Shadowfever (Fever #5)

by Karen Marie Moning

YOU WISH TO KNOW ME? POSIT YOURSELF AS THE PINPOINT CENTER OF ONE OF YOUR KALEIDOSCOPES, AND GRASP TIME AS THE COLORFUL FRAGMENTS ERUPTING FROM YOU IN A MULTITUDE OF DIMENSIONS THAT CONSTANTLY EXPAND OUTWARD IN AN EVER-WIDENING, EVER-SHIFTING, INFINITE ARRAY. SEE THAT YOU CAN CHOOSE AND EXPAND FROM ANY OF THOSE UNCOUNTABLE DIMENSIONS AND THAT, WITH EACH CHOICE, THOSE DIMENSIONS WIDEN AND SHIFT AGAIN. INFINITY COMPOUNDED EXPONENTIALLY. UNDERSTAND THAT THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS REALITY: THE FALSE GOD YOUR RACE WORSHIPS WITH SUCH BLIND DEVOTION. REALITY IMPLIES A SINGLE POSSIBLE. YOU ACCUSE ME OF ILLUSION. YOU—WITH YOUR ABSURD CONSTRUCT OF LINEAR TIME. YOU FASHION FOR YOURSELF A PRISON OF WATCHES, CLOCKS, AND CALENDARS. YOU RATTLE BARS FORGED OF HOURS AND DAYS, BUT YOU’VE PADLOCKED THE DOOR WITH PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. PUNY MINDS NEED PUNY CAVES. YOU CANNOT GAZE UPON TIME’S TRUE FACE ANY MORE THAN YOU CAN BEHOLD MINE. TO APPREHEND YOURSELF AS THE CENTER, TO SIMULTANEOUSLY PERCEIVE ALL COMBINATIONS OF ALL POSSIBLES, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO MOVE IN ANY DIRECTION—“DIRECTION” BEING A VERY LIMITED METHOD OF ATTEMPTING TO CONVEY A CONCEPT FOR WHICH YOUR RACE HAS NO WORD—THAT IS WHAT IT IS TO BE ME. —CONVERSATIONS WITH THE SINSAR DUBH

He was all nature—trying to teach me to change. Like I said: degrees of denial. He’d leaned into me, in that garage, sex and barely leashed violence, and when I’d felt his hard-on, it made me feel so alive and wild inside that later I’d had to peel off my bikini and take care of myself in the shower again and again, fantasizing a very different outcome in his garage. One that had taken all night.

I focus through my tears. Grass. Trees. Him. He lies facedown. I need to go to him. The earth is wet, muddy from last night’s rain, from his blood. I need to clean him. He shouldn’t be messy. Barrons doesn’t like to be messy. He’s meticulous; a sophisticated, exquisite dresser. Although I’ve straightened his lapel a few times, it was only for the excuse of touching him. Stepping into his personal space. Exercising familiarity to underscore that I had the right. Unpredictable as a hungry lion, he might be feared by everyone else, but he never ripped out my throat, only licked me, and, if his tongue was a little rough sometimes, it was worth it to walk beside the king of the jungle. My heart is going to explode. I can’t do this. I just went through this with my sister. Regret upon regret. Missed opportunities. Bad decisions. Grief. How many more people will have to die before I learn how to live? He was right. I’m a walking catastrophe. I fumble in my pocket for my phone. First thing I do is dial Barrons’ cell. The call doesn’t go through. I press IYCGM. Call doesn’t go through. I hit IYD and hold my breath, watching Barrons intently. The call doesn’t go through. Like the man himself, all lines are down. I begin to shake. I don’t know why, but the fact that the cell phones don’t work convinces me more than anything else that he’s beyond my reach. I flip my head down, scrape my hair forward, and, although it takes me a few tries to get the angle right, I take a shot of my nap...

My hand trembles. I could end my pain. I could curl up and bleed out next to him. It’d be over so quickly. Maybe I’d get another chance some other time, some other place. Maybe he and I would be reincarnated like in that movie, What Dreams May Come, that Alina and I hated so much because the kids and husband died, then the wife committed suicide. I love that movie now. I get it, the whole idea of willingly going to hell for someone. Living there, insane if you have to, because you’d rather be insane with them than endure life without them. I stare at the blade. He died so I would live. “Damn you! I don’t want to live without you!”

It’s how you go on that defines you. “Oh, shut up, would you? You’re dead, shut up, shut up!” But a terrible truth is shredding my heart. I’m the girl that cried “wolf.” I’m the one that pressed IYD. I’m the one that didn’t think I could survive the boar on my own. And guess what? I did. I’d driven it away and already been safe by the time Barrons appeared and blasted into it. I hadn’t really been dying after all. He died for me and it hadn’t been necessary. I overreacted. And now he’s dead.

I settle on the ground, gently lift his head, maneuver my legs beneath it, and cradle his face in my arms. With my shirt and hot tears that won’t stop falling, I bathe away dirt and blood and clean him tenderly. Harsh, forbidding, beautiful face. I touch it. Trace it with my fingers, over and over, until I know the subtlest nuances of every plane and angle, until I could carve it out of stone even if I were blind. I kiss him. I lie down and stretch out next to him. I press my body to his and hold on. I hold him like I never permitted myself to hold him when he was alive. I tell him all the things I never said. For a time, I have no idea where he ends and I begin.

genuflect

“I didn’t mean to kill you!” I cried. Crouching on the floor, it began to change. Oh, yes, I’d killed it. This was exactly what had happened when I’d killed Barrons. Apparently dying forced them to transform. I was transfixed, unable to look away. I would own this sin like I owned all my others. I would wait until he changed and would commit his face to memory so, in the new world I created with the Sinsar Dubh, I could do something special for him. Perhaps I could save him from becoming what he was. What man breathed inside this beast’s skin? One of the other eight Barrons had brought to the abbey the day he’d broken me out? Would I recognize him from Chester’s? Its horns melted and began to run down the sides of its face. Its head became grossly misshapen, expanded and contracted, pulsed and shrank before expanding again—as if too much mass was being compacted into too small a form and the beast was resisting. Massive shoulders collapsed inward, straightened, then collapsed again. It gouged deep splinters of wood from the floor as it bowed upon itself, shuddering. Talons splayed on the floor, became fingers. Haunches lifted, slammed down, and became legs. But they weren’t right. The limbs were contorted, the bones didn’t bend where they were supposed to—rubbery in some places, knobbed in others. Still it bayed, but the sound was changing. I removed my hands from my ears. The humanity in its howl chilled my blood. Its misshapen head whipped from side to side. I caught a g...

Why do you hurt me? I LOVE YOU. You’re incapable of love. NOTHING EXCEEDS MY ABILITIES. I AM ALL. You’re a book. Pages with binding. You weren’t born. You don’t live. You’re no more than the dumping ground for everything that was wrong with a selfish king. I AM EVERYTHING THAT WAS RIGHT WITH A WEAK KING. HE FEARED POWER. I KNOW NO FEAR. What do you want from me? OPEN YOUR EYES. SEE ME. SEE YOURSELF. My eyes are open. I’m good. You’re evil. —CONVERSATIONS WITH THE SINSAR DUBH

The worst part about losing someone you love—besides the agony of never getting to see them again—are the things you never said. The unsaid stalks you, mocks you for thinking you had all the time in the world. None of us do. Here and now, face-to-face with Barrons, my tongue wouldn’t move. I couldn’t form a single word. The unsaid was ash in my mouth, too dry to swallow, choking me.

Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything.

If you leave this bookstore and make me track you, I will make you regret it to the end of your days. ~Z I began to laugh and cry at the same time. I sat, clutching the paper to my chest, elated. He was alive!

This was the calling card Darroc had tacked to the front door of BB&B, demanding I come to him through the Silvers if I valued their lives. That Barrons had left it for me now told me one thing: He had rescued my mom and dad before I’d IYD’d him into the Silvers. But he hadn’t given me the picture as a present or to make me feel better. He’d left it for the same reason Darroc had. To make the same point. I have your parents. Don’t fuck with me. Okay, so he was a little pissed off at me. I could deal with that. If he’d killed me, I’d be a little pissed off, too, no matter how irrational it was. But he would get over it.

He never told me he was a beast that couldn’t be killed. He could have spared me all the pain I’d endured with one tiny little truth, one small confession, and I’d never have felt so violent and dark and broken. If he’d only just said: Ms. Lane, I can’t be killed. So if you ever see me

I’d lost myself. Because of him. Because of his idiotic need to keep everything about himself secret. There was no excuse for it. But even worse was this: I’d thought he’d given his life to save me, when all he’d really done was the equivalent of take a little nap. What did “dying” for someone mean when you knew you couldn’t die? Not a damn thing. An inconvenience. IYD hadn’t been a big deal after all. I’d wept, I’d mourned. I’d built a massive and utterly undeserved Monument to Barrons, The Man Who’d Died So I Could Live, in my head. I’d thought he’d made the ultimate sacrifice for me, and it had milked my emotions brutally. I’d let it consume me, take me over, turn me into someone I couldn’t believe I’d been capable of becoming. And he’d never been willing to die so I could live. It had been business as usual—Barrons keeping his OOP detector alive and functioning, coolly impersonal, focused on his goals. So what if he was the one who would never let me die? It didn’t cost him anything. He wanted the Book. I was the way to get it. He had nothing to lose. I finally understood why he was always so fearless. I’d thought he’d cared about me so much he’d been willing to give up his life. I’d romanticized it and gotten swept away in a misguided fantasy. And if he’d stayed here last night, I’d have made a complete fool of myself. I’d have confessed feelings to him that I’d felt only because I’d thought he’d given his life for mine. Nothing had changed. There was no deeper level ...

Turn right, here,” I said. Barrons shot me a look that pretty much said, Fuck off and die. I returned it. “I left the stones at Darroc’s penthouse.”

“We’ve got serious problems, Barrons.” He slammed the brakes so hard I got whiplash. If I hadn’t had my seat belt on, I’d have gone through the windshield. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t realized we’d arrived. “Mortal over here!” I said irritably, rubbing my neck. “You might try remembering tha—ack, what the—Barrons!” I was yanked out of the car by my arm so hard, it nearly popped out of socket. I hadn’t even seen him get out and come around to my side. Then I was over the curb, up on the sidewalk, and flattened against the brick wall of a building. He leaned into me, trapping my legs with his, completing the cage with his arms. I braced my palms against his chest to hold him at bay. His rib cage rose and fell beneath my hands, pumping like bellows. He was rock hard against my thigh, much bigger than I’d ever felt him. Too big. I heard the sound of ripping fabric. I looked up at his face and did a double take. His skin was the color of mahogany, darkening by the second. He was taller than he should be, and sparks of crimson glittered in his eyes. When he snarled, I caught the flash of long black fangs in the moonlight. He was changing. His hair was getting longer, thicker, matting around his face. He dropped his head close and sharp fangs grazed my ear. “Never. Use sex. As a weapon. Against me. Again.” The words were guttural, misshapen by teeth too large for a human mouth, but I understood them perfectly. I shrugged. “Don’t give me a fucking shrug!” he snarled....

“You mind-fuck me again, I’ll fuck you back. But it won’t be with my mind.” “Don’t threaten me.” I was tempted to do it right then and there and see if he’d really follow through. I was furious at him. I wanted him. I was a mess where Barrons was concerned. “I didn’t. I warned you.” A sharp retort was on the tip of my tongue. He shamed it into silence with “I expect better from you, Ms. Lane.”

“You think he left notes?” “I know he did. The limits of his mortal brain posed problems for him. He was accustomed to the memory capabilities of a Fae.” So, Barrons knew there was a shortcut, too, and had been seeking it for some time. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “They’re called shortcuts for a reason. The shorter they are, the more they usually cut. Nothing is without price, Ms. Lane.”

I sauntered toward him. He watched me coldly and I was reminded of the other night, when I’d pretended to be coming on to him, because I was angry. He thought I was doing it again. I wasn’t. Being in the White Mansion with him was doing something strange to me. Unraveling all my inhibitions, as if these walls had no tolerance for lies, or within them there was no need. Then he was staring past me. “I don’t believe it. We’re in the White Mansion. You just casually lead me in here like you’re running errands to the drugstore. I’ve been looking for this bloody place forever.”

“I didn’t have sex with Darroc.” I was mad all over again, itching for physical contact. “Not that I should have to explain myself to you. It’s not like you ever explain yourself to me. But even if I did, even if I was the traitor you’re determined to believe I am, he’s dead, so according to the philosophy of Barrons, who cares? Here I am, with you again. Actions speak, right? You got the action you wanted. OOP detector back under control, tightly leashed. Lead me around by the collar, why don’t you? Isn’t that when you’re happiest? Ruff-ruff,” I mock-barked, seething. “You haven’t fucked me since you were Pri-ya. There’s an action for you. Says pretty much all there is to say.”

“Try me.” If he’d ever just admit to one little feeling about me, I might admit to one about him. “Don’t push me, Ms. Lane. This place is getting to me. You want the beast on your hands?” I glanced at him. His eyes were sparking crimson and he was breathing hard, but not from exertion. I knew him. He could run for hours. “You want me, Jericho. Admit it. A lot more than once or twice. I’m under your skin. You think about me all the time. I keep you awake at night. Go ahead, say it.” “Fuck you, Ms. Lane.” “Is that your way of saying it?” “That’s my way of saying grow up, little girl.”

“If I’m a little girl, then that makes you a serious pervert.” The things we did together … I shot him a graphic reminder with my eyes. Oh, so you’re finally ready to talk about them, his dark gaze mocked. Maybe I don’t want to now. Too bad. You were always slapping me in the face with reminders. Turnabout’s fair play. But it sure wasn’t a little girl back in that bed, Jericho. It’s not a little girl you’re messing with now.

I poked him in the chest with my finger. “You died in front of my eyes and let me believe it was real, you bastard!” I felt like I was being torn in half—pulled toward the boudoir by destiny, rooted in place by the need to air my grievances. He knocked my finger away. “Do you think it was fun for me?” “I hated watching you die!” “I hated doing it. It hurts every damned time.” “I grieved!” I shouted. “I felt guilty—” “Guilt isn’t grief,” he snapped. “And lost—” “Get a fucking road map. Lost isn’t grief, either.” “And—and—and—” I broke off. There was no way I was telling him all the things I’d really felt. Like destroying the world for him. “And what? What did you feel?” “Guilt,” I shouted. I punched him, hard. He shoved me, and I stumbled back against the wall. I shoved him back. “And lost.” “Don’t tell me you grieved me when you were really just pissed off about the mess you’d gotten yourself into. I died and you felt sorry for yourself. Nothing more.” His gaze flickered to my lips. I got that. He was once again furious with me and once again perfectly ready to have sex with me. The conundrum that was Barrons. Apparently it was impossible for him to feel anything as far as I was concerned without getting angry about it. Did anger make him want to have sex with me? Or was it that he always wanted to have sex with me that made him so angry? “I was grieving more than that. You don’t know the first thing about me!” “And you should have felt guilty.” “So should you!” “Guilt is ...

“The word that was supposed to be emphasized there was how. As in honorably.” “What place does honor have in the face of death? And, please, did you honorably kill that woman you carried out of the Silver in your study?” “You couldn’t possibly understand that, either.” “That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it? I couldn’t possibly understand, so you’re not going to bother telling me. You know what I think, Jericho? You’re a coward. You won’t use words, because you don’t want anyone to hold you accountable,” I accused. “You won’t tell the truth, because then somebody might judge you, and God—” “—has nothing to do with this and—” “—forbid you actually get personal with me—” “—I don’t give a damn about being judged—” “—and I don’t mean try to have sex with me—” “—I wasn’t trying to have sex with you—” “—I didn’t mean at this precise moment. I meant—” “—and it would have been impossible, anyway, because we’ve been running. I don’t have any bloody idea why we’ve been running,” he said irritably, “but you’re the one who started it and you’re the one that stopped.” “—like knock down a few walls between us and see what happens. No, you’re such a coward that the only time you can call...

Alina was the lucky one. I’d thought that, too, and had been ashamed of myself for thinking it. I punched him so hard, he stumbled on the slick black floor, and as he went down, I felt sudden horror at seeing him stumble. I never wanted to see him stumble, so I grabbed him and we both went down to our knees on the black floors. “Damn you, Jericho!” “Too late, Rainbow Girl.” He grabbed a fist of my hair. “Somebody beat you to it.” He laughed, and when he opened his mouth over mine, fangs grazed my teeth. Yes, this was what I needed, what I’d needed since the day I woke up in that basement and left his bed. His tongue in my mouth, his hands on my skin. The burn of his body against mine. I grabbed his head with both hands and ground my mouth against his. I tasted my own blood from a nick on his teeth. I didn’t care. I couldn’t get close enough. I needed rough, hard, fast sex, followed by hours and hours of slow and intimately thorough fucking. I needed weeks in bed with him. Maybe if I had willing, cognizant sex with him long enough, I’d get over him already. Somehow I doubted that. He hissed. “Fucking fairy in your mouth. You have me in your mouth, you don’t get anybody else. Or y...

“And you’re bipolar. You want me. You always do. You think I can’t smell it?” “I’m not bipolar.” Sometimes he struck way too close to home. I popped the button on his pants, unzipped them, and shoved my hands inside. He was rock hard. God, he felt good. He stiffened, air hissing between clenched teeth. Make haste … He comes.… “Leave me alone,” I snapped. “Over my dead body,” he said roughly. “You’ve got my dick in your hands.” He told me where it was going to be next and my bones...

“Kiss me!” But he didn’t. He pulled back and looked past me, and I knew from the look on his face that I wasn’t the only one who could see her. “I think she’s me,” I whispered. He looked at me, back at her, and at me again. “Is that a joke?” “I know this house. I know this place. I don’t know how else to explain it.” “Impossible.”

“Why are you so pissed at me? It’s not my fault who I am. The only thing that’s my fault is what I choose to do with it.” He gave me a sidelong glance that said, That might be the only intelligent thing you’ve said tonight.

The one arguing, Dageus, was all long, smooth muscle, with the fast, graceful movements of a big cat and cheetah-gold eyes. His black hair was so long it brushed his belt—not that he needed one, in hip-slimming black leather pants. He sported a cut lip and a shiner on his right cheek from the skirmish that had begun at the door and spread like a contagion through several sub-clubs. It had taken five of Barrons’ men to get things back under control. Being able to move like the wind gave them a tremendous advantage. They didn’t warn the patrons to stop fighting—they simply appeared and killed them. Once humans and Fae figured out what was happening, the outbreak of violence ended as quickly as it had begun.

“Mac,” I muttered. “Just be Mac.” Barrons cut me a hard look that said, Shelve it for later, Ms. Concubine.

“If she stays, we stay,” Dageus said flatly. “We guard her here or we guard her there. But we guard her.” “And if they stay, I stay, too.” V’lane’s voice dripped ice. “No human will protect my queen so long as I exist.” “Simple solution to that, fairy. I make you stop existing.” “The Seelie are not our enemy. You touch him, you take us all on.” “You think I couldn’t, Highlander?” For a moment the tension in the room was unbearable, and in my mind’s eye I saw us all going for one another’s throats. Barrons was the only one of us that couldn’t be killed. I needed the Scotsmen to perform the re-interment ritual and V’lane and his stone to help corner the Book. A fight right now was a very bad idea. “And that’s settled,” I chirped brightly. “Everyone’s staying. Welcome to the Chester’s Hilton! Let’s get some beds made up.” Barrons looked at me as if I’d gone mad. “Then let’s go out and find some things to kill,” I added. Dageus and Cian growled assent, and even V’lane looked relieved.

Was McCabe one of my parts? Was that why he hadn’t frozen, too? Could the dreamy-eyed guy be a part? Who else? How many parts did Not the Concubine have?

“Who the bloody hell is that?” Barrons demanded. “Christian MacKeltar.” “That’s not Christian MacKeltar!” Barrons exploded. “That’s Unseelie royalty!” “Ah, fuck me.” Christian ran his hands through his long, dark hair, muscles rippling in his shoulders. “Is that really what I look like, Mac?”

Fiona pushed me. The bitch actually shoved me from behind. I was so flabbergasted, I didn’t even gasp. I was speechless. I’d come here on a mission of mercy and she’d tried to kill me again! She’d concluded from what Barrons had told her that I would die if I touched the Silver, too, and her final act had been to try to take me with her. She pushed me hard enough that I shot straight through the unresisting Silver and crashed squarely into Christian, knocking him backward onto the bed. We got tangled up in each other, trying to get out. Behind me, Barrons roared. On top of me, Christian made a raw, horny sound and ground himself against me. I sucked air between my teeth. Every instinct in my body wanted to have sex, here, now, with anyone. This place was dangerous. “Christian, it’s the chamber. It makes sex—” “I know, lass. Been here awhile.” He raised one of his arms that was pinning me to the bed. “Get out from under me. Move your ass!” he gritted. When I didn’t react instantly, he snarled, “Now! I won’t be able to say it again!” I looked at him. His eyes were out of focus, fixed on some point inside me, like a Fae prince. I shot out from beneath him and scrambled from the bed. He crouched there a moment on his hands and knees, balls heavy, erection huge and flat to his stomach, then he lunged to his feet, trying to cover himself, his hand a hopelessly inadequate shield. He tried to yank a sheet from the bed, but the black silk was king-sized, for acres of bed. Cursing, ...

“Hello, Ms. Concubine,” Barrons mocked. Oh, if he only knew. But Christian didn’t tell him before we left, and neither did I.

“Your pretty college boy isn’t so pretty anymore.” “He isn’t my pretty college boy.” Our gazes locked. “But I still think he’s pretty pretty,” I said, just to antagonize him. See you in bed with him like I saw in the Silvers, I’ll kill him. I blinked. I did not just see that in Barrons’ eyes.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you want the Sinsar Dubh for?” No longer staring into the fire, he faced me. “Why do you keep moving like that? You never used to do it before.” It was unnerving. “Does it unnerve you?” “Not at all. It’s just … hard to follow.” A haze of red slithered through his eyes. “Doesn’t faze you at all?” “Not a bit. I only want to know what changed.” He shrugged. “Concealing my nature requires effort.” But his eyes said, Think you accepted the beast? Stare at it, day in, day out. Not a problem. “The queen came to—” “She’s conscious?” I exclaimed. “—briefly before she went under again.” “Why does it always take you so long to tell me the important things?” “While the queen was lucid, Jack had the presence of mind to ask her who sealed her in the coffin.” Expectancy straightened my spine. “And?” “She said it was a Fae prince she’d never seen before. He called himself Cruce.” I stared, stunned. “How is that possible? Is anyone who’s supposed to be dead actually dead?” “Doesn’t seem like it.” “Did he have wings?” He gave me a look. “Why?” “Cruce does.” “How do you—ah. Memories.”

“What do you want the Book for, Barrons?” He smiled. Well, he showed me his teeth, anyway. “One spell, Ms. Lane. That’s all. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” “Don’t talk down to me. It used to shut me up. Doesn’t work anymore. A spell for what? To change you back to whatever you were before? To let you die?” His eyes narrowed and the rattlesnake stirred in his chest. He looked at my face closely, as if reading the tiniest nuances of the way my nostrils flared on each breath, the shape of my mouth, the movement of my eyes. I raised a brow, waiting. “Is that what you need to think of me? That I want to die? Must you dress me up in chivalry to find me palatable? Chivalry demands a suicidal bent. I don’t have one. I can’t get enough of life. I get off on waking up every day for infinity. I like being what I am. I got the best end of the deal. I’ll be here while it’s happening. I’ll be here when it ends. And I’ll stand up from the ashes and do it all over when it begins again.”

“You said somebody beat me to damning you.” “Melodrama. Did it curry favor? You kissed me.” “You don’t feel damned?” “God said, Let there be light. I said, Say please.”

Suddenly there was a fist in my hair, behind me, pulling my head back, arching my spine up from the sofa. He closed his mouth over mine and pushed his tongue in, forcing my teeth wide. I grabbed his arm, but as sharply as he had my head pulled back, all I could do was steady myself. He wrapped his other hand around my neck, forcing my chin higher, kissing me more deeply, harder, keeping me from resisting. Not that I wanted to. Heart slamming in my chest, my legs moved apart. There are different kinds of kisses. I’d thought I’d experienced them all, if not prior to coming to Dublin, certainly after months of being Pri-ya, in bed with this man. This was a new one. All I could do was hold on to his arm and survive. “Kiss” wasn’t the right word at all. He fused us together—my jaws so wide, I couldn’t even kiss him back. I could only take what he was doing to me. I felt the sharp slide of fangs over my tongue as he sucked it into his mouth. I knew then—as he’d never let me see in our bed in that basement—that he was far more animal than man. Maybe he hadn’t always been, but he was now. Maybe, long ago, in the beginning, he’d missed being a man—if, in fact, he’d been one to begin with. But he didn’t anymore. He’d gone native. I was kind of astonished by it: What a man he’d chosen to be! He could easily have gone feral. He was the strongest, fastest, smartest, most powerful creature I’d ever seen. He could kill everything and everyone, including Fae. He could never be killed. Yet...

I flinch. I’m having sex with me, seeing myself from his eyes. I look incredible naked—is that how he sees me? He doesn’t see any of my flaws. I’ve never looked half as good to myself. I want to pull out. It feels perverse. I’m fascinated. But this was not what I was hunting for at all … Where are the handcuffs? Ah, grab her fucking head, she’s going down on me again. She’ll make me come. Tie her up. Is she back? How much longer do I have? He senses me there. Get out of my HEAD! I deepen the kiss, bite his tongue, and he is violent with lust. I take advantage, diving deep. There’s a thought he’s shielding. I want it. Nobody home but She for Whom I Am the World. Can’t go on like this, can’t keep doing it. Why couldn’t he go on? What couldn’t he keep doing? I’m having sex with him, any way he wants me, while I stare up at him with utter worship. Where was the problem there? Weariness suddenly crashes over me. I’m in his body, and I’m coming beneath him, and I’m checking my eyes warily. What the fuck am I doing here? He knew what he was, what I was. He knew we came from different worlds, didn’t belong together. Yet for a few months there’d been no lines of demarcation between us. We’d existed in a place beyond definitions, where no rules had mattered, and I wasn’t the only one who’d reveled in it. But the entire time I’d been lost in sexual bliss, he’d been aware of time passing, of everything that was happening—that I was mindless, I wasn’t willing, and when I snapped out of...

“Unless …” “Unless what?” “Still you point that spear at me.” I stalked toward him, drawing my spear arm back. He vanished. He spoke behind me. “Could it be you are becoming like us?” I whirled, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” “Are you becoming Fae, in the way some long ago were born? I suspect the young Druid also suffers birth pains. It is a most unexpected development.” “And unwelcome.” “That remains to be seen.” Was that his breath at my ear, his lips against my hair? “It’s unwelcome to me! I’m not going to become one of you. Get it out. I don’t want it.” I felt his hands on my waist, sliding lower, over my ass. “Immortality is a gift. Princess.” “I’m not a princess and I’m not turning Fae.” “Not yet perhaps. But you are something, are you not? I wonder what. I weary of watching Barrons piss circles around you. I tire of waiting for the day you will finally look at me and see that I am so much more than a Fae and a prince. I am a male. With hunger for you that knows no bottom. You and I, more than anyone else in the universe, are perfect for each other.” He was half a dozen feet away, facing me, looking down into my eyes. “I do not wish to continue like this. I am divided and know no peace. Pride has prevented me from speaking plainly. No more.” He vanished and reappeared right in front of me, so close I could see a shimmer of rainbows in his iridescent eyes. The spear was between us. I tightened my hand on the hilt. He closed his over mine, pointed the spear at his...

I blasted into Chester’s, sailed coolly through the bars, which were depressingly packed so early in the day, and headed for the stairs. I had no desire to talk to any of the cryptic denizens of the club. At the foot of the stairs, Lor and a massively muscled man with long white hair, pale skin, and burning eyes moved together, blocking my way. I was debating what I might have in my deep glassy lake to use—Barrons had slurped down my crimson runes like truffles—when Ryodan called down, “Let her up.” I tipped my head back. The urbane owner of the largest den of sex, drugs, and exotic thrills in the city stood behind the chrome balustrade, big hands closed on the chrome railing, thick wrists cuffed by silver, features darkened by a convenient shadow. He looked like a scarred Gucci model. Whatever kind of life these men had lived before they’d become whatever they were, it had been violent and hard. Like them. “Why?” Lor demanded. “I said so.” “Not time for the meeting yet.” “She wants to see her parents. She’s going to insist.” “So?” “She thinks she has something to prove. She’s feeling pushy.” “Gee, this is nice. I don’t even have to talk,” I purred. I was feeling pushy. Ryodan brought out the worst in me. Like Rowena, he’d prejudged me. “You ooze emotion today. Emotional humans are unpredictable, and you’re more unpredictable than most to begin with. Besides,” Ryodan sounded amused, “Jack’s building up immunity to Barrons’ Voice. He’s been demanding to see you. Said he’ll ...

I turned to V’lane and touched his arm. “Can you find Dani for me and ask her to come to the bookstore tonight at eight?” “Your wish, my command, MacKayla.” He smiled. “Shall we spend tomorrow at the beach together?” Barrons moved beside me. “She’s busy tomorrow.” “Are you busy tomorrow, MacKayla?” “She’s working on old texts with me.” V’lane gave me a pitying look. “Ah. Old texts. A banner day at the bookstore.” “We’re translating the Kama Sutra,” Barrons said, “with interactive aids.” I almost choked. “You’re never around during the day.” “Why is that?” V’lane was the picture of innocence. “I’ll be around tomorrow,” Barrons said. “All day?” I asked. “The entire day.” “She will be naked on a beach with me.” “She’s never been naked in a bed with you. When she comes, she roars.” “I know what she sounds like when she comes. I have given her multiple orgasms merely by kissing her.” “I’ve given her multiple orgasms by fucking her. For months, fairy.” “Are you still fucking her?” V’lane purred. “Because she does not smell like you. If you are, you are not marking her enough. She is beginning to smell like me. Like Fae.” “Unbelievable,” I heard Christian mutter behind me. “She toops them both?” I heard Drustan ask. “And they permit it?” Dageus sounded baffled. I looked between V’lane and Barrons. “This isn’t even about me.” “You’re wrong about that.” Barrons reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “You know how to find me if you want me.” He was walking away. “More ...

“And you know how to find me, as well, Princess.” V’lane turned me toward him and closed his mouth over mine. “Mac, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Christian demanded. I staggered a little when V’lane released me. His name was once again coiled in my tongue. “You know what?” I said irritably. “You can all just butt out of my business. I don’t have to answer to any of you.” There was definitely too much testosterone in my life. A girl’s night in was just what I needed.

I AM NOT EVIL. Then why do you destroy? CLARIFY. You do heinous things. EXPOUND. You kill. THOSE THAT ARE KILLED BECOME ANOTHER THING. Yes, dead! Destroyed. DEFINE DESTROY. To demolish, damage, ruin, kill. DEFINE CREATE. To give rise to, fashion something from nothing, take raw material and invent something new. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS NOTHING. ALL IS SOMETHING. WHERE DOES YOUR “RAW MATERIAL” COME FROM? WAS IT NOT SOMETHING BEFORE YOU FORCED IT TO BECOME SOMETHING ELSE? Clay is just a lump of clay before an artist molds it into a beautiful vase. LUMP. BEAUTIFUL. OPINION. SUBJECTIVE. THE CLAY WAS SOMETHING. PERHAPS YOU WERE AS UNIMPRESSED WITH IT AS I AM BY HUMANS, YET YOU CANNOT DENY IT WAS ITS ESSENTIAL SELF. YOU SMASHED IT, STRETCHED IT, PULLED IT, SMELTED IT, DYED IT, AND FORCED IT TO BECOME SOMETHING ELSE. YOU IMPOSED YOUR WILL UPON IT. AND YOU CALL THIS CREATION? I TAKE A BEING AND MAKE ITS MOLECULES REST. HOW IS THAT NOT CREATION? IT WAS ONE THING AND IS ANOTHER. ONCE IT ATE, NOW IT IS EATEN. DID I NOT CREATE SUSTENANCE FOR ANOTHER WITH ITS NEW STATE? CAN THERE BE ANY ACT OF CREATION THAT DOES NOT FIRST DESTROY? VILLAGES FALL. CITIES RISE. HUMANS DIE. LIFE SPRINGS FROM THE SOIL WHEREIN THEY LIE. IS NOT ANY ACT OF DESTRUCTION, SHOULD TIME ENOUGH PASS, AN ACT OF CREATION? —CONVERSATIONS WITH THE SINSAR DUBH