Promise of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  The server clears her throat beside me, breaking our eye contact.

  She holds a small plate on her tray. A decadent, steaming banana pudding sits in the center of the plate, oozing with a rich rum sauce that melts into the cream. The mere smell of it makes me salivate.

  “Oh, no,” I groan. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”

  “Would you care to make a wager on that?” Thiago lifts a suggestive brow.

  He wins.

  I ate the pudding and scraped every hint of sauce from the plate. I probably would have licked it clean if we weren’t in public.

  And perhaps I have to admit he was right: he is charming me. Inch by reluctant inch, one smile at a time.

  I thought myself immune to charm, but this is different. The males in my mother’s court hounded Andraste and me the second we came of age. There were gifts and smiles and elegant platitudes. Poetry and dancing and smirking invitations to take a walk through the gardens. It was all so… premeditated.

  I was always aware of the crown on my head and my mother watching from the distance. This lord would be good to “cultivate,” she would suggest, as if the loss of my virginity was a bargaining chip used to win good fortune.

  Years of facing such a pursuit turned me cold on the entire ordeal. I grew used to practiced flirtation and managed to guard myself with scathing retorts that held the worst of the offenders at bay.

  It wasn’t until Etan of the Goldenhills walked into my life that I came close to understanding the difference between being hunted and being wooed. Unfortunately, it was too late for me to realize I was no less his quarry than I was to any of the others. He was merely better at hiding it.

  This feels different.

  Thiago doesn’t care whether I’m a princess or not. Indeed, my relationship to my mother proves a hindrance more than a prize.

  Which means… he wants me for me.

  The tension’s been brewing all night. Little touches as we walk the streets. Hot looks thrown across a crowded room.

  And the way his fingers felt around my thigh as he leaned forward and threatened to kill his friend if he glanced my way….

  It’s not the sort of behavior I’d ever encourage, and yet I cannot deny a thrill lit through me. The prince is a dangerous opponent, and he’s made it clear he intends to have me. No matter how long it takes.

  And there’s a part of me that wants to take that risk.

  I’m not toying with a noble of my mother’s court, who watches more for my mother’s approval than for mine.

  Nor am I dealing with a smirking royal from another court who sees me as his path to power.

  No. When Thiago looks at me, the world drops away until all that’s left is the promise in his eyes. One that speaks of pleasure and dominance and scalding kisses that would leave no doubt in either of our minds as to who’s in control. Forever, Vi, he tells me.

  I’ve never been pursued like this in my life.

  “This way,” he says, tugging me down an alley.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere,” he whispers, twirling me until my back’s against the nearest house.

  His hand splays over the wall beside my head as he leans closer. Every hard inch of his body shields me from the wind, but he doesn’t press closer. Doesn’t move an inch, as if to prove there’s no danger here.

  Which is ridiculous, because he’s the most dangerous male I’ve ever met.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  Hot, smoldering eyes lock on me. “You owe me two kisses, if I’m correct, Princess.”

  “Two?”

  “One a day, wasn’t it? And we missed the other day.” His other hand brushes against my mouth, and he smiles sinfully. “But don’t blame me. I didn’t make the rules.”

  I bite his fingers sharply, warning him that this princess has teeth. “One kiss. If you miss your chance, then you lose it, Your Highness. Since I’m making the rules.”

  “An Asturian princess reneging on her own bargain? Consider me shocked.” His finger trails down my lip, and then his hand curls around my throat, thumb stroking the smooth column of my neck.

  I don’t know why, but it’s like he’s lit my veins on fire. I want those hands to keep going.

  “It’s not reneging if you didn’t bother to read the fine print.”

  He leans closer, his breath whispering over my lips, and sweet Maia, but every inch of me tingles in anticipation. “There was fine print, was there?”

  “Section 2.1,” I reply swiftly. “Any unclaimed kisses expire.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to make this one worth it.”

  His mouth fuses to mine.

  All this time, he’s let me take the lead, let me make the rules, let me keep our kisses fairly chaste. But this time, there’s no denying he’s through with playing nicely.

  Every inch of him presses me against the wall, and he claims me with hot, hungry kisses. His tongue slicks against mine, teeth nipping, biting, hands pinning my wrists to the wall.

  I can’t catch my breath, but it seems I don’t want to. A groan echoes in my throat. Sweet Maia, he’s ruining me. I should push him away. Protest. But those hips grinding against mine remind me its been a long time since I’ve gotten naked with a man, and my libido’s happily cheering him on. It wants me to grab a fistful of his hair and drag him back toward our rooms.

  Just one more second.

  One more minute.

  And then one kiss segues into another.

  “You’re cheating,” I protest, coming up for air.

  “I always cheat.” He breathes the words against my lips, hips grinding against me. “But technically—” He nips at my lip. “—we never broke contact.”

  Those firm lips nuzzle across my jaw, and somehow, some stranger has hold of my body. I arch my neck, moaning as his teeth graze the smooth column of my throat. Common sense is losing the battle against desire.

  His hands slide down my arms, rough thumbs gliding over the sheer fabric covering my breasts.

  No. No, this is bad.

  I jerk against him, breaking the contact.

  Thiago laughs softly. “There’s no one here to watch if you give in to desire, Princess.”

  Only myself.

  I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing hard. “I think you just tricked me out of paying off any debt I owe. Actually, I think I’m ahead now.”

  “Oh no,” he purrs. “One kiss a day. Any extras don’t count toward your future debt. Section 2.3 of that fine print you mentioned.”

  “Fairly certain I never wrote that into the contract.”

  “Maybe you should read it again.” There’s laughter in his eyes, and whatever frustration urged him to push me against a wall and plunder my mouth, it’s clearly been sated.

  Thiago takes my fingers, pressing featherlight kisses to the tips of them, watching me all the while.

  Oh, he’s dangerous.

  Maybe it was a mistake to ask for two rooms. Perhaps it’s time I face what lies between us, and not run from it.

  A cold prickling sensation slithers down my spine just as I reach for him. It’s like a dash of cold water to the face.

  “Wait,” I whisper.

  He pays my warning no mind, his fingers capturing my chin. “You’re not going to cry shy now, are you?”

  I can’t help feeling as though something’s horribly wrong. Little goose pimples erupt along my arms, my stomach twisting as if I just ate something foul.

  “No, wait. Something’s wrong.”

  The prince is immediately all action, one hand sliding to his sword as he backs away. He turns in a circle, scanning the area, and I feel a moment of stupidity when there’s nothing there. Nothing but the sound of people laughing several streets over.

  “I know I… felt it.”

  “I believe you,” he says. “Have you got a weapon?”

  “Only my knife.”

  He nods. “Let’s head back toward—”

 
; There’s something moving in the shadows of the alleyway. The prince stills like a predator catching the scent of prey.

  The gorge rises in my throat as if I drank pure cod liver oil, and every inch of me feels dirty. I can’t draw my knife quick enough.

  “What is that?”

  It looks like the ripple aftermath of a stone thrown into water, as if the air itself is suddenly fluid. There’s something moving there.

  Thiago drives forward, thrusting his sword into the ripple. Half his sword vanishes, as if it’s plunged through time and space itself. I’ve never seen anything like it. It reminds me of a portal, though they’re only to be found in the middle of a Hallow.

  Harsh, raspy laughter shivers down my spine.

  From behind me.

  There’s a blur of movement at my back as I spin, a creature leaping out of nowhere toward me. I lash out with the knife, but the blow glances off its arm. I can barely make sense of what I’m seeing as I try to dodge the swipe of its claws.

  It’s several feet taller than I am, and shockingly thin. A gaunt face flashes in front of me, large hollow sockets hiding the dark gleam of eyes. Some sort of black leather armor covers its body.

  “Vi!” Thiago yells.

  “Busy!” I block its next grab, snatching at its wrist to try and throw it past me. The second I grab its skin, my fingers burn, as if I’ve touched pure ice.

  The second I flinch, the creature backhands me across the face.

  It’s like being hit by a runaway carriage. I stagger backward, my face hot and bruised and the world spinning around me.

  “Get down!” the prince yells.

  Call it instinct, but I hit the ground just as a wave of pure darkness washes over the top of me. The creature is thrown back into the wall, screaming a high-pitched scream as Thiago’s Darkness shreds it.

  Then it vanishes.

  Thiago crouches at my side, hauling me to my feet. Shadows writhe around him like wings. “Let’s move.”

  “What was that thing?”

  “Things. There were two of them. And nothing good.” He shoves me ahead of him, and we sprint down the alleyway.

  The second we’re in the main street I feel safer, but I can’t help sensing that itch on the back of my neck that tells me we’re being watched. A couple of fae fill the square, and there’s no sign of our attackers, but I don’t want to take any chances.

  “Where to?” I ask, bending over and panting. My body’s beginning to tremble with the aftermath of the fight, and the left side of my face is hot and swollen.

  “Back to the palace.”

  “Are you sure?” It hasn’t escaped my notice that the only one who knew where we were going is Kyrian. “You don’t think it’s suspicious that we’re attacked in his city?”

  “It wasn’t Kyrian.”

  “Why? Because the pair of you are such good friends?” I roll my eyes.

  Thiago shoots me a frustrated glance, his lips thinning. “Because whatever they were, those things are Unseelie. And Kyrian despises the dark fae. He won’t be in bed with them.”

  My brow says it all. “Isn’t Stormhaven warded nine ways to the Underworld? How did they get in if the wards are activated?”

  Thiago slows, raking a hand over his mouth. “They couldn’t. Unless the wards were down.”

  “Who’s in charge of the wards?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  It won’t be Kyrian.

  But the wards that protect the city will be activated by someone high within his council.

  “It’s not Kyrian,” he repeats firmly.

  “As you wish.” I’m not going to argue. Not with someone who’s set their mind in stone.

  He turns, and I catch a glimpse of blood welling on his sleeve.

  “You’re hurt.” I grab his arm, turning it this way and that before he captures my hand.

  “I’m fine, Vi. It’s just a scratch.”

  “This is what you get for trying to lure me into dark alleys.”

  He peers around the wall, scanning the street before turning back to me with a tired smile. “Well, if I thought you wouldn’t simply slam the door in my face when we returned, I’d have waited until we reached the palace.”

  I ignore that.

  “What in the Horned One’s name were they?”

  The prince sheathes his knife, his face hard and his brow furrowed. I can tell what his answer will be before he even says it.

  “I don’t know.”

  27

  Kyrian drew Thiago aside the second we returned, and the pair of them are holed up in Kyrian’s study. The Prince of Tides was furious to discover the defenses of his city had been breached, but apparently, my insight isn’t needed.

  Rather than spend hours cursing him in my room, I head for the Prince of Tides’ library.

  If the men are going to whisper secrets together, then I’m going to see if the prince is telling the truth.

  Slipping through the double doors that leads to the library, I’m so focused on the mission that, when I finally light the lantern I brought, the library nearly stuns me.

  It’s a circular room, and books line the shelves. We’re on the second floor, and as I head to the rail and glance over it, I realize there’s another circular row of shelves below me, and looking up through the hollow tower, more above me.

  “Erlking’s cock,” I breathe.

  Say what I like about Kyrian, but his library’s almost gorgeous enough to make a girl want to snuggle up to him. There have to be more books here than in every other library I’ve ever seen combined.

  It’s going to take me half a century to find the books I want, unless he’s got them catalogued in a predictable manner.

  I brush my fingertips over the leather spines of the books, making my way along the shelves and searching for books that might contain any mythology on the Old Ones.

  The mark of the creature’s fingers still itches on my arm, the burn white against my skin. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and the handprint still tingles as if I’ve been marked somehow.

  I need to know what it was.

  And I need to know more about this leanabh an dàn, if I’m to save him or her.

  Kyrian’s library is ridiculously extensive for a piratical lout. There’s a number of bestiaries, historical manuals, and explorer’s journals on the second level, but nothing quite details what I’m looking for. Down or up?

  I glance over the rail again. It’s dark on the lower level, with locked glass cases displaying rare—and probably dangerous—books. If I were a betting woman, I’d say that’s where he keeps his most important books.

  Slipping down the stairs, I set the lantern on one of the shelves and examine the books. Whatever that creature was that attacked us, it’s got to be Unseelie.

  The problem is that the Unseelie kingdom is comprised of everything the Seelie Alliance deems impure.

  All the other races that were cast into the darkness were gathered under the rule of Sorcha, the first Unseelie queen. Hordes of creatures, vicious and vile, flocked to her banners. Dozens of creatures unknown crawled out of the northern forests for a chance to go to war against the Seelie, and many others were spawned when the Horned One cracked open the earth and unleashed them from the Underworld.

  It could be anything, and yet the thought of its frozen touch tickles against my memory, as if I heard something once and just need to see mention of it again to prompt my recall.

  Otherwise, I’m probably going to wake in the middle of a restless night with the answer on my lips.

  Hours later, when the candle flickers low, fat globules of wax weeping down its side, I finally find an answer to my riddle. There’s a grimoire in a glass cabinet with a lock that’s easy to pick open. The cover is a leather so soft I don’t want to know what’s it’s made from, and the pages whisper when I slowly open it. Touching it gives me the creeps, but that old, familiar feeling is back.

  The answer is in here somewhere.

&n
bsp; Each page details magic dark and powerful, and with every page I turn, my breath becomes a little shallower. This is dark magic. Summoning spells for the Old Ones. Blood sacrifices. A means to speak to the creatures of the Underworld.

  It’s an abomination, and it should have been burned, not locked away in a library somewhere.

  But there are creatures in here, some I’ve never even heard of. Creatures from the Underworld painted in grotesque detail with horns, and extra eyes, and leering tongues.

  And as I turn the next page, I finally see it painted across the page.

  Fetch.

  The Heartless: Created by the Horned One himself, they were summoned from the bowels of the Underworld and are of neither plane, but somehow both. They can walk through shadows and are invulnerable to any mortal weapon, including star-forged steel. Their only weakness lies in direct sunlight and they can only be killed by the blood of the purest. The only other option is to find the hearts that were cut from their chest in order to bind them, and burn them. They were used as hunters by Sorcha, and once their prey is marked, they cannot lose their trail and will remain inexplicably linked until one or the other dies.

  Another chill runs down my spine as I slowly close the grimoire and examine the mark that seems to be sinking even deeper into my skin.

  The creatures that attacked us are fetches.

  And I’ve been marked.

  I steal the grimoire from Kyrian’s library and slip back to my bedchamber. There’s no sign of anyone in the hallways, not even servants, but I can’t help feeling as though something’s watching me, and after what I read, I’m practically running by the time I reach our wing.

  The light beneath Thiago’s door paints a bright line across the carpets, but my room is pitch-black. I slip inside and lock the door, resting my spine against it.

  “Did you enjoy your little rendezvous?”

  A little shriek escapes me as Thiago clicks his fingers and lights the candles by my bed. He’s stretched out on the mattress, one hand cupping the back of his head, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he watches me.