Two females entered, dressed in long green robes, their heads bowed and long black hair streaming over their shoulders to conceal their faces.
“Go with them.” The mage stood.
Grave lingered, his pale eyes slowly moving between the mage and her, and Isla gave one last desperate attempt to reach him and tell him that she didn’t want to do it.
She focused on their mark.
It warmed against her back.
Then went ice cold.
No.
Grave’s face darkened, and she cursed him in her head. She hadn’t shut him out. It was the mage.
Her vampire pivoted on his heel and followed one of the females and all Isla could do was watch him walk out the door, her heart sinking as her hope left with him.
“Do not despair, my beautiful phantom.” The mage’s voice curled around her and she closed her eyes, trying to shut him out. “I will be gentle and tender with you.”
It became impossible when he stopped beside her, his coldness washing over her, and cupped her cheek in his palm. Insects. She shivered and tried to escape his touch, but he grasped her jaw and held her tightly, his fingertips pressing in between her teeth, forcing her mouth open.
She whimpered and flinched away.
He leaned in, his breath washing over her face, and fury rose inside her, a frigid cold that turned her blood to ice. He chastised her with a cluck of his tongue.
“None of that now.” His grip on her softened and she cringed as he stroked her jaw and down her neck. Her skin crawled in the lines his fingers left in their wake and she shuddered when he reached the swell of her breasts and hooked them into the top of her blue leather corset. He sighed and his voice was distant, nothing more than a dreamy whisper when he spoke. “We must see to dressing you more appropriately.”
He snapped his fingers and the other female grabbed her arm and pulled her away from him, dragging her from the room.
Isla went willingly with her, relieved for the temporary reprieve. If she could get far away enough from him, she might be able to shatter whatever silencing spell he had placed on her.
The female led her up the staircase, floor after floor, until Isla’s legs burned and she wondered whether they were heading for the top of the tower. Surely there the spell would be weaker and she would be able to communicate with Grave?
She kept trying their mating mark, but it remained cold, even when she sensed him nearby as they passed another floor and kept heading upwards.
Isla looked back down at the floor they had left, aching to be there, to find Grave and make him see that she didn’t want this. She had told him in the forest that she would offer herself to the mage though, so he probably thought she was fine with what he had proposed.
Gods, what must Grave think of her?
He already thought her a liar, a treacherous female who had used and betrayed him for the sake of revenge. Was he thinking she was a whore now too, willing to give herself to any male in exchange for something she wanted?
She was far from it.
Her heart and her body belonged to one male, and they had from the moment she had fallen in love with him.
Isla tried to force their connection open, desperate to reach him.
Nothing.
The female caught her arm again and pulled her in another direction, and Isla’s eyes widened as she focused back on the world around her.
A huge room surrounded her, tall arched windows lining the curved walls, with green crystals growing from the narrow black stone supports between them. Hell stretched in all directions beyond those windows and she turned in a slow circle, stunned by the sight of it.
It wasn’t black, grim and cragged.
Through the windows, the valley was green, the mountains snow-capped, and the sky was blue.
What magic was this?
The female tugged her forwards and Isla stumbled along behind her, unable to tear her eyes away from the beautiful vista.
Until her servant halted and spoke.
“Dress.” She pushed Isla forward.
Isla’s knees hit something soft and she almost fell onto it. Her stomach dropped when she saw what it was.
A massive circular bed draped in green silk in the centre of the room.
On it, a pale blue dress had been laid out.
Isla turned to tell the female she wouldn’t be wearing it.
She was alone.
She decided to say it anyway.
Her mouth moved, but only a squeak left her lips. Damn. She eyed the crystals on the wall. They weren’t strong enough to give the mage’s power a boost, allowing him to control her.
Isla frowned down at the bed and slowly backed away from it, and her stomach did more than drop, it plummeted into her boots.
The entire floor had threads of green crystal running through it.
She reached for Grave through their bond but it still remained closed to her.
She looked over her shoulder at the steps that led downwards, tempted to try them, but resisted that urge when she sensed that the servant hadn’t gone far and was waiting on the level below. If she attempted to leave, the female would stop her, and would probably tell the mage what had happened. He would be furious, liable to use his magic on her, and the gods only knew how it would end. It would be easy for him to kill her in her current state.
Her eyes drifted to the dress on the bed.
Could she do this?
One night in exchange for one century of life.
It seemed like such a small sacrifice.
One single night and she would be strong again, able to hunt the demon and have her revenge.
But Grave had promised the mage ten nights.
Isla pushed that thought away. She would convince the mage to settle for one night. Somehow.
She was a phantom after all.
The phantom mages viewed her kind as something fascinating and elusive, something they wanted to obtain and keep like a treasure. It was their weakness and she would exploit it to bend the mage to her will, pulling him under her seductive spell. Once he was bewitched by her, she would use all of her wiles to force him to allow her to go after one night, promising that she would return to him.
It would work.
Isla picked up the dress and held it before her, and her nerve faltered when she saw straight through the sheer blue fabric that matched her eyes.
She steeled herself, drawing down a deep breath. It was all an act, and hadn’t she performed it so well a thousand times over in her years, luring men to their doom and using their desire against them to get what she wanted?
That was all this was too.
She was going to act like a phantom for the first time in one hundred years.
She drew on that side of herself as she stripped off her leathers. The air was cool in the room, like ice kissing her skin, and she delighted in the feel of it as she set her clothes aside. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free. Odd considering she was essentially in a cage at the top of a tower. Power hummed in her veins, running over her cold skin, and she drifted around the room, savouring it. It had been too long since she had given her phantom nature free rein, allowing it to rise to the surface without fighting it.
Gods, part of her had missed this sensation.
This absolute power.
Her white hair tickled her back as it shifted against her skin and she reached over her head and pulled the thong from it, allowing it to drop from her ponytail, and wrapped the twisted strands of leather around her wrist, securing them there. Her hair touched her back and then floated upwards, dancing in the air around her as she turned in a circle. She ran the fingers of her right hand through the strands, teasing them into floating higher.
Her eyes widened.
Her skin was white.
Isla drew her hand towards her and frowned at it.
She had almost forgotten how pale she was in her phantom form. Colourless.
Like death.
&
nbsp; Melia flashed across her mind, crimson splattered across her, Tarwyn resting in her arms.
Death.
Isla swayed on the spot as hunger to bring that end to the demon who had stolen her family from her swept through her.
Yes. She would bring him death. She would become the terrifying manifestation of his doom and he would quake on his knees before her, would beg her for mercy.
She would have none.
Her nails began to turn pale blue and then jagged black at their tips.
Isla snapped herself back to the room, shattering the hold her need for vengeance had over her, and breathed hard as she looked down at her bare body. Her white skin turned a soft shade of cream and she staggered towards the bed and sank onto it.
She had to be careful.
She couldn’t allow herself to get swept up in her hunger for revenge when the mage came to her. There was a chance she would do something to him, might even kill him when the need overwhelmed her. As much as she wanted him dead, she needed him alive more.
She needed him to perform the spell to give her a solid form again.
Isla pulled the dress on over her head and smoothed it down with trembling fingers, and reached for the connection to Grave again.
Still nothing.
She paced the room, bare feet silent on the stone floor, working off some of her tension. What was keeping the mage? She wanted this over with, and he had seemed eager before. Now he was keeping her waiting?
Isla frowned at the outside world.
The sun was setting over the mountains.
Impossible.
But incredible.
She got caught up in watching the bright golden orb as it descended, turning the scattered fingers of cloud in the sky pink.
“You are beautiful.”
Isla tensed and her gaze shot towards the owner of that voice.
The mage.
He stood at the top of the steps, dressed in nothing but loose black trousers, his long black hair tied back at the nape of his neck.
His green eyes perused her and she forced herself to keep still and allow it. It was all an act. A trick. She was a phantom after all.
None of it was real.
Her heart began a slow drumming against her chest.
Her hands started to shake.
Isla clenched them and breathed through her fear. Vengeance. She needed it. One night was a small price to pay in order to avenge her family.
The mage crossed the room to her, his eyes never leaving her body, lingering on her breasts and her hips, and then lifting to her face as he reached her.
She played her part, slowly raking her eyes over him, giving him the impression that she wanted him as much as he desired her. He had a good body, slender yet honed, and he was handsome, but she didn’t desire him.
It was an act.
An act.
Isla stepped towards him and bent her head, lowering it to one side, playing on what she had learned about him so far. He liked to feel powerful, and he thought himself handsome and attractive. Perfect, probably. The females he kept in the tower were no doubt responsible for that high opinion of himself. They probably fawned over him.
Now Isla had to do the same disgusting thing because of them.
Revenge.
It would be hers. It was all that mattered.
His hands came down on her hips and she managed not to tense, kept relaxed beneath his touch as he slid them around to the small of her back and drew her towards him.
“You seemed upset before… defiant,” he murmured as he leaned closer, lowering his head to her shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to it and shuddered. “Gods, you taste like Heaven.”
He lifted his right hand and fisted her hair, tugging her head back, and she resisted him this time, aware that he had enjoyed her defiance and wanting to banish any suspicions that might be growing in his mind. If she was too compliant, he might go back on their agreement.
He groaned and pulled harder, and she gave in to him this time. Her eyes fixed on the black ceiling as he tongued her neck and she drifted there, suspended away from her body, parting herself from what he was doing to her. He could touch her body, but he wouldn’t touch her soul and her heart, her mind. She would lock everything else away from him.
He scooped her up into his arms and kissed down her chest, and she forced a soft moan to leave her lips when all she wanted to do was growl and shove him away.
Revenge.
The hunger sent cold through her.
The mage moaned against her neck and lowered her onto the bed. “I did not imagine a phantom would feel so…”
She smiled as he drew back, luring him deeper under her spell. His green eyes turned hazy.
Sharpened.
He grabbed her jaw and glared down at her. “Do not think to use your powers on me.”
Isla fought the urge to flinch away and managed to relax into the bed beneath him. “I would not… you are more powerful than I.”
A smug smile of male satisfaction curved his lips and he trailed his eyes over her, leaned on his right elbow and skimmed his fingers down her body in their wake. His pupils dilated as his fingertips traversed her breasts and she clenched her teeth when he stroked them over her nipple.
“Far more powerful,” he murmured, falling back under her spell as she loosed another false whimper of pleasure and arched into his wretched touch.
Revenge.
Life.
Just one night.
His hand closed over her right breast.
Gods, she couldn’t do it.
She struggled against him, managing to knock his hand away, and he snarled as he gripped her throat and shoved her down against the mattress.
“I am more powerful… do not fight me, Phantom.” He pressed harder against her throat and then his mouth was on hers, and she whimpered as he kissed her, forcing his tongue between her lips.
His left hand squeezed her breast and tears stung her eyes.
She tried to fight him, but he was right. In her corporeal form, she didn’t have the power to overwhelm him, her phantom side held beneath her skin by both the spell his father had cast on her and the one he was funnelling through the crystals around her, rendering her even weaker still.
He shoved his left knee between her thighs.
Isla squeezed her eyes shut, her heart thundering, and pushed her hands against his bare chest. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed, and loomed over her. Her eyes slowly opened and she stared up at him, trembling from head to toe, fearing what was to come.
Gods, what had she done?
Grave.
Her heart called for him, even when she knew he wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t hear her because of the mage’s spell.
Even when she knew it was hopeless.
“I changed my mind.”
Relief poured through her as that rough baritone shattered the tense silence in the room and the mage looked over his shoulder at the source of it.
She gasped as a hand appeared on his shoulder and then he was gone, ripped away from her and sent flying across the room. He hit the wall between two windows hard and fell to the floor, landing in a heap, and the spell over her lifted a little more.
Her eyes shifted to Grave. He stood between her and the mage again, his back to her, but she didn’t need to see his face to know how it would look, drawn tight with anger that she could feel flowing through their bond.
She had never been so relieved to feel that he was furious.
“The female is bound to me and should service only my needs. I do not like sharing.” Grave turned away from the mage as he picked himself up off the black floor and gathered her clothes, bundling them under one arm.
He walked over to her where she sat in the middle of the bed and held his hand out to her.
She stared at it, too shaken to reach out for him as she wanted and seize hold of him only to never let him go again.
He hesitated, a look on his face she couldn�
�t decipher, not even with their bond finally relaying his feelings to her again, and then he grabbed her wrist and dragged her off the bed and towards the stairs.
Isla looked down at his hand where it circled her wrist, strong fingers closed tightly around her, far fiercer than the mage or Snow had held her.
He was being rough with her, but she couldn’t hate him for it.
Because he was saving her.
But he was damning them at the same time. She looked back at the mage, torn between remaining silent and pleading the bastard to help her. Without another spell, she wouldn’t be strong enough to fight the demon and avenge her family, and without it both her and Grave would fade.
She frowned down at his hand as he hit the stairs and stormed down them, pulling her along with him, and then up at the back of his head, and focused on the mark on her back. On their bond. There was anger in it, but there was something else too, and it reminded her of something Melia had said.
Something that might give them the time they needed.
She had been trying to seduce the wrong male.
Grave still desired her. His hunger was there for her to read in their connection, had sparked to life the moment he had set eyes on her sitting in the middle of the bed, revealing his desire to her. If Melia was right, then she could strengthen their weakened bond by being intimate with him, as her sister had with Valador.
She had seduced Grave once to pull him into their bond.
Could she seduce him again to save him from its effects?
CHAPTER 15
A knock at his door halted Grave in his tracks as he paced across his small dreary room in the inn. He continued to mull over what had happened back at the tower and how he had fucked everything up in a stupid fit of anger and jealousy, a slave to a fierce possessive need.
He opened the door.
A possessive need that overcame him again as he stared into Isla’s blue eyes.
He had avoided talking about what he had done during their journey from the tower to the nearest town, and she had been mercifully quiet throughout it, barely looking at him and not uttering a single word other than to thank him.
Thank him.
Gods, he had realised in that moment that she had been terrified, and he had been the one to throw her at the mage.
Haunted by the King of Death Page 16