by K. A. Tucker
“Must we play this game?” Bexley’s sultry voice doesn’t fray, even as she seizes the back of his neck with her delicate hand. He’s a strapping man, and she’s a slight woman a fraction of his size, and yet his shoulders sink with resignation. “My friend has paid dearly for a few insignificant details.” Her free hand slips below the table, into his lap, working at the laces of his pants. “I think it’s important you give him a few more.”
A slow, steady exhale slides from Kaders’s lips. “She went by Gesine.”
That has to be a fake name. I would use one, if I were her.
“And did she say where she was going after she left your ship?”
Kaders swallows as Bexley shifts closer, pressing her body against him, the hand below the table now moving at a steady rhythm.
I assume this is what Zander meant about Bexley’s methods.
“Didn’t ask, and my crew stayed away from her for the most part. They’re not keen on the casters. They tolerate ours because they bring us smooth sailing. But she was wearing a gold collar around her neck. My wind woman said this one was of a powerful sort.”
Zander and I share a knowing look. She’s definitely an elemental. It must be Ianca.
“Is there anything else you might be able to tell us about this caster? Anything at all?”
Bexley leans farther in, nipping at the skin below his ear with her teeth.
“You demon woman,” Kaders mutters under his breath, his lids growing heavy with arousal. Her responding giggle is unexpectedly girlish, and it stirs a small smile from the rugged brute.
I elbow Zander’s side and nod to the coin purse between his thighs, but he shakes his head, his jaw set. My exasperation flares at his stubbornness. We’re about to lose Kaders’s attention for good, and any information that comes along with it. On impulse, I reach into the satchel. Zander’s body goes rigid, but I ignore his reaction, and the awkward location of my hand, and collect a fistful of coins. I toss them across the table’s surface.
The sound of scattering gold grabs Kaders’s attention, snapping him out of his lustful stupor for a moment.
“Anything else you can tell us?” I push.
Kaders’s breathing is shallow. “She was asking about the Ybarisan princess.”
“What about her?”
“If the rumors are true that the king still plans to marry her.” Once a reluctant victim, Kaders’s fingers are tugging at the laces that bind Bexley’s dress together in the front.
“I think we’re done here.” Zander secures his much lighter coin satchel to his hip.
“My payment?” Bexley asks.
“I will ensure you have your seat. You have my word.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
Atticus pokes his head in. “Boaz just stepped through the door.”
Zander curses.
“To the right and follow the corridor until you reach the back alley,” Bexley says, her rich, violet-blue eyes landing on me where they linger as her lips curl back. Two fangs slide out from her upper jaw, lethal but oddly delicate, their pristine white glimmering like jewels against the lantern’s glow.
I struggle to school my expression as my heart races. They’re not as unsightly as I first thought. Threatening, nonetheless.
Kaders grabs Bexley’s narrow waist and hauls her onto his lap, yanking up the layers of her dress. She wriggles her thighs around his and with his first groan, it’s safe to assume he’s seated himself in her. They’ve dismissed their audience entirely.
My cheeks are flushed as I scoot sideways across the bench to exit, but not before I see Bexley gingerly sink her teeth into the side of Kaders’s burly neck, earning a second guttural groan from deep within his chest.
Zander grabs my hand and tugs me out just as Bexley begins to rock her hips. On impulse, I swipe three gold coins from the table on the way and slip them into the inner pocket of my cloak.
Atticus leads the way, ushering us to the right as instructed. We dart along the hall, passing a slew of occupied stalls. By the time we step out into an alley that smells of rotten garbage and urine, I’ve seen at least a dozen immortals feeding off humans, a few of them in copulatory poses.
“Elisaf said this was a tavern.”
Atticus chuckles. “It is.”
“If tavern means brothel.” And not even a respectable one with private rooms.
“Where did you think we would collect the most pertinent information? Over a loaf of dark rye at the market’s bread stand?” His grin is smug beneath the lantern as his eyes roll over me from head to toe. “Was that too much for your delicate disposition?”
“I’m not delicate,” I snap. I’ve stumbled upon more than my share of lewd acts—blow jobs behind convenience stores, hand jobs against the wall at the club, sex within the shadows of a public park or the dingy stalls of the subway restrooms. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
Zander gently slips my hood over my hair and then takes my hand. He’s wearing an oddly pensive expression. “We need to get back to the horses.”
The three of us run along the backside of the buildings, the cats and rats scattering out of our way. We pass two men and a woman tangled in a complicated menage of limbs and flesh. I assume there are fangs somewhere in the mix, but I can’t decipher who is doing what to whom without pausing to shine a light on them. Regardless, the sounds they’re emitting are ones of seedy pleasure, not distress, and they aren’t the least bit bothered by our fleeting presence.
We emerge onto a side street.
“I’ll get our horses. You two wait here.” Atticus disappears into the night, leaving Zander and me alone.
It’s quiet here but people linger, stealing glances at the two cloaked figures standing at the street’s edge.
“Royal guard, up ahead.” I nod to the two men approaching on horseback, but Zander has already noticed them. He wordlessly leads me across the street and into another alleyway, this one cleaner than the last but narrow, Zander’s shoulders nearly brushing the brick on either side. We’re twenty feet in before he stops. “This should be far enough.”
Far enough that they don’t catch the honeyed scent of my Ybarisan blood, he doesn’t say.
There’s nothing to do now but stand here, in a confined, dark space with Zander looming over me, until Atticus returns.
“I can’t believe we’re running from your own captain.” I feel the bubble of laughter threaten.
“You know how unpleasant Boaz can be.” Zander’s voice is low and gravelly.
“I’ve noticed.” Thankfully, Zander has kept him away from me. “You like sneaking around down here, don’t you?”
“I enjoy the freedom of being anonymous, and unseen.” He pauses. “As do you.”
It’s what I’m used to. It’s what I know. I smile into the darkness. “This was fun.” I feel more like myself tonight than I have in a long time. “What do you think about this Gesine tip?”
“She could be traveling under an assumed name.”
“That’s what I thought too, though I wonder what happened to the other caster she was with.” I think back to the conversation in the booth. “Kaders knew what Bexley had planned for him, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” I hear the humor in Zander’s voice.
“And he didn’t mind? I mean, he wasn’t afraid?”
“That is not the first time that has happened to him. And no, he put on a good show for us, but his pulse was racing, and it was not from fear.”
“It didn’t hurt him?”
“Nothing more than a slight prick at the beginning, from what I’ve heard.”
I grimace, rubbing the spot on my neck where the daaknar sank its fangs into me.
“I’ll wager it’s significantly less unpleasant than what you experienced,” Zander says, reminding me that he has no trouble seeing me in the dark. “A lot of the Seacadorians come to Islor for that type of evening, and it is almost guaranteed in a place like the Goat’s Knoll.”
; “Are you saying they enjoy being fed upon?”
“It’s a novel idea, is it not? That when the humans are not forced into servitude, this symbiotic relationship between immortal and mortal could be different.”
“And you think humans would allow themselves to be fed upon if they weren’t forced?” I ask doubtfully.
“Many would not,” he admits. “But some would because humans have great capability for compassion. And others would do it if there was monetary gain. The difference is they would have a choice and not a keeper. I realize it is a provocative notion, one that has stirred debates and worries among my kind, but I think it is a notion worthy of exploring because it is what is right. Another way to live and to survive. A better way.”
“There were tributaries in there.”
“Servants, but likely not tributaries. They serve their keepers in other ways, as house and farmhands, and trades helpers. This is where they choose to come on a rare night off or if they’ve stolen away from their burdens for a few hours. Bexley charges a fee for the tables, and people use them however they wish, whether it’s enjoying mead or mortal. In some cases, the humans charge for access to their veins. Sometimes, as with Bexley and the Silver Mage’s captain, they both take enjoyment from it.”
“So, they’re already living what you’ve envisioned, then.”
“Not quite. They are earning too little in stipends to support themselves. This extra coin allows them to live a little better. Perhaps buy finer clothes, but not more. In a better version of this world, they have their own homes and families and goals, with no keepers to answer to. There would be mortal villages like there are in Ybaris, with mortal lords and ladies. They would not be at the mercy of those who need their blood to survive, and those who choose to sell it would be compensated appropriately.”
And the power would shift from the immortals to the mortals in a drastic way.
I can see why Zander is facing backlash for even suggesting such a thing, why those like Adley would oppose it so vehemently. They feel like their right to survive is being taken away.
“You should build a village for the mortals,” I say.
“Melt down a few more gold pillars?” I hear the humor in his voice.
“Sure. And pay them more, so they can support themselves. And stop bidding on forced tributaries. If they want to be one, let them apply for the position. Start in Cirilea and show other cities how it can work.”
“You’re brimming with ideas tonight,” he teases.
“What about the keepers of those servants in there? Don’t they care that their servants are selling their blood?”
“Those who would care don’t hear of it. The marks don’t last long, and the servants ensure to use less noticeable spots.”
“Like where?”
I stifle my gasp as Zander seizes the backs of my thighs.
“The guards,” he whispers, lifting and pinning me against the wall with his body, our cowls joining to create a cocoon. They must have stopped at the entrance to check for any lurkers or crimes within the shadows. It’s dark down here, but I know their immortal eyes allow them excellent sight. Two cloaked figures prowling in an alleyway is suspicious.
Unless they’re looking for privacy.
I slip my arms around Zander’s head to play the part of the willing partner, which, with his waist nestled between my thighs and his hands gripping me tightly, I can’t deny that I am.
Tension cords his muscles.
“You know, it would be a lot easier if you didn’t make your captain hunt for you,” I whisper, heat swelling deep in my core.
Zander’s exhale skates across my lips. “It would be a lot easier if you didn’t react the way you do to me.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Neither can I anymore, it would seem.”
The headiness that was building in the tiny nook before Bexley and Kaders arrived slams into us like a thick fog that I can’t see past.
I’m unsure who moves first, but our mouths find each other within the inky shield of our cowls. Zander’s lips are supple as they explore, at first with a hint of hesitancy, but then with the eagerness of a long-anticipated kiss, deepening as his torso presses against mine.
It’s nearly as shocking as the first time this happened, though so much has changed between us since. He is no longer a stranger to me, and it would seem he doesn’t wish me dead.
But I haven’t forgotten what he is.
Curiosity overwhelms me and I slip my tongue into his mouth to drag across his top teeth, looking for the evidence. What would it feel like to have him unleash those on me?
“Do not tempt me,” he growls, shifting my body down so his hips fit squarely between my thighs. The heat of his hands clutching my backside burns as he grinds against me. I may not be able to read his lust through his racing pulse, but I can feel the proof of his arousal. He is as affected by me as I am by him.
I vaguely hear a whistle, but I ignore it, deepening our kiss, sliding my hand into his cloak to gather a fistful of silky hair. A second, more urgent whistle follows.
Zander breaks free and releases his grip, settling me onto the ground. Several long moments hang between us, his breathing ragged as he appears to be collecting himself. As am I, I realize, my own breath coming in short, heady pants.
“We have to go.” As quickly as that moment between us came, it is over.
I let him lead me out by the hand, my head swirling in a cloud of exhilaration and confusion.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My bedchamber is eerily quiet and dark when Zander and I step through the passage. The bell tower doesn’t toll through the night, but it must be well after two as stone grinds against stone, sealing my escape route shut. The lone flame flickers in the lantern within my grasp, but it’s enough to feed Zander’s ability. Candles all around my room suddenly erupt, casting my bed in a warm glow.
He bends to adjust the small area rug at the foot of the bed, the only evidence of my room’s secret and of our recent excursion.
Besides this new unsurmountable tension in the air, of course.
The ride back to the castle was silent and riddled with my unspoken thoughts, and I found myself leaning back against his chest for most of it, to which he didn’t seem opposed. But now we’re here, alone, and I’m unsure of what to expect. Unsure of what I want to happen.
That’s a lie. As I study his tall, broad frame and his handsome face, as I think of that devilish smile and those intent eyes and the feel of his hands on my hips and his mouth on mine, and how his willing body ground into me, I know exactly what I want.
And I’m likely a fool for it.
There is that voice in my mind, the one that seeks out angles as readily as Zander does. It sings of victory, reminding me of my purpose here and how much closer I am to achieving it now that he doesn’t despise me. But with that knowledge comes an unsettling stir of guilt. I don’t want to use him like that.
Zander wanders to the threshold of my sitting room and pauses a moment to scan the shadows before he shuts my bedroom door.
My heart pounds with potent anticipation that I know he can feel.
Are his thoughts as conflicted as mine?
The silence is overwhelming, the need to fill it urgent. “What are you going to do about Ianca?” I ask.
He smooths a hand over the back of his neck. “Give Boaz a description and have the royal guard keep an eye out. There’s not much else we can do until she makes herself known. I’m hoping she’ll find her way to Wendeline.”
Or she’ll hear through the castle’s grapevine—which surely has tendrils weaving through the city—that I’m looking for her.
“Tomorrow will be a long day.” His hard swallow carries in my quiet room. After another moment’s pause, he offers, “Good night, Romeria,” and strolls toward the terrace door.
Disappointment sparks but I push it aside. “Especially with my trip down to the market with Dagny.”
His feet sl
ow and his laugh—a beautiful, melodic music—carries through my bedchamber. “Tonight did not satisfy your curiosity?”
“No, actually. I’ve been left completely unsatisfied,” I counter, and watch my challenge sink in.
His jaw tenses as he meets my stare.
My stomach flips as he takes several steps toward me.
But then he stops. He inhales deeply. “Whatever this is between us, it is not real. It is the result of a summoning, of Aoife’s intervention, and while I was sure that spell was broken after my parents’ murder, that may not be the case.”
“That’s what you think this is? A spell?” What if it is? What if the only reason Zander is attracted to me is because Aoife made it that way, in some sort of cruel trick?
The discontent that comes with that thought is unexpected and staggering.
His jaw tenses. “I will not be a victim to Neilina’s plans. I will not be a bewitched king.”
“I don’t want you to be.” I hope he can read the sincerity in my voice.
“And yet every time I see you, this pull grows stronger, harder for me to ignore.” His eyes drift over me. “You make me believe that I can accomplish everything I’ve ever wanted for Islor. Is that a fool’s wish too? Is it also part of Aoife’s plan?”
“I don’t know.”
He bites his lip. “I cannot accompany you to the market tomorrow. I have important matters to attend to.”
“Elisaf can take me. Please?” I hold my breath.
He sighs heavily. “Elisaf and Dorkus. In a royal carriage, with suitable guard, and early, before the masses are out.”
A flutter of excitement stirs. I can’t believe he’s agreeing to let me go. “That was the plan, anyway.”
“I’m sure it was.” He smirks. “I’ll prepare Corrin for it.”
His hand is on the terrace door when I call out, “Hey, Zander?”
He pauses, and I note how his shoulders rise and fall with another deep breath. “Yes?”
I hesitate. “Did we ever … you know.”
“Do I?” he teases, but after a moment says, “No. You insisted we wait. You found great enjoyment in taunting me, though.” He half turns toward me but then stops himself. The corner of his mouth curls. “You still do.”