Her lips parted as she struggled for air. She heard herself gasping as she cried out, coming up short against the trunk of a tree. With lightning speed he was before her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her deeper into the maze.
“Stop this,” she cried, struggling in his arms—not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself and the need that was suddenly ruling her.
“I have spent so long just waiting—watching. You call to me, to the deep-seated hunger inside me. A hunger I would never allow to hurt you, but only wish to share with you.”
His words shocked her. The intimacy of them, the honesty made her still in his arms. Pressing her backward over his arm, she felt his solid, flexed muscles beneath her shoulders. His mouth was mere inches away from hers, and his eyes, those intense, mysterious eyes which were still black, held her steady.
He held her thus, bent over his arm, her breasts straining against her formfitting bodice, the mounds of which were in increasing danger of spilling out of her demure square neckline.
Chastity was aware of her body, of how it heated and yearned, her flesh swelling against her stays, the liquefying between her thighs, and all the while he continued to stare down into her upturned face, scrutinizing every inch of her. She wanted to say something, to act as though she were not a naive innocent, but she could not catch her breath or think clearly when she looked into his eyes.
His free hand came up to roam over the contours of her face before trailing down to her jaw. “Never fear me,” he whispered at last while tenderly stroking his finger along the pounding pulse at the base of her throat. She didn’t cry out as his fingertip glided down toward her décolletage, but swallowed hard.
His eyes seemed to glow even brighter as his gaze dropped to the wild fluttering in her throat, then lower to her breasts, which were now generously spilling out from her stays.
“The way in which the moon plays over your skin beckons me to explore. To touch. To taste.”
His fingertips lingered lightly over her pulse and she heard him growl, the sound of a jungle cat purring in satisfaction. His mouth lowered then stilled, and a cry, not of the jungle cat but that of savage beast, emanated from deep in his throat.
“There can be very great pleasure to be found in darkness. You needn’t fear it. But only embrace it.”
Closing her eyes, Chastity tilted her head back, savoring the heat coming from his mouth as it washed over her décolletage. She burned, breathless, waiting for something she could not name.
She didn’t understand, only knew that this feeling must not leave. She wanted it to consume her. Wanted to fall victim to him. She was not this person, this wanton. She was a virtue, but it seemed her virtue had abandoned her, leaving her as she truly was, a woman yearning to be seduced.
“Yes, yield to me. Let me come to you as I am. Embrace the darkness, the darkness in me, and let me take you…corrupt you…”
Breathing hard against Chastity’s milk-white throat, Thane endured the pain that pierced him. He was forcing her. It was forbidden. It would only deepen the curse, but by the goddess, he wanted her, wanted to take her without any thought or control and sink himself into her luscious body.
She whimpered, not out of fear, but of feminine arousal, and he decided that perhaps he could still make her want him. He couldn’t hide his little growl of victory as he brushed his lips along the full, throbbing vein that ran from her neck to the apex of her breast. Parting his lips, he breathed hotly against her. The mist that was part of him began to float over her, whispering softly, covering her until the little beads of moisture turned to a glistening rivulet of water that trickled between the valley of her generous breasts.
She squirmed in his arms, but it was not an attempt to be free of him. No, she wanted him, like a woman wanted a man. He could smell her arousal, the scent of passion wafting up from beneath her gown. He could smell the rich, heady nectar of her blood through her skin, which was sweetly anointed with the perfume of orange blossoms. Perfume as an aphrodisiac was a poor second, and no match for the power of a woman’s blood, heated by lust. But Chastity’s innocence mixed with her heavy perfume was as intoxicating as a pint of faery mead.
Staring down at the woman he held in his arms, Thane watched the rise and fall of her breasts. A perverse sense of need, inspired by his sin, made him desire to see his seed trickling between her luscious breasts. He wanted her marked, covered in his scent. Thane wanted her for his.
Wanting to taste her. Needing to rip away the contraption that caged her body from him, he lowered his head, inhaling her musky scent. Thane listened to the erotic cadence of her heart that beat urgently beneath her breast. He wanted to feel that rhythmic pulsing around his cock while he was buried deeply inside her, her virginal quim clamping and throbbing, surrounding his shaft, milking him dry.
He would stay there, just like that, savoring the feel of her body accepting him. He would raise himself above her, blotting out everything but him. She would see only him, above her. Feel only him, deep inside her. And then, when she was focused solely on him, their gazes locked, he would take her. Body and soul. Virtue to his sin.
Their nights would be spent in pleasure. In slow, languorous lovemaking, and frenzied fucking, in which he would feel her sweating against him. She would beg him to stop—only to plead with him to take her once more.
She was still as death in his arms, and he looked up from her overflowing bodice and into her eyes. Was she afraid? Terrified? Did she know what he wanted to do to her? Could she see into his mind, and watch his fantasy of her beneath him, her bottom in his hands, her hips arching to meet his thrust? Did she know how badly he wanted to watch her body open to him? How he wanted to take her to his court and mate with her as a Dark Fey should?
By the goddess, did she know what sort of monster he was? He was Lust. He fucked like an animal. He was insatiable. She could never, in her innocence, understand what he wanted to do to her, or have her do to him.
He should leave her, this innocent little lamb, yet she represented what he so desperately wanted. Something of his own. Not a possession or a thing. But his. His opposing virtue. The woman who was opposite to him in every way. The woman who could help free his court of its curse. The woman who might very well free him.
But the sin inside him was raging beneath his skin. His sin wanted to defile her. To take her now, while her large eyes were wide with wonder, and with her body smelling of desire. Lust wanted to fuck her. Thane wanted to… He didn’t know. Yes, he wanted to taste her, to feel her hot body surrounding his cock, but he wanted something else. Her to desire him. Him, the prince. The Dark Fey. He did not want her under Lust’s hypnotic guise.
“Chastity,” he whispered before brushing his mouth along the swell of her breast, tasting mist and the scent of woman on her flesh as he moved his mouth along her. “Let me taste you.”
She blinked up at him with her wide eyes and he saw the desire to be desired shining in them. Lowering his mouth to hers, he felt a jolt of excitement rush through his veins. Her lips were soft, pliant beneath his. He pressed another soft kiss to them, and this time he opened his mouth, allowing his heat to envelope her.
Hungrily he pressed up against her, encouraging her to part her lips for him, but she wouldn’t, or did not know how to allow him the intimacy. In growing frustration, he cupped her chin with both hands, slipping his tongue effortlessly between her lips. Boldly their tongues touched, stroking each other with increasing fierceness.
She was clutching him to her breasts and he could hear as well as feel her heart steadily beat faster and faster with each stroke of his tongue.
He was suddenly consumed with the need to see her and opened his eyes. Hers were closed, long lashes fluttering against pale, porcelain cheeks. Her fingers were in his hair, tangling and gripping as she purred and moaned and brushed her curved body against the length of his.
Lips parting, he fastened onto the supple flesh of her thro
at, began to suck, and she crumpled deeper into his arms, unable to stand. He sucked and laved, kissed, then blew hot, moist air over her wet flesh. His tongue and lips explored her throat until he was met with the lace barrier of her bodice, and then, he tore at the buttons, thrusting the bodice wide open until her décolletage was once more bared and he was scraping the tips of his teeth along her skin that was now warm and flushed pink.
The scent of her passion-infused blood was so strong it overtook all his senses. He could no longer hear, could no longer see because of the lust that was blinding him. He could only smell, and the scent only grew stronger until his own body was shrouded with her arousal.
Pushing her breasts up against his mouth, he alternated between kisses and licks, searching for the elusive nipple he knew he would find budded and erect beneath her stays. As he pulled her breasts free of the corset, she fell to her knees before him. When she looked up at him, he saw the ecstasy in her lovely eyes.
Lust like he had never known assailed him and he felt the animal within begin to stir again. He was no longer able to hide his glamour, and Chastity was now fully ensnared by the beauty of the fey. He didn’t want to entrance her or trap her. He wanted her to want him of her own free will. But her lush body and innocent mouth made him powerless against his sin. The fey with honor, with good intentions, was unable to sway Lust to give up his hold on Chastity Lennox.
Reaching for her hair, Thane pulled the pins free and shook out the long silky tresses that cascaded down to her waist. He studied her, thinking of her as an ancient pagan goddess with her heavy breasts bared and her head tossed back in an enchanting sexual display of femininity. This, he thought, as he palmed her breasts, was what he desired from his mate. This liberation to feel passion, to indulge in the needs of man and woman. One day, she would agree to come to him, to join him in his court, and there, they would be together, his intended mate. He would spend the night with her, awakening her in the dark with his kisses and the slow languid rhythm of his cock sliding inside her.
Chastity Lennox. His future mate. His virtue. His fantasy. He wanted her, regardless of the consequences.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as his fingers traced the rounded contour of her cheek. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he imagined what it would be like to have her on her knees, waiting for him to slip his cock between her lips.
Yes. Both the fey and Lust in him wanted her just like this, bare breasted with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips parting, waiting to pleasure him with her lush, innocent mouth.
“Beautiful Chastity,” he whispered reverently, allowing himself the forbidden image of her taking his length in her mouth. Her mouth would be hot. Wet. Infinitely exciting.
“Please.” The word was whispered so quietly, almost pleadingly. No, he wanted to reply, no, he couldn’t stop. But he tilted her chin up and saw the shame in her eyes. Any glimmer of passion and desire was now gone, leaving her staring up at him with such fear, like a lamb going to slaughter.
“Do not look upon me with such horror,” he whispered.
“Then leave me be.”
Stepping back, he released her. Abandoning her was the most difficult thing he had ever done. Being denied was so shocking, so foreign to him. He found himself off center. His fey glamour had not been subdued. His beauty, he knew, was undeniable, utterly compelling to humans, yet here was this young woman, in the first flush of arousal, denying him and her own sexual needs.
She blinked, the glaze in her eyes clearing as she looked around her surroundings with confusion, then horror. She cried out and covered her breasts with her hands. He didn’t want to see shame make her face pale. He didn’t want her to hide anything from him, least of all her body. A body that could make the most celebrated courtesan murderous with envy.
He could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind, the indignity her virtue would force her to feel.
“I…” She jumped up, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You have humiliated me, sir.”
“No,” he said, his voice harsh as he reached for her. “There is no shame in desire.”
“There is a very great indignity in animal lusts, my lord. And you, sir, are the worst sort of defiler.”
“Does my passion disgust you?” he asked as he captured an errant curl and ran his finger through it, “or is it your response to my lust that mortifies you?”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted on a silent word. The ugly creature inside him rose, gnashing its teeth, wanting retribution for her slight. His sin wanted to take her, to ravish her and show her shame, humiliation. And the Dark Fey… He wanted to lash out as well, his pride stinging at her hurtful, if not accurate, assessment of him.
He captured her, brought her up hard against him so that her bare breasts were pressed against his silk waistcoat. She gasped as a button rubbed against her nipple, pebbling it. “You feign innocence so well,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You act as though you’re offended, disgraced, ruined, but still your body heats for a touch. Your scent perfumes the air, and I would wager that if I were to search beneath the layers of lace, and innocent white linen of your petticoats, I would find your tight little cunt wet for me.”
She slapped him hard across his cheek. “Never.”
He smiled and allowed her to walk away, if only for a moment so he could collect what was left of his honorable intentions. “Have you thrown the gauntlet down, Lady Chastity?” he called after her.
“I will never submit to you,” she sneered as she righted her dress. Reaching for her, he brought her up against him, whispering hotly in her ear.
“You will do more than submit, I assure you. When I next have you, you’ll beg.”
FIVE
“WELL?”
“They have found them.”
The smash of a crystal goblet against the gold wall made the handful of pixie handmaidens hovering about the faery queen jump with fear.
“Leave us!” the queen snapped, further frightening the easily agitated pixies. Crom watched the servants file out of his mother’s salon. They knew as well as he did that it was never a good thing to invoke the ire of the queen. She was one of the most powerful fey in the world, and she did not suffer setbacks easily. Her thirst for the annihilation of the Unseelie Court kept her strong, focused and easily angered.
She whirled on him, the silver robe she wore over her long gown billowing out like a puff of smoke. Her beautiful features twisted into a mask of horror, anger and perhaps fear. “How can this be? How have the Dark Fey learned of the virtues?”
“I do not know. But I assure you, they have.”
“No,” she huffed as she paced the perimeter of the gilded room. “No, it is impossible. They could not have discovered that the mortal blood they need to end their curse is that of the virtues. That secret has been safe for two hundred years. I made it so,” she seethed. “It is my spell, my curse, and the virtues,” she scoffed, now in full-blown anger, “are my creation. Mine. Designed for use in my court. I control them. I use them. Not,” she huffed breathlessly from her tirade, “the Dark Fey.”
“Mother, calm yourself,” Crom suggested as he reached for the decanter of mead. Pulling the crystal out of his hand, she slammed the decanter back onto the table.
“I want answers, Crom. It is impossible that Niall, or any of the others, could have learned of the virtues and their importance in the curse.”
“Perhaps,” Crom murmured as his gaze followed her about the room, “you have a spy in your court.”
That stopped her cold. She glared over her shoulder, violet eyes glistening with malice. “There is no snitch here.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely. No one would dare defy my orders or betray their queen.”
“What of Viviana? She has escaped our court. Perhaps she is aiding your Unseelie son now.”
His mother stopped pacing, paused to look out the window and steadied herself, while pondering the thought. “She is a mortal, born a h
undred years ago. Of course, living in our court slows her aging, but once she leaves…” His mother turned to him, her violet gaze now steady and assured. “She’s been gone six months, which is three years in the mortal realm. If she’s still alive she’s an old woman, probably crippled and babbling away. But more likely she’s turned to ash and the wind has carried her far away.”
His mother was usually right, of course. But in this matter, she wasn’t thinking clearly or broadly enough. Viviana was the virtue of diligence. Persistence. She had been brought to the Seelie Court with the first seven virtues and mated to a fey who was domineering and harsh. She had not been treated like the other six virtues. No, Crom thought, remembering the painful cries of Viviana as her fey husband mated with her. No, if anyone had the will to see something through, it was her. If anyone had a reason to betray the queen and the court, it was Viviana.
“Absolutely not,” his mother murmured. “It is not Viviana. Besides, Sucellos had a firm hand on her. She was submissive and content at last with her lot in life.”
No, she hadn’t been. His mother was deluding herself if she truly believed it. Sucellos was the fey warrior who ruled over fertility and death. His magic was powerful and dark, and Viviana had feared him, the monster Sucellos was. Twisted by his power in the Seelie Court, and the darkness that seemed to simmer in him, Sucellos was cruel, depraved and commanding. Crom would bet his riches that Sucellos carried inside him the blood of a Dark Fey. A fact that Sucellos was scrupulous about keeping from the queen.
“If not Viviana,” he asked, “then who?”
“No one in my court,” she firmly replied. Crom flicked a piece of lint from his lace cuff and glanced at her. So blind, he thought wonderingly. When had it been that his mother’s desperation for justice had started to overshadow the well-being of her own court? She was consumed by the need to bring the Unseelie to their knees. To see them obliterated. Their destruction was her every waking thought, and no doubt, her nightly dream.
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