Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Tempest

Tempest broke the kiss and slapped him. Her palm stung when she pulled it away, revealing that Pyre's cheek was angry and red. Tempest glared at him, even though she was angrier at herself than anything. He'd played her, and she'd fallen right into his hands.

"How dare you—"

"How dare I?" he cut in heatedly. "Don't act like I'm the villain here."

Tempest's palm tingled. Stars, she wanted to slap him again. "You're the one who pinned me . I didn't ask for your unwanted attentions."

"Unwanted attentions?"

His arrogance sluffed away, and his lovely eyes went blank as he stared at her. Her pulse pounded as he remained silent. She had expected him to be reproachful or sarcastic or laugh at her ‘over-reaction.' Him doing nothing at all was a hundred times worse. Slowly, Pyre held up his hands and then turned tail. She gaped at his back as he yanked open the door and slammed it so hard the paintings on the walls rattled. Stunned, Tempest was frozen to the spot. She could still taste him on her lips. Her anger gathered along with adrenaline. How dare he storm away like that!

"This is your fault!" she screamed at her door. Any normal human being couldn't have heard her, but she was betting the Jester's ears picked up her bellows. "Your fault…" she yelled again, limping over to her bed. She fell backward and slumped against the pillows as the adrenaline left her system just as quickly as it had appeared. Her arm stung like hell. Tempest lifted it up and stared at the raw flesh where Mal's whip had cut it. That was going to need some mimkia, otherwise it would take weeks to heal. But part of her didn't want to go near the drug ever again. Her shoulder, leg, and ankle would be fully healed over the next day or so because of the plant, as if the injuries had never been inflicted in the first place.

Like she'd never been attacked. Like the shifters hadn't attacked her.

More and more, it felt as if her actions were tiny in the face of everything happening. If she did nothing, then things, of course, could only get worse, but when she actually did something to bring about change, it seemed as if that made her situation worse.

"Devil take you, Pyre," she whispered, turning onto her side and clutching her aching arm to her chest. It took her far too long to realize the wetness on her face meant that she was crying.

For three days, Tempest avoided Pyre like the plague, though it wasn't difficult. The kitsune had scarcely been around in the first place. She huffed. So much for a partnership. She'd been there for weeks and done nothing of consequence. If only she could get rid of Mal so easily. He'd been a thorn in her side since she'd challenged him in front of all the shifters. His presence only served to further distance herself from Pyre. The fact that Pyre had such an amoral person working for him as his right-hand man only lent further credit to her suspicion that the Pyre she met months before no longer existed, if he had existed at all, even then. The worst part was that she missed that man—the fun, playful fox with sparkling eyes and a wicked sense of humor.

Tempest explored the second floor, thankfully without a chaperone. While she loved Briggs and didn't mind Brine, she was tired of being watched. She just wanted to be free to roam without being studied. She was jittery, but that was on the account of going nowhere near the training hall in days. Boredom did not suit her. Walking was not cutting it but at least no one bothered her. Persons of questionable reputation kept to their shadowy alcoves and doors. No one dared touch her, though she did receive a fair number of glares, scowls, and mutterings.

"As if it was my fault, blighted criminals," Tempest bit out as a woman glared at her so hard she thought her hair would light on fire. She had not given her attackers up, and she was the one to save their lives. It was bloody unfair.

Life is unfair. Aleks's voice echoed through her mind.

She smiled and wandered farther through the upper levels which were considerably more opulent. Tempest snuck through a gaudy, expansive ballroom, an attached kitchen of- sorts, and a handful of stupidly large bedrooms which she learned were currently unoccupied. With the masquerade fast approaching, she reasoned that most, if not all, of the bedrooms were reserved for important guests—heads of factions, brigands, smugglers, and the lot. If only she could be a fly on the wall. Tempest would bet her daggers that the rooms had secrets just like their owner.

She scowled at the mere thought of the Jester and stalked down a smaller corridor on her left, then another. Her mind wandered, and, by the time she got a good look around, she had no idea where she was. Winter's bite. That was sloppy.

"Come on, Temp," she muttered, tossing her head from side to side, trying to figure out where she was. The second floor was larger than she'd expected. She crept down the corridor as silently as was feasible. No need to alert anyone she was here.

Two voices speaking softly pulled her attention to an open doorway on her left. She slunk closer and paused, leaning against the wall.

"It will be okay," a familiar female voice said. Nyx.

"I don't think so," Mal's chilly voice answered.

Tempest's nose wrinkled. She hated that bastard. She pushed from the wall and moved to pass the doorway, catching a glimpse of Nyx smiling softly in a warmly-lit room. It screamed of intimacy. No need to bother them.

"No need to run away, Tempest, though that is what you're good at, is it not?" Mal called.

Freezing, she turned on her heel and strode into the room. If he was going to toss out insults, he'd better be prepared for the consequences. Mal crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side, white hair flashing in the firelight as he looked down his nose at Tempest with arrogant, ice-blue eyes .

"Nyx, it's nice to see you," she said softly, pointedly ignoring Mal.

"And the coward shows her face," he muttered.

Tempest stiffened. "You think someone who stands up for what they believe in is a coward?" she fired back, closing the distance between them. He wouldn't win this battle. What he'd done was wrong.

"Is that what you were doing when you protected the scum who attacked you?" Mal asked, a bark of laughter escaping him. "What kind of person does not want to see justice performed on those who harmed them? They were not innocents. You protected the guilty."

Tempest stabbed a finger against his chest. "And who appointed you as judge, jury, and executioner?" She hid her smile as his jaw began to tick in agitation. She was getting to him.

"I'm beholden to no one, little Hound. The Dark Court is my playground."

"Don't let the Jester hear you say that. I'm sure he has a stringent punishment for those who challenge his position." She cocked her hip and smirked. "I was the one who was attacked, and, by your own rules, I should have been the one to serve justice to those who wronged me. Why did you take it into your own hands? Were you just so bloodthirsty that you shunned real justice? Because that's what it looked like from where I was standing. You're nothing but a washed-up version of Destin."

Mal's eyes flashed, and he lunged for her arm, but she was expecting it. Tempest deftly moved out of the way and swung her leg out to sweep his feet out from underneath him. Mal jumped over her leg then snapped a kick toward her stomach. She dodged the kick, her blood singing .

"Tempest—" Nyx began, moving toward the two of them, but Mal put out a hand to stop her, his gaze not leaving Tempest.

"Leave this to us, Nyx," he snarled. "It's long overdue." He grinned at Tempest, all gleaming teeth and wicked intent. She found herself matching his almost-snarl rather than being intimidated by it.

"It seems we can finally agree on one thing."

"It was bound to happen." He waved a hand at her. "Then let's see you do your worst, Lady Hound . Or are you all show?"

The insult riled her. She knew he was baiting her, but she couldn't help it. Tempest went on the offense and threw a straightforward throat punch. He blocked with a solidly muscled forearm, and she swept under his guard to land a punch to his ribs. He spun and grabbed her around the waist, like a lover's embrace, and lifted her off her feet. If he got her onto the floor, she'd lose. Mal was just too big.

Tempest jabbed her elbow into his stomach, and his grip loosened. She ducked out of his arms and put space between them. He began to circle her, but never reached for his knives, so neither did she. He smiled and then attacked. Several minutes passed with their brutal to-and-fro, neither of them giving an inch as their skin grew slick with sweat and their breaths came in heaves and stolen gasps. She scowled at him. He was the most vicious sparring partner she'd ever had. He clearly wouldn't have any compunctions about tossing her around; yet, he hadn't done so.

"You're going easy on me," she spat, brushing her blue hair out of her face.

He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel as weak and powerless as you are. "

Oh no, he did not.

Tempest yelled and attacked. It wasn't sparring anymore. It was her against him. He'd challenged her ideals and her worth. She got in one good uppercut before he gained the upper hand and toppled her to the ground, straddling her hips to keep her in place while his hands pinned her wrists.

His white hair hung around his face, giving them a curtain as he lowered his lips to her ear. His breath tickled her skin as he growled, "Are you done yet?"

"Not even close," she breathed. He pulled back, just far enough so her gaze could focus properly on his blue eyes. If he was going to use all his strengths, so was she. For the first time in her life, Tempest played dirty.

She kissed him.

She clenched her gut, preparing for the man to loosen his hold and jerk away from her. Instead, Mal did the exact opposite; he tightened his fingers around Tempest's wrists. She gasped, her mouth giving him the opening he was looking for. A shudder went through his massive frame that blanketed hers. His hard body melted into hers, and he kissed her like a desperate man, passion threatening to drown her.

Tempest turned her face to the side, gasping into his snowy hair as she tried to remember what she was doing. Mal grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled softly. She arched her neck, and his heated mouth moved feverishly down her skin.

He moved back to her lips, leaving a trail of licks and nips. The kisses deepened, and his tongue rasped over her teeth. Mal kissed her like he needed her to breathe. His lips easily pressed against hers, molding their mouths against one another. It was a desperate claiming.

One that was oddly familiar .

Tempest froze.

She turned her face away from Mal's, breaking the kiss as the cogs of her brain turned wildly.

It can't be.

He twisted his fingers through her hair and began planting gentle but desperate kisses down her neck once again. It wasn't just that his lips had felt familiar.

They were exactly the same .

Tempest began to shake uncontrollably—from anger, from disbelief. Mal lifted his head, icy eyes warm for the first time. His love-drunk expression faded, and a frown formed between his brows.

It couldn't be true.

Using his temporary distraction to her advantage, she wriggled free, leapt to her feet, and ran a shaking hand through her hair. How had she not seen it before? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Nyx had disappeared. Her gaze darted back to the man in question who stood and brushed out the wrinkles in his clothing like he'd not been minutes away from tumbling her.

"You deceitful liar!" she whispered.

Mal's frown deepened. "What's wrong with you now?"

"Don't talk down to me like that! Just stop pretending! I'm so sick of the games. Aren't you exhausted from all the lies?" She was.

In an instant, Mal's entire demeanor cooled, until his expression was as icy as his eyes. "Calm down, Tempest. You're imagining—"

"Don't you dare say that to me!" She took a step backward toward the door. "I'm done being the butt of your jokes." Another step. "I'm done." To her embarrassment, heat filled her eyes. Oh god, she was going to cry. "You're the most despicable man I've—"

"I'm quite tired of this," Mal bit out, grabbing Tempest and throwing her over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" she demanded, slamming her fists into Mal's back. But he didn't respond. He jogged swiftly through a series of twisting corridors until he reached a black, wooden door, kicked it open, and then shut behind them. It was completely dark. He jostled her around and somehow lit a lantern without letting her go.

"Put me down," she said flatly. He didn't. Tempest twisted and writhed until she slithered out of his grasp, landing heavily on her knees. Pain ran down her shins, but it was better than being manhandled by the double-crossing psychopath.

Mal cursed and bent to help her up, but she kicked him in the chest and pulled out her knives instead.

"What the devil are you about?" he snarled.

"I should have seen the signs," she gasped, chest heaving. "I've been so stupid. You've been lying to me all this time!"

Mal rolled his eyes. "Why so mad, my lady? You were the one who kissed me. It seems as if your love life is getting a little busy. You're going to have to pick a man… me, Pyre and King Destin seem like a bit much."

Tempest saw nothing but red. She lunged for Mal, every cell in her body intent on forcing the truth out of him.

There weren't three men.

There were only two.

Destin and the Jester.