Trial by Thrall (Trial #2)

by Lizzy Ford

  “So you know what I’m feeling at all times.”

  “I do. You’ve got a lot of turmoil. I’ve been working on softening it for you.”

  So much for remaining an emotional island. He’s already in my head.

  Before Ben, I never cared for intimacy at all. That Tristan can absorb the emotions of everyone he runs across and remain sane is an incredible feat. It’s a definite check in the pros box of him becoming the Community leader. Nothing is going to faze him, and no one can take him by surprise. He’ll know whose intentions are good and whose aren’t.

  He shares this trait with Ben, who can sense good and evil in someone, albeit without the access to their emotions.

  “Turmoil is an understatement,” I say and tip back my wine glass, gulping down every last drop.

  Tristan says nothing. My thoughts go to earlier, when the emotions of the fae-bies seemed to reach me. Perhaps my own fae magic is awakening. Why did they zap me, if me leaving made them even sadder?

  “Is that my superpower, too?” I ask. “Can I feel emotions of everyone?”

  “I doubt you feel everyone. You may have sensitivity to more people than the average fae, since we share a mating bond.”

  “This bond. That’s what feels like the wind is blowing through me.”

  “It is. It’s starting to settle. You’ll be able to feel my emotions soon, too.”

  “Seriously?” I repeat and shift. Any part of me that hopes my guard being down with Ben was a one-time thing is further shot at Tristan’s words. “That goes away at the end of the week, right?”

  Tristan nods.

  I can’t quite get over the idea he can feel my emotions. It’s worse than if he could read my mind, because I generally say what I’m thinking. But my feelings …

  I can barely manage myself let alone the feelings of everyone I cross paths with. It’s not worth trying to hide something from him if he already knows. I never could lie well to someone, and if he’s already got the answers to this test in hand, it’ll be hard to fudge my way out of denying what I’m going through.

  Why do I want to talk to Tristan? Why am I trying to talk myself into not sharing with him instead of the other way around?

  I can’t even feel him softening my emotions, but I can feel the result. It started this morning, in the office.

  “Anything you want to talk about, we can,” he repeats, his amused smile telling me he can probably predict what I’m thinking as well as feel what I do after six hundred years of practice.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “My father’s death has been bothering me but it’s what I’m learning lately that’s turned me into an emotional mess.”

  “About the trials?”

  “Sorta. About my father,” I murmur. “I feel like I didn’t know him, and that he’ll become someone I wouldn’t want to know, once I finish these trials.” I feel the pang from this statement, though it’s more watered down than usual. My words, however, flow more easily than any I’ve ever spoken. “No one wants to think badly of the one person on the planet they loved.”

  “People have many sides to who they are. I think what’s important is to recall that he loved you more than anything in the world, and his emotion was genuine, no matter what else might be true about who he is.”

  I listen. I’m not sure Tristan would speak so kindly of my father if he knew what Daddy wrote about the fae.

  “You’re uncomfortable.” Tristan’s voice is soft. “I apologize.”

  Before I can respond, our meals are brought out. Grateful for the distraction, I work on recovering what internal balance I can, overly aware of the emotional vacuum cleaner across from me.

  “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he asks.

  I perk up and answer between bites. Tristan listens to a few of my stories with a smile before revealing a couple of his own. He has a similar fondness for bungee jumping and travel that I do, although he’s been able to see and do so much more than I have. I’m soon enraptured in a story about how he met the last shah of India a hundred years ago before serving in World War One with the Irish troops.

  My food forgotten, I listen to him talk for an hour. His eyes sparkle as he relates his adventures, and his subtle sense of humor catches me off guard several times. When I’m not smiling or laughing, I’m holding my breath to see how his current story ends. Like me, he seems drawn to mischief, if not outright trouble.

  Tristan is fun to be around. I suspected this from the mating ritual. When he’s done with his latest tale, I’m excited.

  “We can go on adventures, too!” I exclaim. “Or can you go anywhere now that you’re in charge?”

  A flicker of longing sparks to life in his eyes before vanishing just as fast. “I can break away every once in a while,” he says. “Not nearly as often as I used to. It’s harder now that I manage the corporation as well as the clan.”

  “Ah. Right. Responsibilities.” I roll my eyes. “Nasty bastards.”

  “If you were around longer than a week, I’d find a way for us to go somewhere.”

  “That’d only happen if you got stuck with the damn Kingmaker.” I smile. “But I won’t wish that upon any of you.” I can’t get Jason’s letter out of my mind. I was at first horrified to realize I had to find a husband only to discover it’s not the honor I would’ve thought it was. I’m hoping, though, it’s viewed as better than exile.

  Or maybe I don’t have to choose a mate and I can just leave town after I pick a Community leader and explore the world the way Tristan has.

  Tristan is rich, I remind myself. The implosion of the fae’s influence in the Community seems to have had no effect on their bank accounts. I haven’t checked my account in a week but I’m pretty sure it’s hovering in the single digits.

  “Unreal,” I murmur ruefully.

  “Walk with me?” he asks and stands.

  I nod eagerly. My blood hasn’t yet settled from our dance earlier, and his stories have my imagination racing towards what I’ll do when this trial mess is over. I definitely think I should travel, even if I don’t know yet how I’m going to pay for it. Blackmail is starting to sound reasonable. The multi-millionaire candidates won’t miss a few tens of thousands of dollars.

  Sliding my hand into his, we leave the restaurant and hop on the elevator.

  “Sky bridge,” Tristan tells it.

  My gaze settles on the words flashing across the screen of the elevator, and I think of the fae-bies I encountered earlier, along with the redheaded nurse. Something about that experience isn’t sitting right. It’s more than her directness, but I can’t place what.

  Obviously sensing whatever I feel, Tristan wraps an arm around me and draws me into his side. The movement is almost instinctive, and I find myself wondering how he’s survived so long being able to read another’s emotions.

  We exit the elevator on the fifth floor, which contains a sky bridge leading to the adjacent building I vaguely recall being labeled on my map as an apartment building owned by the corporation.

  My sense of anticipation feels stronger than usual, amplified, and the strange flow of magic is moving through me faster. It’s less of a wind and more of a tide. I’m not sure how to categorize what’s happening inside me.

  “This is you I feel, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t feel your emotion, though. It’s like … we’re sharing something and it’s moving back and forth between us.”

  “I’m surprised the transition is so quick.” He glances at me.

  Actually, I might be starting to feel a little seasick with the odd rocking. The buzzing disappears when I’m in contact with him. I can’t even begin to imagine what this is, or what it’s doing to me. Fae look like normal people, unlike wolves. I almost think I’d rather see myself transition physically than know something inside me is changing, because, honestly, what is inside me that can change?

  “I imagine it takes some getting used to.” Tristan squeezes my hand.


  But he doesn’t say what it is, and I don’t want my emotions tied to him. “I don’t feel ready for this,” I say and shiver. “There should be a manual explaining all this shit.”

  “This coming from the girl who never backs down?” he teases. “Here I thought you liked a challenge.”

  I gasp and glare at him. “You just dared me again, didn’t you?” I demand.

  “I did.” Tristan’s smile has dimples and turns him from handsome to stunning.

  “Then tell me what it is.”

  “Nah.” Releasing my hand, he closes the distance between us and the apartment building’s entrance at this end of the skywalk.

  “Tristan!” I call after him.

  He types in his access code. “If you really want to know, come with me,” he says, glancing at me. The gleam in his eyes is pure evil. The warmth and intensity of his look sends spirals of desire through me. “If you’re not scared.”

  “Scared of an elf?” I retort.

  “Then come on.” He disappears inside the front door and holds the door open.

  This feels like another test. Once I step inside, I’m pretty sure my resolve not to become emotionally involved is going to be destroyed for good.

  “Can’t back down now,” I tell myself.

  Chapter Four

  I join him in the lobby before a bank of elevators. The familiar tension of lust is building, and I stop before him, gazing up at him.

  “Tell me,” I say a little breathlessly.

  Tristan closes the distance between us without touching me. His solid heat, this close, is another dare. He’s waiting for me to crack, to touch him the way my instincts are whispering for me to. I can’t get over how subtle this magic is, how it guides my body and thoughts before I have the chance to understand what it’s doing. I’m not very good at subtle or discretion or the like, and it scares me to think I may not always be in control of my own body – but might think I am.

  “The fae mating bond combines two souls into one,” he says quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. “We’re sharing one, or will be soon.”

  “Souls?” I repeat doubtfully. “I’m not convinced I have one!”

  “You will be by morning,” he says with a half smile.

  He’s right. This is scary. And deep. I don’t know how powerful Kingmaker magic has to be in order for me to turn into a wolf one week and the next, share my soul, with no lasting effects once the trial is over. I think, if this were my first trial, I’d have a hell of a lot of issues sharing my emotional side without knowing for certain this is temporary.

  Shit, even knowing it’s temporary, I have a problem with it. I vowed not to get involved this time, and getting involved just so happens to be a requirement.

  Tristan is studying me, waiting for me to back down or freak out. I am freaking out silently, and I know he feels it.

  “Bring it,” I tell him, fully aware I’m not fooling either of us.

  “I don’t know.” He pretends to consider. “You hesitated.”

  The elevator dings behind me, and I whirl away from him, striding to it.

  Tristan catches me just inside, his arm wrapping around me as he pulls me into his body.

  “Penthouse three,” he tells the elevator. His other arm circles me. His thick erection is pressed to my ass.

  “Asshole,” I breathe.

  “My brave little Kingmaker.” He lowers his head to my neck. His hot breath skates across the delicate skin of my neck, and one of his hands slides down to the edge of my dress. He tugs it up slowly.

  I twist in his grip and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his head down to me.

  Tristan laughs. “And now you’ll learn the danger is playing with me,” he says. “I’m betting I can go the entire night without kissing you.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, laughing. “We’re going to what? Sit around and talk about politics until dawn?”

  “I’ll fuck you. But I won’t kiss you.” He backs me into the wall of the elevator. “You teased me earlier. I’m going to tease you, and it’ll be worse.”

  My breath is quickening, and I gaze at his mouth. Pressed between him and the wall, I’m aware of everything again. My heightened senses respond to the faintest brush of my dress against my thighs, of his hot hand resting on my hip, of his breathing and the need ricocheting between us on a wave of magic.

  His games are a turn on, and my pussy is already moist and aching for the dick pressed to my belly.

  This is exactly the distraction I need to take my mind off Ben.

  Two can play his game.

  “I dare you,” I whisper with an evil smile. “I dare you not to kiss me on the lips all night.”

  Tristan kisses my cheek and jawline then begins a trail of hot kisses and tiny licks down my neck. He’s slow and patient, and his hands creep up my body, branding me leisurely as he inches the dress up to my hips.

  Before being a werewolf, I never noticed how a man’s skin tasted or smelled. With senses that remain unusually alert, I flicker my tongue out to taste Tristan. He tastes like he smells: of mint and man. I run my fingers through his loose blond hair and down his muscular shoulders and arms. His kisses progress down my collarbone and down my chest, towards my breasts.

  My attention is torn between him and what I’m experiencing. Amidst the subtle internal sway of magic is a tidal wave of need that’s building quickly. I don’t know how to control it or even whose it is – but I know when it breaks, it’s going to be huge.

  The elevator door opens a second after Tristan tugs my dress over my head. He maneuvers me out the door and we pause in the hallway, our hands having the discussion our mouths can’t. His mouth nears mine once, and I smile, hoping I win this dare. I want to taste his depths. Oh, and win. I definitely want to beat him at one of his dares.

  At the last possible second before his lips meet mine, he lifts his head. “Not gonna be that easy,” he teases, green eyes sparkling.

  “Oh, no?” I respond. “I’ve got all night!”

  He grins. “So do I.” His hands roam my body with sensual slowness, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. I press myself against his length and plant a small kiss on his chin then one on the dimple beside his lips.

  The flare of desire in his eyes lights me on fire from the inside out. “One kiss can’t hurt, can it?” I ask innocently.

  “You’re going to be fun,” he whispers in response. “Come on!” Easing back, he takes my hand, and we race down the hallway at a pace that makes me laugh.

  Reaching a door, he types in another code and pushes the door open. Tristan tugs me inside, closes the door, and then folds me into his arms. He begins the slow dance once more. One of his hands slides down the back of my panties and presses me securely to his swollen dick.

  My blood is already demanding with desire. Ben would have me on all fours with his dick buried inside me by now. With Tristan, there’s an element of restraint I’m not used to. Before learning he can feel the emotions of everyone near him, I assumed being easygoing meant he wasn’t affected. It never occurred to me that his manner is how he chooses to handle the world, because every little emotion affects him.

  How would I handle the emotions of everyone I met? The answer is simple. I couldn’t. I’ve had a barrier between me and the world since I was a child, reinforced by my father’s paranoia and insistence Kingmakers never fit in anywhere.

  What would the opposite be like? To be so aware of everyone else, to be constantly pummeled by the emotions of others?

  It can’t be easy, especially not for the leader of a clan. I’ve seen the difficult decisions a clan leader has to make. Oftentimes, he or she might have to choose between the life and death of a clan member. How can Tristan make such decisions, feeling what those sentenced to punishment or death do?

  I can’t imagine. No – I don’t want to imagine what that’s like.

  My arms go around his neck, and I relax. Whatever he has planned for tonight, we’re moving
at his pace. After his tales of adventures, I know he loves the journey, probably more than the destination. My intuition tells me to go with it, to learn what I can from him by how he likes to fuck. I learned a ton from Ben this way.

  “Do you ever feel lost?” I ask, unable to stave my curiosity about being empathic after my interaction with the fae-bies earlier. “So aware of everyone else, you forget who you are?”

  “I’ve always had a strong sense of self. It might be why my family is among the five noble fae families chosen as clan leaders originally,” he replies. “We were born with the capacity to deal with our duty.”

  “I grew up alone, cut off from everyone.” Once more, I’m telling him things I don’t know if I should and am definitely not comfortable with. “You grew up with everyone on the planet in your head. I guess we’re the opposite.”

  “We’re more alike than you think. To know what those around you feel, but to be forbidden from acting, means you’re pretty much alone your entire life.”

  “What do you mean forbidden?”

  “To lead means to be aware and to know when to interfere and when not to. The fae leaders have the added burden of understanding how our decisions affect others at the spiritual level. We can only act in the interest of our clan, not in the personal interest of those we meet,” he explains.

  “That’s kind of sad,” I murmur, disturbed. “So you know when someone is in pain but if helping them doesn’t help the clan, you can’t do anything.”

  “Correct.”

  “That’s really sad.”

  We gaze at one another. In my bra and underwear, I’m acutely tuned into the softness of his cashmere shirt and his buttery, suede pants. I love this newfound appreciation of my senses, present since my first transition into a wolf, but even they can’t distract me from the idea Tristan absorbs the suffering of everyone he meets and can do nothing to help them.

  “Not just for them,” I add, pensive. “But you hurt when they do, and no one can help you either.” Like me. Being a Kingmaker means being alone.

  “It’s not all pain,” he replies. “There’s a great deal of happiness in the world.”