by Ana Calin
The hard features of his face set in an expression of complete control, and the whirl settles, all the flying objects falling to the ground. I breathe out in relief, relaxing in his arms. Our eyes lock, and time stands still.
As much as we both tried to avoid a connection being created between us, there’s no denying that a very strong one has just been born, and there’s no turning back. It’s not instant love, of course, I’m not even sure I even believe in that, but a feeling of belonging.
And a feeling that I’ve never seen such a gorgeous man before. I didn’t even know I was into this type of guy. But then again, Xerxes is in a league of his own, he doesn’t fit into any normal type.
Commotion and a mix of alarmed voices shatter the moment, forcing me to break eye contact with Xerxes, my head snapping to the door.
“No, Sweet Divinity, please no,” I whisper, getting off Xerxes. There’s a bang against the door as the guards slam against it to break it down. It takes only a moment for them to succeed, but even less for Xerxes to jump off the divan and shield me behind him.
A breeze runs through my already messed up hair, but I can’t see anything. Xerxes’ broad, muscled back blocks everything from sight, but I know what’s happening—the very thing I wanted to avoid when I agreed to help him replenish his magic powers; protecting the guards.
I can hear them hiss, I hear the metallic swish of their weapons as they draw them, and the slight buzz in the air as they charge their magic.
But this is the King of Flames they’re facing, and he’s on full power now. The fire in his veins draws patterns on his back as it activates, and shadows rise from his body like smoke. The guards step back.
“Fuck,” one of them calls. But these are brave men and women, I know they won’t run for their lives. They’ll die in order to save me if they have to, even though they’re as aware as I am their sacrifice would be useless. There’s no way they can save me from the King of Fire now. I can feel his energy on my skin as he charges.
“Please, no,” I yelp, placing my hands on the iron sides of his torso. He’s so hot it almost burns my palms, but I don’t let go. “You promised me,” I whisper. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt them.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, fire playing in his irises.
“I have a teleportation crystal, and now you have the magic to get us out of here. You don’t have to barrel through them.” Because, through our strengthened connection, I sense that’s what he’s about to do.
We don’t need words, it’s like our bodies coordinate with each other of their own accord. He shields me as I dive under the divan where I keep my collector’s items—blades, pieces of velvet, tinctures, thread for voodoo dolls. That’s where I find Nazarean, too, curled up in a ball of fur. He arches and hisses in protest, but I whisper a desperate ‘Please,” and he leaps up on my arm, crawling to my shoulder. I grab the one thing I was after besides Nazarean—a teleporting crystal Arielle let me have from the Sea Court after the great victory against Xerxes a year ago.
I’m on my feet and plastered to Xerxes’ back in a second. The guards still haven’t dared to attack him, and he hasn’t pulverized them either, but I know he could do it in a split second if I tried to cross him.
“Here.” I press the crystal in his hand from behind. “You have the magic to use it. Just do it.”
He raises the crystal above his head, humming a teleportation spell. A circle of white light radiates from the crystal, growing bigger until it encapsulates both of us and basically pushes the guards out of the room. I’ve never seen teleportation done this way before. The King of Frost and Arielle the Sea Queen always used portals from one place to another.
Teleportation crystals usually work for short distances. It can take one from the midst of a violent crowd to the top of the next building, so it basically provides only a quick solution to a bad situation. But as hot winds start whirling around us, sucking us into a quantum tunnel like a vortex, I know this is going to be more. And when the vortex spits us into what looks like an ancient tunnel deep inside a rock, I know we’re nowhere close to the hideout. This is a place where no one will be able to follow, not quickly. And from where no one will be able to save me. All I’ve got now is Nazarean, who’s clawed to my hair, nestling on my shoulder under my braided ponytail.
I turn around, trying to figure out where we are, but the only thing I recognize is the King of Flames. He’s towering over me, fully recharged and oppressively powerful, with shadows rising from his body like smoke from a burning statue. Damn it. I’m completely in his power now.
Xerxes
I LEAD THE WAY UP THE rocky tunnels to the dungeons of Edinburgh castle, and enter the old prison through a series of grated gates. The first person in our way is what appears to be a tired old warlock with a hunched back under his cape, and an ugly face under his hood that is meant to scare away youngsters who just might wander into these parts, looking for a thrill or to dare the fates.
But as we enter the main medieval prison, the one they show off to tourists in its replica in the human realm, we find a gathering. Cerys stifles a gasp in her throat as she recognizes the witches and warlocks that circled her at the festival, but as she recognizes Marayke, she freezes.
Marayke the Iron Maiden leans against the wall along with a few of my fire fae warriors, the strongest ones who survived the purge after the great confrontation with Lysander and Arielle’s forces a year ago. More jump from the hammocks hanging on the sides. Heaps of jewels and precious metal glisten in the piles of hay gathered by the wall, and there are mugs of mead on barrels that serve as tables.
“I see greed is a common trait among fire fae and dark mages,” the girl says behind me, hostility in her voice. “You hoard anything that shines.”
“I won’t deny we like riches,” I reply. “But it’s because gold and jewels buy our way to important people. It’s a matter of strategy, not greed.”
She keeps close as I lead her down the aisle towards Marayke. I suppose it’s because of how my people close in from the sides. They scowl at her. The witches clearly hate her, even though she once helped one or two of them. But I suppose it’s natural, since they’re dark mages, and Cerys is a creature of the light, despite her last name.
“You’re back—as yourself,” Marayke says as I approach her, standing to attention. Her feelings radiate from her voice and her entire attitude, no matter how business-like she’s trying to remain. I can almost see her fantasies in her otherwise sharp, focused eyes that make her look like a vulture.
I try to ignore it, and step aside, allowing Cerys to take center stage, but she doesn’t. When I look at her, I feel something very different from what I feel when I look at Marayke. Her face glows white with rosy cheeks, contrasting with the energy of everyone here, her delicate frame in a white robe making her appear as ethereal as a high fae. It’s because of all the energy work she’s done in her young life, which imbued her skin with light. It’s not as strong as the magic of a fae mage, but in matters of elemental energy and channeling it to replenish other supernaturals, she’s famous.
“Cerys Dark, this is Marayke Velduros also known as Marayke the Iron Maiden. She’s my second in command. If anything should ever happen to me, she’s the one who will take over my operations. And the one who will decide you fate as well.”
“I know who she is,” Cerys bites, helping the black cat off her shoulder and holding him in her arms. Her familiar hisses at Marayke, its slit-eyes vicious as it bares teeth so sharp their tips glint. The animal clearly is not only ready, but also very much capable of protecting her. “She almost killed my brother Zillard last year, right before my eyes.” It impresses me that her blood boils hot enough that she confronts Marayke.
“I remember,” Marayke retorts. “How is pretty boy Zillard doing?”
“Trying to take over the world, last time I checked.” She glances at me. “Making sure he beats your boss to it.”
Marayke laughs, facing Cer
ys with her armored arms crossed over her chest. With her weapons strapped to her thighs, and her spiked short hair that makes her hard to grab in battle, she stands in strong contrast with the mage girl, who seems an ethereal being, almost like a spirit, and yet somehow forceful. The more I look at her, the more she fascinates me.
“Irony of fate, isn’t it, that you and Zillard should be siblings,” Marayke says. “And that your last name is Dark. Your face glows like a silver moon among the dark mages here.” The others burst into laughter, only Kareim watching silently from one of the barrel tables. I’m sure the bastard thinks he’s being inconspicuous, sitting there in his mage robe that he didn’t earn, drinking mead, his staff leant against the wall behind him. I only see him from the corner of my eye, but it’s enough to notice the way he leers at Cerys.
Cerys steps in front of Marayke, stroking the cat, whose fur spikes as he lets out a long hiss. Her eyes glow like molten gold as she addresses Marayke.
“I’m not sure if you forgot or never knew, but Zillard and I are only half-siblings. Namely, we have the same father—Hades, the Lord of Tartarus.”
Gasps travel through the room. I didn’t realize this wasn’t common knowledge. Fine muscles move in Maryke’s jaw.
“Really now?” she hisses. “I heard you were a descendant of the sorcerer Merlin, not the god of the Underworld.”
“Merlin is from my mother’s side.”
I glance at Kareim, beginning to understand why he insisted that I get my hands on Cerys. I’ve always known he had an agenda, and now that I think about Cerys’ bloodline, it’s all coming together.
“I have never used dark magic,” Cerys continues. “But it’s not because I can’t. It’s because I never needed to. I’m an elemental, dealing with the elements and channeling energy are my strong suits. But make no mistake, I am capable of sharpening my darker skills, if need be.”
Marayke opens her mouth to respond, ready to start a fight. Knowing that Cerys is my fated mate, I think she wants the situation to escalate.
“Good, now that we’re done with the introductions and over the pleasantries, I suggest we move on to the business at hand.” I step between the two women, really close to Cerys, but I look over her head, at the soldiers and mages gathered behind her.
I put my hands on her shoulders, turning her around for people to see. She trembles slightly in my hands, her flesh hot, obviously uncomfortable with the attention. I understand why. She could truly be an angel surrounded by ravenous demons, with her glowing skin full of pure elemental magic. This lot would have probably ripped her apart if they got her alone in the dark alleyways of Edinburgh.
“I have this young woman to thank for having recovered my powers. But it’s not a permanent victory, and it will be short-lived unless I restore my shattered core. My magic drains fast, and it would be an impossible feat for Miss Dark to keep replenishing me every seven days. That would consume her very quickly. What I need in order to be complete again is the Firestone that Apophis’ Wraiths stole from the crown of the Fire Court centuries ago. Only its magic will replace my core for good, and I will once again be the most powerful fae king of all the realms.”
I walk around Cerys, shielding her behind me as I head towards the crowd. It parts in two to let me in their midst. “But when I have my power back, the first thing I’ll do is restore your status, your freedoms, the respect with which people looked upon you. Your loyalty will be richly rewarded. All the time that you lived in hiding, running from Lysander’s purge squads, holed up like rats in the sewers under Flipside Edinburgh, it will be avenged.”
“Is it true that this girl is your fated mate?” a man’s voice rises from the crowd, interrupting me. “Is it true that the more time you spend with her, the more she becomes part of you, and whoever kills her, kills you, too?”
Murmurs travel through the dungeon. My eyes sweep over the gathering before my mouth draws in a wolfish grin.
“Who wants to know? Step forward.”
A dark mage finally decides to make his way through the crowd. He’s the head of the old witch’s coven, the first coven that offered to stalk the streets of Edinburgh for Cerys. It’s how we found her, two covens that had been at war with each other for decades, but that are both loyal to me, have been keeping an eye out for her for many months. This guy is also the one who predicted that Cerys wouldn’t miss the festival today. He’d worked with her before. The girl had helped him once, and he’d been bringing people with the same kind of problems to her shop ever since. She’d helped the oldest of his witches to survive a lich’s attack, too. So basically he betrayed someone who did him a lot of good in exchange for the riches that I can provide, and the power that will result from my reinstatement as the most influential fae king in all the realms.
“You are a loyal follower,” I tell the mage as he stares up at me with eyes full of defiance. “Your efforts for the cause, and for me as your King are much appreciated. Which is why I won’t kill you for trying to sow uncertainty and unrest among your peers.” I raise my hand, using my index finger to draw the rune of silence in the air. Light sparks at my fingertip as I do, and gasps fill the room. When he tries to say something, I cut him off.
“You want to know why I’m doing this, I understand. Let me explain—you used Cerys Dark’s services before, in fact you took full advantage of them. You say you’re loyal to me, but a person who betrays someone, will betray anyone.” I raise my hand higher in the air, keeping the rune at my fingertip, glowing like a star over the entire room.
Soldiers and mages cower away from it, since the rune is now fully laden, and simply being in its range of influence would cause it to take effect. The curse hits the mage, who grabs his throat, eyes blasting wide as his ability to speak is ripped away from him.
“If you think that my taking away this man’s voice is cruel,” I address the crowd, my voice vibrating deep in my chest. “Be assured that this is me being merciful. He wanted to know if killing my fated mate would kill me. Entertaining such curiosity means he was entertaining the possibility of turning on me.” I cup the mage’s face with my hand as he clutches his throat, a look of utter despair on his face. The warts and deep lines crisscrossing his temples are clear signs that he’s been using his magic to do some sort of injustice. In the supernatural world, energetic crime shows on the physical body. It’s impossible to hide how one has been using their abilities.
“So who else is curious about what would kill me?” I turn around, my eyes sweeping over all their faces. No one else dares come forth, but my gaze rests on Kareim. There’s something about his energy that draws my attention.
He’s moved close to Cerys, he’s right behind her now. He looks down at the curve of her neck, where her thick braided ponytail is draped over her shoulder. Anger raises fire in the back of my throat as I understand what she is to him, and why he wanted me to get her so badly—he wants her powers, and he’s planning to suck them out of her when I no longer need her. I’ve heard rumors that he’d been trying to turn himself into a lich, a dark sorcerer that can suck the soul and the power out of other supernaturals.
The impulse to crush him sends a rush through my muscles, but before I get to make a move, Nazarean jumps up from Cerys’ arms, and scratches the High Mage’s face. His scream tears through the room. He stumbles backwards, hand on his cheek. When he takes it down to check for blood, his sister Marayke growls ‘fuck’, hurrying over to help him.
There are three deep scratches on his face, and they’re bleeding heavily.
“You filthy little cunt,” he growls at Cerys. The ball of fire loads behind my vocal chords, ready to throw flames at him, but the cat attacks again before I get the chance to.
The crowd yells, and Marayke draws both of her short daggers at the cat, but the animal moves surprisingly fast, and she keeps missing him. It’s almost amusing. Marayke never misses her mark, and now she’s making a public fool of herself as she struggles with a cat that is as swift as a snake.
A powerful spirit must live inside the pitch-black ball of fur. I have a feeling it’s a spirit from Tartarus that Hades sent to look after his daughter, without her knowing.
“Nazarean,” Cerys calls, and the cat stops. It jumps out of the way as Marayke tries to slice through him with her blade, and hides under Cerys’ hair.
“I’m gonna cut that beast into pieces,” Marayke snarls.
“No you won’t, because he’s done nothing wrong,” Cerys retorts, stroking the now purring cat under his chin.
“Are you fucking crazy? Didn’t you see—”
“Nazarean only reacts like that if he senses the energy of harmful thoughts. If he attacked your friend, it’s because he was probably thinking of doing bad things to me.”
“He’s not my friend, he’s my brother,” Marayke screeches. She stares daggers at Cerys, black lines growing from her pupils and extending through her irises. Damn it, she’s manipulating the iron in Cerys’ veins. She wouldn’t dare to try to kill her, but she’s obviously determined to torture her.
I’m a split second away from grabbing Marayke and Kareim and hurling them both against the wall, when I notice that Cerys smiles, stroking the cat, and staring defiantly right into Marayke’s eyes.
“First of all, I don’t have the same aversion to iron as your fae kind does,” she says. “And secondly, as a magic energy worker I can not only replenish supernaturals’ tanks, but also drain them.”
Marayke’s face reddens from the effort. She’s leaning forward to Cerys, ready to attack, straining to use her powers.
“Your magic won’t work on me, no matter how hard you try,” Cerys concludes, and Marayke launches at her with a war cry.