by Bec McMaster
Thiago puts a hand to my hips and tugs me close. Every inch of his firm body presses against mine, and I rub myself against him, moaning deep in my throat. Through the window, thunder rolls in the night sky, and I gasp, head thrown back in pleasure as his teeth skate down my throat. His lips are on my skin, his hands on my nightgown. He tears it open, the wet silk shredding in his hands.
“Yes!” I arch my spine, grinding against the firm press of his cock.
Then his hands are on my wet skin, cupping my breasts, his mouth like a burning brand on my throat. I drag his head lower, feeling the white-hot flare of his lips closing over my pebbled nipple through the silk. I want more, I want to be naked beneath him, skin slick against skin.
I dig my nails into his shoulders. Thiago hisses between his teeth and then his hips rock against mine. He bites my nipple and I cry out, my body driving into his. My thighs are milky wet, my sex throbbing. Each hard little thrust of his hips takes me one step closer to the edge.
As if he senses it, his hand is suddenly between us, exactly where I want it. I drag my hands up his back, drowning in feathers. We kiss angrily, desperately, bordering on violence… I can feel pleasure building like the coming storm, feel my body cresting as his fingers thrust inside me. Lightning flashes, too close this time, and I explode.
I scream, digging my nails in. Thiago fucks me with his fingers, pushing me into a furnace of desire. Again and again, his thumb riding over the swollen bud of my clit. It feels as though he hurls me into the teeth of the storm, anchored by the heat of his body, his teeth against my throat. Aftershocks quiver through me, leaving me shattered and boneless beneath him.
Slowly he withdraws his fingers and braces himself over me, leaning down to place a kiss on my stomach through the silk. He dips his tongue into my navel, our eyes meeting.
My breath catches.
This is the part where he ruins me. I’ve had his mouth on me in every single way I can imagine, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of: I think I married him for that mouth.
And while it’s promising me hours and hours of bliss, right now I don’t want to be shattered.
I want to be claimed.
“No,” I crunch up, capturing his face. “I want you inside me. Now.”
There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “What makes you think you’re giving the orders, Vi?”
I bite my lip. “Please.”
“Beg me,” he whispers, and the low rasp shivers over my skin.
And so I do.
I promise him the world. I promise him every inch of me.
And just as his mouth is skimming down over my hips, I promise him my heart.
Thiago pauses, his teeth grazing my lower abdomen. And then he smiles. “Oh, Vi. I’ve had your heart from the start. You just didn’t know it yet.”
“Fuck me.” I writhe beneath him. “Please.”
And surrender is finally here.
“As you wish.”
His hands drop to his leather trousers, and he eases each button open slowly, then lets his cock spring free. I swallow as my eyes drop to it. He’s enormous, thick and proud, the veins distended all along his marble length. He strips the leather down his legs and then flings it behind him.
He kneels on the bed in front of me, and I can’t help looking my fill. The prince is completely unashamed, and with good reason. Years of bladework have honed his physique until there’s nothing of softness about his body. From his callused hands to his broad shoulders and rippled abdomen, there’s not an ounce of fat on him. His chest is carved of heavy musculature and painted with those dangerous tattoos, although it’s the vee of his hips that captures my attention. I follow the trail of hair down, arrowing south from his navel toward the thick thatch at the base of his shaft.
“Sometimes I think the gods molded you into mortal flesh and set you in this world just for me,” he croons as he captures my jaw and forces me to meet his gaze. A shudder runs through him. “Especially when you look at me like that, with no fear in your eyes, only desire.”
“I’m not afraid,” I gasp. “I’ll never be afraid. Not of you.”
He shoves me onto my hands and knees, one hand sliding along the length of my spine until he’s caught a fistful of my silky hair. Yanking me upright, he finds my shoulder with his teeth as he curls the other arm around me.
“You should be afraid,” he whispers, and there’s a roughness to his voice I’ve never heard before. “Sometimes, I want to consume every inch of you.”
I laugh. “That doesn’t sound like something to be afraid of.”
“Mmm. I think I’ve been too gentle with you.”
Hands slide up my abdomen, and then he’s cupping my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers. He pinches me sharply, and I gasp again, but it’s not with pain.
Thrusting forward, he sheathes himself in my willing flesh, and both of us suck in a sharp breath.
“Fuck, Vi. You’re so wet.” Harsh hands dig into my hips, and I know there will be bruises by morning.
He thrusts again, slowly, slowly. And one hand knots my hair around it, drawing me back until my spine arches. It forces his cock to rasp over something deep inside me, something that makes every inch of me knot with tension.
“You’re so beautiful. You’re my promise…. You’re my dream.” His teeth sink into my earlobe. “I begged Maia for one single sign of hope, and there you were. And now you’re here in my arms, and I’m never letting you go, Vi. Never.”
And then he’s slamming into me.
Each thrust drives me forward until I can barely hold on. My fingers claw in the sheets, and only the fist in my hair stops me from ramming into the headboard. His other hand slides between my legs, and I’m begging him again.
Fuck me.
Fuck me harder.
Make me scream.
And by the time he finally lets me come again, he’s fulfilled every single one of those promises, until my voice is hoarse, and my body deliciously bruised, and every inch of me has been claimed.
Moonlight spills over us as I lie in his arms and trace small circles across his chest.
The wings are gone. His eyes are green again.
But as my fingertips graze his skin, I can see swirls of inky dark tattoos forming there, as if his illusions can no longer quite keep them contained. They stir at my touch, like contented cats being stroked, and every now and then I swear I see a set of eyes watching me back.
It’s a little unnerving.
They may stir at my touch, but they’re still dangerous.
“I didn’t hurt you?” Thiago murmurs, tracing his finger between my brows and along the ridge of my nose.
I bite his fingertip before suckling it into my mouth. “I don’t think you ever could.”
“I was—”
“Rough.” I nip him again. “But I liked it.”
There’s something primitive in the way he claimed me. Emotion too raw-edged for words. Need. Hunger. But more than that, fear. He nearly lost me yesterday, and tonight is his answer to that.
There are shadows in his eyes, and he captures my face and kisses me again, leaving both of us breathless and flushed.
“The moment I saw your face in Maia’s vision, I knew hope for the first time,” he whispers. “And every time the Darkness closed over me and threatened to drag me under, I would think of your face and know that somewhere out there—someday—you would be waiting for me. I just had to hold on a little longer. I just had to fight a little harder. And you would be my reward.”
My heart gives a little clench. “I bet you didn’t count on the psychopathic mother.”
A rough laugh escapes him. “Evil mother notwithstanding, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. When all you’ve ever known is darkness, you don’t regret a single ray of light, Vi. And you’ll fight to keep it in your life, no matter what comes your way.”
“I think you’ve been talking with Finn too much,” I joke. “That’s the sort of
epic poetry he comes up with.”
Thiago looks at me. Simply looks.
And I know I tend to shy away whenever he speaks of love, because a little piece of me feels uncomfortable—perhaps even unworthy still—when he says words like that.
He clasps my hand on his chest, forcing me to still. I don’t know why, but my heart is racing.
“I love you,” I blurt.
It’s hardly poetic. I don’t think I’m getting better with practice.
“You believed in me, even when I didn’t,” I whisper. “And you make me believe that there’s something worth loving in me.”
Thiago’s eyes darken. But he kisses me again, and the hunger of his mouth tells me everything he doesn’t put into words.
Something pushes against my hand, and a swirl of intense blackness ripples across his chest, as if the Darkness doesn’t like being ignored.
“Were you born with it?” I whisper.
Thiago sits up, raking a hand through his hair, his spine bowed. “I’ll tell you the truth….” Reluctance bleeds through every inch of him. “But not here. Come.”
He slips from the bed, tattoos rippling down his spine as if they’re delighted to have their story told.
Chapter Nineteen
The temple is ancient—carved alabaster glowing beneath the moon. The storm rolled over the city and now everything is wet. Every step I take leaves a trail of grass and flowers peeking through the cobbles.
Maia’s sigil—a golden sun rippling between a pair of mountains—is carved over the lintel. Even though it’s the middle of the night, the doors remain open because Maia always has time for her worshippers.
An inner courtyard gleams beneath the light of the moon, but I’m told the temple is best viewed by sunlight, for there are hidden arches that correspond with where the sun sits in the sky, and depending on whether it’s solstice or not, they light up little secret glyphs carved into the cobblestones.
Acolytes move about the temple, gowned in pure white. They’re fae maidens that have given their life to Maia, though there’ll be fae youths somewhere about the temple too. Maia was renowned for welcoming virile young men to her bed, and several of her rites tend to get… a little hedonistic.
“Is there a reason we’re here?” I ask Thiago as he gestures me over the lintel.
Maia’s Flame can ward away the darkest of spirits, but surely he’s not afraid of what he’s about to say.
“I think it’s easier if I show you,” he murmurs, leading me deeper into the temple.
We slip past one of the fountains. Golden coins wink within. Toss a coin to Maia, and she may just answer your prayers. Judging from the glimmer of golden light within the waters, a great many practitioners have knelt by this fountain. One of the cobblestones in front of it even looks a little more worn than the others.
And then we’re through the outer courtyards and facing the enormous golden doors that guard the heart of the temple.
All the past queens of Evernight are entombed within these walls as an honor for those who ruled with a fair and benevolent hand. Portraits hang in the Queen’s Gallery that reveal the identity of those within, and it’s there that Thiago leads me.
The tombs have been walled away, but I catch a glimpse of the first of Evernight’s queens staring down at me, with three moons in the sky behind her. A golden halo of light gilds her raven-dark hair. Queen Laerah was the third of Maia’s daughters and granted the lands that make up Evernight, though it was called by a different name when she ruled it.
Evernight only came into use once the north was cursed to an ever-present twilight.
I’ve seen the same painting in Hawthorne Castle, though the painting there is of her sister Rosia, the original Queen of Thorns, and instead of a halo of light, she wears a glowing crown of thorns.
Next to Laerah is her daughter, and then her granddaughter, and so on….
I can’t help searching the faces hungrily.
In my mother’s court, we rarely spoke of the Kingdom of Evernight, unless it was with hate. I barely know any of my new kingdom’s history, and I can’t help mouthing the names of those ancient queens: Bardh, Aleyna, Grenweih….
We reach the end of the walkway, where Queen Araya’s tomb is enshrined, and Thiago’s footsteps slow.
This is the queen he served.
And the queen it’s alleged that he murdered—though he explained the truth of that moment to me. He was the first to find her, but believes one of her sons struck the mortal blow.
There’s a plaque on the wall, but unlike the other queens, a red velvet curtain covers her portrait.
“I ordered her portrait hidden away from the world,” he whispers, staring at the velvet drapes. “They say it’s further proof of my guilt but….” Shaking his head, he reaches up to reverently brush his fingers against the velvet curtain hiding the alcove. Little runes flare to life on either side of the curtains, chiseled into the stone themselves, but they fade when they recognize him. “I couldn’t destroy it, but I was tired of maintaining the illusion that shielded my face. Once the first generation of fae folk passed into the Bright Lands, I knew the chances of someone seeing the truth were slimmer. I let the illusion slip, inch by inch, century by century, until I could finally wear my true face, but there’s a part of me that wonders if someone will see her and know.”
“Your true face?”
He gathers the curtains in both hands and takes a deep breath. “It’s easier if I show you.”
Hauling the curtains open, he steps back.
Gilt lines the edges of the enormous portrait. A serene woman stands there, her hands resting on the battlements I recognize from the palace, and her blonde hair blowing back in the wind. A banner with the Rising Sun of Ceres snaps in the wind behind her, and golden rays of sunshine highlight every inch of her face.
I gasp.
She’s beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Or perhaps I’m biased, because I recognize those green eyes and full mouth. The same finely cut cheekbones adorn Thiago’s face, and they share the same brows, though hers are plucked thinner than his.
What does this…?
“Queen Araya.” His fingers find mine. “The last ruling queen of Evernight. When she died, the wards shielding Valerian from the snow and the dark finally shattered, and now the city dwells in almost eternal darkness, for her light no longer warms the world.”
“She’s your mother,” I blurt, because there can be no other answer for the similarity between them.
His lashes shield his eyes. “Yes. Though my birth was a matter of secrecy and I was never formally recognized. The only one who ever knew the truth was her son, Arawn.”
His brother.
Who had gone to war with him over the throne when Araya died.
It all makes so much sense now.
He’d spoken of the two princes—Arawn and Emyr—but never with any kindness. They had blamed him for the queen’s murder, and he’d been forced to kill Emyr in his escape.
“How…. Why? Why was your birth a secret?”
“You know the answer to that, Vi,” he says, looking at me with his smoky eyes.
He’s bastard-born, but marriage lines are not vital when it comes to the fae. The Seelie kingdoms are matrilineal, which means mothers are always given first rights when it comes to any children they birth. Even if the father remains unknown, there is never any shame….
Unless….
I’ve seen his wings, his horns, and his eyes when the Darkness rises within him. My mother always called him “Unseelie” and spat when she said his name. And though he uses his illusions to hide the wings and horns, there’s always a hint of the otherworld about him.
“Your father?”
Thiago’s face shutters. “Is unimportant.”
“If he was unimportant,” I point out, “then there would be no reason to hide the truth.” I squeeze his hand. “I know this is hard for you. If you don’t wish to spea
k of it, then I won’t ask again.”
Thiago turns toward me. “The creature who sired me was one of Queen Angharad’s bannermen, and I don’t believe my mother was granted the… the choice to submit to him. She was captured in the north by his warband and imprisoned in Falkirk for a month. I don’t know the details, because once my mother escaped, she never spoke of the ordeal again. She locked herself away in Valerian and ruled for the next year from the north with only her most trusted by her side, and it’s said that when she returned to Ceres, she would not speak of the past year.”
A year.
A year in which to hide a pregnancy and—
“And you?” I whisper.
“I told you once that Old Mother Hibbert accepts all lost and abandoned children and raises them herself.” His thumb rasps down my cheek. “I never knew my mother when I was a child. All I remember is a little cottage in the wilds and dozens and dozens of children.” He glances up at the painting, the stiff line of his shoulder betraying him. “They say she was strong and ferocious in her youth—a battle hungry queen—but by the time I arrived in Ceres, hoping to win her attention, she’d become a shade of her former self. She preferred to pretend her court was gaiety and light and ignore the shadows around its edges. She would not hear of trouble in her lands and often retired to her chambers of a night with her wine.”
“And so your brothers had free rein,” I guess.
“I don’t know if I can even blame them for looking for power. They lacked in attention, and so they sought it elsewhere.”
“Why hide her painting? She should have been honored to have you as her son, and perhaps the townspeople won’t… won’t think you an outsider.”
Or her murderer.
Thiago presses his fingertips to the oils of her robes before he turns away with a sigh. “I don’t know. Habit, perhaps. Or perhaps…. All I’ve ever known are the shadows. It’s safer there. If others knew of our link, then there are ways that information can be used against me.” He looks up at the portrait one more time before he draws the curtains closed and seals the wards with his blood so none may peek. “Besides, if I announce our kinship to the world, there will be questions asked about the other side of my heritage, and I want her to remain untainted.”