Brimstone (Fae & Alchemy, #2)

by Callie Hart

Emotions painted the blood. Happiness. Anger. Sorrow. Lust. Each gave off its own energy.

Humans were not good at taming their feelings. They felt everything so rudely, right out in the open, with no awareness of how their reactions might affect those with finer senses.

The only time a member of the Sanasrothian Court gave off any scent at all was after they had fed, when the spark of life that lingered in their victim’s blood still echoed with the emotions they had felt as they died. Like the faintest trace of perfume that lingered after a hug.

“They’re going to… destroy her, you know? It has already… been seen. This court will… fall… with her inside it.”

And he could have his reasons, so long as none of them involved him harboring any sort of hope that Saeris was going to confess her undying love for him. That wasn’t happening.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I snarled. “I’m saving the fucking fox!”

“And the day you save me on a battlefield, I’ll put on a dress and dance a fucking jig.”

“Never doubt your powers, sweet one,” she’d told me. “Each one of them is a gift. Each one will prove exactly enough when you have need of it. Have faith in yourself. You will always be enough.”

“Don’t you know? There isn’t much I wouldn’t sacrifice to make you happy, Osha. A little healing magic is the least of it.”

“Well, I suppose if no one else is going to say it, then I will. You look downright fuckable, Saeris Fane.”

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked. “I don’t know a single person stupid enough to hit on a newly bonded female, let alone a God-Bound female. But to do it right in front of her mate? In front of him?” he added, jerking his chin toward the last male leaning against the wall by the door.

Fisher’s dark, wavy hair tumbled into his face, flicking up around his ears. It had somehow grown longer in the past day or two. He felt bigger, too. Taller, broader, his presence even more imposing. He was armed to the teeth, dressed in leather, his ever-present gorget flashing at his throat. Tendrils of shadow and glittering black sand wound between his fingers, circling his wrists. They twisted down his legs and spilled across the plush carpet like hunting snakes, heading for the chaise.

It all made sense now—the number of times he’d drunk the other patrons at the House of Kala under the table. The Fae could drink themselves into oblivion if they wanted to; they only had to will it and they were as sober as a judge in their next breath. For as long as I’d known him, Carrion had been hiding his lineage. The glamor Kingfisher’s father had wrought on him as a baby had held his whole life, concealing his true appearance. In fairness, he’d always been tall. But his ears had been rounded, his features less chiseled and sharp, his frame not quite so broad. The reality of him was taking some getting used to. Thanks to his run-in with Malcolm in the maze, the glamor was gone now, and the male was his natural, true self at last.

But where my mate was all darkness and quiet brooding, Taladaius was light, his mood often easier than it had any reason to be.

“If you’re worried about her, even for a second, they will know, and they’ll leap at the opportunity to tear you down because of it. Weaken her claim. Cast her out—”

Five vampire lords ruled beneath the vampire monarch—the Lords of Midnight—of which Taladaius was one. Regardless of sex, they had always been referred to as Lord, and apparently that wasn’t changing anytime soon.

They were bound by the Law of Ascension, though. They had to acknowledge me first before they could try to steal my throne. And if they acknowledged me, they had to obey me. At least for a time.

It was bonded to me now. The god swords were loyal, territorial things.

the weapon was pure silver, but it didn’t burn me the way it would Taladaius or any other vampire.

My brother would have fallen in love with her on sight. She was just the type of pretty, fine-boned trouble who would have caught his eye.

She’s Keeper of Missives. I felt Fisher’s approval in the back of my mind. Yes. See the ring on her hand? The thick band of gold with the purple stone? That marks her as a Lord. All five of them have rings. They’re a source of power, gifted to them by Malcolm. Each supposedly contains the same amount of magic, though it’s rumored that Tal’s is the most powerful. Zovena was Lìssian once, like Tal. He loved her. For her part, I think she loved him, too. But that was a long, long time ago.

I waited for Kingfisher to say something, but no response came. Glancing over to where he stood on my right, I found that he was yawning.

That’s Ereth, I suppose? Keeper of the Evenlight? Fisher answered right away. Yes. He and his followers are religious zealots. They worship one of the demon gods. If he gets his way, every single living being in Yvelia will be drained of their magic and turned into slaves. Every continent will be turned into a wasteland paradise for vampires, where they can hunt and kill anything left alive for sport.

The other one is the Hazrax. The last of its kind. It is twice as old as anything else that draws breath in Yvelia.

It was not Fae, but it wasn’t vampire, either. It had come to Malcolm centuries ago, back when the vampire king was still in the throes of forging his empire, and had offered its services to the king. When Malcolm had asked if it wanted eternity in exchange, the Hazrax had sworn to destroy him if he tried to bite it, and Malcolm had believed every word. When the king had asked it what it did want in exchange for its fealty to Sanasrot...

“The Hazrax’s magic is shrouded in mystery. No one here knows what it’s capable of… but whatever magic or power it showed to Malcolm scared him enough to allow it to stay.”

The old woman is Algat, Keeper of Records. She was a witch once. Cast out by her own clan for meddling in dark magics. She might look like the oldest of the Lords, but she’s actually the youngest. I had cause to deal with her once or twice before she transitioned. Pure evil runs through her veins, Little Osha. Do not underestimate her.

Her cloudy eyes locked with mine, and— I was back in the Third. I was arguing with Hayden. I was back in Madra’s palace, fighting to free my hands as Harron came to kill me. I was in Kingfisher’s bed in Ballard, safe in his arms. He was inside me, and my soul was full of fire, and—

She's reading her past. Her mind.

Taladaius had explained that he would hold his tongue as best he could during the evening’s proceedings. He had been Malcolm’s favorite—his Keeper of Secrets—which meant that he was not a favorite among the five.

“She isn’t required to drink,” he said. “No rule or law prescribes it.” “No law and no rule, maybe, but what of common sense?” the old woman asked, in a sly croak. “Come now, Taladaius. The girl’s a virgin—”

I had risen to my feet. And my heart had stopped beating. It hadn’t taken long to master the trick. Taladaius had known that his counterparts would take offense over the issue, and so he had taught me how to paralyze the muscle in my chest. It had been simple enough. All I had to do was picture my heart resting, taking a break, and that was precisely what it did.

This… isn’t how I imagined this, I thought to Fisher. As he slipped his bracer free, his eyes found mine, burning with intensity. A slow, intrigued smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. Oh? So you’ve been imagining this, then, have you, Little Osha?

You can own your fantasies with me, Little Osha. There is nothing in this realm or the next that I won’t give to you if you desire it. All you ever need do is ask.

Breathe, Saeris.

Fisher gently took hold of my chin and tipped my face so that I was looking back up at him. The ink at his throat was going wild; I could see the black linework morphing and shifting over the top of his gorget. There wasn’t much quicksilver left in his eye now, but the small amount that remained was also shifting, forming the geometric shapes and patterns among the vivid green of his iris. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. You’re okay.”

“Drink, Saeris,” Fisher said in a ragged gasp. No. No, I needed to wait. “For the love of the gods, fucking drink,” he begged.

That I was giving something to him instead.

I blinked as black ink shifted beneath Fisher’s skin, pouring like water down his arm. It banded his wrist and then disappeared, transferring to me. I felt the cool prickle of it settling right in the center of my chest, just below my collarbone, but I didn’t care about the new ink. I only cared about my mate. And the blood.

I felt the reversal of a flow between us. The changing of a tide. As soon as his blood touched my tongue, an explosion of color and sound lit up inside my head like a thousand fireworks. Fire chased through my veins. Need pooled between my legs, sending a rush of pleasure up through my body so powerful that I wante...

His pupils had completely swallowed his iris and banished the green and the quicksilver. His labored breathing had his chest rising and falling so fast. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and the primal hunger I saw there landed like a physical blow. He was barely in control of himself. If I touched him— “Don’t even think about it, or I’ll take you right here,” he panted. Holy. Fucking. Gods.

“She is leashed by the blood. Bound to it, as we all are. There can be no question of her commitment to our people now.” What the hell was he talking about?

THERE WAS A new tattoo on her chest: a thin black line that marked her skin from one shoulder to the other, right below her collarbone.

I gravitated toward her anyway, but after what she’d just done—she had no idea what she’d done—my cock was the hardest it had ever fucking been, and I could barely think straight.

WHAT DID SHE DO?

The euphoria was running through my veins, too. I should have been more careful when I’d told her to drink. She couldn’t have known what would happen if she stilled with her canines inside me and didn’t drink, though. It was my own fucking fault. I should have told her. I should have explained. My cock throbbed relentlessly as I turned around to face the hall.

What is happening?

Ereth had encouraged her to bite me for a reason. Likely, he’d hoped the experience would put her on her ass. He probably hoped having Saeris feed from me would dull my senses and make me lower my guard, too… but Ereth didn’t know me. He’d never faced me on the battlefield. Never visited me when I was trapped inside Malcolm’s maze. He had no idea who I was or what I was capable of and, therefore, had no clue what heinous crimes I would commit to ensure my mate’s safety.

Patience, the quicksilver whispered.

Wait. Wait. Be patient…

The blade that appeared in the Lord’s hand had a handle wrapped with a leather thong. It must have been causing him serious discomfort this whole time; he’d been keeping it inside his cloak, tucked away against his side. The blade was vicious, needlelike, and flashed bright silver: the perfect weapon for a vampire noble, inexperienced in the art of fighting, to drive through their enemy’s eardrum and straight into their brain. Ereth moved quickly. I moved quicker.

Taladaius stood at the base of the dais, hand outstretched, expression blank as he unleashed his magic upon the vampires. There was a reason the previous king of this court had made Tal his second in command. He never flaunted his magic, but the male was powerful. Even before he’d transitioned, Tal had been able to manipulate most liquids. All liquids, in fact, apart from quicksilver. Blood was a liquid… and right now, he was boiling the blood in the high bloods’ veins.

“She is… anathema. Cursed,” he choked out. “The g-gods denounce… her.”