Blood Tithe (The Lost Cove Darklings Book 2)

by Bekah Harris

  As Mage, her sole focus was supposed to be on the community and the magic it took to keep Lost Cove hidden and safe through the maintenance of wards and glamours—as well as the curses that would befall anyone who tried to breach the barrier. Unlike the humans, Felicity didn’t have to pay tithes in blood, which could weaken her magic. Also unlike the humans, she wasn’t free to date anyone, let alone the Laltog Prince who had been betrothed to Princess Kyla, the daughter of the fallen Darkling King Erroll. Felicity could admit, it was kind of skeezy to be sneaking around with Tristen whenever the opportunity presented itself, but in her defense, Kyla was a total bitch in a psychotic, murdery sort of way, and the crazy girl couldn’t stand Tristen anyway. All she cared about was power. So even if Tristen hadn’t fanged Felicity in the library two weeks ago, she would give zero fucks about whether Kyla liked her or not.

  The Mage’s cottage was behind the sinister Goth castle where the Laltogs lived, so, in this case, it made sense for Tristen to “escort” her home. And Felicity would take any amount of time she could to be near him, no matter how brief. They typically avoided each other at school and community events. They pretended to be passing acquaintances, polite but not overly friendly. Though there had been a significant amount of gazing. From across classrooms at school. From across the dining table at Evening Feast. From across fields and lawns in town. Every time he looked at her, her foolish little heart got all fluttery, as if a horde of moths were trapped in its chambers.

  Tonight was the first time in two weeks Felicity had been able to touch him, to stand this close to him, and her traitorous hormones really needed to pump the brakes before she made a total dumbass of herself. Once they were out of sight of the other Laltogs, Tristen moved his arm, lacing his fingers through Felicity’s, his thumb continuing their circles over her hand.

  “You made it rain,” Tristen whispered. “I can’t believe you made it rain.”

  “Honestly? Neither can I.” Felicity unleashed a shocked giggle. “I mean, I knew I was awesome, but I had no idea I was that awesome.”

  “I did,” Tristen whispered, leaning so close, she could feel his breath in her ear.

  She shuddered as goosebumps puckered over her skin. She slowly released a measured breath, hoping Tristen couldn’t hear the way his words had jump started her heart like a car battery. But he probably could. He totally could. And the way he made her feel was like a high that she never wanted to end.

  Too soon, though, they had reached the cottage, both front windows glowing with light. With a wicked grin, Tristen pulled her into the shadows of the porch, scanning the area with his superhuman vision to make sure they were alone. Once he was satisfied, his shoulders relaxed, and he gazed down at her. Felicity could barely breathe, and if he kept looking at her like that without touching her, she was going to need a paper bag. Finally, he turned her towards him, bringing his hand to her hair, twisting a rain-soaked strand around his finger.

  “Don’t forget,” he whispered. “You remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Felicity whispered. “I remember.”

  Smiling, the point of a sharp fang caught the moonlight, as he leaned toward her. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, reminding her of the burst of pleasure she had felt when he drank from her. Just as she hoped he would, Tristen leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

  Felicity’s hormones kicked into overdrive, but when she reached up to wind her arms around him and deepen their kiss, there was only air.

  He was gone.

  Tristen had faded before either of them could lose themselves—which was exactly what Felicity had been planning to do, rules and laws happily forgotten.

  “I hate it when he does that,” she whispered, her heart still pounding.

  Though the Seelie could fade just as the Laltogs could, it was a skill Nan couldn’t teach her. And none of the Laltogs were signing up to teach the enemy how to get away from them faster. But Felicity definitely wanted to learn how. To drive Tristen wild and then leave him a sudden puddle of lust and raw nerves. Plus, it would be useful if she ever found herself in danger.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her pulse and tame the warmth that rushed through her body, she stepped back onto the porch and opened the door. The lights were still on, but Nan and Raven had gone to bed.

  Groaning, Felicity locked the door and walked into the bathroom to get out of her wet clothes and take a shower. Then, she looked in the mirror.

  She cringed back in horror. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  That explained why Tristen kept smirking.

  She looked like someone’s unfortunate, post-bender mugshot. Her hair was wet from the rain and her face was covered in the grimy soot left behind by smoke and ash from the fire. She had gone to bed the night before without bothering to wash her face, so the day’s mascara had bled from her lashes, creating darker rivulets amid the grease. Even the pointed tips of her ears were smudged with grime, and she couldn’t imagine what had compelled Tristen to brush his lips against hers.

  But the memory of it thrilled her.

  As she stood in the hot shower, allowing the soap and water to rinse away the night’s work, she recalled his parting words: “Don’t forget.”

  He was reminding her of a promise he made to her two days after she came to Lost Cove. When she had learned that because she was the Mage, her life could never be her own. But Tristen had managed to give her hope.

  Every time you see me avoiding your gaze, I’m thinking of how soft your lips are. And when I dart in the other direction to avoid your path, I’m reliving our kiss. And when we pass by each other and my hand grazes yours, I can still taste you on my tongue.

  She had repeated the words over and over like a prayer, held onto them, and committed them to memory to give her something to hope for. She could only pray that kind of hope didn’t play her false. As she crawled beneath the covers, rolling herself up like a burrito, she replayed each kiss they had shared, from their morning in the library to the more chaste version in the shadows beside the door. Finally, with her fingertips pressed to her lips, Felicity drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Fhaescratch was waiting up.

  When Tristen had climbed the stairs, still trying to get a hold of himself after the kiss he shouldn’t have shared with Felicity, he noticed the light on in his father’s study. He considered fading into his room, but if the Laltog King wanted to speak with him, there was no avoiding it, whether he faded or not. Instead, he hurried down the hall, barely past the door to the study, when he heard Fhaescratch’s voice.

  “Tristen,” he called.

  Squeezing his eyes, Tristen accepted his fate and peered around the door. His father was sitting behind his desk, studying an ancient-looking text he’d probably swiped from the library’s archives.

  “You didn’t think you were going to get away that easily, did you?” He indicated the chair beside the desk. “Sit.”

  Tristen crossed the room and sat down, his skin still warm from Felicity’s touch. He traced the points of his fangs with his tongue, which were disobeying his brain’s command to retract. But it was as if they recalled the taste of Felicity’s Seelie blood, the rush of power that had engulfed him when he drank from her.

  Judging by his father’s glare, Tristen hadn’t gotten away with as much as he thought. He had dared a kiss in the dark shadows of Felicity’s porch, barely even a whisper against her lips. But the temptation of her gorgeous mouth so close to his was too much for him to resist. The call of her blood lured him ever closer to her, just as it had since that morning in the library, but he had managed to resist her until tonight. She had just saved their community—their mountain and everything that lived in the forest: the barns, the livestock, the horses, the structures—wearing barely more than a leopard print robe and a determined scowl. She was soaking wet and caked with grime, smelling of mulled wine and ashes, and still, she was the most beautiful, intriguing creature he’d ever beheld. But the Mage was not
free to love, and Tristen was not allowed to touch her.

  But he had.

  Tristen had broken the law by becoming involved with her. Even worse, he had discovered the old stories about the power of Seelie blood had been true. Once a Darkling had tasted the blood of a Seelie Fae, he would never be able to stop the pursuit of it. But he had stopped himself.

  Fhaescratch steepled his fingers and gave him a look of warning. “I haven’t been alive since the beginning to remain unaware when my son blatantly defies the laws of our coven. Not to mention the promise your mother and I made to Kyla.”

  Tristen leaned back, trying to give off an air of nonchalance. He was going to lie. It was the safest thing for Felicity. “I defied no laws, Father. The Mage was alone. I escorted her home while congratulating her on saving our entire way of life.”

  Fhaescratch stared at him, unconvinced. “I believe we both know that anytime you escort the Mage home, you are not simply escorting the Mage home.”

  He was right on target, and there was no use in denying it. Tristen was just as drawn to Felicity as he had been the first time he saw her—when she had seen through his glamour in the hallway of a public school in the human realm. It didn’t matter that he was a Laltog Prince, and she was the princess of the Seelie Realm in Faerie. It didn’t matter that they were sworn enemies. It didn’t matter that he was already betrothed to Kyla. He couldn’t stop thinking about Felicity.

  “You know that, and I know that,” Tristen said, “but no one else does. The law says that I cannot pursue a relationship with the Mage or tithe her blood. It says nothing about escorting her home.”

  “And I suppose your moment in the library two weeks ago was you walking the straight and narrow?” Fhaescratch raised a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. “Or the way you watch her like there’s no one else in the room? Or the kiss you shared in the darkness tonight? There is nothing that goes on in Lost Cove that I don’t know about.”

  Tristen wasn’t sorry for anything that had happened in the library with Felicity, except the fact that they had been interrupted. And the only thing he regretted tonight was not being able to steal more than a moment with her.

  “Technically, the library incident happened before she began her duties as Mage. And what happened tonight could barely even be defined as a kiss.”

  Fhaescratch slammed his fist on the desk. Tristen remained calm, though his first instinct was to jump.

  “You dare to speak to me about technicalities?” his father yelled. “Your engagement to Kyla maintains the peace in Lost Cove and ensures my continued rule. Do you truly believe becoming involved with the abandoned daughter of the Seelie king will come without consequences?”

  Tristen swallowed. His father had a point. Kyla’s father, Erroll, had established Lost Cove just after the first uprising between the Darklings and the Seelies five hundred years ago. It had been a safe haven not only for the Laltogs but also for the Natives endangered by the settlers and, later, the slaves who wished to escape the bonds of captivity. By the power of the blood tithe, the Laltogs of Lost Cove had been protecting humans for centuries. Erroll had ruled over the community and protected the people there until Fhaescratch had slaughtered him sixteen years before. In the scheme of things, his father had not ruled long enough to gain the kind of uncompromising loyalty Erroll had commanded. Tristen was well aware of the sway Kyla still held over many of the Elders and human families in their society. But he would rip out his own heart and cross into the Shadowlands before he trusted Kyla. She hated him. Tristen hated what his father had done to her family, but Kyla was festering with bitterness and lust for vengeance. And all Fae, Darklings included, were immortal. Fhaescratch would live forever unless his life was purposely taken. That meant if Tristen married Kyla, it was a life sentence, and that life would most likely span centuries.

  “This is not a game, Tristen,” Fhaescratch said.

  It wasn’t. Tristen knew it wasn’t.

  “Would you want to marry Kyla?” Tristen asked. “When you and Mother married, there was mutual respect and attraction, if not love. I have none of that with Kyla. She despises me because of you, and she will never respect me. Not enough to reign beside me, if that day ever comes. She thinks to rule through me until she gains enough power to overthrow me, and you know it well.”

  “Which is exactly why I need you to keep up the pretense,” Fhaescratch said. “Do you honestly believe I want you to marry her? She is a problem that will have to be dealt with, but everything is a fragile dance. I will have to figure out what to do about Kyla without inciting rebellion. In the meantime, I expect you to follow the law and do nothing to cause whispers from the Elders.”

  Tristen nodded.

  “Am I clear? Because I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes,” Tristen said. “You’re clear.”

  “Good,” he said. “No more stolen moments in the shadows with our Mage. If you think angering Kyla is a threat to our society, imagine what will happen if her supporters discover your intentions toward Felicity.”

  Fhaescratch was right. Keeping his distance from Felicity was a slow-burning torture, but it was one he would have to bear. If he cared for her, then she could be used against him, not only by Kyla but by Fhaescratch, as well. And Tristen knew his father well enough to know such behavior wouldn’t be beyond him.

  “And have you considered why you feel this burning attraction to our Mage?” Fhaescratch asked.

  Tristen raised his brows. He could tell by his father’s tone that whatever he was about to say was going to torment him the rest of the night, if not longer.

  “You’ve tasted her blood, Tristen. The blood of a Seelie Fae is not something you’ll soon forget, especially that of a Seelie Royal.”

  “Those are just stories.” Tristen leaned back in the chair, trying to appear unaffected.

  “Are they?” Fhaescratch asked. He smiled. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret. I once had in my possession a Winter Princess.”

  “Lyric?”

  “Ivy.”

  Tristen snorted. “You’re telling me you had an affair with Queen Ivy?”

  “Of course not,” Fhaescratch said. “She’s much too...pure...for my taste. Her blood, on the other hand…”

  His father got a faraway look, his fangs sharpening into points as he remembered...whatever it was he was remembering.

  “I was holding her during the second uprising with plans to deliver her to Teagan, the Dark Queen’s daughter. But first, I drank from her. Her blood made me powerful enough to pull Teagan’s beating heart straight from her chest months later. And I’ve never forgotten the taste of it, the power of it. When she showed up with King Barrett to reclaim Felicity, it took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to tear into her throat, consequences be damned—and I hadn’t seen her in seventeen years.”

  Tristen swallowed.

  “Do not make bloodlust more than it is, my son. It will be your ruin.”

  But it was more than blood. It had to be. Whatever this was between him and Felicity was more. The blood might be a part of it, but he had felt drawn to her, possessive of her, even before he had tasted her blood. But Fhaescratch had accomplished his goal.

  Doubt.

  Tristen felt it now, tugging at his mind. What if drinking Felicity’s blood had damned them both?

  He pushed the thought away, as a more pressing one took over, one that had been troubling him for days. Only now, it made sense.

  “Do the Elders understand the law?” Tristen asked.

  Fhaescratch froze, meeting his eyes. Obviously, it was not the reaction his father had expected.

  “Explain.”

  Tristen stood, breaking eye contact. “I’m asking because I spotted Conlan following Felicity to the creek yesterday. The Mage is off-limits to humans and Laltogs alike, no matter how powerful.”

  “And?”

  Tristen laughed, his fangs elongating as he thought of the reasons. “And Conlan’s n
ostrils were flaring like a hound after a rabbit as he tracked her. He wasn’t simply following. After what you just said about Seelie blood, I wondered if she might be in danger from someone other than me.”

  “How did Felicity handle it?” Fhaescratch asked.

  “She didn’t. I sent Luca to tell Conlan he was needed in the main house. He was not pleased with the interruption.”

  Fhaescratch didn’t speak for some time as he turned the information over in his mind. Conlan was an Elder who had been one of the founding members of Lost Cove—and a supporter of the fallen king. He held much sway among the Laltogs and humans in their society, and while he could be a valuable ally, he was a formidable enemy. With that kind of reputation, Conlan often believed himself above the law.

  And Fhaescratch had made a vow with King Barrett—one that might prove more difficult to keep if all the Laltogs in Lost Cove craved Felicity’s blood.

  “Tread carefully with Elder Conlan,” Fhaescratch said. “He knows the law but has always thought himself above it.”

  Darkness seeped through Tristen’s chest, heating his veins. “What are we going to do about it?”

  “We are going to be smart,” Fhaescratch said. “If I appoint a guard to her, it could be interpreted only two ways, both of them unfavorable. The first is that I don’t trust Felicity, when I have told the entire coven they can trust her. The other is that I don’t trust the coven. See the problem?”

  Tristen saw only one alternative, but it would have to be his father’s idea, not his own. He clamped his mouth shut against any hint or suggestion as Fhaescratch mulled over the issue. Finally, rubbing his face, he came to the logical conclusion.

  “Watch over her from a distance,” Fhaescratch said. “Keep your eyes on her and intervene if anyone from the coven gets too close. If you are certain he can be trusted, enlist Luca to help you—under the strictest secrecy.”

  Tristen nodded. Luca was his best friend, and he would trust him with his life. But could he trust him with Felicity’s?