Jack bared his fangs. “You need all that to escape yourself. But I know you’ve used Therrien Haven to crack the gates wide enough for the Blackthorns to use raw sorcery to come and go. You must have the power to enable one wolf—a wolf who doesn’t truly belong here—to pass.”
The queen’s look was so mutinous Jack knew he had guessed right. “I agreed to return him to your custody,” she snapped. “I did not agree to let him leave my kingdom.”
Jack wouldn’t budge. “I want him safe in the palace of Marcari, with all the conditions we agreed to in place.”
She paled. “It is not as easy as you seem to think. You trapped us well.”
“I don’t care. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to rest up. Fix this.”
The queen’s expression raised the hairs along Jack’s neck, but he kept himself still, his fingers loosely buried in Kenyon’s fur.
Then her mouth curved. “Do you swear to stay through the rest of the banquet, on pain of forfeiture of your own freedom?”
“Yes,” he said instantly—before he could think it through, because not even an idiot would agree to such a condition from one of the fey.
“Good enough,” she said, and snapped her fingers.
In that exact moment, Kenyon’s silver collar fell away with a clatter. No one moved. And then the werewolf took a staggering step, shaking himself as if shedding every trace of the fey’s touch. He turned to Jack, a flash of intelligence returning to the golden eyes.
Then Selena made a sweeping gesture toward the window, and an electric tingling coursed through the air. “The portal is open, but I cannot hold it long. Hesitate and your chance will be lost.”
The queen staggered, her hand going to her stomach as if in pain, and she dropped to one knee. Her face went white, twin spots of red flushing her high cheekbones. She hadn’t lied when she’d said the spell took power.
“Go. Now,” Jack ordered Kenyon, “while you can.”
Kenyon didn’t need to be asked twice. Gathering his strength, the werewolf sprang forward and bolted past the tables, past the blood fountain and toward the window to the castle yard below. It was plain from the way he moved that he was weakened, but the leap he made showed there was still massive strength in his haunches. For an instant, his gray form arched in the air, and then vanished in a glimmer of light, the afterimage of a wolf fading before Jack’s eyes.
Jack fell back a few steps, turning away to hide his relief and satisfaction. One of the knots in his chest released, leaving him almost light-headed. But when he turned back to the queen, he was already lining up his next move. He’d won this round, but Selena was by no means defeated. In fact, he’d been expecting more resistance.
He’d also been expecting the spell to work differently. Selena had opened a portal right there, not in the woods where Jack and Lark had come through the lake. Gates shouldn’t move around that way. A sense of warning prickled down his spine, but Jack didn’t have time to consider what any of that meant.
“Everything is done as you stipulated. Your werewolf is back among friends.” The queen got to her feet, a sheen of perspiration gleaming on her skin. Selena flicked at her skirts and kicked the collar under the banquet table. “I’m rather relieved. He shed all over everything.”
It was then Jack noticed that the chairs had been turned to face the front of the hall, turning the space into a stage. She sat and pointed to the chair next to him. “Now you have a promise to keep, unless you wish to wear that collar yourself.”
But Jack was still defiant. “For the last time, where is—”
Selena interrupted him with a gesture. “There.”
Jack followed the queen’s pointing finger to where a tall fey with pale hair and a pear-shaped fiddle stood but a few yards away. The queen’s gesture seemed to be the signal to begin, for the musician brought his bow down upon the strings in a perfectly modulated trill of notes.
Jack never saw where Lark came from, but she was suddenly whirling around the fiddler like a leaf on the breeze. The gossamer of her skirts flared, showing a flash of bare thigh. There was a murmur of interest from the tables close enough to watch the show, and Jack felt jealous pride surge through him. One of the lesser fey hooted approval, and Jack could not help but turn and snarl, showing fang. This was his woman.
He had heard tales of the Light Fey’s legendary grace, and they were no lie. Lark rose and arched with the melody, undulating as if the notes came from her own bone and sinew. Darting close to the fiddler, she swirled around him and then leaped away, soaring as lightly as her namesake. Every line of her body was strong and filled with spirit, riding the music as if it were a solid fixture in the air.
Jack was transfixed. She was beautiful, her bare limbs graceful as wings. And there was seduction—the costume was as suggestive as her loveliness—but the effect on Jack went far beyond lust. She drew in the soul as well as the senses, making him part of her flight while inviting his embrace.
By contrast, Jack felt the heaviness of his own body, the bulk of his muscles and the demonfire hot in his veins. If she was insubstantial as mist, he was the volcano beneath. Their afternoon in the bath superimposed itself on his perception, grounding her ethereal dance in a memory of hot, wet sex.
Lark pirouetted closer, the faint brush of her steps barely audible as she moved. Without knowing what he did, Jack stood, and suddenly he was part of the dance. His hands were around her waist, lifting her into the air. She was all but weightless, a creature already in flight, and he couldn’t keep her. It wouldn’t have been right. She rolled in the air, letting him catch her again—letting him loan his steady strength to return her to earth. Her hands touched his shoulders in a wordless gesture of appreciation, and she was gone again, spinning around him in a circling, sparkling cloud of gossamer skirts.
But Jack wanted more. He’d played enough fey games and wanted his fair turn. With vampire speed, he reached out, grabbing Lark’s waist and pulling her close. She melted against him, soft and sweet, her airy dance suddenly languid with desire. There was an intimacy in the move that made Jack’s mouth go dry. There was nothing to her costume—a tug would be all he needed to have her naked in his arms. All at once he was aware of desire burning low in his belly. Lark suddenly spun away again, and her loss ripped a growl from his throat.
The Dark Queen rose, her jeweled coiffure sparking in the candlelight. She clapped her hands, and the fiddler wound the music to a final flourish. Lark likewise finished, poised on her toes, with her arms arched into the air.
“You have done well, bringing our banquet to a close,” Selena said.
Lark curtsied as the musician faded back into the crowd of tables and diners. When she straightened, she and Jack were alone on the impromptu stage. Jack couldn’t take his eyes from her, and neither could the rest of the room. She was as lovely as a single rose.
“The banquet is done,” the queen said. “Your promise is fulfilled.”
Jack might have calmed, but he knew better. There was a footnote here somewhere. Lark lowered her arms but remained where she was, suddenly awkward with tension.
“We spent some time earlier today stating what we want from one another, and I believe we have come quite some way in establishing mutual trust,” said the Dark Queen with a smile as brilliant as it was false. “I have returned your werewolf, as promised. You have attended my banquet, as promised. We should congratulate ourselves on a negotiation successfully accomplished.”
“But?” Jack asked.
Selena gave him a hard look. “The banquet is done, but I never let my dinner guests leave without a parting gift.”
“A fey gift is a perilous favor,” Jack returned.
“Don’t worry.” The queen’s eyes glittered. “This one is freely given, as it is no more than a demonstration of an evident truth. Humanity views the fey as treacherous
and beautiful. I think tonight you’ve seen our beauty exquisitely displayed.”
Every eye in the room turned Lark’s way. She remained as frozen as a fawn in headlights.
Then Selena made a gesture, as if plucking something from the air. “I now display your partner’s treachery.”
A flash of light surrounded Lark, and she gave a startled cry. Jack’s chest seized, and he started for her, but then the brilliance was gone. And then he saw what the queen had done.
“See how badly she was hurt in that fire, vampire? See how frail all that beauty really is?”
He did. The costume covered little, and he saw all at once how bad Lark’s injuries had been. “Lark!” he cried, reaching for her, but she shrank away.
Her face had been spared, but the rest of her was covered with angry red and pink scars. The skin didn’t sit properly, but stretched and puckered as if there wasn’t quite enough. Shocked silence rang in the room, made worse by the expression on Lark’s face as it dawned on her what had just happened. And then her face suffused with physical agony. It was plain that her wounds had left her racked with pain.
Lark made a noise of horror that tore Jack’s heart. He wheeled on the queen, the urge to defend Lark boiling inside him. “What in the nine hells are you doing?”
The Dark Queen made another gesture, another flash of light, and just as quickly Lark was whole again, her skin flawless, soft and pale—but she fell to her knees, sobbing. Jack darted to her side, kneeling beside her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. She was shuddering as if she’d been drenched in freezing water. “Lark?”
But Lark buried her face in her hands, refusing to answer.
Selena’s eyes glittered like chips of ancient ice. “The Queen of the Dark alone retains the power to reverse any Dark Fey spell.”
Jack buried his face in Lark’s hair, her scent overwhelming him. His senses refused to reconcile what his brain was telling him. “You used Dark Fey magic?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded, desolation in very line of her body. “It was the only way to heal.”
Selena broke in. “It was a secret you’ve kept even from your own people, because Dark spells demand a price.”
“What did you pay?” Jack demanded.
Lark said nothing. The Dark Queen answered instead. “Our operatives were able to track your path to the princess and discover her secret. A clever trick, giving her a potion to hide her Light Fey blood, but it wore off shortly after your visit to her room. Your plan to put a royal with Light Fey blood on the throne is undone.”
“What—” Jack began, but he couldn’t even find words. This was all news to him.
He released Lark, but she barely seemed to notice. She was looking daggers at the queen, her tearstained face gone white with horror. “You said you’d let Amelie go!”
“Only if you delivered Jack.”
“No!” Lark cried.
Jack’s mind crowded with memories—of the dagger blow that had ended their relationship, of Lark’s unexplained reappearance in his life, of sex so wild it was all he could do not to let the demon slip its leash. And then there were the queen’s whispers that Lark might be playing a double game. She’d used forbidden spells. She’d involved Amelie, given her a potion. And just now...
He looked down at Lark, grinding the words out. “Delivered me?”
“Apparently the dance wasn’t quite good enough to seduce you into my spell.” Selena shook her head sadly. “Too bad. I thought she was quite fetching.”
Lark’s face, already pale, lost the last of its color. He couldn’t believe it. She had betrayed him again—or tried to. Jack swayed slightly, not quite able to take that blow without a flinch.
With a cry of shame and fury, Lark surged to her feet and burst through the crowd, pelting out the door. With a casual gesture, Selena picked up her wine cup and took a long, satisfied drink. “Shouldn’t you have it out with her, Jack? Surely you want your revenge?”
Chaos caught like fire. Suddenly lesser fey milled everywhere, all gabbling at once. Some of the uneaten dishes took the opportunity to scamper away, trailing sauces in their wake. Jack lunged for the queen, but she slipped out of reach and was lost in the ruckus. He swore and wheeled around.
For once, he agreed with the Dark Queen. Lark owed him the truth.
Chapter 28
Outside, the full moon sailed above the castle’s turrets. Jack paused in the yard, looking for any sign of Lark. She could hide herself at will, but instinct said she would flee—probably to the woods. That was where her kind took solace, and no doubt she needed it now.
Jack started toward the drawbridge, his soul churning with unfocused darkness. He was angry, but that was only one element of the storm. He was also hurt, betrayed and ashamed that he had been blinded by Lark’s...everything that she was. Of all the people he had met in so many centuries, she had been the one who could unfailingly slip past his guard. He had thought she’d accepted what he was, but there was no way of telling what was truth and what was just fey trickery.
He flew across the meadow, back to the path that had led them from the gates toward the castle. His vampire speed closed the distance faster than a human eye could follow. He entered the gloom, his night vision navigating the indigo darkness. It did not take long before he saw a flutter of gossamer. His instincts about where she’d go had been right.
He paused, still and silent as every sense homed in on Lark. She was huddled on the ground ahead, leaning against a tree. She wept in a noisy, messy way that told him she thought she was alone. Jack’s heart softened, but then he remembered Selena’s words. Only if you delivered your partner. That dance had been a seduction and a trap, designed to set him before Selena like one of the banquet dishes. No wonder the queen had made him watch Lark’s performance. It was all part of her game.
Rage surged through him, short-circuiting reason as it went. He launched himself forward. Lark heard his approach and rose, but had no time to do more than stand. Jack caught her by the shoulders, forcing her back against the tree.
Her eyes flew wide with fear. Words stuck in Jack’s throat, too many and too painful to get out. He could only manage one. “Why?”
She turned her face away, biting her lip to stop her sobs. Jack growled. He wanted her to see him. The last thing he could forgive was to be shut out. With one hand, he stripped off the long belt from his waist.
“Turn around,” he said, demon fury burning in his voice.
She did, wordless and defeated. Jack bound her wrists with the belt but held her there. The slim line of her body radiated warmth in the cool forest. She smelled of heat and blood and he bent close, his nose almost touching the nape of her neck to inhale more of her dizzying sweetness. He could bite her, drain her of life as she had, in a way, done to him. Jack let his lips drift down until they brushed the silk of her skin. She shivered, gooseflesh forming along her bare arms.
Fear. In that moment she became prey. He pushed her against the tree, pressing her close so that he felt the rounded form of her buttocks against his burgeoning erection. Demonfire crackled over his skin. He was losing control. His hand slid through the slash of her skirt, finding her bare hip. There wasn’t much beneath the skirt—the merest slip of silk for modesty. His hand crept deeper, finding more warmth and softness. Again, he thought of tearing off the flimsy garment and taking what he wanted. He was Fallen, and wasn’t that what demons did? Destroyed everything they loved?
The thought froze Jack long enough that Lark squirmed around to face him. He’d sunk so deep inside his own head that her movement almost startled him. He trapped her, bracing one arm on either side of her head, and then leaned in, catching her mouth with his. It was a brutal kiss—possessive, demanding, bruising. But he had been hurt, the knife twisting deep.
Lark inhaled, a
rching toward him, her breasts soft and yielding against his chest. The pleasure of her touch was a razor, flaying every nerve. Jack broke away, speechless with pain and loss. He couldn’t bear that she’d answered his brutality with gentleness.
“Jack,” Lark said softly.
“Don’t speak to me,” he said, voice rough with too much emotion. He was on the edge, trying to keep control, and the sound of her voice only tempted him.
“Jack, please.”
And then his fangs slid out and he struck. The salty, tangy warmth flooded his mouth, and all his hungers focused on this one need. He would take payment for his grief in blood. Now he embraced her, cradling her against him as he drank. Bound, she could do little to stop him. She didn’t even try.
The rich fey blood—twice as potent with so much feeling between them—went straight to his head. Demonfire sparked over them both, crackling like something alive. He had no reason left, only desire to have her, whatever it took. If that meant her life coursing through his body...
“Jack, stop!” she pleaded. “You won’t solve anything this way.”
Some leftover scrap of reason made him release her vein, licking it closed with long, sensuous swipes of his tongue. “You’re going to deliver me, are you?” he murmured in her ear, his voice dropping to a growl.
She shuddered. “You’re going to deliver yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Selena can only control you if you lose control yourself.”
Her words hit him like a blast of cold water. The queen had tempted him twice, and he’d escaped her both times. But the scene with Kenyon, then Lark’s dance and then her betrayal—that had all but brought him to his knees. Especially Lark’s duplicity. He pulled away.
Lark shrank against the tree. “Why else do you think she maneuvered us into a situation guaranteed to make you so angry?”
His mind was on fire. “Explain.”
“She played us with her simple, safe dinner invitation. There never was a second round of bargaining, Jack. Selena didn’t need one to trip us up. All she required was an opportunity to get you in her power.”
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