Victoria Cage Necromancer BoxSet

by Eli Constant

  “That was… probably a smart move,” I addressed the nightgown instead of the man, heat slipping into my cheeks. “It’s lovely though, thank you. Erhm,” I look about the room, “where can I change?”

  “Behind that door there,” Liam points behind me, angled to the left of the nightstand. At first, I don’t see the door. It is a near-perfect match to the surrounding wall. The door knob is the only proof it exists. I open it, finding a bathroom that is a distinct contradiction to the room behind me. It’s modern, with white marble veined with gold seeming to cover every surface save for the ceiling which glimmers with its own metallic sheen.

  “This is unexpected.”

  “A man needs a few luxuries,” he smiles slightly and then turns away from me. “I’m going to check on our beastly friend.”

  “You’re leaving?” Unearned fear coils in my stomach. I know I’m safe here, hidden from the world outside.

  “Only for a little while,” his smooth-as-good-coffee voice says quietly. “You needn’t be afraid, either for your wellbeing or my own.”

  I watch him leave, disappearing into that particulate portal. He loves me, yet he’s risking himself to check on the man I’m dating. I don’t know how that makes me feel.

  Chapter Nine

  I change into the nightgown and brush my hair with a comb Liam has perched on his sink. It’s black, with sharp tines, and it yanks at my hair a little. I glance at the large corner bathtub, debating filling it and soaking in hot water. It would be an easy thing to take the nightgown back off, but, no.

  Kyle is roaming about, a dangerous animal, and my… my fairy is out in the dark trying to make sure my boyfriend is okay. There’s so much wrong about those things.

  When I leave the bathroom, I can’t bring myself to go straight to the bed, though I’m sleepier than I’ve been in a very long time. Instead, I go over to the stacks of books, with their muted colors and pages turning tan with age. I pick up a small dark brown volume, its insides wrinkled like it’s a wizened old man seen too much time in the world. I suspect it’s been exposed to the damp at some point, but the picture of the elder with a long beard and keen eyes is too enamoring to trade for simple, fantasy-void reality.

  Settling into one of the chairs by the fire, I’m soon warm to my bones. The flame heat licks out at my toes like a playful cat. With the warmth comes the drooping of eyes. And the unread volume falls into my lap as my hands go limp. I didn’t even read the title, and the book deserved at least that much. Books always do.

  I sink into pleasantness at first, my head empty of hard thoughts, floating about in a paradise of semi-wakefulness. Then I sink further into that oft-not-restful abyss of subconscious thoughts that needs a door opened to work its way into our awareness.

  Braeden, that bastard brother of mine, is stood next to a pillar of light. A… pillar of light with a stream of waxen gold hair floating about it, carried on magical winds. Oran. I am seeing The Prince of Light, as my mind has constructed him, though I cannot imagine him as anything else in this moment. He is brightness next to Braeden’s oppressive black. The golden calls to me, as fiercely as my half-brother’s obsidian repels me.

  I’m not fully immersed in the dream. If I were, I would be able to move and operate, to affect what is going on around me. I have always been a lucid dreamer, I wonder now if that is due in some part to my gifts.

  Moments pass, Braeden and Oran standing still like two sides of a coin or a promise and a threat forever at odds.

  And then I feel the change in me that signals that I might stand and move and interact. It comes on like a rush of wind, not unlike being passed through by an apparition.

  Part of me wants to rush away from the two men in front of me, but I cannot. There is something here that my brain wants me to process. Some feeling that I’ve not yet come to terms with in reality. As I come closer to the pillar of light, features begin to form. A strong nose with a mild hook on the end. A large forehead giving way to the nearly-white hair. Lavender eyes that hold understanding that no human could.

  The light swirls into a twister. Braeden has reached out and touched it, letting a tiny morsel of the tar in him cling to the pure brightness. “Stop,” I say forcefully, reaching out and shoving my half-brother’s hand down from the prince. “Stop, you’ll ruin him.” I don’t know why I say these particular words. How can one prince ruin another simply with a touch?

  But he has, somehow. The pillar of light is slightly shadowed, a thread of oil tracing through the once-unmarred material of Oran.

  “You want to ruin everything, don’t you?” I ask my brother, who is grinning maliciously. I knew this though; it is no revelation to me. “But… you can’t. Can you? You can only touch the surface. You can only meddle. Who holds your strings, brother?”

  He says nothing in response. I move around the duo of royalty to see what is lurking in the further reaches of this dream. Strings of dark material, undulating like airborne slime, reach from Braeden’s back and towards a figure of obscure fog. Hands weave through the air and I see the movements are mimicked in my brother the puppet.

  My brother the puppet. I think back, to the times he has tried to hurt me. Hurt, but not killed. Because… he can’t kill me. Can he? He’s not allowed to kill me. But who controls Braeden?

  The Dark Court King.

  The thought rushes at me like a python ready to strike. I fall back as the figure of fog, the puppet master, also launches forward. His face comes into full relief. Fiercely handsome, but aged around the edges. A shock of black hair over a face with no brows. A nose that is malformed, twisted to the right until the tip of it nearly grazes his cheek. I can feel evil pushing off of his body in sickening waves. Acid hanging in the air.

  “Little one. Blood Queen. Distant kin of my kin. The Dark Court calls.” He hisses out the last. “The Dark Court wants.” A serpent’s tongue flicks out from between his cracked lips.

  “Well you can’t fucking have,” I spat out, stumbling backwards. “If memory serves, it’s the Light Court’s privilege this time-around.” I could feel a thousand feminists reeling in their graves as I copped to the fact that I was an item to be tossed back and forth between ruling kingdoms.

  The Dark King smiled, his ghostly fog lips curving up in a sinister expression. “We shall see. It has been hundredssssssssssssss of yearssssssssssssss since a blood heir has risennnnnnnnn. It is time for the olde games to decide your fateeeeeeeeeee, little one. Kin of my kin.” His hands reach out for me. Though I do not think his see-through appendages could touch me, I still flinch. And I hate that I flinched. “Do not fear me,” the hissing voice of my… what was he? The father of my half-brother, no relation to me. The lover of my mother, who is dead. “I see the thoughts in your mind. The worry that my son the prince will take you for his own. He cannot. If the Dark Court has you, it will have you in full flesh and full rite. It will have you as the Queen in truth to our black blood.” His hand is hovering over my cheek. One finger extends further and touches my skin.

  I do not think I will feel it, but I do.

  It is like being touched by a bird’s feather, so soft and unassuming. The lightest fluttering, the lightest breeze. Gentleness from an animal.

  Roaring. The animal is roaring.

  But it is not the Dark King’s sound. It is not his animal to call.

  That sound is my beast, of fur and fury. Kyle.

  Thinking his name turns my body and my mind away from the dreamscape King and Princes. It sends me running through the undefined borders of my dreaming.

  “Kyle!” I scream. “Kyle, I’m here! You’re okay!”

  Running. I’m running and going nowhere. Running so hard that my heart pounds and my chest heaves. I think it will burst, bringing forth an alien of my own making.

  Wake up. A comforting, familiar voice sews through my psyche, pulled by a needle, threading me together once more. Wake up, my Queen. Your bear is fine. Kyle is fine.

  Fluttering eyelids greet dim pal
eness.

  The glowing of starlight strands heralds the presence of my elf in all his elven glory. He pushes through the gloom of my illusions, yanks me back to the reality of being curled up in a chair near a fire, of a book resting unread against my lap, of security within this hidden home.

  “Liam,” I breathe out, shuffling in the seat and making the book fall with a dull thud to the floor. “Did you see that?” My heart is calming, slowing down to a range of normalcy. “My dream… did you see that?”

  He nodded slowly, his face grim. “I saw the end, Victoria. I knew you were on Braeden’s radar. He schemes like a child envious of another child’s toys. If the Dark King has plans, however, that is infinitely more serious.”

  I shake my head, because it wasn’t real. I don’t understand why Liam is acting like it was real.

  “But it was just a dream, right? Something my stupid psyche cooked up to set me on edge.” Standing, my gait feels uneven. I look down, finding the poor misused book beneath my bare foot. I rescue it, gripping the volume between my fingers, turning it over, finally reading the title. Embracing Darkness. I laugh nervously. “Power of suggestion maybe?” I lift the tome in my hands and point at the title. “I’m just a suggestive personality I guess. Impressionable till the end.”

  “Right. That must be it,” Liam says, taking the volume from me and giving it a curious glance. He doesn’t say why though, why this particular book piques his interest. I can tell by his voice that he thinks my reasoning is wrong. I didn’t dream what I had merely because of a personality flaw. Somehow, I’ve been touched by the Dark Court. Its mark lives inside of me. Its king wants me. And I’d thought only the Light Court was after my body, my power, my supposed title. “Come, you need to rest.”

  Liam takes my hand and leads me towards the bed. “You said Kyle was fine… in my dream, I heard you. How do you know he’s fine? Did you see him?” I turn away from the bed to face my fairy. He smiles yet again, this time soft and sad.

  “Your precious bear is curled up asleep just outside these walls. He is protected, shielded from sight. I’m sure he’ll be returned to his human self by morning.”

  I sigh in relief. “Thank you, Liam. Thank you for making sure he’s okay.”

  “Anything for my Queen,” he murmurs, that weight to his words that speaks of things he cannot admit or… rather, will not admit again. Perhaps he is tired of hearing my rejections.

  He pulls back the blanket and I slide between the silky sheets like I’m at a luxury spa. One night only. Rustic. Lovely. Relaxing. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I feel the heaviness of exhaustion pull my body towards sleep once more. Before I nod off, I think of something the Dark King said in my dream, something that sounded important. Though it couldn’t have been.

  My dream was nothing more than a concoction of imagination. Still though…

  “Liam,” I yawn out, my mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape before I can finish my question, “what are the ‘olde games’?”

  He’d just turned from me, heading towards the pillars of books, no doubt to replace the tome I’d pilfered. “How do you know that? Where did you hear of those?”

  “In my dream,” I say quietly, sleepily, my vision too fogged to find him in the room now. The room is a moving sea of unfocused objects. Matter floating about the space without confinement. No bodies. No wooden shells.

  “Worry not over this now,” his voice sails to me on that ocean of unrest. “Sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.” Even my exhausted mind caught the heady worry in his words. Yet, I am simply too tired to latch onto them and pry. My mind wants the numbness of la-la land. I cannot fight.

  ***

  In the morning, I dress and Liam leads me out of his hideaway dwelling. Steps from the exit portal, there is a glimmering in the air, a haze of slight purple. When we reach it, Liam lifts his hands and speaks a few soft words in what I assume is Elvish, or whatever his native tongue is called.

  When the barrier is lifted, we find Kyle naked and human, curled up into a ball against the chill of the weather. Spring is like that. You still need a light sweater in the early mornings and late evenings, whilst the afternoons soon find their ways into the eighties and nineties.

  “Kyle, wake up.” I kneel on the ground and nudge him gently. He stirs immediately.

  “Tori?” He rolls over, blinking against the early morning light filtering through the forest canopy above. Birds are singing, and I’m in the middle of the woods with a naked shifter and a fairy who seems impervious to the cool breeze. Kyle, who’s a grower and not a shower, isn’t quite so immune to the chilliness.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “God, Tori. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop it last night. I couldn’t control the shift.”

  “It’s okay, Kyle. This is still so new. You’re going to get the hang of this. I promise. We’ll do whatever it takes.” I look up at Liam for confirmation. He gives the slightest nod and I frown at him. Thanks for looking so confident there, Liam. Hope you didn’t strain your face there, buddy.

  I spent most of the night checking on your precious Berserker. Do not ask me to do more than I am capable of, Victoria.

  And giving him a nod and a smile is so damn hard?

  This time, Liam does not respond. His mental voice falls as silent as his actual one. And his expression does not change. It’s as if leaving the sanctity of his abode has soured his mood. Why? Because he is faced, once again, with my relationship with Kyle. And that’s just not something I’ve got time to deal with right now.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Tori. If it comes down to me beasting out on you and putting you in danger, I’ll leave. I won’t take that chance.” He stands up awkwardly, unsure on his legs. He holds a thick tree for support.

  “It’s not going to come to that, Kyle.” I wrap my arm around his waist. His skin is so cold. I hope he spent most of the night in bear form. He must have, otherwise he could have gotten hypothermia or something. It must have been... in the thirties last night? Maybe that’s not cold enough to cause hypothermia. God, I don’t know. I just hate that there are so many uncertainties in my life. So Kyle can’t be one of them. He’s going to get the hang of his animal, and we’re going to be perfectly fine, dammit. Because I love him. And I need at least one person that I love to be fine for freaking ever.

  I bite my lower lip and then look at Liam again, even though I really don’t want to give him the time of day, let alone ask a favor. “I don’t suppose you’d get a blanket we could wrap around him?”

  He stares back at me, saying nothing. Fine, be a jerk, Liam. See if that helps you win anyone over.

  I turn to Kyle, giving him a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you home. Well, at least to my place. You’ve got clothes there. Probably best if we don’t drive you naked to your actual home.”

  “You are home, Tori. Wherever you are. Take me there.” He kissed me on the forehead as we started moving, his hand going around my shoulders and his fingers tangling in my long hair. His larger body around me, settling in for support as we walked, did feel like home.

  More than anything else had in a long time.

  I’d always said I was a one-man woman. It didn’t matter what I felt for Liam, the feelings he flared in me. I wouldn’t act on them. I could promise myself that.

  Of course… can you be a one-man woman when your man is part bear?

  And does the guy tempting you count if he’s a fairy?

  Moral monogamy shouldn’t be so difficult.

  Chapter Ten

  My legs are aching and Kyle is breathing like a race horse who’s just run a five mile without pause. And it takes us ages to make it back to the Victorian’s yard. At one point, Liam falls back. I don’t bother to see if he’s left us, or if he’s just sulking.

  “God, my side hurts,” he gasps out a little, his right hand crossing over his body and touching the opposite side. I’m on his right, my arm threaded beneath his and over his shoulder, trying to support hi
m—though I feel I’m doing very little to help.

  “We’re almost there, and then you can collapse your gorgeousness onto my sofa and not move for days.” I coax Kyle along.

  “Sounds tempting. I’d rather the bed though.” He halfheartedly winks at me.

  “Don’t push it, Bear Boy. You can hardly stand. Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Liam grumbles lowly, sarcasm playing around the edges of his voice. He comes into view, having appeared from wherever. I quirk an eyebrow when I see he’s carrying a large bedspread that seems to be made of fur. He moves to the other side of Kyle and bends down enough to wrap his arms around his back and his knees, making sure the blanket is a furry barrier. They’re both tall men, but Kyle must outweigh Liam by near a hundred pounds. He’s just a larger build.

  I think Kyle is too surprised to say anything. Though his expression is about as uncomfortable a one as I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face… like ever.

  Liam hoists him into the air like he’s a feather pillow and begins trudging towards the house. I stand in mute surprise for a few moments, before giving a cock-eyed smirk at the sight of my one wannabe beau carrying my actual beau. It’s… something out of a MM romance film. Yeah, I’d watch that.

  The side door of the Victorian is still closed and locked, and I don’t have my keys. So we make our way to the front porch. It’s early enough that Dean won’t have arrived to find the business open and exposed. Liam waltzes right in. Kyle is tall enough that he’s able to peek over Liam’s shoulder. His face is unhappy. And I can’t really blame him. It’s got to be a little emasculating to be carried by the guy who’s pining after your woman. Oh. God. Your woman. That sounds so possessive…

  "You can put me down now," Kyle says gruffly. "I'm fairly sure I can manage getting to Tori's bed on my own from here."