Lust (20 page)

“Mercy,” he murmured as he strolled out from beneath the shadows and around the table. “I told you to expect me.”

“Where are we?” Prue demanded. “And where have you taken my father and Chastity?”

The one name Kian answered. “Your father is with Niall, our…” He paused, sent a look to the barbarian who was still behind the table, before focusing once more on them. “Niall, our leader. Chastity, on the other hand, is somewhere in the building.”

“And what is this building?”

“The Nymph and the Satyr,” answered the beast. “And it's a bawdy house, for your edification.”

This time Prue lost all restraint and shrieked, which made the tall barbarian laugh. Good heavens, a brothel. And those women…she sent a fleeting glance at the women who were now wrapping themselves around the barbarian's big body. They weren't amorous serving girls, they were…whores.

“Shall I ring for a vinaigrette or smelling salts, Lady Prudence,” the brute inquired with too much amusement. “You look about ready to faint.”

“I am no wilting flower,” she sniffed as she straightened her spine. His eyes lit with fire once more.

“I can see that. And I can see a whole lot more when you puff your chest out like that.”

“You, sir, are beyond redemption. You're a reprobate.”

The beast had the audacity to laugh. He seemed to enjoy her discomfiture. “Before the night is through, lady, you will come to be intimately acquainted with what it truly means to be beyond redemption.”

Prue silently fumed, but let his comment go unanswered. She had more important things to think of, and one of them was Mercy, who was sliding her gloved hand into the palm of Kian.

“Come,” Kian murmured to Mercy as he enveloped her hand. “Follow me.”

“Don't you dare,” Prue seethed as she reached for Mercy's wrist. “We're finding Father and getting the blazes out of his house of ill repute.”

“You will stay here, if you know what's good for you,” Kian said darkly. “There are many out there in the other rooms who would find you enjoyable.”

“I will not stay with this…this rude, arrogant…
barbarian.
”

Kian shrugged. “Then you may take your chances with the animals out in the salons.”

She gasped. Good Lord, what was happening? It was like a nightmare, a never-ending cycle of horror from which she could not wake up.

“Avery will see you safe.”

“And well fed,” the brute added with a leer.

Prue narrowed her gaze as Kian pulled Mercy close to him. As her sister brushed by, Mercy whispered very quietly, “Do not take any food they offer,” and then she was swept away from her, leaving Prue alone with the barbarian.

“Come,” he commanded in a gruff voice. But Prue folded her arms over her breasts and held her ground. Her resolve suddenly melted like a cube of sugar in hot tea when the barbarian began to speak. This time his voice was much more compelling and hauntingly beautiful, and she obeyed him despite not understanding a word he said.

Blinking, she found herself standing beside him. He was looking down at her, smiling wickedly. “Sit,” he ordered, “and let me feast.”

 

Niall watched the mortal man as he sat in the wingback chair, perspiring. He could smell the bitter stench of anxiety and fear. Saw the way his blue eyes blazed with terror, the way his gaze cast about the chamber as if searching for a way out.
Good
. The human should fear him.

“My girls,” the man began as his trembling hands clutched the silver chalice of mead. “Are they safe?”

With a slow nod, Niall told the mortal he had naught to fear. His daughters would be treasured. They were the means to the survival of his court. With their mortal blood that ran pure with virtue, this man's daughters would make the Unseelie Court thrive and flourish once again.

“I don't understand the meaning of this, abducting me and my daughters—”

“Your daughters are safe, and are now in the hands of those who would guard them with their lives.”

Lennox leaned forward and glared at him. “Who are you, sir?”

Niall allowed the man to see him for what he was. A Dark Fey. His glamour was dropped, revealing him in his fey form, which he knew glistened like diamonds. His violet eyes shone, and his hair grew longer, flowing past his shoulders. He no longer appeared as “just” a human.

The man recoiled, striving to put as much distance between them as possible. “God help me, my daughters,” he mumbled and crossed himself.

“They are safe—enough,” Niall taunted and laughed when the duke paled even more.

Replacing his glamour, Niall hid his fey beauty. But beneath the fey and the glamour his sin began to pace. Wrath was eager for retribution against Lennox and his virtuous counterparts. He thought of Irian, back at court, nursing his wounded heart. Irian was dying. Grief stricken. Heartbroken. The will to live was gone, and not even the fey had the power to survive a wounded spirit. Irian had not even held his son, nor looked at him. Even the wet nurse that Kian and Avery had provided for Irian and his son had not been enough to give him some kind of hope.
Irian wanted to die.
And it was all because of his mother's curse. His mother's hatred for him and his father.

Niall would have rather borne her curse and her hatred if she would have spared the innocents of his court. But his mother, while beautiful and a Seelie, had never been kind or gracious. When she sought to destroy his father,
she decided to obliterate anything and everything that was connected to him. And if that meant the lives of innocent fey, their only trespass being they were Dark Fey, then so be it. His mother cared for nothing else but her festering hatred.

“Tell me what you want,” the duke said, pulling Niall from thoughts of his court and his dying friend. It didn't help that Irian was possessed by the sin of sloth. It made it more difficult to convince Irian that he needed to get out of his chamber and attend to his life. Sloth took perverse pleasure in the grieving Irian.

“What is it I want?” Niall asked. “One thing. The survival of my court. It's dying.”

“What am I to do about it?” the duke gasped. “I have no magic. No power to give you such a thing.”

“Do you not?” Niall questioned. “No magic? I doubt that. You own this house, do you not?” Niall asked as he took a seat opposite Lennox. The fire cracked beside them, and the man visibly jumped, then took a large swallow from his cup.

“Aye, what of it?”

“It was purchased with money that was procured via a gift from my brethren. Is that not correct?”

Lennox took another sip and slowly nodded. Niall smiled. The enchantment had started. One could not accept food or drink from the fey and not become enthralled by them. It was one of two of their most basic spells to beguile humans. Offering food was a way to gain a certain amount of power over the humans. In this case, Niall had bespelled the honeyed mead that Lennox was
drinking. Niall's spell had been a suggestion spell. Soon Lennox's only wish would be to please the Dark Fey. It would be so strong that it would only take one whispered word and he would do whatever was asked of him.

“Aye, I'm part owner of the house,” Lennox murmured before he took another small sip from the chalice.

“And the money. It came from a gift. Did it not?”

“Aye. The fey came to me and visited. They know your deepest desires. They know how to lure.”

Yes. They did. Even now Niall could feel Lennox in his grasp. He wondered how the other princes were doing with their virtues. Was their success as easy as his?

“So, you know then, that we exist? You believe?”

“Aye, I know of the fey.” Lennox licked his lip where a drop of mead had rested. “And I curse the lot of ye.”

“Why?” Niall asked, smiling. “Was our gift not to your liking?”

It was Lennox's turn to narrow his gaze. “Our gift? I've never seen you before, sir.”

“I believe you met my mother. The Seelie queen.”

Lennox's pale eyes bugged out of his head. Niall knew that the human could not believe his eyes. The queen was beauty and light. He was darkness and sin.

“Tell me, what did my mother offer you?”

Lennox put his chalice aside and watched him as Niall rose from his chair and began to pace. Wrath was eating away at him, whispering to him to take Lennox's sweating throat between his hands and choke the information he wanted out of him. But Niall was the king of the Un
seelie. He had honor. He could ferret out the information he wanted by being a fey, not a beast.

“Do you not know? Crom did.”

Niall froze. “Crom has been to see you?”

Lennox frowned. “Yes. He is the one who ordered me to London. He said…the Dark Fey were coming after my girls.”

They were indeed, but it was too soon to reveal that. “Crom is my twin. We're estranged.”

“Aye.” Lennox looked him over. “As opposite as day and night you are.”

“Let us get to the heart of it, Lennox.” Niall stiffened and looked down his nose at the man. “My mother granted you a gift, and in return she will have requested payment. What is it?”

Lennox resisted. Niall glanced at the chalice. It was still full, and the duke had only taken two small sips. But he tried the spell nevertheless.
Tell me what I want to know,
he silently commanded.

Then the duke's lips began to move, even as his fingers curled into the worn leather arms of the chairs. His eyes were wide as saucers as he struggled fruitlessly to hold his tongue. But the spell had him now. His words were no longer his to hide.

“My heir, she gave him a new body. A whole, hearty one. And in return she told me that I would sire daughters embodied by the virtues. And then, just a few days ago, Crom came to me, saying that the queen wants my girls. They're to go to her court.”

Niall smiled in triumph. He had unlocked the key to
his mother's spell. The secret of making his court thrive once again did lie with the virtues. Now the only question that remained was if they were required to have all the virtues, or merely one to break the curse. Perhaps Lennox knew, so Niall compelled him to answer.

“I don't know anything else about it,” Lennox was saying. “I…I have a meeting with the queen, tomorrow morning. P'raps then she'll tell me.”

“Where is the meeting?”

“Richmond Park.”

Of course. A large part of the royal park was enclosed within her court. She would never dare venture out of the Seelie wards for fear that he and the others were lurking about. No doubt Crom had already told her of their arrival.

“You will meet with her,” Niall ordered Lennox as he passed the mortal the chalice one again. “And you will find out as much information as you can about your daughters. What purpose they are to have for the Seelie Court, and if she requires all of your daughters, or just one in particular. Ask her about the curse on the Unseelie Court and see what she will tell you. And then, you will return to me—here, that evening, and inform me of what you've learned. And you will bring your daughters with you.”

Lennox began to shake his head, and Niall dropped his glamour. This time it was not the Dark Fey that greeted the duke, but Wrath. “You
will
bring your daughters.”

It was the only way. He needed his princes to forge an alliance with the Lennox girls. They couldn't be
forced, and with the Seelie around, it was unlikely that they would have any reasonable time to spend with the women. Here, in the Nymph and Satyr, there would be ample time to seduce and entice—uninterrupted. He had already taken precautions by warding off the brothel with magic. No Seelie could enter.

“Your daughters belong to the Dark Fey now, Lennox, regardless of what my mother says. Remember that. Your first obligation is to us.”

The man began to nod in earnest as he drank quickly of the cup. “Now,” Niall murmured, “you are very tired. You will sleep here.”

“My girls,” Lennox murmured as the empty chalice slipped from his fingers. His eyes were already closing, even as he once more whispered, “My girls…”

“Will be safe tonight,” Niall whispered. As safe as they could be in the company of Dark Fey ruled by cardinal sins.

MERCY WATCHED AS KIAN LOWERED HIS TALL
body into a chair. They were in a private chamber with a large bed that had bloodred velvet coverings and a hearth that blazed and crackled. Beside Kian was a table filled with wine and nuts and honeyed figs. He selected a fig and she saw how the golden honey ran down his fingers. His blue eyes caught hers, and he offered her a taste of the decadent treats.

“No, thank you,” she said as she shook her head. He shrugged and popped the fig into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said after he swallowed. He reached for another one and studied it in his hands. “Are you not hungry?”

She'd give her front teeth for a taste of that fig from his fingers, but Mercy knew she couldn't. “No, I'm not hungry.”

His gaze flickered to hers. “The look in your eyes says something else.”

With his elegant fingers he motioned to the bowl laden with fruit, and the silver salver that contained prawns and oysters and a glass bowl of nuts. “Perhaps something else is more to your liking?”

“No, I don't believe so.”

He sat back in his chair, spreading his thighs as he slouched deeply into the leather. Mercy was hypnotized by the wicked pose. Gracefully he picked up a brown square and bit into it, then held it out to her. “Chocolate?”

Her mouth was watering and her damnable stomach did protest. She was hungry. Had actually eaten very little because she wanted to look her best in her new gown—and because she had desired tight lacing this evening, to look as slim and trim as possible—for him.

“Come, have a taste,” he murmured, holding it out to her. “It's the most decadent little treat.”

Fisting her hands in her silk skirt, Mercy strove for composure. “You know I cannot accept anything to eat or drink from you.”

Kian had devoured the chocolate and was in the process of picking up another fig when he glanced at her. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because.”

Slowly, he licked the honey from his finger before popping the entire morsel into his mouth. The sight made Mercy's stomach flutter wildly.

“Because why?”

“Because you are a fey—a Dark Fey—and to accept food or drink from you will allow you to enchant me.”

He smiled, his blue eyes darkening to a deep mid night blue. “And here I thought it was because they were aphrodisiacs.”

She blushed and fidgeted with her skirts. He was teasing her and she did not know how to respond. That afternoon he had been intent. Controlled. She had been able to understand him—respond to him. But this light, devil-may-care teasing was so foreign to her. She didn't know if she liked it. She certainly didn't know how to match him.

Slouching farther into his chair, his thighs spread farther, revealing the thick outline of his muscular thighs.

The black satin pulled and stretched at the seams, and it took everything inside her to glance away.

“Tell me your name.”

“Mercy.”

“Your full name.”

“I cannot.”

“Because I am a fey?” he asked with amusement as he picked another fig from the bowl.

Her eyes flickered to his face. “Yes. To tell a faery your full name is to give him tremendous power over you. It makes your magic much easier to cast upon me. Besides, the fey have been known to steal the names of mortals, making it impossible for humans to find their way home again.”

“Tremendous power over you?” he murmured thought
fully as his gaze leisurely skated along her body. “How interesting.”

“I cannot give in to you, no matter how beautiful you are.”

“Beautiful.” He huffed the word as he studied the flames in the hearth. “If you look deep beneath the glam our, you will not find beauty—or kindness.”

“I will find an Unseelie Fey,” she whispered. “I know. Almost from the first second I knew what you were.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “And yet you did not run from me. Why?”

“I've always been interested in the fey—the Dark Fey most especially.”

He sat back, still slouching in his chair, and studied her for long moments. Mercy fought with herself to stay calm. To not fidget and act nervous beneath his scrutiny.

“There were Seelie there with you this afternoon.” She nodded, and his fingers curled into fists. “Why were they there?”

“To court my sisters.”

His gaze flashed to hers. “And you?”

“No.”

His eyes seemed to change color, and Mercy wondered if it was only a trick of the firelight.

“They will not have you,” he said softly. “None of you. But you most of all.”

She shivered. The intensity was back. She heard it in his voice, saw it in the way he held his body, and her own
body seemed to respond to it—the darkness in him. The dominance she sensed he held deeply hidden.

“Come, Mercy, and sit on my lap.”

She wanted to. So much. But she knew better than to do such a thing. She was weak now. She couldn't allow herself to give in to her virtue and be kind to him. To be kind would be her downfall.

“I must leave,” she murmured, but when she turned she felt his hand wrap around her wrist and halt her. He had risen from his chair and his chest pressed hotly into her back.

“No mercy,” he whispered into her ear, his breath warm and moist against her. “No kindness, no leniency.”

She remembered. The same rush of excitement lanced through her as it had that afternoon when he had said the same words.

“Mercy,” he whispered hotly into her ear. “Show me a very great kindness and remove your dress.”

Her body thrilled at the suggestion, but her mind warred against such indecorous behavior. “Why?”

When she tilted her head to look at him, his eyes were no longer blue, but a swirling tempest of blue-green, like the churning sea.

“Why?” he asked, his mouth lowering to hers. “Because I wish to return your kindness with one of mine. My hands on your body. My flesh inside your body.”

She whimpered, unable to hide the small sound when his fingers began unfastening the buttons of her gown.

“No mercy,” he murmured as his lips caressed the swells of her breasts. “No leniency.” His tongue ran along
the quivering flesh and she moaned, clasping his dark head to her chest.

“Please,” she moaned. And he laughed, a musical and magical sound as he pulled her close.

“No mercy, remember?” And then he vanished, leaving her alone, her heart pounding, her blood quickening in her veins. And breasts…good God, her breasts were aching for his touch.

No mercy, or kindness, she thought savagely. He'd left her in a state of innocent agony.

 

Thane slid onto the bed alongside Chastity. Her spine, elegantly curved, faced him. He was in her dream now. He hadn't intended for it to be so, but the act of carrying her into the house, of feeling her frantically beating heart pounding against his chest while he attempted to soothe her fears had forged the bond between them. He could hear her thoughts. Feel her body, her breath inside him. He was part of her, and for as long as she was, he felt her humanity. It warmed him. Made him feel invincible.

When he had brought her to the room, she was asleep in his arms, his spell having worked to ease her fears. He had placed her on the bed, and sat on the chair, watching her sleep. And then, he had found himself being pulled to her, dragged into her dream of them on a bed. Their bodies naked, his hands covering her.

If he were honorable he would have severed the bond, allowing her privacy in her sleep. If Lust wasn't so damn starved he might have found the power to do so. But his sin needed to feed, and the Dark Fey in him needed to
pleasure. And she was here. Wanting him in her dream, her thoughts. Her fantasies were visceral and real. He felt her need inside him.

He wanted her, that was true. But he wanted her awake. Looking at him. Not through a dream or a veil of sexual fantasy. But through her own eyes. But he would take what he could get. Chastity's willing exuberance, in the confines of her dreams.

Thane knew she believed that her dreams, while far from innocent, were really harmless. In dreams, nothing was real. But what Chastity did not realize was that in her dreams of them, everything was real—and irrevocable. He was really present inside her mind, her thoughts. He experienced everything the same as if she were awake. And so did she.

As he was pulled deeper into her subconscious, he could not help but wish for things to be different. For her to be lucid, gazing up at him between locks of golden hair. He wanted to talk, to discover her, to forge a friendship with her. But he would be lying if he didn't want this, too. This opportunity to be with her—unguarded—in her dreams.

She was so beautiful. A voluptuous, enticing beauty who had the ability to make his jaded, sinful heart beat not only with desire and lust, but longing and hope, as well.

Sighing, she snuggled farther onto her side, inching closer to the edge of the bed, instinctively seeking the warmth of the firelight as his magic removed her gown, corset and stays and layers of petticoats. She was naked,
her skin white as a lily, and he saw how his hand trembled, itching to touch her.

She sighed again as the heat of the fire kissed the front of her body, and she scooted closer, seeking more. Thane followed her, letting his fingers flick the ends of her hair over her shoulder before sliding his fingertips down her neck and along her shoulder blade.

“Mmm,” she purred appreciatively. “That feels wonderful.” His fingers were at her waist, and the urge to cup her heart-shaped ass called to him. “Your fingers feel so beautiful. Your touch is magic to me.”

She was dreaming. He knew that. But something made him think that these thoughts were really true. They were the feelings she kept hidden beneath her piety and innocence. This, he thought, watching her, was the real Chastity. The way she was when unencumbered by her virtue. He remembered her earlier that evening, when he had been part of the perfume and she had anointed him on her body. She had been willing—wanton, allowing him all kinds of indiscretions. How easily she had taken the rounded bulb of the perfume bottle into her tight sheath. How arousing it had been to watch and think of her taking his cock the same way.

One day she would. And he would watch, the same way he had that afternoon.

No, the Chastity who came to him in her dreams was willing to explore the acts of man and woman. As if to confirm it, she brushed her bottom against him and purred,
please
…

There was something that stopped him from rushing
forward, something that made him wish to take his time, to pleasure her as he knew he could. He decided then that he would use his fingers along her skin to awaken her to him. To arouse and satisfy. And perhaps, he might show her a few of his fantasies, as well. The dream Chastity would be receptive. And maybe these stolen, forbidden moments might soften her to him. Perhaps in her waking mind she would allow him to make love to her in the same manner she begged for in her dreams.

“Thane,” she murmured, sliding her plump bottom along the bed till it rested in the juncture of his thighs. “Touch me.”

And he did. Running the tips of his fingers along her neck and shoulders and down the length of her arms. He swept his fingers featherlight along her back, delighting in her moans and the gooseflesh that arose on her pale skin.

Each time he came a little closer to the swell of her breast, a little lower along her hip, letting a finger trace a small portion of one shapely cheek of her bottom until she became more restless.

He teased her with each stroke until she positioned herself onto her back, provoking him to touch her where she wanted—but where she would not ask him to. He purposely traced the edge of her breast, smiling as she arched her back, grazing her impudent pink nipple against his knuckle. He slid his hand away, letting it rest against her hip. She sighed and raised her leg, bending it so that it was draped over his thighs, exposing her mound of golden curls.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice husky with need, the gooseflesh spreading along her belly and thighs, crinkling her areolae and filling her nipples with blood so that they were no longer a light pink but a dark rose.

“Are you not satisfied?” he asked against her ear, his fingers tracing over her knee before slowly and lightly gliding up the inside of her thigh, stopping just before her wet curls. She arched against his hand and he slid his fingers away from her, fearing that if he touched her all would be lost. But the image of his hand with the crystal perfume stopper came rushing back. He had been aroused by it, teasing her with the cool crystal. He wanted his fingers inside her, pumping, filling her.

“Thane.” His name was a plea for surcease. “Please.”

“Pleasure yourself,” he suggested, placing her hand on her breast. “Learn your body and give it the pleasure it craves.”

“I can't—it isn't—”

“Show me how to pleasure you.”

Her cheeks turned a hot pink. “You already know.”

“I want to watch you,” he crooned against her temple, his fingers once again soothing her into restless longing. “Take your breasts and your nipples between your fingers and show me what you would have me do to you.”

She cupped them in her hands, bringing the peaks together, her thumbs coaxing her nipples into strained pebbles. Her eyes were tightly shut, but he watched as her lips parted on a silent pant.

“How does it feel?” A husky moan was all she managed. Thane smiled as she worked her breasts faster,
harder, between her hands, his own need stirring unruly between them as he thought about sliding his cock between them.

“Now put your hand on your mound.”

He saw the hesitation in her face, heard her hushed breathing, but she let him take her hand in his, and together they placed their fingers on her wet lips. His cock leaped at the provocative sight of his long fingers lying atop hers, her fingers buried between her folds, stroking and probing and swirling around in her glistening honey.