can make use of while she’s here. Then I show her to my room, where I asked Helen to put her things, and try not to think of why I wouldn’t set her up in one of the others. Because you like the idea of her being in your bed, surrounded by your things.
So much for not thinking about it.
“You can stay in here. The bathroom is through that door and should have fresh towels, toothbrush, and other toiletries set out. I had some clothes brought in for you there on the bed. I guessed at your size, so I hope they work. If they don’t or there’s anything else you need, let me know, and I can send out for it.”
“Thank you, Finn. I appreciate the hospitality.”
“I’m just glad we finally found you.”
“Yeah, me too,” she says. “Dmitri will be back soon, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of her leaving so soon, but I ignore it. Noticing something sticking out of her curls, I smile. “Speaking of your hair.”
Since I’m a whole foot taller than her, I don’t need her to turn around. I step in close and carefully extract the short length of elastic so it doesn’t get tangled. She holds perfectly still except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, her warm breaths permeating the thin cotton of my shirt.
Goosebumps raise on the back of my neck being this near to her, and I wonder if she feels the charge of electricity in the air between us like I do. Forcing myself to take a step back, I hold the hair tie out to her. “Must’ve just broke.”
She clears her throat and reaches up to shake her hair out then tries to smooth it down, but it’s not obeying. “Gods, I must look like a troll.”
A corner of my mouth quirks up. “Yeah, but it’s the cute kind with the floofy hair like in that kids movie.”
Taryn points to the door. “You can leave now,” she deadpans.
I chuckle, holding my hands up. “Yep, going.”
As soon as I’m out of the room, she closes the door behind me and mutters “Unbelievable,” on her way to the bathroom. I’m grinning so hard I have to physically wipe it from my face.
FIVE
TARYN
I can’t remember the last time I slept as well as I did after Finn left the room earlier. For the last year, I’ve been hovering in that uncomfortable half-in, half-out state so I could stay on alert, but today was different. Even with my logical side telling me I couldn’t trust a Verran, something else inside me felt at peace in his presence, and I’d been too tired to let logic win.
As soon as I was alone, the massive bed covered in soft pillows, silky Egyptian cotton sheets, and a thick down comforter drew me to it like an Ember Pixie to hearth moss. I was only going to test it out and rest my eyes for a few minutes before showering. The next thing I knew, I’d slept the entire day away. It was glorious. Like my anxiety had been switched off, allowing me to rest peacefully.
And that’s not all that was different about my sleep. For months I’ve dreamt of golden-honey irises so often I could pick them out of a line up. But today was the first time my mind knew how to complete the image, and the whole package—from what I’ve seen so far—is every bit as stunning as his eyes were alone.
But stunning or not, I don’t need to be lusting after a Night Court prince. Even if he did help to rescue me. I’ve never played the part of the damsel in distress, so I’m not about to swoon at the handsome hero’s feet like some lovestruck fairytale princess. Then again, I feel so amazing right now that I might be persuaded to play any role he likes.
After only being allowed occasional sponge baths the last year, I could have perished in the middle of taking that shower and died happy. The simple things in life I used to take for granted now feel like luxuries: a hot shower, fresh air, and—hopefully soon—feeling the sun on my face without the buffer of glass.
All the various exfoliating soaps, moisturizers, and hair products someone procured for me are high quality, and I almost wept when I noticed the hair serum specially formulated for curls among the offerings. After finger-curling my brown locks, one by one, I luxuriated in saturating my clean and freshly shaved body with the jasmine-scented body butter.
I’m starting to almost feel like myself again. I don’t look quite as emaciated, and the dark circles are gone from beneath my eyes. And the best part is the sensation of my magic slowly returning, like water trickling into that empty well.
Drawing on my court-born power, I take a deep breath and focus on the magic pooling into the fist I make with my right hand. As I exhale, I uncurl my fingers and mentally pull the power up through my open palm. A purple flame sparks to life, reaching about three inches high and the size of a quarter around. It’s the biggest I’ve managed since my captivity.
I smile as it seemingly dances with life, and I begin to play with it like I did as a young Fireling. Transferring it from hand to hand, letting my fingers trail through it and watch as it tries to follow, harmlessly licking at my skin. After only a minute my power drains with the effort, so I close my fist to extinguish it.
Chewing on my lip, I wonder if I should test out my wings. When I’m at full strength, I don’t need to focus my magic to specific areas, but I don’t have enough to go around right now. Unable to quell my curiosity, I concentrate the flow between my shoulder blades and unfurl the magic to summon my wings.
Wavy streams of light in deep purples and greens flow from my back, then solidify into shapes similar to a butterfly’s. While all fae wings are shaped similarly, it’s the colors and tip details that set them apart. Fire Fae’s are iridescent, changing from a shimmering forest green to a deep violet depending on the angle and light, with flame-shaped tips on both the top and bottom halves. Delicate and ethereal, they have an intricate web-like pattern, like veins in a leaf that glow when we use our powers, and sometimes with a really powerful sexual climax.
Gods, I miss the days when I could keep my wings out. Back in Faerie, there’s no reason to hide them. I don’t remember what it feels like to not be afraid of someone finding out who and what I am. I open and close them a few times, testing how they feel. Not bad.
And they look much healthier. Their vibrant shine has returned, their edges crisp. In the iron room, with my magic severely depleted, they were dull and slightly wilted, like the petals of a dying flower. I’m tempted to test their strength and try to lift myself off the ground. But my spirits are so high right now, I don’t think I could handle the disappointment if they aren’t yet strong enough. Deciding to quit while I’m ahead, I recall their magic and watch as the bands of light flow back into my body.
Out of centuries of habit, I almost attempt a glamour to hide my fae features before leaving the bathroom. Then I remember I don’t have to pretend to be a vampire or a human around Finn, and relief fills me enough I could float away like a helium balloon.
Smiling to myself, I peek my head out to make sure I’m alone, then parade naked into the bedroom where I catch the aromas of garlic, cooked tomatoes, and crusty bread. I inhale deeply and exhale on a moan as my mouth waters. Whatever it is smells Italian and fucking delicious. Then again, my standard for what constitutes good food is so low right now, it could be McDonald’s and I’d think it was worthy of a Michelin star.
Eager to find out, I take inventory of the clothes left out for me. It’s a variety of shorts and tops, a couple pairs of buttery soft leggings, and a week’s worth of panties and bras. All in the correct sizes.
My eyebrows shoot up and a warm spot begins to bloom in my chest, but it doesn’t get very far before I tamp it out. “Absolutely not, Taryn,” I mutter to myself. “You’re not getting moon eyes for the Darkling just because he ordered you some clothes. What else was he going to do, make you wear the rags you showed up in? It’s a courtesy for an unexpected guest, nothing more.”
My growling stomach prods me to dress quickly in the navy-blue leggings and teal tank top. I’m a bit chilled now that I’m out of the sauna-like conditions of the bathroom, but as it’s mid-summer in the desert, there isn’t anything with long sleeves. Maybe there’s something in the closet I can borrow.
On the same wall as the bathroom are two pocket doors for his and hers walk-in closets. I try not to wonder who the “hers” is in this case because I know I’m in Finn’s room; it smells of bergamot and amber, just like him. He must think his brothers wouldn’t want a stranger in their private spaces, which I get.
Since neither closet is marked, I choose one randomly, step inside, and flip on the light.
“Holy Kinkapalooza.”
My eyes grow as big as saucers as I look around the room. While it is a large walk-in closet, there isn’t a single item of clothing. The entire back wall is lined with different colored rope like I saw in his duffel bag, and each coil is hung on a nail in neat rows. Shelves, cubbies, and drawers make up the storage along the side walls, showcasing a myriad of sex toys and BDSM implements. I feel like I took a wrong turn down a rabbit hole and suddenly I’m Taryn in Kinkland.
As I reach for one of the drawers, I muse out loud. “Who are you entertaining that you need the inventory of an entire sex shop?”
“No one.”
His deep voice startles me. I press a hand over my galloping heart and spin to face him, an admonishment at the tip of tongue. An admonishment that dries up along with my mouth at the sight of him leaning casually against the door frame, ankles crossed and arms folded, wearing only a pair of black joggers that hug his muscular calves and thighs. His dark hair is damp and one of the longer pieces from the top has fallen forward to hang rakishly over his forehead.
My eyes have a mind of their own as they rake over the muscles of his chest and defined blocks of his abs, including the most cut V I’ve ever seen that disappears beneath his waistband. No male has any right to look that fucking good. The only flaw I can see is a raised scar several inches long on his left pectoral. A mark like that would’ve been caused by something made of iron, and I can’t help wondering if it was a superficial wound or something more fatal.
