Hotter on the Edge

by Erin Kellison

  When he lifted his head, Benedetta laughed, her delight as bright as the glimmering crystal stirred in the air. Under his fingers, her crystal lines thrummed her pleasure.

  And his hands sang in answer.

  Benedetta's eyes widened. "Corso." She pushed him away with a grip on his wrists and turned his palms up. Traceries, even thinner than the lifelines, laced his skin in silver.

  "When the torque shattered, it cut you," she said. "I remember the blood on your hands when you picked the shards out of my knees. The qva'avaq must have entered your bloodstream, just as it does during a l'auraly keying ceremony."

  He fisted his hands and then splayed them again. The crystal glinted back at him. "I've been keyed? To you?"

  She glanced at him uncertainly. "You have to believe me, I've never heard of this. I didn't know this could happen."

  He studied his silver-laced palms another moment, then slowly closed his hand around hers and met her stricken gaze. "I didn't know this could happen either." He pulled her back into his arms. "You are mine, princess. But just as surely, I am yours."

  And he kissed her again—locking breath to breath and heart to heart—letting all the stars and all the worlds between fall around them.

  Epilogue

  Benedetta curled against Corso's chest as they sprawled in late-night abandon. Although any time was late night in space, and they had been testing the outer limits of desire since they'd threaded into the sheerways after leaving Qv'arratz.

  She trailed her fingers down his sweat-slicked chest toward his still-hard erection. He caught her hand with a groan and brought her palm to his lips for a kiss. She twisted in his grasp to echo the gesture, flicking her tongue along the faint silvery lines. His pleasure echoed in her crystal markings and she sighed.

  He groaned again. "You had years to learn to control this. Give me at least a few nights."

  "We have many nights." She blew a breath across the remnants of the key embedded in his skin.

  In one strong motion, he rolled her over. He centered himself at her delta. "Never mind. I'm ready for my next lesson."

  There was actually a few more lessons before they both surrendered to exhaustion.

  He kept his arm locked around her as they settled. "Did you have a chance to talk to the contacts for our next potential jobs?"

  She nodded. "Two sounded good, eager to know this Captain Deynah Corso of the Asphodel who is stopped by nothing. The third stuttered when he spoke of payment and could not meet my eyes despite numerous visual cues; he was obviously thinking to cheat you."

  "Doesn't he know the latest addition to my crew is practically a mind reader? How dare he?"

  "He won't dare again."

  Corso chuckled, and the amusement bounced between them, resonating partly in the crystal but also in their new shared purpose.

  Benedetta sighed as she tucked herself into the crook of his scarred shoulder. "I wish we'd been able to capture a raider alive. I would have liked to try my l'auraly tricks on one of them."

  "Finding out who was behind the plot would be easier with a confession," Corso agreed, "but Icere is doing what he can to piece together clues from the very small remnants."

  She peered up at him. "I almost forgot to tell you; Icere also decoded the last transmission Gallt sent to Rislla. It's blood money, and the Universalist Union can never trace it back since the operation wouldn't have been officially acknowledged. I had him transfer most to the Qv'arratz coffers. But you finally have your payment, as promised. We would not want the legend of the last l'auraly tarnished with accusations of oath breaking."

  "Definitely not, when you have promised yourself to me." Corso squeezed her. "It will be hard for Qv'arratz to rebuild on their own sweat and blood without the crystal. I hope they make the most of it. As for my payment..." His grip tightened another unyielding notch and he pressed his lips into her tumbled dark braids. "I will make the most of mine. But you are a felon, my mercenary princess, for you have stolen my heart from the stars."

  She raised herself on one elbow to trace the curve of his lip with a silvery fingertip. "Then kiss me, captain of my pleasure, and I will take you there again."

  The last l’auralyo finds his heart’s desire

  in HOTTER ON THE EDGE 2...

  Available now!

  PRINCE OF PASSION

  Jessa Slade

  When mercenary raiders targeted the empathic crystals that imbue the legendary l’auraly lovers with extraordinary sensual prowess, Icere, the last male l’auralyo, helped destroy the crystals. Rather than let the source of uninhibited pleasure be corrupted into a mind-controlling drug, he allowed his passionate destiny to remain forever unfulfilled. Now, Icere channels his fury into revenge. Tracking the raiders through the interstellar sheerways to a watery world infamous for its aphrodisiac liqueur, he finds a queen—as adrift and alone as he—forced for years into a fate she never desired.

  Saya-Rynn inherited duty, command and control from her cruel grandfather and fought to transform her dangerous planet into a paradise for her people—but the price was literally a poison that runs through her veins. Though she feels as ancient as the seas, she finds herself awash in the hot male potency of the young Icere. Still, she resists the chance for indulgence she thinks has passed by her. But when the raiders strike again, Rynn must embrace her troubled legacy, and Icere will find his place as a lover and a fighter. Together, the reluctant ruler and the deposed prince of passion find common purpose, combating the mysterious entity seeking to rule the sheerways, and claim a love as bright as the infinite stars.

  ***

  Rynn approved the last of the festival plans—everything under crunch deadlines with the early arrival of the spring storm season. She’d had no time to review the cruiseliner manifests, so she asked one of her assistants to run down details on the newly arrived Icere. While she welcomed outworld ideas along with outworld credits, she knew too well that outsiders could also bring trouble.

  If pretty Icere was nothing worse than the usual sycophant, making himself comfortable as a suckerfish around another world’s aristocracy, she could let that pass. If he was a threat to those she loved…

  Despite its swelled festival populace, the barge had quieted for the night when she left her office. Though her primary residence was on one of the central atolls, she enjoyed the time on the barge. It was large enough to rival some of the islands for square footage and was stable in all but the worst seas, but she sensed the subtle rocking of the waves beneath the plasteel and it soothed her as nothing else could.

  Nothing else…

  Her restless steps took her down one of the guest room corridors: one with the room assigned to the stranger. She should have asked her assistant to stay until Rynn had confirmed that this Icere was harmless. She wouldn’t be able to rest wondering if her son’s latest companion was anything besides what he’d shown the world.

  Not that he’d shown much, considering the high-necked tunic and mysterious gloves.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, she went to his room and knocked. It was late, she was being rude—even for a reigning monarch—but she didn’t care. She would see what he was when he wasn’t expecting to be attacked.

  “Yes?” His voice through the comm sounded sleepy.

  She entered the override code and the door slid open.

  He took a step back, blinking. “Saya. To what do I owe this…visit?”

  A quick glance showed her that the common area was empty. The bedroom and bath were enclosed separately, out of sight, but no other voice called out in curiosity. Still, she asked for confirmation, “You are alone?”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in a lazy smile, showing off that dimple again. “Not now that you are here.” He canted one hip against the door jamb.

  “Save it for my son.” She gathered the flowing lengths of her long, sleeveless vest-gown and walked past him.

  In the compact kitchen—the festival barge held open feasts at every meal,
so there was not much call for in-room options—she prepared two cups of teaweed. Behind her, she heard Icere slide the door closed and pad toward her.

  A soft robe of gray covered him from neck to ankles, revealing only his bare feet and a narrow V over his chest starting at the notch of his throat. She wondered if he’d been sleeping in the robe or if he’d pulled it on when she’d knocked. No, he had answered from the door comm, not the bedroom. He hadn’t been abed yet.

  Under the weight of her gaze, he eased the slight exposed gap of his robe tighter. The hint of nervousness made her stiffen. What was he trying to hide? He must know he had nothing she hadn’t seen.

  She was tempted to tell him to disrobe, if only to see what he would do. But she had not yet reached that age where perverted rudeness could be shellacked as eccentricity, much less wisdom.

  Although she had apparently not quite left behind the age where she wondered if that gray robe concealed an outworlder’s hairy chest or one smooth like her own people’s.

  She took a sip of her teaweed to cover her inexplicable tension and held the other cup out to him. “Most visitors find this less pungent than some of our more traditional brews. Non-stimulating, so it won’t keep you awake.”

  He raised one brow as if questioning the motivation for her gesture. “Thank you, Saya. I want to set myself to island time.” He took the thin-shelled cup but only cradled it in his wide palm.

  He was already taller than her son—and Luac was taller than she was—but she suspected this Icere had not quite finished growing into himself. Still, he handled the delicate cup with more assurance even than Kylara who’d spent her girlhood playing with the ridiculously breakable but common shells. Rynn had to admit, he was also more stunning than her lovely daughter, with his lissome body and unlined face. In a few more years, he would be devastating. She realized she was staring too pointedly and dropped her gaze to her beverage. She noted he had big feet too, which were said to indicate largeness in general.

  The wayward thought almost made her choke on her drink. And she’d just said teaweed wasn’t stimulating!

  She set the cup down with a clunk. Surprisingly, it didn’t shatter, but Icere’s expression turned wary. Most might not have noticed the slight tension at the corners of his mouth, the subtle flare of his nostrils, but most people didn’t spend their days balancing the weight of a world on their shoulders.

  Which made her wonder if Icere’s gray robe was padded to give him those broad shoulders. She suspected not.

  Her distraction annoyed her. “Why are you here?”

  “Ni-Saya-Luac invited me.”

  “Give me the courtesy of no stupid answers, and I will assume you are more than a pretty face.”

  His jaw tightened, and for an instant, she saw the shape of the man he would become. Devastating indeed.

  Get HOTTER ON THE EDGE 2

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  War is inevitable between the defenders of the Order and the mage Houses who threaten to engulf the world in Shadow. For Jack, mage-born Kaye is off limits, no matter how hot the impossible attraction between them. But in the coming darkness, beset by danger and desire, everything is about to change...

  PROLOGUE

  Kaye Brand hid behind a fat cement pillar in the cellar, unable to wrench her gaze from the man hanging slack from his wall-chained wrists. Fear lashed her in place while her brain raced to figure out what exactly she was seeing, and what it meant.

  The otherwise empty cellar was cold and musty, like old dirt, but with a sour body smell besides, which had to be coming from…him. Darkness seeped into the corners of the room, licking the walls, tendrils reaching for the chained man. And in the air, the hissing whispers of the fae from beyond, who watched everything that went on in the great Houses.

  She hid like a little kid, one eye peeking, even though she was fifteen and basically an adult. Even though part of her mind screamed for her to get back upstairs fast, lock the door, and pretend she’d never gone snooping in the first place.

  The groom’s gift is in the cellar, her dad had murmured to old lady Grey, who was just arriving at Brand House for the big event. He’d used his low voice, the one meant only for the ear he wanted, but Kaye knew she had to be listening to everything that went on today, and listening good.

  A groom’s gift? Kaye looked it up online, since her dad hadn’t bothered to fill her in, though it was her wedding, her groom. Turned out it was supposed to be a gift from her to her soon-to-be husband, Ferrol Grey. Like the marriage, her father had arranged the whole thing and left her out of it. It was medieval crap, but that’s what you got for being born a Brand with Shadow in your blood.

  Of course she had to check it out, though it took all her nerve to steal Dad’s keys and try each one in the cellar door’s lock. She didn’t quite know what he’d do to her if he caught her, which was what made her hands shake, but this was her wedding, her life. The more decisions she let go by, the more he would make for her.

  Not anymore.

  Kaye’s gift was on his knees, his arms strung out to the sides, manacles chaining him to the wall. The skin of his hands and forearms was riddled with black lines from the cuffs of his bonds, like poison leeching into his veins. His bare torso was flexed, muscle caught midripple. And his head hung forward, chin to his chest, as if he were that Greek god Atlas, the one with the world on his shoulders. Even though the cellar was dark, windowless, and otherwise empty, he was somehow lit by a soft glow that kept the reaching Shadows at bay. But not for long.

  The man, her gift, had been tortured.

  In her basement.

  For her wedding.

  The only thing she understood was that she’d better get upstairs, and fast. Her heart was pounding as if it had already taken off and had left the rest of her frozen behind, slick with sweat.

  Because, umm… Why was her father giving a tortured man to her soon-to-be husband… and from her? And why would her soon-to-be husband want him?

  The questions made her feel very small and stupid. And afraid.

  She had to figure out a way to say no, even if the big event was tomorrow. She’d practiced, but the little word wouldn’t come out whenever she faced her father.

  Maybe this chained guy was bad. Beautiful, but bad. He had to have done something wrong. Nobody messed with the Brands. And nobody even thought of messing with the Greys. That had to be it. The mage families never relied on human laws or authorities. Maybe this was some kind of justice. Medieval, like her arranged marriage. In which case, the prisoner probably deserved what he got.

  The chained man lifted his head.

  Oh sweet Shadow.

  Kaye’s world cracked open. She felt the change in a hot-cold shock wave over her body and gripped the cement pillar for support. Her life was over. Nothing good would ever happen to her, never ever, because she had never seen anyone so beautiful, and tomorrow she’d have to marry an old man.r />
  Kaye blinked hard to stop her tears.

  There was no way this man could be bad. Not him.

  He had features like a poet: mouth full, cheekbones high and sharp, forehead smooth, with hair falling in waves around his face. His eyes were honey brown, warm, soulful, and terribly sad as he looked at her. From within, he gleamed. He was perfect. And he was also broken, a scarlet smear of blood across his jaw.

  “You,” he said, voice rough, “shouldn’t be down here. It’s dangerous.”

  Kaye trembled behind her pillar. It felt so stupid to hide like a kid while wearing high heels. The only thing the shoes were good for was looking her father in the eye. (Not so good if she couldn’t get her no out, though.) But here, towering over the chained man, those extra four inches felt more like dress-up. Either she should stand up straight or run away.

  “Please,” the man begged, his tone clearing some. His head bobbed with the effort of looking up at her. “They will hurt you.”

  They’d do worse than that. They would cut her off from the outside. Cut her off absolutely this time, which would be just fine by her father and soon-to-be husband. She was a dud. She might have Shadow in her blood, but if she couldn’t call fire, she was suited for only one thing. Hence the marriage, for the good of the family. She’d been promised comforts. And the Grey name would protect her from the rest of magekind. But it wasn’t what she wanted.

  She had to say no. Tomorrow was coming. Tomorrow was just about here. But her dad would be so angry if he had to repay Mr. Grey for all the gifts and wedding expenses when she’d agreed to the thing in the first place.

  Kaye looked at the man hanging in front of her; maybe Dad was already paying Mr. Grey back. And since her name would be on the gift tag, maybe she was somehow paying too. The thought made something in her go dark and cold, like a spark turning to ash. What exactly and how much did they owe?