Igniting Cinder (The Lost Girls, #3)

by Holly Roberds

Fairies are pure-blood bastards with a superiority complex.

The Common World has another name for the Midnight fairies. Vampires.

You can take the girl out of Midnight, but she’ll still have a weird affinity for Tim Burton aesthetics the rest of her life.

“How did you know it was me?” she asks in a low tone. How did I know it was her? The veil she wears hides half her face, and she is dressed as any of the kingdom’s aristocrats. Yet I knew. She stood out as clearly as a blaze of fire amidst a sea of ice cubes. Something in the way she holds herself, something in the way her eyes burn me from behind her face covering, or perhaps it’s that perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth that catches my attention, reminding me of a certain human girl I once knew. The daughter of my father’s close personal friend. His only human friend. While we didn’t interact very often, Cinder was always in my sphere, orbiting around the edges until her father died. I sometimes weirdly felt our situations were opposite sides of the same coin. Then I never saw her again or knew what became of her. It niggled at me until one day I asked around and got various versions of a rumor that she’d been sucked dry and left for dead by rogue vampires in the woods. That night I didn’t sleep. For even longer, I’d be visited by intrusive thoughts imagining her discarded drained body just lying in the woods. Nobody seemed to care, but I did. If no one else would, I would be the one who remembered the girl who was always dotted or smeared with paint stains and often sat on the cliffs, humming to herself when she thought no one was around. Instead of confessing any of that, I shoot the very alive and warm-blooded human girl a cocky grin. “I know everyone of course.” “You mean...

“Why me?” Cinder asks in a low, self-conscious voice. It’s not the question of a woman who does not value her own worth enough to be picked in a crowd. It’s the complaint of someone who wishes I hadn’t singled her out. “I wanted a dance with the mystery woman.” Then I lower my voice conspiratorially. “It will drive the rest of them crazy, not knowing who you are.” “If they find out a human has snuck in…” There is a slight waver in her voice. Fear. “I’ll be⁠—” “No one will touch you while I’m with you.” A hard edge entered my voice before I could check it, but I meant it. No one will do her any harm; I will make sure of it. Though why she’s snuck back into Midnight, a human girl among Midnight fairies who’d just as soon step into daylight than endure treating her as an equal, is beyond me.

My father smiles, but his eyes are sharp. “May I ask how you came to be here tonight?” Aka how the fuck did you get in here, little human girl? The portals to our realm are heavily monitored by our guards, and the outskirts of our land are plagued by feral rogue vampires. To her credit, Cinder keeps her face neutral as she simply says, “I am from this land.” “Ah yes, of course,” he says as if he sees. He doesn’t know shit. Not even I know how she got here, which leaves me deeply impressed. The King’s eyes narrow slightly. “The borders are not as treacherous as they once were. There used to be so many. . . incidents back then. I heard a particularly disturbing rumor about your own journey out of our lands, my dear. That the rogues had gotten you. But I am pleased to find you made it out and back, alive.” “Sounds like an important lesson in listening to gossip because I'm here now.” The words are even, and her expression gives nothing away. Shock electrocutes me in an almost titillating way. Holy witchtits, she must be fearless. Or stupid. Maybe both? The King smiles, but there's no warmth in it. “Indeed, you are,” he murmurs thoughtfully as if to himself. “Indeed,” he repeats, this time loud enough to be heard by all. “We are honored to have the daughter of my esteemed friend and artist Byung-He and she is most welcome.”

Everything about her screams look but do not touch. Rebel I am, I am seized by the extreme need to kiss it anyway and smear that glossy sheen over her face. Or to see that moody color smudged over other more intimate places. But what the fuck is she wearing? And why does it have such an intense effect on me?

He has the power to make me feel like the only person in the room, the only one who matters in the entire world. Being that important to someone makes my heart pound double-time and my palms sweat. I’m not sure if it’s because I find the prospect terrifying or thrilling.

“You sell books?” How does the ring curving over his bottom lip make his mouth even more magnetic and inviting? A fully expressed infectious smile spreads across Belle’s face this time. “I own the romance bookstore across the street. It’s called Chapter Three.” He lights up with recognition. “Oh, the one with the gorgeous sign of a rose in an open book?” Worse than being naturally magnetic and handsome, the prince can take an interest in others. “Why is it called Chapter Three?” Kaison asks Belle, leaning in. The low lighting highlights the contours of his perfect face and dark tousled hair. Disgusting. A woman wearing forbidding black eyeshadow with a styled rainbow-streaked, banana-blonde mohawk walks up to the bar. My boss and the bar owner, Rapunzel aka Rap, answers for Belle. “Because her favorite chapter of her favorite romance book is chapter three where the female protagonist realizes the man she's lusting after is actually a prince.” Belle blushes, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “You know me so well, Rap.” Rap gives her shy friend a tight smile. It exudes more friendliness and encouragement than I’ve ever seen her share. “That’s why we’re friends. Both business owners and badasses.” “A prince you say.” Charming perks up. “Why what a coincidence because⁠—” “He’s always hoped to find his own prince charming,” I cut in. Kaison shoots me a knowing smirk. “You know me so well,” he purrs, echoing the exchange between Belle and Rap.

“You should call me Kaison, or better yet, Kai. I’m not bored, and I don’t do drugs.” His tone is suddenly serious as if it’s imperative I know he means that. Oh sure, I’ll call the Prince of the Midnight Kingdom by his first name. Next we can braid each other’s hair and watch trashy reality mage TV shows while bingeing junk food.

“I need a bride. As you know, my father insists. So I figure why not give the old man what he wants.” While Prince Charming rambles on about his outrageous proposal, I stealthily slide over to the small kitchenette corner of the break room. I flick on a lighter and set the wick of a little orange candle aflame. In mere seconds, the spicy-sweet aroma of pumpkin apple spice wraps around me like a comforting hug. So sonny boy wants to rebel and punish dear old daddy. I turn to face him again. “And why not give him the most unsuitable bride, eh?” Kaison’s lips quirk up on one side, but his eyes remain untouched by the half-smile. As if he is having a very serious thought about something I just said. “You’re perfect.” The words come out in a low husk, and I don’t like how they land in my belly and explode in a bevy of warm tingles.

When he died, my world fell apart. And then it morphed into a hell I never saw coming.

I point first at him, “You think your father,” then at myself, “killed my father.” Kaison pushes off the lockers, frustration etched into every line of his face as he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But if I were you, I sure as hell would want to find out.”

“I understand your plan,” I say slowly, going over all the angles and curves of it in my mind. “So you’ll do it?” His voice ticks up with hopefulness as he practically bounces on the balls of his feet. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Every part of me is on high alert. Not only am I avoiding shadows, I’m also avoiding Charming’s crazy scheme of a fake engagement. Like I’d be engaged to him in any universe. Ha!

I could be here playing the part of the doting fiancée right now. I could be on Charming’s arm, pissing everyone off with my general presence. Kaison would look at me the same way he did when we were dancing. As if he were intrigued and delighted, like I’m something truly unique and worthwhile of his attention. The exact way I look at a pumpkin spice treat. The memory of his words tethers me to the present moment despite my desire to flee. The way his voice turned rough when he promised no one would hurt me. . . my skin heats up as my belly flip flops. With disgust. Definitely disgust. The fact he grew up to be mildly amusing as well as drop-dead gorgeous means nothing. It means less than nothing. That nothing is only made worse by the fact he’s tatted and wears heavy lethal jewelry. And I have zero interest in finding more about that dangerous glint that passes over his face when his cocky playboy attitude drops for a moment. A shiver travels up my spine, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake.

The Midnight Kingdom really needed to get the smash the patriarchy memo.

Prince Kaison interrupts the King, drawing everyone’s attention. “I hate to disappoint the many lovely ladies here tonight.” He opens a hand to the crowd where women openly preen, including my stepsisters. It takes everything in me to pull away from the hellish memories to calm my turmoil at being near them enough to focus on Kaison’s words. “But I have an announcement,” he says, taking another commanding step forward. “I have made an unexpected love match and have chosen my bride.” I briefly wonder what other perfectly unsuitable bride he’s picked out to piss off daddy. She has to be a real piece of work. Then Kaison’s eyes find mine in the crowd, hitting me like an arrow connecting with the bullseye of a target. Oh. Oh no. A gloved hand stretches out toward me. I clench my fists into tight balls. Don’t you dare fucking do it. “Cinder Park, daughter of my father’s dearest friend Byung-He Park, has agreed to join me in holy matrimony and begin a new era in the Midnight Kingdom.” Outraged and shocked mutters race through the room.

Squeezing Cinder’s hand in mine, I murmur, “Do try to look as if you are a besotted bride.” “I think I’m doing a rather excellent job,” she whispers back, her fingers twitching agitatedly in mine. “Not actively stabbing you and all.” Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss the delicate bones of her knuckles. She jerks it away. The room draws in a collective breath. “Don’t put your mouth on my skin,” she hisses under her breath. While her eyes are normally a cold wall giving away nothing that goes on inside, there is a look of wild panic in them now. Her scent intensifies in the air around us, its sweetness mixing with the tanginess of her fear. What? Did she seriously think I was going to sink my fangs into her right here before everyone? Not to say the idea of devouring her hasn’t crossed my mind, in more ways than one. . .

When she entered the ballroom, I felt her. I pretended not to, but all my senses were keenly tuned into where Cinder was at any given moment. Beyond that, a need, from deep down at the bottom of my gut, urged me to do it, to put her on the spot and lock her in. I need her. For my plan, of course. She’s the only one that will do. The fact I also want her is irrelevant.

“I am sorry you are trapped here now,” I add with true remorse. To be honest, I’m still not sure how she’s been traveling back and forth between the Common World and the Midnight realm. But I’ve no doubt her ability to move freely went up in a puff of smoke the second I suckered her into an engagement. Cinder doesn’t deserve to be under my father’s thumb, but I also can’t help but feel better about having her nearby so I can keep tabs. Huh. I’ve really developed a noble side. “Trapped? You think this is just about being trapped?” Her voice is a mix of disbelief and anger. “I have a life beyond this. . . this charade. One that doesn't include playing pretend with you.” I nod, understanding more than she could imagine. “I know, and I'm not blind to how unfair this is to you. But,” I say, nearing her until there is but a step between us. “We could also reap the extra benefits of our arrangement.” She barely contains her sneer. “What extra benefits?” She’s so mean. I’m obsessed. I drop my voice to a low husk. “The carnal kind, of course.” Deliberately dragging my eyes over her from head to toe, pausing on all the most delicious spots like her lips, her chest, hips, and surprisingly her wrists, I make my meaning known. “If we are going to sell this, I think it’s a good idea for us to,” I lean in closer, hoping to drag the word over the shell of her ear like a velvet temptation, “fuck.” A sudden blow lands between my legs, striking me in my most sensitive area. The intense pain ...

Then I see past him to another bedroom. His bedroom. “Wait, our rooms are adjoined?” A flood of dread shoots through me. Charming begins to smile but after he winces in pain, he works harder to suppress the smirk. As his eyes flow over my body. “Worried, my little spooky babe?” “The hell did you call me?” He pushes off from the door frame and saunters into my room. “Would you prefer goth girl? Gloom cookie? Shadow pup? Sparky?” “Wh-what? Are you having a stroke?” Each nickname is worse than the last, so bad they make my teeth hurt. “If we are to be engaged, we must present as a couple. Endearments are a must.” He attempts a stern look, but he can’t hide the sly smirk threatening to break through as well as split his lip again. Crossing the space between us, his lithe muscle flexes under his shirt. Like a panther moving in on his prey. “But if you don’t like those, how about my dark angel, my spooky darling, my ghost boo?” How are these getting so much worse? And how is he making them still sound somewhat sexy? “Gloomy goddess, Shadow Queen?” If this jungle kitty gets any closer, he’ll find out I have no problems smacking him on the snout. Still, my body instinctually wants to recoil at his approach. It knows exactly what he could do to me. Yet there is another part that requests something else he could do to my body altogether. No. No, we are not interested in the slutty playboy. “Does that mean I get to call you slut muffin?” I bat my eyes at him. He tilts his head as if ...

“You know what I’d love to hear you call me?” His voice drops into a low confession. I don’t trust myself to speak. The way he says it, the way his scent of leather and icy pine surrounds me, it threatens to drown me. “Kai.” It comes out in a rough husk. Oh fuck. What is happening to my insides? Heat kicks up at the bottom of my gut, like a pile of burning coals. I thank god this castle is so cold, as I break out into a sweat. Even so, I refuse to let him see he’s gotten to me. “I think I’ll stick with Your Majesty,” I mock, just to get his goat. Because he’s got mine—by the throat.

“Some people like to play with their food,” I say, though the words come out weak. “Oh, I want to play with you, maybe eat you alive.” That cheeky tone is back in his voice as his tongue curls over his teeth, a wicked glint in his eye. I flush as I feel my panties dampen. Prince Charming is everything the tabloids say. A walking sexual innuendo. Despite knowing that, his words still have such an effect on me. Though part of me really, really wants him to do what he says, vulnerability, danger, and primal fear braids in with my desire. “But okay,” he shrugs and takes a step back. “I won’t touch you.” A pang of disappointment shoots through me, almost causing my body to sway towards him. Almost.

“But what if I tell you how I would touch you?” A positively devilish grin curls up until he’s showing off his fangs.

“I would start,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, “by tracing the curve of your jaw with my fingertips. Slowly, so you can feel every movement, every caress as if it were a whisper against your skin.” He can’t be serious. Kaison’s eyes darken with intensity. “I want that robe in a puddle at your feet. I want to discover all the secrets you hide under there. More ink, maybe a bit of metal?” He lifts an eyebrow in suggestion. No. Tell him to stop. This is ridiculous. We aren’t really involved, it’s just for show. “I'd drag my fingers over your bare arms. Trace the petals of the cherry blossom tattoos along the smooth skin and follow the skulls no matter where they lead.” His words become languid, each syllable drugging me. Phantom sensations caress my tattoo, swooping down my rib cage where it swirls under my breast. The coals in my stomach burn brighter, hotter, heating the blood in my veins. My heartbeat slows, pounding in heavy, rhythmic thumps. In moments, I’m hypnotized. The room fades around us and there is only the space between us and the words traveling from him to me. Kaison’s eyes drop down my body with open desire, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “I want to slip my fingers under that silk robe until I find your sweet little nipples. Find out if they are shades of rosy pink or a dusky brown. Though,” a wicked grin curves his mouth, “based on the outline I’m highly keyed in on right now, I can see I’ll have little bars to play with as well because, like me...

“Stop being a little bitch and put the shoe on or stay here,” she snaps at me. Why did I just get hard?

In the end, she may have agreed simply to shut me up. Or dare I hope, she enjoys my company? More likely, she wants to see me put on a terrifyingly small glass shoe because she’s a sadist.

“I’m not sure exactly how to do this together, so uh hold my hand.” “Can we lace fingers?” I ask hopeful, taking her pale, elegant hand in my larger one. “Only if you want me to cut them off,” she says dryly.

“We aren’t exactly working together, just using each other,” she clarifies. Ain’t that the truth. If I had my way, I’d be using her for a lot more. She can use me for anything she wants.

“Yeah, but maybe you should go through this engagement for real. Because that prince is a hot piece of ass I'd chain down any day.” I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning. “He'd probably be into the chains,” Cinder says quietly, maybe to herself. I suck on an olive, careful to keep my gaze averted so I don't get caught eavesdropping. She has no idea.

“We're fresh out of sour. How about a nice tall glass of fuck off instead?”

“You picked the wrong girl to mess with,” I growl. “And the wrong Charming to cross.”

One day, I'll coax a real smile out of her. For now, I'm content to sit back and watch my dark empress rule her domain.

When the time comes, I'll let her go. I'll watch her walk away and tell myself it's for the best. So why do my chest tighten and my hands clench every time I think of letting her go?

“So you keep thinking your beau is going to propose to you, but then he doesn't,” Kai asks Goldie as he sips on another martini. “I mean, I thought so.” Goldie groans before dropping her head into her hands. “He set up this perfect picnic, and it was super romantic. He even made a pink heart cake, or tried to anyway, like I made him when we first met. But then the sky opened up and a torrential rain came down on our heads. The cake melted, and he practically scooped it into the picnic basket before we ran to the truck to keep from drowning.” I listen halfheartedly as Kai lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “The ring was in the cake.” “Shut up,” Snow says, even as her face registers shock. “You can't know that.” “Oh yes, I can,” Kai says with a knowing smirk. “You have to ask yourself, why would a man scoop up wet cake and put it back into a picnic basket?”

Strong hands move me aside as Kaison walks into our kitchenette/living room, observing the scene closer. Then without a care in the world, he gets between the two battling enemies, reaches into the cabinet, and gingerly pulls out the demon cat from our cupboard. Snow’s mouth drops open with the disbelief I feel. In seconds, the fucking Satan cat is purring in Kaison’s arms. “What in the fae fucks is happening right now?” Snow asks in equal parts awe and disgust. Kaison rubs the cat’s ears and the purr double times. “What can I say? Pussies love me.” Then he throws us that cheeky grin of his.

There it is again. The fear. The arousal. Fearousal.

“You taste like if heaven and hell combined for a smoke-infused ambrosia.”

“Hi there.” Kaison's words are strangely muffled, something white and fluffy pushing under his lips. “Are those. . . marshmallows on your canines?” Disbelief colors my voice. “I've been thinking,” he says around the sugary lumps, “you don't do fangs. So I figured these little buffers might make you more comfortable.” Comfortable. The word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken promise.

“Fucking fae lords, I was wrong.” I'm about to move away when he cuts off the motion. “I've never seen a pair even close to this perfection.” “Boobs aren't that great,” I weakly protest. “More than half the population has them.” His eyes meet mine. “That's like saying a piece of art isn't great because there are a million other works.” Well, fuck me. That hits.

“Cinder, you look. . .” He trails off, shaking his head clear. “Like a princess?” I offer. “Like the most powerful, dangerously seductive creature I’ve ever beheld.”

“You clean up nicely, for a goth girl.” I scoff, the spell broken. “And you're still an ass for a prince.”

Kaison dips over to me. “Whatever you are thinking, it is giving your already low-key expression a murderous edge.” I’m sure he is making the whisper look romantic, like a stolen moment between us. “So help me, fae lords, if you tell me to smile, I will remove your testicles with a blunt, rusty spoon,” I whisper. A beat. “Fair enough,” he says, leaning back and looking as unperturbed as before.

The panties don’t have fangs. And yet I am completely under attack.

Kaison leans in close, his voice a feather-light whisper against my ear. “Having fun, my love?” he teases, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. I bite my lip to stifle a gasp as the vibrations intensify yet again. Holy fuck, did someone ask me a question? I must make some sound resembling confusion. Kaison lifts his champagne lazily. “Our guests are speculating on if you will insist on a white virginal dress the humans favor for our nuptials, or if you will take on our traditional colors for matrimony?” He’s completely unaffected, putting me on the spot on purpose. I want to smack him. I want to fuck him. I want—I want⁠— “I don't look good in white.” My words come out so tight, they almost unravel into a lewd moan of pleasure. “Au contraire my bride, I believe it could be quite a sweet look for you,” Kaison coos. I’m not sure if it’s our sickening affection or my current state of approaching a bone-shattering orgasm, but I sense the discomfort at the table. Also—sweet? I’ll show him sweet. I'll beat him to death with my six-inch platform boots with the spikes on them until he’s a bloody pulp⁠— The buzzing switches from an insistent thrum to a syncopated pattern. I bite my tongue even as I shiver. “Oh my. Are you cold, my dearest?” Kaison dotes with false concern. Forget beating him to death. I'm going to strap him to a bed and ride his face until he’s tongue fucked me into next year. And long after his jaw is sore and popping from the effort, I’ll make him do it ...

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my ear. “Let me see you come in front of all these people, my gothic goddess.”

It’s time I make my excuses and get the hell out of here. Just as I’m about to rise, the panties start up with another whirr of power, causing my entire body to shudder as I grip the table for stability. Casting a look at Kaison whose eyes are two hungry dark pools of obsidian, I realize that while I may be done, he’s not.

Cinder wheels around to face me in the hall outside our rooms, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with a mix of anger and lingering arousal. “Five times? At the table? Are you insane?” she hisses, her eyes narrowing to violet slits. Her chest heaves with each breath, straining against the confines of her gown in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch. To say she walked funny out of dinner is an understatement. When my mother commented on her strange gait, Cinder simply grumbled, “Back problems.” “Hmm.” I’m somewhat disappointed by her number. “And here I thought I got you to come six times. Maybe I mistook one of those for aftershocks.” “You sadistic asshole,” she hisses with narrowed eyes. “Oh, baby, say it slow, and maybe step on my balls while you do.” The thing is, I mean it. She wasn’t the only one walking funny out of that dinner. Playing with her had been the most fun I’d had in I don’t know how long.

“You should tell her.” For a heart stopping second, I don’t know what she means. Or rather, I fear what she means. Tell her how you feel. But then my senses return as I come back to our conversation. Rap means I should tell Cinder about the part she is playing.