by May Sage
But he'd stayed on his feet and kept fighting the next assault, and the one after that. What an idiot he'd been to go into the woods, where there were no witnesses, no one to see how he'd fallen. But Nera's name made him lose most of his intellectual capacity at the best of times.
Suddenly, he wondered, and asked out loud, "The necklace. How did you acquire the necklace?"
She'd worn it when she'd left for the front. He remembered her giving him the watch that went with it and saying, “So we'll be connected, little brother.”
Caim was glad the watch was in good hands. Mel might think of him when she looked at it someday.
How had the matching necklace ended up in Red's hands?
His “friend” smiled, and Caim knew. He just knew.
It hadn't been Lyr who'd destroyed his sister. It'd been this recreant scum.
Screaming in fury, mindless, Caim lunged forward, determined to get to the bastard. To hurt him as much as he fucking could, not caring about the dozens of opponents between him and the coward, ignoring the new wounds, until a blade plunged into his stomach.
“Stop!” Red ordered. “We don't need more blood here. It might raise questions.”
The foot soldiers sheathed their weapons, unconcerned with him. They knew he was in no state to fight now. In no state to stand. But he would not kneel before that piece of filth.
Caim planted his blade deep in the ground and leaned on it, spent, barely standing. “You will rule over nothing but ruin," he spat.
"Perhaps," Red replied indifferently. "But I will rule. Throw him over the cliff."
Into the poisoned water that would claim his body without leaving a trace. The jerk was smart.
"Stop!"
The scream was terrifying. He knew that voice, and he wanted it far, far, far away from here. Safe. Back on Earth. Anywhere but here.
Melpomene.
He could see her in the distance.
No. No. No.
The soldiers hooked their arms around his limbs and he tried to fight, to get out of their grasp and reach her, but he was no match for four men in his state. "I curse you! If you touch a hair on her head, I swear on my blood you will know nothing but torment for the rest of your miserable life!"
He had little energy to fight, but he tried to break free, to get to her. Perhaps just see her one last time.
They were at the edge of the cliff when she rushed through the lines of trees, running as fast as she could toward him. He reached out, all the while knowing it was too late.
Mel knew what she was. Her name, her skills, her weaknesses. She'd had two hundred years to grow familiar with herself, to define herself.
Which was why she didn't comprehend her actions.
She was not supposed to be able to do this. She wasn’t supposed to be able to protect anyone. Even trying had always been beyond her abilities.
Her feet hit the ground at high speed and she ran, faster and faster with each step, not questioning whether she could reach the cliffs in time. Not questioning what she'd do once she got there. Her limits—or her curse, as Vlaryn called it—meant that she'd be no help. She couldn't attack the traitor, not to protect Caim. So, what was she doing?
Her heart beat a thousand times a minute as she watched him fall back. She was close. So close…
Mel pushed herself harder, and finally reaching the edge, she extended her hand to reach out for Caim's before he fell.
Her eyes widened; her heart stopped. His fingertips brushed against hers. And then, he was gone.
She didn't understand. Her mind, body, soul, had been tried, wounded, stretched in so many ways since she'd reached Sidhe. The fae had hurt her. They'd cajoled her, then hurt her again to reshape her psyche. And she'd never felt such pain or emptiness. Watching the lord of the Silver Circle plummet toward the green poisonous water was a form of torture she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. She tried to called to those waters, desperately, shamelessly begging them to act, to stop him from drowning.
But his body submerged under the surface all the same, the waters remaining stagnant. Cruel, like everything else in Sidhe.
“You know, I was worried about you,” the traitor said. “A natural heir might have messed up our plans. I'm glad there are no complications.”
Mel's eyes remained on the sea after Caim disappeared under the greenish-blue surface. She barely registered Red's words.
"I want you to know, I have no quarrel with you. You may remain here. You may return home, I care not. This isn't your fight."
She'd made that clear, remaining in her little bubble, only caring about her trip home, ignoring the politics of Sidhe. It wasn't her world.
But it was Caim's. And he cared about it so much. It wasn't about power or status for him. He'd wanted to change the fate of his people, improve their lives, give them a better future.
And Red had killed him because he wanted the crown. The keep. The throne.
Mel turned to face him, looking right through the monster's eyes. "You know, I've always believed it was normal for people like you to be in charge. No one else wants to be. You think of leadership in terms of what it can do for you. What pleasures and privileges you can gain from it. The responsibilities? You don't give a shit about those." She pointed behind her to the tumultuous waters. "But Caim did. He does. That's why he deserves to rule this circle. And why you’ll never be king.”
Red's lips thinned. She couldn't tell whether he planned to attack her or rail against her. She didn't care. She was already turning away from him, facing the edge of the fifty-foot-high cliff. The fall could be deadly. The waves, carried by the wind, crashed hard against the stone. Caim could have died on impact.
He hadn't.
He hadn't.
The first time she'd thought the words, it had been a prayer. The second time had felt different. An answer that didn't quite come from her.
"He isn't dead," she whispered to herself.
She could feel it, feel him. Deep under the poisoned waters, unable to fight against their magic, unable to breathe, or move. Fading every passing moment.
But alive. For now.
There was one way to save him, one olden spell she shouldn’t have known. But someone—something—whispered it to her.
The water. The water she’d tried to connect with since the moment she’d stepped on Sidhe was finally talking back.
Mel opened her mouth. The words that came out weren't familiar. She'd never learned that tongue, but she understood it as well as Greek and French and English.
No. Better. As if this language was the very first embedded in her mind. "I, Meri, daughter of the sea, claim these waters as my domain."
The sky darkened, thunder growled in the distance, and far to the south, in the Circle of Life, the sacred tree ruling all fae flowered for the first time since the days of the queen.
She didn't wait to see, hear, feel any of it. She just knew it happened.
She'd already jumped.
Blood of Tartarus
Mel had always been comfortable underwater or in the rain. She was also happy in her shop, and on her sofa, listening to her gramophone. Laughing with Julia. Sparring with Uri.
But she'd never been home. She'd never even understood the concept until she plunged into the underworld of Sidhe, and found her kingdom.
Her eyes saw far underneath; she could immediately locate Caim, sinking deeper and deeper. Her waters were drowning him, hurting him, attempting to claim his life.
She didn't need to speak a word, formulate any spell. Her will was enough. The next moment, there was no water in his lungs, and instead of draining his energy as the instants passed, the green sea caressed his wounds, healing them. By the time she reached him, he was whole.
She pulled him to the surface, dragging him to the beach, and rolled him over. He was still unconscious.
Shit.
"Don't be dead. You can't be dead, all right? That would suck. I like you alive."
Mel saw his chest r
ise and fall, and she blew out in relief.
All right, he wasn't dead quite yet. What was the problem, then? She inspected his wounds, all closed up, but frowned at the one at his back. There still was a dark mark. A poison of sorts.
Dammit. What was she supposed to do? She had no idea where they were, and there was no one around to help. Her eyes went up to the cliff, now vacant. They definitely couldn't risk another face-to-face with Red right now.
Mel turned to the seafront, struck by an idea. "Help," she whispered.
The green waters crawled along the beach and made their way to their sides.
"Thank you," she said to the sea, feeling weird about actually talking to water out loud. And not weird at all, at the same time.
Sure, on Earth she’d just needed to think and call to it, but here, things were different. These waters were sentient, consciously choosing to come to her aid. So, she’d keep asking nicely. She wasn’t going to disrespect them by demanding things now.
Caim's fingertips moved first, as the sky darkened. Then he coughed, and finally, he opened his eyes, blinking in confusion.
She had to laugh. "Don't ask. I have no idea what happened either."
Caim coughed, looking down at his now completely healed body. His clothes were a mess, black blood dyeing most of them, but underneath, his wounds were closed up. “I do,” he said, surprising her.
Mel looked into his silver eyes.
“This place was made by Gaea. There was one person who could even touch those waters, only one: Queen Titania, her direct descendant. You're a child of titans.”
Mel laughed indifferently. "I don't care who my parents are. I'm a grown-ass woman, and they certainly didn't care either. I was sent to live in an immortal orphanage, basically."
All she cared about right now was that Caim was alive.
All right, maybe she cared about whipping Red’s ass, too.
“Mel.” Caim’s voice was soft. “Tartarus is a barren wasteland. Only titans can live there at all—there isn't enough water to sustain the life of anything less powerful. The air is foul and thin. For thousands of years, they've tried to leave, and failed. If you're from there, they found a way to send you away from that nightmare. They did care. We don't know what it might have cost them.”
She shook her head, refusing to letting the implications of what he was saying hit. It didn't matter, not today. What mattered was that Caim was alive, and here with her.
He lifted his hand to brush her tears away. "Gold tears. Like any god."
"Please, do shut up." To make sure he obeyed, she closed her lips over his.
He lowered his hand along her chin, her neck, her back, and pulled her closer at the waist.
Never mind the waters.
This was home. She climbed on his lap, eager to feel him closer. She would have crawled under his skin if she could. But Caim winced.
Mel laughed, pulling back. “Oops. Sorry, I…”
“Oh no,” he said, leaning in closer. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”
“You’re still hurting.”
She may have healed the wounds, but he was bound to feel them for a while after being sliced like a spiral ham.
“Yes, quite,” Caim whispered against her ear. “Please hurt me some more.”
She needn't be told twice.
Mel pulled at what was left of the front of his shirt, baring his sculpted torso. He dropped his mouth to her neck and licked along her skin to her ear. Mel gasped. His hands were white-hot everywhere they touched, her arm, shoulders, waist, thighs. She fought with the ties holding his breeches. She wanted to see him and touch him everywhere, just because he was alive, knowing she might have lost him moments ago.
This world could have lost him. Sidhe had Reds and Lyrs aplenty, but it only had one Caim, and it desperately needed him. Deserved him.
She didn't think she'd even realized how much she admired and respected him until today.
She definitely hadn't noticed that she wanted him. That she might even love him a little.
Seeing someone ricochet down a cliff had a way of opening one’s eyes.
Finally, she managed to free his cock, long, hot, and rock-hard. He tilted his pelvis, rubbing it on her thigh as he kissed his way down her neck, to her collarbone, then to her chest. Mel wrapped her arms around his shoulders and caressed his back, just needing to feel him. Her stomach was so sensitive, she giggled as his mouth dropped lower and lower, until he'd reached the edge of her pants. He opened them, and slid them down her legs.
"Are we going to regret this?" he asked against her lips.
Maybe. Probably.
"Does it matter?" she replied. "I want you. I want to feel you, and touch you. That's all I know."
For a time, that was enough.
His mouth returned to hers as he aligned their bodies, his hot length right against her. One of his hands cupped her face, the other rubbed the nub at the apex of her thighs, making her insides quiver with need.
"Please."
Just one word, that's all he needed. He shifted her knees and swayed his hips, entering her slowly, while taking her mouth with languorous care.
Mel anchored her feet on the ground and lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts, panting as their pace quickened, getting faster, harder and more frantic. Yes. Yes. She needed more. Caim was completely attuned to her every unspoken demand. He reached around her, grasping her hips, and lifted her off the ground, planting her on his cock as he took her harder, screaming along with her. She flew off the edge before even seeing it approach, tightening around him so much he grunted, thrusting one last time as her release triggered his.
No. The actual answer was no.
She would not regret this.
He fell forward on her chest, giving his weight to her before rolling off her and lying next to her on the empty beach.
For a time, they watched the sky in silence. Then he said just one word.
"Stay."
* * *
The End
* * *
Next in the Lords of Sidhe Trilogy: Queen of Chaos
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More from May Sage
Chloe didn't think that two months in the city would have been enough. She loved standing in the middle of the bridges, fresh air on her skin, watching the River Thames.
She visited Parliament, Buckingham Palace, and the Tower of London, and wished she also had time for Hampton Court, Windsor, and Kensington. She watched three plays, two ballet performances, and a pantomime—seeing one of those was enough to realize that she didn't need to watch any more. She might have loved it at six years old, though. Chloe ate at an Indian restaurant—the best kind of British food, according to everyone she talked to at the Bayswatter hostel where she crashed at night—and had Sunday lunch at a pub, as well as a fish and chips in the street.
Her first weekend abroad would have been perfect, if January wasn’t so very cold. Thirty-two to forty degrees—or, in Europe, zero to four degrees. She was great with numbers, but getting used to thinking in pounds, grams, and Celsius would take a while.
The two days practically flew by, and then she had to return to reality—a reality where she was knocking on a witch coven's door to find someone who'd take her to a college mostly accepting supernatural creatures. It was time to head to the Institute.
Chloe should have been afraid, like any normal person. But if she searched her feelings, she only found anticipation.
As she neared the address Charles had given her, she grew more surprised, and slightly concerned that she might have wandered into the wrong area. The neighborhood definitely didn't look like her idea of a witch's coven.
In New Orleans, the witches didn’t even attem
pt to blend in. Their houses were painted red or black or purple, and mysterious signs hung on their doors. But the quiet residential street off Regent's Park Road in Primrose Hill could hardly have been more inconspicuous, with rows of identical handsome white houses with tiny enclosed gardens at the front barely wider than the sidewalk.
Something felt wrong.
At Number 87, her destination, Chloe found the little gate of the half-meter-tall black fence around the miniscule lawn open. She looked up toward the house. A couple of steps led to a dark green front door that was also ajar.
There wasn’t anything wrong with leaving your door open, per se. Chloe had been guilty of that plenty of times back in her small town. But one wouldn’t expect that type of behavior in a city. Besides, a bad feeling had been making her stomach churn since the moment she’d turned onto the residential street.
After a moment of hesitation, Chloe pulled her phone from her pocket, finger hovering over Charles's number. Not that he could do anything from all the way back in the States, but if anything happened to her, at least he'd know.
Chloe felt her heart beating in her ears as she crossed the paved path. At the door, she gasped.
There was a body. A person, definitely dead, judging by the amount of blood coagulating on the carpeted floor. Then, her eyes traveled further into the house to see that the body wasn’t alone. There were two others just in the hallway: a man pinned to the wall by a long knife, and a woman on her back. Chloe couldn’t see any wounds from where she stood, but the absolute stillness was telling.
Never mind Charles. She had to call the police. What number should she dial on this side of the world? She was pretty sure it wasn't 911. Shit, she definitely should know this. Maybe she'd tell Blair to include it in her survival manual…if she actually made it to the Institute. The murderer of those three people might still be here, looking at her right now with a smile on his lips, glad to have another prey. Perhaps the families of her father’s victims would be happy to hear the news.