16

Weeks after the incident with Midrael, on the day of the Mayor’s party, I transport myself to town to fetch Feather’s gown and a suit I commissioned for myself. When I return, as I’m approaching my room, I could swear I hear voices. But when I push the door open, Feather is alone.

Two days ago, she moved an antique dressing table into our room. It’s a slender, elegantly carved piece of furniture, with an oval mirror and several tiny drawers with mother-of-pearl knobs. She chose a stool with a puffy pink cushion to accompany it, and while neither piece is precisely my style, I didn’t protest, mostly because I liked the pleased little smile on her face when she showed it to me .

She’s perched on the stool, clad in lacy white undershorts and a white corset whose cups barely cover her nipples. Her hair is swirled around and pinned up in a most bewitching way, leaving her slim, delicate neck bare. She leans toward the mirror, arranging one of the curls that frame her face.

“Do you think this will do?” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.

I open my mouth and am surprised to find that I cannot speak. Not a single sound will emerge from my throat. The only thing in my head is her exquisite face, her lovely form. No words, just an all-consuming wonder.

Feather turns around on the stool, frowning slightly. “Are you alright? Oh gods… was the gown not ready? Are we not going after all?”

She has stenciled her brows lightly, shaping and filling them until they are perfectly arched, perfectly matched. Her lips shine plump and red, and her cheeks glow pink. God-stars bless the seamstress for suggesting that beauty enhancement kit. Feather has always been beautiful, but the cosmetics celebrate her loveliness in a whole new way.

“Krampus.” Her voice sharpens with concern, and she rises from the stool.

Fuck, now I can’t help staring at her breasts, the way the corset pushes them up and makes them look so deliciously plump… I wish it was my real name, not my title, falling from her lips.

“Krael,” I say hoarsely.

“What?”

“My name. Krael.”

“Oh.” Her mouth forms the most kissable shape, and her eyes widen.

I stand there stupidly, with my arms full of boxes.

“Does one of those boxes contain my gown?” she ventures .

“Yes.” I swallow and walk to the bed, where I set down the packages. “Yours is the large flat one.”

She struggles with the string for a second, so I bend down and slice it with my teeth.

“Thank you.” She removes the lid and gasps at the sight of the plum-colored gown. “It’s beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Yes, it is,” I manage to say, staring at her.

She doesn’t look at me. Her whole face is aglow with delight. I want to buy her a new gown every day just so I can see that look.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Feather draws the gown out of the box. “It looks rather complicated.” She eyes the row of buttons at the back.

“I’ll help you,” I offer. “I’ve stripped hundreds of women naked, after all. I know how such dresses work.”

Feather gives me a look of such soul-splitting malevolence that I feel heat rising to my cheeks. What possessed me to mention that I’ve bedded hundreds of women? I must be losing my mind.

“Let’s put your expertise to good use, then,” she says crisply.

I help her with the crinoline, then assist as she dons the dress and settles it over the corset so it conforms perfectly to her lithe body. It’s torture buttoning her into that gown when I would much rather strip it off, but I manage to accomplish the task.

If I thought she was lovely outside the dress, she’s fucking glorious once she has it on. I can hardly look at her, for fear she’ll see the mad obsession on my face.

Anywhere else, if I saw a woman like her, I would turn on the charm and be balls-deep inside her within the hour. But this is Feather . The girl I took into my home, where no one is allowed except the monsters and me. This is a wounded girl, a girl with depths and darkness she won’t reveal to anyone, a girl unfamiliar with sex except in the context of force. I cannot rush headlong into a dalliance with her, or do anything that might frighten her.

My gaze travels to a stack of books on the dressing table—a frequent occurrence over the past couple of weeks. The house apparently let her into the library, and she’s been enamored with books ever since.

“You got a fresh supply of books,” I comment.

God-stars, what a stupid thing to say. So obvious and commonplace. I want her to think well of me, to view me as something more than horns, chains, blood, and debauchery, and yet all I can do is make an absurdly obvious statement. Fuck me.

“I’m still cleaning and organizing the house,” she says defensively. “I haven’t slacked off in my duties.”

“That’s not what I… I wasn’t suggesting you had slacked off. I only meant, I’m glad the library has provided you with some solace in this dreary house.”

She nods, mollified. “Each book is a gateway to somewhere new.”

“Quite so. And I’m grateful that you found the amulet. It should protect me tonight.”

“You won’t be detectable to the Fae hunters at all? Not even your glamours?”

“The amulet suppresses all signs of my Fae nature and magic,” I reply. “Including glamours and the aversion to iron. However, if I’m put in direct contact with iron, I won’t be able to endure it for more than a handful of minutes without damage. So let’s hope any such experience will be brief.”

I open the remaining boxes and Feather exclaims over the fine jacket, trousers, vest, and shirt within. I coordinated my outfit with hers, focusing on shades of plum, lavender, and gray. Once I’m dressed, with my hair in a loose braid, the effect is rather striking. Feather keeps stealing glances, which pleases me immensely .

“Do I look alright beside you?” she asks. “The gown is grand, but I think perhaps I’m rather dull.”

“Nonsense,” I reply. “Though you are missing something.”

She follows me to a bureau, where I open a shallow drawer and stir my finger through dozens of earrings scattered across the faded velvet lining. “Ah, here we are! Perfect.”

“But my ears aren’t pierced.” She looks at me mournfully.

“Will you trust me?”

I see the shift in her gaze, the caution and savagery in her eyes. The animal that will bite the hand that feeds it, if that hand should prove false.

“I want to trust you,” she says.

“Trust me in this, then. A moment of pain, and then you will have what you desire.”

She nods and tips her head aside.

I take her soft little earlobe between my fingers, caressing the supple flesh for a moment. I had planned to use the post of the earring to create the tiny hole, but my mouth is watering for a taste of her—my teeth practically ache for her flesh.

“Hold very still,” I whisper, leaning in.

Her delicate scent, the faint heat of the pulsing blood in her warm throat, the light cadence of her breathing—all of it overwhelms my senses. I live for the quiver of her mouth and the curly wisps of hair around her perfect, rounded ear.

Angling my head, I set the point of one fang in the center of her earlobe. And I bite. Just enough to punch all the way through.

She breathes out, as if the pain was a release instead of a torment.

“Good girl,” I murmur.

My tongue slides out, bathing the spot I wounded, collecting the precious drops of her blood. Then I slide the earring into place.

“It barely hurts at all,” she says wonderingly .

“The essences of the Fae—blood, tears, saliva, and other things—they have physical benefits for humans,” I tell her. “So it should heal perfectly.”

“Do it again.” She turns her head, offering her other ear. There’s a rosy brightness in her cheeks, beyond the cosmetics she applied, and her eyes glimmer with arousal. Her body betrays her in another way, too—the intensified fragrance whispering in the air around her, unfurling from a place I have long desired to taste.

“The other ear,” she murmurs. “Please.”

At that little word, I melt inside. I fucking collapse, mentally sink into a worshipful puddle. Dragging the sloppy remains of my self-control together, I frown mightily at her, glaring as I lean in again, but she only smiles, as if she fucking knows that my displeasure is an act.

This time, when my fang pierces her earlobe, she gives a tiny, unmistakable moan.

Perhaps I don’t have to teach her about the marriage between pleasure and pain, after all. Perhaps she already understands.

I lick the dot of blood from her ear, then let my tongue trail a little lower, along her neck.

Her head lolls aside, baring her throat to my wet caresses… and for a moment I consider skipping the party altogether. But we’ve planned and practiced for this. I need the information I will gather tonight, and I can’t let my cock decide my fate or Feather’s.

Besides, I swore to myself I wouldn’t fuck her. Strange how that resolution seems to grow less and less important in my eyes.

I insert the second earring and step back. “Now your ensemble is complete, except for a necklace.”

“I found one,” Feather says shyly. “In the library. I was going to ask you if I might borrow it. ”

She holds up a long silver chain. Its hourglass pendant is encrusted with tiny emeralds.

“I don’t recognize it, but if the house let you take it, it’s yours,” I tell her. “I’ll put it on you, if you like.”

She hands it over, and I loop it around her neck, purposely letting my fingers graze her smooth, warm skin as I fasten the clasp.

“Do you think it has magic?” she asks.

“Perhaps. There are many artifacts in that library which possess power.”

“Are there any that can give a ghost corporeal form?”

My fingers go still against her skin. “You’ve been talking to Perchta.”

“Yes. She’s my… friend.”

“I want you to stay away from her. She shouldn’t even be in this house. If she shows up again, tell me at once, or command the house to expel her, do you understand?”

Feather pulls away from me. “Why?”

“Because Perchta is a vicious, greedy ghost, that’s why. She wants things she can’t have. Things that are mine.”

“Like what?”

I debate not telling her. But if I really want her to obey me, she must have all the information.

“Perchta wants the Nexus, the soul of the house,” I explain. “The item of great power I told you about. No other artifact in that library can grant her the power to become corporeal. I’m not even sure the Nexus can, and if it could, holding her in that form would slowly drain its power. It could mean the destruction of both the house and those who live here. You and I might survive, but we’d be left homeless, without a single possession or a roof over our heads.”

I half-expect Feather to repeat that Perchta is her friend and that she would never do such a thing. But instead, Feather’s face turns hard, and her eyes empty of all emotion. It’s like watching a lake freeze over in a single second.

“Perchta was using me,” she says flatly. “I knew it, I suppose… but I didn’t realize how much she was willing to risk to get what she wants.”

“She’s miserable and selfish,” I reply. “I am also miserable and selfish, but at least I’m open about it.”

“Why can’t she find the Nexus herself?”

“As a ghost, she can’t locate it on her own. But if a living creature were to reveal its form and location, she might be able to access its power, at least in theory.”

“Then we have no reason to worry,” says Feather. “Because neither of us will ever show it to her.”

She says we as if she and I are allied. It’s a pleasant word, we . I haven’t been allies with someone since I was a child.

“Enough about Perchta,” Feather adds. “Shouldn’t we go? It’s getting late.”

“Yes, of course.” I put on the amulet and conceal it beneath my shirt. With the addition of a loose cravat for me, then cloaks and dancing shoes for each of us, we’re ready to leave.

We travel by geistfyre to an inn outside Rothenfel, where we take a carriage I’ve hired for the occasion. The driver is from another town and has been well-paid to swear that he works for me at Brandywick Hall, the false name of my supposed estate.

After a brief journey, our carriage joins the stream of other carriages traversing the circular drive of the Mayor’s mansion. A footman ushers us out of the vehicle, and I instruct Feather under my breath, “Remember to keep your chin up, smile a little, and glide .”

“I’m gliding,” she retorts. But when I glance over, her smile is angelic, not a trace of rebellion. A servant takes our cloaks at the door, and we proceed into the glittering hall to speak with our host .

The Mayor is a thickly built man about a head shorter than I am, with big cheeks that tighten into shining balls when he grins. The sheer jollity of the man has always appealed to me, even if he’s better at throwing grand parties than he is at governing. He means well, which is more than I can say of most humans.

His ebony face creases into a broad smile when he sees me. Though he usually wears a wig, tonight his head is gleamingly bald, and he’s dressed in a flamboyant scarlet suit, nearly the same color as my hair.

“Brandt, my boy!” he calls. “Come and meet our guests of honor! I’ve called them in to clean up this Krampus nonsense. Fae-hunters from the south! Abil Amindi and Nikkai Richter.”

Abil Amindi is a tall, solemn-looking fellow with brown skin and close-trimmed black hair. Beside him stands Nikkai Richter—brown hair, pale skin, medium build. Both are handsome, in their early thirties, with tattoos covering their ungloved fingers. Even at this distance, I sense the hum of power from those tattoos, and it sends a wave of revulsion through my gut. The tattoos were probably inscribed with charmed or iron-infused ink. They’re designed to detect the Fae with a single touch.

Nikkai reaches out his hand in friendly greeting, and I clasp it, arranging a pleasant smile on my face. “Welcome,” I say genially. “Best of luck with your hunt.”

To my relief, there’s no blaze of pain as my skin contacts his. The amulet is working.

Thank the god-stars, the hand-clasp is brief, and the Mayor’s attention has already swerved to Feather. “And who is this vision of beauty?” he exclaims. “Brandt, you’ve been holding out on me! Why have I never seen her before?”

“She’s a recent arrival in Visseland,” I say. “May I present the Lady Laurelai Montaine.”

Feather curtsies like I taught her, with a demure little smile. “A pleasure, gentlemen. ”

The solemn Abil cracks a smile, and Nikkai looks positively dumbstruck.

“Lady Laurelai.” He bows halfway, taking her lace-gloved hand and placing a light kiss on her knuckles. “You are the loveliest creature I have seen tonight. May I trouble you for a dance later?”

“Stealing my companion already?” I soften the question with a chuckle, though I’m seething inside.

But Feather says, “Of course, sir. I would be honored.”

“I’ll find you, then. It will be easy—I’ll simply look for the most beautiful woman in the room.” Nikkai bows to her, and she gives him a shy, delighted look which he returns with a besotted grin.

What the fuck just happened? Does she like the bastard? Has she forgotten that he’s here to kill me?

Keeping a pleasant expression plastered to my face, I escort Feather into the ballroom, where guests are sipping wine and sampling delicacies from silver trays passed by the footmen. There is no dinner tonight, only light grazing, conversation, and dancing, not to mention kissing, petting, and fucking, once everyone is drunk enough. I have no doubt the Fae-hunter Nikkai had such things on his mind when he was fawning over Feather.

“Why would you agree to dance with him?” I ask her tersely under my breath.

“To get information,” she murmurs. “And to distract him so you can do what you need to do.”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you.” I snort. “You two were practically salivating over each other.”

She shoots me a bladed glance. “Yes, he is handsome, and he seemed enchanted by me. It felt nice. And maybe I want more of that feeling. Is that wrong?”

“Well, I— ”

“It’s not wrong. I enjoy being admired. And I like men who aren’t afraid to say what they’re feeling.”

“Is that fucking so?” I mutter. “When did you become so enlightened regarding the type of men you prefer?”

“Just now.” She lifts her pretty little chin. “I learn quickly.”

“Don’t get attached,” I growl. “If I decide they pose too great a danger, I may have to dispose of them both tonight.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“To protect myself? Yes.”

Feather steps in front of me, her eyes glittering with the same vicious intent I saw in them the night she struck down Midrael. “I think you should admit what’s really bothering you.”

“The threat to my very existence?”

“No,” she hisses. “The other thing.” She shifts closer to me, and my gaze drops to her delicious cleavage for a second. When I look up, her lashes have lowered, and she’s smirking. “Yes,” she says softly. “That.”

“You’re not making sense,” I say hoarsely.

“I’ve been thinking you don’t want me. But you’re acting jealous, so perhaps you do want me, and you’re rejecting me for some other reason.” She moves nearer, filling my space, her scent suffusing the air. I try to hold my breath, but then her fingertips drift over my chest, toying with the lapel of my jacket. She presses her palm flat, and I swallow hard, aware of how fast my heart is pounding.

“This,” she whispers. “You should admit to this .”

Her face crystallizes before my eyes, while everything else fades to dull, distant shadows. Every bone and nerve in my body is screaming for me to cup her face and kiss her, to slide my tongue down her throat, to scrunch up her gown and slip my fingers inside her pussy… to drown myself in her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I whisper. “You have no experience. I would destroy you. ”

Her lips part to reply, but at that moment two women approach from the left. I recognize both of them from previous trysts. Simultaneously, a trio of eager gentlemen converge on Feather from the right. I make grudging introductions, but beyond that I’m forced to let her fend for herself, a graceful doe cornered by predatory hounds. My former flings are both determined to monopolize my attention, each hoping to enjoy the pleasure of my tongue and my cock later tonight, though they would never express their wishes so indelicately.

By the time I manage to disentangle myself from the women, Feather has already drifted away with the men, giggling and begging them to excuse her “terrible dancing,” while they promise to lead her through the steps and to hold her close so she doesn’t fall.

I think I may vomit.

But there’s no time to wallow in my murky feelings about Feather. I need to explore the chambers of the Fae-hunters, find out what supplies they brought, and discern what strategies they typically use. I refuse to be caught by surprise again.

My hope is that these hunters are charlatans, cocky and poorly supplied. Anyone can wield iron against the Fae, but it takes a skilled hunter to actually track down Fae targets. These young humans could be braggarts with very little experience or skill—or they could be an actual threat.

In the presence of a serious threat, I should move the house, despite the difficulty of the process. But I’m increasingly reluctant to do so, for one simple reason I haven’t divulged to Feather.

She’s human. She wouldn’t survive the immense wave of energy involved in the transference. Which means, if my life is at risk and I must flee this region, I can’t take her with me.

I will have to leave her behind.