Someday, he would release them upon the mortal realm and turn it into a world of his own creation. Soon, the humans would know the faeries were real and that they were far more dangerous than the little pixies their legends claimed were faerie’s true forms.
Not yet, however. His creations were too small and young for such an attack. They needed to grow. To develop. To learn how to fight and not just be mindless beasts devouring whatever was fed to them.
Although, that would probably work as well.
He lifted his head and glanced around his room. From black floors, black stone walls, and black sheets, his room was a maw of darkness. Every inch made him feel better, however. Light always burned behind his eyes and that could only be suffered for so long.
The only thing in the room that wasn’t black was a large mirror at the foot of the bed. The mirror he now stared into and saw a bizarre creature meeting his gaze.
The elemental was closer to him than any of the other faerie kings. They saw eye to eye on many topics, and that led to trust between them.
Red eyes glowed in the sockets of his skull. Fire burned at his fingertips and spread up his arm in waves of blue heat. The elemental was never far from the flame, and it always liked to have a few loose curls running up and down its arms. They were almost like pets, although Drake had never quite gotten used to them.
“What would you have me do?” he asked. “Let the thief go?”
“I think you should kill her.”
No, he couldn’t do that. The woman was far too intriguing, and he enjoyed their argument too much. Plus, she’d gotten into the trophy room. He needed to know how she’d done it.
“Fair point,” the elemental replied.
“Are you reading my mind again?” he asked.
“I’m always reading your mind.”
“Stop doing that, please. You know I don’t like it.” Drake’s only request had been for the elemental to stay out of his most private thoughts. A man needed his privacy sometimes, even if the elemental didn’t understand it.
“As you wish.”
He could feel the elemental retreat to the back of his mind. But he didn’t want it to leave altogether. He needed to talk with someone about this damned woman and what he would do with her.
Sadly, he didn’t have a lot of trustworthy friends. The elemental was the only person he counted on in this entire realm because faeries were always jostling for power. If he looked weak to even a single one of them, they would consider that an opportunity to do whatever they wanted.
Other than...
He stood up and marched out of the room. Only one faerie in this entire realm wouldn’t care if Drake told him about the woman and what the real story was. In fact, his head of staff would most likely agree with the elemental and want her dead.
Drake weaved through the black fortress all the way to the servants quarters. It bustled with energy and a hundred faeries, all in some state of burning. A few of them wore fire as their hair. Some of them wore flaming clothing that smelled like smoke and ashes. Others were nothing more than ashen creatures themselves, looking like the charred remains of bodies that had been burnt at the stake a long time ago.
The latter were his favorites.
He passed by one creature who was missing an arm. Perhaps the charred piece had fallen off a while ago, or maybe it had never had an arm. Either way, the creature was terrifying to look at.
But it was creatures like that who made him so proud of this land. They took the dying, the unwanted, the disgusting and made them into creatures who were beautiful and revered. He took the ugly and made them terrifying. Such a change gave them power they’d never had before.
His head of staff was at the forefront of the black stone kitchen, ordering servants around with a booming voice that could shake the torches if he wanted. Flint had always been the most terrifying creature in the entire Autumn Court.
From his nose to the top of his head, Flint was cooled lava. Black, cracked, and hardened from years of use. Black horns curved back over his head and in place of hair, flames coiled out of the basin of his skull. The severe expression on his face was only matched by the snarl erupting from between his lips as he barked orders at the servants.
No one crossed Flint. Not even the most foolish of faeries.
Drake sauntered into the room and sat himself down at the table at the center of the kitchen. Furnaces roared on all the walls, smoke bursting in coughs that sometimes surrounded the nearest faerie.
The table itself was black as his soul. It made him comfortable to be around objects and furniture as ashen as the rest of his people. They liked his decor choices as well.
Or if they didn’t, not a single faerie dared to tell him otherwise.
Flint turned his red, glowing eyes to Drake and diverted his attention to the king. “What can I do for you?”
“I have a few questions to ask. I thought I might pick your flames on a recent...” Drake searched for the right word. “Uncomfortable project that appeared earlier this week in the trophy room.”
Flint narrowed his eyes, then nodded his horns toward a door leading out of the fortress and into the backyard. “Shall we?”
Not wanting to wait any longer, Drake stood up from the stool and trailed after his head of staff. If Flint wanted privacy for this conversation, and privacy was the only option, then he knew the faerie already had more information to tell him.
Flint always knew everything about everyone in the fortress. The man was the best assassin and informant all wrapped into one body.
Once outside, Drake breathed in the plumes of ash and smoke. They coiled in his lungs, clogging up the delicate membranes but also feeding the elemental inside him. Every time he breathed there was the slight edge of pain mixed with the most wondrous of pleasures. Just as he liked it.
Drake let out a lengthy sigh, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You know something, don’t you?”
His head of staff paused at the corner of the building. “You know how the servants talk.”
“So?”
“There have been rumors of shouting from the trophy room. For days now.”
Days? He would have thought the woman had quieted after a single day alone in that room. By now, she should be shivering with weakness and ready to beg for his forgiveness. At least, that’s what he wanted.
Drake touched a finger to his chin. “Curious.”
“If I’m to guess correctly, you locked her in that room five days ago.” Flint tilted his head to the side and a few drops of lava fell from the open back of his skull. “I don’t know many creatures who can last for such a long time without food.”
“Certainly not a faerie.”
“And not a mortal.” Flint met Drake’s gaze with a stern expression. “I’m certain you assumed she was mortal if you locked her in there.”
“Perhaps.” Flint was correct. He had thought she was nothing more than a human who had stumbled into a hell realm. Or a witch who knew a few spells. She would be easily controlled once he frightened her out of her wits.
His plan had failed before it began.
The problem changed course. Now, he had to figure out what to do with her considering she was still here. Drake sighed. “Now I don’t know what to do with her.”
“You could kill her.”
The suggestion raised the same emotion as when the elemental had said it. He didn’t want to kill the woman, even though that was very much against his character. He loved killing people. Things. Faeries. Whatever came into his path. But this one… he didn’t like picturing her eyes empty in death.
“No,” he grumbled. “That won’t do.”
A gleam appeared in Flint’s eye. “You’re interested in her.”
“Not interested. She’s a curious enigma I desire to solve.”
“Ah yes, the enigmas. Always such an interesting puzzle, and yet, you can’t keep your hands off them.”
Drake pictured his hands on her. She had a tiny wai
st. His hands would fit around them nicely. She was beautiful like a curated illusion, kissed by magic, and that was confusing. She looked like she was human. Why would magic enhance her image?
She wasn’t likely to tell him the answer. He had locked her in the trophy room for five days, intending to kill her. Not nicely either. Starvation was a horrible way for people to go. He’d seen it first hand.
So how was he going to get her to talk to him?
Flint started back into the fortress.
“Where are you going?” Drake asked. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Let the woman out of the trophy room,” Flint tossed over his shoulder. “Bring her to me. For now, we’ll add her to the servant’s ward.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. At least then she would still be here while he figured out what he would do with her. The servants would terrify her into servitude. “And if she tries to run?”
“Put a collar on her.” Flint paused at the door and leaned against the frame. Flames dripped from his head and clung to his eyelashes. “You’ve done it before; do it again. Let her decide her own fate.”
The head of staff slipped back into the fortress and Drake pondered the collar. He hadn’t used it in centuries. The last time he’d used the dreaded object was for a visiting dignitary who was meant to be his bride. The woman had tried to run so many times that her own family had asked him to do something.
So he’d put the collar on her.
She tried to escape that night, and the collar did its job. Flames had consumed her, and she’d fought through all the pain. Clawing her way to a portal nearby until she had burned to a crisp.
Drake wished he could feel sorry for the faerie noble. Instead, her head remained mounted on the wall in his trophy room.
Speaking of... he should check on the woman.
He marched toward the trophy room like he was going to battle. And he could be. The woman had made it clear she didn’t mind fighting. Even if her version of it was being too fast for him to actually hit.
Still, she was an intriguing little thing.
The closer he got to the trophy room, the more the pit of his stomach tightened. Flint claimed the woman had been screaming and shouting nonstop for five days. Why was it silent now?
She couldn’t have died. No one lasted five days and then perished at the last second. She must have heard him coming.
Impossible. The wards around the trophy room wouldn’t let her know he was approaching. She didn’t have powerful enough magic to break through those wards. Another question. Another puzzle to solve from this strange woman.
He lifted a hand and let the door know he was here. It swung open, revealing the contents of the room.
She’d taken the velvet pillow off its podium and set it in the middle of the floor. That was the first thing he noticed and the first thing to make him angry. Second, she still held onto his knife. Cradled it like a child, really. Her long dark hair covered her face as she stared down at the metal. The long locks parted like a black waterfall when she glanced to the door.
The woman blinked up at him with a sly grin and then waved the knife at him. “Were you coming back for this?”
“No.” Although a part of him still wanted to run the blade over his skin just to release some of the tension. “The servants said you were screaming, and I came to shut you up.”
“Ah,” she murmured. “Of course that’s what it is. Not because you’re addicted to the knife and want to get your newest fix.”
How did she know that?
How could she possibly know any of that?
8
One lick of the blade, that’s all it took for Lilith to get a taste of his blood.
The knife had sung to her for days. She’d argued with it off and on. Licking something like that, filled with powerful magic, could only end with something terrible happening. She wasn’t an idiot, and she’d been around for a very long time.
Still the blade whispered promises of power. Why else would the Primus want it? Why else would anyone desire a simple knife?
It had a point, and she’d held off touching it for five full days. Until she couldn’t anymore because any woman would fall prey to a being like this. And it was a being. Lilith made no mistake in thinking the magic inside that blade wasn’t an actual thinking creature.
She licked it.
Just a taste. Just the slightest of touches so the tip of her tongue caught a drop of glistening blood that had leaked from the metal.
The flash of flavor nearly put her on her ass. She’d been so hungry sitting here in the dark, waiting for her next unassuming prey to walk over and... what? Just open their vein for her?
The blade had known this. It fed her another drop of blood sizzling with hot magic.
Flashes of memory burst behind her eyes. Not her own, but another’s. A man, strong and broad, walking through lava fields on heavy legs, swinging a sword the size of Lilith.
The King of the Flame certainly earned his name. Lava fields alone were enough to make her skin crawl, let alone the rest of the nonsense she’d seen in that vision. She was tempted to taste even more, just to see what else she could get from it, but two things stopped her.
First, the blade had controlled her. Lilith didn’t like anything controlling her, let alone an inanimate object.
Second, she felt like she would after draining an entire human. Exactly like she would after a feast that should last her for weeks, and all she’d tasted was two drops of this faerie king’s blood.
Instead of contemplating what that meant, she held herself silent for the first time in the five days she’d been here. She didn’t shout. She didn’t scream. She sat in the middle of the floor with the knife and tried to still her mind. Panicking wouldn’t help in this situation, but she wanted to know what all this meant.
Just how powerful was this faerie if she could get all the strength she needed from two drops of blood?
The thought engrossed her attentions until she recognized the sound of the door opening. Someone stared at her from the entrance. Her skin always prickled when someone was looking when they shouldn’t.
She glanced up to see him staring at her in the doorway. Had he never seen someone like her before? A woman who could survive whatever torture he threw at her?
He took a step into the room and oh how his blood sang. She could hear it like the pounding of drums as it raced through his veins. She shouldn’t have been hungry. And she wasn’t, not really. Her body had enough magic in it now to survive a couple weeks without another feast. It was the sound that made her fangs ache.
The blade hummed in her grip. It wanted to touch him as well, to take what blood it desired and feast. She could hear it whispering and feel its desire deep in her bones.
She shared the same need.
“Were you coming back for this?” she asked, hefting the blade in her hand.
The blade complained about being so far away from the sound of her own heartbeat. It wanted to be nestled against the life force of a living creature and it had been in the dark for so long. Visited only by the king who so rarely used it. The magical artifact was hungry. Starving.
Ravenous.
Her fangs vibrated and slid out over her teeth. She wanted to launch herself across the room and sink them into his neck. To feast upon his blood while the blade joined her. Just to see what would happen. How powerful she could get.
“No,” the faerie king replied. His expression was wary, although his eyes seemed to glow. “The servants said you were screaming, and I came to shut you up.”
Unlikely. None of them had even stopped to talk to her through the door.
But maybe he ruled them like he did the lava fields. He seemed like a king who would make his people fear him, rather than respect him. Faeries were like that sometimes.
Except, the knife whispered something else. It had his blood, not from battle, not from a mistake. It had his blood because he had given it food every week, sometimes daily.
“Ah,” she whispered. The words slipping from her tongue like a prophecy. “Of course that’s what it is. Not because you’re addicted to the knife and want to get your newest fix.”
His eyes widened, narrowed, and then he stalked toward her like a man on the hunt. A beast coming to claim the life of a deer in the woods. He’d forgotten she wasn’t prey.
Get closer, she thought. Come and let me feast upon you.
She shouldn’t have baited him, but she did. Lilith dragged her tongue along the length of the blade weeping blood. She tasted him, clinging to her teeth and soaking her throat with chocolate and ash.
He reached out his hand, and she was certain he’d clasp it around her throat again. Let him try to choke the life from her. Bring her closer to his face so she could sink her claws into his skin and draw him ever so near.
Vampires weren’t the most deadly of creatures. But they were the ones you never wanted to get into close combat with.
Surprisingly, his hand didn’t close upon her at all. Instead, he snatched the knife from her grip and threw it across the room. The metal clanged against the stone, ringing and echoing in her mind until she couldn’t think around it.
She’d only felt this strange watery feeling in her skull a few times. Drinking from someone who was inebriated always made her head spin. Sometimes she got the same feeling if they were pumped full of drugs.
Lilith moaned and pressed her hands against her temples. What the hell? Why was she experiencing the worst hangover of her life?
“It’s the knife,” the faerie king muttered. “Does strange things when you touch it for too long.”
Apparently so. And she knew that. She knew better than to touch any cursed object lest the curse be passed along to her.
Breathing through her nose and out through her mouth, she nodded in agreement. “Damned thing. Why the hell do you even have it?”
“I have my secrets and you have yours.” His evil gaze stared her down, seeing far more than she wished. “Licking a cursed blade isn’t smart. Did it cut you?”
It did, but the knife didn’t realize she was a vampire at first. Cutting her would only provide blood it had already had, and therefore, she wasn’t worth its time. Her only value to the blade was turning her into a puppet who carried it wherever it wanted to go.
King of the Flame Page 5