by May Sage
Of course they had. Because his life was just that fun, right now.
Fuck.
Shitty fucking fuck.
•
Hottie alert.
Being married to one of the most attractive men in the entire universe, goddaughter of another, and sister in law of a third, had made her rather picky; she didn't think she'd seen someone she'd deemed worth of much notice since she’d started hanging out with those three, but damn.
The King of Denker was taller than Dane, probably around Sandro's size, and his chiseled, tanned, muscular, lean frame was on full display, as he wore a simply tight white t-shirt and beach shorts.
It wasn't surprising. Why wouldn't royals be attractive? Their families had been in power, and possessed tons of money for generations, which meant that each de Luz and each Gryffon had married an attractive person over several generations; as Skinny had pointed out to her months ago, money and power didn't allow for anything else. Of course the babies were gorgeous.
“Dane, Alessandro,” Erik Gryffon said, his voice low and husky, in the most disturbingly hot way.
Gosh, Ella’s pussy needed attention, and soon, too. She'd blame the hormones and the indubitable hotness of her own husband, but really, her loins were tingling because of that low rumble. That guy’s skills were wasted, ruling a country. Phone sex attendant would have been a more suited career choice.
“And the delightful Cinderella. I've heard tales of your beauty; they're quite accurate.”
She would have talked if she hadn't suspected she might have giggled like a schoolgirl. Down, girl.
“You're here for Silvia,” he told them all.
That did manage to get her mind back on track.
“You've met?”
“Yes, a few years back, first. Silvia has saved my son and I, when the Siren sank off shores.”
Of course she had – that woman was a freaking saint.
“Three years ago? She hasn't caused it, then?”
“She was in front of me, eating salad and listening to my son at the time, so no. I can assure you she hasn't.”
The tone was definitive, defensive and also a little bit on the threatening side.
Damn. Lucky vixen. It was obvious that she'd had a piece of the male god in front of them, the tone of his voice and something in his eye suggested it; it also betrayed that he wanted more if it.
“Fuck,” Sandro grumbled, and Ella finally found her voice.
“Sorry, theses two asses have been blaming her for it, so it's a hard awakening. Any idea where she is? I need to speak to her.”
And get her back to Fortswood, pronto. The more she heard about Silvia, the more she wanted to have her here when she gave birth to her nephew or niece.
“No idea. I sort of blamed her for it, too. She didn't stick around after that.”
The King of Denker led them to his man cave, a small billiard room with a magnificent view over ocean; once they were all harmed with a glass of something containing over forty percent of alcohol, he briefly ran them through his interactions with Silvia, no doubt skipping the naughty parts. It was hard to pinpoint why exactly, but Ella would have sworn there had been a few.
Erik had concluded the story when the room opened in front of an overly perfumed, overly made up porcelain doll who made her position quite clear by gripping Erik’s arm as soon as humanly possible.
Really?
Ella couldn't tell if she was disappointed or relieved. In one hand, she'd somehow immediately paired up her intimidatingly perfect sister-in-law with the hunk, while the superficial madam just didn't seem to fit, but on the other hand, Yuppie. There was a better chance of Silvia coming back if she wasn't attached.
“I was told we had important guests,” the doll cooed in Daniel’s direction.
Right. If she wanted to keep these lips, she'd better put them back in her fucking mouth, now.
She must have heard the underlying threat because she redirected the pouting to Sandro who – bless his soul – looked at her like she was something nasty under his shoe.
That was the hunk’s girl? Talk about bad taste.
To his credit, he didn’t seem delighted with her presence.
“Vanessa, you will excuse us, but the de Luzes and I have business to attend to.”
He detached himself from her arm and showed her to the door.
When they passed in front of her, Ella almost retched on the spot. She'd always be sensitive to smell, but that was another level altogether.
Yerk. Seriously, Vanessa smelled worse than an alley behind a dirty bar.
The King of Denker closed the door after avoiding a kiss, and sighed while Ella was regaining control of her stomach.
“You’re good?” Dane was asking her, a hand on the small of her back, obviously concerned.
She bit her lip, considering her options. She could blame it on the pregnancy, or just shrug it off; a few months ago, she might have, too.
But if she'd learnt one thing from her relationship with Daniel, it was that miscommunication was a bitch. It generally went hand in hand with pride; both, or either had kept them apart for a decade and if someone, anyone, had pushed them to dig deeper, they might have saved themselves a whole world of hurt and worry.
So, she felt perfectly justified in saying to Erik: “You know your girlfriend’s slept with four guys since her last shower, right?”
Chapter 12: the Fool
Erik felt like sacking a whole lot of people; that way, they'd be stripped off their immunity and he would have been able to throw them in jail. Or, he could just turn into a tyrant and throw them in jail, regardless. Yeah, that worked for him.
“You mean to say that she was recommended by them because they regularly fucked her?”
It was one thing to be manipulated and corrupted for money, information, power, but just for sex? Mediocre sex, at that. It really wasn’t sinking in, but somehow, no one else found it unbelievable.
“When she first arrived in the city,” Ludwig told them, “she wasn't liked by many; we tolerated her, and invited her at social functions because, well, by bringing you and Seb back to civilization after the shipwreck, she was owed at least that. But that was it: we were doing our duty. I can't prove it, but she seems to have paved her way up using a trail of men – important ones. Last year, she hit on me; I didn't have time for it, so I let it go. Five minutes later, she was all over Jerden and Hugo. Not separately, either. I've observed her getting “close” to many politicians, well before you brought her here. When you're not around, she still is.”
Of course she was.
“You're saying she's sleeping with anyone who holds power?”
“I can't prove it,” Ludwig groaned, visibly frustrated. “She's pretty damn good at hiding her tracks, and at finding out which rooms aren't under surveillance. She often occupies them, though – and she has company when she does. Monday, Jerden, Christian and one of the porters went in the eastern tower a few minutes after her. They stayed half an hour.”
He was going to be sick. His cock had been inside that. He blessed the hunch that had told him to wear a condom; but he’d licked her out once. Fingered her. She’d gone down on him. Freaking hell, he needed to get tested. He needed Silvia to get tested, just to make sure he hadn’t passed along something to her.
That was going to go down so well.
“Look, don't beat yourself up,” the Alenian prince told him, doing his best to hide a smirk. “From the sound of things, they didn't have much of a choice, and nor did you. You've got a Melusine in your midst.”
Shit.
Everyone knew what Alessandro was referring to, they’d watched and read the same raunchy tales; Melusines did sound kinda hot, to teenagers, in any case.
They were succumbs of the seas, entirely sexual creatures, unable to survive without regular intercourse, and evolution had made them highly desirable, to keep them from starving.
What every horny kid did overlook was their ability to c
ontrol the mind of those they fucked.
How the hell had he missed that?
He'd thought about proposing while having sex. He'd doubted his resolve later, but he'd changed his mind every single time his dick had touched her. Then, he'd finally woken up and realized how much he despised her, after interrupting their intercourses.
Hell. Perhaps he had been ever so slightly hasty in wanting to lock up his advisors: if he'd fallen for it, he couldn't very well begrudge them for the same fault, although their offense was treason.
“The entire world is going to take the piss out of me, right?”
He didn't know why he asked: Dane and Sandro’s snickering was eloquent. Hell, even the sweet Alenian Queen had trouble keeping a straight face.
“Look, you don't have to advertise every sordid detail; all you need is a reason to boot her out. If she was caught cheating with one person, rather than three, you might still be able to show your face at the occasional convention in ten years.”
Cute.
“She knows what she's doing,” Ludwig replied. “She isn't going to let herself be caught.”
After one long pause during which each of them seemed to make their grey matter work overtime, Sandro cut the silence:
“Unless she wasn't in control, for once. Let’s see if I can add a Melusine to my notch count, shall we?”
•
Less than a year ago, he would have seen it as a challenge of sort; would he manage to surpass a master of seduction?
Now, he just wanted it over and done with.
His success was important, to Denker, to the alliance Dane was all but ready to offer, and to Ella; he owed a thousand and one apologies to his sister-in-law – and ten times as many to his actual sister.
One chick at the time. If Ella wanted something, it was hers, and she wanted the bitch gone, so he’d volunteered.
However, the very idea of touching Vanessa repulsed Sandro. He was going to need a seriously hot shower after this.
The idea had been to move the party from Erik’s billiard room to a drawing room and invite Vanessa back in, along with a few courtiers. Erik and Dane asked Sandro to establish a connection; they expected he’d managed to get her attention within a week or so.
Sandro didn’t say it – he wasn’t one to brag – but he gave her six hours.
He didn't try, ignoring the exaggerated sway of her hips, completely looking past when she bent over to see what he was reading.
Later, when she asked about him, he did exactly what he wanted to do, responding with one word answers, or not at all.
That got to Vanessa’s nerves; she wasn’t used to it, and she certainly didn’t like it. Two hours and she was on the brink of madness.
She pulled at all stops, going as far as she could in the present company: touching his forearms, complimenting, throwing veiled offers.
She was stronger than he'd thought: he didn't score until after dinner.
“You're such an attractive man, I'm surprised that no one has snagged you up, yet.”
“Someone has.”
He wasn't sure it was a lie; sure, Blanche was dead, but she owned him all the same.
No one had made an impression since the moment he'd met her; hell, Sandro hadn't even thought about having sex in months.
Now he was going to have to, and the idea disgusted him; he suspected that it had less to do with the overused vagina he was to fuck and more to do with the simple fact that it didn't belong to the one woman he wanted.
Damn, he was screwed up.
Dead. Blanche was dead. When would he fully acknowledge it and start actually moving forward?
“She must be beautiful.”
“She is.”
Was. Had been?
He recalled what he'd read on the diaries of Blanche’s mother, in the Royal Library.
“We’re both so pale,” she'd confessed. “Between us, we’ll have a child white as snow, I just wish her to have Vincent’s heritage, rather than mine. Lips red as blood and hair dark as night. She'll be the fairest of them all.”
That particular wish had been heard: even hidden under a servant’s shapeless uniform, she'd instantly, violently called to every single instinct in his blood.
He’d desired her, and only her since, which had been a new experience: Sandro didn’t hurt for female company, and there hadn’t been a difference between fucking an Anna or a Lucy, before.
Now, he wanted Blanche, no one else, certainly not the whore.
But he'd learnt the hard way that there was a very big difference between want and get, so he forced himself to smile, finally giving her an inch:
“Just as much as you,” he lied.
That was all it took, Vanessa did the rest of the work. He was given a time, a location and particular instructions as to how he was to get there; the woman was pretty damn crafty.
“Your cellar. Give me fifteen minutes, max,” he whispered to Erik on his way out.
That held promises: with a bit of luck, there would be a decent bottle to make up for the rest.
She'd been in the mood for foreplay, but there was no way in hell he would have let her mucus touch his dick without a layer of latex covering it, so he was distracting her from the idea of giving him a head by making use of his fingers; he'd hoped the others might have conveniently walked in soon enough – so he might have got away with simply fingering her – but minutes stretched and he reluctantly had to give in.
God; it had been a while but there was no way sex had always been so anticlimactic, or he might have tried becoming a monk, just to avoid it.
There was no built up, no excitement. She was on the floor, her lean legs spread very wide, and he imagined he was supposed to find the position sexy; it all but made him retch, but like the good boy he wasn't, he wrapped it, knelt and rhythmically impaled himself inside her until the door opened.
He supposed another might have stayed to watch the drama unfold, but he was done. He needed a drink, some time alone, and above all, a long ass shower.
Chapter 13: the Players.
She stayed silent, immobile as the unsuspecting animal happily swam past, convincing herself to become a hunter. Or fisherwoman, whatever.
But dammit, the little red fish were so cute. There was a hell of a difference between having it on your plate and actually catching one, breaking his neck before gutting, cooking and eating it.
She’d grabbed the occasional shellfish over the last week, but that was as far as she could go.
Her stomach growled again so, admitting defeat, she plunged deeper inside the inner lake of her island, making for the bushes of seaweed.
Drake sent her the look, before vibrating, uttering a strange, high pitched snort. Yes, her dragon was taking the piss out of her.
“Not very kind,” she told him, unconsciously echoing Erik’s tone from that day, a lifetime ago.
One time, he’d said those words, and they were his now. She’d never use them without thinking about what she couldn’t afford to linger on: the man’s smile, the way his amber eyes turned to green in the sunlight, and to black when they were on her.
She banished the thought. If she forced her thought away from him, she’d forget everything about Erik eventually. Right?
Drake all but purred; he always loved when she talked, which wasn’t often. Then, suddenly charging at high speed, he swam away, entirely focus towards the surface.
On high alert, Silvia followed closely, wondering what could possibly have freaked him out.
She arrived just in time to watch as her mild mannered, kind little Drake jumped out towards a duck, his mouth wide open, to cut his head clean off.
She’d expected him to devour the bird, but he dragged the carcass in his mouth, before spitting it at her, along with a fair amount of warm blood.
That sorted out dinner.
Her home was more self-sufficient than she’d previously realized; weeks ago, she’d seen the kitchen and deemed the antique equipment unusable –
unsafe, at the very least.
She didn’t care about safe, now. She wanted duck.
She’d learnt to build a fire in the past, but the damn pit underneath her stove point blank refused to light up. She was at the fourth try when Drake, gently pushing her away with his head, spit inside the oven.
It looked like water; it even felt like water, registering in her mind as a substance she could control.
But it was warm. Fucking damn warm.
The substance was pretty, an intense blue which sparkled and twirled, as thought it had a life of its own. It stayed subdued, content, but Silvia felt there was a “for now” somewhere there. It would – and could – do damage if it was called to.
Waterfire. Shit.
Well, she had been complaining about the cold in this place.
Within a few days, she had a gorgeous home. Why had she been so keen to pay others to sort out what she could have done herself?
She’d never even attempted to push any of her limits in the past, but now, instead of telling herself she wasn’t able to do something, she tried.
Most of the time, she managed.
It turned out, controlling water meant that she could build stuff. Waterfire and sand created a mortar she’d molded at her heart content, fashioning long walls, vast rooms. She could have settled on a little two bedroom, but the distraction had been welcomed so, instead, she had a palace. She acknowledged the result was on the intimidating side, with the dark and rustic stones, but she’d figure out how to paint it, someday.
Now the Island definitely deserved to be called Silvia’s Rock. It was really hers.
At the end of the week, she’d been in the process of finding another pastime when something resonating inside her, alarming her.
She followed her instinct to the lake at the feet of her palace, and snarled at what she found there.