by Jana Downs
“I noticed,” Salvatore said dryly. He now knew things. Spells, enchantments, powers for which no modern practice had even named yet swirled in easily plucked regularity inside of Salvatore’s mind. The power was phenomenal. He’d taken to walking around shirtless because whenever he became agitated, his wings materialized on his back and he’d ripped the last three shirts he’d been given. They were huge suckers that, when they weren’t flared out behind him, lay against his skin in a two-dimensional pattern of iridescent scales that looked sewn into his flesh or somehow tattooed there from the tops of his shoulders to the bend of his knees. Luckily his pants were pretty traditionally fae and were loose enough to kick off at any moment. Those wings were just a symbol of the power that lay within him. His dragon heritage had given a nice twist to his transition.
“Soon you will be strong enough to go to the other side. You’ll just have to name a Consort to take with you. Don’t worry, my lord. Have a little patience and everything you desire will come to pass.” The sentence seemed layered to Salvatore, and he gave Mar a look. The other dark-haired fae smiled smugly. “Our King favors you.”
Salvatore snorted. “He could’ve fooled me. He’s avoided me like the plague.”
“He spends a lot of time on Earth,” Mar offered. They began to walk down the hallway toward the part of the wing he hadn’t wandered into yet. The library on this level had been phenomenal. “He has his job, and I think he gets lonely here. People tend to treat him as nothing but royalty when he’s around. Always on that impossibly high pedestal. He does what he wants, and no one ever corrects him. You challenge him in a way I’ve never seen before.” They had that in common, Salvatore thought. He’d often felt frustrated by being kept behind the glass cage of his heritage. “Though I don’t think loneliness is why he’s stayed away this time.”
“Why has he stayed away from his home, then?” Salvatore asked. His heart wanted an answer to the reason behind his hurtful absence.
“You know that answer already, even if you don’t admit it,” Mar said, stopping in front of two huge wooden doors that were inlaid with carvings of two trees, the same ones that Destin had tattooed on his arms. “He doesn’t trust himself around you. He’s scared that you’ll hurt him. Our King hasn’t had the best luck with Consorts.”
This was the first Salvatore was hearing of it. His ears perked up in interest. “Oh?”
Mar nodded. “Yes. His last consort, Terren, was a human that he brought over from Earth. They were lovers on the other side, and the King decided to take things to the next level and make him into his Consort. He gave full disclosure to the human, but Terren didn’t understand the true level of commitment that would be required of him. He grew to resent the King for keeping him here. The palace is a lovely cage but still a cage nonetheless. He resented everything the King did. He hated having guards around, was disgusted by the way the courtiers acted, and basically walled himself in their room for weeks on end. Most of the Court never saw him.
“Our King thought that maybe he wanted more out of their relationship than he could give him, so he allowed Terren to sleep with other members of our Court. It kept the discontented human happy for a time, but our sex was like a drug to him. Our King didn’t realize that he was just giving him an escape.
“Eventually things came to a head, and Terren tried to kill himself. Death is very uncommon and unwanted among our kind, so your Destiny didn’t know what to do. Terren had never loved him and never would love him, so he did the kindest thing he could think of. He sent him back to Earth with a new kind of immortality and no memory of his time in Underhill so the craving for fae sex magick wouldn’t cripple him. The King was heartbroken, but he never really let us see it.
“So you see.” He turned toward Salvatore with a sad smile. “He’s terrified of you because to give someone your heart is to give them power over you. Fae are emotional creatures, especially those of the Summer Court, and he wouldn’t be able to separate simple sex and pleasure from love. He would love you absolutely and give you his loyalty exclusively. You and he are on the same page in that regard.”
Salvatore nodded. “I told him when I met him that I was a one-person sort of man, and I am. Despite these past few weeks, I want just Destin. The hunger never fades for him.” He felt like he needed to explain even though it was impossible to do so. “I am not normally so free with myself, and I—”
Mar held up a hand to silence him. “I’ve been the King’s advisor for a long time, Salvatore. I’ve seen a lot of people go through transition during that period. None of them have done as well as you. Fae aren’t naturally monogamous creatures. You and the King are unique in that. That is why myself and others believe that you are his Destiny.”
The Demon Prince chuckled. “That’s what I call him.” He looked once again at the door and stroked the carved surface. “What’s this door anyways?”
“It’s the King’s private bedchambers.” Mar knocked twice, and the gigantic doors swung open on their own accord. “Go on in. Destin should be arriving back today, so it’ll be your last chance to explore it on your own. I’ll wait out here. Go on. I know you’re dying to see his things.” And he was.
He couldn’t help it. This room represented Destin’s inner workings to Salvatore. He’d learned that they were a lot alike over the past few months, and if they were anything alike he knew that his bedroom would be his sanctuary. Maybe it would provide the key to the Fae King’s heart. Whenever Destin had been in the palace, he’d studiously avoided being alone or near Salvatore. The Demon Prince wasn’t stupid. He knew a part of Destin was absolutely terrified of him, but he wanted the chance to show him that he meant what he said. He wanted to cherish the other man like no other had done before.
He glanced once more at Mar and then strode through the door. The heavy wood closed behind him, leaving him to his own devices in the King’s bedchambers. The people of the Summer Court were very open about themselves, so it wasn’t that unusual that Mar would offer to show him the inner sanctuary of someone. They had very little violence in Underhill. Even the warriors saved their fighting for arenas, entertainments, and the occasional defensive move when they were struck by outside forces. As far as Salvatore could guess, the shadows were the only truly malevolent creatures that existed here.
The King’s bedchamber surprised him. Unlike Salvatore’s room, which had bright colors and elegant fixings, Destin’s room looked like something out of a punk rock magazine. The room was a study of blacks and neons, black being the predominant color. He had a swank neon-green carpet over dark, almost black, hardwood which ran underneath and around a huge industrial-looking bed with black, twisted posts which looked like mangled tree branches. Instead of soft linen for a canopy, chains of silver hung like curtains around the bed itself. The tops of each post were graced with fierce-looking gargoyles with rubies for eyes. From where he stood he could see a pitch-black comforter pinstriped with pink, green, and blue neon stripes. Salvatore almost smiled at that. Destin was a being of nature yet he reveled in the punk industrial scene. His piercings should’ve clued him in on that, but he had expected a restraint of those things here in a Fae Kingdom. It screamed defiance, and Salvatore found that oddly appealing.
Off to one side were two large wardrobes which housed all his clothes. One was what Salvatore had seen him sporting Earth side, black clothes, fishnets, chains. Everything a Goth kid would’ve drooled over. The other was obviously what he wore around the palace and to Court. The clothes were the same soft, thin material that Salvatore had become familiar with as the haute fashion in Underhill. They were all rich colors and seemed oddly foreign in the space. In that wardrobe also hung a variety of circlets and crowns which were housed on the back of the door like ties in a businessman’s bedroom. Those two objects seemed to sum up his soon-to-be lover nicely. Destiny was both the responsible king and the rogue, the ruler and the punk, the authority and the antiauthority all rolled into one. The Summer Darkness. It was sexy as
hell.
He tried to look at the rest of the room with the band posters and the other plethora of punk imagery, but he kept being drawn again and again to the bed at the center. He wanted to feel the comforter that Destin slept on, inhale his scent on the sheets. In an effort to distract himself from the encouragement of his other self telling him that it was his right to do so, he opened the bedside dresser right outside the chain curtains.
He blinked. What the hell? It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He took out several tattoo and punk magazines that he’d never seen before. A naked man on the cover of one gave the camera a cocky fuck-me smirk while one hand cupped an impressive erection. His hair was done up in a Mohawk that had as many colors as the rainbow, and his tight body played homage to Japanese artistry in the tattoos he was sporting. His nipples shone from the barbells that were shoved through and an odd-looking piercing ran down the center of his chest down his stomach and stopped just above his arousal. It looked like the back of a corset to Salvatore. The half loops were strung with what looked like red-and-black satin ribbon and crisscrossed his body before ending in a neat bow just above his cock. He looked like a present.
If this was what Destin was wanting, Salvatore was sorely lacking. He was the picture of courtly elegance and always had been. He’d fit so well into his role of Prince that he’d never even had the inclination to try to cut his hair. He was a Prince. As the Prince he had a right to have it long. So he kept it that way. He’d certainly never dyed it. And piercings? Why? It had never occurred to him.
He bit his bottom lip. Shit. I can’t exactly match up to his fantasies, can I? He looked down at his beautiful body in disgust. He fit in fine with the courtiers. They all loved him to death, but Destin wasn’t like them. He liked men edgy, apparently. Salvatore didn’t know how to do edgy. He growled in frustration and resisted the urge to shred the magazines for the crime of having something Destin wanted that he didn’t have.
Instead, he tossed them on the bed and started rummaging through the drawer again. Buried at the bottom under another set of magazines was a thick, leather-bound journal. His Ravyn, Germany, had one similar that he wrote down his thoughts and private musings in. Salvatore hesitated. It felt like an invasion of privacy to be rifling through another man’s private journal but…dammit, Destin didn’t want a gentleman, did he? He wanted an edgy guy like in his porn rags. Edgy guys didn’t give a shit about being gentlemen. He defiantly took out the journal and flipped to a random page and began to skim the neat scrawl that his Destiny had penned.
I met someone tonight. He’s new to the club and is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I don’t think he’s human, but the way he looked at me made me shiver. I know better, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said when I asked him if he was going to do body shots like his friend. He told me that he didn’t want another’s hands on his body. He just wanted the touch of one person in particular. It sounded like it was directed at me. I know that’s stupid, but I nearly melted right then and there.
Salvatore flipped to another page. Whoever this guy was that he was talking about was making him jealous as hell.
Lord and Lady, why can’t I get any relief? Every time he walks in I could be an actor for a Viagra commercial. I about cream myself when he speaks to me. Always so damn nice and polite to me. Always checks me out but isn’t a dick about his attentions. I bent over the bar tonight to hand someone something and caught him looking at my ass. He blushed so cutely when our eyes met. There was fire in his eyes though. He wanted to bend me over that bar and fuck me. I can’t believe I’m writing this but, if he would’ve asked, I might have let him.
Who the fuck was this guy? Salvatore thought angrily. He flipped to another page.
I’m so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid that I need to have my head examined by a human shrink. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve got a hard-on for the guy that is hard enough to hold up the damn San Francisco bridge. He’s totally wrong for me and totally off-limits. There is something about him I can’t put my finger on though. Everyone seems to be watching out for him, and he’s from the Earth realm. I want him so damn bad.
The worst part is he’s a really great guy. We get along wonderfully. Since he comes to the bar a lot, we talk. We’ve talked about interests and movies and everything else under the sun. Even if my dick didn’t stand up to salute every time the guy came into the room, I would want to be his friend. But I can’t even do that. I’d beg him to fuck me if we tried. Fucking beg. I’m so fucking stupid. I just need to stay away from him.
He skimmed ahead again several pages. It was closer to the end of the entries.
Damn you, Salvatore. I can’t get you out of my head.
The demon’s heart tripped over itself at the sentence. Destin switched to talking to his journal again.
He made me watch as he fucked a dozen of my courtiers during transition. His eyes never left me. Not once. He wanted me under him, and it drove me crazy. I can’t tell you how many times I came just by watching him. He’s strong. So much stronger than he should be. He’s everything I want and nothing I can have. He’ll resent the cage I put him in if I do. From what I can gather about the new instincts he’s sporting, his dragon heritage is out and about and strong as hell. When a dragon wants you, you might as well give up the fight. Once you’re considered theirs, the fight is all over. I’m his King, so maybe I can avoid him but not forever. Maybe he’ll forget me, but the way he snarled at me when I tried to leave tells me otherwise. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
I dreamed about his cock inside me all night. I woke up and finger-fucked myself trying to get some relief. Nothing works. I just want him. A couple kisses and a grope shouldn’t enslave me like this. I want him in a way that I never wanted Terren. I’m so scared and pissed. Damn Salvatore for making me feel this way.
The last entry was marked for two weeks ago, the night Destiny had left to go back to the Earth realm.
I can’t stay here and watch him with others and not be able to go to him. It’s killing me. I ache to go to him every second of every day and to hear the courtiers talk about his stamina and vigor is a more than I can handle. I want him claiming my ass. I want him marking my insides with his seed. I want to sport his name as a tattoo across my throat and brand that fine ass of his to show the whole world that he’s mine.
But he’s not.
He’s not mine at all.
Fuck my life.
Salvatore shut the book and exhaled loudly. Damn that was hot. Destiny did want him. He was fighting it though. Salvatore was going to have to do something desperate to get his beloved into his bed and into his life on a permanent basis.
He looked inward for a solution. So it was his dragon side that had been awakened by the fae magick? Interesting. He had wondered where all the power had come from. It was dormant no longer. Forget potential, he had actual kinetic energy in spades. Maybe that side of him would have a better idea on how to handle one very stubborn Faery King. He looked to the dragon inside him and posed the question. How do we get our mate where he needs to be?
He felt his other self grin, and he returned it. Oh. This was going to be interesting.
Chapter Eight
Destin was tired from his double shift at Daylight and more than ready for a nap, but duty called. He’d arrived back in Underhill just in time for Court to be held, and since he was King, it was his duty to attend. He changed out of his black pants with suspenders hanging off the back and his tight fishnet shirt into his Court attire. His courtiers wouldn’t have cared if he’d dressed like the punk rock guy he was, but it felt disrespectful to come in wearing the clothes that said he didn’t give a shit. So he changed into a loose-fitting pair of brown pants and a cream shirt, vest left open. He even put on his simple platinum circlet.
He wondered what Salvatore was doing. He probably didn’t have enough control yet to wander about the palace, so he, Mar, and possibly Quis would most likely not be in Cou
rt. A bolt of jealousy threatened to make him stalk down to Salvatore’s room and kick the other men out of there so that he could have his way with him. Jealousy wasn’t something he was used to feeling. He’d never felt like this with Terren. When Terren had been unhappy, Destin had been more than willing and eager to allow him to be with his courtiers if it gave him comfort. With Salvatore, he didn’t want anyone else to even be looking at the man.
Logically, he knew it was because he himself had been barred from Salvatore’s bed of his own volition, but that wasn’t something his instincts gave a rat’s ass about. He wanted to be the one to feed Salvatore. He wanted to sleep beside him and pillow talk afterward.
Here we go again. He snapped at himself in frustration. I haven’t been back five minutes, and I’m already thinking of Salvatore. Great. Court is going to last forever at this rate. He sighed loudly. He really should go check on him afterward, though. Make sure he didn’t need anything else. Maybe talk to him for a bit if he was coherent enough to do so. Going through the transition could be a rough process, and since they were already sort of friends, Destin felt obligated to go to him. At least that was the tremendously large fib that he was telling himself. He nodded at his brilliance anyway. Maybe he’d watch Salvatore again and go take care of his own need in the process. Jerking off was not as fun, but when he was in the same room as Salvatore, it at least gave him marginal relief. His day was suddenly much brighter.
He made a final adjustment to his outfit and strode out of his bedroom and down the hall to the Upper Court. It was the Court of his nobles. It was a smaller gathering of people than the General Court that he held every other week, so he knew almost all of his courtiers by name. Heck, he’d grown up with most of them or at least been young enough to have socialized with them before he became King. His mother’s Court had been stationed in the Deep South then. Georgia. He’d loved it when he was younger and was really disappointed to see her move it north into Canada after the Civil War. He’d been a young buck then, just old enough by fae standards to raise some hell, and the love of Georgia had never really left him after he’d sewn his oats and moved on to Underhill. It was one of the reasons he retained his mint-julep southern drawl.