Chapter 21

21

DRAVEN

M y little bird is just full of surprises today.

And I love a good surprise, especially when they come in the form of enticing, golden-haired, blue-eyed fae.

Instinctively, I bring a hand to my lips, running my fingers back and forth, collecting the taste of her. Memorizing it.

Has there ever been anything so divine?

I could bottle it up and sell it for profit, if I felt so inclined. But no…I don’t want anyone besides me tasting my little bird. I don’t even want them looking at her.

I flick my gaze in Mikage’s direction, but my best friend stares straight ahead, his cheeks still tinted a light shade of pink.

Is he thinking about what he saw?

About my little bird? About her plump breasts and tiny pink nipples? About her long, porcelain legs? About her flushed face and parted lips?

With an almost blistering speed, I throw Mikage against the wall and hold a knife to his throat. He gulps convulsively, his eyes widening in terror. It’s an emotion I never saw from him before—at least directed at me. Mikage has never feared me a day in his life.

And yet…

I inhale deeply, and there…in the air…contaminating it…

Fear.

A grin curls up my lips. “Are you afraid of me, old friend?” I purr as I trail my blade up his cheek and rest it just below his right eye.

It has gone impossibly wide, his pupil almost swallowing the iris, a pool of rich black.

“Draven…” His voice holds a hint of warning.

“Are you thinking about my little bird?” I ask in a low voice, applying the slightest bit of pressure to the blade.

It cuts his skin, and a trickle of blood cascades down his cheek. Still, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t whimper in fright.

Yet his fear permeates the air.

The second sweetest smell in the world.

I inhale again, and I swear my cock jerks to life in my trousers.

There are only two things capable of eliciting such a reaction from me—other fae’s terror and Kassandra. Always Kassandra.

“Draven, release me.” Mikage attempts to infuse his voice with authority—authority he doesn’t truly have, not here, not with me—but I simply laugh and bring the tip of the blade to his eyeball.

“I notice that you avoided my question,” I purr wickedly. “I should pluck out your eyeballs for seeing what doesn’t belong to you.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. Eyeballs… Who would’ve thought they were so delicate? Mushy? All it takes is a little bit of pressure, a tiny cut here and there, and voilà. You have yourself a brand-new eyeball to display.

“I didn’t see anything,” Mikage insists quickly.

Too quickly. His cheeks and ears turn red again—a reaction he can’t quite hide, even as he attempts to flick his gaze away.

“You’re my friend,” I tell him softly. “Possibly my only friend.”

There’s no “possibly” about it. I don’t have a lot of fae in my life I trust, let alone care for. I thought once I reinvented myself as “Draven,” fae would come flocking, but that isn’t the case. They take one look at my scarred, disfigured face and run as fast as they can in the opposite direction.

I like it when they run.

It makes the chase that much sweeter.

Do I want my little bird to run from me?

Does she want to?

Once again, my cock responds to thoughts of the arresting female, straining against my trousers and pressing against Mikage. The blond-haired male stares down at me in blatant horror. I simply smirk mischievously and step away, twirling my blade around in my hand.

“Relax, my friend. This boner isn’t for you.” I readjust myself as Mikage rolls his eyes and steps away from the wall.

“I would be concerned if it was,” he quips.

Despite our closeness, Mikage and I don’t have that type of relationship—barring one drunken night years ago.

Mikage got a little…squeamish when I brought out my knife.

And that was the end of that.

Besides, I prefer females, despite being attracted to all sexes. And though Mikage hasn’t explicitly stated his preference, I see the way he looks at a certain blonde Death Whisperer…

“It’s rather sad, really.” I frown down at my erection. “It seems as if there are only a couple of things capable now of getting me hard.” I begin to tick them off on my fingers. “Kassandra. Thoughts of Kassandra. Memories of Kassandra. Invoking fear in Kassandra’s enemies. Threatening anyone who dares to even look at my sweet little bird. Hmmm.”

“There seems to be a pattern,” Mikage retorts dryly.

I blink. “Really? I don’t see it.”

Mikage snorts and shoulders past me, muttering something under his breath about “psychotic assholes.”

He couldn’t possibly be referring to me, could he?

I grin wickedly—and my smile only broadens when he twists to face me and I see blood marring Mikage’s skin, directly underneath his eye.

I can’t help but imagine Kassandra pushing up onto her tiptoes to lick at the droplet of blood with her tiny, pink tongue. Then, I’ll twist her head towards me and claim her perfect lips, tasting both her and him in that one kiss.

I don’t want to fuck Mikage or anything like that, but his blood? Yeah, I wouldn’t mind having a tiny taste.

Though it couldn’t possibly be as delicious as Kassandra’s blood. I think her cum and blood mixed together may be my new favorite snack.

Just the thought has me remembering the feel of Kassandra around my fingers. The way her pussy spasmed as I flicked her clit.

I wonder if I can still taste her?

Hesitantly, I bring my fingers to my mouth and swirl my tongue around the tip, moaning obscenely when I catch the barest hint of her unique flavor. I wasn’t lying to Kassandra when I told her I could eat her pussy for days. If I could, I would permanently tie her to my face, just so I could bury my tongue in her perfect cunt and lap at the wetness there.

Mikage makes a face at me over his shoulder. “Stop making those sounds.”

“You would be making those sounds too if you tasted her,” I point out.

“I thought you didn’t want me to think about her like that.”

I consider. “You’re right. I don’t want you to. So stop it before I rip your brain out of your skull.”

Mikage laughs like he thinks I’m kidding.

I’m not.

Some may call me psychotic. It wouldn’t be the first time I heard that word thrown about in regards to me. Others say I’m obsessive—once I set my eyes on something, I refuse to give up until I own the object irrevocably.

But this is different.

My little bird isn’t just an object for me to use once and then discard.

Yes, she has powers that I can’t even begin to comprehend, but it’s more than that with her. She makes me feel things. Light and airy things. It’s a welcoming change to the oppressing darkness that has characterized my life for the last twenty-seven years.

The little birdy was made for me. She’s my perfect complement. My other half. The missing piece of my fucked-up soul.

She. Is. Mine.

And I won’t let anyone take her from me.

Already, I’m eagerly awaiting the next time I can see her. All I have to do is take care of the… problem in the dungeon, and then I can return to my little bird.

Unless she wakes up while I’m away…

Terror and rage clash for dominance in my chest. I curl my hands into fists so hard that my nails embed themselves in my palms.

She can’t keep leaving me like this.

I will lose my fucking mind.

If only I had grabbed her when I had the chance. I was so, so close. Only a single building separated us. She could’ve been mine. I would’ve built her a throne of bones and skulls. After all, it’s the least she deserves as my queen of darkness.

It’s no matter. She’ll be mine soon enough. I’ll just ask her where she’s hiding out and then come whisk her away like a thief in the night. Then, I’ll do what I promised earlier—allow her to ride my face until she falls apart around me. Again and again and again and again.

I’m so fucking hard that it takes all of my self-control not to whip out my dick and stroke myself. But considering I’m walking down the staircase into the dungeons, that may bring about the wrong impression.

“Let me out of here!” Calan’s voice is the first thing I hear, rife with fury.

I consider it an honor to break the normally unflappable ice prince. Apparently, his mask isn’t as adamantine as he would like us to believe.

He stands in the center of his cell, rage coloring his normally pale cheeks. His white hair stands in spikes at the top of his head, and there’s a streak of dirt on his forehead. He looks rumpled and disheveled and distressed.

I love it.

“Calan,” I drawl as I stalk closer. “Is that any way to treat your generous host?”

His right eye begins to twitch. He grips the bars of his cell tightly and leans forward, baring his teeth. “This is an act of Gaiadamn war, Draven. You fucking know it.”

I chuckle darkly, the noise devoid of any genuine mirth. “We’re already at war.”

“What the fuck is this?” Calan holds up his wrist, where a metal cuff is attached.

I wonder if he can feel it sucking away his powers, draining them like water in a strainer.

“It’s something I created.” I smile cruelly at the other male and then hold up my own arm, where a similarly styled cuff circles my wrist.

The only difference is the markings. Calan’s cuff has a triangle-like shape carved into the side. Mine has a circle interspersed with lines.

“It took me years forging these bracelets in the Land of Ingens and infusing them with magic found deep in the Moon Sea.” I sigh wistfully and twist the cuff back and forth, studying it in the flickering candlelight. “But it seems to be doing its job rather marvelously. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Calan’s voice is strained when he bites out, “And what job is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” My second prisoner twists his head so he can face me, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. “He’s stealing our powers.”

Calan jumps slightly, and I wonder if he even knew the other male was there. It’s not as if he can see him with the stone wall separating their cells.

“And who are you?” Calan barks.

My prisoner releases a haggard sigh. “Draven.”

“Draven?” Calan’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, and my grin widens.

“So…I may have lied about who I am.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Just a teeny tiny little lie. But it was the only way I could accomplish my goals.”

Disbelief splays itself across Calan’s face before it’s replaced by understanding. He staggers back a step in shock.

“You’re not Prince Draven…” He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re…”

He doesn’t say it. They never say it, as if they’re afraid of putting those words into the universe and making them true, of breathing life into a decaying corpse.

“Prince Sylvan of the Day Court.” I give a dramatic bow, dipping at the waist. “At your service.” I rub my hands together eagerly and take another step closer. “Now, let’s talk, shall we? I heard you’ve been causing quite the ruckus, and we can’t have that.”

I unsheathe one of my blades and hold it up, allowing it to reflect the flickering flames from the sconces. “I’ll give you two choices. Either you submit to me willingly like my dear friend Draven…or I kill you.” I bare my teeth at him. “Which one do you choose?”