Macabre Melody: Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series

by Amy Sumida

  “Yeah; I get that,” I huffed. “But I'm over here trying to assuage other prickled prides. I owe my current lovers more than Slate.”

  “And I'm sure he knows that too,” my dad said soberly. “It's yet another sting.”

  I chewed on that.

  “Then you call him instead of going to see him,” Dad went on. “After Banning pulled you away without a proper goodbye, I might add.”

  “Yeah; I figured that would be annoying,” I muttered. “Banning didn't want me making a scene with Slate. He said it wouldn't have gone over well.”

  My father went back to laughing.

  “Dad! You're not helping.”

  “I'm sorry, sweetheart.” He did look apologetic. “It's just that having one arrogant, alpha male in your life would be hard enough, but you've got five. No; six now.”

  I sighed deeply.

  “You called Slate today and instead of asking to see him one on one, you invite him to a meeting with all of your other men,” my father pointed out. “How would you feel?”

  “Shitty,” I whispered. “Overlooked. Not important. Fuck; I'm an asshole! I hate it when I'm the asshole!”

  “Not the language I like to hear coming out of your precious mouth, but yes.”

  “It's been over a month,” I whispered. “He's gotta be pissed.”

  “Get over there,” my father went serious. “Go home and tell your men that you can't wait any longer. If you fuck this up, all of them will be looking for a new man for you. That would be far worse than dealing with Slate.”

  “Better the gargoyle they know.” I grinned.

  “Exactly.”

  “I love you, Dad.” I hugged him. “Thank you.”

  “One problem at a time,” he whispered. “The Gargoyle and the Rooster and then the Gods.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I laid it all out for my men. They growled. They argued. They tried to seduce me. And, finally, they agreed to let me go to the Zone. I had two days.

  I didn't even pack. I kissed them goodbye, thanked them for being reasonable, and used my stone to travel straight to Slate's office.

  He wasn't there. A bit anticlimactic, actually. I huffed my way downstairs and noted the dimmed lights in the zone ceiling; it was later there than it was in Kyanite. As I was crossing the yard, I ran into Jago.

  “Diva!” Jago swept me up into a hug. “Where the hell have you been? The boss has been moping about something fierce.”

  “I've been busy taking care of things.” I shrugged. “I figured he was too. I called him. We talked.”

  I thought about those strained conversations again. Our relationship had been a rough one, and then I'd gone and left as soon as it started in earnest. There was so much lurking beneath our words when we spoke through the charm; so much that needed to be expressed in person. We had things we had to look into each other's eyes to say. I should have gone to see Slate sooner.

  “Sure.” Jago nodded but the look he gave me was critical.

  “Where is he?”

  “The Quarry. Drinking, most likely. He does that a lot these days.”

  Shit.

  “I need your help, Jago,” I said urgently. “I need to make a grand gesture. Something public to appease the wounded pride of the Zone Lord.”

  Jago started to smile. “What you got in mind?”

  Ten minutes later, I was sneaking into the Quarry with a baseball cap on my head and Jago's thick arm draped over my shoulder. He joked with friends as he led me through the crowd and then to the backstage door. No one looked at me twice.

  “Thanks, Jago; I've got it from here.” I kissed his cheek.

  “He's in the lounge upstairs.” Jago smirked. “I'm going to go up there and make sure he looks out the window. Knock 'em dead, Diva.”

  I hurried down the hallway and then knocked on Eli's door. He stuck his head out and his eyes widened in surprise.

  “Elaria!” He came out to hug me. “Are you all right? I heard about all that went down. The God, the Zone Lord, your consorts... your dad.”

  I laughed. “I'm good. How have you been?”

  “Good. Good. Except for, you know, the boss being bitchy.” He grimaced at me. “You hear to change that?”

  “That's the plan,” I said. “Can you put on the music for 'Don't Let Me Go' by Raign?”

  “Oh, nice choice.” Eli winked at me. “You got it, babe. Give me a minute to finish this song and then you're on.”

  Eli moved back into the control room, and I moved up the stage stairs. I hadn't dressed for a performance, but I had dressed to impress Slate. My full skirt and slinky top should do just fine. Besides, I was hoping the song would speak to him more than my appearance did. I peeked around the curtains and saw Slate exactly where Jago said he'd be; up in the lounge, drinking.

  Except Slate wasn't drinking alone. Eleanor stood over his hunched body; her hands massaging his shoulders as she glared at Jago. Jago was saying something to Slate—his hands moving expressively—but the Zone Lord wasn't listening to either of them. Slate stared into his glass with a haunted expression that tore at my heart. How long had my Beast been wasting away for his Beauty? Damn it all! I really was the asshole!

  Eleanor's hands became more insistent. She stopped massaging Slate and ran her fingers down the front of his chest instead. Those devious red nails dug beneath Slate's dress shirt as she leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek. I don't know what she was doing to him beneath the fabric, but he didn't even twitch. I would have laughed except that Eleanor was far from done. She started kissing Slate's face; her hands sliding out of his shirt only to go questing into his lap, despite Jago's presence. Jago moved forward as if he were about to dislodge Eleanor, but Slate beat him to the punch. As soon as Eleanor's hands ventured too low, Slate shook her off with a rolling movement of his shoulders and a furious roar that I could hear even with the pounding music and the thick pane of glass.

  No one even glanced at the box. The lack of reaction from the crowd, combined with Eleanor's calm demeanor as Slate raged at her, led me to believe this was a common occurrence. Slate pointed imperiously at the door. I couldn't read lips but it was clear what he'd been saying when both Jago and Eleanor stomped out. Slate collapsed back onto his chair—fury replaced instantly by despondency—and refilled his glass with the bottle of whiskey beside him.

  The blaring dance music faded out and my song began. I edged onto the stage; staying in the shadows as the crowd shuffled about in confusion. The abrupt shift from slamming beats to soft strumming left them moving in an unsure sway. And it brought Slate's attention straight to the stage.

  I stepped out with my first words; so perfect for us. It was all there. The distance I felt between us; how I had drifted away. Been pulled away. I called out to him to help me; to save us. It wasn't your average love song, but none of my lovers were average, and Slate was no exception. I wanted to show him that. To tear out my heart on his stage and hold it up for him to see. For all of those beneathers to see how much he meant to me. Let them know that his spellsinger still craved him. That my love for Slate was just beginning.

  As soon as he saw me, Slate jolted up in his seat; his gaze flashing silver and locking on mine. I smiled but it was gentle; part apology and part romance. Magic seeped into my song but not with the intention to sway him, only to carry my message up to him. Sometimes loving me will be hard, sometimes you will be without me, but I'll always be here with you if you let me into your heart. There will be tears. There will be pain. But there will also be love that freezes time without growing cold. Eternity will not be enough for us. I promise you. Just let me inside you. Carry me with you, as close as your own tears. Dare to love me.

  The room had gone silent; every eye darting back and forth between Slate and me. But I didn't look at my audience. I kept my gaze on Slate. This wasn't about their entertainment, this was about the Zone Lord. My voice rang out with the power of my conviction and the love I wouldn't deny ever again. Slate's lips par
ted, his expression shivering with emotion. He stood slowly, and I knew that he was about to come down to me. But I shook my head. No, baby, let me come to you. I wanted more than an apology for him, I wanted to give him his pride back. I wanted to see that swagger again. I wanted Slate to own his world as he had always done. I wasn't a woman who needed my lovers to crawl for me. I'd rather help them fly. And even though Slate was a man who moved stone, he also had wings. We could rule the sky together.

  Slate smiled slowly; that precious smirk that I'd grown to adore—and sat down. He leaned back in his chair like a king. His hand reached for his glass, and he sipped it casually as I swayed forward. That's right, Slate; let me dance for you. Let me be the perfect fantasy.

  When the final echoes of my song filtered through the stunned crowd, I jumped off the stage—landing on my heels with a solid thwack—and strode up to the Zone Lord. As I reached the lower door to the lounge, Slate smirked at me again and stood. He hit something on the wall beside him and curtains fell over the windows; hiding him from my view. The thump of a new song began just as I reached the top of the stairs. I shut the second door behind me and strode across the stone floor. Without an audience, Slate didn't need his mask. He met me halfway; an exultant look on his face. Pure happiness.

  With a sweep of Slate's arms, I was off my feet. I covered his mouth with mine and gave into the passion that had been building between us for what seemed like lifetimes. A growl, low in his throat, and I was on the bar; my back bent and my legs spread wide. His fangs bit at my neck; drawing blood which he lapped up eagerly. I held his head to me; just as fierce as he.

  “Not here,” his voice had gone low; still part growl. He started to ease me down.

  “Yes, here,” I snarled in his face as I shoved my hand down the front of his pants. I rubbed him with the flat of my palm. “We've waited long enough. It doesn't matter where it happens, only that you're inside me as fast as possible.”

  Silver light flashed over his face; shining down from his glowing eyes as his body shivered.

  “Oh, little girl, you've just unleashed the beast.” Slate jerked me off the bar and laid me down on the stone floor.

  It was cool against my back; my bare back. He'd removed my top in the seconds it took to lay me down and was already peeling my skit away. I undid my bra myself, and he tore off my panties. When I laid naked before him, Slate jerked to a stop; arms braced straight and chest heaving. He stared down the length of my body and took a shaky breath.

  “I... you're so beautiful, Elaria,” he whispered.

  I blinked up at Slate. The words were even more precious coming from him—a man who didn't hand out compliments frivolously. I slid my hand up his throat and into his hair; my gaze meeting his steadily.

  “Will you forgive me for staying away so long?”

  Slate smiled wickedly.

  “You have two choices, Spellsinger,” he said crisply. “You can either suck my dick or you can fuck it. Then we'll talk about forgiveness.”

  I ripped his zipper open, I was so eager to get him out of his pants. Slate chuckled as I freed his hard length, but he stopped laughing when I knocked him over onto his back. I gave him my own wicked look before jerking his pants down around his knees, straddling him, and taking him in my mouth. I'd been wanting to do this since the day I'd first held his beautiful shaft in my hands.

  Slate roared.

  I smiled against his skin; licking and sucking and even biting until he was clawing at the floor and bucking his hips upward. The scent of him was nearly as good as the taste and the sounds he made far exceeded my expectations. Slate hadn't roared for those other women. Nor had he made those groaning whimpers; as if he were in pain but didn't want it to ever stop. His stare locked on mine and his hands tangled in my hair.

  “Am I forgiven?” I licked my lips.

  The silver of Slate's eyes was glazed; making them look polished. His breath was wild, and he'd torn his shirt open. His chest gleamed gold in the low lights; muscles on beautiful display amid the black fabric border of his button-down. He met my gaze and bared his teeth at me.

  “I lied,” he growled. “You have no choices. I want both.”

  Slate grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up his body before he rolled us. I was on the stone again; my legs spread wide. His eyes burned into mine as he shoved himself inside me. We both cried out with that sublime sensation, and I clawed at his arms; pulling him closer as he pushed my legs up and back.

  It wasn't the romantic lovemaking most women would have wanted for their first time with a new man, but it was exactly perfect for us. A savage thrashing of hips. A pounding of flesh like tribal drums. His teeth in my neck and his cock in my sex; one making me bleed and the other making me wet. I was beyond sanity, beyond tenderness and whispered words of love. There was only this deep, aching need for him to fill.

  “I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” I growled as I jerked my hips up to meet his.

  “Then do it.” Slate wrapped his arms around me and picked me up. He carried me to the bench along the window—his flesh still inside me—and sat down with me straddling his lap. “Fuck my dick hard, Spellsinger,” he purred into my ear. “Make me come in you.”

  I grabbed Slate's shoulders, leaned my head back, and rode him until he roared again, and I roared with him.

  When our first wave of lust had finally been sated, and I was draped across him limply, Slate started laughing softly in my hair. I shifted back to look at him with a curious smile.

  “I still have my pants on.”

  I glanced down and saw Slate's trousers bunched around his ankles.

  “And your shoes,” I added. “How did you manage to fuck me like that with your pants on?”

  “I was motivated.” Slate laughed and then it faded into a sigh.

  Slate's eyes were softer than I'd ever seen them; gray velvet with just the hint of a metallic gleam. He kissed me sweetly and slid his hand across my collarbone, down to my heart.

  “You were right; that metal collar was the only thing standing between me an utter annihilation,” Slate whispered.“I thought you weren't coming back and it was killing me.”

  “I will always come back to you,” I promised. “I don't give my heart lightly.”

  “Nor do I.” He let out a shaky breath. “And you have it, Elaria. For good or bad; my heart is yours now. I think it's belonged to you since the day you strode into my office and offered to take the place of a little Sasq'et girl in my arena.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes; I have no idea why. I blinked them away as I lowered my lips to graze his gently. Just a light caress.

  “I love you, Zone Lord,” I whispered against his skin.

  “I love you too, Spellsinger.” He eased back to look at me steadily. “I won't let anything threaten our love again; not even you.”

  I breathed in his words—let them fill my heart with his savage melody—and I knew that no matter what we faced, be it beautiful or macabre, that melody would play on forever.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek into the next book in the Spellsinger Series:

  Aria of the Gods

  Chapter One

  How had my life gotten even more complicated?

  I sighed as I watched Torin face off with Slate. Again. Before I'd met Slate Devon, Lord of the Oregon Zone (I hadn't found out which zone he was lord of until after he'd set me free), I'd been about to marry four men. My fifth lover is a griffin, and Gage didn't want a ceremony; he said we were already bound stronger than any words could make us. Gods; I love that griffin. Anyway, I'd been in the middle of four wedding preparations. Then I'd got kidnapped by gargoyles and forced into fighting in their gladiatorial arena. Gargoyles are shapeshifters with stone magic and they are also one of the few beneather races that are native to Earth. They had been here for thousands of years before homo sapiens showed up. It gave them lots of time to develop their civilizations and even carve out a few cities underground.

  Those gargoyle cities beca
me popular with beneathers, especially those who weren't able to hide their appearances easily. When the Beneathers started flocking to gargoyle cities, the Gargoyles saw an opportunity. They made the cities into Zones; underground communities where Beneathers could live, shop, socialize, and be entertained. One of the most popular forms of zone entertainment is the arena.

  So, there I was, fighting for my life, held captive under the power of a nifty collar that subdued my magic, when my old nemesis, the Rooster Spell, came quietly back to life. She didn't make a peep as she gently nudged Slate and me together. It wasn't until I was already half in love with him that both Slate and I began to notice the tingles of magic flowing between us. Since the RS is a spell and not an innate magic, she'd been able to circumvent the collar's dampening effect. She'd grown stronger and stronger while Slate and I had fallen for each other. But then there came the reckoning.

  The whole reason Slate had abducted me was that Galen and Odran—the ex-king of Sapphire and the Howlite King I'd made human—had manipulated him into believing I was a murdering spellsinger hellbent on destroying the Shining Ones. Slate—who made a point of imprisoning psychotic beneathers to fight in his arena—also happened to have a zone that was built directly over an imprisoned god; Gargo the God of the Gargoyles.

  When I released Darcraxis from the prison our children the Shining Ones had put him into, a shock wave of god energy had rung out through the realms. That energy had awakened other sleeping, imprisoned gods. Gargo was one of those awakened. He had just enough magic to reach out to the pair of vengeful Shining One men and set them on a course to bring me to him. Not only bring me to him, but also get me to bleed on top of his prison. It turns out that god blood—even that of a goddess who sliced her soul in half and trapped her goddess magic in an orb—could break Gargo's bonds.