Queen of Air and Darkness (The Dark Artifices #3)

“Yeah.” She settled back farther into the pillows. She was looking up at him now, her stubborn chin tilted up, her elbows on the bed. Her legs sprawled out, long and glorious. He slid closer to her. He could see her pulse beating in her throat. Her lips parted, her voice low: “I want this.”

He moved over her, not touching her yet, his body a whisper from hers. He saw her eyes darken. She wriggled under him, her legs sliding against his.

“Emma,” he rasped. “What happened to that bra? You know, the enormous one?”

She grinned. “I went without.”

The air in the room felt suddenly superheated. Julian tried to breathe normally, despite knowing that if he slid his hands up under Emma’s tank top he would encounter only soft skin and bare curves.

But she hadn’t asked him to do that. She’d asked for a kiss. He propped himself over her, a hand on either side of her head. Slowly, he lowered himself: exquisitely slowly, until their mouths were an inch apart. He could feel her warm breath against his face. Still, their bodies were barely touching. She moved restlessly under him, her fingers digging into the coverlet.

“Kiss me,” she murmured, and he bent to brush his lips over hers—just a brush, the lightest of touches. She chased his lips with her own; he turned his face to the side, tracing the same warm, light touch along her jaw, her cheek. When he reached her mouth again she was gasping, her eyes half-closed. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, running his tongue along it, tracing the curve, the sensitive corners.

She gasped again, pressing her back deeper into the cushions, her body arching. He felt her breasts brush against his chest, sending a shot of heat directly to his groin. He dug his fingers into the mattress, willing himself to keep control. To give her only and exactly what she’d asked for.

A kiss.

He sucked and licked at her bottom lip, traced the bow shape of the upper. Licked along the seam of the two until her lips parted and he sealed his mouth to hers, all heat and wetness and the taste of her, mint and tea. She wrapped her hands around his biceps, arching up against him as they kissed on and on. Her body was soft and warm; she was moaning into his mouth, dragging her heels up the backs of his calves, her hands sliding to his shirt, fingers curling under—

She broke away. She was breathing as if she’d been running a marathon, her lips damp and pink from kissing, her cheeks flaming. “Holy f—” she began, then coughed and blushed. “Have you been practicing?”

“No,” Julian said. He was proud of himself for managing an entire syllable. He decided to try out a sentence. “I have not.”

“Okay,” Emma breathed. “Okay. No one’s on fire, no parabatai weirdness in evidence. That’s about as much testing as I’m up for right now.”

Julian rolled carefully onto his side. “But I can still sleep on the bed, right?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “I think you’ve earned that, yeah.”

“I can scooch all the way to the edge,” he offered.

“Don’t push it, Julian,” she said, and rolled against him, her body curling into his. He put his arms tentatively around her, and she burrowed closer, closing her eyes.

“Emma?” he said.

No answer.

He couldn’t believe it. She was asleep. Breathing softly and regularly, her small cold nose pressed into his collarbone. She was asleep, and he felt like his whole body was burning up. The shuddering waves of pleasure and desire that had rolled over him just from kissing her still stunned him.

That had felt good. Almost euphorically good. And not just because of what had bloomed inside his own cells, his own skin. It had been Emma, the noises she’d made, the way she’d touched him. It wasn’t the parabatai bond, but it was their bond. It was the pleasure he’d given her, mirrored back at him a thousandfold. It was everything he hadn’t been able to feel since the spell.

The Queen’s voice came, unwanted, silvery as a bell and flawed with malice:

You are in the cage, boy.

He shivered and drew Emma closer.





19


THE JEWELLED DEAD


Emma dreamed of fire and thunder, and was woken by the sound of splintering wood. At least, it sounded like the wood was splintering. When she sat up, groggy and confused, Julian’s arm still around her waist, she realized it was someone knocking very, very hard at the bedroom door.

Julian moved, groaning softly in his sleep; Emma extricated herself and padded over to throw the door open, expecting Cameron or Livvy.

It was Diana.

The sight of her acted like a shot of caffeine. She was all in black, from her black motorcycle boots to her leather pants and jacket. Her hair was secured in a tight, curly ponytail at the back of her head. She looked intimidating, but Emma didn’t care much: She gave a little yelp and threw her arms around Diana, who made a loud noise of surprise.

“Whoa there, stranger,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry.” Julian had appeared and gently peeled Emma away. “In our world, you’re our tutor.”

“Oh, right. Your alternate dimension. Livvy told me about it when I got back from my pharmacy run.” Diana raised her eyebrows. “Wild.”

“Do you not know us at all here?” Emma asked with some disappointment.

“Not since you were little kids. I saw you in the Accords Hall during the Dark War, before they Portaled all the children away. You were good little fighters,” she added. “Then I heard you got Endarkened. I didn’t expect I’d see you again unless you were pointing the business end of a gun at me.”

“Well,” Emma said. “Good surprise, huh?”

Diana looked darkly amused. “Come on. You can tell me what I’m like in your world while I take you to the lobby.”

They threw on clothes—boots, long-sleeved shirts, bomber jackets. Emma wondered where the rebels got their supplies. Her black pants felt like they were made out of canvas or something else similarly thick and itchy. The boots were cool, though, and she had to admit she liked the way Julian wore his faded shirt and army pants. They clung to his lean, muscular body in a way that made her try not to think about the previous night.

As they left the room, Julian tore a page from his sketchbook and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “For luck,” he said.

They joined Diana in the hallway, their boots clomping loudly on the polished wood. “In our world,” Emma said, as they headed down a set of stairs, “you’re dating a faerie.”

Diana frowned. “A faerie? Why would I be dating a traitor?”

“Things are a little more complicated at home.”

“Things are pretty complicated here, kid,” Diana said as they reached the ground floor. “Come on through.”

They passed under a brick archway and into a massive room full of furniture that looked as if it had been scrounged from different offices. There were modern steel-and-leather couches, and vintage patchwork and velvet ones. Armchairs made of cotton and chintz, some in good shape and some torn up; cheap chipboard tables on metal legs, laid end to end to create a sort of boardroom effect.

There was a crowd in the room: Emma saw Livvy and Cameron, Bat and Maia, and a few familiar faces—Divya Joshi and Rayan Maduabuchi, one or two of the older Los Angeles Conclave members. They were all staring at the east wall of the room—ordinary brick and sandstone, it was currently burning with huge, fiery letters, reaching from one end of the wall to the other.

SEEK CHURCH.

“Do you understand it?” Diana said. “Nobody here does. Churches aren’t doing well in this world. They’re all deconsecrated and full of demons.”

“Everyone’s so quiet,” Emma said, whispering herself. “Are they—scared?”

“Not really,” said Diana. “I think it’s just been so long since any of us have seen magic.”

Livvy pushed her way through the crowd toward them, leaving Cameron behind. “Is this from Tessa Gray?” she demanded, eyes wide, as she reached them. “Is this a response to that summons? Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what this is. Tessa wants us to come to her.”

“Not too trusting,” said Diana. “She must have some sense.”

“But the church part?” Livvy looked puzzled. “What church does she mean?”