Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5)

by Jessica Aspen

It broke through him like a dam of ice shattering and releasing the spring floods. It blurred together with the wine and the music still playing in the background as the party went on and on, taking them higher and higher.

  This woman was his. She was the one.

  THORN STRADDLED ARDAN’S face. She gripped the ridges at the top of the headboard as he licked her clit over and over. “Oh, yes, that’s it,” she moaned, the pressure building until her eyes shut so hard she saw red. Her orgasm poured through her and she hung on in desperation, her thighs shaking.

  When she finally let go of the headboard, there were deep ridges cut into her palms. She fell to the side. “I want you, Ardan of the North. Now.”

  He climbed on top, spreading her legs and moving his body between her thighs. “Like this?” His crystalline grey eyes gleamed with mischief as he hovered above her, his cock sliding back and forth, teasing the slick juices of her center and leaving her trembling with need.

  She grabbed his ass, digging her fingers in. “Now.” His muscles flexed under her hands and he plunged inside. His cock filled her, pushing deeper and deeper and another cataclysm took her over, shaking her to her core.

  She had no memory with which to compare him, but somewhere back in her mind she must have had experiences with other men because she knew—this man was amazing. He arched above her, eyes closed, and his body stiffened with his last thrusts as he poured into her. Just the rush of him emptying himself into her brought her again to a height of pleasure and she held on tight and rocked with him to their finish.

  He stayed there, deep inside her, and she listened to him recovering his breathing, his face nestled in the crook of her neck. Had she ever felt this close to someone? Felt like she didn’t want to be without him? Like she could do this over, and over, and over again and each time would be special, and unique, and filled with heat.

  He finally rolled off and they curved into each other, Ardan wrapped around the outside. She drifted off to sleep, listening to the party going on outside and fell into a dream.

  She was at another party. A centaur was playing on a set of pan pipes accompanying a band of giant mice in a ballroom lined with enormous golden-framed mirrors. The music soared and people spun by on the dance floor under sparkling candle-filled chandeliers. A large tiger walked by her, wearing round black spectacles and a top hat. The edge of his long whiskers brushed her arm and she moved hastily back.

  “I beg your pardon, Princess.” His voice was a soft growl, as he politely dipped his white-furred chin low.

  “It’s no matter,” she responded. And it wasn’t. But his words stayed with her. He’d called her Princess.

  As he walked away she looked down at her ivory dress. It was long and sleek and glittered with thousands of tiny hand-sewn sequins that sparkled in the candlelight. The slit up the front ended modestly at mid-thigh and her matching dancing shoes had a low heel. She reached up and touched the top of her head and touched something hard.

  She turned and caught sight of herself in a mirror. Her red curls were piled high on her head. And topping them was a finely wrought tiara made of gold, sparkling with what she knew with certainty were large sapphires surrounded by a thousand tiny diamonds.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. The tiger was right. She was a princess. And then it came to her, like the moment she’d recalled her own name. She was Princess Aeval of the Black Court.

  The dream whirled away and she woke up sweating and cold. The room was dark and quiet and Ardan had an arm wrapped around her like a vise. She went to move away, her head spinning.

  “Don’t leave,” he murmured, his grip tightening.

  “I won’t be long. I have to find the facilities.”

  He nodded and let go, his eyes still shut. His breathing slowed back into sleep. Shaking with shock she eased off the bed, wrapped a blanket around herself and found her way to the door.

  Outside, the narrow moon had set. The clearing was empty. All the musical instruments, food, cups, and bottles, had disappeared, and there was only the flattened grass where they’d danced to show there had ever been a party.

  Aeval. She’d been going by Thorn so easily the last few days, she’d almost forgotten that was her true name. And not just Aeval—Princess Aeval.

  Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at the hard glittering stars.

  Who was Ardan’s real target? The old woman? Or was it really herself, Aeval?

  In her dream she’d only been a princess, but princesses grew up to be queens. Was this why the Crone had been chasing her? Was she another heir to the throne? Or...could she somehow, as crazy as it sounded, really be the Black Queen?

  A breeze blew through the trees, making the branches overhead creak. She shivered.

  She couldn’t be the queen—Aoife would have known. Ardan would have known.

  There was a sound behind her and Ardan came out of the cottage. She startled, looking at him as if he were a stranger.

  “It’s barely dawn. Come back to bed.” He stretched out a hand and she stared at it.

  The only thing she knew for sure about him was that he wanted to kill the Black Queen. No, not just wanted to kill her, had to kill her to survive. What if he found out she was a princess and that’s why the Crone found her valuable? Would he use her to trap the queen?

  “I have to go.” She brushed past him and into the dark interior of the cottage, fumbling around for a light.

  He followed her in. “What’s wrong?” He lit a candle and the room sprang into view. The remnants of gauzy fairy dress lay abandoned on the floor next to the bed they’d made love in. The sheets were a tangled mess, the pillows still dented with the imprints of where their heads had lain, side by side.

  Her throat tightened. “Nothing. Everything. I have to get out of here.” She grabbed the dress, brushed some magic over it to repair the tear, and pulled it on over her head.

  “Wait a minute.” Ardan put a hand on her arm. “It’s not even light outside. Let’s get some breakfast and get organized first.”

  How could she go anywhere with him? She didn’t trust him. And what if she really were the Black Queen? Could she even trust herself? Would Ardan be in danger once she remembered everything about who she really was?

  She shook him off. “Leave me alone. I need to go by myself.” She ran out the door.

  He ran after her. “Thorn, wait.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop. “You don’t have any shoes and that dress won’t keep you warm. We’re in the middle of the fucking Dark Forest. Where are you going to go?”

  She stared wildly around the clearing. At the sounds of arguing, a few fairy heads popped out of grasses and bushes. Buttercup uncurled from a spot in an overhanging tree branch and sat up, swinging her feet down into the air.

  Suddenly, Thorn couldn’t breathe.

  The only person who had helped her since she’d woken up in this strangely familiar world was the same person who would kill her if she told him who she thought she really was.

  Buttercup fluttered down from her branch. “Where are you going, my little thorny rose?”

  Thorn stared down at her. She raised her hand to the center of her chest and the pain aching there. “I have no idea, but I need to get away from him.” She nodded back at Ardan still hanging on to her arm. At the hurt in his eyes the pressure in her chest grew.

  She had to go. It was better for both of them. She wouldn’t be putting him in danger and he wouldn’t have to face the choice of having to kill her or failing his quest. But if this was the right thing to do, then why did she feel as if her whole world were falling apart?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ardan let Thorn go. “You need to get away from...me?” His stomach ached. What the hell had just happened?

  She walked a few steps away, rubbing her arm and looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You. I have to get away from you.”

  “I don’t understand? Last night—”

 
“Last night was a mistake.”

  His lungs tightened and he couldn’t catch his breath. “The hell it was. Last night was incredible.”

  “It was just sex.”

  He reeled back, his hands curling into fists as he tried to hold in the agony. “Don’t you care?” Where was the woman who’d laughed and smiled and made him feel like forever was something within his grasp? Who was this steely-eyed person in front of him?

  She turned her back to him, and addressed the yellow fairy, “I need a few things.” She held out the see-through skirts of her dress. “Real clothes, shoes, supplies.”

  “I’m sorry, my sweet, we have none of that here.” Buttercup hovered at eye level, her delicate wings keeping her even with Thorn. “Even the dress you wear is made of cobwebs and wishes. It will dissolve as soon as the sun hits it.”

  As if on cue, the first rays of the sun trickled through the branches, hitting Thorn’s dress. Bit by bit the gauzy material disappeared until she stood nude and shivering in the early morning light.

  She folded her arms in front of her breasts, looking past him as if for all the world they hadn’t spent hours the night before making love.

  It was crazy. Even though she’d just dealt him the biggest sucker punch of his life he still wanted to please her, to make sure she was alright. He couldn’t imagine what she was planning, but he couldn’t let her go like this. She needed him, even if she didn’t want him and it hurt like hell.

  “I still have some extra things in Triton’s saddle bags. I can take care of you.” He touched her on the shoulder and she flinched.

  “Get your hands off of me.” It was as if the Winter Queen herself stood in front of him, chin high and ice in her eyes.

  He stepped away, his muscles tense. “I won’t leave you here, naked and friendless.”

  “She’s not friendless!” The little fairy wheeled on him. Her golden eyes turned black. . “She’s our friend. We stand by our rose-child.”

  From out of nowhere a flock of fae flew to her side, narrow faces sharpened with anger. He ignored them and strode to the side of the cottage where Triton’s saddle bags sat tucked under the eaves. He opened the side one and dug in until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small bag and tossed it at Thorn. “Here. Take it and use what you need.”

  “Thank you.” Her entire body was stiff with rejection. “I will remember this, sir.”

  The formal term of address was the last straw. He brushed past her and went into the cottage, grabbing his clothes and roiling inside with confusion and anger. What the hell had happened between last night’s sultry bed play and this morning’s regal rejection? Was it him?

  Was he destined to be alone? To have women use him just for sex then throw him away? Was that all it had been to her? Because it had meant everything to him.

  He found his socks crumpled inside his boots and sat down on the bed to pull them on. Sounds of the fairies laughing rang out. He peered through the window. The sight of Thorn dressed in more of his clothing had him stopping with one foot half into his boot.

  Her slender neck and arms looked lost in the overflow of his too-large shirt. She’d rolled the pants up, but he was out of extra boots. Her bare feet, toes still sporting their colorful paint on the nails, looked small and vulnerable.

  Hot fierce protectiveness welled up inside him warring with the anger.

  “I’m fucked.” He dropped the boot and fell back onto the bed, staring at the rough wood that formed the ceiling and shaking with the pain. “I can’t let her do this. She’ll be food for the Black Queen, or bait for Aoife. And Danu only knows what will happen to her out in the forest once the fairies find another distraction.”

  The ceiling didn’t answer, but he knew what he had to do. Every movement on automatic he finished getting on the rest of his clothes and armor and buckled Gleam to his side. Then he girded his soul for what he had to do next.

  He could take it if she rejected him, he’d been rejected before and survived, he could do it again. But the idea of her dying was more than he could handle.

  His quest had just changed. He no longer cared if he found the Black Queen, or if he found a place in Prince Kian’s court. She might not love him but he’d be damned if she was going to die on his watch.

  THORN WATCHED ARDAN stride out of the cottage. His face under his helm was back to the hard stranger’s—the soldier who just wanted to use her to get his job done. She fought back a sudden bout of tears.

  It was better this way. He now looked like a man who couldn’t care less. She couldn’t have borne leaving him with the pain he’d just shown her moments ago. If he’d continued looking like that, like she’d just crushed his soul, she would have started questioning her decision.

  “My lady.” Everything about him was stiff, from his shoulders and hands to his voice. “I know you want to go on your own but I think it would be better if we stayed together. At least until we return to our own time and place.”

  “No.”

  “The soldier is right,” Buttercup said. “This is a dangerous place for you.”

  “I’m going on my own.”

  “Can you help us get back to our time?” Ardan ignored her, focusing only on the fairy.

  “Of course I can.” Buttercup laughed, the sound making the nearby lilies of the valley ring in response. “The forest may not like the two of you, but we are the reason it exists. We were here before your kind came to Underhill. And we’ll be here long after you’re gone.” Something cold and dark glittered in her eyes.

  Thorn started to ask, but Ardan caught her eye and gave a small, nearly imperceptible shake to his head.

  “Thank you, Buttercup.” He bowed to the fairy. “We appreciate all your help and hospitality.”

  “Of course you do, soldier. You would never be tolerated here normally. Your kind are a cruel bunch. But you are a companion to one we befriended young, and we do not forget our friends. Even when they become our enemies.” On that cryptic note she flew back to her perch on the branch. “Now fetch your fairy steed. If you wish to catch the strands of time, we must go soon.”

  “I’m going on my own.”

  “Look, as soon as we’re out of here, you can go to hell for all I care, but until then, you’re sticking with me. Understand?” Without waiting for an answer he whistled and Triton trotted over. He’d been refitted with his saddle and saddle bags and all the mud and grime from their run through the forest had been cleaned off and his coat shone. Ardan caught his reins and motioned to Thorn.

  “I—“

  “Good.”

  He was right. They should go together. It was safer. The thought was bittersweet. As much as she hated the idea, she also wanted to stay with him for just that little bit longer.

  She wished she could stay here and be lost in the party forever, but she was no longer a little girl who could hide in the woods when things didn’t go her way. Nor was she the naive girl at the dream party, lost in too much drink, and sex, and the magic of a spell.

  No, she was a princess of the Black Court— even if she didn’t remember much beyond that. And now, more than ever, she had to find out who had done this to her. Heart aching, she followed Buttercup out past the protection of the wall and into the wilds of the forest.

  Back in the thick of the trees the sun dimmed. Thorn turned around to catch a last sight of the cottage where so much had changed in just a few hours, but the low stone wall was gone. In its place was a small rough circle of stones encircling a patch of bright green grass that she could easily have stepped across—a fairy ring. There was no sign of the cottage, no sign that there had ever been one.

  “Come along, come along. We need to hurry.” Buttercup flew ahead of them at a pace that had Thorn hurrying to keep up. This time she was on her own two feet. She missed the feel of riding with Ardan, wishing she could touch him just one more time, kiss him just one more time.

  The company of the fairy kept the trees and whatever lurked behind t
hem at bay and soon, they arrived at another open spot in the forest. “We’re here.” Buttercup flew into a barren clearing with some stunted bushes, a pile of rocks, and a crooked skeleton of a tree. A flock of ravens squawked caws of protest, bursting into the air from the bare branches of the tree and spiraling their way into the sky

  “Is there a gate here?” Thorn peered at the tumbled grey rocks. “I don’t see a place to enter.”

  “These are the Fir Bolg’s tunnels.” She waved a hand and a shadowy entrance appeared in the pile of rocks.

  “We can’t go in there.” Ardan shook his head. “If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

  The fairy frowned. “You have no choice. The forest sees you as an enemy and won’t let you open a portal.”

  “But so do the Fir Bolg, and they have swords.”

  “I can help with that.” Buttercup held out her palm. A tiny sprout of green grew out of her palm, growing into a spray of leaves with a sprinkling of yellow flowers. She handed the bunch to Thorn. “Take some of my flowers. As long as they’re alive, you’re safe within the Black Forest, even from your deepest enemies.”

  “Thank you for the gift.” Thorn gave the fairy a grave nod and took the fragile buttercups. “Does the tunnel go to our time or just out of the forest?”

  “It goes wherever you wish. But be careful you keep your destination in mind. Once the flowers wither and die you will have no more protection, the gate will not recognize you and you’ll be unable to use it at all. Then, the Fir Bolg will come running. And unlike in your time, there are more of them now. And they are full of hate for the Black Queen.” She laughed, the chiming sound warped and twisted.

  The early morning light seemed to dim and Thorn shivered.

  “Why should that matter?” Ardan frowned. “I know we are Tuathan, but we are not the queen’s.”

  The little fae looked surprised, then a wicked smile stretched her face. She began to laugh and laugh, the sound belling out across the rocks. “Why, you are a lost soldier aren’t you?”