Yes, life goes on. Generations leave Brevala, like I did. In the Earth realm, we find freedom and autonomy in our choices. Maybe deep down, I was sick of the constant hate and fighting, and it’s why I never return to Brevala for anything other than a quick visit.
I wonder what would happen if someone found out what Eliana and I had done a few weeks ago. It definitely wasn’t ‘the fuck and leave’ moment we had in Rome during the first century BC.
No, what I did was a betrayal to the Bluffs. I voluntarily helped out a Meadowlander, and, even after the deed was long done, I still stuck around and continued to have sex with her. My dick twitches at the memory, and admittedly, I’ve thought about it a lot. All the ways I got her off, the parts of her body I claimed—her ass being especially sweet.
Even after I knew the drug had worn off, I was still driven to make her come again and again. As Light Fae, she had it in her to keep on going and so did I. We could have fucked for eternity and never stopped. The more I think about how damn good it was, the less sure I am about why we stopped.
Oh yeah… because we hate each other.
But do we?
I kissed her, and she kissed me back. That’s a level of intimacy we had not shared during our little sexcapade in Rome. No, that was yelling, punching, clothes being ripped off, and thrusts so hard we knocked bits of stone from the cellars below the Coliseum where we fucked like we had earlier battled.
Our mouths never touched then.
The thought of such an act had been disgusting. We loathed each other, but we were also worked up from our battle in the amphitheater, and our yells and taunts later turned into me trying to dominate her with my cock.
Which I had.
But she dominated me right back.
Damn… and that memory makes my dick twitch, too.
Eliana of the Meadowlands is a fae beyond description. She’s my sworn enemy, yet also the best damn sex I’ve ever had in my life.
And now I’m wondering if I can have it again without also betraying my family at the same time.
CHAPTER 6
Eliana
I may hate Faere and its disingenuous inhabitants, the social snobbery, and the absolutely awful distortion of what nature should look like, but I do love competing in the games. Raised a warrior by Arnus, it’s who I am at my core. While I have found happiness and fulfillment in the modern Earth realm while wearing business suits and pitching ad campaigns, I miss using the fighting skills I learned over millennia.
With there not being much need in the Earth realm of my particular weapon skills, I look forward to the Festival of Creation to knock the rust off my abilities. It’s like an adventure vacation.
On top of that, it’s only in places like Faere and Brevala that I can unleash my wings from hiding and soar the skies. I could never do that on earth since it would be disastrous if I were seen. The other night with Ronan, I completely lost control of them when I orgasmed with Ronan buried deep inside me, the pleasure too much to bear. It was anguish tucking them away because he’d made me feel so good that I wanted nothing more than to sail out my window and take flight in the night skies.
Of course, the drugs had started hitting me again, and all thoughts of flying were forgotten. I believe that’s when Ronan flipped me on my stomach and rode me from behind, and, once again, we shared simultaneous orgasms. Somehow… we’d become attuned to the timing of our releases.
Weird.
At any rate, no time for sexy thoughts today. I have competitions to prepare for.
I stroll through row upon row of tents filled with Light Fae who traveled from other realms, from the Earth realm, and even from far across Faere to compete. Even the lower class are invited, although their armor and weapons are of such poor design and quality they never really stand a chance.
Luckily, none of these games and battles are to the death. All weapons are free of iron to avoid a killing blow made by mistake.
Today, skill games are on the bracket, and I’ve entered the archery, ax-throwing, and spear-throwing competitions. There will be team games later involving cunning to capture the other team’s flag, and those are fun because weapons and magic can be used. But I want to save my strength for tomorrow—the festival’s finale—where it ends with a last-man-standing gladiator free-for-all. I’d won in the past a handful of times.
So had Ronan, and I assume he’ll enter as well.
The atmosphere is inspiring. There are street vendors, musicians, children’s games, and pop-up pubs to hang out in. Everyone is happy, laughing, and catching up with old friends as well as meeting new. The queen doesn’t come down to mingle in the crowds, but she’ll give a speech tonight where she’ll go on and on about our history and the greatness of Faere while leveling censure against those who choose not to live here.
But she’ll also announce the grand prize for the battle game’s finale, which is always worth getting bloodied for.
A delicious smell hits my nose, and I veer off down a path between tents to an open area of food stalls set up in a circle with tables on the interior. I move to one displaying some sort of meat on a stick. While it smells amazing, I am not about to eat one of Nimeyah’s weird creations meant to resemble earth animals but instead are garishly different.
For example, chickens have neon-colored feathers and two-foot plumes on their heads, while cows have rainbow-colored fur that reaches the ground.
I see a small pen of neon chickens behind the stall and immediately angle away. Two carts down, though, a man sells distinctly normal-looking fresh fruit, and I buy a couple of apples from him.
As I turn to leave the stall, I run into what feels like a brick wall. As I bounce back, it takes me a moment to realize I’ve run into Ronan of the Bluffs.
In brown suede pants with matching boots, a forest-green tunic belted at the waist, and an empty sword holster, he looks good. There is no general need to carry weapons at the Festival of Creation because of the strict truces Nimeyah insists on, which the penalty for violating could be death.
Still doesn’t stop me from wearing a dagger strapped to my thigh under my simple cotton dress, which came straight from Nordstrom. While I’ll stick to the dress traditions in Brevala, I still stay true to my current self when I visit. No one bats an eye, though, because the normal fashions of Faere are so unique and over the top in their designs.
Ronan stares down at me with those vivid green eyes, and I get a flash of just how much I locked my own with his while we were having sex. There was no hate in them then.
Just as I don’t see any now.
“Eliana,” he says in a deep voice, and there’s even a small smile playing at his lips.
“Ronan,” I reply, feeling suddenly nervous and… a little hot under the collar.
I get warmer when Ronan, the Bluff Dweller, has the gall to run his eyes slowly down my body and back up again. The dress isn’t overtly sexy, but it’s off the shoulders, cinched at the waist, and swirls around my knees.
“I assume you’ve entered all the games?” he inquires casually.
To any Meadowlander or Bluff Dweller walking by, our interaction would be so highly unusual that rumors of something illicit happening would spread like wildfire. Yet, I don’t seem to have an ounce of self-preservation since I can’t make myself end the conversation and walk away.
Truly… I just don’t give a shit.
“Not all,” I admit, rattling off the skills games I’d entered. “I’m not bothering with the team events.”
“Saving up your strength for the arena,” he surmises.
“To thoroughly defeat you,” I reply with a cocky grin.
Ronan chuckles, and I hate that I think it’s a beautiful sound. His eyes turn a brighter shade of green as he leans into me. Voice dropping an octave so no one but me can hear him, he murmurs, “Care to wager a bet?”
“Like what?” I ask curiously, but by his sexy tone and the way my blood starts to hammer in my veins, I already have an inkling.
His offer is shocking in that he willingly wants to touch—no, fuck—a Meadowlander. It’s also not… because he already has, and other than the centuries of hate drilled into us, we proved we are compatible in many ways.
I narrow my eyes. “And if I win?”
Ronan winks. “I’ll still fuck you.”
Even under penalty of death by iron in my heart, I’d never admit how my sex clenches when he says that. But I play it cool by reminding him. “It’s forbidden.”
Ronan pulls back, his expression turning serious. “It’s not, and you know it. There are no written laws. It’s more… frowned upon.”
My eyebrows rise at the way he downplays the feud. “Frowned upon? The last time it happened, a Bluff Dweller was killed, and I was ordered to hack off my cousin’s wings.”
Something in Ronan stills, and I’m stunned to see his expression soften with sympathy. “It was wrong of your father to have you do that.”
I avert my gaze, the shame of that event still haunting me a thousand years later, even though Ilona has forgiven me.
“Look,” he says lightly, and my attention moves back to him. “We’re in Faere. There’s a truce. This is neutral ground, and there’s a lot of it. Plenty of places we can sneak off to so I can collect my reward.”
“My reward,” I snap, my competitive streak starting to juice up.
“So, you admit I’m a reward?” he asks mischievously.
God yes, he would be. Like better than anything Nimeyah could offer. I’ll admit it, but only to myself, though.
But I frown as something hits me. “We’re enemies, Ronan. We’ve hated each other for centuries. Isn’t the idea of being with me… um… disgusting?”
Ronan ponders this as he scans the crowd before coming back to me. “Eliana… you rode my face like a champ two weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. I want it again, so, to answer your question… no, you are anything but disgusting.”
Damn it. The man actually makes me want to hike my skirt up and let him have me any way he wants.
He leans in again, voice going deep. “And for the record, I have not hated you for centuries. It’s our clans as a whole that have hated each other. Rather, I’ve much enjoyed our interludes.”
I snort at that because our interludes mostly included viciously battling each other while drawing blood and spilling guts. I mean, there was that one time under the belly of the Coliseum when we hate fucked, but now I’m not so sure it was driven by hate.
Maybe that was pure attraction, but disgust that we acted on it within ourselves.
So confusing.
Before I can give Ronan an answer to his bet challenge, Rishka and Ilona walk up behind Ronan. I take a step away from him, causing him to frown, but a sneering Rishka comes around his side. “What are you doing near my sister, Bluff Dweller?”
Ronan merely smirks at Rishka, who is dressed in full battle armor because she’s a warrior through and through. However, she will not be participating in the games; instead, she’s one of the esteemed guests called upon to judge.
Sliding his gaze to me, then to Rishka, he says, “I was just placing a little bet with your sister for when we face each other in the arena.”
My eyes implore him not to tell her what the bet was, and I’m relieved Rishka doesn’t ask. Instead, she regards him with disgust and says, “It matters not. Eliana is going to destroy you.”
Ronan bends a bit toward her, his grin big. “It’s cute you think that, Meadowlander.”
He then straightens, gives Ilona an actual small bow of farewell, and then cuts his eyes to me one last time. “See you in the games.”
“See you in defeat,” I retort, but inside, I’m still jumbled up over the fact that no matter who wins, we both agreed that the prize was somehow sex.
“Honestly, Eliana,” Rishka snaps, and my attention goes to her. “What were you thinking by talking to a Bluff Dweller?”
“We were just discussing the games,” I reply in defense. “There’s a truce… remember?”
“The truce says we can’t kill each other.” She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “It doesn’t mean you should converse with them.”
Her attempt to shame me works. Reminds me that I’m being disloyal to my family merely by talking to Ronan. Forget about all the beautifully dirty things we did at my condo. I have a feeling, even though it’s been a thousand years, Rishka would call for my wings if she found out. It’s mainly that fact that gives me great pause.
Is this really worth it?
A clandestine rendezvous with Ronan after the arena games. Just one more time before we go our separate ways.
I can feel my hidden-away wings twitching because they are such an integral part of me that I’m not sure I’d emotionally survive their loss.
And no man is worth even considering such a choice.
CHAPTER 7
Ronan
It’s the last arena game of the evening, and the amphitheater has powerful orbs of light hovering above to illuminate the fighting ring. All the games prior had been individual combats—one on one and chosen at random—with winners advancing through tournament-style until one was crowned. Nimeyah gifted that winner with a specially created amulet by the queen herself to grant the user invisibility for a short period. It was more novelty than anything else, but the winner also got a shiny gold medal to wear around his neck.
These last games are not one on one, though. Basically, twenty warriors are thrown into the ring and the last man standing is the winner. It’s a fascinating study on society and brutal violence because allies are quickly formed, and loners easily picked off.
None of these fights are to the death as iron weapons are forbidden, but once someone is dealt what would be a serious wound resulting in a mortal’s death, that fighter is ejected from the game. Several judges stand around the perimeters to make those calls, and I can actually feel Eliana’s sister, Rishka, watching with hawk-like precision every time I battle.
The whole thing, start to finish, doesn’t last long. If we were mortals, it would be short mainly because the human body has limits on strength and stamina. As fae, we do not.
It doesn’t last long because the fae who participate in this particular contest are seasoned warriors. The Brevalians are not the only fae who live in warring realms and thus have combatants with keen skills. As such, all twenty who started this contest are inherently powerful and dangerous, which is why this is always the most exciting event of the festival.
Immediately, two distinct groups form, and because Meadowlanders and Bluff Dwellers hate each other, Eliana and I are not in the same allied group. There are seven that don’t ally up and they are dispatched easily.
The two groups then turn to face off against each other, swords clashing, spears twirling, and some dropping weapons to go hand to hand. All in good fun.
Combatants start dropping like flies, and I keep Eliana in my peripheral vision. I have no intention of engaging her until the end, and I can see by the way she’s fighting with such fluidity and confidence, she’ll be the one left standing against me.
She looks like a warrior goddess with her blonde hair plaited in a crown of braids. She’s wearing cream-colored suede pants stained with dirt and black fae blood, brown boots, and a vest of the same material as her pants. She has plates of armor strapped to her shoulders, elbows, shins, and knees. Unlike some of the others, she doesn’t bother with a breastplate, which is a personal choice. Going without gives more freedom and speed, but it makes a mortal blow much more likely.
Admittedly, it’s a bit distracting she doesn’t have chest armor as the vest she’s wearing is cut provocatively low, showing the swell of her breasts. I happen to notice more than one fae ogling her and the minute they are cut down, I suspect that was part of her strategy.
At one point, Eliana takes on two fae at the same time, and I nearly get my own he
ad lopped off as I stare in amazement at her blood-red wings unfurling so she can lift herself off the ground just out of their reach. She conjures a bow with two arrows already nocked before letting them fly at the same time. Both strike her opponents through the throats.
They’re disqualified from the competition and helped off the field, where healers will attend to their injuries.
One by one, more fae fall, and it might surprise the legions of fae screaming in the stands, but it doesn’t surprise me—nor I’d bet Eliana—when we’re the only ones left standing on the hard-packed dirt, which is covered in fae blood.
She’s not even out of breath, but neither am I.
We face each other, circling, and the crowd roars in delight that the final combatants are actual true enemies who have a running tally of wins and losses against the other.
I take in what I know about fighting her in the past, what I’ve seen today, and what could be her greatest weakness.
Knowing she might use her wings, I get rid of my sword and conjure a long spear with a spiked end. She grins, ditches her own sword, and summons a battle-ax.
Then it’s on.
I twirl my spear in a dazzling display of athleticism, helicopter it over my head, swirl it around my back, and then make several thrusting lunges her way. Eliana uses the battle-ax to deflect each one, but as she’s circling it around to her front, I lunge one more time and slide the spear tip through one of the curved sides of the ax. I draw my spear up hard, catching the battle-ax and jerking so swiftly it dislodges from her hand.
The crowd goes crazy, and I can’t help but grin.
I swing it off my spear so it lands several feet away, but before Eliana can make a play for it or conjure another weapon, I once again lunge at her defenseless body.
Should have worn a chest plate, I think as I aim to spear her right below her breastbone.
To my shock, Eliana turns her body to the side, so the spear brushes against the suede of her vest right at breast level, causing a collective gasp from the fans. But then Eliana locks her hands around the end just below the tip. She brings it down hard as she raises a knee, breaking the wooden shaft in the middle. Releasing the wooden piece, she keeps the more dangerous spike.
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