Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir (35 page)

The arm pulled me closer, and there was a slight tremble in his voice when he spoke. “Oh, God, Eugenie. I've missed you so much. You're like a part of me.”

“I know.”

We held each other for a quiet moment, and then I heard him say in carefully measured tones, “I hear you're a queen now.”

“That's what they say.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Dorian had no right to do that.” There was a growl in Kiyo's voice.

“You're preaching to the choir here. I already had that argument with him. He doesn't see it as wrong. He thinks I should keep progressing in magic too.”

The hand stroking my face stopped moving. He pulled away slightly so he could look me in the eyes. “That's an even worse idea. You aren't going to, are you? I mean, you got what you needed from him, right?”

“Right.”

He visibly relaxed, again touching my cheek with a sensual languor. “We'll get you through the queen thing. I won't let anything happen to you.”

“There you go again with the macho protectiveness thing. Who brought who back from the dead?”

“Fair point.”

I gave voice to something I'd wondered about for a while now. “How…how did you know when I was at Aeson's anyway? Did you really stake out his place and wait for me?”

His eyes crinkled with seductive mischief. Moving his hands to my back, he let his fingers trace the still-healing scars from where he'd scratched me. “There's no place you can go that I can't find you.”

I groaned. I'd forgotten about that. “Those damned things are going to heal one of these days.”

“I'll make more.”

We leaned into a kiss, and like that, things were solved between us. We didn't need many words to get across how we felt. Maybe that's how it is with someone you really love, someone you're connected to. That wasn't to say we didn't have reams of communication to hash through in the future, not if we were going to attempt some sort of relationship. But for now, the kiss conveyed enough. It was an exchange of heat, an exchange of love, and it felt like coming home.

“I've still got to make amends,” he told me, his lips only a fraction of an inch from mine, “no matter how magnanimous you're feeling. You know, the usual. Chocolate. Flowers.”

“Whatever. I don't need the covert signs to know you want to have sex with me. There are plenty of more obvious ones.”

“Like what?”

“Like your hand on my breast.”

“No. This is still subtle.” He pulled my body to his, melding us together. “Now, when my mouth is there, then you'll know—”

“You're such a freak. Sex got us into this mess. I don't know that it's healthy to rely on it to fix everything.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Queenly authority or no, I didn't do a very good job of protesting. And when he pushed me down on the couch, I didn't do a very good job of protesting that we should go to the bedroom. Fortunately, Tim never came home, so I didn't shock his sensibilities again.

Whatever words he'd withheld in our conversation came out as Kiyo made love to me, telling me he wanted me, would love me forever, and would do anything in the world for me. They were the sort of promises all people make when they're falling in love, but that didn't make them any less powerful. I floated on them long after he left that evening, awash in emotion and contentment and residual lust.

I was getting dressed in my bedroom when a voice behind me said: “He's a mistake, you know. So is the Oak King. You're better off without either of them.”

I jumped and spun around angrily on Volusian. “Don't sneak up on me like that! Christ. Were you watching me out there? What is it with you Otherworldly types and your fetishes? Exhibitionists and bondage and voyeurism. Good grief.”

His red eyes regarded me levelly as I finished pulling on my shirt. “I was not joking, mistress.”

“About Dorian and Kiyo? What's the matter with them? Well, Dorian's kind of obvious, but Kiyo's all right.”

He shook his head. “Hardly. He is a fox, and part of him thinks like one. He regards you as his mate, and that is a dangerous thing. He and Dorian are both zealots in their way. They sit at different ends of the spectrum, perhaps, but both are fixed in their beliefs. Each will have his own agenda for you—even the kitsune, whose views you tend to agree with. They will each try to dominate you and make you think it was your idea.”

For one uneasy moment, I thought about how sex had been with each man. Aggressive. Controlling. I'd had small pieces of control, but in the end, I had always been pushed to submission, a submission I welcomed. There was only the one night with Kiyo—the night I'd woken up in the afterglow of remembered power—that I had truly been the dominant one.

“You would do better to find someone milder and more malleable. Someone less ambitious.”

I considered his words. Maybe he was right. Maybe. “Men without ambition are boring.”

“And that attitude, mistress, is why the females of your kind continue to struggle for equality. And why they continue to fail.”

I sat on the bed and clasped my hands in front of me. “I didn't summon you. Was that all you came to tell me, Dr. Love?”

“No. I came to tell you that you need to visit your kingdom sooner rather than later. The people are nervous and restless. You are their queen, and that means something, no matter how much you loathe it. Your people need to see a strong monarch right away.”

“I was hoping to put that off.” My people, huh?

“I wouldn't recommend it. Not unless you want a disaster on your hands.”

“So should I appoint you as one of my advisers now?”

“You may do anything you like. As for me, I tend to share Finn's view. If I cannot rip you apart yet and must be enslaved to someone, I would rather it be to someone more important than a human shaman.”

I'd been teasing him, but my feelings sobered at the thought of Finn and poor Nandi. “You're the last man standing, Volusian. Who would have seen that coming?”

“I did, mistress.” The incredulous look on his face resembled Dorian's when he'd told me he loved me. “There was never any question. They were inferior.”

I laughed. “I never thought I'd say this, but after everything that's happened, you're the only normal thing I can rely on.”

He didn't reply.

“Go back to the Otherworld and stay with Shaya. Tell her I'll be there soon. Only cross over if there's a message I need to hear.”

“As the Thorn Queen wishes.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

I spoke the banishing words and sent him on. After that, I stretched out on my bed and tried to assess my life thus far. I was still a shaman, one of the most powerful around if the stories were true. I possessed human means of working and controlling magic, using it to fight and banish anything nasty that slipped into this plane. But I was also gentry, the daughter of one of the Otherworld's biggest tyrants, and I could supposedly be the one to bring about a terrible prophecy—provided my woman-child sister didn't do it first. I was dating a guy who could turn into a fox and who might very well turn on me if I ever got pregnant. I had the love of a king who could tie damned good knots and wanted my help to take over his world and my own. Somehow I'd developed the power to call storms and blow up people. I'd been to the land of death and returned. And finally, I was a queen: the Thorn Queen, which didn't exactly sound flattering. Why couldn't I have been the Violet Queen or something? Why trees and not flowers? There was no accounting for Otherworldly tastes.

I needed tequila and Def Leppard right away.

I walked out to the kitchen, hoping to uncover one or the other but found neither. Instead, I settled for water from a large glass pitcher we kept chilled in the refrigerator. I poured a cup for myself and then set to refilling the pitcher while my mind spun.

Why had everything turned so confusing lately? I didn't want any of this. I just wanted Kiyo and the occasional exorcism. Love and a way to pay the mortgage. That was it. I didn't need all this Otherworldly entanglement or the gentry and their games. They offered me nothing. I didn't want anything from any of them.

Angrily, I slammed the faucet off and turned toward the refrigerator. I didn't realize how wet my fingers were until the glass pitcher slipped from my hands. Everything after that happened in the space of a heartbeat. The pitcher fell. It hit. It shattered. Without thinking, my senses reached out and seized the water, ordering it to stay where it was. There was nothing to be done for the glass—

Yet, it didn't move. The shards hung frozen in midair, just like the water, suspended in the pattern created from the impact. I stared, dumbstruck, until a faint breeze brushed my skin and I realized the fragments trembled slightly. Cautiously, I reached out to that air with my mind and felt its answering resonance. Stretching further, I could sense the currents of power running from me to the space around the glass. The air shifted there as its molecules fought to keep the pieces from falling. Somehow, without even knowing how, I'd made the air obey me, just as I had the water.

Only this was a lot more difficult. I gradually became aware of exactly how I affected the air molecules, and the longer I did it, the harder it was. The pieces of glass felt like bricks, their weight heavy on my senses as I kept holding them up. With a casual thought, I sent the water away to my sink. Forcing all of my attention to the glass gave me a little more strength, but I knew my control would give out soon. Still, I held on. I suddenly wanted to dominate the air, understand how it worked and what I needed to do to command it.

Imagine when you master it—and the other elements.

As I connected to the air, I felt that burning, glorious feeling start to run through me. It still had yet to ever come close to the levels in the dream-memory, but the surge I felt now was stronger and sweeter than anything else I'd felt from controlling water alone.

Tim walked in just then, freezing midstep when he saw me. “Eugenie?”

Fatigue beat at my muscles, and sweat broke out along my brow. The glass would fall any moment now, and when it did, the magical high would disappear. I fought as long as I could, but when the glass started to shake violently, I hastily ordered the air to carry the pieces to a nearby garbage can. My control was clumsy; only some of the glass made it.

I thought you liked the way it made it made you feel.

Gasping, I sat down in a chair, staring at the glass on the floor. Tim was staring at me.

“Eug…what just happened?”

The euphoria of power flickered briefly as I desperately tried to summon the air again. No luck. That achingly wonderful glory drained out of me, like embers fading from orange to gray. Some part of my soul screamed for it as it disappeared, begging it to come back, swearing that I would do anything at all for it to return. I closed my eyes and swallowed.

“Eugenie,” Tim tried again, “what was that?”

I opened my eyes and followed his gaze to the glass that still lay on the floor. It took me a moment to find my voice, and when I did, it came out soft and husky.

“I don't know. But I think I want it.”

…especially when the girl in question is Georgina Kincaid, a shape-shifting succubus who gets her energy from seducing men. First there's her relationship with gorgeous best-selling writer Seth Mortensen, which is unsatisfying on a number of levels. It's not just that they can't have sex, in case Georgina inadvertently kills him (generally a turnoff for most guys). Lately, even spending time together is a challenge. Seth's obsessed with finishing his latest novel, and Georgina's under demonic orders to mentor the new (and surprisingly inept) succubus on the block.

 

Then there are the dreams. Someone, or something, is preying on Georgina at night, draining her energy and supplying eerie visions of her future. Georgina seeks answers from Dante, a dream interpreter with ties to the Underworld, but his flirtatious charm only leaves her more confused—especially as the situation with Seth reaches crisis point. Now Georgina faces a double challenge—rein in her out-of-control love life and go toe-to-toe with an enemy capable of wreaking serious havoc among mankind. Otherwise, Georgina, and the entire mortal world, may never sleep easy again….

 

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Richelle Mead's
SUCCUBUS DREAMS,
coming in October 2008!

I wished the guy on top of me would hurry up, because I was getting bored.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to finish anytime soon. Brad or Brian or whatever his name was thrust away, eyes squeezed shut with such concentration that you would have thought having sex was on par with brain surgery or lifting steel beams.

“Brett,” I panted. It was time to pull out the big guns.

He opened one eye. “Bryce.”

“Bryce.” I put on my most passionate, orgasmic face. “Please…please…don't stop.”

His other eye opened. Both went wide.

A minute later, it was all over.

“Sorry,” he gasped, rolling off me. He looked mortified. “I don't know…didn't mean…”

“It's all right, baby.” I felt only a little bad about using the
don't stop
trick on him. It didn't always work, but for some guys, planting that seed completely undid them. “It was amazing.”

And really, that wasn't entirely a lie. The sex itself had been mediocre, but the rush afterward…the feel of his life and his soul pouring into me…yeah. That was pretty amazing. It was what a succubus like me literally lived for.

He gave me a wary smile. The energy that flowed through me was no longer in him. Its loss had exhausted him, burned him out. He'd sleep soon and would probably continue sleeping a great deal over the next few days. His soul had been a good one, and I'd taken a lot of it—as well as his life itself. He'd now live a few years less, thanks to me.

I tried not to think about that as I hurriedly put on my clothes. He seemed surprised at my abrupt departure but was too worn out to fight it. I promised to call him—having no intention of doing so—and slipped out of the room as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

I'd barely cleared his front door before shape-shifting. I'd come to him as a tall, sable-haired woman but now once again wore my preferred shape, petite with hazel-green eyes and light brown hair that flirted with gold. Like most of my life, my features danced between states, never entirely settling on one.

I put Bryce out of my mind, just like I did with most men I slept with, and drove across town to what was rapidly becoming my second home. It was a tan, stucco condo, set into a community of other condos that tried desperately to be as hip as new construction in Seattle could manage. I parked my Passat out front, fished my key out of my purse, and let myself inside.

The condo was still and quiet, wrapped in darkness. A nearby clock informed me it was three in the morning. Walking toward the bedroom, I shape-shifted again, swapping my clothes for a red nightgown.

I froze in the bedroom doorway, surprised to feel my breath catch in my throat. You'd think after all this time, I would have gotten used to him, that he wouldn't affect me like this. But he did. Every time.

Seth lay sprawled in the bed, one arm tossed over his head. His breathing was deep and fitful, and the sheets lay in a tangle around his long, lean body. Moonlight muted the color of his hair, but in the sun, its light brown would pick up a russet glow. Seeing him, studying him, I felt my heart swell in my chest. I'd never expected to feel this way about anyone again, not after centuries of feeling so…empty. Bryce had meant nothing to me, but this man before me meant everything.

I slid into bed beside him, and his arms instantly went around me. I think it was instinctual. The connection between us was so deep that even while unconscious we couldn't stay away from each other.

I pressed my cheek to Seth's chest, and his skin warmed mine as I fell asleep. The guilt from Bryce faded, and soon, there was only Seth and my love for him.

I slipped almost immediately into a dream. Except, well, I wasn't actually
in
it, at least not in the active sense. I was watching myself, seeing the events unfold as though at a movie. Only, unlike a movie, I could
feel
every detail. The sights, the sounds…it was almost more vivid than real life.

The other Georgina was in a kitchen, one I didn't recognize. It was bright and modern, far larger than anything I could imagine a noncook like me needing. My dream-self stood at the sink, elbow deep in sudsy water that smelled like oranges. She was hand-washing dishes, which surprised my real self—but was doing a shoddy job, which did not surprise me. On the floor, an actual dishwasher lay in pieces, thus explaining the need for manual labor.

From another room, the sounds of “Sweet Home Alabama” carried to my ears. My dream-self hummed along as she washed, and in that surreal, dreamlike way, I could feel her happiness. She was content, filled with a joy so utterly perfect, I could barely comprehend it. Even with Seth, I'd rarely ever felt so happy—and I was pretty damned happy with him. I couldn't imagine what could make my dream-self feel this way, particularly while doing something as mundane as washing dishes.

I woke up.

To my surprise, it was full morning, bright and sunny. I'd had no sense of time passing. The dream had seemed to last only a minute, yet the nearby alarm clock told me six hours had passed. The loss of the happiness my dream-self had experienced made me ache.

Weirder than that, I felt…not right. It took me a moment to peg the problem: I was drained. The life energy a succubus needed to survive, the energy I'd stolen from Bryce, was almost gone. In fact, I had less now than I'd had before going to bed with him. It made no sense. A burst of life like that should have lasted a couple of weeks at least, yet I was nearly as wiped out as he'd been. I wasn't low enough to start losing my shape-shifting, but I'd need a new fix within a couple of days.

“What's wrong?”

Seth's sleepy voice came from beside me. I rolled over and found him propped on one elbow, watching me with a small, sweet smile.

I didn't want to explain what had happened. Doing so would mean elaborating on what I'd done with Bryce, and while Seth theoretically knew what I did to survive, ignorance really was bliss.

“Nothing,” I lied. I was a good liar.

He touched my cheek. “I missed you last night.”

“No, you didn't. You were busy with Cady and O'Neill.”

His smile turned wry, but even as it did, I could see his eyes start to take on the dreamy, inward look he got when he thought about the characters in his novels. I'd made kings and generals beg for my love in my long life, yet some days, even my charms couldn't compete with the people who lived in Seth's head.

Fortunately, today wasn't one of those days, and his attention focused back on me.

“Nah. They don't look as good in a nightgown. That's very Anne Sexton, by the way. Like ‘candy store cinnamon hearts.'”

Only Seth would use bipolar poets as compliments. I glanced down and ran an absentminded hand over the red silk. “This does look pretty good,” I admitted. “I might look better in this than I do naked.”

He scoffed. “No, Thetis. You do not.”

And then, in what was an astonishingly aggressive move for him, he flipped me onto my back and began kissing my neck.

“Hey,” I said, putting up a halfhearted struggle. “We don't have time for this. I have stuff to do. And I want breakfast.”

“Noted,” he mumbled, moving on to my mouth. I stopped my complaining. Seth was a wonderful kisser. He gave the kind of kisses that melted into your mouth and filled you with sweetness. They were like cotton candy.

But there was no real melting to be had, not for us. With a well-practiced sense of timing that you could probably set a watch to, he pulled away from the kiss and sat up, removing his hands as well. Still smiling, he looked down at me and my undignified sprawl.

I smiled back, squelching the small pang of regret that always came at these moments of retreat.

But that was the way it was with us, and honestly, we had a pretty good system going when one considered all the complications in our relationship. My friend Hugh once joked that all women steal men's souls if they're together long enough. In my case, it didn't take years of bickering. A too-long kiss would suffice. Such was the life of a succubus. I didn't make the rules, and I had no way to stop the involuntary energy theft that came from intimate physical contact. I could, however, control whether that physical contact happened in the first place, and I made sure it didn't. I ached for Seth, but I wouldn't steal his life as I had Bryce's.

I sat as well, ready to get up, but Seth must have been feeling bold this morning. He wrapped his arms around my waist and shifted me onto his lap, pressing himself against my back so that his lightly stubbled face was buried in my neck and hair. I felt his body tremble with the intake of a heavy, deep breath. He exhaled it just as slowly, like he sought control of himself, and then strengthened his grip on me.

“Georgina,” he breathed against my skin.

I closed my eyes, and the playfulness was gone. A dark intensity wrapped around us, one that burned with both desire and a fear of what might come.

“Georgina,” he repeated. His voice was low, husky. I felt like melting again. “Do you know why they say succubi visit men in their sleep?”

“Why?” My own voice was small.

“Because I dream about you every night.” In most circumstances, that would have sounded trite, but from him, it was powerful and hungry.

I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut as a swirl of emotions danced within me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to make love to him. I wanted to scream. It was all too much sometimes. Too much emotion. Too much danger. Our increased flirtation and sexual taunting fed a complication that didn't need any more stroking.

Opening my eyes, I shifted so that I could see his face. We held each other's gazes, both of us wanting so much and unable to give or take it. Breaking the look first, I slipped regretfully from his embrace. “Come on. Let's go eat.”

Seth lived in easy walking distance to the assorted shops and restaurants adjacent to the University of Washington's campus. We got breakfast at a small café, and omelets and conversation soon replaced the earlier awkwardness. Afterward, we wandered idly up University Way, holding hands. I had errands to run, and he had writing to do, yet we were reluctant to part.

Seth suddenly stopped walking. “Georgina.”

“Hmm?”

His eyebrows rose as he stared off at something across the street. “John Cusack is standing over there.”

I followed his incredulous gaze to where a man very like Mr. Cusack did indeed stand, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a building. I sighed.

“That's not John Cusack. That's Jerome.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. I told you he looked like John Cusack.”

“Keyword:
looked.
That guy doesn't look like him. That guy is him.”

“Believe me, he's not.” Seeing Jerome's impatient expression, I let go of Seth's hand. “Be right back.”

I crossed the street, and as the distance closed between my boss and me, Jerome's aura washed over my body. All immortals have a unique signature, and a demon like him had an especially strong one. He felt like waves and waves of roiling heat, like when you open an oven and don't stand far enough back.

“Make it fast,” I told him. “You're ruining my romantic interlude.”

Jerome dropped the cigarette and put it out with his black Kenneth Cole oxford. He glanced disdainfully around. “This place? Come on, Georgie. This isn't romantic. This place isn't even a pit stop on the road to romance.”

I put an angry hand on my hip. “What do you want?”

“You.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We've got a meeting tonight. An all-staff meeting.”

“When you say all-staff, do you mean like
all
-staff?”

The last time Seattle's supervising archdemon had gathered everyone in the area together, it had been to inform us that our local imp wasn't “meeting expectations.” Jerome had let us all tell the imp goodbye and then banished the poor guy off to the fiery depths of hell. It was kind of sad, but then my friend Hugh had replaced him, so I'd gotten over it. I hoped this meeting wouldn't have a similar purpose.

Jerome gave me an annoyed look, one that said I was clearly wasting his time.

“When is it?”

“Seven. At Peter and Cody's. Don't be late. Your presence is essential.”

Shit. I hoped this wasn't actually
my
going-away party. I'd been on pretty good behavior lately. “What's this about?”

“Find out when you get there. Don't be late,” he repeated.

Stepping off the main thoroughfare and into the shadow of a building, the demon vanished.

A feeling of dread spread through me. Demons were never to be trusted, particularly when they looked like quirky movie stars and issued enigmatic invitations.

“Everything okay?” Seth asked me when I rejoined him.

I considered. “As much as it ever is.”