City of Fae

“Reign, what did you do at that party?” I whispered, as a glimpse of the spider tattoo beneath his collar caught my attention.

Where I expected to see regret on his face, I saw hunger and raw, barely restrained need. That look tunneled through my defenses and broke open the part of me that wanted this, had always wanted it. “We’re all prisoners,” he whispered so close his breath tickled my cheek, “of a kind.” Easing his body against mine, he said, “The exiled fae. We’re the mistakes, the forgotten, the denied.” The warm, hard press of him tore out what little conviction remained. I forgot the questions, forgot how I was meant to be keeping him at arm’s length, because up close—so damn close I could taste him on my lips—I could no more fight what I felt than any other fae victim. He was in my blood, he was the sweet poison seducing my mind. “We were sent here like debris swept under a rug,” he said, breathing the words, pouring them into me. “We’re too dangerous to be allowed free roam in Faerie. The queen isn’t even the worst of us. I … we’re not beautiful; we’re not the things you think.” His lips brushed against the pulse on my neck. “We are the monsters you secretly fear us to be.”

He snatched my hand, found the cut on my thumb, and brought it to his lips before I could even consider fighting. His eyes locked on mine; daring me to stop him, offering this one last chance to say no. I couldn’t. I should. I should have done a lot of things. It was wrong. It couldn’t happen. The Trinity Law … I should be the good girl. Should walk away. But I hadn’t managed it yet, and had no intention of saving myself then either. It was already too late for me.

He curled the tip of his tongue around my thumb and licked at the cut. Liquid heat spilled through my veins. I clung onto the couch behind, needing the support before I grabbed him and succumbed to all the wicked desires my mind conjured. A tight groan slipped from my lips. His eyes widened. He tensed, pressing against me. I couldn’t escape, and didn’t want to. He was the danger in the dark, the cruel allure we all secretly desired. He’d caught me, and I wanted it. Lust ran deep, surged high. He plucked my thumb free and bit into his lower lip, tasting me there, teasing me with a glance designed to unravel my restraint. “You taste like us.”

He said it like an accusation, but didn’t give me time to process his words. His hand burrowed into my hair and tightened into a possessive hold that might have hurt had I not hooked an arm around him and yanked him tight enough against my body to lose my breath. It wasn’t a kiss, nothing as sweet as that. I tore into his lips and tongue, tasting, nipping, stealing, and he responded like a man starved of me. It was wild, insane, wrong. And I wanted more of him. Every forbidden inch of him. He broke free as a low growl of restraint filtered through his clenched teeth. He clasped my face in both hands and breathed hard, glaring into me. A tiny fragment of doubt broke away from the madness, just a hint that things weren’t what they seemed, but the need in his eyes, the hunger of his kiss, and the touch … Those things swept the doubt away. His touch on my face poured the tingling sensation into my skin and stole tremors from me. He nudged a knee between my legs, holding me rigid while trailing warm kisses from my lips down the line of my jaw to my neck. He dropped his hands low, letting one play down my back, while the other hooked around my thigh and hitched my leg up. Every heated inch of him burned against the thin fabric of the dress. I trembled as though cold, maybe even afraid of him, of me, of us, but it didn’t stop me from sinking my hands over his broad shoulders and slipping his shirt down his back. I flicked my tongue over his spider tattoo and felt him shiver.

He gasped—a jolt darting through him—and hissed in through his teeth. “Alina. I …”

I didn’t want words. Words were complicated. What I needed from him was simple. I slipped my hand around his waist and sunk it low, holding him flush against me.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke as though words pained him; dragging them up from inside a growl.

Sorry? Confusion slowed racing thoughts. Wait, what was happening? Reign’s breathing held a ragged edge. I turned my face toward his, lips brushing his locked jaw. He trembled, but the change in him was obvious, even to my lust-soaked mind. When his shame-filled gaze met mine there was something wrong with his eyes. They weren’t the same beautiful butterfly eyes I’d come to admire. Bright crimson flooded his iris. I stepped back, but he slid a hand up my arm, and poured numbness in his wake. Weakness rolled over me, sapping me of energy. He was stealing my draíocht; again.

I yanked my arm back. “Hey! Reign, goddamn it …”