by A. K. Koonce
“Couch is made of wood,” Damien says, kicking his legs back and forth on the edge of the platform.
“I’ll find a spare bedroom.” I nod to myself.
“Only bed in the house is Corva’s,” Damien adds.
“I will—I will—I’ll just make a fucking pallet in front of the door like an old dog and sleep soundly, because this thing looks like it’s going to strangle me in my sleep,” I finally admit, my hands on my hips. I eye the wide netting circling me.
Damien stands and the pull of his lips is hard not to stare at as he smirks down at me. And then, he free falls backward. He lands with a high bounce before he spreads his arms out wide, the threads melding to his body with every move he makes.
“It’s a nest. This bed was designed for winged creatures.” His voice is tinged with sadness, and I remember how destroyed his shoulder blades looked where his wings used to be.
“Your wings will grow back,” I say slowly.
“Yeah. As demon wings. Leather will cover my body where fine feathers used to sprout. And it’ll take time. It won’t be overnight like it normally would be, because of Corva’s magic.”
I swallow hard at that thought.
I hate how much I pity him. I hate that I feel anything but anger and annoyance for the man who hauled me away against my will.
“There’s a blanket on the couch for your floor pallet.” Zaviar cuts Damien off. The impatience and irritation on his face is clear.
He wants me out of his space.
And where I have understanding and compassion for Damien, I have nothing but hatred for Zaviar.
The feeling is clearly mutual.
He and I are at a standoff, I feel like. This is his home. His friends. His bed.
Fuck him.
My long silver hair catches around my face as I roll off the little platform and hit the netting without a hint of awkward frustration. I roll out there like a red carpet to be admired.
Or, caressed by Damien’s fine-ass body. My back hits his solid chest, and I laugh at the impact. His big hand stops me from slipping to the middle of the net, and I turn until I’m in his arms. I smile up at his quiet, delicious smirk.
His hard body is all around me.
“Thought you were going to sleep in front of the door,” he says with that gentle tone that makes all his words sound like a sexy secret.
My wings spread out slowly behind me, and I love that he hasn’t let me go.
“I don’t know. I think I like it here.” I pull away until I’m staring up at the darkening sky and the glittering stars. His warm hand settles on my stomach, and my heart is all too aware of how good his hands feel on my body.
My attention drifts to the platform until I’m locking gazes with broody blue eyes. It’s a cutting gaze that’s sparking with violence.
Who hurt Zaviar so damn much that he permanently looks like an angry Muppet with someone’s hand shoved too far up his ass?
It feels good to so easily get under his skin like this. I bet Zaviar is used to people bowing under his pouting moodiness.
Welcome to the Aries Sinclaire show. I can be just as much an asshole as he can. Except better. I can be a faehole. And trust me, that’s worse.
Ryke’s smile is a carving dangerous thing, but he surprises me when he leaps down as well. His weight jostles me when he lands, and his arms are ready when the netting slides me down against his hard chest.
Heat burns across my skin. He takes his time releasing me from his singeing touch. He makes sure to keep his hand planted against my hip over my jeans to steady me, but also to protect me from the iron in his blood.
A laugh slips from my lips on a sharp breath, and the way he pays attention to my changing emotions is a telling thing.
He thinks I’m afraid of him.
I’m not. He’s incredibly sexy. He has the body of a warrior.
But he’s also scarred. In more ways than one, I think.
Lightly, my fingers drift out to skim lightly along the carved runes my sister has etched into his skin for years. They left deep and lashing marks. A fiery feeling licks at my fingertips, but I toy with the tingling pain of it.
“Do they hurt?” I ask quietly.
I feel Damien behind us, but the heat of his body is more telling than his unspoken words. He seems like a quiet man with more dirty thoughts than sentences.
“Not at all,” Ryke says.
One after the other, my palms follow the harsh lines down his chest to just above his navel.
“Does it hurt to touch me?” His thumb slips slightly higher until he’s barely grazing the skin of my stomach with too much heat in that little touch.
I don’t move away.
“Not if I’m careful,” I say, my hands still ghosting dangerously across his skin until he trembles beneath my touch.
My heart pounds to life with that single uncontrollable shudder shaking through him. He’s so big. So strong. And yet, I affect him.
I smile quietly to myself.
“When’s the last time someone touched you, Ryke?” I can’t help the dirty thoughts of my hand slipping lower and wrapping around his shaft from slamming through my mind.
He swallows hard, and I wonder if he’s having trouble with some of his own thoughts . . .
“No one’s touched me without harming me in . . . centuries.”
I look up at his watchful pale green eyes.
He’s been here with Corva for a hundred years.
Who hurt him before my sister?
My lips part to ask him so many more questions when the threads beneath me jar harsh and tight, bouncing my body until I’m sprawled out between the two men. I lift my head to find Zaviar storming across the other side of the net like he’s walking on air, but that air has deeply offended him, and he’s going to make it pay with every stomping step he takes. In the darkness, he settles at the edge of the netting farthest from the three of us. His cruel gaze catches mine with a scathing look before he settles there, spreads out his wings, and stares up at the stars.
Alone.
This trio of men are not my friends. I’m a stranger to them.
And once more, I have to figure out where I fit in with this new life.
6
Past and Present
Sunlight beams down on me. It’s early, and a chill kisses the air, but something heavy covers me with comfortable warmth. With my eyes still closed, my fingers lift and lightly trail over the smooth leather surface hovering above my skin. It stings my fingertip the moment I touch it.
Ryke’s wing.
My lashes lift slowly, and I look to my right. A foot of space separates me from the demon. He’s sleeping soundly on his side but his wing is stretched out to its fullest to cover my body.
He’s . . . sweet. Ish.
My head turns, and instead of finding Damien a small space away like his friend, I realize he’s wrapped around me like a vice. His big arm is tucked beneath his friend’s wing. My hand skims up the length of his hard muscle and the defined veins along his forearm. He shifts against me, and it feels good to be held.
A nagging little voice at the back of my mind tells me to be careful with these men. They’re demons, after all, and demons and fae don’t mix.
That’s what my father and brother told me over and over again my entire life.
Or maybe you could pull your head out of your faehole and make some friends every now and then, a different, more obnoxious cunt-like voice chirps.
Morning, Catherine.
Oh, do tell. How does it feel to wake up without a hangover? Refreshing? Delightful? Amazing?
Awful. If you must know, I answer, my fingers still trailing up and down Damien’s arm until a soft sigh slips from his full lips.
I hate how much I like lying here between them.
I don’t belong here. I belong in the center of the kingdom I grew up in. I belong around my own people.
And this morning, I’m going to go there.
With tens
e effort, I slide Ryke’s wing back and peel Damien’s heavy arm off my chest. With even more effort, I stumble toward the center platform, hike my leg up, crawl desperately off of the net of doom.
An exhausted breath pushes from my lungs.
Why would anyone do that every single morning? I shake my head and instead of chancing my luck and crawling across the netting again to get to the stairs, my wings spread wide and I’m soaring away in an instant.
It’s a much more dignified method of travel.
I fly over the elaborate treehouse. For a moment, it feels nice to have the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, the—
“Going somewhere, Crow?”
I dip abruptly like I’ve been shot down from midair. It takes my heartbeat and my brain a moment to realize it’s just a cocky demon.
Just a demon.
How comforting.
Ryke’s big wings are nearly the same shade of black as my own, but they move differently across the breeze. His seem to catch the wind better, and he glides more than I do. He makes it look effortless.
I swallow. For a moment, I consider lying to him, but I don’t really know why.
I have nothing to hide.
“I need to speak with the King. I’m going to the Kingdom of Roses.”
“Everything here’s all named after flowers and daisies and shit,” he grumbles.
I can’t help but smile lightly. He’s not wrong.
“Why are you going to the Kingdom? Corva says the King and the Prince are assholes. Doesn’t like demons unless they’re servants, and the King doesn’t treat his own children much better.”
I nod at that incredibly accurate description.
But there seems to be a vital part of that story that my sweet conniving sister left out.
“I’m going to speak to the King because he’s my father, Ryke.”
It’s his turn to lose the weight of the wind. He staggers back and nearly drops right out of the sky. It takes him a few seconds to catch up.
“You’re—you’re a princess?” he asks, and I feel his burning gaze against my face.
“I am.”
“And . . . do you share the same views as your father?”
I glide through the breeze and with a little help of my magic, I slip beneath him, upside down as he flies, and I drift along with him. My wings don’t even move as I lie suspended beneath his flight. My body is inches from his, and I have to admit I like this angle. I could get used to this spot underneath him. I study him the entire time; the strong angle of his jaw, the scruff of his beard, the smooth curves of his muscles that are hidden beneath scaring lines of runes.
I’ve been warned away from demons and their destruction my entire life. And the demons who do linger around me, they die fairly fast . . .
It took years. It takes life and experience to realize that not everything your parents say is a fact.
Some of it is flat out racist and inaccurate.
“No. My father and I are nothing alike. Which is part of the reason why I was exiled.”
He peers down at me, wind blowing his short dark hair. A little smile carves his lips, and I think he likes being above me like this. I like it, too.
Too much.
I swoop away as he reaches out to me. I soar faster and faster, and I don’t look back at that demon who’s too alluring for my own good.
Over the thick tree, jagged rooftops like broken glass slip into sight, and my stomach drops at the thought of stepping foot in that castle again after three long years. I swallow the uneasiness clawing up my chest, and I take a single deep breath before I lower myself to the ground. My bare feet settle on the soft grass as though I am a delicate angel.
Heavy boots slam down next to me like demon shit hailing down vengefully from the sky.
My neck turns to glare over at my handsome stalker.
“Thought you might want some company.” Ryke’s smile is distracting, but I’m not falling for it.
“You thought wrong. Go back to the house. I’ll be there soon.” I take a step, and he mirrors my pace.
“Well, I’d love to, Crow, but on the off chance that you ditch us, I’m not going to spend my Fridays searching for a whining baby sister again.”
I am not whining! Why are they all so damn rude?
“Well, I don’t need a demonic babysitter today. I’ll meet you back at the house.”
“You’re sneaking into the castle at dawn before anyone’s awake, and you expect me to believe you’re coming back?” Ryke grips my arm hard. His scorching heat sears into my skin. My jaw clenches even harder.
I pull inside myself, and I copy down what his magic feels like. I focus on it so intently that he jerks his hand away with a groan. He looks from me to his palm and then back again.
“What the fuck did you just do? Did you burn me?”
“I didn’t do anything. I’m powerful enough to glamour supernaturals the way most fae glamour mere humans. I just gave you a taste of your own medicine. Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“So you fucked with my mind? Fucking women and their mind games,” he says with a growl.
Huh. And here I thought I liked him.
He points an angry finger in my face.
“Don’t get in my head again,” he warns.
I give him a bored look, and then shake my head rapidly back and forth until the pretty silver locks turn crimson red. My feathers ruffle hard, and as if I’m shaking out the inky color, they fade into a deep color like blood staining my wings. It takes time. A few blinks of my eyes to turn them from gray to emerald. A hand slips down my face to morph the features into a look of serene wisdom. A stretch of my limbs to turn the curves of my body into a slender, willowy frame.
And then I look at him, almost at eye level, as a completely different person.
As my mother.
“What. The. Fuck.” His wide eyes dance along my flesh, and I feel like myself. Sort of. I’m myself in different skin. Not a big deal.
“What part of ‘Don’t fuck with my mind,’ don’t you understand?” he says.
“You know what I am? Do you understand what a dark fae is? I’m cruel, Ryke. I can make you believe you’re eating the finest food you’ve ever tasted, all the while starving you for days on end until you rot away to skin and bones. I can make you believe no one sees you, no one loves you, and no one wants you. I can!”
He stomps right up to me until his big chest is brushing mine. Blazing green eyes stare me down.
“Do you ever pause to think that I already believe that, Pretty Crow?” He spits that terrible sentence out, but his jaw clenches tightly before he speaks once more in that low harsh tone. “Do not ever fuck with my head, fae.”
I thought I understood him.
I don’t understand this man at all.
And he certainly doesn’t understand me.
“Don’t get in my way, and I won’t.” With a swift step, I turn from him.
Big green shrubs tickle my arm as I sweep past them with that flawless confidence my mother always had. I carry myself as if I’m gliding through the endless rose garden where I used to play hide-and-seek with my brother and sister so long ago.
Because there was a time Corva, Nathiale, and I were best friends. We were inseparable. I was the youngest, but they never made me feel too little. We were a tribe in a way. My father made sure the only friends we had were each other so we wouldn’t be misguided by our peers.
What he meant was, so we would only know his truth. His word. His laws.
Corva realized that first. I understood it the moment she was sent away. My brother’s anger became darker and darker over the years.
But I was better at hiding my hatred.
Just ask my brother. The man I hate more than anything and the reason why I was exiled in the first place.
He was always more deadly than my father. And if things keeping going as they are, he’ll be this kingdom’s future ruler.
I gaze at my past that’s currently clo
uding my present. Blood and cruelty taints this rose garden. Years of sharp knives and bloody games are what coat these petals now.
I push the memories away as I grip the big metal handle and pull the back door open without a sound. But it’s swept out of my grasp as someone hold it open for me with a small bow.
“My Queen, please allow me,” a dark rasping voice says with the smallest hint of snark.
My entire body tenses, and I glare at the stupid demon by my side. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Your Majesty, please correct me if I’m wrong, but ladies of the crown do not use the fuck word outside of the bedroom.” He cocks his head at me.
Oh. My. God.
I slam the door shut, and as much as I hope it’ll catch his fingers and smash his hand for good measure, it closes without incident.
“You are going to get yourself killed. My father kills men like you.”
“He also enslaves them. It wouldn’t be an odd sight for the Queen of Roses to have a demon escort, would it?” He searches my blazing eyes, and I have to unhinge my jaw to speak in the slowest way to make sure he understands me perfectly.
“If they suspect you, I won’t jeopardize myself to save you, demon.”
“Good,” he says flatly with a nod.
He is so fucking cocky it makes me crazy.
With too much force, I jerk one of the dozens of leashes down from the hook near the door. I wrap the leather around his neck and snap the shiny metal clip in place, and then I turn to lead my new pet inside.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he whispers under his breath.
I smirk mischievously.
I can’t lie, I really like how fast he follows when I pull on the short leash. He’s a good boy indeed.
Down the dark hall we walk in silence. A guard bows low when I pass by without offering him a glance. I don’t linger. I have a target, and I’m not going to pause on old family portraits or smile at the rushing staff. The smell of warm eggs wafts through the empty dining room.
My father will be awake soon. The morning bell tower will signal our time has run out, but it seems we have just a bit more time.
I lead Ryke toward the curving staircase. My hand glides over the carved roses that adorn the railing, but I barely spare a moment for memories to sneak into my mind as I take the steps quickly.