Black-Market Magic: Book 8 in the Twilight Court Series

by Amy Sumida

  “Seren,” Daxon moaned, his lips seeking mine.

  But Daxon was far from over. As we kissed, I felt the torn strips of silk shift; a couple of them slithering around my thighs, just above my knees. The material tightened and lifted my legs. I broke our kiss to see the other ends of the silk tying around the bedposts behind me. They continued to tighten, lifting my legs higher, until my knees were close to my ears. Daxon drew back and looked down my body, licking his lips as he pulled out slowly. His fingers replaced his cock, and then Daxon set his mouth to me again. Without those strips holding my legs up, I would have been lying there like a shivering mass of jelly. As it was, my whole body shook as I came over and over again.

  Daxon got to his knees and lifted himself so that his cock was poised before my mouth. He pressed forward, shoving my legs even further back, so that he could rub his slick tip against my lips. I opened my mouth eagerly. His flesh invaded, nearly choking me, but I couldn't pull back; the headboard was behind me. Daxon held my head between his hands and directed my mouth further down his shaft. One of his thighs was pressed intimately against me, grinding across that sweet spot while he took his pleasure. But then he gentled his rhythm, and it gave me an opportunity to add a little finesse to the proceedings. Daxon threw his head back and moaned; all it did was encourage me.

  “Oh, gods, Seren,” he cried, “enough!”

  Daxon drew himself out of my mouth as he tore the ties off my thighs. My legs fell with solid thuds as he settled himself between them again. One shove and he was all the way in. I kissed him fiercely as his tempo increased. My hands slid over the clenching muscles of his back, kneading and urging him on. We were pressed so tightly together that all we could do was grind into each other, and that was all that was needed to send us over the edge.

  Daxon shouted as he gave one final thrust, and my body shivered through the rush of pleasure with him. Then he laid his head against the curve of my neck and collapsed. The weight of his body was yet another pleasure; the wet slide of his member easing out of me, setting me to shivering all over again. My small movement brought him back to life, and Dax hardened, sliding back into me as he lengthened. Daxon moaned and lifted his face to kiss me tenderly.

  “That was the most amazing experience of my life,” he whispered. “And there weren't even chains involved.”

  I laughed as I smoothed back the indigo hair falling into his face and angled my hips up to his. He began a slow grind; just a lazy slide.

  “You were right,” I said, knowing that those words would please him more than anything else I could say.

  “What was that?” He smirked. “So, you liked it?”

  “I think that's pretty obvious.” I grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper. “But now, Tromlaighe, it's my turn.”

  I flipped him over and straddled his hips. Then I salvaged some of the strips of silk from the chaos around us. Daxon sighed and stared up my body, his hands trailing up to my breasts.

  “I think I might enjoy this too,” he murmured.

  But then I grabbed his hands and tied the silk around his wrists. I used air magic to tie the other ends of the silk to the bedposts. Daxon's eyes went wide, and then his lips spread into a sensuous smile.

  “Now,” I said as I leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “where did you put that candle?”

  Epilogue

  It was a good thing we took that first day for ourselves because Daxon's free time became a hot commodity after that. There was so much to do with the undergrounds. And the work wasn't all his. I set up my Welcoming Centers, just as I'd promised. I started in LA and then opened centers all across the US—above ground. Within the undergrounds, I intended to open companion centers; a sort of outreach program where fairies who needed help could go without having to leave the Underground. Fairies like Jimmy and Ned would run them for me. For now, the two ex-cons were above ground, working in the Welcoming Centers, and most of their work involved helping fairies to find homes during the underground renovations. Several of those temporary homes were the mansions in the nicer areas of the Underground. They had been confiscated and turned into communal living centers.

  There was a mass exodus of fairies from Earth, with thousands of fairies choosing to return to their homeland rather than make another go at the underground life. This helped with the whole lodging thing in the undergrounds, but it also meant that I had to travel throughout the kingdoms of Fairy to help find homes for my returning people. It was a lot of work, but my husbands and I were overjoyed to do it. Our kingdoms were healing, and our people were coming home. There was no better feeling... except maybe those that Daxon gave me.

  Daxon and I made time to be together, and it was even more precious because of its limitations. I've been giving Dax more and more free reign in the bedroom, and I have to admit that giving up control was one of the best things I've ever done for myself. However, I was also teaching him the benefits of submitting to my demands.

  Raza and Tiernan seemed to sense the competition, and upped their bedroom game, as it were, but Killian slid into the new status quo with a cocky grin and the confidence of a man who knew how much he was loved. My husbands noticed Kill's lack of anxiety, and eventually they relaxed too. We have found an equilibrium that has become a recipe for our happiness. The Hunter turned King, the romantic Dragon, the Snake Witch, and the Black-Magic Boss who was now, legitimately, the first fairy king of Earth. They were a strange mix of lovers, but wasn't I the strangest of them all? The human soldier who became a fairy princess, then ambassador, then queen, and now, a philanthropist. Life's a wild ride when you have a goddess at the helm, but as I mentioned; I've learned the benefits of giving up control. I see Danu's vision now, and I'm hopeful, if not completely confident, that we'll achieve everything she wants for us.

  We just have one problem; Lana Clach is still missing.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek into the next book in the Twilight Court Series:

  Etched in Stone

  Targeted release in April 2018

  Chapter One

  “What did you say to me?” Tiernan stared at me in horror.

  “The Earth is overpopulated, Tiernan,” I said. “And we've had fairies going over to it for centuries.”

  “Yes, but now those fairies are coming home,” he reminded me of the recent influx of our people, returning to Fairy after living in the poor conditions of the fairy undergrounds all across America.

  “Not all of them,” I corrected. “A lot have chosen to stay and rebuild.”

  “I still don't see why you want to take human children,” he huffed.

  “Not take.” I rolled my eyes. “I want to bring orphaned children from Earth—children from all over the world who don't have homes, or who have been placed in abusive homes by the foster system—and bring them here to live a magical life with parents who want them desperately.”

  “That still sounds like stealing.” Tiernan frowned.

  “Not if we ask them,” I argued. “What if we gave the children a choice?”

  “You can't give all of them a choice,” he reasoned. “Some may be too young to understand.”

  “But, Tiernan, you said yourself that you've seen mistreated children living in horrible conditions because the human governments either don't know about them or don't care. Why can't we help them while easing the pain of a fairy couple who have to wait a century even to try to conceive?”

  “I don't know,” he muttered. “What did Raza say?”

  “He said that he'd have hundreds of volunteer families for me to choose from by lunchtime.” I smirked.

  “This doesn't feel right.”

  “Fairies have taken children from Earth before,” I pointed out. “And the kids get raised to be happy and healthy before being given the option to leave. But those were kids taken from normal homes. We'd be taking mistreated children, and those living in orphanages. Isn't that a good thing?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I've already spoken to the Hu
man Council, and they've given their approval,” I dropped the second bomb on my poor husband. “They have thousands of candidates, and are even willing to investigate individual cases presented by extinguishers or hunters who notice child abuse.”

  “The humans are signing off on us taking their children?” Tiernan gaped at me.

  “Councilman Murdock said—and I quote—'It's about time that you housed some of our people on your world.'”

  “He would,” Tiernan huffed.

  “Tiernan, I'll leave it up to you,” I said. “You know the seelie better than I, and I don't want to bring children into a dangerous situation. But now that we've taken over the kingdom, I think that Seelie would be a good place—no; an amazing place—for a child to be raised. I know that if my father had appeared to me when I was little and told me that I was a fairy princess and I could go live with him in a big castle—”

  “You'd have laughed your cynical ass off and then told him to stick his fairy tricks up his ass,” Tiernan interrupted me.

  “Yeah; all right,” I huffed. “But I was an extinguisher kid; these children will be different.”

  “And difficult, and possibly dangerous,” Tiernan added.

  “What? They're human children.”

  “And many have mental issues because of the trauma they've been through, Seren,” Tiernan said gently. “I don't want to risk my fairies by bringing those children into their homes.”

  “Tiernan, that's kind of mean,” I said in surprise.

  “You are half human, Seren,” he said sternly. “I understand that you want to help humans as much as you want to help the Fey, but I am fully fey, and King of Seelie; I must put our people first. Children or not, I don't want mentally damaged humans in our kingdom. Are we clear?”

  “But I can bring in mentally sound children?” I pushed.

  “Ugh!” Tiernan huffed and threw his hands into the air. “How about this; you start your little fostering program in Unseelie, and if all goes well there, you can bring children here.”

  “Deal,” I said. “And Twilight.”

  “What?”

  “My father has agreed to the fostering program as well.” My smile brightened. “I'll be bringing children into Unseelie and Twilight.”

  “Goddess help us,” Tiernan muttered.

  “She always does.”

  Grammar Giggles

  And just for a little giggle, here are some grammar mistakes found during the editing of this book.

  Correct Line: Then he climbed into the tub, but he took a seat on the platform, only his feet in the water.

  Giggle: Then he climbed into the tube, but he took a seat on the platform, only his feet in the water.

  Correct Line: “Well, that's gonna suck for Dax.”

  Giggle: “Well, that's gonna such for Dax.”

  Correct Line: I was about to argue further, when my gaze fell on an iron raven.

  Giggle: I was about to argue further, when my gaze fell on an iron rave. (What a difference a single letter makes)

  Correct Line: The poor were those who slipped between the cracks, and the rich were those who were exceptionally motivated to exceed.

  Giggle: The poor were those who slipped between the cracks, and the rick were those who were exceptionally motivated to exceed.

  Correct Line: It took two hours of grinding hips and teasing tongues to determine that Killian was indeed delicious.

  Giggle: It took two ours of grinding hips and teasing tongues to determine that Killian was indeed delicious.

  Correct Line: Daxon's bedroom was spacious and airy, with masculine furniture that was kept from looking too heavy by the use of pale fabric and good lighting.

  Giggle: Daxon's bedroom was spacious and airy, with masculine furniture that was kept from looking too heavy by the use of pale fabric and good lightning. (Yep, some good lightning will keep anything from looking too heavy).

  And please feel free to write me at vervainlavine@yahoo.com if you spot any grammar errors yourself. I'm a poor self-published author who must rely on the kindness of my super-smart friends for help in editing. Please have mercy on my writing.

  Keep reading for some peeks into Amy's other series.

  Here's a look into Amy's new series, The Spellsinger, with the first book:

  The Last Lullaby

  Chapter One

  I hunched my shoulders in an attempt to lift my coat collar a little higher around my ears. The weather in Seattle was dismal in December. Hell, in my opinion it was dismal during most times of the year. I longed for the kinder climate of my home, where even the rain was warm. But I couldn't go back to Hawaii yet, I still hadn't met with my client, and the payday for this job promised to be worth a little discomfort.

  I finally made it to the top of the ridiculously long driveway, my eyes scanning the area surreptitiously from within the cashmere confines of my coat. I'd had the taxi drop me off a little ways down the street so I could do a bit of surveillance on my approach. Even in the gray, grim weather, there were at least eight guards spaced around the front of the house. One of them moved to intercept me, and I acted as if I hadn't seen him.

  “Hold on, Miss. This is private property.” The overly muscled man in combat pants held a gloved palm out to me in the traditional “stop” gesture. I saw the gun on his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. That was mistake number one. I was in the driveway already, which made me a threat.

  Bad guard, no biscuit.

  “I'm expected.” I could have announced myself right then, but I wanted to test Adam MacLaine's security team.

  That was my client, MacLaine–or he would be soon. If this guy was an accurate representation of MacLaine's security, it was a wonder the man wasn't dead already.

  “Do we have a guest arriving today?” Mr. Combat Pants asked a little microphone clipped to his shirt.

  He had to open his leather jacket to access the mic, giving me a flash of the knife he had secured to an inner pocket. Damn this guy was dumb. He even turned away from me to talk into his comm. Like he couldn't conceive of a woman being a threat. I could have killed him three times already. I suppose I should have berated him for his bad habits, but I hated doing other people's jobs. And it was definitely someone else's job to whip this guy into shape. The mere thought exhausted me. I do not suffer fools.

  “Name?”

  “What?” I asked, completely distracted by his ineptitude.

  And the spaghetti stain on his shirt. It was nearly invisible from a distance, but now that I was up close and personal, I could clearly see the crusty red mark on the black fabric. So, a fool and a slob. Definitely not the type of man I'd have chosen to protect me.

  “What's your name, Miss?” the slob asked.

  “Tanager,” I said, whispering to see if he would make the mistake of coming in closer to hear me.

  “What was that?” He sure did. He leaned in close enough for me to stab him in the throat.

  Of course I would never deign to dirty my hands in such a manner. My mother raised me better than that. I killed like a lady.

  “The name is Tanager,” I said more clearly. “And I'm cold.”

  Whoever was on the other side of the microphone heard me, and must have barked something into the muscle-head's ear. He flinched, then straightened.

  “Sorry, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered and gestured to the looming house. “My team wasn't notified. Go on in. Someone will meet you at the door.”

  “Thank you, Mr. . . ?” I drew it out into a question.

  “Uh, you can call me Jake, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered.

  “Thank you, Jake.” I walked off, striding quickly to the beckoning warmth of the open front door.

  A woman stood within the golden light of the doorway, her features as stern as her severe bun, and her eyes razor sharp. She nodded to me, and shut the door behind me after I entered.

  “May I take your coat, Ms Tanager?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I slid out of it and sighed.

  I
had worn my usual getup to greet clients–pencil skirt and modest blouse. But instead of heels, I'd chosen knee-high boots. It was just too cold outside to go without something covering my calves. The woman looked over my prim outfit, and nodded in approval. With my long, dark curls pinned up, I looked very professional.

  “I am Mrs. Chadwick,” the woman introduced herself as she hung up my coat. “Mr. MacLaine is waiting for you in his office. I'll take you there now.”

  I followed Mrs. Chadwick down a corridor much too wide to be called a hallway. It was lined with expensive artwork, and the sounds of our footsteps were muffled by a silk carpet runner that looked as if it had taken years to weave. It was nice, but I'd seen all of this before. Done better, to tell the truth. My clients were the wealthiest people in the world. They had to be in order to afford me.

  “Mr. MacLaine, she's here,” Mrs. Chadwick said as she walked through an open door.

  “Thank God,” a man's voice groaned.

  It was a pleasant voice, and it matched the office I entered. Not nearly as pretentious as the rest of the house, this room was more personal. It held framed family photos, an old chair that must have come from a time when MacLaine wasn't so wealthy, a wide desk made for function instead of form, and several sitting areas; one before the desk, one before a picture window to the right of the desk, and one in front of a modest fireplace. That's where MacLaine had been, at the fireplace enjoying its comfort instead of working at his desk. In the crowd I normally contracted with, that said a lot.

  Adam MacLaine was around forty, with a trim build that suggested he didn't spend all of his time making money. His oak-brown hair was lightly sprinkled with white at the temples, and his skin had a healthy tan, but not the sunbed tan so prevalent in Seattle. His skin had seen real sun. Blue eyes crinkled as he smiled in relief, and came to meet me halfway across the room, hand extended.