Sanctuary With Kings (Tempting Monsters, #3)

by Kathryn Moon

Whoring was clever work for one of Hedone's daughters, and I was never starving.

"She'll do very well. Collect her." I giggled at the words, and the man at my back groaned, shoving me to the side, the younger man still catching his breath. "Quickly," the cool voice ordered. "Before she recovers." I was drunk and vulnerable in my satisfaction. My hands were limp as someone covered my face with fabric, thrusting a coarse bag over my head. I scratched weakly at the hand that wrestled my arms behind my back. And still I laughed, cried, trembled in the wake of my traitorous guests' pleasure. I was trapped, though I didn't yet know what kind of cage had fallen down around me in my foolish naïveté. Only that I was of a kind to survive. I didn't know that survival would not be a blessing. And so, centuries passed…

A blessed woman, wasting to nothing but hunger for pleasure. Pleasure made me sick now. I was a perversion of the woman I ought to have been. Centuries in the cold, barren cage of Birsha's grip had bled me dry.

"Move slowly," a gentle voice offered, a woman's. "I promise you're safe." I forced my eyes open again and searched the glittering, gleaming, and lush surroundings. A woman sat on the foot of the bed, pretty and pale, her gaze milky and absent. In the corner of the room, another figure moved, and this time I hissed, scrambling backwards. My strength faltered at the perfect cushion behind me, a mountain of pillows offering me comfort. But the man, the monster in the corner of the room, was familiar. The basilisk. He'd never touched me, but he'd been there in Birsha's lair—more than once, from what I could recall. He was tall, with black horns curling high, and he wore a pair of black spectacles that hid his gaze. "She recognizes me," the basilisk said. The woman sighed. "I told you." "I'm not leaving you alone with her," he growled, arms crossing over his chest.

And it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to the woman, as if I were the threat in the room. There were bouquets in every corner, works of art on the walls, golden filigree frames, chandeliers dripping with crystals. "My name is Lillian. I'm human," the woman offered. "And that is Marius. He is—" "I know what he is," I said, my voice croaking. Lillian dipped her head. "He is not a danger to you." "Unless you are a danger to her," Marius warned in a low snarl. And the woman, the human woman, sighed in amused acceptance, her lips quirking. She was blind, I realized, watching her stare move aimlessly. And he was protective of her.

"We have a bath prepared for you," Lillian said. "And there will be food. Anything you'd like. For now, I have this." She lifted a delicate cup on a small plate, both painted and touched with gold. A dense and delicious fragrance floated to me from the cup, and my mouth watered. "What is it?" I asked. "Chocolate," Lillian said, with a secretive smile. "When Asterion told us what you'd need to recover, this was the first thing I thought of." The space between us was vast, all dense and soft bedding for me to climb over, but neither the woman nor the basilisk so much as twitched in my direction. "What do you want with me?" I asked. "Birsha's house has fallen," the basilisk said. My body contracted on itself at his name. "You're here to be kept safe."

I knew who he was. Asterion. The minotaur. A legend of my mother's world. An infrequent visitor to The Seven Veils.

He was not wearing his human disguise now, but I recognized the full, dark gaze that had found me in the street. His horns were broad, tipped with gold, and his jaw was massive and squared. Those plush lips had pressed to mine. He was dressed in human gentlemen's clothing, his massive chest stretching the seams of fine fabrics. He was potent and beautiful, powerful and pristine. Just the sight of him was a little kernel of relief to my starvation. My mouth watered and I swallowed hard.

He bowed now at the waist, his broad shoulders blocking out the room as I stared. "I apologize for the deception. I don't fault you your caution, my lady. I only wanted to get you off the streets before one of Birsha's men found you." "Asterion has offered his house to the women who escaped The Seven Veils," Lillian murmured, but I couldn't tear my gaze from the minotaur.

Asterion seemed almost to flee the room, his steps quick and heavy, but Marius remained the stubborn sentry for several moments. "I know you're still there," Lillian said with a dry smile. He twitched slightly in my direction. "If you harm her, I will eat you."

"And you gain strength from pleasure?" she asked. Hedonism. "Yes," I answered. The luxurious bedroom, the spectacular bed, even this bath, were all fresh flavors to my deprived hunger, shocking and unfamiliar. The chocolate had been exceptional though, a better meal than I'd known in far too long.

"You belong to the pair of them?" I asked. Would they make me their toy now too? It would feed me. And perhaps, if they treated me as they did Lillian, there might not be pain. Lillian laughed. "Only Marius. And he belongs to me too," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

The minotaur knew what he was doing, knew more than he ought to. He was whetting my palate, feeding my starved senses with all the gentlest forms of pleasure. What I didn't understand was why he didn't make use of the far simpler and less costly method of feeding me. He could fuck me.

that was my unfortunate nature—provided the person using me was finding pleasure, so must I.

For two days, I slept in short but heavy bursts. Another woman, a blonde with pursed lips and precise movements, brought mugs of broth and plates of buttery, crumbling muffins. In the morning, I woke to music playing, not too near but clear enough for me to hear. Next, the sound of birds and the warm breeze of an open window, a precious luxury. During the night, a low and gentle voice—the minotaur—recited poetry from outside of the cracked bedroom door.

"I want to take you down to the orangery today, before you grow sick of the same surroundings," she said. "That's not likely to happen so soon," I admitted. The window by the bed had been opened again, and the sun was streaking through thin curtains. The room was hazy and pink and smelled of the world outside and the breakfast waiting under the tray. Lillian smiled. "We could go for a walk in the woods on the property, but I'm sure Marius and Asterion will insist on chaperoning. Their company depends on your acceptance." It was a baffling offer. That I should be allowed outside. That I could refuse the monster's right to guard me.

She was lovely and quiet, and a strange part of me wanted to slide myself against her, find a way into her apparent peace and claim it for myself. "I don't know," I said. "I feel as if I'm dreaming, but I forgot how to dream of beautiful things more than a hundred years ago." Lillian's breath caught, and then she exhaled slowly. "This is real. We will refill your well." I cut my food into tiny bites, resting each one on my tongue as Lillian poured me a cup of chocolate, her motions measured and careful. "You were not in The Seven Veils," I said, watching her as I chewed. One drop added to the well with every bite. "No, I was taken in by another house. One that sought to offer women…the choice, I suppose," she said, shrugging. "I was introduced to Marius there. And he's always been invested in my freedom to choose as well."

"Where are we?" I asked, stopping in place. The woman blinked at me, her lips parting briefly, and then she hurried ahead. I didn't know her name, but I knew her face. "Grace House," Lillian said. "It belongs to Asterion, but he's given it to the women who escaped from The Seven Veils when it fell. To recover, rest. Simply a home until we know you'll all be safe in the future."

Grace House was grand and open, although less glittering and lush than the bedroom I'd been set up in. It had the masculine strength of its owner, with dark marble pillars and simple lines. Lillian led a slow path through a well-stocked library, a parlor, a music room, and out to the southern edge of the house, where sunlight raged through glass and the sharp, fresh scent of oranges cut through every other sense.

Suddenly, I understood. I'd been made to survive only on what brought me pain and thrilled another. The bed and the clothes, the perfume and bath, and the food I was fed now was for no one's pleasure but my own. I lifted the orange to my face and sucked in a deep breath, squeezing it in my fist as I fought to bury the scream in my chest.

a gallery filled to the brim with landscapes and heroic figures and women swooning in the embraces of beasts or on velvet settees.

I'd been inside this room before, the minotaur's office. What I'd found had been reassuring—letters discussing Birsha's whereabouts, efforts to create a network of allies opposing him, simple bills and business correspondence mixed in. Lillian was right—I was being protected here.

"Byron is meant to be guarding us. You're meant to be searching," the woman answered. "Not reading poetry in the hall at all hours of the night." "Isabel—" "This house is for them." "This house is my property." There was a low chuckle in the words.

"I do know that," the woman, Isabel, answered, taking a breath and tempering her tone. "But when you opened Grace House to these women, you did say they would not be disturbed by your kind." A chair creaked with effort, and the minotaur sighed. "I did, you're right. But she requires a different kind of care to recover. She's different." "So you said." Sour again. "Don't take that tone. Not when it comes to her. She survived no less than any of the others," Asterion said, voice lowing to a rumble like thunder. They were speaking of me.

My fingers dug into the wall, my eyes wide. I did not breathe as shock took over every impulse in my body. I was afraid for this woman, and I also wanted to be her in all her careless bravery, and I wanted to open the door wide and tell her how absurd she was. The minotaur was beautiful. Perhaps beastly too, but not in the way that cruel, sharp voice implied. "Snoop." The word slipped into my ear, rasping softly. I let out a sharp cry, my heart starting again with a shock as I spun in place. A wild white grin beamed down at me, surrounded by bright coppery hair. My hand clapped over my heart and behind me, from the office, footsteps ran closer.

The man in front of me, the one who'd caught me listening through open doors, was wickedly sensuous, with eyes the shade of the sunlight cast through leaves in the orangery and long sweeps of red hair gleaming under candlelight. He didn't stop grinning at me, two pink scars slashing through his handsome face on one cheek, a third, smaller one on the opposite eyebrow. "Conall," Asterion said, flat and hard. "You're not meant to—" "Come in, I know. But you see, I'm incorrigible, so it's not my fault," Conall answered. He was bursting to the seams with humor and joy. The wink of his eye promised either howls of laughter or pleasure. The gloss of his hair promised softness to the touch. This man was deliciousness on my tongue, a heat that built the longer I stood in the force of it.

Conall held the door open, bouncing dark eyebrows on his brow. I glanced inside of the dark, close room, then back to the hall behind him. His nearness made my mouth water. The scent of pipe smoke and flesh engulfed him, like he'd spent hours in a bawdy house. I stepped in front of him, and the hair on the back of my neck rose in understanding. He was a predator. I didn't mind.

"Good ol' Isabel. Happy to accept the generosity of monsters, as long as she doesn't have to look us in the eye," Conall said softly, circling around me and helping himself to one of the large leather chairs in front of Asterion's desk.

I considered Isabel's cool treatment of me so far, but either she resented my bringing the monsters into the house or she resented that I wasn't human. Either way, it didn't seem worth mentioning, and Conall didn't give me time to do so. "I don't see how she can object to you looking like that," Conall continued, waving a careless bare hand at Asterion's disguise. He flashed me a smirk. "Isn't he pretty?" "I don't object to either of his appearances," I said. Asterion sat heavily in his chair, and Conall's eyes tightened slightly. "Don't you? That's nice." He turned to Asterion again. "Isn't that nice, Ast? And after all, what are you doing that's so objectionable but paying for fine meals and all the little baubles and dresses the women seem to need?"

"You read the poetry for me," I said. Asterion ducked his head. "You can ask for anything you like, and I'll be sure you receive it. But I thought it might…be worth a little." Conall observed us, growing quiet in his seat, still too, dangerously watchful. "How did you know what I was?" I asked Asterion, now at the edge of his desk, pinned between their two stares. "Your mother was kind to me once," Asterion said. "I see…I see her touch in you. I knew you as soon as I saw you in that house. I swore to myself I would find a way to set you free." "Am I free?" I asked. "Yes," Asterion said, brow furrowing and jaw shifting.

His ears looked soft. His bullish features were gentled by his human mother's blood, eyes more keen and aware, face less elongated, but yes, I supposed he was beastly. Even in his human disguise, he was huge and powerful. However, I didn't understand Isabel's objection.

Asterion said softly, and the words seemed to wrap around me like the velvet bedding.

I glanced at him and blinked at the sight of a shaggy red tail swishing out the back of his coat tails. I'd never seen a werewolf who kept any features of his other self, but I'd heard of one, a muttered curse in Birsha's dark parlors. The Red Wolf. The bane of some of the were clans, ones who sought to rule themselves outside of the laws that kept monsters safe from human discovery. Conall

"The poetry? Does it help?" he asked, sliding back into his seat, stretching out long legs, the end of his tail draped over the arm of the chair. It's like being offered a single grain of salt, I thought. But I'd just been reassured of my absolute free will in this house, and unlike Isabel, I would not return that blessing with an insult. "A little," I said. Conall beamed. "Then allow me to try my own hand." "Conall," Asterion groaned. The Red Wolf sat up in the chair and cleared his throat.

I learn'd a sang in Annadale, Nine inch will please a lady. —" It was bawdy humor, in an old, rich accent that reminded me of a time before Birsha. It was Conall grinning and flashing sharp canines, and Asterion's eyes rolling while he lifted a hand to cover his groan. My face stretched, a curl of warmth in my belly cutting through the endless hunger, and a strange sound escaped my lips—laughter, bubbling up from some place inside of me that I thought had shriveled away long ago. "Shh, there's two more verses," Conall said, winking at me.

"How long were you trapped by him?" he asked. I turned my back on the lovers, soaking up the view of the woods instead. There was a glitter of water somewhere ahead of us. "How long has he had a house here in England?" "Over two centuries," Marius answered. "That long," I replied. Lillian's breath hitched

"How…how long—" Lillian started, her voice airy. "Do you know the legend of King Arthur?" I asked. Behind me, Marius scoffed. "You knew him?" Lillian squawked. "I'm not that old," I answered, teasing. "He didn't exist," Marius parried. "Not the way the stories tell it. He was based off many men, kings and warriors alike." We reached the water, a small pond, and I let Guinevere help herself to a drink. "I am less than a millenia old but more than half," I said, shrugging. "I knew the poet who wrote Arthur's name in The Book of Aneirin, though he swore he heard the legend from a fae."

Asterion leaned back as I marched toward him, as if he might be scared of me, as if I had the ability to overpower him.

I snatched at his gloves, ripping them from his fingers and dropping them to the ground. I stared up at him as the disguise unraveled, replacing the handsome man with the beautiful monster. He was an entire head taller than me, but when I reached up and clasped his broad jaw in my hands, he bowed, reined to my command. No man, no god, no mother had come to my rescue. This monster had. "Thank you," I murmured. Thick russet lashes blinked in confusion, and Asterion's dark eyes crossed as I leaned in, pressing my small mouth to his wide bottom lip. A cold wet drop of rain struck the back of my neck, and then massive arms surrounded my back, barely holding. Sheltering.

I pulled away and stared at him again, waited for those arms to tighten, for the mouth to press and demand. Instead, the heavy lashes batted. "Tell me your name," Asterion murmured. Hadn't I? Hadn't he asked Lillian? But names were important, and this minotaur would want mine granted freely. "Evanthia," I said. More rain landed, faster and sharper now, cutting into my hair. Asterion's lips cu...

The table was small to fit into my quarters and Asterion made it appear even more so, his broad frame hunched toward his plate. He dragged little bites of roasted duck through a green sauce and lifted it on a fine silver fork to his mouth. It was almost comical. He had the body of a beast, as Isabel had called it, but the manners of a diminutive debutante.

Asterion sighed and set down his fork without so much as a clink of sound. He was so gentle with every object and person around him, I wondered how he'd ever managed to convince Birsha to let him into The Seven Veils.

I sat up straighter at the mention of the Red Wolf. I'd learned a little about him from Lillian. He was considered a king of all werewolves rather than a single pack, and never belonged to any of the houses that catered human flesh to monster's sexual appetites. He hated Birsha's influence over other werewolves, which had brought him to helping Asterion. She also mentioned that Marius found him tiresome and ill-mannered.

He was quiet, watching as I returned to the work of packing. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "You don't smell of desire." I startled. "Should I?" "Asterion won't touch you until you do. I doubt even the wolf would, though he's hardly the most noble of us," Marius said. "I take pleasure when others do," I said, frowning. "Yes, that's why you were so useful to Birsha, of course. A powerful lodestone of pleasure in a house that tormented so many. But Asterion is not the selfish sort, and I don't think more force will heal you in the long run."

"You don't have to—" he started, but he sighed as I pulled one glove free from his cold hand, and then the other, removing the glamour. His horns dug into the upholstered ceiling and his eyes slid shut in relief. "I prefer this view of you," I reminded him. He huffed, broad nostrils flaring, and then sat up just long enough to lift my feet from the floor and pull them into his lap.

"This journey has been difficult for you." My eyebrows rose as his thick fingers tugged on the laces of my boots, pulling them loose and freeing my feet. "Easier for me than you, I think," I said. And then Asterion's fingers dug into the soles of my foot and my breath caught in my throat. He hummed, a low, rumbling note. "I've been tired before, and I'll recover quickly." I stared at him, his eyes closed as he worked his hands into tender, aching spots on my feet, sending that tugging sensation up my leg and deeper into my core.

When I'm ready? The suggestion didn't make sense, as if I weren't quaking with need, as if I hadn't withered away, as if I had time to wait to be ready to recover. Asterion rumbled as I braced my knee next to his hip on the bench, golden lashes fluttering up from his cheeks. "Théa?" "Please," I whispered, settling myself over his lap, grasping his face in trembling hands. He blinked again and the carriage rocked, forcing our bodies to jostle together. Those fanned lashes fluttered, and the buttons of his coat scraped against the belly of my gown with his deep breath. "Take what you need," he said so softly I barely heard the words under the rattle of the carriage.

His hand lifted to brace against my back but not to haul me closer, just to keep me steady on his lap. Isn't this enough? I wanted to cry. Can't you help, take the rest? I trembled on his lap, still waiting for force, needing it, until a flicker of néktar twined through the air between us, thin and shy. I brushed my thumbs over his cheeks, back and forth, and the wisp of pleasure tightened to a thread. His pleasure, not mine, but sweet and curious and something for me to grasp onto.

"Tell me...what you like about this," I murmured, curious as to why such a simple touch might offer any néktar for me. Asterion's hand soothed up and down my back once, stilling at the base of my spine, and I thought he might ignore my question. When his voice rose, it was dark and low, a private speech just for my ears. "I like the weight of you on my lap, light but steady. I like that you take my gloves off, demand to see me as I am. Your hands are warm, and they don't hesitate when ...

"You don't frighten me," I said. It was not quite true. I was afraid of what I expected from him, from any man or monster, but he'd never offered any proof to my fears. "Good." Still, he didn't pull me closer, shift himself between my thighs. I leaned in, rested my chest to his, wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my cheek on his shoulder. His other arm joined the first, draping around my back. He sighed again, and on his breath came more néktar, richer than a cheap alleyway fuck wi...