Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)

by Raven Kennedy

I drop into an exaggerated curtsy and plaster on a smile. “Apologies. May I speak to King Ravinger, Ruler of Fourth Kingdom and Rotter of...Things?”

my gaze falls to an alarming number of weapons that are leaning up against the wall. “That seems aggressive,” I murmur. What does it say about a male who owns more daggers than shirts? It’s probably not the best idea to sneak into said male’s personal chambers, but here I am.

Eyes closed, I breathe in Slade’s scent. I hadn’t really considered what he smelled like before, but there’s something very earthen and distinct about it. It reminds me of damp wood chips and churned soil, but something heavier and darker too, like the bitterness of chocolate.

Slade goes entirely still. His eyes are trained on me as fierce as a hawk, and that intrusive power of his seems to tremble the air while it cloys forward to press against my skin. Like a feline’s rough tongue come to lick against invisible wounds.

My admission is a heavy burden lifting from my tongue, every word weighed down. “If Midas ever loved me at all, he buried it beneath his love for gold and the love for himself. Buried it so deep that he doesn’t even remember what he covered.”

“Auren,” he rasps, just a slip of my name that somehow sounds like a promise rent from his soul. “I keep blaming you for things so that I can push you away. But you’ve done nothing wrong. Not really. You’ve challenged me and pissed me off and lied, but it’s nothing I didn’t do right back. You’re not the villain in my story.” “I am,” he says without remorse, his sharp jaw tight with tension. “But I’ll be the villain for you. Not to you.”

“All my life, men have had me, but I have never had a man.” The barest of breaths sucks in through his teeth. A stillness passing between us like a fragile pane of glass. “I am no man.”

The silence, the scrutiny, the confessions lying at my feet like plucked fruit left to rot. “Are you going to say anything? I just admitted that I want you, and you’re just standing there.” Slade blinks. “I was processing.” “You process really slowly.”

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Goldfinch. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“Fae are not like Oreans,” Slade explains as he walks over to the fireplace and crouches down in front of it. My eyes drop to his powerful thighs, and I watch as he meticulously layers the grate with kindling from the neat woodpile before he lights it with a piece of flint. Sparks come to life, and he leans in closer, blowing softly until flames lick up the wood. I don’t know why I find that sexy, but I do.

“Fae are wilder in our instinctual drives. We can be demanding and ardent, dominant and jealous.” He stands up and faces me again, and even though he’s no closer than he was before, it feels like something between us has compressed. Like the world is shrinking into this moment. “Especially with...someone we want.” I’m hot all over, my ribbons unable to hold still any longer as they twine against my back.

“I want all of you,” he tells me, a newfound hunger in the depths of his green eyes that stirs heat beneath my skin. “Every piece, every memory, every minute, every inch. This isn’t going to be some casual dalliance. This isn’t going to be temporary. I want you soul, mind, and body. I want your trust and your thoughts. I want your past, your present, your future. So make very certain that you want me for the right reasons. Be certain that you’re choosing this, because once you do, there’s no turning back.”

“Love happens in all kinds of ways. Fast. Slow. In bits and pieces, or immediate. Filled with lust, one-sided longing, a snap realization never noticed before. Deeply. Thoroughly. Love is a whisper we didn’t hear or a sound that drums in our ears and drowns out everything else.” Slade edges toward me, though I barely notice because I’m so hooked on his words that I’ve forgotten to blink. “You’re incredibly private. Closed-off. Conditioned to shut out your true feelings and deny yourself what you want. So you wouldn’t have said all of those things unless you were in love with me, Auren.”

But we both know it’s just a matter of time before I have you under me, spread out and gloriously naked with your sunlit skin pressed against mine as I take you hard and slow.”

“It’s fucking torture to have you stand there and tell me you want me, and not be able to do anything about it. But I’m a patient male, and as soon as I’m able, I’m going to touch and taste every inch of you. I’m going to have you writhing and begging, and I’ll give you every bit of pleasure I can wring from your delectable body,” he murmurs in a wicked promise. “The moment that sun dips, Goldfinch, you’re mine.”

Auren latches onto me as desperately as I do her. There is no holding back. Not anymore. The rest of my will snapped with the sunken sun, the tie of daylight severed, and not a moment too soon.

I shrug. “I want you writhing. I want your blissful moans in my ear. But I also want that pretty mouth to whisper the wicked words I want to hear.” “You’re very demanding.” “I warned you.”

She’s a burst of light in my dark, erupting life in the rotting depths of my soul. She is everything I don’t deserve. But I’m going to keep her anyway.

Fury like I’ve never known before hardens like jagged waves of a sea gone glacial, stuck in a freeze that it has no way of thawing. When the blizzard hits, I don’t even notice it. I’m far too cold on the inside to feel it.

“Whispers are my greatest resource. You do remember my power?” I swallow hard, trying to keep the nervous tremble from my hands. “Your magic controls voices.” “That’s right,” she says, nodding with a smile. “I can send whispers across the room. I can make people hear voices that aren’t there. I can steal someone’s ability to talk for as long as I like, leaving them mute. But one of my favorite things to do is pull words toward me—murmurs of forbidden knowledge not for outside ears. Those are my greatest wealth.”

For right now though, I have to try and save someone who loathes me. I’m not sure if that discussion is going to be any better than the one I just had.

My shoulder lifts in a shrug. “We saddles should stick together, right?” I say it lightly, but inside, it’s a deep-seated, melancholic thought. If only we could stop competing, stop the petty jealousies, stop letting men pit us against one another. Imagine what women could do if we started being loyal to each other?

That’s the thing about escapism. In whatever form, it always ends, and then we’re forced back into a reality that’s not nearly as satisfying.

“Auren,” he cries out, but his voice is lost to me. My creature is out in full-force, and she doesn’t answer to him.

“Your aura is fading,” he tells me. “You can’t see it, but I can. I need you to breathe and let go of your power.” Panic surges up in me. If I let go of my power, I’ll be weak again. Helpless. Fury sparks in my eyes, and the gold flexes behind me like fingers clenching into a fist. “No.” “You’re alright now. You don’t need it,” he vows, and despite the anxiety running through me, his voice is deep and soothing, calling to another part of me, a part buried beneath the anger.

“I want everyone to hurt like I hurt,” I say through gritted teeth. “You punished the one who mattered.”

“If I can’t have her, no one can.” Unease rushes through my veins, diluting my festering ire. I glance from him to her, my body tense, fists clenched at my sides. All I want to do is let my magic lash out, to bleed up through his legs and corrode him from cock to crown. But I can’t.

The only bit that remained, on that house on the hill was a flicker of gleam against a cracked windowsill.

This vine as golden as a small piece of sun, it waited right there for someone to come. And when someone did, (for there would always be one) she perked up and straightened, she showed off her shine. And he stole and he smiled, and whispered greedily, "mine.”