Текст книги "The wolf and the crown of blood"

Автор книги: Elizabeth May

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“And he—” I swallow thickly. “He wanted that? The pain?”

“Oh, he lived for it.” He takes my hand, guiding it under my shift. “There’s truth in pain when you mix it with pleasure. In the way we hurt each other. The sounds we make when we stop pretending to be anything but what we are.”

The Wolf’s fingers twine with mine, shoving them into my undergarments. A broken moan spills from me as he pushes my fingers into my pussy, the angle perfect. He starts working in and out in shallow thrusts, his other arm looping around my waist to anchor me against him.

“Wolf…” I bite my lip, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure.

He groans softly. Shoves our fingers deeper, more insistently. I lean back into him, riding our hands, pressing the heel of his palm against my clit.

“They whispered confessions in the dark that they’d deny come dawn,” he rasps, his breathing harsh. “Told lies that felt like truth and truths that cut like lies. I don’t need you. I could walk away. You’re not under my skin. And then came the truths, the things their bodies couldn’t deny. More, and harder, and right there, fuck.”

I love his voice. The low register like warm liquor, the way his lips shape the words against my skin. Heat coils low in my belly with every ragged breath, every plunge, every filthy word he breathes into my skin. I reach back to tangle my fingers in his hair, needing something to ground me. He grips my hip in a silent encouragement to keep fucking myself. Keep chasing.

“He’d keep her on the edge for hours.” We’re both panting now, my bitten-off moans filling the space between us. “Pleading so pretty, just how he liked it. In the dark, their hate burned just like need. And it felt so. Fucking. Good. To forget who they were supposed to be. To lose himself in that sweet”—his lips sear the curve of my nape—“tight”—his fingers push in deeper, faster—“pussy. He fucked her so good she felt it for days.”

Oh gods oh gods oh gods—

“Come on,” he growls. “Show me. Show me how good it feels when you stop fighting it. When you let yourself have what you want.”

The tension snaps. With a final thrust, I climax with a sharp cry. He keeps working our fingers through the aftershocks, wringing out every bit of pleasure until I’m gasping. Until I can’t feel anything beyond this moment—this surrender. The heat of him against my back. My chest burning to get in air.

His touch gentles as I come down. Lips graze my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. A nuzzle of his cheek to mine. My heart slams as I sink into him.

For a long moment, there is only the rasp of our breathing. The drum of the rain against the windows, the wind through the trees.

Slowly, carefully, he withdraws from me and straightens my shift with gentle hands. “Every touch between them,” he whispers, stepping away, “was an act of betrayal.”

My chest caves. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden sting. “They died, didn’t they?” I ask, unable to turn and meet his gaze. Afraid of what I might see there. “In the end.”

“Of course they did.” Flat. Final. Like a blade between the ribs. “What else could happen?”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Then why do it? Why risk everything?”

“Because sometimes the pain of having someone for a few hours is better than the agony of not having them at all.” He inhales, then lets out a breath, slow and ragged. “Desire doesn’t give a fuck about should or shouldn’t. We want what we want, even when we know it’ll destroy us.”

The words hang between us like a death sentence. Like prophecy.

Before he leaves, I force myself to ask the question I’ve been dreading: “Are you going to take that demigoddess up on her offer to get you through Aethertide?” When he stays silent, I add mockingly, “In the sky, against a wall, bent over any surface?”

There. Now he knows that I watched them in the garden. That I heard everything she said. Did you kiss her after I left? Did you make plans to meet her? Do you want her? Would you ever want me?

I hold my breath, waiting.

“I’ll be alone,” he says softly.

The soft click of the door is like thunder in the silence he leaves behind.

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30

BRYONY

I HAVEN’T SEEN you eat shit this enthusiastically since day one,” Amara says with a smirk, twirling her blade.

I’m on the ground again. Today has been an impressive test of perseverance—and by that, I mean enduring the humiliation of Amara kicking my ass for three hours. I don’t think I’ve managed to get a single hit in.

A snarl builds behind my teeth. “Don’t strain yourself with the compliments. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Why don’t you just… take a minute. Gather up the shredded bits of your pride.”

I flop back into the grass, too wrung out to even think of a good retort. I let my eyes drift closed, and the Wolf’s face rises to the surface of my mind like it always does when things are too quiet. I wonder where he is right now. If he’s out on one last slaughter in Vartena before the rut hits, or locked away preparing for the onslaught.

I’ll be alone, he’d said, and those words haven’t stopped repeating in my head since he walked away and shut the door behind him.

“So. Anything you want to talk about?” Amara asks. Because, naturally, she can’t let me have even a second of respite.

Desire doesn’t give a fuck about should or shouldn’t. We want what we want, even when we know it’ll destroy us.

Something twists hard in my chest. I shove the memory down deep and chain it up where it can’t cut me open.

“No idea what you’re getting at,” I say, playing stupid.

“Uh-huh. Well, you were making puppy eyes at tall, dark, and dickish during drills yesterday.” She points her dagger at me for emphasis.

I smack the dagger away. “I did not make puppy eyes.”

“Please. Your whole face went soft and dopey when he tossed you that little scrap of a compliment. Classic puppy.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks. “Are we done with the interrogation portion of today’s ass-kicking? Let’s move on to something more productive. Like me punching you repeatedly in the face.”

Amara just laughs. “Please. The way you’re moving right now? You’ll be in your grave before I take off tonight.”

Wait. What? I push up on my elbows. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Caelestis. The Aethertide Festival is the only time I get to lose myself in a crowd without Alexios sniffing me out.”

Why would Alexios be looking for you? I almost ask, but then a flicker of memory fights to surface—cracked leather spines, gilt-edged pages, beautiful illustrations of a place in the clouds. Stacks of forbidden books in my father’s study that I wasn’t supposed to touch but pored over anyway, hungry for a glimpse of the world beyond our borders.

“Caelestis is… a city?” I ask, chasing that wisp of memory—the maddening sensation of almost grasping it.

“Yep. Picture one big citywide orgy, but with great wine and even better food.” Amara watches me chew my lip in thought. “I can hear you thinking too hard. Spit it out, Devaliant.”

“That name the Wolf mentioned yesterday,” I say. “Rhosyn. It’s familiar, and I think…” I shake my head, straining to call up the particulars. “I could swear I saw it in one of my father’s books when I was little. Something about Rhosyn and Caelestis. If I could see it, I might be able to recognize something from the illustrations—”

“Absolutely not.” She gestures at me, movements sharp. “Did the endorphins from the beating scramble your brain? One look at that opalescent skin and everyone would know you’re a Devaliant. Taking you there would be like dangling a slab of meat in front of a pack of starving dogs.”

I resent being compared to a slab of meat, but I concede the point. “Does the festival have masquerade protocol? Veils, costumes, that sort of thing? For people who want anonymity?”

She blows out an annoyed breath. “Sure, some demis cover their faces. But any male with a working nose will clock you as mortal if he gets within a wingspan. Won’t matter how good the costume is.”

“So use your scent to mask mine,” I say, an idea forming. “Won’t everyone be too busy looking at the sky to notice me?”

“That’s so not the point.” Amara drags a hand down her face.

And I know she’s right. It’s foolish to even consider leaving the Wolf’s tower and putting myself in a city full of demis who would probably be all too eager to tear me apart. But I can’t stop thinking about yesterday—the grim set of the Wolf’s mouth, the quiet urgency in his voice.

I’ve been hunting vermin in Vartena. The kind that trades in black market parts.

I can’t say that’s one I recall, but there’s a lot I carved out afterward. Some things aren’t worth remembering.

I don’t know what any of that means, but Amara’s response had made something cold settle in my gut. They’ve been echoing over and over again in my thoughts—because she and the Wolf share this secret that I have no right to.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Might as well.” She rubs her forehead with a sigh. “While we’re passing ludicrous ideas back and forth.”

“The Wolf mentioned black market parts yesterday. During your conversation.” She looks up, expression icing over, so I quickly add, “Is Rhosyn—whatever it means—important to you both?”

For a long moment, she just stares at me, holding her elbows in tightly as if she’s warding off a memory. A breeze kicks up, sending leaves skittering across the flagstones.

Then she blinks. “Yes,” she says roughly. “Very.”

That answer carries old wounds that haven’t healed, the kind of memories that burrow deep. Like rot. Like the Void. If there’s anything I can do to help her ease even a fraction of that pain, I will. I owe her that much.

“Then let me help. I’ll follow your lead. No risks, I promise.”

“Ugh, fine,” she says, raking a hand through her hair. “We’ll go, see if anything there jogs your memory, and then leave. Immediately. I want us gone before the males are so deep in rut they’d screw a knothole.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mental image. “Got it.”

Amara nods sharply and spreads her wings. “I’ll get us something to wear. Go make yourself semi-presentable and wait for me in your chambers.”

*   *   *

“You can’t be serious.”

The gown Amara lent me is barely more than strategically placed fabric held up by wishful thinking. The soft blue silk is embroidered with gold and silver threads, with a neckline dipping well past the shadow between my breasts to expose my stomach. It leaves my back entirely bare, and the sides are slit up to my hips. One wrong move and everyone will be intimately acquainted with parts of me that have no business knowing the open air. The delicate chains crisscrossing my chest and shoulders are supposed to hold it all up, but I’m beginning to have my doubts. This thing is more jewelry than a dress.

“Dead serious.” Amara doesn’t glance up from where she’s crouched at my feet, tracing intricate whorls and lines down my arm with a pen of metallic paint. She’s been at it for nearly an hour, covering every exposed inch of my skin, which is basically all of it. “No Caelestis without the dress. Take it or leave it.”

Twisting, I watch the markings shimmer across my skin. “What do all these symbols mean?”

“Nothing.” The answer comes way too quickly. She waves a dismissive hand and clears her throat. “Just some ritual Aethertide nonsense that’ll help conceal that sheen on your skin.”

“That was an evasion.”

“Too damn bad.” She caps the paint pen and gives me an appraising look. “There. You’ll do.” Her own gown is a rich blue several shades deeper than her eyes. A silk hood sits low on her brow, obscuring the distinctive shade of her hair. The symbols inked on her limbs are different from mine. “In the dark, with the paint, you’d pass for a demi. Probably.”

“Are we certain this will help me blend? I’ve worn underwear with more coverage.”

“At a Scillarian Festival?” She snorts, spinning me. “Tits out, wits out. You’ll fit right in.”

“Wow. Really comforting.”

I crane my neck to see whatever fresh indignity Amara’s inflicting on me. Her hands move quickly, weaving something into the chains at my back.

“Are those ribbons?”

“Missing wings are a common sight at gatherings like these—lots of demis have turned to accessories like this to conceal the damage from the war.” She finishes tying them off and steps around to face me. “You have to be smart tonight. If the wrong people discover what you are, they won’t hesitate to make an example of you.”

I start to tell her I’m not an idiot, I know, but she cuts me off with a sharp slash of her hand.

“This isn’t a game. I’m trying to keep your insides from becoming your outsides. Here, this’ll help you blend.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out some shimmering fabric—a shoulder-length veil. “Between this, the paint, and my scent to cover yours, you should be good,” she says, fixing it in place.

The fabric is gauzy enough that I can see, but it obscures my face and hair to lend me an added layer of anonymity.

Amara draws a slender blade from her bodice, its silver handle worked in an intricate serpentine design. “One of my favorites. Strap it to your thigh and pray you don’t have to use it.”

I take the knife, my throat tight. “Thank you.”

Amara just rolls her eyes. “Thank me by not getting caught. If I bring you back to the Wolf with so much as a scratch, he’ll string his bow with my entrails.”

We slip out into the gardens, and she offers me an upturned palm. “Let’s fly.”

*   *   *

Caelestis. The Crown of Asteria.

In Hellevig, travelers and troubadours spoke about its glittering towers and aerial gardens. I had hazy memories of seeing the painted illustrations in the books, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

The city spreads out before us in a string of floating islands topped with shining towers and sprawling terraces. Waterfalls pour over the edges, mist sparkling in the glow of a thousand drifting lanterns. Bridges arc over the open air between the islands. On each one, sky gardens burst with blue, violet, and green glowing blooms. Golden vines climb the columns in intricate spirals. The entire city pulses with magic.

“Is your wing all right?” I call to Amara.

“Just a twinge of pain. See anything familiar?”

Studying the city again, I notice a slender spire stabbing upward near the city’s heart, its proportions familiar. That tower looks nearly identical to an illustration from one of my father’s books.

I point at the spire. “There. I think I’ve seen a drawing of that place. What is it?”

“It’s a residence now for high-ranking demis. But when humans held the city, it had a different purpose.”

“Can you land in that area? I want to look around.”

Amara angles her wings, sending us into a steep dive until she flares wide and pulls out of the drop. We land on an elevated stone plaza overlooking the city.

Demis fill the streets below, dancing and weaving through the crowds. Their faces and bodies are adorned with symbols in the same metallic paint Amara used to disguise my skin. Some wear elaborate headdresses fashioned from twisting horns and crystals, while others are decorated in silk and strings of gems that leave little to the imagination. Wings of every hue spread wide—from deepest midnight shot through with starlight to pale white that shimmers like opals. Their wings drip with dainty chains and jewels that shimmer and chime with every movement. Thousands of wingless demis mingle in the crowd, their backs adorned with ribbons, paint, or gemstones.

I reach up, nervously adjusting my veil.

“Stop fussing,” Amara says. “Half the people here are in masks or veils.”

She’s right. My nerves settle slightly. With my face hidden, I’m just another body in the crowd. Anonymous.

Amara’s fingers close tightly around mine. “Come on. Keep your wits sharp. We can’t afford any slip-ups.”

We descend from the platform into the throng below. At once, I’m submerged and overwhelmed by sensation. The aroma of incense and spice is thick in the air, chased by the perfume of foreign flowers. Wild music pounds from every direction, drums beating out a relentless, frenetic beat. A rhythm to fuck to. To fight to. There’s violence in it, hunger. The kind of wildness that begs to be purged in pleasure.

I nearly stumble when a male demi drops into a bow as we pass. Not to me—to Amara. And he’s not the only one.

I tug at her arm. “Do they know you?”

Her face hardens. “No.”

“Then why—”

“These.” She gestures to the symbols she painted on her skin. “They might as well say Property of the Biggest Asshole In Both Realms. They’re not bowing to me.”

I look closer at the symbols painted across her skin. Where I have spirals and geometric patterns, she has runes that reach like branches down her arms. Right at the hollow of her throat is a circular design with smaller symbols.

“But we’re trying to blend in.” I sweep my gaze across the crowd. “Can’t you just… clean them off?”

She looks at me like I’m insane. “Sure. And if some idiot in a rut haze decides to grab my ass, then my Chosen feels it. Next thing you know, he’s tearing through the city, ripping off faces. These marks warn every male with functioning eyes that I’m soulbonded to someone they don’t want to fuck with.”

Yikes. “Good gods.”

“Yeah.”

We weave our way toward the market square, navigating through knots of celebrants. Tables line our path, filled with dozens of different platters—fruits dripping with nectar, glass flutes with bubbling drinks.

A breathy moan catches my attention as we duck beneath a stone arch. I glance over to see a demigoddess sprawled on a bench, wearing only strategically draped ropes of pearls. A demigod kneels in front of her with his head buried between her thighs. Her hands twist in his hair, nails raking across his scalp as she urges him on.

My face burns. I’m suddenly all too grateful for the veil.

“First time at an orgy?” Amara snickers, tugging me away.

“Shut up.”

“Never seen a male go down before? The Wolf’s been holding out on you. I’ve heard he’s good with that mouth.”

I flush hotter and yank my arm free. “I said shut up.”

Her laughter follows me as we push deeper into the crowd. We emerge into a circular plaza dominated by a massive, roaring bonfire. The flames gutter and dance, and sparks pinwheel up into the sky.

She pulls me into the shadow of a stone portico. “Here.” She snatches two flutes from a tiered fountain and presses one into my hand. “Drink this.”

“Do I want to know what it is?” I lift the flute, eyeing the bubbling pink liquid.

“Solstice wine,” she says, sipping her own. “The recipe’s as old as the first cities. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

I lift my veil just enough to tip the glass to my lips. The flavor blooms on my tongue: crisp and sweet, with notes of apple, honey, and ripe berries. I can’t bite back the faint sound of pleasure at the taste.

Amara grins. “Good, right? So. Anything coming back to you about Rhosyn?”

I take another measured sip, savoring the subtle spice as my gaze wanders across the teeming plaza. “In Hellevig’s archives, there are records of Caelestis during Vartena’s occupation.” I study Amara, trying to gauge her reaction. “They mention some of these towers being used as a launching point for attacks deeper into Scillari.”

Something flashes in Amara’s face, there and gone too quickly to parse. “You’re not wrong. The Eternal who ruled this territory before Alexios was slaughtered in the first days of the siege. His palace became a glorified barracks.”

I shiver. “How did we kill Eternals and gain a foothold at all? Everything I’ve read suggests it should have been impossible.”

“Yeah, impossible.” She laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Or through stolen magic.”

My blood goes cold. “What do you mean?”

When she turns back to me, her expression is flat. Harsh, almost. “There are some things we don’t tolerate being brought to light. How’s that human saying go? Let sleeping gods lie?”

Amara’s voice carries a clear warning. She won’t be sharing anything else with me tonight.

I raise my hands. “Forget I asked.”

Above us, the first star flickers and winks out.

Amara grips my arm. “It’s starting. Watch.”

Another goes dark, and then another. And then—

The sky shatters. Purple, yellow, red, green—a dazzling eruption of color and luminous ribbons streaking through the dark. Falling stars pour from the firmament, leaving trails of glittering dust in their wake, until the air shimmers in a luminous haze.

It’s a storm. A deluge. The stars rain down in a glittering flood until the entire city shimmers and sparks with magic, a current that skates across my skin like a caress. Pleasure pools thick and languid in my veins. I’ve never craved touch like this before. It’s almost too bright, too sharp.

The crowd erupts. Some demigods take flight, dancing through the star-streaked sky with their wings spread wide. Laughter rings out over the crowd. Everywhere I look, faces are tipped back in rapture.

“How long does it last?” I whisper.

“Three days.” There’s something wistful in Amara’s smile when she turns to me, as if she’s remembering a half-forgotten dream. “We need to go,” she says apologetically.

I nod, and she takes my arm, navigating us through the crowd. We’ve barely taken three steps when a word rises above the din, stopping me cold.

Hellevig.

I whip around so fast that Amara stumbles. Across the courtyard, a cluster of demis gather near a bonfire, one male waving his hands as he speaks.

“—mortals and their drama. Nearly made us late to the first falling thanks to whatever’s lodged up their collective ass this time around.”

“Out with it already,” another snaps. “Not all of us are looped in on the latest Vartenan gossip.”

The first one leans in. “The Princess of the Blood fell out of favor, and her loyalists were all killed. Or so I heard.”

Theo.

Ice spreads through my veins. Suddenly, I can barely breathe around the crushing pressure in my chest.

Amara is at my side in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My sister.” I can barely speak through the panic. “Theodora. I need—I have to know if she’s okay.”

She looks over at the demis, then back at me. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Then she’s slipping into the throng, the dark fall of her hood swallowed up between one blink and the next. I stand frozen, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Please, please let Theo be all right. If anything’s happened to her—

The crowd surges without warning. Bodies jostle me from all sides, and I lose sight of Amara’s blue hood in the sudden crush.

“Amara!”

My voice is lost in the swell of noise. I’m buffeted on all sides as I struggle to reach her last location. Elbows dig into my ribs, wings bump against my head, but I keep shoving, keep moving—

And stumble to a halt, my attention snagging on an ancient tree. I’ve seen it sketched in faded ink on a crumbling page in my father’s study.

My feet carry me forward, the press of revelers fading to insignificance. As I draw closer, I notice something else—faint scratches in the weathered cobblestones, markings faded with time and weather. Barely more than a suggestion. A word.

Rhosyn.

Brow furrowed, I take an unconscious step nearer, ducking beneath a low-hanging arch—

And collide face-first with a demi.

Hands grab my shoulders, steadying. “Easy there. You almost—” The words cut off with a sharp intake of breath.

Slowly, I tip my head up. The demi’s expression makes dread tighten in my gut. His eyes rake over me, hard and calculating, like a hawk eyeing a mouse.

My veil. It’s still in place, concealing my features. I’m fine. I just need to—

His nostrils flare as he sniffs the air.

“Excuse me,” I say. Stay calm. “I’m—”

“Human,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear him over the blood roaring in my ears. “I can smell it on you.”

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