Page 62 of Thief of Souls
There’s a long moment with no response, and then I can sense him inside my head. Hot possession. The scent of burning amber. A very smug sensation, somewhat akin to a cat purring.“I told you. I will take care of it.”
“Stay out of my head.” I turn for my chambers. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“Never,”he says.
And then he’s gone again, and I hate the fact that I feel a little alone.
12
The hunt went overlong, and somehow, the white hart managed to escape into the swampy fens to the north of the court.
The huntsman was confounded. Its tracks simply disappeared into the swamp. The dogs ran around in circles. And nobody got to kill the beast.
“It just… vanished,” the huntsman finally admitted.
I caught a glimpse of the look in Keir’s eyes as he watched Malechus rant and track mud through the edge of the swamp, until he was forced to finally concede and send us all home.
I didn’t dare ask him if he had done something.
As if in retaliation, Malechus is in a rare good humor tonight. He calls for more wine. More mead. More music. He will have his glory, no matter whether he must wring it from us in blood.
I dance and dance until my feet ache.
There’s a wildness to the music that brings a rush of blood through my body. Or maybe it’s the company. Keir spins me in his arms, again and again, until I’m dizzy with it. For once we have this one night in which there is nothing to do beyond enjoy the pleasures to be found. There are too many curious eyes upon us, and one must make certain appearances if one is to be beyond suspicion.
“I need something to drink,” I plead as the music lulls.
“I’ll be back.” Keir bows with a vicious smile. “Don’t fall in love with any strangers until I return.”
I watch him go, slightly bemused by his good mood tonight.
Maybe it’s you. Maybe he’s enjoying himself because he’s with you.
The thought sours my mood a little.
I turn and almost walk right into Rhea.
The second I see her, her kohl-rimmed eyes bright and malicious, my heart skips a beat. “What are you—?”
“A little gift for you, toadstool.”
She blows a handful of powder in my face.
I jerk away, trying not to suck it in, but the merriment has left me breathless. It’s too late. The powder hits my lungs.
Grabbing her by the dress, I shove her against the wall of the ballroom cavern, a knife pressed low to her abdomen. “What did you poison me with?”
“Not poison,” she says with a laugh, her arms wrapping around me with an intimate embrace. Our bodies twine, and then she’s undulating against me, careless of the knife. “I wouldn’t dare.” She breathes the words against my neck. “Your prince can take no umbrage with this, can he? Tell him it’s my little gift to him.”
My heart skips a beat, but it’s the stealthy slide of lust through my veins like raw honey that makes my eyes widen with horror.
It’s not poison.
Fingertips trail between my breasts, setting me alight. The tips of my nipples harden, and I shove away from her. It’s too late. I’m on fire. Burning within.
I’ve never inhaled rapture, but the fae of the Blessed courts use it to enhance their celebrations.
Snorting a pinch of it is enough to transform lovemaking. A male will be hard for days, driven only by the urge to fuck his way inside a female. A female, on the other hand, will want to rut with anything that’s hard enough….
