Mysteria Nights

by P. C. Cast

  A soft chuckle rumbled from him. The tip of one finger traced a circle around her navel, then dipped again, lower this time. Dabbling at the small triangle of hair, tickling. “Nothing could ruin this. You’re perfection.”

  Her? Perfection? Entranced, she parted her legs, giving him all the access he could possibly need.

  Through the material of the nightgown, he circled her clitoris next. Again. Finally. He pressed.

  “Oh, bright lightning,” she gasped.

  “Like that?”

  “Yes. More.”

  He didn’t give it to her but continued to play with her, revving her to that sense of uncontrollable desire again. “You’re so wet,” he praised. “For me.”

  “Yes. You.” She tried to arch into his touch, tried to force his fingers to press harder. “Falon.”

  “Oh, but I like the sound of my name on your lips.” His tongue glided up to her collarbone, his teeth nipping along the way. She turned her head aside, and he sucked at her pulse.

  “I want to get on my knees. I want to taste between your legs. Say yes.” He gripped the hem of her nightgown, slowly lifting.

  “Ye—” Red alert! blared inside her mind, shoving past her need to scream yes. If he touched the knot in her gown, he would discover the pen. He would realize he’d taken a stick from her instead.

  His knuckles brushed her thigh, and her knees almost buckled. “All you have to do is say yes, and my tongue will be inside you . . .”

  His dark head, buried between her legs . . . one of her knees, draped over his shoulder . . . his tongue, stroking her to orgasm . . . She yearned for it so badly she had tears in her eyes. But she forced herself to say, “No,” and at last to shove him away.

  The action was puny, really, but he released her. He was panting, eyes narrowed. She was panting, eyes still burning.

  “Things have already gone too far,” she managed to get out. Do I sound as breathless to him as I do to myself? “This ends now.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his gaze never leaving her face. “Oh, I get it. Punishment received.”

  He turned and stalked from her, and she wanted to shout that this hadn’t been a punishment, not for him, but the words congealed in her throat, and then it was too late, anyway, because he disappeared from view.

  Five

  Falon fumed for the next three days. For three reasons. (Three must be his new lucky number.) One, Glory had outsmarted him, leaving him with a magicless stick rather than the revenge pen. Two, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her and had thought about her constantly. And three, she was now ignoring him, as if he didn’t fucking matter to her.

  He should be happy about that last one.

  He wasn’t. Damn it, he wasn’t!

  Motions clipped, he paced through his living room, trying to decide what to do. Like his lack of happiness, this should have been a nobrainer: stay out of her life. Never antagonize her again. She’d had her revenge. She’d made him burn, desperate for her, and then had rejected him. They were even. There was no reason they had to deal with each other again. Most likely, bad, magical things would happen if they did.

  “As well as hot and sweaty,” he muttered. Her passion had been a thing of beauty. She’d writhed against him, her lush body flushed, her hazel eyes blazing. Her breasts had overflowed in his hands. Her skin had been the softest he’d ever caressed. Her long red hair had tumbled down her shoulders and arms, the perfect frame for her exquisite loveliness.

  What would have happened if she’d have let him strip her? What would have happened if he’d spread her legs and pounded inside her?

  “Heaven, that’s what.” But what about afterward? Would she have wanted more from him or been done with him? Would she have used her naughty magic against him again?

  Falon scrubbed a hand over his scalp, nails raking. He was—or rather, had been—crown prince of the Fae. Women had thrown themselves at him, hoping to be queen. None had captured his interest. Then he’d meet Frederica, the witch, and had been entranced. Now he thought, perhaps, she’d used a love spell on him and there at the end it had worn off. But even still, he hadn’t hungered for her the way he hungered for Glory. Glory challenged him in every way imaginable.

  “Not hard, nowadays,” he muttered.

  To serve Penelope for the required year in order to gain his freedom from Frederica’s impotence curse, he’d had to relinquish his crown. His brother, Falk, had then taken over. Falk was a good king, respected, admired, and loved. Falon didn’t have the heart to take it from him when the year ended. What kind of king would I make, anyway? Not a good one, that was for sure. He’d always been too wild.

  Besides, over the years he’d managed to carve out a decent life for himself. He didn’t need money, but he worked with Hunter at the bar. Amusements abounded, and there was never a dull moment. Brawls, seductions. Plus, it was a hub of information. When people were drinking, they tended to spill their deepest secrets. A few months ago, Falon had overheard three female fairies planning to poison Falk. He’d passed the information on, and the women had been captured in the act, Falk saved.

  Falon sighed, his gaze traveling through his home. To thank him, Falk had sent him gifts. Lots and lots of gifts. From plush crimson couches to thick obsidian rugs. From jeweled goblets to a tiered chandelier. While the outside of his modest house might look ordinary, the inside was like a sultan’s palace. White lace even hung from each of the doorways. Not his doing. Falk had also sent a decorator.

  Falon stopped in front of the velvet sapphire lounge. He pictured Glory splayed across it, naked, her little pink nipples hard. The lamp resting on the marble table beside the seat would be lit, and she would be bathed in a golden glow. She would nibble on her bottom lip, her eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, hand delving down her soft stomach, fingers sinking into the red curls between her legs.

  Just like that, he was rock hard. Again.

  “Damn it!”

  He needed to bed her. Just once. Otherwise, he’d never be able to get her out of his head.

  Growling low in his throat, he stalked to the emerald-studded phone. He’d kind of liked his old one, plain and tan, but oh, well. He dialed Glory’s number. This is dumb, this is so damned dumb. His blood heated at the thought of hearing her sultry voice. What would she say to him?

  One of the Tawdry sisters answered on the third ring. “Yeah, hello.” She sounded breathless.

  “I need to speak with Glory.”

  “Falon? Is that you?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is Genevieve.”

  “Hey, Evie. I really need to speak to Glory.” Before he came to his senses and took matters into his own hands. Literally.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Look, is she around?”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t think she’ll want to chat with you, and maybe that’s for the best. She’s in a mood.”

  Evie sounded like that was newsworthy. When wasn’t Glory in a mood? “Is something wrong with her? Is she okay?”

  “Meaning, did someone physically hurt her? No. You know they’d be dead by my magic if they did.”

  A warning? “Emotionally, then.”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Did you kiss her?” Evie asked.

  “Who you talking to, baby?” Falon heard in the background.

  “Let me speak with Hunter,” Falon said.

  Crackling static, and then his best friend was saying, “What’s going on?”

  “Glory okay?”

  “Oh, man. She’s been stomping around the house for three days, muttering about a stupid kiss, a stupid man, and stupid revenge. She write you into another scene or something?”

  “No.” But she could do so at any moment, which made him all kinds of an idiot for making this call. And why was she angry? She’d rejected him. He’d done nothing but try to pleasure her.

  “My advice, bro, is to just leave
her alone. She’ll calm down, and then she’ll forget all about you.”

  That was the problem. Falon didn’t want her to forget him. Shit. He seriously needed to forget her.

  “Uh-oh. Here she is,” Hunter muttered.

  “I’m going for a run,” Falon heard her grumble.

  “You? Run?” Shock dripped from Evie’s voice.

  “Well, no one in this household can seem to master magical weight loss, so I’m running the pounds off. You got a problem with that?”

  “You don’t need to lose weight,” he wanted to shout. Then he thought, She’ll be out of the house. It’ll be the perfect time to search her room and snatch that pen. Once the pen was out of her possession, seduction wouldn’t be so dumb. A lie, but he didn’t care. “Talk to you later, Hunter,” he blurted. “Don’t tell her I called.” He hung up, grabbed his car keys, and stalked into the waiting daylight.

  Glory ran until her lungs felt like they’d caught fire. She ran until her body was shaking from exertion. She ran until her mind was mush. Sadly, none of those things shoved Falon from her mind.

  Him and his too-soft lips, his decadent, drugging taste. His hardness, his sweet hands. His final request to taste her. She’d stayed away from him, hadn’t even tried to punish him again.

  Sweat poured from her as she stumbled up the porch steps and into her house. Cool air kissed her skin. She propped herself against the nearest living room wall and hunched over, trying to catch her breath. It had taken her a few hours after leaving him in the forest to deduce exactly how he’d convinced her, even for a second, that he truly desired her.

  Good thing she’d stopped him. Only two other outcomes had been possible: he would have stopped before actual penetration, leaving her gasping and desperate, or, if they’d actually gone all the way, he would have told her how bad she was afterward. He might have laughed at her again.

  Her teeth ground together as she straightened. He’d told her she would regret using the pen against him. Now she did. She needed a distraction.

  The living room was empty. “Evie,” she called. “Godiva.”

  No reply.

  Had they left, or were they in their rooms, getting it on? Glory rolled her eyes and pretended there wasn’t an ache in her chest. Probably the latter, the disgusting witches. Did they ever take a break? Legs screaming in protest, she lumbered forward, using the wall as a prop.

  Down the hall she maneuvered. When she reached her bedroom door, she waved her hand over the knob, magically unlocking it. The door creaked open, and she stumbled inside, forced to kick past the clothes and food wrappers still scattered across the floor.

  “Hello, Glory,” a strong, male voice said.

  She gasped, frozen in place, gaze searching. Her heart pounded in her chest, nearly cracking her ribs when she spotted the intruder. Falon was splayed out on her bed. His dark head rested on her pillow, his arms propped behind his neck.

  He wore a clinging black T-shirt that veed at the neck and jeans that showed off the muscles in his thighs.

  “Wh-what are you doing here? And how did you get in?” No. No! He’d seen the national disaster state of her bedroom. Seriously, a bra hung from the lamp beside her bed. Sadly, she looked worse. “Don’t look at me,” she said, wanting to turn away as his eyes drank her in.

  “Why? You’re beautiful. I like looking at you. Just as you are,” he added.

  She rubbed her damp palms against her thighs. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, because she didn’t know how else to react to his praise. The pleasure she felt was unacceptable.

  “I would have pegged you for a neat freak,” he said, ignoring her question. Again.

  At least he didn’t sound disgusted. “So?”

  “Where’s the pen?” he asked conversationally.

  She raised her chin. “Like I’ll tell you.”

  “You haven’t used it against me since our . . . the . . . our time in the forest.” Had he just stammered? Had his voice dropped with desire?

  “Maybe I just haven’t thought of the appropriate punishment yet.”

  One of his brows arched, and he sat up slowly. “Punishment for what? Making you feel good?” Now his voice was dry. “Or not taking you all the way?”

  “Just get out.” She pointed to the hallway.

  He flattened his palms at his sides, his gaze roving over her. That white-hot gaze lingered at her breasts, between her legs, reminding her of everywhere he’d touched—and everywhere he’d wanted to touch. She gulped. She was wearing a white tank top and sweat shorts, and sweat still poured down her flushed skin. She probably looked ridiculous and frumpy.

  “Your skin is glistening,” he said, and there was enough heat in his eyes to keep her warm all winter. If Mysteria ever got cold, that is.

  “Sweat does that to a girl.”

  “I wish I had been the one to make you sweat.”

  Now her heart skipped a beat. “What do you want from me, Falon? An apology? Well, you’re not going to get one. We’re even. I’m done with you.”

  His eyes sharpened. “You’re not done with me. Not until you destroy the pen in front of me.”

  “No. There’s ink left.”

  “So you plan to use it against me again? You just said we’re even.”

  “We’re even now. I destroy it, and you’re free to torment me for the rest of your life.”

  He leaned forward, and she caught the scent of soap and dark spices. Shivered—then shuddered. What did she smell like?

  “I’ll swear not to hurt you,” he said.

  “And I’m sure you’ll mean it. Today. What about tomorrow?”

  Growling, he fell back into the mattress and scoured a hand down his face. She noticed he did that a lot when he was frustrated. “I came here to find the pen, but do you know what I really wanted to do?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “I wanted to follow you on your run, make sure you were safe.”

  Really? How . . . sweet. Some of the ice around her heart melted. Don’t believe him, stupid!

  “I wanted—want—to strip you, make love to you. Finish what we started. I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re the last person I should want.” Now he seemed to be talking to himself. “But want you I do. Maybe if I have you, I can stop thinking about you.”

  Oh, how she wished. He’d consumed every corridor of her mind since their kiss. Always she craved him. Always she dreamed of him, hungered. Sometimes she was even willing to toss caution aside and go to him, beg him to take her. But . . .

  What would happen afterward?

  She had several strikes against her. She was a witch, and he hated witches. He was perfection, and she was the epitome of imperfection. She’d spent the last week torturing him.

  Three strikes. You’re out, girl. Glory sighed. She was afraid she’d already fallen for him, though. He was strength, and he was courage. He hadn’t backed down from her once, even though her powers were considerable, and she could do major damage to him. His kisses were the best thing to have ever happened to her. His touch, electric. Finally she’d gotten a glimpse of what Evie and Hunter, Godiva and Romeo must experience every night. And different hours through the day. She’d liked it, wanted more.

  Wanted him.

  “No response?” he said, cutting through the silence.

  She shook her head in hopes of clearing it. “You’re willing to have me now?”

  “I was willing before. I just fought against it.”

  “But you’re not fighting now?”

  “No. I can’t.” He rolled to his side and stared over at her. “I’m helpless. Did you cast a love spell on me?”

  “No!”

  “I didn’t think so,” he muttered. “Hoped, but didn’t think.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a witch did it once, and this isn’t the same.”

  Her shoulders sagged. No love for her, he meant.

  “It’s more intense,” he grumbled, surprising her.

  Her legs began
shaking more forcefully, and any moment she feared she would collapse. Somehow she managed to stumble to the chair in the corner and plop atop the many T-shirts heaped there. Falon’s gaze never left her. She felt it boring past her skin and straight into her soul.

  “You want me, too,” he said. Hard, flat. “Don’t try to deny it.”

  As if she could. “Who tried to deny it?”

  His lips formed a thin line. Almost a smile, but not quite.

  “Look, I came to you once offering the same thing. One night. You rejected me.”

  “Yes, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Because you were made to suffer for it,” she said. A statement rather than a question.

  “No. Because I crave you.”

  Truth or lie? She dared not hope. “Now you’re out to protect yourself from me, and that’s perfectly understandable, but—”

  “I don’t need protection from you,” he snapped.

  “Falon, we’ll never be able to trust each other. We’ll always suspect each other’s motives.”

  “We can call a truce. I’m not asking for a lifetime. I’m asking for a night. And when you came to me that night, that’s all you wanted, too.”

  “I—I—” Wanted to say yes, she realized. Wanted it more than anything. After his kiss, though, she couldn’t delude herself and hope the sex would be so bad she’d never desire him again. The sex would be great. At least for her. She would want more than a night; she knew that now. He . . . affected her. “I can’t,” she finally said.

  “Damn it. Why?” He shot up again, glaring at her.

  If he approached her, if he touched her . . . Tremors racked her, part of her wishing he’d do it. Force her hand. “We bring out the worst in each other.”

  Surprisingly, that mollified him somewhat. “I don’t know. I thought we brought out the best in each other while in the forest.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “My favorite mistake, then.”

  Goddess, if he kept saying things like that, she’d cave. Already her defenses were cracked. Really, what would one time hurt? Sure, she might fall for him even more than she already had. Sure, she might crave more from him. Sure, he might compare her to every girl he’d ever been with, and she would definitely come out lacking. Sure, this might be a scheme on his part to castigate her for using that pen against him. But she’d have an orgasm, so what did those things matter?