Daughter of the Dark Moon: Book 3 of the Twin Moons Saga

by Holly Bargo

  “Why do you think I do it?” he retorted with a low chuckle. “You looked so lovely tonight. I hated all those lustful gazes upon you.”

  She huffed a soft breath. “You’re the one who insists on displaying practically my entire chest.”

  “They need to see the mating mark in its full glory. They need to know you are claimed. You are mine.”

  “The nonhuman males have no interest in me,” she observed. “It’s almost as if the … collar … repels them.”

  He nodded and ran light kisses along the top of her other shoulder. “As it should. But it does not work that way on human males.”

  Her head rolled aside to bare her flesh to him. “Men allow themselves to be governed by honor, not necessarily instinct.”

  “Or not.”

  “Or not,” she agreed, her voice catching as Uberon’s hand skillfully manipulated the now aching flesh of her breasts. She arched her back to press her breasts more fully into his touch. She squirmed as liquid heat blossomed between her thighs. “Uberon, I need you.”

  He smiled against her skin, pleased and satisfied with her reaction to his touch.

  “You shall have me,” he vowed, his voice guttural with need. Their clothes vanished at his thought and he scooped her into his arms. She squealed when he dropped her on the bed and gasped when he pounced, caging her beneath him. His eyes glowed, bright, hot, molten. He crushed his mouth to hers and roughly shoved her legs apart. The blatant admiration of their guests had aggravated his animal desire to protect and possess his mate. Now, alone in the privacy of their quarters, he could not resist the imperative to claim her yet again and make sure she knew to whom she belonged.

  “I cannot be gentle,” he warned her, the words thick and rasping.

  Corinne’s green eyes darkened and she lifted her hips, notching the head of his erection between her already wet and swollen folds. With a little growl of her own, she impaled himself upon him, making Uberon gasp at the sudden aggression and her claiming of him. An answering growl erupted from his chest and he took command of their coupling, pounding into her with a fierce intensity that held neither tenderness nor gentleness.

  When morning broke, Corinne stretched and grimaced at the unexpected tenderness of her well-used body. She could not repress the indulgent smile that stretched across her face. Uberon was always passionate, but memory of the intensity of the night before turned her bones to jelly. She shuddered as her body heated up with anticipation. She knew without looking, however, that she lay alone in the big bed. The king of Quoliálfur would not neglect his duty just to swive his mate one more time.

  Even if she wished he had.

  With a sigh of regret and a groan of soreness, she rose from bed and noticed a single flower draped across the pillow.

  “Oh, Uberon,” she sighed and brought the lavish violet bloom to her nose to inhale the spicy fragrance. “How utterly romantic.”

  “My lady,” came the soft voice of her maid.

  Corinne turned her head toward the pixie female. “Yes?”

  “Lord Uberon bade me inform you when you woke that your bath is prepared.”

  “Ah. Thank you.”

  The pixie moved to the tall wardrobe and opened it, pulling out a deceptively simple gown of deep violet. “And he bids you wear this today.”

  “Of course,” she replied as she walked to the anteroom where, indeed, a hot bath scented like the flower Uberon had left for her waited. She sank with a moan of pleasure into the hot water and allowed herself a few minutes to soak before washing. The pixie returned.

  “I’m to wash your hair and dress it,” she said.

  Corinne murmured her acquiescence and leaned her head back. The maid worked with brisk efficiency. After rinsing, Corinne rose from the bath and dried herself with a towel before slipping on the purple dress. Looking at herself in the mirror, she gasped. The deep, jewel-like color of the dress darkened her jade green eyes and made her ivory skin glow. Gold and ivory lace frothed at the cuffs, while the neckline ran straight from one shoulder to the other, covering up much of the embedded pectoral. Material skimmed her body, flaring gently at the hips to cascade in smooth folds to the floor. The maid drew a girdle of flat gold and ivory links around her waist, fastened it, and let it drape low over her hips, the dangling ends designed to swing with every swaying stride. The pixie then fastened long, narrow chains along the belt, the ends terminating in black diamonds to form a sort of overskirt that emphasized the natural sway of her hips.

  “My lord does admire your form,” the pixie murmured.

  Corinne nodded and wondered if he dressed her so in an ploy to inspire the jealousy that had led to the previous night’s almost violent passion. A thrill ran through her body at the thought. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  She emerged from the royal chambers into subdued chaos. Corinne grabbed the arm of a scurrying servant and demanded, “What’s going on?”

  “Ari’dongharad has disappeared,” the servant blurted, then turned pale with dread at the pure fury suffusing her mistress.

  Corinne’s intuition cast blame upon a certain smarmy courtier.

  “That bastard. I never thought someone would go for one of the younger girls,” Corinne growled, her hand tightening on the servant’s arm, the sharp claws poking through his sleeve and drawing beads of blood. The pixie cringed.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  She released her hold and pinned the servant with her jade glare. “Where are Sin’clannad and Ari’valia?”

  “The king has confined all the girls to their quarters under the watch of the gargoyles.”

  “Good. Where is the king?”

  “In the library, my lady.”

  “Have someone bring me tea in the library. I’m going there to discuss killing a kidnapper.”

  The chains on her skirt swished and clinked as she strode to the library where Uberon glared out the window, fuming. He did not turn around when she entered.

  “Who’s not accounted for?” Corinne asked.

  “Oyochea,” Uberon replied.

  Corinne was not surprised. “Can you trace him?”

  “I cannot sense the cur. Nor can I sense Ari’dongharad. He must be shielding her.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it as an idea came to her. “We cannot track him through a mental connection, but what about dogs?”

  “Dogs?”

  “Like bloodhounds. Tracking dogs. Are there any here?”

  “No, we have no dogs. They do not thrive this close to the Quol.” Finally, Uberon turned to face her, his expression set in sharp, deadly purpose. “But the hellhounds will find him.”

  “Hellhounds?”

  He nodded. “I have summoned the Erlking. That bastard will not escape the Erlking’s justice.”

  “And Ari’dongharad?”

  “He will find her and bring her back to us.”

  Deprived of a target for her rage, Corinne looked out the window. After a moment’s thought, she asked, “Which ship is missing?”

  “None of them.”

  “None? Did Oyochea take Ari’dongharad overland?”

  “As best I can determine.” His expression turned bleak, betraying his fondness for the child. “If he took her through the Quol ...”

  He shook his head, not wanting to finish the gloomy thought, but his mate insisted.

  “What will happen if he takes her through the Quol, Uberon?”

  The king took a deep breath and marshaled his thoughts. “The Quol is perilous, toxic. None who pass through remain unharmed or unchanged. Most who venture into the jungle die.”

  “Why would Oyochea venture into certain death and take his captive with him?”

  He shook his head. “Either he does not believe or understand the Quol’s danger or he has some sort of protection from it.”

  Corinne opened her mouth to ask another question that Uberon probably couldn’t answer. Before the words left her tongue, a scream reverberated in the castle and the li
brary door slammed open. Startled, Corine yelped and wondered how Gus had arrived so quickly. She blinked and realized this was not Gus, fond and doting mate of her friend Oriel, but the feared and powerful Erlking, the ultimate arbiter of justice in that world.

  “Speak,” the Erlking commanded from behind the frightening visor of his black helm as a dozen large dogs with red eyes and bared teeth streamed into the room and circled around him, restless with bloodlust.

  Uberon spoke, the description terse and his voice thrumming with impotent rage.

  “A child?” the Erlking clarified.

  “Aye, naught but fifteen summers.”

  “I’ll find him, but the girl may not be alive,” the Erlking warned. “Bring something she wore close to her skin.”

  “I’ll get it,” Corinne volunteered and dashed to fetch the child’s shift. The castle shifted, shortening the distance to bring her to the girls’ room more quickly than usual. Skidding to a stop, she burst into the room. The gargoyles instantly leveled their halberds at her.

  “I need Ari’dongharad’s shift, a nightgown, something she wore against her skin that has not been laundered.”

  Her face stained with tears and taut with worry, Ari’valia retrieved an item of clothing and thrust the wadded cloth into the queen’s hands.

  “Thank you,” Corinne murmured. “How did he get to her?”

  “A … a servant lured her from the room,” Han’al, the youngest girl and beloved of Golsat, answered. “He said … he said he wished her to carry a message to Sin’clannad.”

  Golsat snarled. The girls’ eyes widened and she seemed to shrink within herself.

  “Golsat, you’re frightening her,” Corinne chided in a gentle tone.

  The gargoyle turned his pointy-toothed snarl aside and glared at Corinne. She drew herself up as tall as she could and her palms tingled with power. Wind suddenly whipped around the room. Fae queen and gargoyle stared at each other. The gargoyle lowered his gaze first.

  “Find that servant,” she hissed. “I want to speak to him.”

  “Too late,” Golsat replied with dark satisfaction.

  “Did he escape?”

  “No.” The gargoyle’s lips peeled back to show long, deadly fangs.

  Corinne nodded, understanding that the guard had taken their bloodthirsty vengeance upon the servant guilty of either treachery or gullibility. She whirled about and ran back to the library where the Erlking and his hellhounds waited to launch the Wild Hunt. He snatched the wadded cloth from her hands and tossed it to the hounds. They snarled and snapped and slavered and shredded the cloth as they inhaled the child’s scent. One hound tilted its head skyward and let loose a chilling howl that the others picked up.

  The Erlking and the former Unseelie king exchanged silent looks. The Erlking nodded and uttered a terse, one-word command. The hellhounds raced from the room and the world’s ultimate arbiter of justice followed, keeping stride with them without straining.

  “He’ll find her,” Uberon said in a quiet voice.

  “But will she be alive?”

  “If not, he’ll bring back her body.”

  “This is …” Corinne’s voice died away. She sank into a chair and leaned her head into her hands. “Oh, I can’t focus on suitors and courtship now.”

  A hand settled gently on her shoulder. “I have instructed the servants to delay the proceedings in light of last night’s treachery.”

  An ashen-faced servant entered the room bearing a tray in trembling hands. Uberon nodded his thanks and did not inquire as to the servant’s distress. Between his own rage, the palace guard’s need to redeem themselves of their failure, and the Erlking’s visit, everyone feared for his or her life.

  The servant scurried away to attempt to convince an equally trepidatious coworker to fetch the tray when the king and queen were finished.

  When the door latched behind the servant, Uberon felt desire surge through him. He recognized it as a physical imperative to reaffirm life, to seek reassurance and pleasure in the face of anxiety and anticipated sorrow. However, he needed no arcane ability to understand that his mate experienced no reciprocal arousal. Nor would he force his attentions upon her.

  Every step painful, he walked around Corinne and sat in a chair facing her. He wrapped his hands around hers, rubbing the wetness of her tears with the pads of his thumbs before they hardened to crystal and fell. She raised teary eyes to his bleak expression.

  “I’m so scared for her, Uberon.”

  “I know, beloved. I, too, am fond of the little baggage.”

  She smiled, but her lower lip and chin trembled. “Why? Why take her? She’s so young?”

  “In human terms, she’s old enough to wed and secure a royal alliance.”

  “I hate this. I hate this.” Her voice cracked and she trembled with a potent mix of rage and sorrow.

  “Oh, Corinne,” he murmured and pulled her into his embrace. Stroking her unbound hair as she sobbed into his shirt, he murmured indistinct reassurances that he did not himself believe. With a sigh, he rested his cheek against the top of her head as her sobs dwindled into rough hiccups.

  “Uberon, you’re … you’re …”

  “Yes,” he replied, clenching his jaw as she cupped the thick bulge pressing against his leather pants.

  She lifted her wet eyes to look at him. “Take me.”

  “You do not want that,” he denied through gritted teeth.

  She gave him a firm squeeze through the supple leather and he hissed.

  “I do. Now fuck me.”

  With a growl, he curled the curved tips of his claws over the neckline of her bodice. “You don’t mean it.”

  “Fuck me.”

  Silk ripped as his claws tore through it. With a growl he pulled her to the floor and ripped open the fall of his trousers. Another hard yank jerked the shreds of her dress from her body and broke the belt. Uberon grunted and drove into his mate’s body with a hard thrust. She, too, grunted and the sound excited him. The rapid slap of skin on skin and their deep grunts filled the room until Uberon’s hoarse shout accompanied cathartic ejaculation. Corinne panted and moaned as his hot seed coated her inner walls. His finger delved into her folds, the thumb strumming her clit with ruthless purpose. A moment later she convulsed around him, under him, as he drove her into climax.

  Uberon rolled to the side, pulling his mate with him. Lying on a priceless carpet, he curled around Corinne and buried his face in her hair and wept. Neither of them heeded the hardened tears that scattered across the floor.

  CHAPTER 21

  Waiting never felt so horrible as it did throughout the rest of that day and into the night. Bowing to the demands of kingship, Uberon took care of the necessity of administering the operation of his kingdom. Corinne, too, attempted to distract her worried mind by keeping busy. They cut the daily audience short, citing ruling privilege. Meals passed in tense quiet with little conversation, the clink of silverware against porcelain the only noise breaking the silence. The three remaining sisters took their midday meal with Uberon and Corinne, although their conversation remained subdued.

  The day dwindled into evening. The two sisters’ suitors cooled their heels in drawing rooms where they played cards and board games and engaged in desultory discourse. Coins exchanged hands with wins and gossip made the rounds. Under the grim chaperonage of four gargoyles, Sin’clannad and Ari’valia spent a few hours in quiet conversation with their suitors.

  The entire company had just sat down to supper when the doors flung open and the Erlking strode through carrying a child in his arms. Blood, mud, and other unidentified substances spattered and stained his armor and garments.

  “Ari’dongharad!” Corinne cried and toppled her chair as she jumped to her feet and ran toward the formidable Erlking even as the hellhounds streamed around him.

  The Erlking paused to let Corinne examine the girl, then advanced to the table.

  “Did you find him?” Uberon asked, his voice hoarse, fir
st gazing upon the girl’s limp body and then into the cold fire of his cousin’s eyes.

  “She received justice,” the Erlking replied.

  “And Oyochea?”

  “What is left of him feeds the Quol.”

  Corinne noticed the hellhounds’ bloodstained jaws and thought there must not be much left of the dastardly nobleman. She felt neither regret nor sorrow for the nobleman’s doom. She raised her arms. “I’ll take her now.”

  The Erlking’s fiery glare softened. “My Lady Corinne, the child has been harmed.”

  “Did he—?” Corinne couldn’t bear to say it.

  The Erlking shook his head. “No, not that. But the Quol … it is poisonous. The girl has been affected by its malignity.”

  “Will she get better?”

  He shrugged and looked at Uberon, who shook his head because he, too, could not promise that the child would recover from her exposure to the jungle’s toxic environment. Who knew what poisonous fumes the girl had breathed, what venom bloodthirsty insects and plants had injected through her skin, what diseases or toxins she had unknowingly ingested with a simple gulp of water? Seeing the silent exchange, Corinne’s expression congealed into determination.

  “No, she will not die,” the queen vowed. “Uberon, summon the best healer. Please.”

  “No healer can counteract the Quol,” the king said with a sad shake of his head.

  “No! I refuse to accept that there is nothing we can do.”

  “She is human, beloved. She does not have the … endurance … to survive.”

  “Then transform her!”

  “I cannot.”

  “You will not.”

  He bowed his head and then raised it again, eyes flat and inscrutable. “No, I will not. To do so would be to bind my soul to hers as I am bound to you. Do you relinquish the soul bond?”

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “If you want to exchange your life for hers, give her your position as my mate, then I cannot deny you.”

  Corinne swallowed and averted her gaze, ashamed at her reluctance to take such a drastic step that would, as far as she understood, cost her her own life, a sacrifice she had no desire to make. “Is there any other way?”