“I wasn’t exactly sharing.” But her words were lost as he pulled her onto the bed. “Faran!”
“Relax,” he said. “You have the upper hand between us.”
He rolled onto his back, carrying her along with the motion so that she was on top of him. Her legs straddled his narrow waist, her skirt hitching up so her bare thighs felt the play of his muscles. Old habit brought her hands to his shoulders and chest—she’d always loved the feel of his warm, smooth skin—and she realized why some habits should never be shaken. Heat rippled through her as his hands gripped her waist. His eyes were drowsy with lust.
Faran’s gaze slowly focused. It held hope and trepidation and just a pinch of mischief. “I get that I have to earn your trust, after what’s happened to you. But I need you to give me the chance.”
Lexie’s words scattered. She could only find one. “Why?”
He slid a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together. “I love the way you see the world in ways no one thinks to look. You push yourself to ridiculous lengths before you even begin to think you measure up. I’m fascinated and appalled that you can live on Gummy Bears and coffee for days. You’re astonishingly beautiful. I could go on forever, but I’m no poet. All I can say is that I think you and I deserve some happiness, and I think we can give it to one another.”
Lexie’s throat ached with longing. She could feel Faran’s pulse pound, steady and strong. He was an anchor, a safe harbor, and yet the shadowy memories of her childhood whispered that safety was a treacherous illusion. “It may take some time.”
“I have time.”
His hands slid under the hem of her skirt, one finger teasing the strap of her thong. She squirmed, feeling his interest alive and well. Her slight movement made him catch his breath. Lexie raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re not as patient as you think.”
He closed his eyes. “That’s the part of me that doesn’t think all that much.”
Parts of her weren’t doing all that much meditating, either. A warm, liquid heat was slowly eroding all caution. “What if I lose the ability to form words?”
“Pick a safe word. See if you can manage that.”
Lexie leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Crispy shrimp.”
Faran rumbled a laugh. “And here I thought it would be gummy bear.”
Since she was already there, she nipped his ear. “You’re elevating my tastes.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
She was. It felt as if she was remembering how to breathe.
He was still stroking the skin beneath her skirt, tracing her hip bone, teasing the elastic of her lingerie until the strap of her thong broke. With a slow, deliberate movement he drew it from beneath her. The lingering friction sent a jolt of sensation from her sensitized flesh all the way up her spine, her nipples peaking beneath the fabric of her pullover. The thong hit the floor with a faint whisper of silk.
All at once the fabric of her clothes felt unbearably coarse and heavy. Lexie took her pullover off, letting the long, thick curtain of her hair fall bare against her skin. It felt wildly sensual, as if a rich palette of colors had been translated to touch. He reached up to twine it in his fingers, his eyes going dark with interest. His nostrils flared, clearly scenting her. Lexie’s skin pebbled, aroused and a little fearful at once.
She wriggled her skirt off, and then Faran’s strong fingers were stroking up her sides, coaxing her without confining, leaving her free to bend and kiss the rough stubble of his jaw.
His mouth found hers, hot and demanding. They kissed urgently, with an insistence that spoke of long denial. They nipped and sucked, fencing with their tongues and drawing out that first hot contact as if it was the whole of their lovemaking. Lexie moved with the ebb and flow of the tension, still straddling Faran’s waist and bracing herself against his broad chest. His hands found the straps of her bra, working them loose until his fingers found a path beneath the lace. She gasped at his touch, the sweet pleasure of it sparking in her belly. The bra fell, joining the thong on the floor.
For all her resistance it had taken no time at all to find herself naked in Faran’s arms again. Fire raged in her. She had wanted this without admitting it—and not any touch but his. It was as if she had somehow become addicted to him. She needed his touch to truly live.
She leaned forward, giving him access to her breasts. He squeezed and teased them, tonguing the nipples until they throbbed and her core was on fire. She arched against him, pressing her mound into the hard length of his sex until they both were gasping. When he at last slid on the condom, she was truly ready. He filled her utterly, stretching her hot, greedy core until she thought she would burst.
She could hold still no longer. Lexie rocked her hips forward, glorying in the feel of fullness within. Her hair brushed against her shoulders with each motion, a counterpoint of soft against hard as Faran thrust with her. For the first time, she was fully conscious of setting the pace, of being in control. The sense of power increased her pleasure, but also the sense of giving pleasure. For the first time, she was fully there and not trying to hide.
And then the coil of tension inside her began to unwind, like a spring losing integrity. Her muscles clenched around Faran, pleasuring him as she rocked. He made noises that might have been encouragement, but she couldn’t understand words anymore. Their rhythm began to break, as if her muscles no longer obeyed her brain.
Faran growled, and the low, shuddering vibration in his chest undid her. Lexie’s mind blanked, losing the signal of the world around her. The thrust of his release filled her as she cried out and melted into a pulsing, aching ecstasy. Faran gripped her tight, anchoring her so that she could abandon herself.
Lexie released a wordless gasp of surrender. Sex between them had always been good, but it had never been like this. She slid down, curling against him. She felt his muscles uncoiling as he tucked her close, gathering her into his warmth.
Tears blurred Lexie’s vision—not from sadness, but from release and relief. For once in her life, she felt a moment of certainty. She belonged here, at Faran’s side. She wasn’t giving this up for anything.
If staying meant she had to fight, then she would fight.
Chapter 18
King Targon raised his eyebrows. “You are telling me that someone is impersonating my son to obtain photographs taken by this woman?”
He pointed at Lexie, who was standing next to Faran in the small private study King Renault used as his personal refuge from the pressures of public life. From the paintings and knickknacks, it seemed Amelie’s father had a passion for sailing. She couldn’t imagine what Targon put up on his walls. Maybe genealogies to prove he was as extra special as his attitude claimed.
The two kings sat in identical armchairs, framing tall windows with an ocean view. Kyle stood next to his father. Only the five of them were present. Amelie was still resting, and Leo was sleeping off a late night.
“I saw it with my own eyes, Your Majesty,” Kyle said, using his father’s formal title. They didn’t seem to be a warm and fuzzy family. “The intruder was perfect in every detail, although it is still not clear why the photos are important.”
“Perfect in every detail? How is that possible?” Targon shot back. “I know there are witnesses, but surely there was some kind of trickery involved.”
Lexie tried to listen, but her imagination kept conjuring the night before. She cast a sidelong look at Faran, admiring his straight nose, the firm set of his jaw and the easy way he stood in the presence of these kings. He was utterly comfortable in his own body, sure of his own worth.
Making love to Faran had been very good, and by letting her take the lead, he had known exactly how to keep it within her comfort zone. The fact that he hadn’t broken his word and pushed her boundaries before she was ready meant more than she could
say. His presence beside her now, warm and vibrant, was enough to make her dream of a repeat performance right there on the rich Oriental carpet.
“Your Majesty,” said Faran. “I believe Prince Kyle’s double was a fetch.”
“A fetch?” Targon asked. To Lexie’s surprise, he’d seemed perfectly aware of Faran’s role in the Company. It seemed the two kings were working together in ways she hadn’t expected.
King Renault shifted uneasily in his chair. “Are you saying that we are dealing with fey magic?”
“Dark Fey magic. Lexie and I destroyed one already. The man named Gillon.”
“Can you explain how those work?” Kyle asked. “I thought you had attributed your melting man to fringe science.”
“I did,” said Faran. “But then I considered fey involvement. The point is that a fetch of an individual can be made using hair, blood, nails or any other part of their body. It’s a dark ritual, often involving blood sacrifice. The more blood, the more real the fetch, and they need to keep ingesting it to stay functioning. That’s why they’re always craving salt and water.”
Lexie thought of Gillon and his snack food, and then wished she hadn’t. Recalling the melting episode totally dampened her mood.
Faran went on, sounding very much as if he had been doing his homework. “Fetches can walk, talk and function like a living person until they’re damaged beyond repair. The main difference is they’re cold to the touch.”
Everyone looked at Lexie. Her face had bruised where the anti-Kyle had hit her. “He wore gloves, but I noticed when I skewered the fetch, there was no blood. Gillon didn’t bleed, either, until he was fatally wounded.”
“I don’t understand one thing,” said Kyle, looking acutely uncomfortable. “Why was my double’s personality so different?”
“Because he was made by the Dark Fey, my lord,” said Faran. “They don’t think like we do. Our understanding of thought and emotion do not apply.”
“We might view their way of thinking as a pathology, maybe psychopathy,” said King Renault. “But to them it’s utterly logical.”
This led to a discussion of the ring and the link Faran had discovered between the rubies and the gates to the Dark Fey kingdom. Faran explained it all well, but in his typical no-frills manner. It seemed to be the right choice because everyone listened intently, even Targon. When it came to matters of the Night World, Faran was the expert and the alpha in the room. He’s more confident than he used to be, Lexie realized.
Kyle was the first to speak when Faran was done. “But why would anyone wish to release the Dark Fey?”
“Allies,” said King Renault. “The fey have great power, and the Dark would promise anything to be free of their bonds. They are the one force that could possibly destroy the Company.”
A strained silence filled the room. Lexie’s mind drifted back to the stone circle and the magic she’d sensed there. She tried to imagine what fey would be like, but kept coming up with the winged creatures of her childhood books. Probably not.
Then Targon cleared his throat. “As you are no doubt aware, there are elements in Vidon opposed to the wedding, particularly when it comes to the Company. However, I have chosen to move forward, and I will not tolerate dissent on the matter. It is clear that somewhere in the two courts hides a traitor.”
“A traitor?” Prince Kyle exclaimed. “Why have I not heard of this?”
“To be frank,” said King Renault, exchanging a look with Targon, “while we’ve been aware of a plot ever since the wedding plans were finalized, it was a difficult thread to pursue. Does the plot originate in Marcari or Vidon? We don’t know. The impulse was for each of us to blame the other. We had to go carefully.”
Targon picked up the story. “That was another reason to send the Company away—to see what mice came out to play when the cat was missing.”
“I’d say the mice have been working overtime, my lord,” Kyle said dryly.
“Your Majesty,” said Faran, “is the aim of the traitor to stop unification of the two countries?”
“More likely it is to take both kingdoms for himself or herself,” Targon replied. “The Company would not stand for that, nor would those of my loyal guard. There is a third player involved. This lends credence to your theory that fey might be in the mix, probably in return for the release of their kin. They have the resources such a plot would require. Of course, they would find a way to turn on their masters. Fey always do.”
None of this was comforting news. As if sensing her mood, Faran squeezed Lexie’s hand as Renault gave the order for Captain Valois to be summoned. A few minutes later, he arrived with two guards escorting a prisoner in chains. A chair was placed in the middle of the floor, and the man shoved into it. The guards fastened his chains to the chair and left. The man sat sullenly, hanging his head.
Discomfort tightened Lexie’s skin. The chains bothered her, but the man’s identity bothered her more. Valois said the prisoner’s name was Poitier, and he was the cook who had poisoned the ceviche.
King Renault stood, clasping his hands behind his back. His calm, almost mild manner didn’t waver, but Lexie could feel the steel beneath his refined persona. He walked around the prisoner slowly, viewing him from all angles, before he said a word.
“This wretch does not look like much,” he said quietly. “And yet he hurt my child. He insulted me. He endangered my guests. Under Marcari law, there is no reason for me to let him live. And yet knowing all that, he will say nothing to help himself. Have I got that right, Capitaine Valois?”
“You do, sire. Poitier here has refused to give us anything.”
Faran folded his arms. “I would suggest turning him over to the Company, Your Majesty. They have ways and means of making the most stubborn prisoner talk.”
At that, Poitier lifted his head. He looked straight at Lexie, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Part of him clearly wanted to confess. But his dark, stubbled jaw worked as if he was chewing whatever he might have said to bits. Lexie knew that look. It was the face of someone who had been terrorized. It went straight through her, sharp as an arrow.
“Wait,” she said. “He’s obviously more afraid of someone else.”
“Very astute, Ms. Haven,” said Valois, who sounded unhappy about that fact. “Obviously we need to establish the fact we’re the ones he really needs to fear.”
“Maybe you need to convince him you’ll keep him safe,” Lexie shot back.
Valois wasn’t buying it. “Perhaps you care to leave, Ms. Haven?”
“Lexie,” Faran began, but he was interrupted.
“No,” said the prisoner, his voice rusty with disuse. “It’s not that, miss, but thank you.”
Valois gave him a withering look.
“I saw you with Prince Leo,” Faran said. “Of course you were using a different name.”
Lexie caught her breath. So had she, the same day they’d met Leo in the gallery. It seemed ages ago, but it had only been a few days.
Faran continued. “Not too many of the prince’s other school friends decide to get a job in the royal kitchens, not even when they have gambling debts mysteriously paid off.”
Lexie heard Targon mutter a curse. She doubted the king liked many of Leo’s friends.
“What can I say,” Poitier replied, stretching cracked lips into a false smile. “Food service pays better than anyone thought.”
Faran snorted at that. “I don’t think so.”
“Haven’t you asked Prince Leo for protection?” Lexie asked.
At that, the prisoner laughed. “Oh, miss, you know nothing about this place.”
“Why would my son protect a traitor?” King Targon demanded.
That made Poitier laugh even harder.
Valois shook the man’s shoulder. “Silence!”
Faran moved
suddenly, approaching the prisoner in the chair. At first Lexie thought he was going to shake Poitier to silence his laughter, and she caught her breath, ready to interfere. But instead Faran nudged Valois aside and stood over Poitier, arms folded.
Faran radiated authority, but it was of an earthier kind than Renault’s. “Short of torture, we’ve tried all the usual means with you. I’m sure you realize how unusual it is for a prisoner to be personally questioned by Their Majesties. In fact, I doubt it’s been done for a hundred years. You’re being given a last chance to clear your name that many would plead for.”
Poitier just looked up at him.
“Tell me one thing, yes or no. We think Gillon was holding something for safekeeping when he died. Am I right?”
To Lexie’s surprise, Poitier answered in a firm voice. “Yes.”
Faran nodded. “Good. Did Gillon take that object in the first place?”
“No.”
“Was the person who took that object the same person who told you to apply for a job in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep saying the object?” asked Kyle. “It’s Amelie’s wedding ring.”
The prisoner made a noise deep in his throat.
“Because I just realized that he can’t,” said Faran. “And I bet you can’t talk about Prince Leo, either.”
Poitier made the same noise again. Lexie’s curiosity rose to a white heat.
“What is the meaning of this?” King Targon demanded. “What has Prince Leopold to do with any of this?”
Faran stepped back, his face dark with worry. “Sire, Poitier literally cannot speak of it. He’s under a compulsion. It’s like hypnosis.”
“What?” Lexie cried, appalled.
“That is a vampire trick,” King Targon snapped. “And I understand you, Mr. Kenyon, are an employee of the Company. Is this an honest interrogation?”
“Compulsion is also a fey trick, Your Majesty,” Faran replied. “The Company has no hand in this, I assure you.”
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 43