Wicked Lovely with Bonus Material

by Melissa Marr

  Keenan motioned for Cerise to go back to the floor. “She wants to meet and talk.”

  “See? She’ll fall in line like the rest of them,” Tavish said approvingly.

  “Do you need us or can we go”—Niall snagged Siobhan around the waist as she walked by—“relax?”

  “Go dance.”

  “Keenan?” Cerise held out a hand.

  “No, not now.” He turned away, watching the cubs run through the crowd, barely avoiding being trampled under the dancers’ feet.

  He let his sunlight trickle out over the crowd, setting several illusory suns to rotate over the dancers. My queen sought me out. It would all be as it should, soon. My queen, finally beside me. He laughed joyously, seeing his fey frolic in front of him, the fey who’d waited with him. Soon, he’d be able to restore the court to order. Soon, all would be right.

  Aislinn walked down to the abandoned building by the riverside, murmuring Donia’s advice over and over with each step: Take the offensive. She tried to believe she could do it, but the mere idea of going into their den made her feel ill. She’d seen enough faeries going into Rath and Ruins over the years that she’d known to avoid it at all costs.

  But here I am.

  She knew where he was, knew that he’d come if she beckoned, but Donia thought this was wiser. Be aggressive. Strike first.

  Aislinn clung to the hope that there was a way to keep her life, at least as much of it as she could.

  I still don’t even know what he wants, not really. So she was going to ask—demand—that he talk to her, that he tell her what he wanted, and why.

  I can do this. She stopped at the door.

  In front of her, half leaning on a stool, was one of the club’s bouncers. Under the glamour, he was a terrifying sight—curled tusks spiraled out on either side of his face, ending in sharp points. He looked like he spent all of his time lifting weights, a fact he didn’t hide with his glamour.

  She stopped several steps away from him. “Excuse me?”

  He lowered his magazine and looked over his sunglasses. “Members only.”

  She looked up at him, catching his gaze as best she could, and said, “I want to see the Summer King.”

  He laid the magazine aside. “The what?”

  She straightened her shoulders. Be assertive. It sounded a lot easier than it felt.

  She tried again. “I want to see Keenan. He’s in there. And I know he wants to see me. I’m the”—she forced the words out—“new girl in his life.”

  “You shouldn’t come here,” he grumbled as he opened the door and motioned to a boy with a lion’s mane standing just inside. “Tell the…tell Keenan that…” He looked at her.

  “Ash.”

  “That Ash is out here.”

  The lion-boy nodded and scampered off, disappearing through a doorway. His glamour made him seem cherubic, his lion’s mane a wild twist of sandy-blond dreads. Of the fey around town, the lion-maned ones were among the few that never seemed to cause trouble on purpose.

  The guard let the door fall closed with a thud. He picked up his magazine, but he kept glancing at her and shaking his head.

  Her heart thudded. Trying to feign nonchalance, she glanced back at the street. Only a few cars had driven by so far; it wasn’t a busy area.

  If I’m going to go for aggressive, why not start now? A practice run. The next time he looked back at his magazine, she said, “For what it’s worth, you’re sexier with the tusks.”

  He gaped at her. The magazine hit the damp ground with a soft smack. “With the what?”

  “Tusks. Seriously, if you’re going to go with a glamour, add bars in place of your tusks.” Aislinn gave him an appraising look. “Bit more menacing, too.”

  His grin was a slow thing, like sunrise creeping over the horizon. He altered his glamour. “Better?”

  “Yeah.” She stepped closer to him, not touching, but closer than she’d have believed she could get without panicking. Pretend it’s Seth. She tilted her head so she was looking up at him. “Works for me.”

  He laughed, nervously, and glanced over his shoulder. The messenger wasn’t back yet. “I’m liable to get flogged if you keep doing that. It’s one thing to go for a mortal, but you”—he shook his head—“you’re off limits.”

  She didn’t move, not closing that last little gap, but not backing up, either. “Is he that cruel? To beat people?”

  The guard almost choked on his laugh. “Keenan? Hell, no. But he’s not the only player. The Winter Girl, Keenan’s advisors, the Summer Girls”—he shuddered, lowered his voice—“the Winter Queen. You never know who’s going to get pissy about what once the game’s in motion.”

  “So what’s the prize for the game?” Her heart thumped so loudly now, she felt like she’d have chest pains any minute.

  Keenan and Donia weren’t telling her everything; maybe he would. Donia might say she was trying to help, but she was one of the players.

  The messenger was coming back, leading two of the vine-decorated faeries she’d seen in the library.

  Focus. Don’t panic whatever he says.

  He leaned down so his tusks framed her forehead and whispered, “Control. Power. You.”

  “Oh.”

  What does that mean?

  She mutely followed the vine-covered girl, wondering if the fey ever gave a straight answer.

  Aislinn—my queen, here—followed Eliza through the crowd; they parted for her as they did for him. She was lovely, a vision come true. The Summer Girls spun like dervishes. Winter fey sulked. And the dark fey licked their lips, as if in anticipation. Others—solitary fey and the rare high court fey who mingled in the crowd—looked on, curious, but not invested in the outcome. It was as if his life, his struggle, were nothing more than a tableau for their amusement.

  Eliza stepped up, bowed her head. “Your guest, Keenan.”

  He nodded, then pulled out a chair for Aislinn. She wasn’t smiling, not happy at all. She wasn’t here to accept, but to fight.

  And everyone’s watching.

  He felt curiously ill at ease. He’d always chosen the field of battle, always set the stage, but she was here—in his club, surrounded by his people, and he hadn’t a clue about how to deal with it.

  She came to me. Not for the reason he’d like, though; her posture was proof enough that she was there to deny him. As strategies go, it was a good one. Even if she wasn’t the queen, she was the best game he’d had in a long time. If she weren’t so terrified of him, it would be a lovely start to the evening.

  “Let me know when you’re done staring at me.” She tried to sound blasé and failed.

  She turned away and flagged down one of the innumerable cubs that scampered around. “Can I get something normal that mortals drink? I don’t want any of that wine I had at the faire.”

  The cub bowed—his mane bristling when another faery tried to step closer—and went in search of her drink, not slowing for the fey clustered around him, becoming lost in the throng of dancing faeries.

  From the edge of the dance floor, Tavish and Niall watched openly, using the guards to form a barricade of sorts to keep the girls farther away. They rarely had sense about what should and shouldn’t be said. Tonight they were almost impossible to deal with, believing their queen was finally among them.

  “I’m done staring,” he murmured, but he wasn’t. He didn’t think he ever would be if she dressed like that very often. She had on some sort of vinyl pants and a very old-fashioned blouse that laced up with a red velvet ribbon. If he tugged that ribbon, he was fairly certain the whole thing would come undone.

  “Do you want to dance before we talk?” His arms almost ached to hold her, to dance as they had at the faire, to swirl in the fey—our fey.

  “With you? Not likely.” She sounded like she was laughing at him, but her bravado was forced.

  “Everyone is staring.” Staring at both of us. He needed to assert himself or the fey would think him weak, subservient to her.
“Everyone but you.”

  So he dropped his glamour, letting all the sunlight he carried illuminate him, making himself shine like a beacon in the dim light of the club. It was one thing for a mortal to see a faery; it was another to sit before a fey monarch.

  Aislinn’s eyes widened; her breath caught on a gasp.

  Leaning forward across the table, Keenan darted a hand out to grab one of her tightly clenched hands.

  In a move too fast for mortal eyes to see, Aislinn yanked away—then scowled down at her hand, as if she could quell the reminder of how changed she already was.

  Then the cub Aislinn had sent for refreshments was back, holding a tray of drinks; three of his pride followed him, each carrying a tray of the sugary mortal snacks the fey preferred.

  With a friendliness she denied feeling for the fey, Aislinn smiled at them. “That was quick.”

  They stood straighter, tawny manes puffed in pleasure.

  “For you we’ll do anything, my lady,” the eldest one answered in that gravel voice the cubs all had.

  “Thank”—she caught herself before she said those uncomfortable mortal words—“I mean, it’s kind of you.”

  Keenan smiled as he watched her. Maybe her changing attitude was a result of her own changing body; maybe it was a product of her inevitable acceptance of the fey. He didn’t care, though, as long as she was smiling at their faeries.

  But when she glanced away from the cubs—compelled to look at his glowing face—she stopped smiling. Her pulse beat in her throat like a trapped thing. Her gaze skittered away from him; she swallowed several times.

  It isn’t the cubs that make her blood race, that make her face flush. It’s me. Us.

  The cubs sat their trays on the table: ice cream, cakes, and coffees; desserts from local bakeries and sweet drinks with no alcohol in them. They snarled at each other as they pointed out delicacies.

  “Try this.”

  “No, this.”

  “She’ll like this better.”

  Finally Tavish came over to the table with one of the guards to remove them. “Go away.”

  Aislinn watched silently. Then, with visible decisiveness, she turned back to Keenan. “So let’s talk about your little game. Maybe there’s an answer we can find that’ll let us both get back to our lives.”

  “You are my life now. This”—he waved a hand dismissively around him at the club—“the fey, everything, it all falls into place once you accept me.”

  None of it mattered without her beside him. If she says no, they all die.

  He whispered, “I need you.”

  Aislinn clenched her fists. This wasn’t working. How was she to reason with him when he sat there shining like a celestial object? He wasn’t threatening her, wasn’t doing anything but tell her things that should sound sweet.

  Is it so awful? She wavered as he looked at her so intently—seeming for all the world like he was a good person.

  He’s a faery. Never trust a faery.

  His harem stood behind her, other girls who’d been where she was. Now they mingled in the crush of bodies around her, faeries themselves. It wasn’t a life she wanted.

  “That’s not the sort of answer that helps.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t like you. Don’t want you. Don’t love you. How can you think there’s any reason to…” She tried to find the right words. There weren’t any.

  “To court you?” he prompted, half smiling.

  “Whatever you call it.” The smell of flowers was overwhelming her, dizzying. She tried again. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

  “It’s already done.” He reached out.

  She pulled away. “Don’t.”

  He leaned back in his seat. The blue lights of the club heightened his inhuman appearance. “What if I told you that you were the key—the grail, the book—that one object that will rescue me? What if I said you were what I need to defeat one who freezes the earth? If your acceptance would save the world—all these faeries, your mortals, too—would you do it?”

  She stared at him. Here was the answer that they’d been hiding from her. “Is that what this is about?”

  “It might be.” He walked around the table, slowly enough that she could’ve stood and put the chair between them.

  She didn’t.

  “There’s only one way to find out, though.” He stepped just close enough that she’d need to shove him away to stand. “You have to choose to stay with me.”

  She wanted to run.

  “I don’t want to become one of them”—she motioned to the Summer Girls—“or some ice faery like Donia.”

  “So Donia told you about that.” He nodded, as if this too were normal.

  “The detail you didn’t mention? Yeah.” She tried to sound reasonable, as if being told her options were harem girl or ice faery was an average thing. “Look. I don’t want to be one of your playthings, and I don’t want to be what Donia is.”

  “I don’t think you will be either of those. I told you earlier. I want you to choose to be with me.” He pulled her to her feet, leaving her standing far too close to him. “If you are the one—”

  “Still not interested.”

  He looked weary then, as unhappy as she felt. “Aislinn, if you’re her, the key I need, and you turn away, the world will continue to grow colder until the summer fey—including you, now—die of it, until mortals starve.” His eyes were reflective, like an animal’s eyes under the weird lights of the club. “I cannot allow that to happen.”

  For a moment Aislinn stood there, unable to find a word to say. Donia had been wrong: she wasn’t able to talk to him, try to reason with him. He wasn’t reasonable.

  “I need you to understand.” His tone was frightening, the warning growl of a predator in the dark. Just as quickly, he sounded desperate as he added, “Can’t you at least try?”

  And Aislinn felt herself nodding, agreeing that she’d try, desperate to end his unhappiness.

  Focus. That wasn’t what she came here to do. She gripped the edge of the table until it hurt.

  Seeing him, knowing that he was real, knowing what the world he was offering her truly looked like—it wasn’t making it any easier to resist. She’d thought it would, thought the horrible things she’d seen would make her stronger, more resolute. But as he stared imploringly at her, all she could think of was the desire to give him what he wanted, anything to make that sunlight flare over her again.

  She tried concentrating on the faeries’ awfulness, thinking about the cruel things she’d seen them do. “Your faeries aren’t important enough to be worth me giving up my life.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I have seen them. Don’t you understand? The ones here”—she lowered her voice—“I’ve seen them groping girls, heard them, watching them pinch and trip and mock. And worse. I’ve heard them laughing at us. My whole life, every day, I’ve seen your people. I don’t see anything worth saving.”

  “If you accept me, you would rule them—be the Summer Queen. They would obey you as they do me.” His eyes implored her, not faery wiles now, just a look of desperation.

  She lifted her chin. “Well, if the way they act is any indication, they don’t obey very well. Unless you don’t object to their actions.”

  “I’ve been too powerless to do much other than count on their better natures to make them listen. If you rule them, you could change that. We could change so much. Save them.” He made a sweeping gesture to the crowds of dancing faeries. “Unless I become king in truth, these faeries will die. The mortals out there in your city will die. They’re dying already. You’ll be around to watch it happen.”

  She felt the tears in her eyes, knew he saw them, and didn’t care. “There has to be another way. I don’t want this, and I won’t become one of the Summer Girls.”

  “You will. You are unless you choose to be with me. It’s a simple thing. Really, it’s laughable how quick the process is.”

  “And if I’m not this gr
ail of yours? I spend eternity like Donia?” She pushed him away. “How is that a good plan? She’s miserable, in pain. I’ve seen it.”

  He winced and looked away when she mentioned Donia, seeming so much more real for it. It made her pause. He might have a lot to gain, but from the look of pain that raced over his face, he’d lost a few things that mattered.

  “Just tell me you’ll think about it. Please?” He leaned in and whispered, “I’ll wait. Just tell me you’re considering it. I need you.”

  “Can’t you find another way?” she asked, although she knew the answer, knew that there wasn’t another answer. “I don’t want to be your queen. I don’t want you. There’s someone else I—”

  “I know.” Keenan accepted a drink from a cub who’d scurried under the legs of one of the innumerable guards that followed Keenan. With another sad smile, he added, “I am sorry for that as well. I do understand, far better than I’m able to say.”

  The inevitability of it all was starting to set in. She thought about it: the things that would change, the things she wanted to keep unchanged. She had so many questions. “Is there another way? I don’t want to be a faery at all, and I certainly don’t want to rule them.”

  He laughed, mirthlessly. “Some days I don’t either, but neither of us can change what we are. I’ll not lie and say I wish I could undo it for you, Aislinn. I believe you’re the one. The Winter Queen fears you. Even Donia believes you are the one.” He held out his hand. “I wish it didn’t trouble you. But I’m begging you to accept me. Simply tell me what you want, and I’ll try.”

  In a moment uncannily like the faire, he waited with his hand outstretched, asking her to accept him. At the faire she thought it was almost over; now she had the sinking feeling it was only beginning.

  How do I tell Seth? Grams? What do I tell them? Simply willing it all away had never worked with the Sight, and she was beginning to believe that this was much the same. She knew she was changing, despite how much she’d been trying to deny it.

  I’m one of them.

  If she were to survive, she needed to start thinking about figuring out the faery world.

  Then she realized that both the guard and Keenan had mentioned another ruler, another player in this game of theirs. She looked at him and asked, “Who’s the Winter Queen? Could she help me?”