Thief of Souls (Court of Dreams Book 2)

by Bec McMaster

  This time, I’m not mistaking the heat in Soraya’s cheeks. She glances to the side angrily.

  “You.” It’s all starting to make sense. “You were the prize Malechus used in order to get his hands on Mistmark. He blackmailed him—marriage to Belladonna and the bridal tithe paid in exchange for you.” But how did he…? A thought occurs. A terrible thought. “Ruhle’s working with Malechus.”

  It’s the only way Malechus would have known that Mistmark swore bloody vengeance upon my sister.

  Maybe the Blood Prince doesn’t know who our brother is. Maybe they struck a deal. Maybe they think they’re going to double-cross each other. But there’s no other way that Malechus would have known what Soraya meant to Mistmark unless that information came from within the wraithen court.

  “Falion’s the only other one who had that knowledge,” Soraya counters.

  “Falion’s tongue is so far up Mistmark’s ass, I don’t think he would ever betray him.”

  Soraya cuts me a dangerous look. “I haven’t seen a single glimpse of Ruhle or one of his little lickspittles.”

  It doesn’t mean he’s not pulling strings behind the scenes. “If he’s here, then this game has more moving parts than either of us can handle.”

  I don’t like the odds stacked against me. Father. Keir. Mistmark and Falion. Malechus. Ruhle.

  Not to mention a certain vicious Blood Court princess whose curse is currently weaving its talons into my heart.

  “The horn’s somewhere here at court.” Regardless of whether Malechus or Ruhle are the ones behind this ploy, they’ve managed the set up the play quite neatly. A little thrill runs through me. A means to steal the fucking thing right out from under their noses. “Malechus is watching both Keir and Mistmark. Falion’s out there somewhere, and he doesn’t like Malechus either. I don’t know what Belladonna wants, but I think she’ll take the chance to stab her cousin in the back if she gets one. And none of them will work with Ruhle. If he truly is behind all of this, then he’s going to have to keep his head low.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Father wants the horn. Ruhle wants us both dead. Malechus and Belladonna have both attempted to kill us. And I don’t know what Mistmark wants with you, but he ventured out of his locked vault of a castle in order to get his hands on you. It’s all leverage.” I meet her eyes. “I can’t negotiate this mess by myself.” It’s a breathless realization. Once more, my back is against the wall. “And you’re wanted by at least three men.”

  Soraya looks speculative. “What do you have in mind?”

  I can feel the hungry edge to my smile. “Easy. Like I said, the horn’s right here. Falion hinted that it’s in the maze somewhere. He gave Mistmark a piece of paper—it might be a map. I’ll slip into his rooms and search for the paper. Then you and I are going to steal the horn. And we’re going to play the others off against each other in order to do so.”

  17

  The hardest part about managing this entire scenario is a certain handsome dragon.

  I keep my thoughts close to my chest all day, dressing for the final ball, my skirts whispering around my ankles. Tomorrow is the wedding. It will all be over then.

  Keir catches sight of me as I walk into our shared antechamber. The sight of those hungry, hungry eyes makes my stomach drop. I pleaded a headache this morning, but I know he can sense something is wrong.

  “How are you feeling?” he murmurs, his gaze sliding slowly over me.

  It’s not real.

  It can’t be real.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  Steal the horn. Break the curse. Betray…. My thoughts eddy away into pathetic little undercurrents. It was so much easier when I hadn’t come to know him.

  I like him. Too much.

  I could love him, if I let myself.

  “Nervous,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Tomorrow is the last day we have up our sleeves in order to kill Mistmark, or else—”

  “We’ll break the curse,” he growls, taking my hands between his and warming them. “I’ve been thinking about Belladonna. You’re right. I can’t kill her. And we can’t kill Mistmark—”

  “Somewhat of a conundrum,” I point out.

  “But we don’t have to,” he says slowly. “We just have to make it look like he dies.”

  My heart goes still.

  There’s a ringing silence in my ears.

  “What do you mean?” I breathe the words out.

  “I’m the Prince of Dreams. I can craft illusions so beautifully they almost seem real. Tomorrow, I’ll simply make it look like Mistmark dies, right in front of everyone. The second Belladonna breaks the curse she’s woven around you, the truth can be revealed.”

  I tug my hands free. “Are you going to let Mistmark in on this secret? Or Falion?”

  His jaw tightens and he gives an imperceptible shake of his head. “I cannot. They cannot know what sort of powers I have.”

  And for him to wield them in front of the entire court is a huge risk.

  “What if someone sees?” I hiss. “What if someone guesses what you are?”

  “I’ll deal with that if the matter arises.”

  “Keir, no. It’s too great a risk.”

  “We don’t have another choice,” he says bluntly.

  My mouth drops open, but… he’s right. The only other option is to kill Mistmark and—

  Kill Mistmark. That’s it.

  My stomach falls to my feet. Keir’s right. We just need it to look like Mistmark dies. And I need…. “Fine,” I force the word past my lips. “We’ll play it your way. An illusion to make it look like Mistmark is dead. Break the curse. And then we steal the horn.”

  Keir gives a clipped nod and then offers me his arm. “One last ball. Are you ready?”

  “For this to all be over.” I rest my hand on the muscled flex of his arm. “Yes.”

  And no.

  Because once this is over, I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

  The skies open up as we make our way toward the enormous orangery that stands in the heart of the maze. There are guards along our path, all of them carrying torches. One or two servants have disappeared during the maze this week, and I think Malechus is taking all precautions.

  Of course, he’s probably not aware there’s a questing beast lurking within it.

  The glasshouse is where the final ball will be taking place, though Malechus hasn’t counted on the weather obeying his commands.

  “Under here,” Keir says, tugging me beneath an enormous oak as the winds whip at my skirts.

  In the distance, lights gleam within the orangery. Malechus will be there. Mistmark. Belladonna. All of them playing one last game….

  Keir peers out to check the skies, as if to see if they’re going to let up long enough for us to make a run across the last stretch of grass. My silvery skirts are already spattered dark gray in patches, and though he shielded me with his coat as we ran, my hair is a mess.

  I press a hand to his chest. His heart is beating steadily, but the look he gives me is anything but steady.

  And I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you want the cauldron so badly?” It can’t be power. He was born a dragon king. According to the stories, he gave most of his power up, gifting it to the cauldron in order to bring peace between the fae and dragonkind.

  Keir gives the clearing a savage look, his answer clear. Not here. Not where there are so many listening ears.

  “The folly,” I say, tilting my head.

  Away from the glasshouse.

  Away from the ball.

  Away from the politicking and backstabbing, and the tremulous threads of betrayal sweeping me toward a final, treacherous conclusion.

  Keir tugs me out from under cover. We run through the rain, my heels sinking into the lawn and rain slicking my gown to my skin. I can’t stop myself from laughing breathlessly.

  “This way,” Keir yells, hauling me to the left.


  There’s a folly there.

  One crafted of scrolled iron and glass. Several fae lanterns hang in the rafters, and wisteria curls its way around the iron. The firefly flicker of light hovers around several bunches of its flowers; Will O’ the Wisps humming like fat bumblebees in the night as they steal nectar from the flowers.

  The night is still and humid around us. All the other guests seem to have fled in the direction of the orangery.

  We’re alone. In the dark.

  Alone and somehow, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.

  Rain glides down the glass ceiling above us. A Will O’ the Wisp drifts past Keir’s shoulder, highlighting the stark planes of his cheekbones and those hungry eyes. His black lashes are clumped together with the wet, and the effect only makes those amber pupils more hypnotic.

  Hunger darkens his eyes.

  He traces the glyphs marked into my arm with his magic, and as his finger strokes down my clammy skin I shiver. Each rune is the promise of a single day that I owe him. A year and a day of service. Every morning I wake there’s one less rune.

  And maybe I’m a fool, because there’s a little part of me that mourns their loss.

  Once they’re gone, he’ll be out of my life.

  A complication I never wanted.

  A dream I don’t dare dream.

  As though it has a mind of its own, my hand lifts to his cheek, palm scraping over the roughened stubble of his jaw. His hyphen mouth rarely shows softness, but as his lips part I’m caught in the yearning that fills his gaze.

  Neither of us dares exhale.

  “Tell me what you’re hiding from.” His voice roughens. “Tell me why you won’t give yourself to me fully. I know you want me. I can feel it in every breath you take, in every look you give me…. But something holds you back. Who? What?”

  The words shatter the spell he wove.

  Here I was, thinking about how that mouth would taste and his entire focus is upon unearthing my secret.

  You’re such a fucking fool for him….

  I turn away, scraping the wet hair from my temples. “I told you….”

  “Nothing,” he grates out, stalking after me. “You’ve told me nothing. All I know is that you were working for the Wraith King, and you’re still working for him.” His face darkens. “You have no intention of leaving his court, do you?”

  It’s not as simple as that. My soul…. “I’m not fae, Keir.” I hold up my hands, letting the faint illumination spill through me. Suddenly I’m a firefly in the night, a pearlescent glow. It’s getting easier and easier to let my inner light shine through. “I don’t belong here. I’ll never belong here and you—”

  “You belong with me.” There’s a dangerous edge to his expression as he steps closer. Every inch of his shirt clings to his skin, lovingly caressing the hard muscles of his chest. “You are mine, Mira. You said you were mine.”

  Those words…. They do their own sort of damage. And the worst thing is, for a second I want it. I want to lean into him, let him claim me.

  But if I do that, then I’m nothing more than another pawn.

  He will own me, the same way my father does.

  “It was just one night,” I whisper.

  “It was more than that.” His glare is furious. “Mine. You said you were mine.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe I want to belong to myself?” I snap, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t move an inch, and it feels like slamming up against a stone wall. Inexorable. I push against his chest again. Again. Until he captures my wrists and shackles them there, forcing my fingers wide over his pectorals. A shiver runs through me. “I’ve never had true freedom.” I look up, into shockingly bright eyes. “Even now, I can’t escape you until you allow me to.”

  A hand locks around my nape and then he’s hauling me toward him. I spin into his arms as his mouth locks over mine.

  Claimed.

  A gasp escapes me.

  It’s a kiss forged of desperation and fury. A kiss designed to punish. I can taste his anger and his unspoken demand in the heated lash of his tongue, in the bruising crush of his mouth. Mine. The sheer possession inherent in the way he cups my skull speaks its own language, and for a second, just one second, every inch of me yearns to submit to him. All I want is bare skin under my hands, even if it will cost me. Even if this one night of bliss will only chew me up and spit me back out into a world where I’m fighting to find my feet again.

  Because it will.

  This doesn’t exist beyond tomorrow. Soraya’s setting everything in place. She and I have been over the plan so many fucking times that it’s imprinted into my brain.

  There’s just this one last fucking obstacle—and that’s the stupid, wretched weakness in my chest. The way my heart skips a beat when his palms skate up my flanks.

  Once more, I promise myself. Just one more time. He’ll never forgive me, but maybe I can give him this. Maybe I can steal just a moment of happiness for myself. No pros. No cons. Just pleasure.

  The moment his tongue strokes against mine, all the defiance melts out of me.

  Fuck the gods. Fuck my father. Fuck this entire bloody situation.

  I just want him.

  “Mira.” It’s a breath. A curse. A plea. And I can’t help thinking that maybe he’s as trapped in this moment as I am. “Mira, what do you want?”

  “You.” I kiss him hard. “Everything.” And then I’m laughing against his mouth. A bitter, wretched sound that cleaves my heart in two. “Everything that I can’t have.”

  The silk of my dress tears beneath his hands. A gasp escapes me, but his hot mouth closes over my breast in that instant, and suddenly I don’t want this to end.

  I capture fistfuls of his wet hair, yanking his face up to mine. Our mouths meet again. Clash. Keir slides both hands over my ass and then hauls me into the air, my thighs closing around his hips. One step. Two. My back hits the column of the folly and I moan as he grinds against me.

  He kisses his way down my stomach, fists bunching the wet fabric of my skirts around my thighs. Gods. I slide my fingers through his hair, arching my head back against the column as he finds me. Hot breath stirs over my damp skin and then the roughened graze of his stubble marks my thighs.

  “You’re so fucking stubborn,” he growls.

  “Why? Because I won’t fall at your feet like every other pretty little fae princess in this fucking court? Sorry, Your Highness.” I laugh. “I’m never going to be an easy conquest.”

  “There’s just one problem with that little scenario….” He looks up the length of his body, his amber eyes feral with heated desire.

  A shiver works its way through me. There’s no hiding the dragon tonight. He wants me. He wants to claim me. To own me. “What little problem?”

  Keir nuzzles against my thighs. “You keep thinking I’m a fae prince.” His fingers dig into the back of my thighs. “I’m not fae, Mira. I was born of fire and fury. I was Named when this world was but a whisper in the ears of your fae ancestors. I owned these lands. I ruled this world. I was the creature that everything else feared. I hunted and I took, and I claimed. And while I’ll play your little fae games, my love, you should know…. I took one look at you and I knew want for the first time in thousands of years. You were mine, promised to me by the stars themselves. I’ve spent millennia waiting for you and I’m not about to let you go now.”

  The words spill through me, carving themselves on my heart.

  I don’t know what to do with them. Or him. I never have and—

  He captures my ass in his hands and then grinds his face into my wet flesh. His heated tongue spears within me, tearing a shocked cry from my lips. The hard steel of his hands are inescapable, but it’s his tongue that wreaks the most damage. Driving into me. Stroking up in slow unhurried swipes, before he pauses to lazily trace little circles around my clit.

  The world vanishes. Fractures. Reforms. All I can hear are the soft, breathy gasps that escape me. More. I want more. “F
uck. Please.”

  “Beg me for release,” he growls the words into my wet flesh. “Plead for mercy, Mira.”

  “Please.”

  Pinning me against the column, he moves his mouth in lazy swirls, the rasp of his stubble marking my sensitive thighs. It’s too much. Not enough. It feels as though he’s settled in to feast and I need him to devour me whole.

  “How much do you want me?” he demands.

  “Fuck, please. Just do it.” I curl my fists in his hair, losing all sense of composure. “Make me come.”

  Two fingers drive inside me. Then the soft pads of his fingertips are curling up, finding that spot deep inside me that will bring so much ruin. The hard suction of his mouth locks around me and then his tongue flickers lightly, teasing at me, driving me wild.

  I grind into his face. So close…. So close. Panting. Gasping for breath. For release.

  My spine arches, my fingernails digging into his scalp. It’s as though he senses my urgency because every movement suddenly gains intensity.

  “Keir.” Every inch of my spine arches as pleasure drives through me.

  It’s breathtaking. Endless. And he rides me through it, fingers and mouth and tongue forcing me over the edge into pure obliteration.

  I can’t stop a scream from tearing loose.

  “You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls into my wet flesh. “And mine, Mira. Mine. You think this ends like this? You think you have any hope of escaping me? Never.”

  It’s like riding lightning. And then something he does drives me off the edge of that mountain again.

  Pleasure. So much pleasure it feels like my nerves are raw.

  “Stop! Stop, please.” I collapse against the folly as he presses a soft kiss to the silk covering my abdomen, shockwaves lancing through me. So fucking sensitive. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again. Every inch of me feels raw and contained, as if I were slammed back into my body, only my skin’s too tight.

  A tongue circles my navel through the gap in the silk, and then he laughs under his breath. “Mine.”

  Another sharp nip that makes me shiver. I can’t even protest. I don’t think I would even if I had the breath to do so. The world settles back into being around me. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it.”