30. Don’t Blame Me

Chapter 30

Don't Blame Me

LORI

D arkness burns within the center of the round staircase, running at least twenty floors down. Shadows lick my skin as I trace the shape of the decorative wrought iron banister and start my descent.

Elio nips at my heels. The large windows on each of the landings light our path, but there's no torches or lanterns or electric lights to speak of. I glance at him over my shoulder—a mouse taking a stroll in front of a panther.

"So many shadows in your ice fortress…" I trail off.

"You must feel right at home."

"How could anyone feel at home on death's stoop?"

"I do."

The steep and narrow round staircase allows me to glimpse up at him as I skip to get ahead, the two of us now on opposite sides of the tight circle. Him lingering on higher ground, me feeling even more like a prey as we continue our descent.

An enigmatic smile glazes his lips, but he doesn't try to bridge the gap between us or engage in further conversation.

The Winter King is wearing black from head to toe, his hair about the only thing making him look human at all. The blonde locks have dried up since our soak, and they curl behind his pointy ears, softening up his lethal look.

After a couple more floors, I'm simply shaking with anticipation and stop on the next landing to look out the window.

From this height, the winding streets and tightly-knit townhouses of the Ice City are more visible, and I rest a hand on the glass. Painted signs wave in the winds above the shops and restaurants. Snow shovels are planted near each set of stone steps leading to the grim reapers' homes, stacks of firewood partially hidden under black tarps to protect them from the weather.

So…normal.

Elio stalks behind me until his chest is pressed against my back. His proximity sets my nerves ablaze, and yet it's also incredibly soothing. And maddening.

His breath tickles my ear. "Now, do you trust me?"

"No," I whisper back.

He combs my hair to one side and places a soft kiss on my bare neck. "You better not." He digs a hand in the flesh of my mid-thigh and drags his fingers up under the hem of my shirt until his palm is flat against my navel. "You look good in my clothes."

My lids flutter. "Are you sleeping with Elizabeth Snow?"

He presses me harder into him. "Are you jealous, my little spider?"

I choke on false words of denial.

Am I getting territorial over a man I don't even like? Elio is stubborn, cold, impatient, and totally not for me. So what if he's sleeping with the most famous singer in both the new world and Faerie? Our long soak in the healing springs paved the way for disaster, and yet our aborted dalliance has left me with more questions—and a terribly unsatiated need.

Every devious promise Elio made, every dark secret he unveiled, still pulses in my blood as he kisses a long, winding path from my shoulder to my ear. "Beth and I have never been involved."

"Why not? I mean—she's Elizabeth Snow."

Cold air washes along my back as Elio walks away.

"You're right. What was I thinking? I should go and propose to her now," he says in jest.

I grab his wrist to stop his falsely hurried retreat, and the lighthearted chuckle bubbling up his throat about kills me. It's an entirely new side of him.

"Stop making fun of me. You're the Winter King. It would make sense for you to be with her," I scold.

He prowls forward until my back is pressed up against the glass, and he's so tall that I have to gaze up at him to see the expression on his face.

"If we were interested in each other, we would have married as teenagers. It's not like her father wouldn't have been pleased," he says on a gruff whisper.

"Unless you didn't want to risk killing a national treasure."

Our gazes lock, and he rests his forehead on mine. "There you go again, reminding me about my dead wives."

I know what we both want, and yet I also know what it will cost me. I blink a few times, my mind struggling more and more to match the reality of Elio to the cruel, heartless portrait of the Winter King the rest of the world painted.

"Do you truly kill them? Your wives?"

"I don't strangle or stab them, if that's what you're asking, but I'm as responsible for their deaths as if I carried out the deed myself."

"So you're…cursed?" I think of Damian's curse and how hard he worked to hide it from everyone. Sounds like Elio is going through something similar.

I hold my breath when he gives a small incline of head. "It's an endless loop I can't escape…" With a sad smile, Elio wraps a hand in my hair. "Kiss me." He bends down, but I hold myself away.

"What about Iris? How did she die?"

Curses don't just appear out of nowhere.

His eyes darken. "Let's not talk about Iris."

If I push him on this, he's going to pull away. I'm the spitting image of the woman in question, yet the way he holds me drowns out the voice in my head that urges me to run. The magic between us is still powerful, but not as drugging as it was in the hall of mirrors. Not as desperate to crush us together.

I could turn and walk away. Or ask for answers.

I trace the bend of his brows instead, desperate to see him smile again, and link my arms behind his neck. "I'm done with my questions. For now." My gaze falls to his lips in invitation.

"Good."

Our noses bump. Elio's slow and tortuous kiss torments me more than all the ones that came before. Instead of rushing to the next part, we explore each other, coaxing sweet sighs and sharp breaths from one another in turn, riling ourselves up until we're restless and panting.

I unbutton his shirt and glide my hands under the fabric. The sleeves easily glide down his arms, and I test the feel of each defined muscle as I go. The button-down shirt falls to the ground, no longer encroaching on the view, and I bite my bottom lip. "I hate and love how good you look."

"Right back at you." He tugs on my hair, his eyes gleaming.

It's a total sham that any man would be so perfectly sculpted that each ridge and valley adorning his body would be enough to trip my brain up.

I trace the shape of his pec tattoo. "Why does it darken and lighten?"

"It's the Mark of the Gods. I got it when the old Winter King died, the gods designating me as his preferred heir."

As I continue my exploration, an area that's colder than the rest of him grabs my attention. Unlike the lesions on his shoulder blades, this one is a smooth and circular scar right above his left buttocks, and he shivers as I caress the shape of it. The skin smack in the center of the old wound is frozen and stiff.

Elio clicks his tongue in a chiding fashion before he spins me around to face the window, turning me away from the secrets written in blemishes on his body. He caresses my arms and laces our fingers before he raises our joined hands above my head and flattens my palms to the glass.

The chafe of the frosted window soothes the ache in my blood as Elio nuzzles the back of my ear. "Let me remind you of a universal truth that few people—mortal or not—manage to accept. Death isn't evil. There's no grand villain waiting to trip you up at the end. No dark machinations working against you."

The man holding me captive between his body and the splendor of his Ice City isn't as cold as he was the other night. Maybe the hot springs have melted a bit of the frost running through his veins, but he feels warm and human now. His behavior is more nuanced, adding a layer of complexity to his presence.

The Ice City is a silent witness to our addictive dance, a handful of reapers walking up and down the streets' steep network of stairwells, en route to collect souls and wreck countless lives.

The pressure of Elio's fresh, hard lips on my pulse point distracts me, the greediness of his tongue divine. His t-shirt shields my breasts from the sting of winter, my nipples hard as stone under the fabric.

"Death only stings for a moment. Love hurts for a lifetime," he says.

I force a deep breath down my lungs, about to lose it. "Love isn't supposed to hurt. Grief hurts. Wasn't Iris protected by the same magic as you? Unless you're the only one who can mark someone for death?—"

He bites down my earlobe. "Reapers don't mark anyone for death. They collect the souls of those whose bodies stopped functioning. If they didn't, the souls would just stay trapped forever or fade away. I don't decide who lives and dies but act as their guardian and protector—and only for a short while."

The face of the reaper that took my dad's soul flashes into my memory once more.

"That goes against everything I've ever been taught," I say.

"Then you've been taught wrong. When grief hits, everyone looks for someone to blame, but reapers are not thieves. We guard the souls so that no one can harm them, and give them back to the gods on the solstice." He inhales deep, his nose buried in the crook of my neck. "Look down. Death is all around us." He sneaks one hand up my stomach and presses it firmly against my breastbone. "Feel your heart beating…ready to run. Don't run from me tonight, little spider."

I feel powerful in his embrace, more at home in death's arms than I'd care to admit.

"Deep inside, you crave death," he whispers.

I rake my nails through the coat of frost glazing the window. "I do not crave death. Death is awful. It took everything from me." The ashes of our last fight are like dry kindling waiting for a spark. One word out of turn and we could be at each other's throats again. "But I won't argue with you about death, because you are too stubborn to acknowledge one simple fact."

"By Thanatos," he says with humor, and maybe a little impatience. "I'm all ears."

"You are not death. You are no more death than Damian is the night, or your father the sun. You are her king. You're the most powerful Fae king alive because death is the most dangerous beast there is and needs to be ruled by a bigger, badder beast. So no, I don't crave death. But I do crave you," I taunt, spreading my legs slightly.

He teases my breasts, giving each hard peak a playful pinch before he slips a hand down between my thighs. A low hiss echoes in my ears when he finds out exactly how wet I am. "You're so ready for me. But you made me wait, and I have a few questions, too."

I hold myself up on the glass as Elio draws slow, impossibly careful circles over my sensitive spot. "Did you ever sleep with Damian?" he chucks out.

I shake my head. "Never!"

"And you wouldn't lie to me about that?"

"He's my boss. And in love with my best friend."

He lowers his voice even more. "What about Seth?"

"Look who's jealous, now." I grind my backside into his hardness, eager to hear every filthy little thought that runs through his mind. "Seth…is attractive."

Elio holds himself away, punishing me for my answer.

"But he's also a world-class fucker. Nothing's happened between us," I add quickly. "What difference would it make, anyway?"

"I guess it doesn't matter. You're mine, now." Elio brings both hands to my ass and scratches his nails along my curves. "Let me show you exactly what you do to me."

I bend forward and grip the windowsill.

He works his pants open and slides them down in seconds before he grabs my waist and lifts the hem of his shirt, baring me to him. The wide tip of his erection lines up with my entrance, and he rubs himself back and forth until he's coated with my juices. "Do you want me?"

I tense in anticipation, my knuckles white. "More than anything."

He thrusts inside of me without hesitation. Oh fuck.

I've never known a man who knows exactly how and when he wants it. I love the sound he makes when he's inside me. Crave the wicked games we play together. It's hot as hell, but I have to remember this king will break me a little more each time we do this.

It's better here, in the cold. The hot springs were way too romantic. It could have turned my head.

He gives a few, slow thrusts for me to adjust to his size, and his ragged breaths make my skin tingle. "You're so fucking tight."

He hits the aching spot inside me, over and over again, in the exact way my body needs.

"Harder." I arch my back, moving with him to increase the pace. Cries of pleasure echo up and down the stairwell, but I can't help myself.

The orgasm takes me by surprise. A white-hot line of bliss sizzles up my spine, and I close my eyes, ridden to the peak with each invasion of his cock. My walls pulse around him, my body suspended in rapture for the longest time. Warmth tingles in my extremities as I taper down from the high, his hardness still rubbing my insides in all the right ways.

I've always managed to steer clear of charismatic, powerful men. Why is Elio any different?

We might be colliding with more finesse than last time, but I'm still a meteor crashing into the sun. If I'm not careful, I'll become a shell of a woman, addicted to some dark, magic rush I can't ever find a proper replacement for—doomed to go through life with a Elio-shape scar on my heart.

Without the shield of it being the first and last time, it no longer feels like an indulgence, but a pattern. This is the last time I can be weak.

A fresh wave of pleasure builds at the pit of my belly, but Elio draws back. The tension between my thighs ebbs away, and I spin around to scold him. "Don't stop now."

"Patience, little spider." He wraps his hand in my hair and pulls me in for a long, soul-shattering kiss. After I'm nothing more than a puddle, he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. "That's better."

He bends down and places a sweet kiss over the long scar in my side. "Change of plans. I'll keep you until the top three, so you win a frost apple and heal this." He licks the shape of it with such care that I struggle to stay upright. I know he sees someone else when he gazes up at me with that look of adoration on his face, and that hurts more than I ever thought possible.

Before I can say anything, he stands back up and pecks my lips. "Now, get on your knees. I want to come deep inside your mouth."

My heart beats furiously at his demand. He's dangling immortality in front of me like it's nothing more than a party favor, and a blazing heat engulfs me. "Are you proposing I whore myself out to get one of your damn apples?" I snap.

His eyes flash with a hint of danger—and a truckload of grievances. "Don't twist my words like that. That was not what I meant, and you know it. But even if you don't want to get better—I'll still have your mouth."

He's mostly right, but I'm still torn by all the emotions running wild in my blood. "I can't believe you're going to go through with the rest of the pageant." I kneel and shoot him a dark look. "When you're so obviously crazy for me."

I arch a brow as if to dare him to say otherwise.

Desire and anger mingle on his breath, and his throat bobs. "I don't deny it," he whispers.

His admission sparks a soft glow between my ribs. I wrap my mouth around the tip of his cock and stroke the base with my hand, and the salty taste of his desire fills me with confidence.

Elio's hips jerk forward. "Oh! Your mouth is fucking insane." He cradles my head and grabs my hair at the roots. "I'm crazy for you, Lori."

I tease him with my tongue, and his jaw slacks, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. Eyes half-mast, he tightens his hold on my hair and sets the pace. I rub my thighs together, about ready to come just from the sight of him so vulnerable and horny.

"Touch yourself," he orders, and I snake a hand down to obey. Elio's cock throbs inside my mouth as we reach a new climax together, and I suck him even deeper, swallowing his seed drop for drop, already addicted to the taste of his pleasure.

He pulls me up and presses his mouth to my shoulder, his lips curled in a smile. "Now, let's get you to bed." He picks me up in his arms and carries me to the guest room.

"I was there with you on the mountain. I stabbed the bad guy. Surely, that earns me a seat at the table in whatever secret meeting you plan to hold. And I'm not tired."

That last bit is a lie. I'm exhausted, but I'm not sure I can sleep, not so soon after I almost tasted the oblivion of death.

Elio lays me down on the mattress, his expression fierce and serious as he hovers above me. "I need to figure out how I'll present the Gray Man's incursion in Wintermere to the other royals, and to my people. Every kingdom has secrets, Lori, and my crown is coveted by many who don't understand its price."

I move to sit up. "I don't need to be tucked in."

He presses his forehead to mine with a sigh. "If I don't treat you like the foreigner you are—a Shadow huntress at that—the others will either believe I've lost it for good, or think that you've put a spell on me. You don't want the Spring Queen to ask too many questions about you, right?"

Ayaan's face flashes in my mind and acts as a lightning rod, freezing me in place. "Right."

"Sweet slumber, my little spider." Elio plants a kiss on my lips in lieu of goodbye, and I watch him leave with my heart lodged in my throat.

He's not seeing me as his enemy anymore, but he still doesn't trust me. And he won't share my bed. He's perfectly happy fucking in corridors and wagons, but the walls around his soul are not coming down. These stolen moments are merely allowing me a glimpse of what lies behind the ice, but it's never actually melting.

And I want it to, which is foolish and scary.