17. Itsy Bitsy Spider

Chapter 17

Itsy Bitsy Spider

LORI

T he only place I could think of to escape was the hall of mirrors. Mirrors are my friends. Each of them is a way home, but not without my mask, and the silver key in my pocket is a very poor replacement for it. Elio is here with me. His bite of power drums through the wagon in lush, drugging waves, but for some reason, I can't see him.

"I want to talk." I say quietly enough not to reveal my exact position.

"You're not a Spring seed, are you?"

The way his voice raises at the end feels forced. He already knows, and he's trying to catch me in a lie.

"I'm a shadow," I admit, trying to pinpoint his location. In the space between light and dark—where shadows flourish, I should have an advantage. It's my home, but he eludes me.

"Looks like Seth hired himself an assassin. Is that why you look like her? I knew it had to be a glamor—" He scoffs, mostly to himself. "Were you hoping to get me alone? Slice my throat? Don't bother because it wouldn't work."

"I'm no assassin, and I was born this way—no glamor needed."

"Prove it."

Spears of ice shoot out of the wagon's floor, and a blinding sunshine blares through the claustrophobic space. Two bright halos brand my retinas, and I rush between the shiny shards, disoriented. My grip tightens over the hilts of my daggers, but they're fractionated and incomplete. Shit.

Elio extinguishes my shadows one by one with his light, leaving me without a shield or weapons to defend myself. I dash toward the closest pane of glass, about ready to risk it all and enter the sceawere without my mask, but frost covers the mirrors. The thin film of ice blurs my reflection and makes it impervious to my magic, blocking my escape.

I collide with the mirror face-first.

Elio cages me in between the smooth glass and the hard planes of his chest—one I had explored and prodded at with hungry fingers mere minutes ago. "I've got you, now."

Colors fly behind my closed lids, his body crushing me like a wall of ice. His hands are locked on my shoulders—the same hands he'd used to caress my back and hold me captive as he'd ruined me with his mouth for the whole kingdom to see. He's not yet smothering the life out of me, but his confident hold is enough to steal my breath and spells out in no uncertain terms that I still live only because he wishes it to be so.

The icy mirror chafes my cheek as he slides a thigh between my legs and paws at my waist. The lack of restraint—or even the slightest hesitation—in his movements feels blasphemous, Elio acting as though he took ownership of my body with one kiss and is now merely mapping out his rightful property.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" I snarl, the property in question having an entirely inappropriate reaction to his flag-planting antics. The sudden heat in my belly leaves me more confused than when I was on the cusp of drowning, and I blush a thousand shades of fucked up .

His frosty breath stings the shell of my ear. "Either I check you for active glamors, or I kill you right here and now. Your choice, little spider."

He looks ready to skewer me on ice if I so much as open my mouth again, and I offer him a tight nod.

"Wise choice." His spears retreat, and he draws back a few inches. "Both palms in front of you, don't move, and maybe, if I don't find anything, I'll give you a chance to explain yourself."

A hoarse sigh rocks me as I flatten both of my palms to the frozen mirror, and Elio digs his hands inside my pockets.

"What's this?" He dangles the silver key in front of my eyes.

"It's for my mask. I left it with Seth."

"Pretty stupid of you." With an unkind chuckle, he tears off my shirt and picks the leftover shreds off my shivering frame.

After he's done with the top, he dips his fingers below the hem of my black leggings to pull them off. My stupid body bends to help him along, my skin feverish as I step out of the leggings one foot at a time, my black underwear the only barrier left to shield me from his gaze.

Why is my body reacting this way, when I should want to kick his teeth in for what he's doing? Why are my breaths so damn shallow, and why oh why are my breasts so heavy and sensitive? He's hard-core frisking me. This is not sexual. This is not sexual.

But I'm delusional, because it's absolutely sexual.

My reflection in the mirror to my left is one of pure submission, and my gut cramps. "Enjoying the view, ice prick?"

"Not particularly," he barks in response. "I'm busy."

The calluses of his hands trace every single inch of my naked back slowly and methodically. He inspects every groove like he's afraid I've hidden the runes under an invisibility enchantment of some kind, and I shiver at the pressure. He's very careful not to bruise me, but his touch is colder and heavier than strictly necessary. The bastard wants me to feel small and under his control, but the rather intimate search only spurs the fever along. Hell, the touch of his smooth, large hands spreads the disease from my treacherous body to my intoxicated brain.

He's got very graceful fingers, long and nimble. The girls were saying how he loves to play the piano—I bet he's good at it, too.

No! Nope. Ugh-Ugh. Stop thinking about his pianist hands, I try to reason with myself, but the strange warmth in my belly is intent on dragging my mind deeper and deeper down the gutter. From his expert musician hands, to his rock-hard abs, to the long, steely ridge of his erection pressing against my thigh, earlier.

The fever, and the magic behind it, is too powerful to resist. What started as a spark of madness back on stage—with a kiss no one would argue was the best damn first kiss a man and a woman ever shared in front of an audience—has caught fire.

"Stop looking at me like that," Elio barks darkly, no longer meeting my gaze in the mirror. After he's done with my back, he rakes his icy fingers through my hair and gives it a rough pull to check my skull.

I swallow back a whimper. "Careful with the hair."

He twists it around his hand and tugs harder in response, jerking my head back. "Where did you hide the runes?"

"I told you," I scold him. "You're searching for something that doesn't exist."

"We'll see."

When he's confident there's nothing written on my scalp, he traces new lines over my backside, all the way down to my heels. Jolts of electricity scatter through my body, but he hurries along my curves like he's intimidated by them. Or rather…distracted?

I watch him in the mirror, and he pauses for a moment, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth like he's not sure what to do. He extends two fingers toward my spine like he's yearning to touch it but stops himself at the last second.

He growls when he catches me looking.

"You're certainly enjoying the view now …" I trail off.

"Spin around."

I swallow hard, but he doesn't ogle or leer at my chest as I obey. The earthy, fresh scent of him drills into me again—pine needles, dewdrops, and apples—so perfect I could scream.

His eyes fall to my ribs, and he pauses. "What's this?" he grazes the swollen spider bite, and the small touch causes my abs to clench and my nipples to harden.

"A scar."

"That's more than a scar. You were wounded, and badly at that." His blue eyes pulse with anger. "You almost died."

"I know," I answer quietly.

I can't tell if he's mad that I escaped death or what, but his hand shakes. He scans every inch of my arms to the very tip of my nails and applies the same process to my face and chest.

"A glamor rune could be as small as the tip of a signet ring," he breathes. "You must have hidden it well."

He sounds so certain that I'm lying, but his hypothesis that I could have hidden the runes anywhere on my skin is flawed. Only a fucked up witch would carve glamor runes into her breasts . Gods!

When his gaze finally falls to my dark, erect peaks, his cheeks become slightly hollowed out, and he pauses.

His throat bobs, the pressure of his fingertips more gentle than it was when he first started. He bites his bottom lip again and glares at my breasts like they exist solely to torture him. Like he's furious with me for having them in the first place. My damn belly squeezes in anticipation without a single consideration for common sense. I want him to stop playing chicken and fucking touch them already. He's clearly thinking about it, the bulge in his pants becoming more obvious by the second.

The fever's getting to him, too.

I'd feel thwarted if it didn't. No one wants to burn alive alone. When ice itself is ablaze, you know that the flames were quite unstoppable.

I bite back a moan as he finally, finally ghosts his index and middle fingers across my chest.

"You're totally enjoying this," I say in a scalding tone.

The corners of his mouth twitch. "So are you." He punctuates his statement with a sharp squeeze of my left breast, and I moan in a totally fuck, yes and not at all get off me way. My mouth hangs open at his boldness, and I want to curse him to the seven hells, but the fire is still raging.

Are we going to continue to pretend this isn't actually happening?

Even if he followed a strict process, never lingering too long in one place, his breaths have grown shallower, and his glacial blue eyes are now pulsing with something dark and foreign.

When he curses under his breath and falls to his knees in front of me, I stiffen from head to toe. "You're not serious?—"

"Either I check every inch, or I shouldn't have bothered at all."

He seems about as angry with himself for not thinking it through as he is with me. His fingertips slip under the lace of my thong, and I mold my back to the mirror, my legs about useless at this point.

He might kill you after he's done. Focus on that.

But the reaper king is on his knees in front of me… No matter how much I try to rationalize it, he's still the most powerful Fae in existence. His hair shines in the dark, and the stiffness of his shoulders does nothing to calm my nerves. The coiled muscles of his abdomen move as he breathes, and the slope of his neck is peppered with snowflakes. All I can think about is licking them off his skin.

Burn them.

Burn him. Make him see you.

Damn fever.

Never mind the feel of his cold, blistering touch. My entire body shakes, and I force myself to close my eyes.

But it doesn't help.

With or without the fever, his insidious lure is made to seduce mortals even though we know better. Power electrifies the air the same way it does after I kill a nightmare, but instead of melding into me, the restless energy glides along my skin, hovering like it doesn't quite know where to go.

Long fingers trace my inner thighs in search of runes as Elio clicks his tongue. "Do you fear me, little spider?"

"Yes."

He caresses my legs up and down, all the way to my feet and back. "Is that why you're trembling?"

I shake my head no, staring up at the ceiling. His touch grows even softer, and goosebumps riddle my neck. This is beyond embarrassing.

"I hate you, and yet…" He slips a hand outside his strict search area to the flesh of my thigh. His nose ghosts along my leg, and he inhales deeply. "You smell…perfect. What's your real name?"

"Lori," I cry out, my eyes darting down to Elio.

He digs his nails in my skin. "Your entire name."

Giving him my entire name means that he'll own me from this day forward, and yet I can't refuse him. I feel like I'm being sucked in by his gravity. I want him to see me. I need him to know who I am. "Lorisha Pari Singh."

"Do you want me to touch you, Lori?" A carnal promise burns within his hardened gaze, and the hunter inside me bristles.

Luring in the most beautiful, dangerous predator in Faerie is no small feat, but a beast caught in a snare is much more dangerous than a free one. He could kill me before I tamed him.

"Fuck." I slap the mirror behind me with my open palm, the truth about as shameful as his behavior. "Yes."

The tips of his fingers glide under the flimsy lace, and I fail to stifle a gasp as he brushes my sex.

"Why are you so wet? Are you so turned on by death that you can't recognize what's bad for you, little spider?" he says on a hiss, like this is all my fault.

"That kiss…" I rationalize, the feel of his hand fucking incredible. My whole body is knotted and curled, begging for this Fae king to take whatever he needs and destroy me. "It unleashed some kind of old magic."

" Powerful old magic," he confirms on a defeated growl. "Tell me what you want." His words are gruff and yet soft, like we're both dangling from the same thread of insanity. "Or better yet, tell me to stop. I can't see straight when you're near, but I'd never force myself on you. Say the word, and I'm gone."

My heart stumbles. "Is that what you want?"

His aren't the lazy touches of a casual lover, and I gasp when he tears the lace off and kisses the soft skin underneath with reverence. "What I want is to lick every inch of you, if you'll let me."

The sharp craving between my legs expands like a dark hole that could never, ever be filled.

"Yes." My lids flutter, and I take solace in the knowledge that, even though some higher power is really in charge, I could have said no . "I need you."

The brazen touch of his hand plagues me with self-loathing, but it's the first flick of his tongue over my drenched folds that almost kills me. It's too cold, and yet… I've never thought of ice as sexy, but every lick soothes the inferno in my belly. Each brush is divine, and I feel like I will burst into flames if he stops.

His ice is burning me, and yet… "Oh please, please, please ," I moan, horrified to hear the words out loud. I'm so fucking sensitive; I can't deal.

"You taste better than Feyfire wine," he growls, the heaviness of his breath on my clit almost enough to send me over the edge. "Better than life."

He hikes my leg over his shoulder, the new angle allowing his tongue to rub deep, and I reach down to pull on his blond locks.

Elio simply devours me, branding me with his hands and mouth and coaxing sounds out of me I've never heard before. Dark embers of magic rise into the air, and I arch my back, ready to die at his command. He presses the tip of his tongue where my will is most fragile, the rub of his fingers now hard and unrelenting.

"Come for me, little spider. Come for your king."

My body doesn't care about his earlier threats, and the pleasure both stings and soothes, like snow melting on my tongue. Wicked tremors shake my legs, and I hate myself, but it's the best orgasm of my life. It lasts for minutes , the Winter King's face buried between my legs.

"You belong to winter, now, Lorisha Pari Singh." He glides up to stand and wraps a hand in my hair. "Why does Seth want to kill me? Does he really think he would last a week as the reaper king?" A dry snort rakes his throat. "Does he truly believe death would come so easy to me?"

"I'm not an assassin."

He places an open-mouthed kiss on my temple. "So you said, but I don't believe you."

Ragged pants quake my chest. Are we lovers or enemies? Is he going to kill me or fuck me?

He loosens the knot of his lace-up pants, his current actions pointing to the latter. He's only attracted to me because of his dead wife, and yet…

"How did you know who I was earlier?" I'm panting and furious and fucking mad .

"I didn't. Not until it was too late. Hell, I prayed it wasn't you?—"

How dare he pray for another when the Flame weaved him such a gift? Burn him.

" —but here we are." He pulls himself out of his pants and strokes his cock up and down.

By the spindle and all the dark Fae Gods… Long fingers. Tall. I shouldn't be surprised.

"Then why would you kiss me like that?" I croak.

He raises a brow that tells me to evaluate my own choices before judging his and leans in to suck my earlobe into his mouth. "Why are you letting me fuck you?"

"I'm not?—"

But I am. I'm not fighting him at all—hell, I'm so fucking ready. My right thigh is already hooked around his waist. "It's the fever."

Burn. Burn. Burn.

He places a hot kiss to the valley between my breasts. "You know who else was supposedly overcome by a fever ? The Summer King before he killed all those innocent Mist Fae civilians. It was the will of the gods, he'd said."

"We're about to have sex, not commit unspeakable murders."

He grins at my response, the Winter King actually amused. "You have a point.

He kneads my breasts with both hands, twisting, flicking, and teasing, and I push against them even harder, greedy for more. I've never felt this urgency before, such a raw need to be claimed by a man.

"We're going to give in to this magic. Once. Because our bodies need it. But that's all it's ever going to be." Shards of ice magic drift in his eyes. "A moment of weakness."

I nod too many times. "Yes. Just once." The pulse of magic in the room is so powerful, I just know I will wither and die if he walks away.

He picks me up and pins me to the mirror at my back. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes," I gasp as the wide tip of him lines up with my entrance.

"Did you cast a spell on me, little spider?" he asks. "Did you sell your blood and soul to some forsaken god so he'd change your appearance and enchant me?" He gives me an inch, when I need so much more. "Did you plan this, somehow?"

"No. I swear."

His eyes flash with a sense of acceptance. "I believe that at least. Will you let me have all of you, even if it's just for one delirious moment?"

"Take me. Take me and make me scream your name, King of Death. Make it so I never forget how sweet it tastes."

He plants a soft kiss on my lips and thrusts so deep inside me that my head hits the glass. We're both speechless for a moment, our opened mouths resting against one another. He stretches me, cold and yet warm at the same time. Rock hard, and so, so big.

"You're…perfect."

Finally.

The fever recedes, content with its work, and leaves us to face the consequences of our actions. I twist my fingers in his hair and inhale deep. "Oh, fuck!"

Elio remains unnaturally still, supporting my entire weight. "Do you want to stop?"

I squeeze my walls around him, wishing I could keep him there forever. "No!" I feel torn about this, but fuck it, it's the best sex of my life. There'll be time to curse myself and feel guilty later.

He draws in a sharp breath, his hand shaking as he caresses the slope of my neck. "Thank the Blessed Flame."

"What's th? —"

Elio's lips are firm and unapologetic as he starts to move, and I taste myself on his tongue, my half-formed question forgotten. It's the most intense sensation, like my skin, body, and soul have been starving for years, waiting for him.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter—almost pleading. "You ignored me last time, but you will throw the next round and go home, yes? If you don't obey…you'll find out exactly how cold the mountains can get when you disobey the Winter King." He thrusts deeper inside me with each sentence. "Am I being clear, now?"

"Yes."

His abs roll, and he hits the sweet spot inside me just so , like he wants me to melt him as much as I need him to crush me. "And you'll go away. Forever."

"I'll do whatever you want. Just don't stop. Never stop." I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard.

Elio Hades Lightbringer is a devil, and as he fucks me for the first and last time, I can't help but wish I was his evil queen.

I suck the snowflakes from his skin one by one, and his groans of pleasure fill me with pride. My legs are wrapped tightly around him, and I cry out, another orgasm threatening to shatter me.

"Shush, or the whole town will hear you…" He smothers my sounds with his hand. "Fuck. You feel too good. I'm tempted to play with you all night."

I smile against his palm, and for a moment, everything is perfect. I forget that we hate each other and live for his next demanding thrust—his next growly praise. Under his touch, I live for him and him alone, and it's no longer the fever talking.

He stops, leaving me tethering over the edge. "Beg me for your release, little spider. Let me see the anguish on your face." He brushes my hair away from my eyes with maddening care. "I'll never touch you again after today and marry any of them but you. Are you hearing me?" The loving way he breathes the words is a stark contrast to their meaning.

He squeezes my breasts in turn, demanding an answer.

"Yes! You sly fucker, I hear you." I rock my hips, desperate for him to finish what he started. "I need you to fuck me so hard that I'll still feel you long after you're gone."

He wraps a hand in my hair and kisses the hollow of my neck. "Why did you have to go and say something so perfect? Now, I want to chain you to my bed so I can spend week s inside of you."

"Do it!" I taunt him.

The Winter King slams his hips forward, over and over again, and the climax comes about as violently as the sex. I sink my nails into his neck, the clench in my belly sharp and delicious.

My pulse swirls as he holds himself up against the mirror, following me right over the cliff of this suffocating, destructive lust. The glass cracks under his palm, and all the mirrors in the wagon burst in unison as he shakes from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Broken pieces scatter to the floor.

My feet search for solid ground, my bones soft, and my muscles weak. Tears streak my cheeks. I've never felt so perfect…or so cold. The ecstasy leaves my body, replaced by a gripping sense of emptiness. A piece of broken glass cuts the flesh of my big toe, but I can barely feel it.

Morpheus help me. I craved this more than I've ever craved anything in this life. I let the King of Death, the reaper king and collector of souls, the man who dispenses grief left and right like it's nothing, touch my soul. And I loved it.

Shame licks my insides, almost as hot and debilitating as the fever was. I could cower inside a "magic made me do it" narrative and absolve myself from blame, but I know I could have stopped it. Morpheus knows Elio gave me plenty of chances.

I wanted it to happen. I wanted him .

This man is most likely plotting with the woman who almost destroyed my family. He took my friends' souls, my parent's souls, and every other soul he damn-well pleases. And yet here I am, quivering in his arms.

Another voice inside me argues that it was worth it, but I can't afford to trust that voice anymore. It just made me do something incredibly selfish.

Elio hides his face in my neck and groans like he doesn't want to confront what he's just done, either. He certainly didn't want to have to look at himself in a mirror, because he destroyed them all.

He rests his forehead on mine and drinks the tears from my cheek with care. "It's alright, little spider. It'll be our secret."