by Lizzy Ford
Magic, I remind myself. But … at some point, during every trial, magic has turned into something so much more.
Leaning forward, I hug him the best I can in the tub. Myca’s embrace is warm, the scent and heat of his skin comforting.
“You gotta keep this on,” he says, releasing me after a while.
I lift my head and see him pull the amulet off of the table beside the tub. He replaces it at my neck, and I lift it with a scowl.
“It doesn’t do what you said it would,” I inform him.
“How would you know?” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Because it’s come off during every trial,” I reply without hesitation. “Ben’s ex ripped it off me during our altercation, and Tristan’s fae took it off before chopping me up.”
“You really aren’t good at following instructions, aren’t you?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Nope. But you all knew that when this started.” I drop the cold metal amulet onto my chest. “What does it do?”
“Good luck charm.”
I twist my head to eye him. “You said it’s the Kingmaker amulet. Does that mean you don’t know what it does?”
“Not exactly.” His eyes are sparkling. “It’s not a Kingmaker amulet. It’s a vampire locket.”
“You lied to me.” I frown. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s in your fucking rulebook.”
“Yeah. But giving you the locket isn’t.”
I study him then the plain amulet. “If it’s a vampire locket, what does it do?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“You keep saying that! How are you defining later?”
“Next week.”
I give a noisy sigh and sink into his body again. My thoughts return to the dark day I spent buried alive, and I shudder. “Are you waiting until next week to tell me who I was talking to underground?” I ask in a hushed voice, not at all certain I want to know.
“When you saw the wolf that killed Ben’s ex, did you have your locket on?”
I struggle to recall the memory. I know the amulet came off during the fight, but I was too wounded, too scared, for me to recall what happened clearly. “It would’ve had to have come off before I saw it,” I respond. “Because Jenny couldn’t have taken it off me after she was dead.”
“So, the amulet is removed, and a strange wolf appears. Anything when you were with Tristan and your amulet was gone?”
“No.”
“But you spoke to someone who wasn’t there when your amulet was removed underground.”
“Yes.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it?” I ask sarcastically.
He laughs again. “My cranky angel.”
“I’m not an angel. I’m a fucking demon!” I snap. “Are you going to tell me who was with me or not?”
“I don’t think I should,” he says, considering. “Not yet, anyway.”
“But someone was there. I’m not going crazy?”
“You’re not crazy. Someone was there.”
Oh, god. His confirmation is worse. Maybe I’d rather believe myself to have been hallucinating from a lack of air.
“Did he talk to you?” Myca asks.
“Yeah. A lot. I swear I thought he was a vampire.”
“Did he say he was?”
Myca’s leading me towards something. Or … trying to. I’m seriously so lost, I can’t figure out what he wants me to know.
“No,” I murmur, reviewing the conversation. “He did say he accidentally murdered some people.”
“Accidentally.” Myca’s low voice is almost a growl.
I glance at his profile, not understanding how he can know what happened but not tell me. Unless …
The only time he won’t answer questions is about the curse. But what the hell does it mean?
“He was nice,” I continue, puzzled. “I mean, considering we were buried alive. He was keeping me from freaking out and wasting our … my air.” More of the conversation returns. “Myca, he told me why you were put to earth by your father. How did you spend a thousand years underground without going insane?”
“You wouldn’t recognize who I was before,” he replies.
I wait for more, but he doesn’t share. Disappointed, I touch his face. “I’m glad you’re okay after that.”
“Thanks, angel.” He kisses my palm, smiling. “Never doing that again.”
“Me neither.”
This time, the silence is comfortable. I can’t shake the idea that I spoke to someone who didn’t exist, or that Myca isn’t surprised. I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep at night ever again without fearing the boogeyman.
“What’ll you do without the council?” I ask to distract my dark thoughts.
“I’ll form a new one with people who are in alignment with my vision.”
Smart. All of them are great leaders, aside from the periodic spurts of violence associated with someone fucking with their temporary mate.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
“Great physically. Mentally shot,” I respond. “Will I ever really know what’s happening around me?”
“Sooner than you wish.” His hands slide from my arms to my shoulders, down my breasts and belly. His erection is pressed to my lower back, and he begins trailing hot kisses down my neck.
I don’t need more than a look from him for the furnace in my lower belly to roar to life. Twisting in his embrace, I straddle him as hot desire grips me and rub my pussy against the long, thick length of his cock.
“I missed this,” he whispers. He nips the sensitive skin above my breast, and my breath catches at the sharp, quick pain. He laps up the blood with his warm tongue.
“Me, too,” I reply, surprised to feel the truth of my words.
Myca squeezes my ass before pushing two fingers into my pussy to stroke my g-spot and nipping me harder. I wrap my arms around his neck and groan at the sensations. He lifts my hips and positions me over his cock.
I slide down onto his dick with a shudder of pleasure. The way he fills my pussy, makes me feel whole with an act so simple and primal, sends me tumbling into him once more. His strong arms guide my body, and my hungry mouth finds his.
Minutes later, he stands, and I wrap my legs around him, fevered with need and desperate to experience every inch of him, over and over.
He rests me on his bed and settles on top of me. Our slippery bodies slide against one another as his hips thrust, and I bite him hard in the neck and begin to suck, needing this connection now more than ever.
For the next few hours, Myca fucks me with Tristan’s patience and Ben’s aggressiveness, pushing my limits with his hands, fangs, and dick, sweeping me away from myself with each orgasm, making it impossible to control the fear, confusion and pain I have bottled up inside. He fucks me until the bottle around my emotions crack, and I shatter in his arms. His hungry kisses turn gentle as he holds me while I sob away the feelings I can’t do anything else with.
Myca’s breaking me slowly, and I don’t know why, or how I’m going to walk away from these trials without being completely fucked up by the time they’re over.
Chapter Eleven
“Tell me about Ben.”
Myca’s first words the next morning, on day six, couldn’t be less romantic. “What is wrong with you?” I whisper in a voice rendered rough from a night of sex. The French doors leading onto the patio are open, and a cool sea breeze skates across my skin.
His arms are around me, one of his thighs over mine. “I’m curious.”
“This is obsessive, not curious.”
“Then I’m obsessive.” His half smile reveals nothing about why he keeps asking.
“Is this some sort of vampire-werewolf rivalry, like in the movies?”
“They made movies about vampires?”
“Oh, my god, Myca! You really were under a rock for a thousand years!” I exclaim and push myself up to glare at him. “Yes, they did, but don’t change the subject!”
&
nbsp; He laughs huskily. “Vampires and werewolves get along fine. We’re similar enough to understand each other. Not sure why they don’t get along in the movies. It’s taken me a few months to catch up on modern technology and slang. I haven’t gotten to the entertainment industry yet.”
“We’re going to have a Buffy marathon someday,” I tell him. “Now. Talk. Tell me why you won’t leave me alone about this.”
“Tell me why you won’t talk about it.”
I glare at him. He’s smiling, while I’m … frustrated. As usual, I guess.
I’m also feeling a little raw, and not just my pussy from a night with Myca. He doesn’t seem any different this morning, or even aware of what happened last night, but I am.
I ugly cried. There’s no other way to say it. Snot, tears, incoherent babbling … he held me the entire time. I’m embarrassed, and also aware of telling him things I’ve never revealed to anyone, about how lonely I’ve always been, how hurt I am about my father’s lack of trust …
Everything.
Except for Ben.
Myca is studying me. Not judging, just … waiting.
Too aware of how I turned an incredible sexual experience into a sob-a-thon, I pry myself free, cheeks hot. I have the urge to hide from Myca, at least until I can figure out what to tell him.
“Whatever,” I mutter and walk into the en suite.
I linger for a good ten minutes, hoping he’ll forget or drop the subject and suspecting he won’t.
Finally, with my heart pounding and my thoughts a disaster, I close my eyes, open the bathroom door, take a deep breath, and speak.
“I fucked up. I’m embarrassed. That’s why I don’t want to …” I open my eyes, drifting off. “Are you texting?” I ask, frowning fiercely at him.
A sheet covers his body from the waist down, but I can still see the long shape of his dick. I explore his athletic form hungrily with my eyes.
He’s holding his phone in front of his face and appears to be typing with his thumbs. “Yeah. Talking to Ben and Tristan.”
“I’m ready to tell you my deep dark secret, but apparently, you’re too busy,” I snap.
“I can text and listen.” He’s smiling, teasing me.
“I feel like we’ve been married ten years, and you’ve given up on the relationship!” I retort.
“Only because you’ve been nagging me and the kids for eight.”
“Speaking of kids, did you remember to pick them up from soccer practice?” I demand, not about to be outdone by a vampire.
“They’re out back in the pool.”
“Without supervision?”
“The dog’s watching them.”
I don’t want to, but I laugh. I’m not going to fluster Myca. I don’t think anyone but the vampire council burying me alive is capable of getting a rise out of him. His unflappable calm counters the mess my emotions and mind are in most of the time. If he can survive a thousand years beneath ground and come out smiling, then I can handle the fucking trials.
I wish … well, I wish he could be with me every step left in the trials, to help me sort through my world. Myca is a potential life mentor unlike any I’ve ever had. He’s smart, gentle and patient – and he understands a whole lot more than I think I ever will.
I don’t want this week to end. I don’t want to return to feeling like I’m completely alone dealing with my overwhelming fate.
He lowers the phone and tosses it on his nightstand before pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. “C’mere.” He holds out a hand.
I go to him and curl up at his side, shivering in the cool morning breeze.
“Talk to me,” he says and kisses the top of my head.
“Why are you talking to them? Are you even allowed to?” I ask, eyes on his cell.
“I’m allowed to. You aren’t,” he reminds me. “They wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Skeptical, I lift my head to search his face. “You told them I was buried alive?”
“Who do you think helped me find you, after I killed everyone who knew where you were buried?” he asks with a slow smile. “You were buried too deeply for me to smell your blood, but Ben picked up your scent in his wolf form, and Tristan could feel you when morning came and Ben had to change.”
“You’re serious?” My insides are fluttering, and I’m not sure what emotion it is I’m experiencing. “They don’t hate me?”
“No, angel.”
“Do they know I’m a demon?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “Everyone did but you.”
“I really hate supernaturals,” I complain.
“Stop stalling,” he orders and pulls me into his lap to hold me in his arms. “You said you’re embarrassed?”
“Yeah,” I say and sigh. “Ben is … incredible, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late. I pretty much believed everything Daddy told me about supernaturals when I met Ben. I feel bad about how I treated him, about how I acted and how I viewed his people. But trusting him meant … or felt like it meant … betraying my father, and I did everything I could to despise Ben, when he didn’t remotely deserve it. I was a different person when this started, and his brother …” Ugh. Whoever claimed talking about something makes it better – never had to talk about anything remotely important. It hurts as much as thinking about it.
But I tell Myca about the note Jason wrote, and then about the letter one of Tristan’s fae clan members wrote, both of which I discovered during the seventh day of the respective trials. Tears are on my face when I’m done, and I can’t breathe in deeply.
“They both fucked me up in different ways,” I finish.
“You have a great deal of regret with Ben.”
“Yeah. And with not being able to help Tristan more.”
“The fae are a very gentle people. The letter from Tristan’s clansman would tear me apart, too,” Myca admits. “What you did was incredible.”
“It wasn’t enough,” I whisper, recalling the fae babies I could’ve helped – but didn’t.
“You did more than anyone outside the clan has done for the fae in years,” he says and nuzzles my neck. “Tristan will always be grateful to you, and Ben understands, Leslie.”
“He came to see me after my week with Tristan, but I was so angry,” I reply. “I couldn’t say anything. I’m not good at apologies.”
“Trust me. He gets it. We all do. This set of trials is hard on everyone.”
“Because you all had to sacrifice something very important, didn’t you?” I ask, studying him. “I hope I don’t destroy your lives.”
“Good leaders understand the personal cost involved in doing their jobs well,” Myca says. “We were fortunate enough to learn the cost in advance, and all of us agreed to it without a second thought.”
“Because you’re saving the Community.”
“Because we’re saving you, and you’re going to save the Community.”
My brow furrows. Why do I need saved? Because I’m irresponsible and oblivious? Because I’m a much hated, demonic Kingmaker? “How –”
“Can’t say.”
I roll my eyes. “So annoying.” My thoughts turn to the day, and my throat tightens.
I get tomorrow off, and then … I spend a week trying to choose. Trying to understand what I need to do to break the curse and save the Community.
Is it possible to ever be ready to accept the responsibility of saving the world?
“Myca, I killed Ben’s mate. Or the woman he wanted to be his mate,” I say softly. “You can’t tell me you’d be able to ever forgive me if that happened to you. Look what you did to the council that sentenced me to death.”
Myca’s quiet for a moment, pensive, before he responds. “Yeah. It’d be rough. He had no idea she was running drugs, even if Tristan and I suspected he was in the dark about it.” He offers a small smile. “He didn’t tell Tristan and me he was coming to see you after your second trial.”
“Why would he?”
“Bec
ause everything we’ve done has been coordinated with one another. Tristan’s coming to see you tomorrow to explain what happens next week. Ben never mentioned he was going to see you.”
“I figured it was in the rulebook.”
“Nope. If he were pissed enough to want revenge, there’s nothing saying he couldn’t try to kill you during your off day. I’d say, whatever he’s been going through, he was trying to figure things out just like you are. He wouldn’t have visited you if he didn’t forgive you and want to be there. He’s not the two-faced kind of person.”
“That makes it worse,” I say, crushed by the memory of Ben offering to be a friend to me. After I fucked up his world. After I killed his intended mate. After I left him hurt and reeling from the discovery of how some of his wolves were betraying him. “Maybe I don’t want him to forgive me. Or any of you. Maybe I deserve to be hated.”
“You don’t.”
Even Myca isn’t going to convince me I deserve anything good after these trials. I bear the curse of my family, brought on by betrayal two thousand years ago. I can’t be redeemed.
But I won’t drag anyone else down with me. That’s for sure. If I’ve learned anything the past three weeks, it’s this.
“You’re not okay,” he observes.
“No,” I whisper.
“I don’t think you can or should be.”
Ben said the same thing during his visit a few days ago. “Why do you say that?” I ask Myca what I didn’t ask Ben.
“This is hard shit. If you weren’t worried about it, something would be wrong.”
“True.” I trace my fingertips across his warm chest. “Do you think I can break the curse?”
“I bet my life on it.”
It’s a nice sentiment. All three of them believe in me. I don’t know why, but I’m grateful for it.
“I’ve gotta ask you to make me a promise,” he adds.
“I was wondering when you would,” I reply, recalling how each candidate is bound by their rulebook to make me promise them something.
“Don’t turn into a normal Kingmaker,” he says with a smile.