As the door closed behind him, and the anteroom returned to its dimly lit state, my pupils dilated, adjusted, and I realized my error. Gasping, I took a step back. “You’re not V’lane!”
The exotic prince’s gaze fixed on my breasts, sculpted by a lacy bra. I pressed my sweater to my chest. He made a sound deep in his throat and my knees buckled with sexual anticipation. Only with immense effort did I remain standing. I wanted to be on my knees. I should be on my knees. He wanted me on my knees. And hands. My head was vacuumed of thought. My lips and legs moved apart.
He stepped closer.
I fought a frantic battle with myself, managed to step back.
“No,” he said. “I am not.” Lids lowered over alien, ancient eyes, lifted. “Whatever that is.”
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered.
He took another step forward.
I took another step back. There went my sweater again. Shit.
“The end,” he said simply.
The doors leading to the inner sanctum opened behind me. I felt the draft of passage, and more of the strange, disturbing scent filled my nostrils.
Lust sledgehammered me, front and rear.
“We are all the end,” a cold voice floated over my shoulder. “And beginning. Soon. Later. After.”
“Time. Irrelevant,” the other replied. “Round is round.”
“We are always. You are not.”
They might as well have been speaking a foreign language. I turned, hardly able to breathe. There was a lacy bra lying on the floor at my feet. It was mine. Shit again. The air was cool on my flushed skin. I would not ask “after what?” There were two of them. Two death-by-sex Fae. Two princes. Could I outrun them? Could I survive them? They could sift. I was between them. Could I Null them? Oh, God, not with my sidhe-seer abilities dead! “Do you know V’lane? He’s a Seelie Prince,” I managed to get out through lips that ached for touch, for fullness that had only been hinted at by the sensation of V’lane’s name piercing my tongue. I wanted to drown in men. I wanted to be stuffed plumper than a sausage. Lips would do. So would other things. I looked from one of their crotches to the next. I shook my head, violently. My mouth was parched, my head spinning. “He protects me.” Maybe they were friends of his. Maybe they could summon him. Maybe they feared him and would back off.
I wouldn’t have been surprised by villainous laughs, sneers, ribald comments—after all, I was standing there naked from the waist up. I expected some comment, some expression, any expression, but they merely rotated their heads on their necks with eerie smoothness, and examined me in a manner so far from human that my blood ran cold and I stopped breathing.
I knew who they were. They were no friends of V’lane’s. That alien gesture had given them away.
When I breathed again it was a great, sucking inhalation.
These were the Unseelie Princes. Fae that had never had the opportunity to study us, learn our habits, perfect glamour through mimicry; Fae that could employ our language but only void of reference or metaphor; that had learned about our world from a great distance, by proxy; that probably didn’t even grasp the basic Fae concepts of stasis and change. Fae that had never been free, never drunk from the cauldron, never had sex with a human woman.
But they planned to have sex with me. It was pouring off them in immense, hungry, dark waves. Lust laced the room, explosive as dynamite, its fuse dangerously short. The air reeked of it. I was drawing it in with every breath, feeding an unquenchable, exquisite Fae fever.
A third one glided into the church.
What had Christian said? Myth equates the heads of those four houses, the dark princes, with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Pestilence joined Death and Famine in God’s house. Now only War remained unaccounted for. I hoped he would stay that way.
They closed in on me, a circle of three, morphing from one shape to the next as they came. Shifting shapes, colors, and … something else that might have been a dimensional nature. I see 3-D, not 4 or 5. My eyes couldn’t explain to my brain what they were seeing so they just settled for pretending they weren’t seeing it. V’lane said the Fae have never revealed their true face to us. That may have been what I glimpsed.
Swallowing my fear of the only weapon I had to use against them, I jerked out the spear, dropped the harness, and pivoted in a threatening circle.
“Stay back!” I commanded. “This is a Seelie Hallow. It can kill even princes! Just try me!” I stabbed at the nearest one. He paused, regarded the spear then raised incandescent eyes to mine. He swiveled his head upon his neck, and glanced at the others, then back at the spear in a way that made me look, too.
I discovered with horror that my hand was turning it toward me, slowly, slowly, until the tip, the deadly, flesh-rotting tip was pointing straight at me. I tried to turn it away, to point it at him, but I couldn’t move. My brain was issuing orders my body refused to obey.
Rape was horrific enough. There was no way I was going to die like Mallucé afterwards.
When the tip was a mere quarter inch from my skin, I tried to fling the spear away, hoping I could, and they’d just forget about it. My release mechanism worked as my override had not—a thing that would make sense to me one day—and the spear clattered across the floor, through the door into the chapel. It crashed into the base of the pedestal of holy water with such impact that water sloshed over the side, and hissed and steamed when it hit the spear.
The princes adopted static form, became males so unutterably beautiful that looking at them was a moment of such exquisite perfection that it hurt my soul, and I gibbered wordlessly. They were naked except for glistening black torques that writhed like liquid darkness around their necks. Their supple, golden-skinned bodies were tattooed in brilliant, complicated patterns that rushed over their skin, kaleidoscopic storm clouds across a gilded sky. Lightning flashed in their glittering eyes.
Deep within me, I felt answering thunder.
I couldn’t look at them. They were too much. I turned away but they were there again, forcing me to gaze upon their frightening, fantastic faces. My eyes widened, widened still.
I wept tears of blood that scaled my cheeks. I scrubbed at them with my fingers, and they came away seared, crimson.
Then the princes’ mouths were on my fingertips, with tongues of soothing coolness, and fangs of licking ice, and a beast far more primitive than Savage Mac, and far beyond my control, yawned and stretched her arms above her head, and awakened with a delicious sense of anticipation.
This was what she’d been born for. What she’d been waiting for all this time. Here. Now. Them.
Sex that was worth dying for.
I kicked off my boots. They peeled away my jeans and underwear, and turned me between them, kissing, tasting, licking, taking, feeding from the passion they fed in me, slamming it back at me, taking it, returning it again, and with each transfer between us it grew into something bigger than me, bigger than them, into a beast of its own.
With some distant part of my mind I recognized the horror of what was happening to me. I tasted on their perfect lips the emptiness within them, and understood that beneath the flawless, velvety, golden skin, far beneath the waves of Eros I was drowning in … there was nothing but … an ocean of … me.
I glimpsed, even as I surrendered to it, the true nature of the Unseelie princes. They are voids of what they are not, and crave most: passion, desire, the fire of life, the capacity to feel.
Some essential component in them had been lost long ago, or perhaps frozen out of them by seven hundred thousand years of icy incarceration, or perhaps they’d come into being via the king’s imperfect Song, equally imperfect and empty. Whatever the cause, the most intensely they could feel was through sex. They were maestros of lust, eternally denied music in their realm, surrounded by others also void, without a human’s body to play the melody upon.
But with a human, so long as she felt, so did they, and they would gorge on her song, until th
e concert hall fell silent, the passion turned to ash, and she died, her body gone as cold as that place inside them where life could never be fully realized.
Empty, they would find another woman to play, and gorge again, giving her sex at its most elemental, at its purest, and most potent, channeling all that it was to be alive out of her, back into her, and out again. My orgasms were not petit mal but repeated births, a re-creation of myself every time I came. It was sex that was life that was blood that was God that filled every empty orifice I had, inside and out.
And it was killing me.
And I knew it.
And I had to have more.
We rolled and slid across the cool marble floor of the anteroom, my three dark princes and I, seeking purchase on the carpeted stairs, one beneath me, one behind, one inside my mouth.
They moved deep in me, filling me with sensations as kaleidoscopic as their tattooed bodies. I narrowed to a tiny blossom, exploded outward, and fragmented again and again into bits of shattered woman. They tasted of nectar, smelled of dark, drugging spices; their bodies were hard and sculpted and perfect, and if every now and then the ice of their black torques and pink tongues and white teeth were sharp nips of frostbite at my skin, it was a small price to pay for what they did inside me.
I felt my mind slipping; moments of my life flashed before my eyes, before dropping away to some forsaken place. I cried out, begging to be freed, but my mouth shaped only words of instruction, and demand: more, harder, faster, there.
My last month in Dublin, with all its hopes and worries and fears, flashed through my mind—and was forgotten. There went the day I’d spent in Faery with Alina, followed by all memory of Mallucé and Christian and the O’Bannions and Fiona and Barrons, and meeting Rowena in the bar, that first night in Ireland. My summer was flying backward past my eyes, falling away. Was there a fourth male kissing me now? Tasting me? Why couldn’t I see him? Who was he?
I pricked myself on the day of Alina’s death, then it was gone, too, and that day hadn’t happened, and my life continued to unfurl backward.
I lost my college years to Pestilence’s kisses. I bade farewell to high school with Famine spurting sweetly in my mouth. I lost my childhood in three Fae Princes’ arms. If there was a fourth, I never saw his face. Only felt the strangeness of another, who wasn’t quite the same.
And then I’d never been born.
I was only now.
This moment. This orgasm. This hunger. This endless emptiness. This mindless need.
I was aware that others had entered the anteroom but I could not see beyond my dark princes. Didn’t care. More was good.
When my princes drew away from me, my body grew so cold I thought I would die. I writhed on the floor, begging for more.
Someone reached for me.
I grasped with both hands for the succor of touch, tossed a tangle of hair from my eyes, and looked up, straight into the face of the Lord Master.
“I think she’ll obey me now,” he murmured.
Obey him?
I’d die for him.
A Note to the Reader
I foreshadowed this moment. And I’ve foreshadowed what’s yet to come, but for those of you with flashlights running low on batteries, who feel the Shades closing in, and fear there’s no hope in sight, consider this:
In Bloodfever Mac says, “Although it may not seem like it, this isn’t a story about darkness. It’s about light. Khalil Gibran says Your joy can fill you only as deeply as your sorrow has carved you. If you’ve never tasted bitterness, sweet is just another pleasant flavor on your tongue. One day I’m going to hold a lot of joy.”
And she will. That was my promise in her words.
For the latest news on Mac, future release dates, and the like, drop by www.karenmoning.com or www.sidhe-seersinc.com.
The latter is an interactive Web site, with hidden links, so you might have to do a little searching but it’s well worth it. My Web designers are wonderfully talented, with a great sense of fun. You’ll find a game to play, Mac vs. the Shades, Fever-world music downloads, Mac’s complete (until the next Fever installment) glossary, the Wall, the Map Room, and much, much more.
At www.karenmoning.com you’ll find a fantastic message board community where I sometimes drop in.
Stay to the lights,
Karen
Glossary from Mac’s Journal
*AMULET, THE: Unseelie or Dark Hallow created by the Unseelie King for his concubine. Fashioned of gold, silver, sapphires, and onyx, the gilt “cage” of the amulet houses an enormous clear stone of unknown composition. A person of epic will can use it to impact and reshape reality. The list of past owners is legendary, including Merlin, Boudica, Joan of Arc, Charlemagne, Napoleon. Last purchased by a Welshman for eight figures at an illegal auction, it was all too briefly in my hands and is currently in the possession of the Lord Master. It requires some kind of tithe or binding to use it. I had the will; I couldn’t figure out the way.
BARRONS, JERICHO: I haven’t the faintest fecking clue. He keeps saving my life. I suppose that’s something.
Addendum to original entry: He keeps a Sifting Silver in his study at the bookstore and when he walks through it, the monsters retreat from him just like the Shades. I saw him carry the body of a woman out of it. She’d been killed, brutally. By him? Or by the things in the mirror? He is at least several hundred years old, and possibly, probably, way older than that. I made him hold the spear to see if he was Unseelie, and he did, but I found out later from V’lane that the Unseelie King can touch all the Hallows (as can the Seelie Queen) and, although I can’t fathom why the Unseelie King wouldn’t be able to touch his own Book, maybe that’s exactly why Barrons thought he would be able to touch it. Maybe it evolved into something more powerful than it began as. Also, I can’t rule out that he might be some kind of Seelie/Unseelie hybrid. Do the Fae have sex and reproduce? Sometimes … I think he’s human … gone very wrong. Other times I think he’s nothing this world has ever seen. He’s definitely not a sidhe-seer but he sees the Fae as plain as day, just like me. He knows Druidry, sorcery, black arts, is superstrong and fast, and has heightened senses. What did Ryodan mean by his comment about the Alpha & Omega? I’ve got to track that man down!
*CAULDRON, THE: Seelie or Light Hallow from which all Seelie eventually drink, to divest memory that has become burdensome. According to Barrons, immortality has a price: eventual madness. When the Fae feel it approaching, they drink from the cauldron and are “reborn” with no memory of a prior existence. The Fae have a record-keeper that documents each Fae’s many incarnations, but the exact location of this scribe is known to a select few and the whereabouts of the records to none but him. Is that what’s wrong with the Unseelie—they don’t have a cauldron to drink from?
CRUCE: A Fae. Unknown if Seelie or Unseelie. Many of his relics are floating around out there. He cursed the Sifting Silvers. Before they were cursed, the Fae used them freely to travel through dimensions. The curse somehow corrupted the interdimensional channels and now not even the Fae will enter them. Unknown what the curse was. Unknown what damage it caused or what the risk in the Silvers is. Whatever it is, Barrons apparently doesn’t fear it. I tried to get into the Silver in his study. I can’t figure out how to open it.
CUFF OF CRUCE: A gold and silver arm cuff set with blood-red stones; an ancient Fae relic that supposedly permits the human wearing it “a shield of sorts against many Unseelie and other … unsavory things” (this according to a death-by-sex Fae—like you can actually trust one).
DANI: A young sidhe-seer in her early teens whose talent is superhuman speed. She has to her credit—as she will proudly crow from the rooftops given the slightest opportunity—forty-seven Fae kills at the time of this writing. I’m sure she’ll have more by tomorrow. Her mother was killed by a Fae. We are sisters in vengeance. She works for Rowena and is employed at Post Haste, Inc.
Addendum to original entry: Her kills now number nearly two hundred! The
kid has no fear.
DARK ZONE: An area that has been taken over by the Shades. During the day it looks like your everyday abandoned, run-down neighborhood. Once night falls, it’s a death trap.
DEATH-BY-SEX FAE: (e.g., V’lane) A Fae that is so sexually “potent” a human dies from intercourse with it unless the Fae protects the human from the full impact of its deadly eroticism.
Addendum to original entry: V’lane made himself feel like nothing more than an incredibly sexy man when he touched me. They can mute their lethality if they so choose.
Addendum to original entry: This caste of Fae springs only from royal lines. They can do three things: protect the human completely and give them the most incredible sex of their life, protect them from dying and turn them Pri-ya, or kill them with sex.
They can sift space.
DOLMEN: A single-chamber megalithic tomb constructed of three or more upright stones supporting a large, flat horizontal capstone. Dolmens are common in Ireland, especially around the Burren and Connemara. The Lord Master used a dolmen in a ritual of dark magic to open a doorway between realms and bring Unseelie through.
DRUID: In pre-Christian Celtic society, a Druid presided over divine worship, legislative and judicial matters, philosophy, and education of elite youth to their order. Druids were believed to be privy to the secrets of the gods, including issues pertaining to the manipulation of physical matter, space, and even time. The old Irish “Drui” means magician, wizard, diviner. (Irish Myths and Legends)
Addendum to original entry: I saw both Jericho Barrons and the Lord Master use the Druid power of Voice, a way of speaking with many voices that cannot be disobeyed. Significance?
Addendum: Christian MacKeltar descends from a long, ancient bloodline of Druids.
FAE: (fay) See also Tuatha Dé Danaan. Divided into two courts, the Seelie or Light Court, and the Unseelie or Dark Court. Both courts have different castes of Fae, with the four Royal Houses occupying the highest caste of each. The Seelie Queen and her chosen consort rule the Light Court. The Unseelie King and his current concubine govern the Dark.
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