S. L.

PRATER

Court of Tricksters
OceanofPDF.com
 Copyright © 2023 by S. L. Prater

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission
from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

S. L. Prater asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this

work.

Cover designed by Saint Jupiter. Edited by Erin Grey.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

OceanofPDF.com
 Contents
Content Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by S. L. Prater

OceanofPDF.com
 Content Warning

This book is naughty and was written for adults. It contains foul language,
moderate fantasy violence, prostitution, off-page physical and sexual abuse,
sensual dialogue, and two sexually explicit scenes between consenting
adults. If you don’t want spoilers about the ending, stop reading this
advisory now. Court of Tricksters ends on a cliffhanger with a guaranteed
series HEA.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 1

(Rain)

N ight fell around Rain, and the old woods awoke in the wind, swaying
lanky leafless limbs that knocked together like dried bones. She
loved the gloam: the inky black, the glittering starlight, and the visitor it
would bring her.
As the darkness enveloped her slight frame, the shadows glinted like the
sky above, filling with the glowing, blinking eyes of wild things. Bernard,
her familiar, padded after her through the autumn bramble. He’d taken the
form of a small cat that evening, a scruffy creature not much bigger than her
boot, with a thick fur coat the color of rain clouds. A demon, he wafted the
smell of sulfur with his bushy tail.
Bernard yowled a warning to her, wary of the nearby predators, but
Rain kept the dagger at her hip sheathed and pulled her woolen cloak tighter
against the chill, unconcerned. The cold made her old war scars twinge.
They know better by now than to prey on us, she reminded Bernard,
sending him her thoughts through their linked souls. The beasts were not
hunting them. They simply watched her because they feared her the way all
beings with good instincts feared a witch.
Bernard’s hackles rose. He hissed at the wild things of the night,
unaware of how adorable he looked in his tiny fluffy feline form. Demons
feared cats. Naturally he believed himself to be at his most formidable.
Biting back a smile, Rain lacked the heart to tell him otherwise.
Her thoughts traveled to the visitor she was meeting, her mystery
gentleman, and her pulse surged. Despite seeing him nearly every night for
the last month, she both dreaded and thrilled at the thought of sharing a
space with him again. Excitement kept her returning to him, but timidity
stole her voice. She’d hardly spoken to him—hadn’t even asked him his
name.
There were so many things she wanted to discuss with him, though.
Rain stopped short to run gloved fingers through her ashen hair.
You look pleasing enough. Quit fussing, Bernard scolded. Then he bent
to scratch behind his ear with his hindleg, creating a small whirlwind of dirt
and dander in his enthusiasm.
Rain shoved her hands inside her cloak, chewing her lip. She’d taken
too long sprucing up at the river Eventide, trying to rub out some of the
stains on her linen shirt, and now she was running late. She usually kept
silent while her gentleman gathered the offerings she’d left for him, but
maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time she’d gather her
courage and speak to him.
She had absolutely no idea how any of this worked. When was it
appropriate to initiate conversation with a gentleman one had an attraction
to? She’d lived alone in the woods too long to have kept up with all the
rules of society, and they’d changed so much over the centuries. It may still
be fashionable to have family introduce her, but what was one to do when
they had no family?
Her heart squeezed at the thought.
 Her visitor had accepted all of her gifts and had even left some of his
own: tins of sweets, rare flowers, thoughtful little mementos he’d made
from folded parchment. Surely that was a good sign. Perhaps she should
have shared more words with him already, but she wasn’t very good at
words. In his presence, her palms sweat and her tongue tied and her heart
positively soared. Eloquence was impossible.
The trees rattled their limbs at her despite the absence of more wind,
pulling her from her thoughts. Curious, she turned to the nearest trunk and
laid the flat of her hand over the bark, sharing her warmth with it. The tree
stilled. Slowly the others followed suit, and the forest fell calm once more.
She had an affinity with the woods. The trees, her friends, delivered
messages to her in shared feelings. From one end of the forest to the other
and beyond, they passed her communications and projections but never in
words. With her palm pressed hard enough to feel the bark’s ridges through
her leather gloves, she sensed the stress and worry of a mortal she’d come
to know well. An image of the woman popped into her mind, looking
frazzled and worn. Susan owned the tavern not far from there, on the edges
of River Row where the city met her forest.
Mortals are fragile creatures, Bernard thought, constantly swimming in
and out of the rapids, always in need of someone to save them from
drowning. If you’re finally tired of their antics—
“I’m not tired of them,” Rain said reprovingly. Spinning on her heels
back in the direction of the Eventide, she picked up her pace, determined to
reach Susan and the girls faster.
What of your visitor . . . ?
That slowed her, but only just. Tonight, he’d have to walk the woods
alone. Bernard was right. Mortals were fragile, and their lives were short.
Though she didn’t look it, she’d lived so many centuries these mortals
seemed like children to her, streetwise and world-weary though they were.
They were kind and vulnerable too, offering her companionship and shelter
when the ground froze over, and in exchange she promised to always come
when they needed her most.
Rain’s fae blood helped her navigate the trees in the dark, gave her skin
its golden hue, and made her fast. Nearly faster than Bernard in his
bounding cat form.
The parts of you that aren’t fae are overly concerned with the weaker
things of the world, Bernard mused as they ran. You’d be better served if
you listened to your immortal instincts more.
Panting, Rain’s breath fogged in front of her. My ability to care about
weaker things in this world is the only reason why you’re my familiar.
That reminder stopped his grumbling.
The trees parted—the bustling sounds of city life chasing away the quiet
of the woods. The fencing was sparse here, allowing Rain to come and go
easily. Susan’s modest, red-brick tavern sat along a busy side street. A worn
wooden sign in the shape of a red stocking hung above the front door. The
words had faded long ago, so the locals simply called the tavern The Red
Boot now.
Rain could hear the rush of the river Eventide in the distance, the flurry
of footsteps from travelers coming and going, the clomp of horse hooves
and carriage wheels, the last bell chiming before the final ferry departed.
The sounds even at the edge of the Row were so different from the peaceful
ambiance of the forest she called home. The energy it took to decipher it all
made her pulse surge.
 Hide yourself for now, she cautioned Bernard, rounding toward the side
entrance. At least until we know what’s wrong.
Bernard darkened in color and then evaporated into a puff of black
smoke. The smog gathered itself into a hovering cloud and then funneled a
path beneath her cloak, into her side satchel. Familiars were a type of
trickster, a magical shape changer. Bernard, a particularly powerful one,
could replicate any form as long as it wasn’t larger than his true demon
shape. She didn’t know what form he’d taken once he’d settled, only that
something grew solid and heavy as it weighed against her thigh.
Rain shouldered open the side door slowly, the scent of ale and excesses
stinging her nose as she peered inside. Despite the traffic on the street, the
front doors were shut tight and barred. Gaslights burned dully, illuminating
drab wood floors and walls cluttered with paintings and hangings. There
were only three patrons, which was unusual. The Boot was normally full of
visitors this time of night, catching the workers as they headed home for the
evening. Two men sat at the bar, and the other occupied a back table with
Margot, one of the prostitutes.
Susan worked the counter, messy golden hair pinned up haphazardly,
the bodice of her low-cut dress wrinkled. Rain had never seen her so untidy.
Their eyes met as she slipped inside, and Susan hurried over to her in a
flurry of petticoats.
“Thank the stars for you,” Susan gasped, peering nervously over her
shoulder. A blue vein in her forehead throbbed. “I felt like a fool shouting at
that tree, but I had no other choice. The constables don’t care for our lot.
You’re the only hope we got.”
“What’s the matter?” Rain matched her tone, following her anxious look
to the male at the corner table. She had a better angle on him now. Four
short-spiked horns sprouted from the crown of his head. His pointed ears
were pierced with multiple metal loops. Bulky muscles filled out his shirt.
He was a dragae, one of the Unseelie fae from the mountains.
“That one hasn’t left in two days,” Susan whispered. “Our regulars
usually offer us protection, but they’re no match for this brute. He’s stayed
well beyond his welcome, and he’s barred the doors, only letting men inside
willing to pay him an entrance fee, if you can believe it. Now the lot here
have banded together. They’ve got Margot and poor Penny beyond
exhausted, even with me thrown in for a break, and they won’t leave.
They’re rough, which we tolerated for a time, but they’ve stopped paying
my girls altogether and they steal what they want from my stock.”
Rain nodded her head. She’d heard enough. The other men at the bar
were human and were less of a threat to her. The dragae would pose the
biggest burden with his strength and natural brutality. Descended from
dragons and trickster fae, they often took whatever they wanted to add to
their hordes. Tradition and power were law in the mountains, and humans
were nothing to them.
Immortal Blade, Rain instructed Bernard as she crossed the room, her
woolen cloak billowing at her back. The weight and shape in her satchel
shifted and elongated.
At the corner table, Margot laughed and tossed her head, sending her
dark curls tumbling. It wasn’t a true laugh. Shadows hung under her hazel
eyes, and her lips were bracketed with worry lines. She carried on for the
benefit of the dragae across from her.
Rain slipped into the chair beside the unwelcomed male and glanced at
Margot. Relief danced in the human woman’s gaze, but she refrained from
breaking her composure.
 “Who’s this?” the dragae drawled in a bold accent.
“Oh, let me introduce my friend,” Margot carried on, boisterous and
playful. The frills around her bodice were torn. Bruises marred the tops of
her heavy breasts. She had a warm complexion that would brown easily in
the sun, and Rain suspected this careless dragae had stained her pretty skin
with his rough hands.
“Keep talking,” Rain told her friend, seeking cover.
The dragae sputtered, confused. Margot obeyed, laughing robustly, the
perfect distraction as Rain drew Bernard—now an obsidian blade that
mimicked the sort dragons feared most—out of her satchel. She wedged the
sharp tip into the male’s side.
The dragae yelped, then tensed. The muscles of his arms bunched.
Scooting in closer, Rain brought her lips to his tall ear, not wanting to
draw the attention of the patrons at the bar. “Do you know what this is?”
“A cursed blade,” the dragae spat.
“Do you understand what it can do to you . . . ? What I can do to you?”
The scent of sulfur—the scent of hell—strengthened around her.
His eyes went wide, and his thick hands made fists on the tabletop. “I
know what a witch can do to me.”
Margot babbled on, concealing their conversation from the other patrons
to prevent a brawl. She made rude comments about politicians, then recited
a poem about a buxom barmaid who lost her favorite ribbon and then her
virginity to the man who found it for her.
Rain sunk the sharp tip through the dragae’s shirt, breaking his skin,
staining the linen crimson, a warning that had him groaning. “If you don’t
get up and leave right now,” she whispered, “ride the Eventide back to your
mountains, and leave these women in peace, I’m going to shove my blade
between your ribs twice for good measure, then I’m going to bury it in the
side of your neck so deep not even the divines will be able to dig it out for
you.”
The dragae bared his sharp teeth. “I leave now in exchange for my life.
Do we have a bargain, witch?”
Bargains were no small thing between immortals. Failure to complete
one was certain death. The source of bargain magic came from the blood
and the soul, and an unfulfilled bargain had the ability to drain both should
one not perform the agreed upon task. “You will leave the tavern without
hurting anyone. And you will not step one foot into this place ever again. In
exchange I let you live. Now, do we have a bargain?”
“On my life, yes,” he hissed.
“On my life,” Rain echoed, sealing the spell. She felt an invisible band
cinch around her ribs, the pressure of the agreement-magic weighing on her.
She pulled the blade back. It made a wet sound as it left his side. The
dragae winced.
Margot abruptly stopped babbling. She sagged in her chair, showcasing
her fatigue. The dragae took his time sliding out of his seat. Then he stood
there for a moment, fingering the new bloody hole in his shirt, grimacing.
Rain began to relive every word she’d spoken in the bargain. The longer he
lingered, the sharper her uncertainty became. Perhaps she’d made a
mistake. Perhaps she’d missed something, been too vague with her words.
Perhaps the bastard didn’t care if he died.
In a temper, he knocked his mug off the table, and Margo jumped. The
glass went clattering, spraying foam and ale in an arc across the floor.
Huffing, the dragae stomped to the door and unbarred it, throwing the metal
piece to the side so that it clanged like thunder against the floorboards. He
glanced one last time at Margot, an unreadable expression on his twisted
face. Margot made a circle with her fingers and stuck out her tongue, a
crude gesture. He snarled at her, and then he was gone into the night.
And good riddance.
“I don’t usually say my prayers to my ancestors like I’m supposed to,”
Margot panted, “but tonight I’m sending all of them a prayer of thanks for
you, Rain. I wasn’t going to make it another minute with that brute. And it
wasn’t just the bruises. His breath,” she wheezed, chest heaving. “I’d wager
my weight in gold that he’s never used toothpowder before in his life.”
“Penny?” Rain demanded, scanning the room for the girl.
“Upstairs in the loft. Be quick.”
Rain set Bernard on the table. He transformed from a blade to smog to a
little black cat. Margot watched the change with round hazel eyes.
Keep them safe, Rain insisted. Bernard groaned in her thoughts, but she
trusted he’d listen. Then she sprinted up the stairs, taking the creaking steps
two at a time. They rose into a short landing before a set of double doors.
“Please.” Penny’s light voice filtered through the crack. “I’m tired. No
more.”
Rain didn’t wait for the brute to respond. She kicked the doors open.
They swung wide, banging against paneled walls. Tall and coltish, Penny
covered her breasts in surprise. She was naked from the waist up, her
bodice and skirts draping off narrow hips. Her corset was in a torn heap on
the floor beside her bare feet.
The brute glowered at Rain. His torso was bare, suspenders hanging
from his trousers at his sides, his heavy brow bunched in aggravation. His
nose was a bright red and veiny like he’d had too much to drink every day
for the last decade.
 “Who in the blazing stars are you?” he growled thickly. Rust-colored
hair covered his rounded abdomen. The room stunk of sex and sweat. The
tang of spirits melded strongly with an overabundance of cologne.
Rain ignored him, rushing for the window. She threw the glass up, and
crisp autumn air billowed inside.
“What’re you doing?” he barked.
“Putting up the window,” Rain said, heat flaring in her belly. Penny
looked worn and scared, and this bastard was the culprit responsible. She
wanted to squeeze his neck until he turned purple. “Susan didn’t like it
when I broke the pane putting out the last sonofabitch who refused to listen
to the word ‘no.’”
“Either join in, girl,” the man snapped, “or get out!”
“Pay her and leave,” Rain demanded, voice as cool as the night air
pouring over the sill.
“Fuck off,” he grunted, putting his back to her, reaching for Penny.
“No more, please!” Penny slapped at his grabbing hands.
It was a witch’s familiar that usually gave them away, as having a
familiar made one a witch—and hers was downstairs out of sight. With
Rain’s white-blonde hair hiding the subtle points of her ears and her slight
frame, she appeared young instead of ancient, harmless instead of deadly.
Rain stripped off her cloak, letting it pool on the floorboards around her
boots. If he used his size, he might be able to knock her down. This was
fine. When knocked down, Rain always got back up again.
Then she pounced, driving her knee into the man’s flank, bending him
in half.
He coughed and choked. “What the blue blazes—”
 She grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing so hard she felt the muscles
give under the leather of her gloves. He cried out, pawing at her with
ineffective, pudgy mortal fingers. Rain shoved a hand into the pocket of his
trousers, freed his coin purse, and tossed it at Penny’s feet.
“Gah, you great cunt . . .” he spat through gritted teeth, his face
purpling.
Rain jerked him toward the open window by the back of his neck and
hurled him out of it. He tumbled headlong with a shrill scream, landing on
his backside in the muck below. On the street, a hackney came to an abrupt
halt, the horses whinnying. A lamplighter rushed to the man’s side, hoisting
his pole like a javelin. He glanced up at Rain and pointed. The brute rolled
in the mud, whimpering.
Rain leaned out, watching the commotion grow on the street. She
promptly pulled back inside, closed the window, and locked it.
Slowly, she turned to Penny. The girl sniffled, her auburn curls in
tangles around her narrow face. Her slender neck was dotted in red marks, a
collection of fingerprint-sized injuries. Shame and worry made Rain’s
insides roll together unpleasantly. She thought she should say something,
but she’d never been very good at saying the right things. Rain had been a
Seelie warrior once—a soldier, they called them now. Threats of violence
came rather naturally, but words and feelings were another more
complicated matter she rarely got right.
“Are you . . .” Rain paused, shuffling her feet anxiously. “I can have
Bernard heal you . . .”
“I’m all right,” Penny whimpered. She turned to her side, revealing the
ridges and valleys of her ribs and the light swell of her breasts. Penny
glanced down at her ruined corset, then slipped her arms into capped
sleeves and swiped at her running nose.
Rain chewed her lip, struck momentarily by the girl’s youth. She
understood humans aged differently, but it still seemed wrong to her. Penny
was only one-and-twenty and so very soft. So genteel. This wasn’t the life
for her.
It wasn’t a good life for any of them, but a necessity if they wanted to
eat and stay warm and avoid the threats of war that loomed near the borders
of the province, just on the other side of the Eventide. The unfairness of it
burned in her gut and made her neck hot.
Rain gathered up her cloak and left the loft to give Penny her space. As
she descended the stairs, she heard Margot cooing at Bernard, “such a sweet
itty bitty kitty.”
The bar was empty of patrons, and two stools sat on their sides, turned
over like the last of the men had left in a great hurry. Susan fetched a mop
and pail and joined Margot at the corner table, smiling down at the familiar.
Why is she touching me? Bernard groused.
Rain’s cheeks filled with a smile. Then the pungent scent of demon
magic hit her nostrils and she grimaced. She wants to be your friend.
We are not friends. Tell them I am an ancient and powerful demon. Hell
itself spat me out. Its fires could not hold me.
“He’s happy to see you again,” Rain told them, dropping her cloak over
the back of the chair. They both cooed at the demon.
Bernard flexed his claws. Fear me, mortals!
“He likes it when you scratch behind his ears,” Rain said.
Margot grabbed at him excitedly.
Unhand me, you fiend!
 Bernard’s grumbling in his cat form sounded a bit like purring.
Encouraged, Margot petted him more enthusiastically. Then Bernard was
indeed purring and through their link cursing at Rain and blaspheming the
divines above colorfully, by the moon mother’s knickers . . .
Susan lifted her chin, peering at the door to the loft. “How is she?”
Rain shook her head.
“Give Penny a moment, and she’ll come around,” Susan said softly.
“This one’s a right hero,” Margot said. Bernard was leaning into her
fingers now, still cursing, but his tone had gentled. She scratched under his
chin lazily. “One of those sods tried to steal from Susie again. Your boy
turned into a wolf and sent them both scrambling. Now the whole place
stinks like rotten eggs, but it was well worth it to see the look on their ugly
faces.”
I’m not a boy, Bernard hissed. Tell them I only did it so you wouldn’t
lecture me.
A growing commotion out on the street drew their eyes to the window.
A fae male had climbed down from the hackney coach with the sleek
predatorial grace of a panther on the hunt, and Rain’s stammering heart
nearly gave out entirely.
There her nightly visitor stood, her mystery man in the flesh—in his
very lovely flesh.
A small crowd gathered around the brute she’d heaved out of the
window earlier, blocking traffic on the street. She’d only ever seen her
gentleman visitor in traveling clothes, and rather plain ones at that. Now he
called out commands to his driver, dressed in finery fit for . . . royalty. Her
mouth dropped open.
“Ain’t that . . .” Margot muttered.
 “The Fae Duke of Night,” Susan finished, and the air left Rain’s lungs
in a sharp rush. “What’s the Lord of the Lunar Court doing here in the
gutters with the likes of us?”
Rain flushed. Duke? Oh no, had she foolishly set her sights on the most
unobtainable man in all of the Row?
The duke was beautiful like all fae were beautiful. Short curving antlers
sprouted from long trimmed layers of midnight hair so blue it appeared
black. His skin was a silvery gray that burned luminous in the moonlight.
His cheekbones and the bridge of his nose were overly defined. He worked
an angular jaw while shouting orders at the gathering men, and they heeded
him without question.
Because he’s a duke, for the stars’ sake! Was she the biggest idiot in the
province for thinking this man was interested in her? Yes! Yes, she was.
The duke was dressed like a prince in a frock coat lined in rich wolf fur,
a dark silk cravat at his throat. He was so striking Rain groaned, drawing
concerned gazes from her companions. Even Bernard stopped his cursing to
peer at her.
But then, why had he visited her and with such frequency too? He was
the mystery. Not her. One look at Rain in her handmade leather trousers and
worn woolen cloak, her demon familiar, and there was no doubt who she
was—not a titled lady of means and grace. Not a woman who should be
courting a duke. Her stomach hurt. She touched a hand to her navel hoping
to calm the sensation, but it only grew.
Rain studied the duke’s profile as he hovered over the brute in the mud,
questioning him. Scars marred what was otherwise perfect, the skin broken
near his temple and at the corner of his mouth. He wore his wounds without
care, never hiding them. Never turning away even as others stared at them.
It made Rain curious. She liked to keep her old scars under several layers of
clothing.
Just the memory of his broken smiles as he’d looked over the paltry
gifts she’d made for him in the woods took her breath. The wounds called
to her fingers. She wanted to follow their jagged path with her touch. They
were like a secret, one she wanted desperately to know.
And now he was here. Really here, though he looked like a vision.
Margot’s next words made Rain’s stomachache sharpen. “He’s headed
this way.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 2

(Night)

N ight, the fae duke of the Lunar Province, hadn’t been listening as his
illegitimate brother, and estate advisor, rambled on about urban
tenants and past-due rents. He sat on the bench seat across from Erikson in
the tight cabin space. Their legs knocked together as the hackney coach
swayed and bobbed down an ill-paved street.
His thoughts were consumed by something else again—someone else.
He was thinking of his witch and the vivid dreams she’d inspired in him of
late. Since he’d first glimpsed her, he’d had them every day while he slept
the sun away.
For reasons he hadn’t yet surmised, she’d missed their rendezvous at
dusk that evening. He’d kept his brother waiting on him longer than he
should have. Now they were running late, and he was left to speculate
wildly about where she was. He tapped his fingers together in an anxious
rhythm. His knee bobbed.
His witch had left gifts for him under their tree in a basket she’d woven:
soaps and scented oils she’d made herself. They smelled like her, like the
little white flowers that bloomed in early fall, a fragrance not so different
from vanilla. He had that fragrance on his skin now.
It both tortured and soothed him.
 Night had precious little time to be spending obsessing over anything or
anyone at the moment, what with war between the Seelie and Unseelie
Courts looming all around his province, threatening the borders of the city
of River Row. But if his instincts were right—and they usually were—he
didn’t just want the witch. He needed her. She had the potential to solve
everything. Politics were like an intricate hand of Fortuity, a card game
where players laid tricks and bluffed about their trump cards round after
round to win the match, except here the stakes were life and death. If he
played his hand correctly, his witch could save the entirety of the Lunar
Court . . .
“Are you even listening to me?” Erikson broke through his reverie.
“The Seelie queen sent another letter.”
Just mentioning the monarch was like dumping a pail of ice water on
the duke’s head. “What of it?”
“She wished to encourage you, once again, to make your selection
quickly and soon. The dragon king sent a similar demand from the
mountains. In summary, they both expect you to take their side in the
conflict, wed the woman of their choosing immediately, then sire a brood of
future mages who will pledge their allegiance to them—I added that last bit
after reading between the lines.”
Night scoffed. “A brood? That’s new. Stars, could you imagine? Me, a
father?”
“Actually, I can,” Erikson said.
Night pulled at his cravat, remembering uncomfortably that he’d played
a role in his brother’s raising centuries ago—though a majority of the credit
was due to a strict nurse and a string of fae tutors. Their father had died in
the first war between the Seelie and the dragon king’s Unseelie. Night had
stepped reluctantly into his father’s place.
“Any children I make might end up just like me,” the duke quipped,
breaking the tension. “I wouldn’t survive a brood of them.”
Erikson chuckled. “Vain, bossy know-it-alls. The very picture of
arrogance.”
“Yes,” Night said drolly, “but such a pretty picture.”
The coach came to an abrupt halt. Erikson rocked forward. The duke
braced himself.
“What the deuce?” his brother groused.
Night bent his head out of the hackney window. A half-naked man
sprawled in the mud near the road, rolling and groaning and whimpering as
a crowd of concerned citizens gathered around him.
A lamplighter stood closest to the fallen human. He pointed up at the
second-story window of the nearby tavern, and Night’s eyes went wide.
There she was. His witch. White hair streamed in the wind around her
heart-shaped face. She leaned out into the darkness, taking in the
commotion on the ground below. Her breath fogged around the delicate
apples of her cheeks. His mouth went completely dry. It was like seeing her
for the first time all over again.
Mate.
His very soul confirmed it, pebbling his skin, tightening his muscles.
His heart jackhammered against his ribs, sending panic and pure bliss
coursing through his veins. Just gazing at her was risk and reward.
Short and slight, she didn’t at first appear to be the sort of woman who
should be living alone in treacherous woods. But there was fire in her
bottomless amber eyes, and the scent of hell followed her and the trickster
familiar always at her side.
“What is it?” Erikson asked, straightening his top hat over his dark blue
hair. His brother was half-fae, half-mortal: no horns or antlers or tail, and
he’d grown his sideburns long to conceal the roundness of his face. Night
didn’t mind his mixed heritage, though his preference for mortal proprieties
was trying at times. His brother peered out the window beside him. “Do you
think that little woman there shoved him . . . ?”
“Wait here.” Night’s voice had dropped an octave.
His witch had pulled back inside and shut the window tight, then moved
deeper into the room where he couldn’t see her. A burst of hot frustration
churned in his gut at losing sight of her. He was a calculating man, not
usually so quick to aggravation, but the blooming bond instinct was a
demanding thing, and its persistence grew in intensity by the minute. He
shoved open the coach door and clambered out onto the street. The subtle
scent of the white flowers on his skin mingled with the smell of crisp
autumn air and dank river.
“Where are you going?” Erikson kept his voice low and bent to join him
on the street.
“Wait here, I said,” Night insisted. He wasn’t accustomed to having to
repeat himself, even to his brother.
Cowed, Erikson flushed. He pulled the coach door shut with a snap but
continued to lean out. “You aren’t going in there, are you?”
“It’s just a tavern.” Night squinted at the brick front.
“It’s a cheap brothel,” Erikson hissed, his breath misting in the cold.
“Think what the papers will say if anyone sees you setting foot in such a
low-class establishment. If you’re in the mood for love, this isn’t the place
for that, brother. The only thing you’ll get here is robbed and the pox.”
“Love?” Night snorted at the notion. Love belonged in fairy stories. If it
existed at all, it had no place in the real world, but he was undeterred by his
brother’s mortal sensibilities. More than half of River Row was human or at
least partially so these days, but that seemed like a poor excuse to abandon
fae traditions and duties completely in favor of nonsense like love.
“The whole point of hiring a hackney and leaving your guard behind in
the first place,” his brother grumbled, “was to conceal your presence on this
particular street.”
“Shall I accompany you, Your Grace?” the mortal driver offered.
Night waved him off. “No. Steady your horses. I’ll be back in a
moment.”
“Night,” his brother groaned, but he stayed put as the duke strolled
away.
The crowd clotting the street was formed mostly of day workers headed
home for the evening. They parted for the notorious duke with an echo of a
humbly mumbled, “Your Grace.” “My Lord,” was uttered by the few fae
members in the grouping. He waved them all off, closing in on the shirtless
man coughing in the mud.
“You,” Night said, drawing the human’s gaze. “What happened here?”
“Your G-grace,” he spluttered, the whites of his eyes showing in fear.
The duke had a reputation, one that he’d carefully cultivated. At the
moment, that reputation was a hindrance. He needed this man’s tongue to
wag, not to be tied up in terror.
He forced a calming smile. “Tell me what happened here,” he said
reassuringly.
 “The wench threw me out, Your Grace,” he choked. “Could have killed
me! I think I broke my ass . . .”
“Someone should fetch a constable,” the lamplighter murmured, leaning
against his pole.
“Why’d she throw you out?” Night said with increasing venom, and the
murmuring ceased around him. A possessive heat smoldered under his skin.
The bond instinct curled in his belly, raising his blood pressure, testing his
control. His hands wanted to make fists. He stopped them. “What’d you do
to her?”
“Nothing, Your G-grace!” He cowered, and his eyes went big and
round. “I . . . I didn’t lay a hand on her, I swear it on my ancestors. I’ll
swear it on your divines too, if you’d like. I’ll swear it on all of them!”
“You reek of spirits. Clearly, you’ve been deep in your cups.” Night’s
nose wrinkled. “No man behaves well in your state.”
The male sputtered denials, his voice thick. Night was done hearing
from the likes of him. He ordered the lamplighter and a street cleaner to
help drag him off the road so traffic could resume, then he made his way
toward the entrance of the tavern, sidestepping onlookers, raising a polite
hand to the men who removed their hats and the couple that bowed to him
on the walkway.
He had to duck his head to avoid hitting his curved antlers on the red
wooden sign shaped like a boot. The doorknob stuck a little when he
twisted it. Warmth and the aroma of hops hit him as he pushed inside.
He was greeted by two scowling mortal faces, both pretty but worn, the
lines near their painted mouths strained, their dresses torn and disheveled.
The dark-haired doxy rose out of her seat at the corner table. “Your
Grace?” She frowned at him, a furrow of fear deepening between her black
brows. Bruises stained the tops of her ample cleavage.
Night’s nostrils flared. If there was so much as a mark on his witch, he
was going to storm right back out of the tavern, find that drunkard, and
stomp his bones into dust. He’d grind his flimsy human joints into powder
between his fingers, then he’d return to his coach, retrieve the dagger his
brother carried, and open up the bastard’s belly. The rats could have him
afterward.
The blonde nearest the door cleared her throat, her brow creased with
worry. Night could only guess at how he looked with such violence on his
mind. He inhaled through his nose and smoothed his expression. Once
again, he needed tongues to wag, not to be tied up in fear of him.
She clutched a mop handle between her hands like it was a weapon. A
bucket full of sudsy water sat beside her heeled boots. “We’re closing early
tonight, Your Grace. But if there’s something we can help you with, of
course we’ll—”
“I hope you don’t plan to bash me on the head with that,” he said with a
disarming grin.
“Er . . .” The blonde lowered the mop. “No, Your Grace. Of-of course
not.”
“Good.” He gestured at the straight locks of his hair. “I’d never get my
part right if you put a knot in my head.” His spreading smile tugged at the
scar tissue near his mouth. The mop dropped lower, and he continued, “I
saw a fae woman in the window. It’s imperative that I speak with her
immediately.”
The dark-haired girl moved in closer. “If you’re looking for the
company of a woman, you’ve come to the right place, but there’s no fae
woman here, Your Grace.”
 “As charming as your company would be, it’s not the companionship
I’m seeking.” He kept his tone level and polite. “Lovely though you are, the
two of you are several centuries too young for me, I’m afraid.”
“No fae women work here. Please, Your Grace.” Susie fumbled through
a curtsy. “It’s been an especially trying couple of days, but if there’s
something we can get you, some comfort or a drink perhaps . . . ?”
He met her blue eyes and read the exhaustion in her features. Her
shoulders sagged. Golden hair broke free of its pins. Spilled ale stained the
floor. She’d had one hell of a night for sure from the look of it. He reached
into his pocket, fingering his leather purse, certain his coin would speak
louder than his charms this evening. “I can pay you well just to allow me a
conversation with her.”
Was his poor mate a prostitute? He knew she was homeless and living
in the woods, but was this how she fed and clothed herself? Bile burned the
back of his throat. As he freed his full purse, he made a vow that
desperation would no longer touch her.
And neither would any other man. Not ever again. She was the answer
to all of his woes.
She was his.
The doors to the upstairs loft parted, and his eyes flew up to greet the
new arrival. But the woman who stuck her head out wasn’t his witch, and
his stomach dropped. A willowy girl with auburn tresses came to lean
against the banister, a curious expression on her sad face. She left the doors
open at her back. Night peered around her, but the room appeared to be
empty save for a collection of three small beds.
“This is all of us, Your Grace,” Susie said, and Night’s brows knitted.
He recognized when others were lying, and neither of them were being
entirely truthful. “You can pay us for that word, if you like, but if I may,
please allow me to bar the door. We’d never turn Your Grace away, but we
don’t want more patrons tonight.”
“Mother’s knickers,” the dark-haired one cursed. Whatever semblance
of dignity she’d tried to put on in his presence, it fell away then. “The
constable’s coming this way, and he don’t look pleased.”
Susie’s face went pale. She strained to peek around the duke, wielding
the mop like a sword again, flicking water at him. “Which one, Margot?”
Night frowned down at the droplets of dirty water on his frock coat.
“Billingsley, it looks like.” Margot jogged to the window and peered
out. “Oh yes, I’d recognize his thick head anywhere.”
“We can pay him off at least,” Susie muttered.
“It’ll be more than we can spare.” Margot gathered her skirts with a sigh
and turned for the stairs. “I’ll get my purse.”
“I’ll get mine too,” the auburn one called down.
“That won’t be necessary,” Night said, and all three women stopped to
stare at him agog. The constable was in fact marching for the entrance, he
noted. His brother would want him far away from this scene, not
ingratiating himself further into this mess, but the duke had a higher prize
on his mind. A worn cloak draped the chair at the nearby table. He
recognized that cloak. The familiar smell of sulfur had found its way to his
nose, over the scent of ale.
The demon familiar was close. His witch was close, probably hiding
somewhere in this very tavern. His eyes swept the room. He had to battle
down the urge to push past Susie to hunt for his mate, throwing open doors
and shoving aside belongings like a dragon in heat. It was obvious these
women were protecting her, which he’d appreciate more if they weren’t
attempting to hide her from the one male in the Row most determined to
keep her safe. Now he had an opportunity to coax her out and to gain some
trust.
Night wanted to scoop her up in the fae fashion and haul her away.
When he’d visited her, it had taken every gallant bone in his gentry body
not to simply pluck her from the forest and drag her home with him.
He’d let no one get in his way. Not these well-meaning women.
Certainly not some swindling constable.
The lawman burst through the door, a mortal in a tight black cap that
drew attention to the roundness of his face and ears. He filled out his dark
uniform tunic with a barreled chest. “I told the lot of you . . .” His words
fell away as his eyes landed on the duke and widened. “Y-your Grace? I
didn’t expect to find a gentleman of your caliber here of all places. Did you
get lost?”
“Are you asking if I got lost in my own province?” Night straightened.
Even without his antlers he towered over the stocky constable. “I was here
before most of these streets were paved. I’ll be here long after they’re gone.
Long after you’re gone.”
The constable blinked at him, at a loss for words. “I beg your pardon,
Your Grace. I was caught off guard is all, seeing you here of all places. I
hope I didn’t offend.” Then he turned an accusing gaze on the women.
“A drunkard caused a commotion in my place of business, and I’ve
finally had him out,” Susie said.
Billingsley scoffed. “Through a window. Yes, I’ve heard.”
“I’m permitted as the owner of this tavern to put out them as can’t
behave themselves.” Susie white-knuckled her broom. Margot came to
stand beside her, chin lifted in challenge. The stairs creaked as the auburn
female moved down them sheepishly.
“You’re permitted to put them out the door,” Billingsley said. “Not the
sodding window. You stopped traffic, disturbed the peace, and injured a
worker.”
“But what of our injuries?” the auburn girl said. Her voice squeaked,
and her hand went to cover her pale throat. “I’m a worker, aren’t I?”
“The lout is a drunkard, Constable,” Night scolded. “That pathetic
excuse for a male had pickled himself so thoroughly he wouldn’t know the
door from the window. He belongs in a cell drying up, and these poor
women should be in bed . . .” Several sets of eyes snapped to him. “Alone,”
he added quickly. “Resting.”
Night watched it all unfold around him. He planned to intervene more
thoroughly on their behalf, but upon inheriting the title of Lord of the Lunar
Court, Duke of Night, he’d learned there were always cards that needed to
be played just right. In Fortuity, he’d sacrifice a trick to reserve a trump
card. The longer this went on, the more these women would trust him after
he solved it for them.
The constable removed his cap as if he’d suddenly remembered his
manners again. He nodded at the duke. “I understand your concern, Your
Grace, and I’ll see he’s put in a cell, just as you say. As for these women, I
know these instigators well and—”
“What’s it gonna cost us?” Margot demanded. “What secret fine have
we got to pay, huh?”
The constable’s gaze bounced nervously from the women to Night. “I
won’t accept a bribe—”
 “Pfft.” Margot rolled her eyes. “Maybe not while the Duke of Night is
staring at you like he’s thinking of hurling you out the window too.”
Night tapped a finger thoughtfully against a silver button on his coat,
letting the cards fall as they may.
“It’ll be irons for the one responsible for this mess,” Billingsley shot
back at Margot. Night repressed a snort. If anyone tried to put his mate in
irons, he’d leave a string of dead bodies in his wake.
Susie groaned. “How long?”
“Oh no you don’t,” Margot said. “You sat in a rat-infested cell the last
time. It’s my turn.” She proffered her wrists. “I did it. I shoved the bastard
out the window because he smelled like shit and I was insulted by his tiny
cock.”
Behind her, the auburn woman bit back a smile. Night had to push down
the urge to laugh. Then Billingsley reached for Margot, and finally the last
card had come into play. It was time to make use of his trump.
“Don’t you dare, Constable.” Night’s spine went rigid. The constable
froze as the duke’s charm melted away to be replaced by menace. He was
thinking about violence again, and this time he didn’t care how it made his
face look.
Absolutely nothing about the duke’s evening was going as planned, and
he let his frustrations feed into his features. His mate had missed their
meeting. He was currently abandoning another appointment he desperately
needed not to abandon, his witch was hiding from him, and he was sick to
death of mortal sensibilities. Fae did not treat unattached women like
criminals in this way, not even courtesans. It was a ridiculous mortal belief
that men were somehow superior to their women, which made absolutely
no sense to Night. Only females could grow a babe in their womb. This was
as close to a divine power as a mortal would ever come to know. In
comparison, human males were as weak and worthless as stockings on a
badger.
“Your Grace . . . ?” Billingsley stammered, his color rising.
“Leave these women be.” Night was a well-practiced mage. It had been
many centuries since he’d connected with elements of the Divine Night to
call magic to him by accident, but he allowed it to look as though he’d let
his control slip. It wasn’t hard to pretend. His nerves were frayed at the
edges, the night was a clear one, the moon was full, and his bond instincts
simmered just below his skin, wanting to boil over. A younger fae would
have lost his hold over his abilities entirely.
A nearby chair turned on its side seemingly on its own. The metal bar
used to hold the door shut began to vibrate against the floorboards where it
lay. Droplets of sudsy water rose out of the mop bucket to hover in the air.
The scent of moon magic, a smell like incense, filled his lungs. His voice
shook with restrained rage as he said, “Get out, Constable, while I’ll still let
you.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 3

(Rain)

H e was magnificent.
Rain watched the duke in wonder. He stood so close to her, just a
stride from the tavern door, she could reach out and touch him. She wanted
to. She wanted to extend her hand and run her fingers over the wolf pelt that
lined the lapels of his frock coat. She wanted to test the softness of the wool
at his sleeves, feel his silk cravat between her fingers. She wanted to press
her cooling body against his side and let him warm her up. Rain stood so
close that as he called moon magic to him, his silver skin illuminating with
a brilliance that rivaled the stars, she felt his power and trembled.
Moments before the duke had entered the tavern, she’d asked Bernard
to cover her in his shadow form, concealing her from view.
I’ll need to take more of your blood to keep this up much longer, he
warned.
Do what you must, she replied, hugging her body against a chill that
would not subside.
One month ago, the duke had strolled into her woods, dressed in a dark
cloak and traveling clothes. The cloak hid much of him, and yet he’d still
been so striking that as she watched him from her tree, she’d forgotten to
ask her friend the oak to hide her. Trees made projections. The oak could
have reflected an image at the duke that made it look as though the limb she
perched on was empty.
He’s a powerful one and a trickster, this mage, Bernard had told her in
awe. I bet he tastes delicious.
You can’t eat him, she’d retorted. Leaning in for a closer look, she’d
watched the duke’s long steady strides carry him across the forest floor with
a bold sort of fearlessness that reminded her of a panther: a predator who
knew he was unmatched, soaking up the moonlight, prowling for trouble.
Then he’d seen her. Slowing his pace, he’d smiled up at her, and her
stomach had swooped. There was starlight in that smile. Her want for him
was so visceral, so instantaneous, she’d felt her jaw go slack.
I won’t eat all of him. That’d be rude, Bernard had said. Just a finger or
two.
You leave his fingers be! He’s . . . perfect.
The duke had broken her that day. She’d thought herself reasonably
content until then. Now she thought and dreamed of him constantly. What
did he like? What did he eat? What did he read? What did he love? What
did he think of her—how often if ever did she haunt his thoughts in return?
She’d learned so little in the last month—her fault. She spoke so
infrequently to him.
What could this powerful fae lord possibly want with a little forest
witch like her? Rain had nothing to offer him in exchange for his attention,
hadn’t even the courage to speak to him. All she had was her affinity with
nature and her familiar. He was a mage, a fae with a connection to the
divine that allowed him to cast spells she could only dream of.
The constable planted his cap back on his head and fled. The tension in
Night’s body eased, but only just, as the door clapped shut behind the
lawman. The duke steadied himself before he turned to face Susan and the
girls. The droplets of water fell back in the bucket with an audible plop. The
bar on the floor ceased vibrating.
His hand returned to his pocket. Once more, he removed the fat leather
purse that bulged with coins. “If a patron wanted to ensure a companion’s
exclusivity for a time—”
“The price would be steep, Your Grace,” Susan said, both hands
clutching the mop handle. She hadn’t been unaffected by the duke’s show
of power either. Penny had retreated to the stairs. Even Margot was
speechless.
Night removed five golden crescents from his purse one at a time,
making a show of them. “How many days would these assure my
exclusivity with one of your employees?”
“Your Grace,” Susan gasped, taking the coins in her palm. “That’s more
than an entire month’s worth of wages for every woman at this
establishment, including myself.”
“Then it’s more than enough to ensure exclusivity. I give you these and
no one touches her. No one so much as breathes on her.”
“I only have say over my girls here,” Susan said, clutching the coins to
her chest like she was frightened they’d vanish.
“The fae woman. The witch is what I want. She is dear to me,” he said
thoughtfully.
“Your Grace, there’s no—”
He pushed one more crescent at her. “This one is for her, and I’ll give
you another if you stop telling me stories. I know I saw her. I know she’s
the one who threw that fool out the window. You need not protect her from
me. I mean her no harm. I wish only to buy her time. I must speak to her,
and soon. Give her that message from me, and I’ll return tomorrow.
Unfortunately for now, I must be off.”
She is dear to me. His words echoed in Rain’s head.
And he thought she was a prostitute . . . She frowned. And he wanted to
buy her time. Her cheeks heated, and her stomach fluttered.
He moved for the door, and Rain couldn’t help herself. He was so close.
So warm. So very beautiful. So breathtakingly potent. She stretched out a
gentle hand and quickly stroked the plush fur at his lapel, gratitude infused
in the stolen touch.
The duke froze for a moment. Rain jerked her hand back and slid
against the wall. His gray eyes swept through her, squinting in the dull
gaslights. He seemed unsure of himself.
“I’ll return tomorrow,” he repeated, the promise in his rich voice sinking
through her skin and rooting into her marrow.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
Tomorrow needed to stay far, far away.
As always, time with him inspired both a thrill and dread, and there was
no sensible reason why. That’s what he did to her when he looked at her,
showering her with his whole attention. He overwhelmed. His broken smile
was as smothering as it was striking. His honey baritone was lush and full
in her ears, leaving her so woefully out of her depths she felt like she was
drowning in deep murky water.
She’d lived alone in the woods much too long for courting. Especially
with a lord. Why didn’t he realize that? Why wasn’t he off chasing a titled
woman who could bring him more wealth, more power? A woman from his
world, someone who knew what to say to him without falling over herself
and then running away.
 Margot hurried to the window, watching the duke move back up the
street with his long lean strides. “He’s gone.”
Bernard dropped his shadows, then appeared in his cat form at Rain’s
feet. He yowled up at her. She squeezed her arms over her middle, seeking
warmth through friction. Her breath fogged.
Your blood tastes delicious, Bernard cooed.
I’d rather you refrained from commenting on the delectability of my life
source. Though minimal, the loss of blood made her lightheaded.
Bernard looked up at her with large yellow eyes and licked his muzzle.
It was meant to be a compliment, but suit yourself.
“Rain.” Susan’s eyes glinted. “I didn’t get a chance yet to properly
thank you for earlier, before things took a turn—”
“Never mind all that,” Margot said, grinning wickedly. She hurried to
Rain’s side and wound her arm through hers. “This girl has been holding
out on us. Tell us immediately about your beau who won’t so much as let
another man breathe on you. I haven’t heard that one before. Why the deuce
did you hide yourself from him?”
Rain’s face heated. Susan leaned in encouragingly. Rain knew she
needed to respond with something, but she forgot momentarily how to
fashion words. The duke’s broken smile flashed through her mind, and a
pleasant heat grew in her belly. A jab of panic quickly followed it.
“He’s . . .” Rain rubbed the back of her neck.
“You’ve made quite the impression on him,” Susan added helpfully.
Then she used her mop to blot up spilled ale. “Ejecting a large man out the
window and into the street will do that, though, I imagine.”
“I’ve hardly spoken to him,” Rain confessed, leaning into the heat
offered by Margot’s curvy frame. “We’ve spent time together, but . . .” She
shrugged her shoulders, wondering why a duke would walk through her
woods in the first place. Where did he go on his strolls? What was he up to?
“He’s dashing, isn’t he?” Penny said with a giggle. She’d made herself
comfortable on the bottom stair, tucking her skirts beneath her.
Susan lifted a honey-colored brow. “Surely you’ve exchanged some
words at least.”
Rain worked her throat. “He does the talking usually. Mostly we go on
walks . . . He reads to me sometimes. He brings me books, fairy stories
mainly.”
“And you don’t talk to him? But isn’t that dreadfully dull?” Margot
frowned at her.
“Not at all.” Needing something to busy her hands, Rain picked up the
overturned mug from the floor and sat it on the table. “I . . .” A flush burned
her cheeks. “I like the sound of his voice.”
“Course you do.” Margot winked at her.
Rain settled into the chair where her cloak was draped. Margot picked
up Bernard who yowled in protest. She plopped into the seat across from
Rain and sat the familiar on her lap. Bernard tried to jump down, but
Margot stroked behind his ears, and he was purring begrudgingly soon after.
“He and I . . .” Rain began, hesitating again. “We’re worlds apart. When
men pass him on the street, they bow and call him ‘Your Grace.’ When men
pass me on the street they say—”
“Fuck off?” Margot offered. She’d ceased petting Bernard.
He pawed at her to continue. Did I say you could stop, human?
“His intensity would give me pause too.” Susan wrung the end of her
mop out over the bucket. “But then fae are like that . . . and he’s rich. He’s
got enough coin I’d forgive him for his fae bluntness.”
 “And so generous,” Penny cooed dreamily. Rain was glad to see the
sweet little glimmer had returned to her eyes. And then it made her sad
again that the girl had to be so resilient.
“And he’s well-endowed,” Margot said. Heads shifted toward her.
“What . . . ? Was I the only one looking?” She shrugged. “Professional
curiosity.”
She is dear to me. His words returned to Rain. Her stomach fluttered,
and then like always, the warm feelings were cooled by anxious ones. “I
have nothing to say to him. We’re too different.”
His nobility made him a different sort of trickster. Whatever he wanted
from her, it would be significantly more complicated than an affair. Gentry
tricksters were plotters, mages who sat at the top of society and played
political games with those lesser than themselves. They didn’t court those
beneath them—not without great reason, a reason Rain was certain she
wouldn’t like.
“Don’t fret too much about that,” Susan said. “Men like a shy miss. A
reserved woman is fun to chase, fun to warm up. Fun to seduce.”
“Men like compliments,” Margot offered. “Tell a man he’s tall even if
he ain’t tall, and he’ll be eating out of your hand. Tell him he’s clever even
if he’s as dumb as a rock. Hmm.” She tapped her chin, using her free hand
to stroke Bernard’s bowed back. “Men like a young woman with little
experience. A maiden.”
Rain wasn’t young, but she had little experience when it came to
romance and seduction. One didn’t get a lot of chances to seduce men when
they lived alone in the woods, and she hadn’t been all that interested in
intimate company before now.
 “Not sure anyone would believe Rain was less than thirty,” Susan said,
the mop hitting the floorboards wetly.
“What are you going on about?” Margot scoffed. “I’d give my left tit to
have a tight little body like what she’s got.”
“Don’t you dare do a thing to your beautiful tits. They’re paying our
rent.” Susan paused then, propping her chin on the wooden mop handle.
“Look at her eyes.”
Margot peered over at Rain. Rain sunk down in her seat, feeling
dissected. “I see what you mean. Too much world-weariness in those eyes.
Better tell him you’re thirty.”
“And a widow,” Penny added. “That’s respectable. Then he won’t think
you’re a spinster.”
These women are fools, Bernard grumbled.
They’re mine, Rain thought fondly. Leave them be. To the girls she
added, “I might try what you’ve suggested.”
“We can put you in a nice blouse,” Margot said, straightening in her
seat. “Susie’s old coat is newer, and more fashionable. Leave your cloak
and we’ll have it cleaned. And how about a quick wash?”
“Do I smell?” Rain grabbed a lock of her white hair and sniffed.
Margot’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like mud.”
That made sense. She often slept on the ground. “And that’s bad . . . ?”
She liked the earthy scent personally.
“Could be better, is all. We’ve still got a few cakes of the soap you
made for us.” Margot’s smile was warm and convincing. “It’ll be fun.”
Susan attempted to hand her the gold crescent Night had left for her.
Rain shook her head. “You know I have no use for such things. The
forest provides for me.” She closed Susan’s hand over the coin. “Keep it.”
 Rain was much too nervous now to fully enjoy herself, but she
consented to ‘the fun’ all the same. The excitement of new wealth must
have rejuvenated her friends. They seemed to forget about the dreadful last
two days, chatting excitedly. She envied their youthful energy as they drew
curtains and filled a copper tub with bucket after bucket of water from the
pump sink in the scullery. They boiled more in a pot at the hearth beside the
stairs, and after adding it to the cold mixture to get the temperature right,
they insisted she have the honor of bathing first.
Prostitutes had a special skill for making uncomfortable things seem
quite natural. Rain preferred to keep herself covered in heavy layers; her
worn and scarred body was more relaxed that way. But as they helped her
out of her clothes, no one stared at the jagged wound that stretched her
navel or asked silly questions about her many other nicks and scrapes and
gouges. Made by iron-tipped weapons in war years ago, they would never
heal fully, even with magic.
Margot scrubbed Rain’s hair while Penny settled in beside the tub on a
bar stool.
The coltish girl regaled her with her newfound obsession: astrology.
“When the moon is full and the color of brass in the sky, it means good luck
—but not the sort of luck that’s good for placing bets. When the moon is the
color of butter, it means it’s a bad time for love, and when the moon is red .
. .” She tapped her chin. “Actually, I forget what that means . . . Either it
means it’s a bad time to breed your cows, or it’s something to do with
growing wheat . . . I’ll have to consult my charts . . .”
Bernard did not escape the festivities. Susan was determined to rid him
of his sulfur smell, and amused, Rain declined to explain that he was a
demon forged in hell. No amount of hot water and rice soap would ever get
the scent out.
She slept on the floor of the loft that night between their beds. The hard
freeze was coming, and an old fae of Rain’s ancestry wouldn’t fare well in
such biting cold. She was grateful for the company too. Rain couldn’t
remember what it was like to have a family. She remembered very little of
her life before using bargain magic to share a piece of her soul with
Bernard, turning him into a powerful trickster and herself into a witch.
As she stared up at the dark ceiling, the loft filled with the sound of the
rise and fall of the girls’ heavy breathing. Bernard curled up beside her in
his cat form. She imagined that this was what it was like to be surrounded
by family. She knew it couldn’t be quite the same, but it made her smile
anyway.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 4

(Night)

N ight sighed. Erikson hadn’t stopped moaning about the “gossip” and
the “scandal” that was sure to follow now that the popular duke had
been spotted entering such a low-class establishment.
“And on Dimmet Street of all places,” his brother carried on.
The driver had taken the hackney back down a side alley, away from the
tavern where Night had parted reluctantly from his witch. He’d sing to the
divines and light a candle for the Moon Mother if his mate was still there
tomorrow. Hopefully helping the women and handling their constable
troubles had gotten him somewhere with her, or at least earned him a
modicum of trust.
He could have sworn he’d felt something brush against him as he’d
been leaving the tavern. Seated in the hackney, his head back against the
rest, Night laid a hand over the lapel of his frock coat, remembering the
gentle touch. It was so faint and light he could have imagined the entire
event. Glancing down at his lapel, he tried to picture her golden skin, the
slender fingers, her pink nails stroking down his chest, exploring his coat.
Exploring him.
And then in his mind’s eye, he took that hand in his and laced their
fingers together . . .
 “. . . reputation is everything in the Row. Why do you risk sullying
yours— You’re not listening to me again, aren’t you?” Erikson’s mouth
firmed into a tight line.
“I heard that last bit,” Night grumped, pulled rudely from his
imaginings. “And it was more than enough. We’re here.”
The hackney slowed to a halt. Erikson groaned. “And now you’ve got
me doing business with the likes of—”
The coach door swung open, and Night’s brother fell quiet. A narrow
russet face beneath a towering felt hat leaned into the opening. Beady eyes
bounced between the duke and his brother. Behind the fae, another male
slouched against the corner of a brick building, a dragae with tall ears
pierced with multiple loops and a bloody hole in the side of his linen shirt.
“Moon Mother bless you both,” Sigurd greeted with a tip of his head. A
bushy red fox tail swished at his back.
Night glowered at the dragae behind him. The lackey folded his arms
dismissively over a burly chest and avoided his gaze. Dragae skin was
unnaturally warm. His body steamed lightly in the crisp air.
Sigurd rubbed his gloved hands together, creating friction. “May I join
you blue bloods? Or shall I remain out here, freezing my balls off in the
street with my thumb in my ass?”
Erikson sneered. Night scooted over as far as the bench seat would
allow. Sigurd lifted a long narrow case off the cobblestones by his feet and
shoved it into Erikson’s lap before climbing inside. The merchant tucked
his fox tail behind him so that it pillowed at his back, then pulled the door
shut. Night tapped the coach roof, and the hackney set off again, circling
back toward Dimmet Street.
 The curtains were pulled, sealing out the light from the gas lamps lining
the road. Night had no trouble seeing, but his half-mortal brother was
forced to squint down at the case in his lap.
“The price has gone up,” Sigurd said.
“Highway robbery,” Erikson grumbled. “And need I remind you, sir,
you’re speaking to the Lord of the Lunar Court.”
Night raised a calming hand, and his brother quieted. He was
accustomed to mage arrogance and Sigurd’s crass nature, and he knew he’d
get further with him by dropping pretenses and peerage nonsense. “I’ll only
be giving you the coin we agreed upon and no more.”
Sigurd smiled at him, his teeth sharp and pearly in the shadows. “It ain’t
more coin I want.” He scooted in closer and tapped his nose. “It’s
information. I’ll take the coin we agreed upon, but you’ll answer my
questions first before we’re settled.”
Night shifted in the cramped space to face the business tyrant more
fully. Sigurd was a mage who’d long ago set aside his studies in favor of
accumulating wealth, a decision Night would never approve of. “You’re
testing my patience, Sigurd. I’ll warn you once not to wear out your
welcome. I’ve had a very long evening already, and I haven’t been looking
forward to your company.”
Sigurd grabbed at his chest and pretended to be affronted. “Ack, you’ve
hurt my feelings, My Lord. However will I recover from such a blow?”
Night was curious now exactly what it was Sigurd thought he knew.
This may be yet another situation where he needed to allow things to play
out a bit.
Erickson opened the latches on the sides of the case and lifted the lid.
His brows came together. “It’s . . . a violin?”
 “Last one crafted by Master Midnight, that is.” Sigurd ran a thick finger
over the sleek scroll at the top, following the neck of the instrument down
toward the heel.
Eyes on the merchant, Night fished the agreed-upon number of gold
crescents and silver half-pieces out of his purse, cupping the small fortune
in his large palm. “You’re already overcharging me for the damn thing,
Sigurd. Your greed is bad for business.”
Sigurd cackled at that. “Not if the client is willing to pay it—then it’s
very good for business. And I’ve got a hunch you’d have paid even more
for the blasted thing. Now, tell me who it’s for and why, and we’ll be
square.”
“I’m tempted to shove your coins in your mouth and boot you out of the
coach right now,” Night drawled.
“While it’s still moving,” Erikson added.
Sigurd pushed on, undeterred, a man accustomed to threats. “You
weren’t the first to ask me to acquire this piece. The original request came
from a dragon familiar that reeked of brimstone. She delivered a letter from
her mistress and tried to pay me with a solid gold wyvern.”
Night touched his forehead where a dull ache bloomed. When he had
the information he wanted, he might just have to shove him out. “An
ancient wyvern coin would be worth twice what I’m about to give you.”
“It would have been. Which made me curious, so before I accepted, I
had my sniffers look into things. And you know what they found?”
“Obviously I do,” Night said. “Take your money, and we’ll drop you at
the corner.” It was the only warning he intended to give him.
Erikson was interested now. “What’d they find?”
 There were a number of things Night hadn’t shared with his brother,
who was prone to worry, and this wasn’t the time or the place. He gritted
his teeth and glared at Erikson, but his brother pointedly avoided his gaze.
“Only Yaga royalty would have access to a wyvern coin.” Sigurd
narrowed his beady eyes at the duke. “The Yaga family keeps them secure
in their magical hordes. Now then, what’s a Yaga witch want with an old
violin crafted by a Lunar Fae master? And why, after I refused to sell it to
the familiar, is the great Lord of the Lunar Court suddenly aware I have it in
my possession and now willing to overpay me for it?”
Erikson’s eyes bore into the side of Night’s face.
“What my plans are for my purchase are no concern of yours.” The
duke had just enough composure not to accidentally summon moon magic.
“It had better not be some sort of peace offering, My Lord.” Sigurd’s
fox tail bristled. “You can’t side with King Yaga in the conflict. You can’t.
Get it out of your thick head if that’s what you’ve got in mind. The dragon
king and his Unseelie fae would help themselves to more than half of the
mortals who call River Row home. They’d enslave them. They’d shove
them down into their mines and work them to death, work them harder and
faster than the sods can reproduce, and—”
“Don’t pretend you care for the mortals.” Night rolled his eyes. “You’re
a man of business worried for your cheap labor and in need of more poor
tenants willing to live in the slums you provide. You aren’t worried for their
welfare. You even employ dragae mercenaries to intimidate them, you great
hypocritical prig.”
“Sure I care for the human beasts.” Sigurd’s lip curled. “I care for them
the same way I care for my coin. And I fucking love my coin.”
 Night pinched the bridge of his nose. The pain had expanded behind his
eyes. “Sigurd, I warned you,” he said quietly. He waited until the hackney
slowed as it rounded the corner, then he kicked open the coach door and
shoved Sigurd out into the street. The fae hit the cobblestones with a cry
and rolled. Night tossed his payment out the window after him. Coins
bounced and clinked against the pavers as Sigurd’s curses echoed down the
street. Night pulled the coach door shut with a snap.
Erikson blinked at his brother with big owlish eyes. “That could have
been handled with a bit more diplomacy, I think.”
Night’s headache had lessened suddenly. “You were the one who
suggested I boot him while the coach was still moving.” His lips quirked.
“See there? I listen to you sometimes.”

***

Night’s brother had wanted explanations, even demanded them with more
backbone than he usually displayed. Not that Night believed Erikson didn’t
have a spine. He knew he did, but his younger brother had become so
accustomed to the duke’s bossing over the years, he usually refrained in the
presence of the Lord of the Lunar Court. It was a show of Erikson’s great
stress over the building conflict around their borders that he dared to
question him at all.
But Night had to put his foot down. He’d divulge his plans when he was
good and ready to and not a moment before. There were many cards at play,
many things he continued to debate with himself. He didn’t want to add
another voice to the cacophony of opinions already cluttering his head, and
the back of a small hackney was not the place for such discussions.
 The coach dropped him and his new case at the edge of Dimmet Street,
not far from where River Row ended in thick forest. Not far from the lesser-
known path where Night had met his witch what felt like centuries and
seconds ago all at once.
Erikson was forbidden from accompanying him. Once again, he’d been
left to wait for his brother in the hackney.
It was nearing midnight, and the air cooled with each passing minute.
The day had been a warm and clear one. Fresh dew began to form on the
grass, glittering on the spider webs that clung between spindly tree limbs,
gathering on the fallen leaves slicking his boots. The violin case bumped
against his thigh as he stepped over tree roots and ducked under low-
hanging branches. The forest was full of nocturnal predators. He saw their
glowing eyes refracting the dim light cast by a yellow crescent moon
overhead. The beasts recognized a greater threat when they saw one. Night
slunk through the forest undisturbed.
He took the long way to his usual path, passing the old oak tree he’d
come to favor. He didn’t expect his witch to be there, but just in case . . . It
added a half hour to his journey, and the tree was frustratingly empty.
Eventually the trees parted before a clearing crammed with tall grass
and wildflowers. An arm of the river Eventide cut through the meadow. As
he walked, disturbing the flora, lunar butterflies the size of sparrows burst
out of their hiding places. They flapped luminescent blue wings with such
force he could feel the whisper of their efforts in the air around him.
He followed the arm of the river for a time until it came to a copse of
pine trees where a dilapidated hut leaned. The thatch roof was dotted in
more of the nocturnal butterflies. As he neared, the hut shuddered as though
it were breathing, and the scent of brimstone—the scent of a dragon
familiar—filled Night’s lungs. The butterflies took flight, circling the hut’s
single chimney, before coming to rest on its roof once again, like birds
nesting.
He spotted a trickster amongst the lunar butterflies. The familiar was
slightly larger than the others, with thick wings in a dark shade of purple.
“Masha,” Night greeted the familiar, hefting the violin case like it was a
trophy. “Please inform your mistress that I am here, I have what she wants,
and I’m sincerely sorry that I’m so late. I . . .” He thought of his witch again
and the choices before him, laid out like facedown playing cards, waiting to
be drawn. Each selection had consequences. But every hesitation and
failure to act had consequences too. “I was delayed . . .”
The trickster flapped her heavy wings, disturbing the others into another
flight. Then the larger butterfly evaporated in a puff of purple smog which
hovered thickly for a moment before the cloud floated toward the chimney
and funneled down it.
Night set the case by his feet and waited.
And waited.
“Sora,” he called, impatience flavoring the word. He glared at the front
door, which remained shut up tight. “I know I’m late, but I had good reason.
At least let me explain.”
The crooked shutters snapped closed.
With a great heaving sigh, he waited. Making himself comfortable, he
perched on the edge of the case, knees bent awkwardly.
And then the hut shuddered and shook. Lunar butterflies launched into
the air, a flurry of great blue wings, translucent in the moon’s glow. The hut
vibrated, and the wood groaned. Night jumped to his feet. The door opened
and then clapped closed. The shutters did the same. And then the hut rose
up on large, clawed appendages like the feet of a great chicken. The skin
was dark and scaled, the legs long and as thick as tree trunks.
And it was walking away from him.
“Damn it all,” Night groused. He stomped after the lumbering hut, then
remembered himself. The duke spun back for the violin case, grabbed it up,
and hurried after the errant building. “Sora!” he called, quickening his pace.
The claws kicked up clots of dirt at him, and the ground rumbled with
each of its massive steps. The flock of lunar butterflies followed, circling
above the thatch roof. The chimney coughed clouds of dark smoke.
“Gods damned witches,” Night cursed. “Do you want the blasted violin
or not?” he shouted, shaking the case at the stubborn house.
The hut slowed at that. It turned on its lumbering limbs so that its door
faced him. The wood siding creaked, and bits of thatch fell from the roof,
dusting the air. A window shutter fluttered. Then the door fell open, and the
hut leaned down on its chicken feet, inching closer to the fae lord.
“Oh no you don’t,” Night said, moving the case behind him. “I’m not
just tossing it in there for you. You’ll talk to me first, or the violin stays
with me. I know I’m late. I apologized.”
The door sprouted teeth. Jagged bits of razor-sharp bone lined the
frame, and a hot wind blew from the entrance, reeking of coal and
brimstone.
Night sighed. “You’ve made your point, you hag.”
In response, the door flopped shut and the house dropped to the ground,
rumbling the earth and hiding its scaled chicken legs. It settled crookedly in
the grass, canting at an odd angle. The lunar butterflies returned to the
thatch roof. When the door opened again, the teeth were gone, and the hut
went still.
 It remained motionless and silent, the way a proper house should
behave, in Night’s opinion. Sora filled the shrouded doorway moments
later. She wore a dress of red velvet and a straw bonnet decorated in
wildflowers. The sleeves flared from her elbows to her wrists, and the
fabric clung to her hips, then fell in a pool over her feet, a fashion from a
time long ago. A dress for a beautiful princess now many centuries old.
“Hag?” Sora said in the bold accent of the Unseelie from the mountains.
Then she grinned at him, and her mouth was full of sharp teeth. “You come
inside, and be quick. You’ve wasted enough of my time already making me
wait here on you. My house does not like to stay in one place all night long.
It isn’t safe for us.” She waved him over and then stepped out of view.
Night hefted the violin case after her. As he entered, he eyed the door
suspiciously, worried it’d sprout teeth and bite him. But it didn’t, this time.
The inside of the hut was much larger and grander than it looked from
the outside. The wood was a rich, red mahogany, and a crackling fire roared
in a large hearth made of cut stone. Warmth touched his cheeks and nose,
chasing away the autumn chill. Then he felt it through his gloves, in the tips
of his fingers, and soon he was stripping out of his frock coat and hanging it
on the rack by the door.
He joined Sora Yaga at a dining table made of waxed wood. She’d
removed her bonnet, revealing four spiked horns sprouting from thick
flaxen hair the color of ripe wheat.
“Show it to me,” she insisted.
A black cat appeared then, leaping from somewhere under the table,
startling Night.
“Masha,” he scolded, and the cat yowled at him. The duke gathered up
the case and laid it on the table, then unfastened the latches and lifted the
lid.
Sora smiled. She and Masha stared at each other for a time, and Night
was certain they were communicating in that mysterious way of witches.
Sora reached for the violin.
Night snapped the lid back down, nearly catching her long fingers. “You
owe me a boon.”
Her nostrils flared. “I owe you a boon when I say I do.”
“You owe me a boon,” he repeated through his teeth. “I’ve done
everything you’ve asked for seven months. You owe me.”
“Perhaps,” Sora said softly.
Her acquiescence immediately made Night uneasy. She was never so
agreeable. Sora, the unwanted eldest daughter of King Yaga, trusted no one,
a sentiment Night could relate to, in addition to sharing her deep hatred for
her father. As a result, the two of them got on quite well most of the time.
Masha hissed, pacing from one side of the tabletop to the other.
“She believes,” Sora interpreted, “that what you want is dangerous for
me. She does not think I should help you, but rather insists you take care of
the matter yourself immediately with my instruction.”
Night heaved a great sigh, thinking again of cards and consequences. “I
don’t think she knows what I want. I hardly know it half the time.” He
tugged on his lip, staring at an imperfection in the wood. “But I will require
your instruction.”
“Then,” Sora said carefully, “you no longer wish for me to advise you
on how best to murder my father?”
Night chewed on the inside of his cheek. “That would solve both of our
problems, I once thought. But now . . . now there’s something I need more.
Something a great deal more pressing.”
 “I will only grant you one boon, Night.” Her golden brows lifted toward
her hairline. She had large indigo eyes full of wisdom and mischief and a
creamy complexion that hid her age well. “Either way, do tell. Masha and I
are eager to know.”
“I found my mate.” He glanced at Masha, who had gone unnaturally
still, before continuing. “She’s a witch. A shy little thing that lives in this
forest.”
Sora’s gaze did something he’d never seen it do before. Her eyes
softened. “And you wish to bond with this witch?”
“I wish it.”
Sora leaned back in her chair and exchanged a meaningful look with her
familiar. “And you want me to help you how?”
“You have a true mate.” It wasn’t a question. There was a different
energy, a contentment in a fae with a true mate. He sensed Sora had one the
same way he could feel energy from the Divine Night all around him when
the moon was high. “There aren’t many fae with true mates available to
offer me guidance, and of the ones I could inquire with, there are exactly
none in my company who have bonded a witch.” Night tapped on the
leather case. “This is for him, isn’t it? Or her? The violin is for your mate.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in an expression both light and youthful
and not at all like the Sora he knew. “It is for my mate, yes. You do realize
that because your bond is not yet complete, you could part from the witch
and seek another compatible match? One who hasn’t already given a piece
of her soul to another, complicating matters for you.”
The notion made his stomach drop, and his lips turned down. He’d felt
the bond pull with other women before in his long lifetime, but their draw
had been dull or barely there and easily ignored. What he felt with Rain had
been like a strike of lightning: sure and compelling. Those other women
were from his world, each an exact replica of the many proper and titled
ladies he’d been introduced to over the centuries.
With every fiber of his being, he sensed Rain was something so much
more. Whomever he true-mated, they needed to be a partner, a confidant in
the coming conflict, dependable, and strong. He hadn’t any practice at
depending on others, but he’d always had a gift when it came to judging a
person’s character. It made it easier to move and motivate them in the way
he needed to. Rain was a woman of excellent character. Noble. Protective.
Reserved.
Innocent.
An ancient warrior who’d somehow managed to preserve an
unwavering goodness through a great war. He could only imagine what sort
of moral fiber it had taken to experience such wickedness, so much death
and destruction, and still be so very sweet. More than anything else about
her, he felt pulled toward that goodness.
Night took a moment to select his words carefully, before realizing that
the pause gave far more away than he’d like. “I need her,” he said finally.
Sora chuckled and Masha meowed. “Masha thinks you’re a fool. She
thinks you should get on with ending my father. Love and other such
nonsense can wait, she says.”
Love? He didn’t believe such a thing existed. He understood duty. He
understood responsibility. These were the weights he carried on his back.
Weights that would soon crush him into the ground, long before the current
conflict was over. Love was not something he’d experienced in any
relationship he’d ever had. Not with any woman. Not with his father nor his
mother. Not with the uncle who’d raised him. Not even with his brother.
No, love was a thing from a fairy story. There was only duty and instinct
and the mate bond.
And lust. He understood lust quite well.
Night canted his head to the side, considering the cat. “Masha has a
grudge, if I recall.”
Sora nodded. “Many, many ages ago when I was a better-behaved
daughter, my father ordered me to kill Masha. She was a powerful dragon
and a threat to his throne. And so I did.” Her sharp grin went lopsided.
“Thankfully, before her soul slipped away, she had the good sense to agree
to become my familiar and make me a witch instead.”
Masha hissed at that. The hair down her back rose.
“The Seelie queen and the dragon king are using their power to try to
force me to pick a bride from within their relations,” Night said, playing
absently with the latch on the violin case. “Then they’ll make use of my
mages, my magic, and devastate my province. In the case of your father, if I
give him what he wants, he’ll enslave my people. If I side with the Seelie
Tree Court, they’ll stuff a sword in my people’s hands and shove them onto
the front lines to die in a war that has nothing to do with them. For the sake
of everyone in the Lunar Province, I’d love to kill them both and let their
conflict die with them, but that’s no easy task. Killing one of them will be
nearly impossible, let alone the two of them, and another ruler would step
into their place and take up their fight. So I’ve chosen another path.”
“Fae laws surrounding one’s true mate are still sacred even to the Seelie
and Unseelie,” Sora guessed.
“It would be impossible for them to force me into an alliance by
marriage were I to take my true mate as my bride,” he confirmed.
 She reached out and stroked Masha’s back. The cat stirred and yowled
in an agitated fashion. “Of course, you’d need to marry and complete the
bond with your witch soon. Their demands will only become harder to
ignore over time. My father is not patient, and neither is the warrior queen.”
At the mention of the Seelie queen, Night touched the scarred side of
his mouth. “No, she isn’t.” His voice dropped an octave. “Were I successful,
were I to bond my witch and make her my true mate, would it be—”
“With a true mate bond, you would become immune to all forms of
mind-bending magic.” Sora nodded, her voice passionless. Her face was
without pity, another reason the duke trusted and got on with her so well.
“The Seelie queen could never again compel you.”
A well of relief surged inside him. He hadn’t dared to hope that his
theories were correct, but Sora was old and knowledgeable and honest to a
fault. His hand went to the scars at his mouth again. “Finally . . .” he
muttered.
“You’re certain this is the boon you want from me?” Sora said. “You
could ask for anything. I could grant you any number of gifts, and yet all
you want is for me to be your matchmaker?”
Night scoffed. “Advise me on how to bond with my mate. It’s been
done before with a witch, obviously.” He gestured at her. “It can be done
again. Finding another suitable match, though possible, isn’t a simple
solution. The witch is here now. I need her . . . or my plan falls apart.”
“You want her.” Sora’s sharp smile was all-knowing.
“I’ve tried courting,” Night said with a groan, “but this woman is
incredibly timid. She flees from me when I push her to speak to me, though
I know she must feel the instinctive pull that I do because she’s given me
gifts, gifts she’s made herself.”
 “The bond makes her timid.” Sora stroked her chin in thought. Masha
nudged her arm with her muzzle, demanding more affection. “Gifts are
good. The compulsion to give and make gifts is a sign that the bonding
instinct has started to take root.”
“But it’s not enough?”
Sora sighed, brushing fingers down Masha’s neck. “Imagine you’ve
been submerged in a dark pool of water, a lake. This lake is full of
monsters, and there’s a heavy boulder on your chest holding you in place,
preventing you from rising to safety and fleeing.”
Night’s brows knitted. “That would be horrifying.”
“Yes. Now imagine you can see your mate. She rolls the boulder off.
You think she’s there to help you, but then she plants a boot in your chest,
keeping you pinned. She orders you to breathe. The monsters are closing in
all around you. It feels like you’ll both soon die. Would you do as she
says?”
Night shook his head, knocking strands of dark blue hair into his eyes.
He brushed them back impatiently. “No. I’m underwater.”
“Convincing your witch with her broken soul to bond with you will be
like convincing her to drown in that lake full of monsters. Your witch has
bargained away a piece of her soul, granting her a familiar with great
powers. As a consequence, a witch’s soul is damaged, injured. Your
blooming bond picks at this wound, inflaming it. It’s scared of being broken
again and will continue to bring her distress during your mating. There is no
greater act of trust, no greater act of love, than to bond with your one and
only true mate. She needs your help, Night. Do you understand?”
Her words had his arms flexing, his stomach clenching. “Some part of
her wants to be with me. Some part of her isn’t frightened of bonding. I’m
certain of it . . .”
“Of course she wants to be with you. She’s your mate. She’s
compatible, and you’ve triggered the blooming bond instincts in each other.
But if you’re determined to wait on her, hoping she’ll come around on her
own because she gives you gifts, you’re going to be waiting forever. No
witch would willingly drown themselves. Her broken soul is in panic. It’s
distressed by the pull of you. She needs you to be strong and unyielding to
help her through it. That will require some force.”
Night’s nose wrinkled. “I’ve never forced a woman’s affections in my
life, and I don’t plan to start with her. I’m not interested in frightening her.”
Sora played absentmindedly with Masha’s black tail while the cat licked
her paws. “Then you’re not listening to your instincts any more than she is,
and you’re both hopeless. If she were here right now, what would you want
to do with her? What do your fae instincts tell you to do?”
Night didn’t even have to ponder it. “If life were simpler, I’d have
thrown her over my shoulder and hauled her off already like the old fae
used to.”
Sora dropped Masha’s tail and raised a brow at the duke. “Then why
haven’t you? Are you a fae male, or aren’t you?”
“I can’t just—”
Sora wagged a finger at him. “That’s a very mortal sensibility you’ve
got tying you up. This strange fear of being impolite about bonding her will
do neither of you any good. I don’t know why you’d listen to mortal
proprieties in this case. Humans don’t have mates or witches. What wisdom
could their courting practices possibly offer you here?”
Night stiffened at the idea that he, of all people, would behave like a
mortal. “It’s not as simple as all that. There are laws. Some of which I was
responsible for enacting. Getting the fae to behave in a civilized fashion
took great difficulty. If their lord suddenly set aside law and order and—”
“Do you want her or not?”
Night’s jaw set. “I want her.”
Sora leaned across the table. “Then go and get her.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 5

(Rain)

R ain awoke late the next morning. She’d slept well and deeply,
surrounded by friends. They readied for their day lazily, then ate an
expensive breakfast of fine pastries and fresh fruit, courtesy of the duke’s
generous coin.
They’d bought way more than all of them could eat. Rain suspected it
was done on purpose. Susan shared the leftovers with the street urchins,
pretending it was just to keep good food from spoiling. The girls were
always doing things like that. What little they had, they often gave away to
the needy of Dimmet Street, especially the children. Though they pretended
otherwise for reasons Rain couldn’t comprehend, hearts of gold beat in their
chests.
Margot helped Rain braid her ashen hair, winding the plait into an
elegant knot at the nape of her neck, leaving one lock of white hair left to
curl along her shoulder. The new coat—new to her—gifted by Susan was
warm and fawn-colored and made of a soft wool with a velvet collar.
Penny’s blouse was a little big on Rain, but the coat hid it anyway, and the
fabric was thicker and finer than the linen she’d worn down roughing it
outside. It felt nice against her old war injuries.
 Eager to spend more of the duke’s coin, Margot and Penny went out
shopping for new clothes. Susan needed to order supplies to replace what
had been stolen. She asked Rain to watch over the tavern in her absence.
Feeling fond of the humans, she agreed.
The girls had been gone nearly an hour. Rain pushed a broom around
the tables for something useful to do. Bernard leapt up onto the windowsill
in his cat form. He poked his nose at the glass, peering out at the street. The
duke is coming.
He’s coming? Her stomach dropped.
No. That couldn’t be right. She hadn’t even made a decision about
seeing him yet. She wanted to see him, of course, but everything had gotten
so much more complicated when she learned he was Lord of the Lunar
Court. Already the very notion of being near him again caused her heart to
squeeze in her chest. And he thought she was a prostitute. And he wanted to
buy her time . . .
And exactly what did he plan to do with her time?
He’s not coming. Just pulling your leg, Bernard thought, as the humans
say.
“As the humans say,” Rain huffed. Now she felt both relieved and
disappointed at the same time. She leaned her broom against the wall, then
made a circle with her fingers and showed him the crude gesture.
What’s that even supposed to mean?
Rain glanced at her hand. “I think it’s supposed to be an asshole. Then
you stick your tongue out and pretend to lick it.”
Very ladylike—and he really is coming. I was joking about joking.
She rolled her eyes dismissively. The duke was nocturnal, and it was
morning still. Dusk, their usual meeting time, was hours away.
 And then the shuffle of boots on the walkway and the scrape of the
doorknob turning caught in her sensitive ears. Her stomach dropped.
Oh, sacred stars, no, it couldn’t really be . . .
The Lord of the Lunar Court ducked beneath the door lintel, filling the
tavern with his presence.
Rain dropped her hands to her sides, wiping clammy palms on her
trousers. She wanted both to stand there and stare at him until the end of
time and to run away as fast as her legs could carry her. In the end, it was
indecision that kept her rooted to the spot.
“Frey Magis,” she whispered, the old fae honorific that had died out
long ago. Words that meant one was as great as the Vanir, the Lunar Fae’s
demi-god ancestors.
His chin lifted as though he’d heard her, his gaze glittering. A hint of his
broken smile tugged at his mouth. She wanted to touch that smile, feel the
pillows of his lips, explore the jagged edges of his scars, test the stubble at
his jaw, stroke the velvet on his curved antlers. Instead, she laced her
fingers together in front of her, averting her eyes.
It took forever and an instant for him to remove his coat and gloves and
cross to her, his strides long and lean. He was tall. Most people were taller
than Rain, but Night positively towered in a manner that had more to do
with his presence than his height. He carried himself like he was always the
tallest man in the room, and in a fashion, he probably was. He smelled like
old books and ink and parchment, bee’s wax, and a hint of peppery cologne.
He was close enough now it was time for her to make words . . . What were
words?
“You’re the Duke of Night,” she said lamely. “I hadn’t realized . . .”
 His broken smile sent a shiver of pleasure through her that turned her
skin to gooseflesh. “I am.”
What should I say to him next? she asked Bernard. Her mind had
stopped being helpful.
Something nice? Don’t ask me what. Demons aren’t nice.
The duke’s eyes met hers, and the corners crinkled with mirth and
warmth. Rain wetted her lips and dug for her courage. She had so many
questions, but in that moment, not one of them came to her. She could think
of only one thing.
“You have kind eyes,” she said softly, her cheeks heating.
“They’re kind because they’re looking at you.” He spoke in a baritone
that reminded Rain of warmed honey.
“Does no one else think you’re kind?”
“No,” he confessed. “But don’t let that trouble you. I vow you will
always think I’m kind.”
Rain couldn’t reconcile the gentleman she’d met in the woods with the
dark and fearsome reputation of the Lord of the Lunar Court. Fae lords
were often tricksters in more than just their appearances and forms. By
reputation they wore political masks and were conniving plotters. Looking
at him now, Rain wondered which one was the mask. Was it the noble duke
before her, or was the mask her sweet visitor in the woods?
Rain picked at the soft wood of the table, leaning her hip against the
edge, feeling sheepish. He stared at her encouragingly, and she realized,
stomach churning, that he wanted her to say something else.
Stars, she was terrible at this.
Bernard jumped from the windowsill to the table, bushy tail crooking
behind him. Rain was grateful for the interruption.
 “Hello again, little friend,” Night said with a respectful bow of his head.
A significant gesture, considering he was the Duke of Night and Bernard
was a . . . cat.
Inform him that I’m not little, Bernard ordered. I’m savage and majestic
in my true form.
I’m not telling him that. But you can show him your true form and tell
him yourself if you’d like.
I’d have to take a great deal of your blood first . . . Are you really that
desperate for another distraction?
Yes, actually, she was. Normally he remained in smaller animal forms
so taking in blood wasn’t necessary.
Night slipped a hand into his pocket and removed a square of cheese
covered in brown paper. Carefully he separated the paper. Bernard perked at
that, extending his nose to sniff at the duke’s fingers.
I accept your offering, Frey Magis of the Lunar Fae, Bernard thought.
Though I’d appreciate it more if it was dipped in your mage blood. Maybe
next time?
Night placed the piece of cheese in his flattened palm for Bernard,
peering over at Rain through heavy lashes. A lock of blue-black hair
tumbled over his brow as the familiar filled his greedy maw. Rain backed
farther behind the table, hiding more of herself from his study. He was
intoxicating, and she was once again overcome. She tugged up the soft
woolen coat that had belonged to Susan, tucking it tighter around her neck
and shoulders. Margot said the fawn color did lovely things to the golden
hues of her skin.
She hoped that was true.
 “I’ll bring you an entire wheel of cheese,” Night whispered to Bernard,
“if you’ll convince your mistress to keep talking to me.”
I approve of him, Bernard said. Talk to him.
Of course you do. Rain rolled her eyes. He gives you things.
And he doesn’t paw at me.
“Bernard would like you to rub his belly,” Rain said, her voice breaking.
There. I talked to him.
Bernard shouted a litany of colorful curses at her, some of them in
languages that had died long ago.
“Does he now?” Night’s brows rose. He reached for her familiar. “I
never would have imagined that demons liked getting their bellies rubbed.”
I hate you, Bernard groused. Ugh— Oh, that’s unexpectedly pleasant.
With his cheeks full of cheese, he rolled onto his back, his furry stomach
covered by Night’s large palm.
“And . . .” Rain said, grasping for something else, anything else to tell
the duke. She’d called his gaze back to her, and her tongue seemed to swell
in her mouth. “And I’m thirty winters old and a widow . . . ? Apparently . . .
?”
Night’s chuckle was incredulous. He released Bernard, resting his
knuckles on the table. “Are you really?”
She sighed. “No. Not at all. Not even close.”
Another chortle shook his shoulders. The sound did things to her, made
her skin flush, her stomach flutter. “Then why did you say you were?”
“Stars if I know.” She bit her lip, glad for his good humor. “Apparently
men prefer young women and I shouldn’t just come out and tell you that
I’m a tired old spinster.”
 “I’ve seen five hundred and thirty-two winters,” he said, “And I’ve been
tired for all of them. I’m not concerned that you’re too old for me.”
Turning to Bernard she asked, “How long have we been together now?”
She couldn’t quite recall. He told her through their link, and Rain
interpreted for the duke. “Five hundred and two years, he says. Before
Bernard I’m afraid I don’t remember much. Suffice it to say, I’m rather
ancient.”
“That so?” His voice was gentle and encouraging. “You lived through
the Seelie and Unseelie wars, then?”
These were the most words she’d ever dared to share with him. Each
one she spoke got a little easier than the last, though the muscles in her
arms, legs, and stomach were so tense they’d begun to ache. “My memories
of the war are hazy at best, and probably for good reason.” Rain pointed
behind her in the direction of the forest. “I nearly died back in those trees.
In the oldest memory I have, I’m alone in the dirt, wearing Seelie armor,
with an iron dagger in my stomach . . .”
Night’s eyes rounded. “It’s a miracle you survived that.”
“I can be very stubborn about such things. I tend to get up when I
should stay down. I kept breathing, removed the blade so it’d stop
poisoning me, and then eventually Bernard found me.” She extended her
hand to her familiar, and Bernard nudged her fingers affectionately with his
muzzle.
“Clearly you and I have a lot in common. I can be very stubborn about
staying alive too,” Night said. “In fact, I insist upon it daily.”
They exchanged a warm grin. And for a moment it was easy to share a
space with him and not feel too hot, too stirred up, or overwhelmed. She
thought of the quiet moments in the woods when they’d walked together
and when he’d read to her, his melodic voice enveloping her in a soothing
caress while she lounged in her favorite tree.
If the duke wasn’t truly kind, he was certainly skilled at pretending to
be.
Ack. All this smiling and flirting is going to make me see my cheese
again. Bernard leapt down from the table and scampered up the stairs,
granting them privacy.
Night pulled out a chair for her. Rain perched on the edge of the wooden
seat, uncertain where to look as he lowered himself gracefully opposite her.
His skin was less luminous without the moon’s glow, but meeting his tired
eyes still made her cheeks burn. She decided to stare at her nails instead.
They tapped out an anxious rhythm over a dark swirl in the grain of the
wood.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said, remembering her manners, “for all
that you did last night for the girls here. They are important to me. The
constable would have taken their hard-earned coins or left one of us sitting
in cold irons for days.” She rubbed at her wrists. Pure iron against her skin
would have been a torture physically. Allowing Margot to take the
punishment for her would have been a different sort of torment.
He laid a hand on the table, not far from hers, his thumb rubbing
aimlessly down the edges of his fingers, up, then down again. She watched
the movement, her vision going slightly out of focus, hypnotized.
“I helped them for a reason,” he confessed.
A flush moved up her neck and into her cheeks. “I assumed as much,
though that reason remains very unclear to me.”
“I am in want of a bride.”
 Rain’s eyes flew up to his. They were a dull gray in the daylight and
red-rimmed, the pupils nearly nonexistent. She blinked at him. “I wouldn’t
know how to find a lord a bride.”
His breathy laugh surprised her. “I’ve already found the woman I need.
I’ve spent a great deal of time with her, but I still don’t even know her
name.” He stared back at her pointedly.
It took several rapid blinks and two deep inhales to process his words.
Surely, she’d misheard him. He couldn’t possibly mean . . . She is dear to
me. “You sound awfully sure of yourself, My Lord. Aren’t you at all
worried that this woman might say no to your abrupt proposal?”
His brow remained relaxed and unlined, his face serene. “Oh, I’m quite
certain she’ll try to say no. Which is why I’ve come to lay the world at her
feet. Should she change her mind, she would never want for anything ever
again.”
Rain studied his face for signs of dishonesty. As a cultural norm, fae did
not tell lies, but they’d become so enmeshed with the mortals in the last
century and humans told stories so easily, she couldn’t be sure. “But . . . this
woman is very, very different from you. She doesn’t belong in your world,
and she has no real use for wealth.”
“Everyone has use for wealth.”
“Not me.”
“Even you.” He was running his thumb back down his fingers again in
that captivating way. His hand had shifted closer to hers. “You could use it
to keep the women you care for here safe and fed, for instance.”
“That is . . .” An excellent point, but she wasn’t ready to agree with him.
Especially not when he was being so smug about it. “There are rumors of
another war brewing between the Seelie and the Unseelie,” she said instead.
 “There are always rumors of war between them.” Irritation edged his
words.
Rain suspected he wasn’t accustomed to being challenged, and his
words were true enough. The Seelie and the Unseelie fae had bickered since
the first great war between them.
“Why do I have the feeling any woman who weds you puts themselves
right in the thick of that mess?” A mess she’d been in once before already
and had no desire to fall back into whether she remembered the details of it
or not. She didn’t want to end lives. If she was being fae-honest, all she
truly wanted from life was the devotion of a family. The love of family.
And at the head of that, the love of a husband.
“The fact that you already sense what you’d be getting yourself into is
one of many reasons why I’m certain I’m making the right choice.” He
leaned in closer. “And it blessedly saves time.”
Rain shook her head. “I have no desire to be a means to an end, My
Lord. Nor do I have a death wish.”
He grimaced. “You would not be in danger of death. No one would dare
harm my bride. Both the dragon king and the Seelie queen want the night
mages on their side in this conflict. They’re too evenly matched otherwise.
They wouldn’t risk driving me to aid their enemy by harming you.” A
muscle in his cheek flexed, and then his expression smoothed. “Tell me
your name.”
“Rain.” Her voice cracked. She’d spoken it so softly it wasn’t likely
he’d heard her. All this talk of marriage had her beyond flustered. She
licked her lips and tried again. “I’m called Rain.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. His broken smile made her heart stutter.
“Rain, I am in need of a wife most urgently.” His head cocked to the side,
taking her in. She felt his gaze like a caress. “I am in need of you.”
She cleared her throat. “Why me?”
“Though you would prefer otherwise, you are a necessary means to an
end. I find you very attractive, an additional attribute in your favor given
the necessity of the marital bed. For your contribution to our partnership, I
would see you cared for and rewarded beyond measure.”
“A marriage of convenience?” Her voice had gone quiet again.
Disappointment pulled down the corners of her mouth, and that was silly.
Had she actually hoped he was courting her and putting up with their
differences and her shyness all this time for something other than ambition
or politics? How foolish, considering who he was and who she wasn’t.
“Precisely.”
Rain rubbed a timid hand down her arm. She couldn’t look at him. “And
what of the love between a husband and wife?”
“Love,” he exaggerated the word, “is a thing that belongs in fairy
stories. What I’d give you is real and true. I’d give you security,
dependability, and a beautiful roof over your head.”
He didn’t believe in love? The notion put a knot in her stomach.
Night shifted in his seat, calling her back to him. “Say yes to me, and
desperation will never touch you. You could have whatever you wanted.
Freedom from this brothel and its pawing patrons. A home. Clothes, shoes,
jewels, an education . . .”
She frowned at him. “You think I’m desperate, uneducated, and a
prostitute?”
One of his dark brows lifted. His foot began to tap a steady rhythm
under the table. “You’re not those things, I take it?” His smile went
crooked, creasing the scars at the corner of his mouth. “I hope you won’t
blame me too harshly for not knowing. You’re not exactly a loquacious
woman, and we’re sitting in a brothel right now.”
“I’m not those things.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shocking as it
may be to you, your proposal is not going very well, My Lord.”
“I’d like for you to address me by my name, Night.”
“If this proposal were less dreadful, I might . . .”
His head tipped back. Laughter rumbled out of him. “Does it help my
cause or hurt it if I say that I’m relieved you’re not a prostitute?”
Rain folded her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. The
wood groaned. “My dearest friends are prostitutes. You won’t find three
nobler souls in all the Row. They don’t deserve disrespect or disdain for
using their skills to make a life for themselves.”
Another charming chuckle. Rain had to admit his smiles and laughs
were alluring and disarming, even when she didn’t want them to be. She
needed to hold on to her irritation. It gave her courage with him.
“I’m disrespectful to everyone, not just them. And I wasn’t picking on
you or your friends. It’s the oldest profession in the world,” he drawled. “If
anything, I hold some deference toward prostitutes. I was willing to marry
one, remember? But I am relieved.”
“Why?” Hope edged her voice, and she chided herself for it. He’d made
it very clear what he was after here. Wanting more was foolish.
His eyes captured hers and darkened. “Because I’ve decided I want you
for myself, and now I can’t stand the thought of any other man touching
you.”
Though her pulse surged, she scoffed at his fae bluntness. “I’m bound to
bump into another man eventually.”
“The villain,” he teased. “I’m afraid I’d have to rip his heart out.”
 The duke surprised a chuckle out of her. “You can’t mean that.”
“Wish I didn’t. They’d have to arrest me to keep the peace, and I have
no desire to be shackled.” His mouth quirked. “I’d look ridiculous in irons.”
He’d drawn another laugh from her. She was certain he couldn’t look
ridiculous in anything he wore. It was unfair in a way. No one should be so
pretty. “Never mind that iron burns our skin like hellfire and is poisonous to
us.”
“Never mind that.” Briefly he held his bottom lip between his teeth. A
darkness crossed over his expression, an intensity that made her heart
thump against her ribs. “It wouldn’t matter. I’m already in hell. Have been
since I laid eyes on you.” His voice roughened to gravel. “I dream of you,
Rain. Then I wake up and I don’t have you, and it’s a nightmare.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze. He wanted a marriage of convenience. Why
was he talking to her this way? Because he’s a trickster, she reminded
herself. She didn’t want to become a disposable piece in whatever political
game he was playing. Her hands shook slightly. She watched them, willing
the tremor to stop. He laid his palm out flat, spreading his fingers so close
to hers they nearly touched. He’d stolen her courage again.
“It wasn’t my intention to put you in hell,” she whispered.
“Then I’ll need you to marry me. Now.”
“You . . . Now?” She rose to her feet on legs that felt boneless and
nearly toppled. It’d taken her a month just to talk to him, and now she was
expected to marry him immediately. He was mad. She wanted to shake the
confounding male until he made sense.
He stood and reached out to steady her, but she stumbled away from
him. Why was it that his presence always seemed to steal her balance as
well as her courage? Her agility usually rivaled Bernard’s in his cat form.
 “Surely you jest,” she managed. It wasn’t a very nice joke.
“I wouldn’t dare tease you.” He paced after her with the sleek, dark
grace of a panther. “I watched you throw a man twice your size out of a
window into the muddy street just last night. Provoking you is not worth
ruining my shirt. It’s silk.”
“I don’t want to throw you out the window,” she admitted, embarrassed
by how her voice had gone low and husky. There were many things she
wanted to do to the Duke of Night. Hurting him wasn’t one of them.
He corralled her into the corner of the room where the bar met oak
paneling, boxing her in with proud shoulders she wanted to touch and a
towering presence she could easily lose herself in. He rested an arm above
her head, leaning his weight against the wall. “Then what is it you do want
from me?”
“I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. That wasn’t entirely accurate. She
knew what she wanted but had no idea how to put any of it into words fit
for a lord, especially a roguish one.
“Breathe, Rain,” he said with the strength of a man accustomed to
giving orders.
She obeyed, sucking in air raggedly. He’d used her name like he’d said
it a thousand times before. It rolled off his tongue with enchanting
familiarity. “I . . .” She dug for her courage and came up empty. He was too
close. Too pretty. Too overwhelming.
“My eyes are kind when they’re looking at you,” he reminded her, and
his gaze softened. “You never have anything to fear from me. You can tell
me what you want, as I have done. There need not be secrets between us.”
“I don’t . . .” she stammered, his continued nearness making eloquence
impossible.
 “You left me precious presents. You made lovely things for me with
your sweet little hands. You wait for me at dusk.” He stooped, bringing his
lips closer. “I think you know exactly what you want from me. Only it
scares you.” His breath warmed the shell of her ear and the side of her
scalp.
She swallowed hard. “Women used to leave gifts in woven baskets for
the fae males they favored. It wasn’t so unusual back then when the world
was younger and River Row was new . . .”
His head cocked to the side, considering her. His voice filled with a
honey sugariness she could almost feel on her skin. “I remember. Women
would leave gifts to draw in a fae so that they could bargain something
away. Something that troubled them.” He reached out to stroke the velvet
collar of her coat, stopping where it buttoned just below her throat.
Her lashes lifted. He was so near, the molten heat of him warmed the
front of her body. A crackle of connection sizzled between them, so hot, so
compelling, she wanted to open the fastenings and let the wool coat fall to
cool her overheated skin, but her hands remained inert at her sides.
“What is it you wished to bargain away, Rain?” He cupped her cheek
then, and a new jolt of connection shot through her, his touch featherlight
and so pleasant she gasped.
“Loneliness,” she confessed quietly. She hadn’t felt such consuming
loneliness until she’d seen him for the first time. Rain had lived many
mortal lifetimes with her trees and her Bernard. Then she’d added the girls
and it had all felt quite manageable until he’d taken that stroll through her
woods. He’d broken her into pieces in that moment and made her
incomplete. “I would bargain my loneliness away to you.”
 “Ah.” His thumb stroked her jaw, and Rain felt weightless and
lightheaded all at once. “But I’d take that from you for free.”
Dark spots popped in her vision, and her head tipped. She righted it with
effort. She felt intoxicated, drunk on him. Her eyes slid shut. She reached
back, flattening her clammy palms against the paneled oak, needing
something solid and sure to ground herself. Her lashes were heavy, her
muscles melted butter.
“Mate,” she whispered, a new connection curling and churning inside of
her, a new awareness blooming in her soul. An awareness of him and only
him.
And then she felt herself sliding, down and down. Sweet darkness
opened up beneath her feet and engulfed her.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 6

(Night)

N ight caught her in his arms before she could fall to the floor.
“Rain?” he said, as her entire weight went slack against his chest.
He shook her a little, and her head lolled. She was out cold.
He scooped her up, lifting her in his arms, surprised she was much more
solid than she appeared to be under the thick coat. Her eyes were closed,
white lashes feathering across her cheeks. She’d pinned her hair up,
accenting her slender neck and her sharp jaw.
She was lovely. And not at all in the way of a lady with practiced
elegance and charisma. She had a wild beauty. An untamed natural
prettiness and a raw charm that reminded him of the forest she was fond of.
Mate, she’d called him. Confirmation that she too felt what he did.
Night’s blood sang in his veins, pumping so hard his ears rang. With her
draped in his arms, he moved them to the door and grabbed his coat off the
rack. Bernard yowled at him from the stairwell, and he started. He’d
forgotten the familiar was there.
“She swooned,” he explained. With a pinch of guilt tightening his
stomach, he turned to face the demon. He’d known he was overwhelming
her and pushed on anyway. He saw her swaying, knew the bond was
stressing her, knew if he gave her space she’d run from him again, and so
he’d kept close and let her faint. It didn’t usually make him feel guilty when
he played people like a hand of cards, bluffing toward the resolution he
wanted. This time it unsettled him. When he used people in such a fashion,
he preferred they were crass prigs like Sigurd. Not noble and good like
Rain.
The cat paced on the top step, his bottlebrush tail twitching side to side.
“She’s my mate, and I’m taking her home,” Night said sternly. And by
the divines, no demon trickster was stopping him.
Another yowl and a hiss.
“Come with us if you insist,” Night said, “but your mistress is staying
with me now.”
Shifting her weight up higher on his chest so her head rested on his
shoulder, he turned the knob, then nudged the door open with his boot,
balancing Rain and his coat in his hands. Bernard scampered out ahead of
them into a busy walkway. Night squinted into the brightness of the
morning.
Men removed their hats to honor the duke, women curtsied, all of them
staring perplexed at the unconscious woman in his arms. He ignored them.
One man offered to summon a physician, but he brushed by the human,
attempting to draw as little attention to his mate as possible. Their insistent
eyes on her were unnerving. He tossed his coat over her, needing to shield
her from their gazes.
Rain stirred in his arms. A line deepened between her light brows.
“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he said, tucking her in tighter against
him.
A little whimper fell from her lips. Her lashes fluttered. This journey
would be easier if his mate wasn’t trying to escape him while they traveled.
Night made a crescent shape with his fingers, the symbol for the moon,
cupping his right hand where he held her under her thighs. His connection
to the Divine Night was weakened by the sun overhead, but the day was
overcast and he was no novice mage.
“Sleep,” he whispered. The scent of incense wafted in around him as
cool, crisp moon magic swathed her, and her body stilled. Her lips parted,
and her breathing deepened.
Bernard hissed before he sunk his tiny teeth into Night’s ankle.
“Damn it all,” Night grumped, shaking his leg free of the blasted
demon. He glowered down at the creature, his face hot with irritation.
Bernard licked his muzzle, his yellow cat eyes narrowed to threatening slits.
“She’s my fucking mate,” he growled. “Clearly I mean her no harm.”
Bernard hissed, a stripe of hair standing up along his spine, and his
claws flexed.
“There’s an ice box full of food in it for you if you behave yourself like
a gentle-demon,” Night said. He had no idea if Bernard’s responding meow
was acquiescence or not, but he marched onward toward the hackney up the
street regardless. The blasted cat could behave himself, or he’d leave the
creature behind.
They crossed an alleyway full of factory workers lining up to gather
their payment for the week. A dragae stood out in the crowd with his
recognizable piercings down his tall ears. He leaned against a doorway at
the top of a stoop where the line of workers ended. The bulky brute hid his
horns beneath a bowler hat. Their eyes met, and the duke slowed his pace.
The dragae dropped his gaze, then strolled off down the alley like he
suddenly had something better to do.
Bernard growled low in his throat.
 “I see the bastard,” Night grumbled. Was the dragae there for him, sent
by Sigurd perhaps? Sigurd had a death wish if he thought to have him
followed in such a fashion. He’d left the tavern unlocked and unsupervised,
he remembered. He’d need to attend to that in case the brute had other
nefarious purposes.
His brother exited the hackney and met him on the walkway, his
rounded face lined with anxiety. “What’s happened? Does she need a
doctor?”
The human driver remained at his post, unmoved by the sight before
him: the duke carrying a random miss, trailed by a demon cat. Night made a
mental note to offer him a job later. The man was discreet and unshakable.
He hadn’t made a fuss at all when he’d tossed Sigurd out of his coach, and
he’d done his bidding the whole night through without demanding a break.
“No doctor is necessary,” Night muttered. “Get the door.”
Erikson hurried to open the cabin. Bernard leapt inside and turned in
circles on the cushions, making himself comfortable.
“Take us around the block,” Night called to the driver, “then drop my
brother back at the tavern.”
“As you like, Your Grace,” the driver said, readying the reins.
“The sloppy little brothel?” Erikson’s eyes bulged. He jerked his top hat
down like the impropriety of it all might make it pop off.
“Get in. I’ll explain.” Gently, Night hefted his witch into the cabin,
laying her across the bench seat, resting her head in his lap.
Erickson hurried in after him like his boots were on fire. He shut the
door and threw the curtains closed over the windows, then he sat down hard
enough to rock the coach. “What the deuce is going on here?” he hissed. “Is
that an unconscious tavern whore in your arms?”
 “She’s no whore,” Night snapped. He disliked his brother’s tone and his
staring. “She’s my mate, and she’s going to marry me and become my
duchess.”
“Mate? Marry you?” Erikson’s face turned three different shades of red
before paling completely. He rubbed a hand down his forehead. “Night, if
you’re thinking of trying to get out of the conflict by enacting some archaic
old law, then—”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” That and more. The coach set off
slowly. The streets were busy in the daytime, and the hackney crawled
forward, waiting for foot traffic to pass.
“But,” Erikson spluttered, “that’s like trying to hold back a river with a
single stone. It’s not nearly enough. And . . .” His gray eyes were lingering
on Night’s mate again. The duke wanted to pluck them out of his brother’s
head.
Night’s nostrils flared. “I need you to stop looking at her.”
Erickson’s gaze flickered up to meet his. “Stars, the bond instincts are
making you cranky already.” His lashes lowered once more fleetingly. He
glanced between her and the cat curled into a ball beside him. “It’s only . .
.” He reached for her, lifting one of her lids to examine her eye.
Night slapped his hand away, then maneuvered his coat under her head
as a pillow. “Do you want me to rip your arm off?”
Erickson rubbed the back of his wrist like it smarted. “By the divines,
you’ve got it bad. Alright, alright, I won’t touch her . . . or look at her.” His
lips pressed together in thought for a moment. “You realize she’s not a
young fae female?”
Night shrugged. “I’m not a young fae male.”
 “I know that, of course, but this one is probably too old to produce an
heir, and she’s a tavern wench and a witch . . . and unconscious for some
reason . . .”
Night clutched her to him, scooting her farther onto his lap so that her
head and shoulders rested over his thighs. “I told you I don’t want a brood,
and I already have an heir.”
Erikson blinked at him. “Who?”
“You, you idiot. Who else?”
His brother’s eyes had gone owl-like. “I had no idea . . . I mean, I
understand how succession works, I just always assumed you’d want your
own child to inherit . . .”
Night waved his words away. “You and whoever you sire. You’re my
heir. You always have been.”
“But I’m not a mage.” Erikson’s voice had gone quiet. “I’m half-
mortal.”
“Most of the province is mortal or half-mortal. That makes you the
perfect lord in my opinion, and as my opinion is the only one that matters in
this case, you’re my fucking heir.” Night glowered at his brother. “Don’t
make me tell you again.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Erikson whispered, emotion clotting his
voice.
“Don’t say anything, for the divines’ sakes. When the hackney reaches
the tavern, you’re to get out and watch over the place until I send a carriage
for you.”
“Whatever for?” Erikson’s blue brows drew together. “You might not
have any taste, but I certainly do.”
 “My mate is fond of the women who work there.” Night gazed down at
her. The coach rumbled melodiously over cobblestones. Rain nuzzled into
his lap, eyes squeezed shut. “There are scoundrels about. I saw one of
Sigurd’s ruffians watching the place. I don’t like the look of him. See to it
that he doesn’t try anything.”
As the coach rocked side to side, the hem of Rain’s coat shifted up,
revealing the sheath of a dagger. Night removed the weapon. It was a nasty
little blade, sharp and curved. He handed it to his brother and spotted the
hilt of another poking out of her boot.
“Stars above,” Erikson whimpered, “what’s she got so many knives
for?”
Night handed him yet another blade from her other boot, and two more
from the satchel that hung from her belt. “She was a warrior once . . .”
“She’s a warrior still, by the look of it. She’s carrying about her own
personal arsenal.”
“Stars, would you look at this one?” Night found a long thin dagger in a
sheath at her belt, tucked behind her satchel. It shone green in the sunlight.
The hilt was engraved in an intricate elven style to look like the gnarled
roots of a tree. He didn’t know much about weaponry—a mage armed
themselves with books and knowledge—but he knew this piece was
exquisite.
His brother cleared his throat. “You realize, I hope, that you need not
complete the bond with this miss to make your plan work? We could find
another more suitable mate for you to wed. Someone who understands your
peers, someone who won’t get eaten alive by the gentry. Someone with
skills like sewing and playing the harp. A female who doesn’t know how to
flay a man alive, perhaps?”
 Night ran his thumb tenderly down her cheek. “I want this one.” Then
his glower sharpened on his brother.
Erikson lifted his hands in capitulation. “I’m saying this as much for her
benefit as I am yours. You’re a full blue-blooded fae. You don’t know what
it’s like to be an outsider. I do. You’d both benefit from pursuing a different
match before it’s too late.”
Rain’s lashes fluttered. Another whimper parted her lips.
Night steadied her with a hand in her hair. “She heard you,” he said, a
smile in his voice. Rain kicked out at the wall of the coach. “She’s trying to
wake up. Her subconscious didn’t like your suggestion, brother.” Grinning
like a fool, Night made the crescent with his hand again, calling moon
magic to him. “Sleep,” he urged her.
Her back bowed, and she moaned. Bernard hissed at him, tail bristling.
“She’s fighting it,” he said through gritted teeth, struggling to call more
magic to him, the morning sun and Rain’s stubborn resistance forcing him
to double his efforts. She fought him with her will. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d come in contact with a force so impressive, and she
wasn’t even awake. Divine energy filled the cabin, but still she thrashed. In
the end, it was his voice that lulled her back into a peaceful slumber.
“Sweetheart, don’t listen to a damn thing my stupid brother says. You’re
coming home with me. You’re all mine now,” he purred over her, and her
breathing slowed.
“Are you at all worried what this warrior woman with all her knives is
going to do to you when she wakes up?” Erickson noted.
“It’s good that you have such fight in you,” Night whispered to Rain,
ignoring his brother. “There’s a war coming. You’re going to need it,
darling.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 7

(Rain)

R ain felt like she was sleeping on a cloud. The cloud was much too soft
and unsupportive, now she’d become accustomed to sleeping on the
hard ground. Silk brushed her cheek. She rolled into something long and
hard and hot at her back.
Her lashes quivered, realization dawning that the hot thing was a
person.
And the person was her mate.
Her stomach did a backflip. She tried to sit up and her head spun. Air
caught in her throat.
Long, tender fingers stroked down her arm, leaving a path of pebbled
skin in its wake. “You’re all right. You’re safe,” Night whispered, his breath
heating her scalp.
Her hair had been pulled out of the knotted braid. Her coat and boots
were gone. In her trousers and oversized blouse she felt naked. Exposed.
She blinked the room into focus. It was vast and opulent, a splendid space
with elegant carvings and images of the divines. A painting of the Night
Mother covered the far wall in dark purples and blues, a beautiful woman
with midnight skin and the face of the moon. The bed beneath Rain’s cheek
was large, and as she wiggled, trying to get her bearings, she sunk farther
into it.
She tried to sit up again, panic rising in her chest. Her pulse pounded at
her throat and in her head. Sitting up failed. She rolled onto her stomach,
struggling to put her arms under her so she could push herself upright.
The duke followed her, linking his fingers with hers, and something
clicked in her head. She’d never been so aware of a person before, so aware
of the height and breadth of them. She felt the expansion of his lungs along
her spine, smelled the starch on his clothing, heard the rasp of his stubble
against her blouse when he nuzzled closer.
His long fingers laced through hers. Her hand in his pulled her from the
murky waves of confusion and panic. For a moment, fingers linked, all was
right in the world. The bond purred in her chest, contented, happy.
And then the panic returned like a rapid of icy water crashing into her
chest. In a blink she was drowning again. An invisible weight crushed her
lungs. She clawed at the blankets, struggling for air. She was hot
everywhere, the heat starting at the back of her neck and spreading like
wildfire.
“Breathe,” Night commanded. He brushed her hair to the side and blew
cool breath onto the nape of her neck where she needed it most. “Just
breathe.” He blew again.
Rain sucked needed oxygen into her desperate lungs.
“Where am I?” she whimpered.
“My home . . . your home.” His exhale as he spoke continued to soothe
her, fanning against her skin.
His words sunk in slowly. Her home was the trees. But instead of telling
him so, she licked dry lips and leaned back into the comfort he offered.
“What happened?”
“You swooned.”
Rain groaned, a flush rising in her cheeks. She was a warrior, for the
stars’ sakes. Warriors didn’t swoon.
Night’s chuckle shook the pillowy mattress beneath them. “You
couldn’t help it. Our blooming bond overwhelmed you. Bonding is
especially difficult for witches, I’m learning. Something about your broken
soul feeling the pull of me and causing you distress . . .”
“Ugh.” She rubbed a hand down her face. Her mouth tasted sour. She
wanted water and to have her wits back about her. She felt like she’d slept
for a decade. The faded light of nearing dusk cast an orange glow through
the only window. The room was lit by candles and a small fire in a marble
fireplace. “Did anything happen to you?”
Night’s laughter vibrated against her back. “Would it make you feel
better if I’d swooned too?”
“Actually, I’d prefer it if you’d swooned worse.”
He sat up and hovered over her. “No such luck, I’m afraid. But if it’s
any consolation, thanks to the bond instincts, I gave two of my staff the
sack. My valet of many years and a footman.”
She craned her neck to peer at him. “Whatever for?”
Night winced. “For looking at you too long.”
Rain’s burst of laughter helped clear the fog from her mind. She
stretched her legs and then her arms over her head, wriggling her fingers
and toes, and finally she was able to sit up. Turning in the blankets, she
scooched up against the pillows. Her feet were bare. She tucked her toes
under the bedding. Her familiar was . . . ?
“Bernard?” She looked around.
 “He’s helping himself to the ice box.”
“Of course he is . . .” She looked her mate over. His eyes had returned
to their usual dark gray in the fading light of nearing night. His shirt was
rumpled and loose at the neck. What she could see of his chest was smooth
and silvery. His boots and stockings were gone. There was something
intimate about being able to see the duke’s naked feet, and a wave of
pleasant heat curled in her belly. “Are you going to give your staff back
their positions?”
Night crossed his legs beneath him in a light and unexpectedly boyish
fashion, a sight she’d not seen before. She enjoyed it. He seemed so
approachable this way, and she sensed that in that moment, there was no
trickster mask on his face. No politicking, no games. It was just him.
“I’ve already sent the butler after my valet.” He spoke quietly, adding to
the intimacy of the shared moment.
“Not the footman?” She matched his tone, whispering to him like a
lover.
He frowned, his dark brows forming a deep V. “He enjoyed himself too
much.”
Another trill of laughter snuck out of her. She laughed so deeply the
scarring in her abdomen smarted, but she ignored it, accustomed to
contending with such things. “How will we ever manage these instincts?”
“They aren’t all bad.” The boyish playfulness left his expression. Taking
her in with an unfathomable look, his intensity returned, sharpening his
features. Then his lip curled in a broken smile that made her lungs hitch.
“You called for me while you slept. You wanted me close. I liked that very
much, Rain.”
 Another flutter tickled through her stomach like she’d swallowed lunar
butterflies. “When did you realize I was your mate?”
“The first moment I laid eyes on you. I would have told you so, but you
have a bad habit of running away from me when I try to talk to you. An
effect of your fractured soul.”
Muscles low in her abdomen flexed. “Our potential mate bond is why
you’ve chosen me,” she said, putting the pieces together. “You need a mate
to achieve your goals? Politically, I assume?”
“I intend to marry you and complete our bond as soon as possible. Our
instincts will calm down then for both of us.”
Her sigh was sad and slow. She liked that he was her mate, that they
were compatible. It explained so much, but she still had absolutely no
desire to be a means to an end. Mate or no, he didn’t believe in love, the one
thing she wanted most of all.
“Can I have my coat back?” She glanced around for it. There was a
lounge chair, a basin of water on a stand, an archway that probably led to a
dressing room, and a gilded mirror that stood taller than her.
“Is the room not warm enough?”
“It is,” she reassured him.
“Then why do you need your coat?”
Rain’s eyes lifted to the scarring at his mouth, then trailed up to his
temple. She wanted to touch his old wounds, wanted to learn them with her
fingers. For a moment she hesitated, thinking it impolite. But then he’d
slept in the bed beside her with no such worries, so her restraint seemed
unnecessary. Tentatively she reached for him, giving him a chance to pull
away.
 He didn’t stop her, even as her thumb glided across his bottom lip and
then lingered over the torn skin in the corner of his mouth. “You wear your
scars well and boldly. I’ve always admired that about you.” Her lashes
lowered. She laid a hand over her navel. “I prefer to keep mine covered in
armor, only my armor went out of fashion ages ago.”
“Do you have many scars?” he asked, his voice gentle, his eyes kind.
“Yes, but please don’t think I’m complaining. My body has served me
well, and I appreciate it. I’ve just put it through a lot over the years, so I try
to treat it better now and then, when I can. It likes the layers.”
His face fell. “Your scars hurt you.”
Rain shrugged. “A twinge here and there. An uncomfortable numbness
is more common. Nothing that is worth your worry.”
“Your every discomfort has my worry and is well worth my concern.”
He laid a gentle hand on hers over her belly. She felt a corresponding tug
behind her navel. Then his thumb stroked along her knuckles. “One day
you’ll have to tell me about how you got each of them.”
“So many of my memories are lost to time, but I’d like it if you told me
about yours . . .”
He scratched at the old wound at his temple, and his eyes fell. She’d
forgotten all about her worries, all about her panic, all about their
differences. There in that room, seated on the bed, they were protected from
outside woes. Nothing else mattered but them, like the space between
encapsulated an intimate magic.
And then the salty, metallic smell of iron wafted to her. Her nose
wrinkled, and the spell was broken.
She shifted her weight so she could see the window better. “Iron bars?”
His returning smile was devilish. Her stomach flipped, and a spark of
heated panic flared at the back of her neck. “New bars by the look of them,”
she added, stressing the word, filling it with her mounting displeasure. New
to the window, she’d meant. They were makeshift at best and welded
together haphazardly, but they’d confine an immortal well enough. Wood
scrapings she hadn’t noticed before scattered the floor, and the carpentry
around the window didn’t match the walls.
He studied the backs of his fingers. “I may have had a quick renovation
or two added since you arrived.”
She blinked at him, taken aback. “How long have I been here?”
A wrinkle in the bedding stole his attention. He straightened it, avoiding
her eyes. “Several hours. It only took one to install the set of bars, though.”
“I was unconscious through the whole thing?”
His grin widened into something wicked. Something that shouldn’t have
sent a pleasant tremor down her back but did anyway. “I helped.”
She frowned at him. “You used moon magic on me . . .” Rain clambered
out of the bed, casting around for her things. She spotted her boots and coat
folded on the bureau by the door. She marched for them, then stopped. Her
fingers balled into fists. “If this door is fucking locked—”
“It’s not,” he said soothingly. He remained seated on the bed. Slowly he
lowered his feet to the floor, crossing his arms casually over his front.
Rain touched her side where her sheaths lay empty; her satchel was
gone. “You took my things.”
“You mean your weapons? I removed them,” he said dryly. “The bond
sometimes makes us impractical. I dismissed my staff, for instance. I
wouldn’t want you to do anything you regretted later. Especially not to me,
and especially not if it involved your daggers. I may wear my scars well,
but I don’t want new ones either.”
 She glared over her shoulder and regretted it. It was positively unfair
how attractive he looked when he was acting like a rogue. A lock of blue-
black hair spilled into his eyes. “If the door isn’t locked . . . what will
happen when I open it?”
“You’ll get to see the courtyard. I thought you’d like a room that opened
onto the outside the best.” Casually, he thrummed his fingers against his
folded arms.
She took a calming breath, tension loosening in her chest. “Then I
haven’t been kidnapped?”
“Oh no, you’ve definitely been kidnapped.” His grin went lopsided, and
her heart lurched. “But . . . gently.”
Her laugh lacked humor. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I beg to disagree.” The dark intensity in his expression softened,
melting into a comely playfulness that was as aggravating as it was
beguiling. “Your shock surprises me. I assumed a mature fae woman such
as yourself would appreciate some good old-fashioned imprisonment for the
sake of marriage. It’s all the rage in the best fairy stories. You love fairy
stories.”
Now she wanted to throw something at him, but her boots wouldn’t do.
She needed those for her feet. Then again, he’d lost his senses completely,
she was sure, and perhaps a boot to the head would knock them back into
place. The ladies in legends who’d been captured by a mate driven mad by
his instincts were taken from castles. They were princesses of enemy lands
in warring courts, a mate worth dying in battle for because they brought
wealth and title and power. They didn’t live in muddy trees, and they
weren’t old and covered in scars.
“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she grumped.
 “Yes I am.” His smirk all by itself nearly made her swoon again.
Drat. Yes, he was. She cursed their compelling bond which was clearly
as senseless as he was. Rather than admit what he already knew, she stuffed
her feet into her boots, pulled on her borrowed coat, fastening it over her
tender abdomen, and hurried outside. She liked the strength she found in
her aggravation more than she liked the other overstimulating emotions he
brought out in her, the ones that left her head swimming and made the bond
pulse through her desperately, threatening to pull her under again.
Rain came to a slow stop on a narrow walkway paved with flat stones.
The wide courtyard was expansive and fortified on all sides by the slate
walls of Night’s manor, decorated in columns, low burning oil lanterns, and
spitting fountains all wrapped in lichen and greenery. Straight ahead, a
balcony loomed, the dimly lit room above hidden behind heavy velvet
curtains. Centered in the courtyard, one massive oak tree stretched leafless
limbs toward a darkening sky, its trunk so fat it would take five of her
standing hand in hand to encircle it.
Taken aback by all the beauty before her, she came to a slow stop and
swallowed hard, realizing for the first time just how massive the duke’s
home was. And it probably wasn’t even his only home . . . Their lives were
so very different. She couldn’t even begin to fathom such wealth. Just like
he probably couldn’t wrap his head around what it’d be like to live
contentedly outdoors with nothing. It would baffle him to learn she’d rather
sleep on the ground at the base of that old tree than in the pillowy bed he’d
provided.
He saw her poverty as a thing she needed saving from. She saw it as a
satisfying state of her choosing, an expression of her love of nature and
freedom. Night believed she was the only prisoner in these walls, but she
could imagine the ruthless expectations that came from such an estate as
this. Trouble brewed on the other side of the Eventide, and all of it fell on
him. He was as much a prisoner here as she was.
The duke was the one who needed saving, and he didn’t even know it. It
actually made her feel sorry for him, cooling some of her irritation.
The door opened at her back. Night joined her, clothed and shoed.
Ignoring him, she moved to examine a bird perch, an ornate one with clever
woodworking—not elven, but well-crafted.
“Falconry?” she guessed of the perch. It appeared to be built for a large
creature and held a bowl full of treats a hunting bird would like.
In answer, he cupped a hand around his mouth and hooted, mimicking
the call of an owl. Moving shadows caught in her periphery. She looked up,
watching as a large gray barn owl flew from the roof to alight on the perch,
large wings rustling. Night removed a dead minnow from the bowl attached
to the ornate stand and tossed it to the bird. “This is Katy.”
As the owl gulped down the little fish whole, she twisted her neck in a
most absurd manner to gaze upon Rain.
“Hello Katy.” Rain waved to her coyly.
“She taught me to fly,” Night said.
“Oh? When you use—” She’d nearly called it trickster magic, but at one
time “trickster” was considered a derogatory term. She didn’t want to
offend her mate, even if it might no longer be the case. She enjoyed his
smile too much. “When you use your connection to the divine to transform,
is an owl the beast you become?”
Night shook his head. “Just the wings. Birds are too fragile, even large
ones like Katy here. I’d never risk becoming one fully.”
 Rain stared at him, imagining a great expanse of silver wings at his
back, similar to the set on Katy, only grander, large enough to lift a man as
tall and solid as the duke. She had to admit the image in her head wasn’t
unattractive—quite the opposite in fact.
Her belly fluttered. “Do you go flying often?”
He chuckled humorlessly. “Hardly ever. I don’t enjoy flying,” he
admitted.
Rain took a minnow and tossed it to Katy. She ignored the offering,
letting it fall. Apparently, she was only interested in treats from her master.
“Such a shame . . . Do you have an affinity with other nocturnal creatures?”
Night’s eyes smiled at her. “All of them.”
“You’re bragging,” she accused, turning away from him to hide the
telling spread of her lips that would have stolen the bite out of her reproach.
She continued along the path of flat stones.
“I am.” He followed her at a distance, trailing one of his hands along the
wall, stopping when she stooped to examine various flora. Purple flowers
bloomed untamed up a short trellis beside a makeshift archery range. After
pistols had been banned in the fae provinces, recreational and competitive
archery surged.
They reached the gates next, which were barred, chained, and secured
with three padlocks as big as her fists. The locks and chains were iron,
capable of dispelling magic and poisonous to the immortal races.
She couldn’t decide if it was exasperating or amusing that he thought he
could keep a witch here so uncreatively. She chewed her cheek, thinking it
was probably both. Night saw her studying the exit and moved in closer,
hands fidgeting at his sides. The bond swelled pleasantly in her chest,
pleased by his nearness.
 But he couldn’t stand there staring at her all night long, as much as their
instincts would like that. His duties would pull him away eventually. And
then she’d find her freedom again. Her stomach dropped at the thought of
parting from him, even under the circumstances.
They wanted different things, she consoled herself. She’d have to say
goodbye to him eventually. It’d be easier to do so now than later.
Why do you look so pensive? Bernard’s thoughts caught her off guard.
She searched for him and finally spotted him in the form of a large crow
perched on the balcony overhead.
I was kidnapped, she thought grumpily, while you stuffed your gut.
Bernard’s head cocked. He shuffled side to side across the stone rim on
clawed feet. I won’t pretend I understand fae romantic gestures, but isn’t
this the pinnacle of that sort of nonsense for your kind?
Rain scowled up at him. He can’t just do as he pleases with me because
he’s my mate.
I thought that was exactly how that worked . . .
Males are all obtuse. Rain scoffed aloud and drew Night’s eyes. She
translated for him, “I told Bernard you’re obtuse.”
His lips twitched. “Are you hungry?”
She could eat, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I won’t break
bread with you.”
“Your form of protest?”
“You’d enjoy it too much.” Nourishing one’s mate was a well-known
bonding ritual fueled by instinct. One that seemed incredibly appealing now
that the idea was in her head. She wrung her hands together, suddenly
wishing to busy them. She found a patch of fading flowers to stare at,
digging her boot at a small rock she found in the lawn.
 She was not thinking about what it’d be like to sit in his lap and place
food in her mate’s mouth . . . Was . . . not.
“I would enjoy feeding you, but that can wait until you’re feeling less
stubborn.” His voice drew her eyes compulsively. He pursed his lips at her,
and Rain had to suck in her cheeks to prevent an involuntary noise. He was
pouting.
He was adorable. It made her furious how adorable he was.
Standing so close to him in his finery, she was reminded how much she
didn’t belong here, how little they had in common, and how they wanted
different things. He needed a marriage of convenience. She needed one with
heart. It disappointed her so, and she sighed. It could have been the joy of
her life falling in love with the charming, complicated duke. She wanted to
remove all his masks and peer at all his layers.
She turned away from him in search of another distraction and found
one on the rack along the far wall. “Is that an elven bow?” she asked.
“It is.” His voice was low and cautious. “If you promise not to shoot me
with it, I could let you see it up close.”
She squinted at him. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact that
I’m a prisoner here with rare elven weaponry?”
“I saw your dagger and may have moved it in here just for you . . . I
thought you’d appreciate it.” The curl of his lip pulled at his scars. “Is it
working?”
“Unfortunately yes.” There was so little elven beauty left in the world.
It had once been elves and Seelie fae in the northern provinces. Over time,
the fae populations grew and dominated as they so often did amongst the
immortal races, and the two groups intermingled until only the Seelie Tree
Court remained.
 “You could delay your attempts to run away from me again,” he said,
“and shoot with me instead.”
“I could . . .” she said cautiously.
“Shoot with me,” he stressed, “not at me.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
Night retrieved the bow and gave it to Rain, watching her closely. It was
lighter than it looked and intricately decorated, made of living wood that
had a green tinge veining through it. All trees had life, but only rare living
trees never died, even once they were separated from their roots—immortal
trees, they were sometimes called. The bow’s limbs told a story in carved
detail of Rae, a goddess of nature, and her lover, a Vanir demigod of night,
day, and dawn. She took her time inspecting it with her fingers, weighing it
between her hands, reliving a story she knew well.
Night stared at her with the same scrutiny she gave to the bow. Finally,
she could stand the pressure of his attention no longer. She looked up at him
and her breath caught. There was passion and longing in his moonlight
gaze. She’d never been looked at in such a way before, never felt so picked
apart and seen, never felt so wanted.
The duke broke away first, collecting a quiver of arrows with white
fletching. Then he joined her a few yards from the makeshift target of straw
and wood.
He handed her an arrow, and when she accepted it, his grip lingered on
the shaft. A bolt of connection shot up through the wood into her hand. Her
fingers tingled, and they were staring at one another again, wordlessly
allowing time to pass around them, trapped in that intimate magic born of
their blooming bond. Nothing else mattered. She could stare at him like that
for ages . . .
 Rain interrupted the moment this time, aiming and firing the arrow,
nearly striking the center of the target. She stretched out a hand for another
bolt, and Night obliged her. She pulled the string back to her cheek, more
comfortable with the weight now, and fired a second shot, striking center. It
wasn’t a difficult shot—they were standing rather close to the target—but
he seemed impressed. His approving nod made her blush. She returned the
bow to the duke.
Night took two shots seamlessly, and then they agreed to extend the
distance, adding several more yards between them and their target. Rain
struck center with her third shot.
“Excellent,” Night said.
Bernard cawed above them and flapped his ebony wings, cheering her
on.
She shrugged. “It’s not impressive when there’s nothing about to
distract you like bad weather or an enemy hoisting an ax or blinding
hunger.”
“Spoken like a true warrior,” he said, awe in his voice.
They exchanged stories as they shared the bow. Once he’d gotten her
talking, it felt surprisingly easy to continue. She was at times too distracted
by aiming to feel nervous. He wanted to know how she’d made her living in
the woods all this time. She shared about the archery competitions she’d
entered to earn coin early on, the furs she’d trapped and sold, and the skills
she perfected until trade became her method of bartering. She’d had no use
for coins for ages now. She made her own clothing or traded for it, hunted
and foraged for her own food, slept at the brothel when it was too cold . . .
“That bow belongs to my brother, Erikson,” Night confided. “A Divines
Day gift for a fledgling fae, now a man for many centuries.”
 “It’s an extraordinary gift,” she said warmly. “I’m sure he loved it.”
“Actually, he’s never had much use for it, but I didn’t know Erikson
well when I took over raising him after our father died. He accepted the
bow with grace, however. Erikson was never truly a fledgling. He was too
mature for his age and prone to worry. Sadly, that bow has gone largely
neglected over the years. It’s good it’s getting attention now.” Night raised
one midnight brow in irresistible challenge. “How about a friendly wager?”
She hesitated to ask, but he was hard to withstand when he was being
roguish. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Next best shot wins. If I’m the victor, I want a kiss.” He smiled the
way a cat might at a mouse it was toying with.
The suggestion put images in her head she’d have some trouble
dislodging later: the hard heat of him pressed against her, his mouth
claiming hers. In the back of her mind, an unfriendly voice reminded her
that she couldn’t stay, couldn’t give him what he wanted, because he
couldn’t give her what she needed. “If I win, I want my freedom.”
He rubbed at his pointed chin, considering her. “How about if you win,
you get to keep the bow?”
“Oh, I couldn’t . . .”
“It needs a good home.”
She studied it between her hands. She wanted it, wanted something
from him, wanted to put it to good use. And he insisted . . . She kept her
expression flat and free of mischief. “If you’re certain your brother
wouldn’t miss it, you shoot first.”
They were several yards out now, and she’d lost count of how many
times they’d fired, but her arms were beginning to burn. Night took her
place down the line and accepted the elven bow. He readied his shot.
 “Grow,” Rain shouted. The living tree in the bow responded to her
voice and to her affinity with nature. The limbs extended, stretching the
string taut. Startled, Night’s shot went high. Laughter bubbled out of her at
his vexed expression.
He spun to face her. At the sound of her utter delight, his look of
consternation melted into bemused humor.
“Is something wrong?” she said, her smile so wide her cheeks hurt. “I
told you a good archer can fire even if there’s a distraction. Don’t you want
to be a good archer?”
“You cheated.” Night moved out of her way but loomed close. “You’re
no mage, but you’re quite the little trickster.”
You did cheat, Bernard said.
Whose side are you on anyway? Rain refused to be intimidated by the
duke’s proximity, keeping her expression placid.
“You can’t pressure me. I’ve been threatened by far worse than you, My
Lord. Loose,” she said, and the limbs of the bow returned to their original
size. She aimed with confidence, pulling the string back to her cheek and
holding her next exhale to steady her shot.
Night leaned in nearer still until his lips were by her ear, his breath
tickling the tender skin of her neck. “Do you dream of me?”
She released the shot, and it went wide, striking the outer edge of the
target. Her face flamed. She’d dreamed of him every night, another
symptom of their blooming bond. Vivid dreams of her legs wrapped around
his waist, him moving between her thighs with sleek grace, dreams she
awoke from hot and slicked with sweat, her core throbbing . . .
“I’ll take that to mean yes,” he said smugly.
 On the way to fetch their bolts, they argued about who’d won. Both
arrows were lodged in the outer edges of the target. The disagreement grew
increasingly spirited. Rain handed back the bow and attempted to measure
the distance between the center and the arrows with her arms. Night
accused her of bias.
“Prejudice can’t change the size of my arms!” she shouted, surprised to
find that she quite enjoyed yelling at her mate. In fact, she’d never found
shouting so pleasant in all her life. She felt free in that moment to say
whatever she wanted to. A feeling that was completely foreign to her.
Better still, he shouted back with a secret grin that creased the corners
of his eyes. “Then your arms aren’t the same size.”
Rain pressed her limbs together in demonstration. “My arms are
perfectly even!”
“They may be perfect, but they’re certainly not even. Clearly my arrow
is closer to center than yours.”
“Bernard can decide who won,” Rain suggested.
“Not a chance.” Night shook his head. “He’ll pick his mistress.”
How dare! Bernard cawed and flapped his wings, drawing the duke’s
attention. And it’s clearly a draw. You both shot horribly.
“He didn’t appreciate your accusation, and he says it’s a draw,” Rain
explained. “Demons feel the same way about lies as the fae do.” Then she
peered up at her familiar. “Although, he’s developed an irritating fondness
for human jesting that I hope he tires of eventually.”
I won’t, Bernard vowed. Humans are weak fools, but they know what’s
funny.
“No matter,” Night said evenly. “As this is your home now, there will be
plenty of time for a rematch.”
 “You don’t get to decide where my home is,” she said through her teeth.
The battle picked up again then. They shouted at each other. She jabbed
a finger at him. He shook the bow at her, carrying on about his need for a
bride. She repeated her desire for immediate freedom.
“You have an entire court full of proper ladies with proper manners at
your disposal,” Rain barked. They’d ended up by the oak tree somehow.
“You wouldn’t even have to abduct them. They’d come and stay in your
absurdly large house all on their own!”
“I don’t want a proper lady who dresses well and has all the silly social
graces. I want you!” He made a sweeping gesture with the tip of the bow
that encompassed her from her ashen hair to her worn boots.
Rain frowned. “You want me because I dress poorly and have no
grace?”
“No, no . . .” Night groaned. “I mean I don’t want a soft woman that’s
never experienced adversity in her sheltered life. That’s not what I need.”
He met her perplexed expression and pinched the bridge of his nose. “By
the divines, I swear I’m usually much better at complimenting women than
this.”
“Are you sure?” She raised a brow.
That got a laugh out of him. His shoulders shook. Then Night’s gaze
fixed on her face, a tenderness in his features that didn’t match his
argumentative tone. It made her knees threaten to buckle. In her fleeting
recollections of her past, she was certain she’d never been wanted like this
before. Not by anyone. It was delicious to be wanted so intensely. It made
her feel pleasantly warm all over and a little needy herself.
It was very hard to say no to the duke. But once complete, the bonding
instincts would settle and fade over time, and what would she be left with
when her true mate still didn’t believe in love? Just a vast wealth she didn’t
care for and the duty to re-involve herself in a fae war she didn’t want to be
a part of ever again.
He would have to find . . . someone else. The idea made bile rise in her
throat, and suddenly she had no appetite at all.
“Rain?” All humor left his expression. He shuffled in nearer, concern
etched in the lines of his forehead and bracketing his mouth.
She waved him off. “I’m all right. Just a stomachache.”
Brows drawn together, he looked like he wanted to say something else,
but there was movement behind the gate, and the plodding of a mortal’s
heavy footsteps sounded alongside the light graceful strides of two fae. The
first immortal wore a uniform tunic and heavy gloves and worked a large
key through the padlocks. He was flanked by two others, one a half-fae
male responsible for the heavy steps, with long sideburns and full cheeks.
He greeted Night with a tip of his top hat.
Night returned the elven bow to the rack, looking irritable. Then he
joined the new arrivals at the gate.
She noted familial similarities between Night and the half-fae in height,
the blue in their hair, and the shape and color of their dark gray eyes. Beside
him stood a younger fae female decked in a midnight blue tunic with fringe
at the shoulders and a crescent moon emblem at her breast. Thin, ribbed
ram horns curled off her crown. Her hair was cut short at her chin and shone
a vibrant magenta in the lamplights.
It was a mage uniform, Rain guessed. The female probably hadn’t
reached her first century yet. Her eyes were bright and light. She was likely
a guard of some sort, as was the other with the gloves. Night hissed words
at them Rain could barely hear. The female appeared bored.
 “I told you to make sure I wasn’t disturbed.” Night’s hands formed fists
at his side.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s urgent . . .” The half fae glanced
around the duke to peer at Rain.
She shrunk back from the unfriendliness in his scrutiny. I don’t think
that man likes me, she told her familiar.
Bernard flapped his ebony wings overhead. Do you want me to shit on
his hat?
Rain repressed a snort. You probably shouldn’t.
Are you sure? I’ve cleaned out most of an ice box. I’ve plenty of
ammunition.
I’m quite certain.
Is the duke going to leave us? Bernard sounded almost as sad about it as
she felt. The knot in her stomach hardened.
Night and the half-fae continued to whisper urgently at each other. The
half-fae was called Erikson, and he was Night’s half-brother. Picking up on
bits of conversation, Rain discerned that he was an advisor of some sort.
Rain sighed. The duke is a very important man. This is how it would
always be, Bernard. Duty will always pull him away from us. She
swallowed hard, grounding herself. And when the bond instincts have
settled, it’ll be even worse. We’d never see him. We are a means to an end.
But I love . . . his ice box.
Rain shot him a look that had him crowing loudly, something that to
Rain sounded like chittering.
“Half an hour,” Night groused at Erikson. “That’s all you get.” He
turned to Rain, an apology in his gaze.
 “Go on,” Rain said. “It’s not as though I’m a guest here whom you’re
being rude to. Not exactly.”
His flash of teeth was full of mischief. He crossed to her and took her
hand in his. Her whole being came to attention at his touch, muscles
warming and loosening, and her mouth went dry.
He pressed a cool kiss to her knuckles, his thumb skimming across hers.
The contact made her head swim. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Goodbye, Night.” She hadn’t meant to say the words so solemnly, but
they were out of her mouth and she couldn’t put them back in now.
He hovered over her, dropping his forehead to hers. She felt the velvet
curve of his antlers brushing the top of her scalp. “I like my name on your
lips,” he whispered, pressing their linked hands to his heart. His pulse
thumped with unfettered power, the expanse of his chest hard and
unyielding.
Her eyes slid shut, absorbing the satisfied thrum of their bond along the
surge of her pulse in her neck and thighs. “We have an audience,” she
reminded him.
He frowned at that. “You have an audience.”
She couldn’t resist the grin that curved her mouth. “Do you want to sack
all of them now for looking at me?”
“A little.” His smile was slow and satisfying, crinkling the lines near his
eyes. “A lot,” he confessed.
They shared a long breath, and then he straightened, separating himself
from her with what looked like great restraint. He turned, posture rigid as a
soldier in formation, hands balled at his sides.
The young female guard and the advisor Erikson led their lord out
through the metal gates. The fae mage wearing thick leather gloves entered
the courtyard, shut the bars with a clatter of metal on metal, and re-secured
the fat padlocks. A long leathery tail tipped in black fur curled behind him.
Rain glared at the mage’s back, sizing him up. He was broad and
muscled and had several inches on her in height. The dagger at his hip was
as large as Rain’s forearm. He would try to knock her down, but Rain would
just get back up again . . . She could take him. “Are you my new
nursemaid?”
“While our lord is away, yes,” he said drolly. “Won’t be long now,
though. He seemed eager to be back with you.”
Rain’s attention returned to the oak tree. She crossed to it and
introduced herself, pressing her palm to the trunk, exchanging heat and
energy with it. The oak was old and lonely. She ran friendly fingers along
the ridges of its bark, sympathizing with the ancient tree.
Bernard came to rest on her shoulder, his claws catching gently at her
woolen coat. She hoisted him back toward the room, the only other door in
the courtyard.
“Where are you going?” the mage demanded.
“Back to my quarters,” Rain said without turning around.
“Just . . . behave yourself. I’ll have to put you both to sleep if you try
anything.”
Bernard cawed at that. Ack. Moon magic makes me positively itchy. Let
me shit on his head, at least.
Leave him be for now. It took a moment to cross the expansive
courtyard. She pushed open the door. It still smelled like Night inside, like
old books and peppery cologne, and her stomach flipped. Are my daggers in
here?
I smell elven metal and living tree in the bureau over there.
 Rain crossed to it and opened a drawer. She smiled down at her satchel
and the familiar weapons which glinted in the candlelight and the dim glow
cast by the low fire. She returned them one at a time to their sheaths,
reflecting again on the loss of elven beauty in the world. Her coloring
reflected her elven-fae ancestry and something else . . . something lost to
her memories. Something Bernard didn’t even recognize.
She had sensed Night wouldn’t keep her things from her entirely. She
appreciated that. He didn’t like her to want for anything, an instinct she
could relate to. She felt the pull to give him whatever he desired just as
strongly.
But he couldn’t have her. The thought turned her more and more morose
by the second. Not even the comforting weight of her blades or the nearness
of her familiar cheered her.
We’re leaving then, Bernard guessed.
The guard threatened to put us to sleep. Why don’t you put him down
first? Choose something small so you don’t have to take my blood.
Bernard spread his wings and burst into a cloud of shadows. He shrunk
down and down, forming a small scorpion on the carpet, stinking pungently
of sulfur. Little legs wiggling, he scuttled to the door, tiny enough now to
slip below the crack and sneak up on the unsuspecting mage.
Rain caught him by his segmented tail, careful of the sharp barb on the
end. “Put him to sleep temporarily,” she urged, lifting him so he met her
eyes. “Not forever. Try again. And don’t you dare eat any of his fingers.”
His pincers clicked at her irritably, then he was a black cloud once
more, writhing and spinning before shrinking farther into the form of a
furry spider.
“That’s better,” Rain said warmly.
 The little spider pitter-pattered across the floor, sliding easily under the
door. Rain sat on the corner of the bed and tried not to think about the way
Night had held her hand, the feel of his urgent lips against her knuckles, or
the sweet way he’d blown on her neck to soothe her when she’d awoken in
such a panic . . .
Flashes of the dreams she’d had since their courtship began popped into
her mind. Intimate muscles between her legs tightened and heated.
Memories of bare skin and the glide of their lean bodies fitting together so
perfectly, the sheen of sweat on their flesh . . . He would be tender, patient
with her shyness, a generous lover. An experienced man like the duke
would teach her all the things she didn’t know, lessons that made her hot
and curious—all dangerous thoughts. She squeezed her thighs together and
bit down on her lip so hard it hurt.
The sharp pain helped a little to ground her.
Leaving would help more. She needed to be far away from him to
dampen the ache.
There was a bit of parchment on the bureau and an inkwell that was
almost dry. She went to it. She’d said goodbye already, but she felt
compelled to say more. It was good manners amongst the fae to leave best
wishes in a note for those you cared for. Rain found a fountain pen and
filled it with the ink. Her handwriting was rough, but not leaving a note
would be the height of poor manners. She hadn’t used those skills in a great
while—another reason she’d make a dreadful duchess.
I’m sorry. Please let me go. It’s for the best.
-Rain
Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill over. She chided
herself. This was not the behavior of a warrior, a woman who had held life
in her hands and taken it, had survived battle, who lived on the land, and
who frightened the predators of the night. She sniffled against the sting in
her nose and rubbed her wet lashes, the deep pit of her loneliness opening
wider within her.
After a time, she peeked out the door and found the mage lying face-
down in the grass, his legs spread behind him. Bernard was a crow again,
perched on the balcony, waiting for her. She took her time crossing to him,
letting crisp fall air cool her clammy skin. Her breath misted around her.
Stars glinted overhead.
Bernard joined her as she climbed the old oak tree. He didn’t comment
on her watery eyes or the hitch in her breathing, and she was grateful for it.
Cradled in the tree’s branches, she laid both hands on its trunk. “If I
promise to see to your loneliness, my friend, will you help me?”
The tree rattled its limbs. They knocked together like chattering teeth.
Rain kissed the bark. “Thank you.”
The tree stretched, the wood groaning. Branches grew and elongated
and reached until Bernard and Rain had a clear path to the manor roof. She
patted the limb beneath her with gratitude. As she scaled the limbs, Bernard
cawed on her shoulder unexpectedly.
Surprised, Rain hunkered down. “What in the name of all the divines
was that?”
Sorry. Apparently, the part of your soul you gave me was hoping you’d
get caught by your mate so you couldn’t leave.
Rain’s eyes formed murderous slits. Do that again and I’ll pop you in
your beak. This is hard enough for me as it is. She studied the mage below,
checking for signs of movement, then the gates and the gaps between. All
was well. They made it to the roof without another issue. Rain stepped
carefully, testing the rounded clay tiles beneath her boots.
Ear-splitting howls rent the air. Startled, she jumped, nearly falling.
Bernard took flight. By the moon mother’s knickers. That sounded like
wolves.
Rain clutched her chest, willing her heart to slow to its usual rhythm. “It
is wolves. The duke must keep them as pets . . . Let’s hurry.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 8

(Night)

P arting from her, even temporarily, was hell.

Night hated it. Every instinct, every taut muscle, every beleaguered
breath, and every thought wanted to curse Erikson off and return to Rain.
But mating was a matter of state, not the heart. He had a duty to his
people, and that must always come first, even before the bond, compelling
though it was. He followed his brother and Elayna, a mage captain, out of
the courtyard.
Elayna was too young to hold such a position, according to most. She
hadn’t yet reached her first century, but Night had never met a more capable
fighter or a more talented trickster. Clearly the Divine Night favored her,
and so he’d promoted her quickly and trusted her council because she spoke
plainly and never bothered with flattery. She was not a valueless card to be
used and discarded for the greater good. She was an ace in his sleeve. A
rather deft and deadly one.
Erikson led them down the walkway and into the main house, removing
his top hat. He guided them to the parlor, set aside his hat, and retrieved a
wire from the bar. Night didn’t bother sitting down, ignoring the overstuffed
chairs, and so Elayna remained standing as well, her hand on the hilt of the
dagger in her belt.
 “Summarize it,” Night said, not bothering to conceal his irritation, “and
be quick.”
“I’ll start with the bad news before I get to the worse news,” Erikson
said, hoisting the telegram closer to his eyes. “The Seelie queen wishes to
inform you that because you have not responded positively to her
suggestion that you pick a spouse within her line, and soon, the Tree Court
will no longer be making use of the river Eventide’s ferry system for travel
or the transportation of their goods. She urges you to contact her should you
suddenly come to your senses.” He let the telegram go, and it fluttered
slowly toward the floor.
Night crossed his arms over his chest. “We knew she might try
something like that.”
“And we were dreading it,” Erikson reminded him, “because it’ll
bankrupt a large portion of the province. Not just the ferry workers, but the
factories waiting for their supplies of redwood and coal.”
“We have plans in the works with the railyard—”
“The railyard is actively being purchased by your friend, Sigurd.”
“Damn it all.” Night rubbed a hand down the back of his head,
smoothing his hair.
“Outbid him,” Elayna said, her voice toneless. “Outbid him
significantly and do it now.”
Night considered her proposal. She wasn’t a financial advisor, but she
made a good point. “Outbid him anonymously,” he said. “Change the name
of the railroad to sound mortal and foreign. My estate will control
transportation once more under a secret trust. The new production will
replace jobs lost at the ferries. Trains will take over deliveries. Now, tell me
the worse news.”
 Erikson tossed the wire aside and picked up another. This one had singe
marks at the edges. “King Yaga wishes you well—and that concludes the
only pleasant thing about his thinly veiled threats of violence and
destruction. He regrets to inform you that, due to a lack of action on your
part regarding securing an alliance with his family, he has decided to no
longer stop giants and trolls from traveling through the mountains and
heading north at their leisure. But do contact him should you decide to
make an advantageous match with his kin. He will award such a decision
with title and land in the Unseelie provinces.”
“Divine’s blood,” Night grunted. Even Elayna, a soldier, flinched at his
blasphemy. Giants were not something the duke had foreseen. He’d
expected more threats. More demands. More unwanted gifts and bribes.
This was nearly an act of war.
“My thoughts exactly.” Erikson crumpled the wire and tossed it. Then
he laid his hands on the bar and sagged over the countertop.
“Patrolmen are no match for giants and trolls,” Elayna said.
Night nodded sadly, eyes downcast in thought. “I need more mages . . .
Send my house guard.”
“My Lord,” she said, disapproval sharpening her tone.
“Take my house guard, the novice mages too,” he repeated. “See to it
that other Lunar nobles do the same. Giants and trolls will be told to target
the factories and the bigger buildings along the Eventide, the better to make
us desperate and cause the most damage. Station the mages there. Run them
in shifts. No one gets leave except to sleep and eat. Make sure they
understand how serious the threat is.”
“I will, My Lord.” She hesitated then, her lip catching on her teeth.
“What is it, Elayna?”
 “Permission to stay with you, My Lord. You need someone watching
your back. You and your mate’s.”
Night’s smile lacked humor. “I am very capable of guarding myself and
Rain.”
“Normally, My Lord,” she said in that unfiltered way he usually
appreciated. Now it set his teeth on edge. “The blooming bond has its grip
on you. It’ll heighten some of your senses and impair others. You’re not
yourself.”
“She’s not wrong,” said Erikson. “You sacked your valet and an
innocent footman earlier today.”
Night shot him a glare. “Fine.” He hadn’t the time nor the temperament
to argue the matter further. “You stay here with me, Elayna. But see to the
others first. Attending to my mate just got twice as crucial. It’s more
imperative than ever that I get her to accept my proposal. The moment the
wedding announcements are sent, the sooner we can all breathe a little. See
that I’m not disturbed.”
Erikson gaped. “You want to set a wedding date even if the bond isn’t
complete?”
Night started for the door and stopped. “We don’t have the luxury of
time, so that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
“But they’ll know,” Erikson protested. “Only a true mate meets the
law’s requirement. If they visit the two of you or send spies—”
“She’ll be my true mate before long. I’ll see to that.” He aimed a
threatening finger at him. “You see to my estates and make sure I’m not
disturbed. I need time, Erikson. As much as you can give me.”
“I’ll . . . do my best.”
 Night straightened his shirt and hurried for the doorway. Elayna and
Erikson followed at his heels, firing the odd question at him about logistics
and planning.
His pet wolves howled, not a strange occurrence given the position of
the new moon in the sky. But then, just as they reached the gate, Night
sensed something was wrong. There was an unnatural stillness in the air, a
quiet that was loud.
“Arne?” he called through the bars, careful not to get too close. “Rain?”
There was no response. “Give me your coat,” he snapped at his brother.
Elayna produced a spare set of keys from her belt. Erikson stripped off
his coat and passed it over. Night wrapped his hands in the thick fabric. He
took the keys from Elayna, hurrying to unlock the door, handling the iron
padlocks with trembling fingers through the wool.
His throat tightened. “Rain?” he called again.
The silence was deafening. His pounding pulse made his ears ring.
Night shoved the gate open. It bounced against the slate wall as he raced
inside, Elayna beside him.
The guard captain pointed at the oak and gasped. “What magic is that?”
The old tree’s limbs stretched to impossible lengths, winding and
twisting, forming a bridge to his roof. Night howled a curse at the sky. He
ran to the base of the tree and looked up at the limbs, studying the rooftop
for signs of his mate.
“She’s a wily thing,” Erikson mused.
Night started to climb the tree, to pursue her. The branches dipped and
groaned under his weight. They couldn’t hold him. He wasn’t as slight as
Rain. Then Elayna called his attention to the guard, Arne. He was sprawled
in the lawn, face pressed to the grass, his leathery tail in a limp pool at his
side.
“She’s long gone by now, My Lord,” she said softly. Elayna was never
soft.
“Is he dead? Did that wild thing kill him?” There was horror in
Erikson’s voice.
Night wanted to throttle him. “He’s not dead, you idiot.” He dropped
down and joined Elayna. She’d turned Arne on his back, slapping his
cheeks, searching him for injuries. Night picked up his hand. It was swollen
and red around the pad of his thumb. “He’s been bitten.”
“By your mate?” Erikson asked.
“By a demon,” Night growled. “Stop talking about my duchess as
though she’s some sort of animal, or I’ll speak death into your ears.”
Elayna stared at him with wide eyes. Night’s lips pressed together. He’d
regretted the words the moment he’d spoken them. Very, very few Lunar
mages were powerful enough to speak death into another.
Night was one of those few. It was yet another reason why the Seelie
and Unseelie fought for him with such reckless abandon. With the fae Duke
of Night and his potent mages at their disposal, their enemies would fall
dead at their feet in droves. If only he had enough power to strike them both
down on his own. If only his court weren’t so small compared to the others.
Erikson cleared his throat, allowing the uncomfortable moment to pass
without comment.
Night made a circle with his fingers to mimic the shape of the dark new
moon overhead. He called the Divine Night to him, and the air thickened
and became coated with scents of autumn and incense. A crisp breeze
picked up around him, jostling his hair. He lowered onto his knee and
moved his circling fingers over Arne’s injured hand.
“Divine healing,” he whispered, and the fine hairs on his arms rose. The
swelling receded, and the guard’s damaged skin paled.
Arne stirred awake.
“Look alive,” Elayna said.
Night stood and kicked Arne’s boot, jostling him. “Up with you.”
The guard blinked at the sky, appearing lost. He glanced at Elayna, then
around at the courtyard.
“What happened to you?” the duke demanded. “You were warned she
was a witch. You knew her demon was a trickster.”
“Yes, My Lord. I’m . . . I’m so sorry, My Lord,” he said thickly. “I’ve
failed you.”
Night stared gloomily at the branches stretched over his head. His
nostrils flared. He couldn’t leave it standing now, knowing what she could
do with trees. “Cut it down.”
“The tree? Er . . . of course, My Lord.” The guard lumbered to his feet.
“Right away, My Lord.” He turned, taking in the project before him,
scratching at his hair.
Anger simmered under Night’s skin. He sucked autumn air into his
lungs and fought for clarity. Then he grabbed Arne by his bulky shoulder.
“Wait.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Arne met his gaze reluctantly.
Night groaned, chin dropping. He rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t gotten
enough sleep that day. His mate in his arms had been too distracting. In her
slumber she whimpered his name over and over. He pinched the bridge of
his nose, thinking of the weight of her, the places where she was firm like a
hardened soldier and the curves of her that were feminine and petal soft. He
thought of the way she’d melted around him when he gave her what she
wanted and came closer . . .
The sweet sound of her voice would turn shrill in his ear should he hurt
her by bringing down her tree. She would harden in his arms . . .
“Don’t cut it down. Just . . . move it.”
“That big tree, My Lord? Move it?”
“You heard correctly,” the duke said, resigned.
“I’ll do my best, My Lord.”
“Are you a mage of the Lunar Court or aren’t you? You’ll do it,” he said
firmly. “Or you’ll find yourself a new posting.”
The guard rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll need to consult with mages
in the Tree Court, My Lord.”
Night winced but waved him off. “Do what you must.”
The duke hesitated before leaving. The urge to pursue Rain was
growing stronger, but curiosity brought him instead to the room he’d
prepared for her. For older fae like himself, it was considered the highest
disrespect to leave the home of a dear one without a word or a note. She
technically was not a guest, but . . . The door was unlocked. The candles
had burned down, but a small fire continued to crackle. He caught the scent
of her, the little white flowers that bloomed in early fall and smelled of
vanilla.
He checked the bureau where he’d stored her knives and satchel. They
were gone.
Then he spotted the note she’d scribbled on a loose piece of parchment,
and a knot grew in his throat.
I’m sorry. Please let me go. It’s for the best.
 -Rain
He traced the lopsided letters with the pad of his fingers, ice water
thickening in his veins. “I can’t let you go, sweetheart,” he whispered to the
dark. “You’ve infected me so . . .”
He returned to the courtyard, new purpose in his gait, his long strides
eating up the lawn. Erikson and Elayna trailed him out. His steps were loud
on the pavers, with none of his usual immortal grace. Worry and anger
churned inside him beside the bond that wrenched at his insides. “Elayna,
ready my wolves.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Elayna sped off in the direction of the back lawn.
“You’re going after her?” Erikson said. “I hesitate to say this, brother,
but I think she’s made her choice rather plain . . .”
“She’s a witch. The bonding process is uniquely complicated for her,”
Night muttered.
“I don’t know why I bother. I know you’re not going to listen to me
when I say going after her is—”
The duke spun on him. Erikson’s mouth snapped shut. “Then don’t say
it, brother.”
Erikson’s throat bobbed. “In that case, may I suggest an alternative?
One to give us time?” He raised his hands in surrender when his brother
shot him another scathing look.
Night clenched his jaw. “If you can keep up, you can suggest what you
wish, but I can’t wait on you.” He entered the main house through a side
corridor. Their steps echoed on the marble floors.
Erikson elongated his strides to keep pace. “We know you’ll never
select a bride from the Tree Court or the Mountain Court, but—”
“Of course I won’t.”
 “—but they need not know that.”
“What are you saying?”
“I send word that you’ve changed your mind and would like time to
interview their favored candidates.”
“No.” They passed the parlor and the drawing room, entering a wide
foyer with white stone walls and domed ceilings. “You suggest we lie like
we’re mortals.”
Erikson huffed at him. “You never even need to meet them. You don’t
need to lie at all.”
At that, Night paused before a mural of starlight. “Who would interview
these potential brides?”
“I would, of course.” He grinned. “I’m excellent at asking inane
questions. I’ll take up absurd amounts of their time, one after the next. I’ll
stall for you, brother. I’ll bring a short reprieve to their incessant demands
and threats.”
“All right. But have them visit you in one of the country manors. I don’t
want them here.”
Erikson shook his head. “We need it to look like you’re taking the offer
seriously. Until we have an official engagement announcement sent out to
the papers, it should be here.”
“Fine . . . Stand back.”
Erickson did so.
As a trickster mage, the duke could take the form of any night animal
he’d familiarized himself with, or simply borrow attributes from them. He’d
considered calling forth the wings of an owl so he could hunt for his mate
from the skies, but the forests were dense. He needed sharp senses.
 Night linked his fingers and crossed his thumbs so the tips of them
jutted out past his hands, resembling ears. “Wolf,” he whispered. Some
spells were stronger cast in the quiet.
The scent of incense filled his nose, and a crackle of lavender light
illuminated his vision as his body began to change.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 9

(Rain)

R ain returned to The Red Boot. She’d left so abruptly before, she didn’t
want her girls worrying about her, and she longed to see them. Her
soul hurt with an ache that made her limbs weary. She wanted their good
humor to lift her souring spirits. On the off chance the duke didn’t come to
his senses and he decided to continue to pursue her, a public place would
make abduction rather difficult.
The Duke of Night was undoubtedly above the law, especially in River
Row. She couldn’t imagine a constable ever daring to arrest him for taking
her, but there had been a time when fae behaved how they pleased in the
Lunar Province. It was through fear of the Lord of the Lunar Court that
they’d learned to carry themselves in a more civilized fashion, especially
when interacting with mortals. Rain sensed he wouldn’t undermine that.
Bernard kept at her ankles in his cat form, nimbly dodging plodding
feet.
The tavern was overly full, the effect of the popular lord’s recent visit,
no doubt. The rumble of voices was a dull roar inside. Susan worked the
bar. She flashed a customer her breasts for a copper crescent between filling
a short glass with gin. Margot sat in the lap of a wealthy business tyrant
Rain had never liked, a fae named Sigurd. A ruddy fox tail draped the back
of his chair. She frowned as he ordered Margot to fetch him another ale,
shoving her off his lap. Then Sigurd clapped her on her generous ass with
enough force to make her stumble.
Rain corrected an earlier thought: most fae had learned to behave in a
more civilized manor out of fear of the duke. Sigurd was a lost cause.
Margot took it all in stride. Her mischievous grin never faltered.
Rain sidestepped patrons to catch up with her. “He hit you,” she
grumbled when she reached her.
Margot waved the notion off. “Pfft. That was an appreciative pat and
nothing more. Besides, he’s fae. They don’t always realize how strong they
are.”
Rain frowned. “Yes, we do. Who fed you that line? Show him to me,
and I’ll hit him for you.”
“Oh . . . ?” She chuckled. “Don’t worry your head. It’ll put creases on
your face, my mother always said. Sigurd is a prig, but he tips well and he
doesn’t smell horrible. But can I get a hand with the ales? He puts them
back faster than I can keep up.” Margot tapped the bar four times. Susan
laid out four mugs and began pouring. Margot eyed them, then seemed to
think better of it and tapped for another four.
“He enjoys humiliating you,” Rain grumbled. “I’d like to pluck off his
tail and throw him out on his ass.”
We could bring him down, Bernard said encouragingly. He’s a mage, but
his connection to the Divine Night is weak. If you let me have his fingers, he
wouldn’t be able to cast at all, and then you could have fun with your
daggers . . .
The thought was a tempting one. Planning it out cheered her.
 “Let me tell you a little secret,” Margot said, moving in close so only
Rain could hear. “A man can only humiliate you if you let him. And I let no
one humiliate me.”
Rain wasn’t convinced, but she let the matter drop. She filled her arms
with ales and hefted them back to Sigurd’s table with Margot in tow.
Sigurd’s ruddy face split with a smile. “Rain,” he purred. “When do I
finally get to spend time with a raspberry like you? Have a seat, darling.”
He shifted in his chair and patted his lap.
Rain plopped the drinks down on the tabletop, nose wrinkling. “I’d
sooner spend time with giants. They’d try to eat me, but that would be a
vast improvement on an evening with you.”
Sigurd’s bark of laughter drew unwanted eyes from around the room.
Rain spotted Penny at a corner table by herself, a haphazard stack of books
scattered before her. Rain moved to join her, but Sigurd caught her elbow.
Bernard hissed at her feet. He can either let you go, or I’ll bite his hand
off . . .
“Let go, or my familiar is going to bite your face off.” He didn’t deserve
a warning, but it had the desired effect. His hand dropped.
Face! Bernard chittered. Even better. The vain bastard will hate that.
Wish I’d thought of it.
Sigurd paled. Then he peered down at the furry feline, looking
unconvinced. “I just wanted to have a conversation with you, Rain. Why do
you always have to be so frigid toward me?”
Rain put her back to him, ignoring the surly mage.
“Is it ‘cause you’re bedding the Lunar lord now . . . ? Don’t look so
surprised—the entire Row is talking about it,” he taunted, and conversation
at the nearest tables ceased. Sigurd’s thick chortle made her neck hot. “Is
my blood not blue enough for a tart like you? What’s he paying you?”
Margot intervened. “Oh Sigurd, you terrible tease. You know Rain
doesn’t turn a trick for anyone, whatever the color of their blood. That’s
what I’m here for, sweetie. For you and every other great lonely heart . . .”
Rain hoped Margot took him for every last coin.
The witch moved on, crossing to Penny with more urgency. The girl’s
narrow face lifted, and her eyes brightened. She pulled Rain into a tight
hug, squealing in her ear, and as quick as that, Rain’s frustration was
forgotten. Sigurd wasn’t worth her time.
Besides, as soon as he left, she was going to suggest that Bernard return
to his crow form and shit in his hair, and all would be right in the world
then.
“Tell me everything,” Penny crooned, her feet tapping out an excited
beat beneath the table. “The duke’s brother was here when we returned
from our shopping. He said you and his grace got on well and that we
shouldn’t expect to hear from you for a while. It made us sad, but we were
happy for you.”
Mention of the duke put an ache in her chest. Rain immediately changed
the subject to the variety of books on Penny’s table, gesturing to them.
“These look interesting.”
Rain could read, but language and the shapes of certain letters had
changed quite a bit over the years, causing her to stumble. She preferred to
be read to as a result, and Penny was always eager to oblige her. The
thought made her think of the duke again and his warm, resinous voice
washing over her all those weeks ago, and she flushed.
 “I’m taking a brief break from turning tricks while I’ve still got your
beau’s coin in my purse,” she said, hoisting a book with the image of a hand
on the cover. “In the meantime, I thought if I learned more about astrology
and palm reading, I might be able sell my knowledge for a half piece or
maybe a copper crescent, something fresh to bring in more coin. Margot
thinks the boys’ll go for it as long as I’m topless . . . What do you think?”
Rain had an urge, not for the first time, to scoop the young girl up and
tuck her away some place safe and cozy, some place full of books and warm
blankets. She was too soft for this life. Too sweet. And one day, brutes like
Sigurd were going to ruin her and . . . Well, she hoped she was there to
chuck them all out the window before they could manage it.
Rain pushed those thoughts away because they never got her anywhere.
Penny hadn’t chosen this life for anything less than necessity. Making her
feel bad about that would do no one good. They were grown adults by
human standards, and there were mortals on this very street who lived
worse, with less, and were even younger.
But those poor souls weren’t her girls . . .
Rain forced a smile and extended her hand. “I’d love a reading from
you—even with all of your clothes on.”
Beaming, Penny took her hands. She hovered over her palms in turns,
running her touch so lightly over the creases it tickled. “These are
undoubtedly the hands of a fighter. What I’ve learned so far is that one palm
reveals your actions and personality and then the lines of the other, when
interpreted correctly, reveal what might be.” She flourished her fingers with
a playful air of mystery.
“Sounds fascinating. What do my lines say?” Rain knew very little
about mortal religious and cultural practices, save for the bits of
information she’d gathered spending time at the tavern.
“This is your heart line, and here’s your life line . . . Oh, you’re an
immortal, so it’s strange how it’s broken here in the middle and then it just
keeps going. Ha. It’s like you died in the middle of your life . . . . And this
shape here either indicates you’re going to have an adventure or . . .” She
flipped open one of her books, turning the pages rapidly. Squinting, her
eyes bounced from the illustration to Rain’s palm. “Or it means your ‘habits
indicate you’ll soon expire full of tumors.’” Releasing her hands, Penny
smiled brightly. “Well, let’s hope it’s the adventure, yes?”
“I’ll tolerate an adventure over the tumors,” Rain said. Bernard’s
laughter echoed in her head.
“Would you pay a half piece for that?” Penny’s brows lifted, and her
brown eyes filled with hope.
“Oh, definitely.”
You lie like a mortal, Bernard scolded.
I do not. She gave him a nudge with her boot. I’d give Penny all my
coin if I had any.
Ack. Stop being sentimental. It’s making me ill. Bernard brushed against
her leg like a cat with an itch, curling around her.
Good. If you vomit, do it on Sigurd’s boots, please.
Happy to.

***

Rain wasn’t ever going to get Bernard to let go of human humor now.
For most of an hour, Penny whispered common mortal jokes into his
ears. When the cat laughed, he fell on his side and appeared to be
hyperventilating, which startled Penny. Rain was quick to reassure her that
Bernard was quite all right and very amused.
Penny stroked his back from neck to tail, and Bernard was too tickled to
complain. “How did he become your familiar?”
Rain leaned back in the chair across from her, pondering the question. It
was a loaded one. She didn’t know how much a mortal would be able to
understand. “I gave Bernard a piece of my soul through bargain magic. Are
you familiar with immortal bargains?”
Her brow furrowed. “I read about them in a book once. If you break the
bargain, you die, yes?”
“That’s right.” Absently, Rain opened one of the books on the table,
flipping to a random page, a chapter on the implications of warts and scars.
“I bargained a piece of my soul in exchange for his service as a familiar.”
“Then is he your slave?”
Bernard’s ears went back at that. He snarled.
Rain laughed. “He’s not my slave. I made it part of the bargain that he’d
have free will. I didn’t want a slave. Just . . .” She hesitated, unable to
explain exactly what it was she’d wanted from him. “Just a companion.”
She peered at the illustrations in the book and couldn’t make sense of any of
the graphs. The language was modern, and the spellings were strange to her.
Penny lowered her voice like she was about to tell a salacious secret.
“And he’s a demon?” Her eyes were round and bright, full of coltish
inquiry.
“That’s right.” Rain chuckled. “In order to become a familiar, one has to
be able to wield blood magic. Demons, dragons, and fairies can do that—
though I’ve never heard of a fairy becoming a familiar. They’re so very rare
to begin with, though, so it’s possible, just not probable. When demons
reach the end of their life after an era or so, they can choose to be reborn in
hellfire.”
Penny winced. She scratched behind Bernard’s ears sympathetically.
“Yes, exactly,” Rain said. “I’d want to avoid that too. When Bernard
reached the end of his life, he went in search of someone to preserve him
and found me.”
I only regret my choice half the time, Bernard said.
Rain grinned down at him and continued. “Bargain magic is fed by
blood and by the soul. Bernard wields blood magic. The fae access their
souls through will, which they use to connect to the divine.” She’d lost
Penny there—the girl’s eyes went blank. “Suffice it to say, he’s my familiar
because he chose to be,” Rain finished with a shrug.
A half hour later, Sigurd left with a trio of dragae henchmen, and Rain
was glad to see the back of him. She suggested Bernard follow them home
and decorate their hats from the sky. Bernard pursued them gleefully,
transforming into a crow after he slunk outside. Her head echoed with his
snickering until all went suddenly silent. She’d learned over time that they
could only hear each other through their link from about a block away. She
knew he was well and alive, could sense his life force which was
strengthened by its connection to her own, but his soothingly familiar voice
was gone for now.
Rain put out a patron who arrived already half rats on liquor and
looking for more. He had coin to spend, but he reeked of sewage and was
upsetting the other customers. Susan asked the witch to assist with a weary
look Rain recognized. She was relatively gentle with the older human since
he hadn’t hurt anyone, escorting him to the side door when he refused to
depart, instead of shoving him out a window. Older humans were more
fragile than younger ones, she’d learned. The fae were the opposite. Age
hardened a fae’s body. They tended not to move as quickly or have as much
energy, but they were stronger and more solid.
As she shut the door behind the old man, a chorus of howling wolves
shattered the evening quiet and the trees swayed as though caught in a gale.
Rain gasped. There hadn’t been wolves in her woods for nearly a century.
Another howl—deeper and louder than the others—followed, and her knees
went weak. She recognized those wolves. The foul-smelling drunk tore off
toward the street, lumbering and shouting about beasts in the woods. Rain
had to brace herself against the door.
She’d chased the wild wolves out because they were scaring her food
away: deer and rabbit. Then the coyotes came, and she chased those off
when they tried to take her place, and the bears after that . . . Only the
occasional lone passerby came through her trees now. Never a group or
pack.
She touched her chest; the blooming bond reverberated through her with
such intensity she trembled. The great wolf’s next cry was solemn and low.
Grief-stricken. And in that moment, so was she. She wanted Night to appear
before her so she could make him all better. She would give him a gift and
nourish him with food she made, and he would quip at her and smile his
striking broken smile, and he’d no longer be so devastatingly sad . . .
And all at once she wanted him to stay the hell away from her.
She felt like she was drowning in the confusing whirl of emotions and
sensations. It was enough to make a person completely mad. The sound of
padding paws and snapping jaws brought her to her senses. She couldn’t see
the creatures yet, but she sensed them looming closer, heard the snap of
limbs and the rustle of disturbed leaves. She leapt back, slammed the door
shut, and threw the lock.
Rain dashed for the front entrance, but the sight of her trickster mate in
the window made her boots catch on the floorboards. A small crowd from
inside the pub began to press their faces against the glass, pointing.
“By the divines,” she gasped. Night made a beautiful wolf. Silver fur
glinted in the starlight. He was the size of a small horse and well-
proportioned, all sleek muscles and heavy paws. He had a mane of darker
gray around his neck, and unmistakable piercing silver eyes.
In a burst of lavender moon magic, the wolf was gone. Night stretched
to his full height, rolling his neck and shoulders like he needed a reminder
of how they worked, dressed in his silk shirt and tall boots. His eyes
captured hers through the window, the same captivating silver. Amongst the
growing crowd, he’d picked her out easily.
The duke crooked a finger at her, his jaw firm. A heat pooled in her
belly, growing and expanding down into her core. She stood her ground on
legs that felt like soup and shook her head defiantly. She knew she wasn’t
going to make it to the front door before he got there. She was fast, but he
was younger.
She backed into a tight corridor that led to the scullery and hid in a
shelved closet full of linens and old cutlery, feeling like the worst sort of
coward, but she needed a minute to think, and she needed away from the
bustle of the tavern to do it. Her breath sawed out of her so loudly she
couldn’t hear the dull roar of the crowd.
The door cracked open, and Rain’s hand went to the hilt at her hip under
her coat, an instinctive response. She didn’t have it in her to harm her mate,
no matter how firmly she was against the idea of being kidnapped again.
 Margot pushed inside. “I saw you slip in here after your beau turned up.
Thought you might need a talk— Oh dear, you’re sweating.”
Rain dabbed at her face with the sleeve of her coat. The bond pulsed
through her so demandingly her ears were ringing. “Will you let me know
when he leaves?”
Margot turned about in the tight space and peeked out. “He’s just
planted himself at a table in the back. I don’t think he’s going anywhere,
sweetie,” she said with her eye pressed to the crack she’d made. “He’s
staring over here with that fae-intensity of his that makes me want to climb
up his lean body and latch on like a randy monkey . . . Does he not have
that effect on you?”
Rain’s long, tortured exhale said more about that than her words ever
could.
The door opened fully, and her stomach plummeted, but it was only
Penny. “Why are we all hiding in here?” the girl asked, squeezing her
willowy frame in between them.
Before either could reply, Susan filled the threshold, a hand hooked on
her hip. “I’m all alone out here. Could I have some help, please?”
“Rain’s beau is back,” Margot said in a stage whisper, jerking Susan
inside and shutting the door. “We mustn’t be seen. We’re waiting for the
duke to get bored and go away. Though, I think the stars will fall from the
sky before that happens.” She and Penny giggled.
“What’s he done?” Susan’s concerned gaze fell on Rain in the dark
closet. “Didn’t he treat you well at his estate?”
“He treated me very well,” Rain said in a tiny voice—not the voice of a
warrior. “But then he ruined it by kidnapping me.”
Penny gasped, covering her painted mouth with her hand.
 Margot’s dark brows shot up in surprise. “He kidnapped you? But then
why are you smiling?”
Rain touched her mouth, shocked to find it curving upward at the
corners. “Damn.” She was smiling. Biting her misbehaving lip, she cursed
the bond that thrummed excitedly in her chest.
Susan snorted. “The fae have strange ideas about romance. That’s why
she’s smiling. Do you want me to try to get rid of him?”
“I don’t think you can. Just distract him a bit,” Rain said, “while I slip
out the side door.”
“Is sneaking away without speaking to him another strange fae romantic
gesture that I don’t understand?” Margot asked.
“Yes,” Susan said before Rain could explain herself. Then she decided
not to bother. It was too complicated anyway, and there wasn’t time to
discuss mate bonds and marriages of convenience and the brewing war.
“I can help,” Penny said, her voice like a merry tinkling of bells. “I’ll go
read his palm. I need the practice anyway.” In the dark, she stepped on
Susan’s foot on her way out. Susan grunted in pain, then followed her,
limping.
Margot hung by the threshold. “I’ll give the door a tap when it’s safe.”
She closed Rain in.
Bernard? she called out along the link of their souls. There was no
response. They didn’t like to be separated long. He’d panic if he didn’t
know where she’d gone. But she couldn’t stay. Night’s nearness was a
beautiful torment.
Why didn’t he just let her go already? When she’d awoken in his home,
he’d mentioned bonding was hard with witches because of the piece of their
soul they’d shared with a familiar. Why in the name of the sacred stars
didn’t he make life easier for himself, then? He could hold a ball like a
practical lord and nab the next lady he spotted who was mate compatible
and not a witch.
The idea of her replacement made every muscle in her body go tense,
and her fingers formed claws at her sides. She’d like to think she was too
old for petty jealousy, but apparently the bond beating in her chest was not.
A knock at the door stole her attention, and she braced herself. Inhaling
sharply, she shuffled out, back into the heat of the busy tavern, keeping low.
Her sneaking was made easier by how much shorter she was than everyone
else. She caught a glimpse of Night at the table nearest the entrance, legs
crossed, body turned toward Penny. Penny stooped over his palm. He was
being kind to her. She could see it in his eyes and his smile, which made
young Penny light up from the inside out.
He was wrong when he said he was only kind to her. He was
responsible for great kindness in River Row. This was the man who’d
scared the fae into treating mortals like citizens. The man who kept a war
out of the Lunar Province. A busy man who had walked her silently through
the trees for nearly a month because she liked the quiet and the woods. He
was kind. Much to Rain’s frustration, she liked that about him very, very
much.
She made it to the side door, unlocked it, and shouldered it open. The
cry of wolves had her snapping it shut again. “Drat,” she hissed. She
wouldn’t make it far with them at her heels carrying on and giving her
away. He’d just snatch her up again and haul her off.
Like the old fae used to. Do not smile, she scolded herself.
There was only one path left to her. She’d have to go over there, use her
words and talk to him like a proper lady. Her eyes went heavenward with a
wish to the divines. She so hated words. Her words, not his. His were
always annoyingly lovely. The words of a practiced trickster.
“Your heart line is complicated,” Penny was saying as Rain drew near,
dragging her feet the way mortals walked. “Oh, hello, Rain. I didn’t see you
there.” Her smile was warm and bright. A line formed between her brows,
advertising her brief confusion, as this was not the plan.
Rain forced her expression to smooth, and then she slid into the chair
across from the duke.
“Would you like a refreshment, Your Grace?” Penny offered.
“I’ll have whatever Rain would like,” he said quickly, “and for me, do
you have milk?”
Penny giggled. “Yes. But does Your Grace not want something
stronger?”
“I don’t drink spirits,” he explained. Then he gave her one of his
disarming smiles. “And I love milk.”
“Me too. Rain prefers water—”
“Wine please,” Rain said. It had been a long while since she’d had wine.
She remembered not liking it much, but it tasted better to her than other
drinks and she was counting on the alcohol to help with her courage.
“I’ll see to both.” Penny winked at her before trotting off in the
direction of the kitchen.
Night had a way of saying so many things with his eyes. They turned on
Rain, covering her in their moonlit glow, and in a moment she felt terribly
guilty and uncomfortably hot all at once. She saw his frustration, his worry,
and felt his loss. But she swallowed and held her ground. He’d kidnapped
her, after all. He’d been the one in the wrong.
 Her jaw firmed. “Do I need to remind you that you’d look ridiculous in
irons?”
“I hoped I’d catch up to you in the woods.” His lips twitched. “Coming
to a public place was clever. I can’t abduct you in front of all these sods,
now, can I?”
“No, you can’t.”
“I could, though, you know. No one would stop me.” He tapped his
fingers against the tabletop like he was pondering it.
“You could. But you won’t.”
He raised a dark brow. “I might.”
“You won’t, because you’re kind,” she said accusingly. His eyes went
wide, and his lips parted in surprise. For a moment, Rain worried she’d
overstepped. But he was her mate, and he’d certainly done worse, so she
pressed on. “You wear your masks well, but I see you through them. You
are a kind man, Night. And you aren’t going to take me in front of all these
people. You’ve worked hard to make River Row and the Lunar Province a
more civilized place.”
He folded his arms in front of him and leaned his weight across the
table. “If there was time, I’d do things so very differently with you. I’d visit
you and read to you and walk with you, exploring every deep and dark
place of the woods you love.” His voice dropped to a liquid purr. “I’d sleep
beside you under the stars. I’d take you in the grass like the old gods used
to, not caring who saw us there. I’d earn your trust and then get you to
speak to me freely.” He sighed. “But there just isn’t time for all of that, I’m
afraid.”
“This isn’t an issue of time,” she groaned, picturing everything he’d
described in her mind’s eye in deliciously vivid detail. “I already speak with
you better than I do anyone else, believe it or not. I’m just terrible at it in
general.”
He pressed on. “I’d learn you if it were up to me. Your every thought.
Your every scar. Your every wish and every desire. I want that time.” He
dropped his chin, and his voice went husky. “Do you dream about me,
Rain? You never answered before.”
Her lashes fluttered shut. She felt pulled toward the crooning of his
voice. She could feel it on her skin, and it was as compelling as it was
frightening. “You know I do,” she whispered, and there was that intimate
magic between them again. Nothing else mattered. The tavern might as well
have been completely empty.
“Trust the bond. Follow your instincts. Your fear of me, of us, is just
your broken soul in panic. I’d sooner rip my own heart out of my chest than
see you harmed.”
“We want different things.” Chin lowering, she shook her head. “The
bond is overwhelming, yes, but I could endure it if—”
“Could endure it if what?” He straightened in his chair.
Rain clammed up as Penny returned. The girl laid a cup of milk and a
glass of wine before them. “Would you like something from the kitchen
before we cool the oven for the night?” She studied Rain as she spoke,
checking in.
Rain forced a reassuring smile.
“We’re all sorted. Thank you.” The smallest crack broke through his
charming façade, his hurried tone revealing a hint of his irritation at being
interrupted.
Penny jogged off unawares.
“You were saying,” he prompted.
 “I don’t want a marriage of convenience.”
Night lifted out of his chair, the movement so fast it caught her off
guard. He snagged the back of her seat and dragged her in closer so that
their thighs touched. “I need you near,” he said in her ear, his arm fitting
around her shoulders with sure and steady pressure, fingers grazing the
nape of her neck.
Hot, wet warmth pooled between her legs. She squeezed her thighs
together. Hang it all, if that’s all it took, what else could he do with his
hands? “The more sensible thing for you to do is—”
“I don’t want to be told what’s best for me. If you don’t want a marriage
of convenience, then what do you want? Speak plainly.”
Rain met his eyes head-on. His body warmed her side. She stretched her
hand out and planted her palm over the hard plane of his chest. “I want your
heart, you fool.” The thing she desired most thumped against the flat of her
hand like it had heard her.
Understanding turned his expression pensive. “You don’t just want the
trappings of a marriage. You want the fairy story.”
“Don’t call it that.” Feeling twice as heavy as before, her hand dropped
from his silk shirt. With difficulty, she lifted her wine to her lips and took in
a mouthful. It tasted sour on her tongue. She spat it back into the glass,
coughing. “Apparently I still don’t like wine . . .”
Night’s full-bodied laugh brought water to his eyes. He had a laugh like
coffee: rich, warm, and dark, but with none of the bitter undertones.
Another drink she didn’t usually like, but the sound pulled her mouth up
into a resistant smile.
Sobering, he touched the scar at his temple. “You wanted to know how I
got this, yes?” At her nod, he continued at a neutral clip, not unlike a man
commenting on the weather. “When I was a boy of sixteen, my father
bashed me in the head with a fire poker. An iron one. He had been drinking
—he was always drinking. He had the idiotic idea that evening that he
needed to go spear hunting while deep in his cups. I stopped him. He’d
have killed himself or someone else if I hadn’t intervened, and he scarred
me for my trouble, nearly robbed me of my life. The mage who rescued me
said I almost lost my eye. My father burned himself to the bone picking up
that poker and was too pickled to feel it.”
Rain sucked in a breath. “Your father, he’s dead?”
“Died in the first war.” His slow smile had her blood simmering
pleasantly in her veins. His fingers stroked her neck, sending seductive
tremors down her spine. “Why? Would you like to kill him yourself now?”
Her chin dipped in assent. “I’d like to put him in the ground again for
you.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. That was not my mother’s response. She sent
me away to be raised by my uncle, the last King of Night, back when we
were more than a neutral province. The war stripped us of our kingdom at
my uncle’s passing and made me its lord. Now the mortals call me duke.”
Night grimaced. “We must pay taxes to both Seelie and Unseelie alike, but
thanks to the many advantages of the Eventide and our mages, River Row
prospers still. Our overlords have hoped for centuries that we’d crack under
their tariffs and choose a side, pledge allegiance. But we won’t. We are the
descendants of the gods, the Vanir, the children of the divines and the Moon
Mother herself. We don’t belong to the Seelie or the Unseelie, and we won’t
be dragged into their conflict.”
Rain’s head was spinning. “I have a hard time imagining a mother
sending her child away from her like that.” Her stomach hardened with the
awareness of her own loneliness. She couldn’t remember her parents at all.
She often wished she could recall something about them, but then it was
more likely that her mind had let them go, the memories too painful
perhaps.
Night sipped from his cup, then licked the shadow of milk off his lip.
He missed a spot and Rain helped him, swiping at the corner of his scarred
mouth. He had that disarming boyish look again, another endearing peek
behind the trickster mask. She brought her hands under her thighs and sat
on them, smothering the urge to touch him more.
“I’m not angry with my mother,” he explained. “I understand now what
I didn’t when I was so much younger. Her first responsibility was as a lady
of this court and a wife to my father. She did her duty, kept me safe, and
eventually died with honor as a mage in the war.”
“But what of her duty to you? Her son?”
Night swirled the milk in his glass, smoothing out the lumps of cream in
it. “She fulfilled that as well, if not in the way I wanted. She saw to it that I
was cared for and kept from the brute who sired me. My uncle, the Night
King, was a very busy man, but I was always seen to. I was fed and clothed
and educated. And when I did get to spend time with him, he was kind to
me. All in all, I made it out better than most. I have a great deal to be
thankful for. So you see, when we wed, you will be my duty. In that way, I
can give you what you seek. I can show you the kind of devotion they write
about in fairy stories.”
Rain’s heart sunk to the floorboards. “Except when a higher duty calls
you away.” There would be many, many higher duties. “And there wouldn’t
be a chance for love. Just responsibility.”
“Of course.” He set his cup down.
 This was more than a lack of belief for her mate. He’d been so terribly
betrayed by love—his mother’s and father’s—he wouldn’t know how to
open his heart to her if he tried. What she insisted was a necessity, he
shoved away, seeing only responsibility and purpose. Her soul ached for
him and for the boy he’d been, for the lonely existence he offered her
should she complete the mate bond with him. If his father were standing
before her, she’d kill him with her bare hands and bury him in a shallow
grave for the scavengers to dig up later. There was no greater fae dishonor
then feeding a body to animal foragers.
She cupped Night’s face, fingers light on his cheek. The tips of them
tingled with connection. “You would try to please me, and for that I’ll
always be grateful.”
His nostrils flared. “But it changes nothing between us?”
“I’m afraid not.” Her lip trembled. For he was incapable of making
himself vulnerable to the love that had hurt him so. It had scarred him more
deeply than any war wound she carried, more deeply than the markings on
his face, and he didn’t even realize it. She could see how, if she were him, it
might be less agonizing to simply not believe in love at all. “Please find
another, Night. Though it pains me deeply, we are not suited, you and I.”
This big proud man whom she’d once believed unbreakable splintered
before her. Night’s face fell, his shoulders rolled forward, and he deflated in
his chair. She’d remember that wretched look twisting his features until she
took her last breath.
His lips pressed together and thinned. Color bled from his cheeks,
turning his face from moonlight silver to a sickly gray. He didn’t speak, and
that was worse still. He was the one who was good with words. Night stood
slowly. He bent in half and pressed a cool kiss to her brow, a kiss that
prickled across her skin long after it was gone, and then he left.
The desperate chorus of crying wolves filled the woods beside the
tavern. Her mate joined them in his wolf form, howling at the sky for the
remainder of the night.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 10

(Night)

W hen the sun rose over the trees the next morning, Night didn’t
return to his estate with his wolves. Instead, he found himself
inside the home of the witch Sora Yaga. He laid his forehead down on her
wax wood table. Shifting his weight, the curve of his antlers struck the
surface with a gentle clatter. The wood was cool along his brow and
soothing against his burning eyes. Beyond the narrow windows, the
landscape whirled by, but from the inside, Night couldn’t feel the hut’s
movement as it lumbered across the province on long chicken legs.
Sora filled a short egg-shaped glass with a coffee liqueur. The color
burned amber, reflecting early morning sunlight. It reminded him of the
shade of Rain’s eyes, and he groaned, covering his face with his hand. The
noise hurt his throat, which he’d made raw carrying on in his wolf form the
way he had. He chided himself for behaving like some schoolboy who
hadn’t yet seen fifty winters, let alone more than five hundred.
“You say you don’t believe in love,” Sora chuckled, “and yet you look
positively lovesick.”
“I’m not lovesick,” he said sourly, then added with sarcasm, “but it
pleases me dearly that my philosophy on life amuses you so.”
 “It’s either funny or it’s sad, and I’d rather laugh.” She poured another
egg-like glass and pushed it toward Masha.
Her familiar had taken the form of a small dragon with black scales. No
bigger than a cat, Masha perched on the tabletop beside her mistress’s
elbow, her leathery wings and tail tucked in around her.
“Endless witness accounts of being in love are told with regularity,”
Sora said to her familiar in a chiding tone as though Night were no longer in
the room. “Poets wax on and on about it. Astronomers, scientists,
academics, songwriters, playwrights too . . . Some of the greatest minds of
the last age speak of love. Apparently, the Lord of the Lunar Court believes
all these minds suffer from the same powerful delusion.”
“Shared delusions can be powerful,” he grumbled. He accepted the
glass that she pushed at him. He wasn’t in the mood to explain that he
didn’t drink alcohol, so he held it between his fingers, turning the glass
without consuming it, watching the liqueur throw the light, enjoying the
scent of roasted coffee, orange rinds, and vanilla.
Masha dipped her diamond-shaped head into her cup and drank with a
long forked-tongue.
“Have you explained to your mate,” Sora said somberly, “the
seriousness of the situation? Does she know what’s at stake? Does she
understand the mind-bending power a true mate bond could protect you
from?”
“She’s clever. She knows war looms close, but no. I didn’t explain about
the Seelie queen.” Night stopped turning the glass to meet her large blue
eyes. “I know why you think I should have, but . . .”
The look she gave him was surprisingly gentle. “You didn’t want her to
say yes to saving the province. You wanted her to say yes to you.”
 Night didn’t confirm her words were true.
He didn’t have to.

***

Night’s brother was waiting for him in the foyer when he finally made it
home. It was nearing noon, and he’d never felt so bone tired in all his years.
As he entered, he stopped at the sun altar beside the double doors and lit a
stick of incense with a long match, letting the perfumed smoke climb up the
metal engraving of the Divine Day: a bright red sun.
“Has Elayna seen to my wolves?” Night asked. Eager to reunite with his
bed, he headed toward the stairs, not waiting for an answer.
Erikson followed dutifully behind him. “Yes. They arrived hours before
you did—made me nervous when they made it back and you hadn’t. Arne
asked me to inform you that he managed his task. The oak in your courtyard
has been relocated . . . Your mate is not with you. I assume your efforts to
fetch her were unsuccessful?”
Night paused on the steps to glare at his brother, annoyed both by the
judgment in his tone and the poorly veiled eagerness. Clearly, he’d wanted
him to fail. “I was unsuccessful,” he said somberly, then plodded on up to
the second floor and down the elaborate corridor.
Erikson followed for a time, then said cautiously, “In that case, I’ll
make plans for Baron Dagrun and his daughters to join us for the midnight
meal.”
Night stopped in his tracks, frowning at his bedroom door. “Why?” he
said acidly.
 Erikson shuffled his feet. “Because his daughters are eligible and
attractive. And your idea of marrying a mate and bonding her is the only
one we’ve got. You need a mate . . . one that won’t run off. The province is
likely full of potentials.”
Night pounced. In a blink, his brother was pinned to the wall, his fingers
tightening around his neck. A growl rumbled deep in the duke’s chest.
Erikson’s eyes widened, the whites stark in his paling face.
Then Night’s grip loosened, the heat and fire melting from him to
quickly be replaced by shame. He moved his hand from his brother’s throat
to his cravat, and he straightened it. The duke bent forward and touched the
curves of his antlers gently to the crown of Erikson’s head, a fae display of
humility and deference.
“Brother,” Night said sadly, “you always get the worst of me. I spent too
much time in a wolf’s body last night. Please forgive me.”
Erikson pulled at his own cravat and worked his throat. “There’s
nothing to forgive. Perhaps it was a bad time—”
“No. Don’t make excuses for me.” He lifted his head and stepped away.
“You’re right, and your judgment is sound. There’s no reason not to identify
who’s out there, see who else has mate potential, in case . . .”
“I’ll see to it,” Erikson said, and Night was grateful for the interruption.
He hadn’t wanted to finish his thought.
Shoulders sagging, Night resumed his path to his chambers.
His brother stopped him. “You’re nothing like Erik, you know?” His
eyes were on his boots. He straightened his cravat again, though it didn’t
need straightening. “In case you were worried about that. Father was a
nasty and hateful man constantly in his cups. He was not even a quarter of
the fae you are. You . . . aren’t like him.”
 Night couldn’t place the emotion that welled inside him. It prickled
sharply like thorns in his chest, and yet it was also warm and comforting
too. It occurred to him that if he didn’t love his sweet brother after he said
something like that, then either love truly wasn’t real, or he simply wasn’t a
man capable of the emotion.
He nodded at Erikson, uncertain what else to do. Then he entered his
chambers and closed the door carefully behind him, shutting out the world:
the duty, the impeding war, the looming threats. All of it. The heavy
curtains were already drawn to block out the sunlight pouring in from the
balcony. He didn’t bother undressing before sliding into his bed.
He was almost too tired to sleep. His mind whirled mercilessly. Then he
stirred awake, not realizing he’d slipped under at some point.
Rain.
He longed for her so fiercely he thought for a moment he’d seen her
standing at the foot of his bed, but then he stirred awake again and the
vision of her was gone.
Night rose at dusk and readied for his day in a fog. His valet assisted
him with none of his usual good humor. Apparently, he was still sour about
being let go unexpectedly before when Night had been seized by mating
instincts. The valet was a mortal and unfamiliar with the impact of the
blooming bond.
A refreshment cart was wheeled in by a maid as the valet fastened the
duke’s cufflinks, the mage Arne following her in. The duke straightened,
made immediately alert by the sweat on the guard’s brow. He waved his
valet off and turned to face him.
“My Lord,” Arne began, rubbing the back of his head with his large
palm. His leathery tail dragged the carpets in defeat. “About the oak tree . .
.”
“My brother informed me that your efforts to have it moved were
successful.”
“They were, My Lord . . . but . . .”
Night stared back at the guard with growing impatience.
“Perhaps you should see for yourself.” Arne gestured at the balcony.
Curious, Night crossed to the heavy velvet curtains and pulled them
back. His valet tended to the curtains on the opposing side, and the duke
squinted out into fading sunlight. The oak had returned to the center of the
courtyard.
And it flourished.
It was surrounded by a handful of bright green saplings freshly planted.
The ancient tree had seemed near death before. Now it stretched tall.
“I’m so sorry, My Lord,” came Arne’s quavering voice from behind
him. “Your witch must have . . . snuck back in here while I slept the sun
away and . . . she left a note.”
“Of course she did.” Her antiquated manners wouldn’t allow her to visit
a place without leaving a note. Excitement pumped up his pulse.
Arne removed the folded parchment from his pocket, and Night took it
from him with so much exuberance he nearly tore the page. He read
hungrily.
Leave my trees alone or suffer my wrath.
Hope you are well.
-Rain
Laughter bubbled out of Night, so much so he felt a little lightheaded
afterward.
“My Lord?” Arne sounded alarmed.
 Night swiped an amused tear out of his eye. “Leave it, Arne. If she
wants it there that badly, we’ll keep it there.”
“As you wish, My Lord.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 11

(Rain)

R ain spent the next week walking amongst her trees and foraging for
her food. At night she slept on the floor of the tavern in front of the
stove for warmth, then she left again at sunrise. The quiet of the woods
usually cheered her, but at the moment nothing had the power to soothe the
ache the bond put in her chest. She would climb up her favorite trees and
lounge in their branches, soaking up the sunlight that bled through the
canopy, longing to be held by a very different set of limbs. The sad thrum of
the bond reverberated inside her, a constant reminder of what she’d given
up. Her appetite was gone. She avoided sleep, dreading the vivid dreams
fashioned by instinct.
When she did fall asleep, she’d awake hot all over, a dull throb between
her thighs, craving the man she’d ordered away. It was the worst sort of
torment.
The duke hadn’t returned. The chase was over. He’d finally chosen
reason and let her go. Bernard did his best to console her, but he understood
so little about what it was she’d lost. He pulled away from her, keeping his
distance, and she couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to be linked to her
miserable head either.
 She tried reminding herself that hurting, feeling the bite of loneliness
now when she had a way out of it, was better than being alone as a lady
with a husband who didn’t believe in love and didn’t want it in their
relationship, in a massive house full of political backstabbing and looming
war, true-mated to a man she could never leave.
It was late in the afternoon at the end of the week when she decided to
visit the tavern before it opened to patrons. She hoped the girls’ sweet
voices would drown out the gloomy one inside her head. Bernard joined her
in his cat form. When she opened the side door, he snuck in ahead of her,
slinking between her legs, only to be scooped up into Penny’s willowy
arms. Bernard gave a frustrated yowl that was immediately smothered by
affectionate rubs and pats.
I hate everything, Bernard said, tail curling and uncurling.
“Pretty kitty,” Penny cooed, disappearing with him down the corridor
toward the scullery.
Rain made her way to the bar where Susan busied herself organizing
shelves. The moment the woman spotted Rain, she abandoned her work,
coming around to her side of the island to pull her into her arms.
“We’re so sorry, love.” She hugged her close, pressing her face to her
slender shoulder.
Rain was taken aback. She hadn’t said anything to the girls about what
had transpired between her and Night, and they hadn’t pried. An old
newspaper lay open on the corner of the bar. The duke’s name in a headline
caught her eye, and a fresh pang of grief shot through her. She drew in
closer, picking out the letters she recognized, piecing together the meaning
of the modern ones using context clues.
 A fae feast was scheduled late next month, to celebrate something.
“Susan.” Rain pointed to a word written in the modern common tongue she
didn’t recognize. “What’s that say?”
Susan peered over her shoulder, then gave her a pitying look.
“Engagement,” she read quietly. “You didn’t know about the duke . . . ? We
assumed that was why you’d been so quiet lately . . . I’m sorry, love.”
“Oh.” Rain sat down hard on the nearest stool, her limbs suddenly too
heavy to keep her upright.
Susan’s hand was a warm, friendly weight on her back, but it wasn’t
enough to stop the sting of tears that clotted her throat and burned her eyes.
“I told him to pick another mate to bond,” she choked. “I have no right
to feel so dreadful and yet . . .”
Penny reappeared, shuffling quietly into the room. She dropped Bernard
on the bar and took Rain’s hand in hers. “But of course you have every
right. Wounds of the heart go the deepest and hurt the very most, everyone
knows that.”
Susan patted her back. “You haven’t truly lived until you’ve felt the
sting of love lost. It’s what all the poets go on about. It’s one of those spices
of life that, though bitter, remind you you’re still breathing. So have a cry,
love.”
Rain’s breath caught on a sob, as though she’d needed the permission to
let her eyes well over. She told them through her tears about the things
she’d discussed with Night, about his political needs conflicting with her
desire for a love match.
Susan’s palm moved in a comforting circle on the center of her back,
over the woolen coat she’d given her. “Get it all out. Then wash your face
and put it behind you. You know what you want now, and there is no nobler
thing to pursue than love.”
“Then you don’t think I’m a fool?” Rain rubbed her eyes clean with the
backs of her hands.
“Not at all,” Penny crooned.
“Maybe a little,” Susan said, and a laugh choked out of Rain. Susan had
always been the most fae-honest of the lot.
“It’s romantic of you,” Penny insisted. “Courageous, I say. Good on
you, Rain.”
Bernard nudged Rain’s chin with his muzzle. She scratched behind his
ears with gratitude. She realized then she couldn’t hear movement up in the
loft. “Where’s Margot?”
Susan’s face, already fair, paled further. The blue vein in her forehead
stood out. “She’s . . . decided to work elsewhere.”
“What do you mean?” A knot grew in her stomach, her instincts roiling
within her.
“Sigurd,” Susan said like the name tasted sour. “He made her an offer
she couldn’t refuse.”
Rain shook her head. “He’s scum and a brute. He’s—”
Susan waved her off. She rounded the counter, returning to her shelves.
“Margot’s done this before. Hoped the grass was greener, then realized it’s
not. She’ll be back.”
Penny remained quiet, playing with the end of Bernard’s tail, not
meeting anyone’s eyes.
“I don’t like it,” Rain said, leaning against the edge of the bar. “How
long has she been gone?”
“I don’t either,” Penny confessed in a quiet voice.
 “She’s been gone three days,” Susan said over her shoulder, stacking
upturned mugs in neat rows. “One of those dragae brutes covered in ink
came to gather her things. He had a note from her written in her hand. She’s
always hated goodbyes, and she said so in her letter.”
Rain fiddled with the end of the newspaper, wrinkling the story about
the duke’s engagement. “You haven’t seen her, then?” The knot in her
stomach grew spikes and twisted.
“Margot’s a grown woman.” Susan straightened a bottle of gin so the
label was facing outward. “I know you don’t see us that way, but she is.
And like I said, she’s done this sort of thing before. She’s always
complaining about how little the men around here can pay. It was only a
matter of time before she tried something new again . . .”
“But it didn’t go well for her last time,” Penny said meekly.
Rain had heard enough.

***

Walking through the city was an assault on Rain’s senses. Bernard knew
where Sigurd’s offices were, having followed him home the other day,
dropping wet presents on his hat and coat from the sky in his crow form.
One of the most delightful days of his life, he told Rain, as he led the way.
It was a long hike through busy side streets. The walkways were
crowded. A crisp fall wind whipped between the tall buildings more
bitingly than what she was accustomed to amongst her trees. The air was
dank with human smells, river, and smog. When they finally arrived at the
stone and steel building full of windows, it was near dusk.
 The front and side entrances were crawling with unfriendly dragae, their
skin steaming in the cooler air. Bernard fell over her in his shadow form. At
his touch, he took some of her blood to conceal her from sight as she moved
in closer to peek inside. She peered through each window in turn, looking
for signs of Margot.
Finally she spotted her and gasped. Margot served drinks in the lobby
topless, balancing a tray full of clear liquor in iced glasses. No corset or
stays, her bodice draping down her front. Her warm skin was two shades
paler than normal and covered in bruises. Her right eye was swollen shut.
Rain’s fingers made unconscious fists at her side. The sight of her
confirmed her suspicions. Margot hadn’t volunteered to work for Sigurd.
She wasn’t here of her own volition.
I could handle three of them if I took the first by surprise, Rain told
Bernard. If I gave you as much blood as I could spare, how many could you
handle?
These dragae are marked, Rain. Do you see the ink on their arms? An
immortal would need to be at least as old as you to recognize it.
Rain strained to see the marks and cursed. These men are warriors. The
dragon king’s favored. What are they doing here, pretending to be
mercenaries . . . ? Diplomacy it is, then. Transform into something
intimidating, please.
A cat?
No.
A large cat with lots of unnerving fur and big bulgy eyes?
A wolf, please.
Bernard dropped his shadows, and the air warmed around her, stinking
of sulfur. He appeared beside her in the form of a black wolf with midnight
eyes. He’d taken some of her blood in his shadow form to manage it. Not
very much. Just a sip and he was so big his wolf’s head came to her chest.
The arches and columns of the building hinted at Lunar craftsmanship,
but as she led them inside through the front door, the influences changed.
The lobby was too warm with so many dragae in one space. The furniture
was spartan, the walls papered in drake art made to look like dragon scales.
The urn in the corner bore the image of the Divine Terra, a dragon with an
island on its back. Smells of mountain cuisine dominated the space: beets,
sautéed mushrooms, creamy gravy, cooked rice, and lentils. Several sets of
unfriendly eyes turned toward her. None of them seemed surprised to see
her.
Margot paused and released a breath. She didn’t acknowledge Rain,
however. She kept moving, kept passing out drinks and food to the soldiers
spread out in the lobby. They spooned food into their mouths out of clay
bowls and ignored the witch and her familiar. Against the far wall was a
dragae with tall ears and several piercings. Rain recognized him.
That’s the bastard I bargained out of The Red Boot, she reminded
Bernard. The one that held the girls hostage for two nights. I should have
just killed him.
You can’t now, Bernard said glumly. You agreed to let him live. And you
didn’t put a time limit on it. You have to be careful with your words when
you make bargains.
She made it to the center of the room undisturbed, Bernard beside her
looking properly menacing. “Sigurd?” she demanded, calling out to the
brute she recognized.
“He’s expecting you,” the dragae with the piercings grunted. Then a
smug smile flittered across his thin lips. She hadn’t noticed it before, but on
the back of his wrist was an inked image of crossed dragon wings. “Try
anything, witch, and we’ll pluck your pointed ears off your tiny head and
hang you by your thumbs from the rafters. Now go inside.” He indicated the
door on his left with a jut of his chin.
“Dusan,” came the taunting call from the nearest dragae, who paused in
spooning more food into his face. The rest of his words were in the
language of the mountains, a crisp, bold tongue with heavy “r” sounds—a
language Rain had forgotten long ago.
Dusan, the dragae she recognized, smirked at her, eyes unfriendly. The
other laughed uproariously at whatever cruel joke he’d made at her
expense.
Rain wanted to put a fist through their faces. Her fingers itched for one
of her blades, but thinking of Margot and how she didn’t want to make
things worse for her, she kept moving, expression placid.
Rain made a circle with her fingers and displayed the crude gesture for
the dragae.
“Cunt,” Dusan said under his breath, and he spat on the floor by her feet
as she passed.
On the other hand, Bernard said, baring his large teeth, I didn’t make a
bargain. I could bite his insolent face off.
Margot first. Bite faces off later. Rain crossed to the office door and
pulled it open. Bernard reluctantly followed her through, growling low.
The office was lit by dull gaslights. Leaning against the walls were
stacks upon stacks of political signs: Vote Sigurd for Councilman. An empty
secretary’s desk sat cattycorner to Sigurd’s. The mage didn’t look up from
his work, even as Rain closed the door loudly behind her. His fox tail
flicked against his seat, and his beady eyes narrowed on the correspondence
he was writing.
Rain stepped farther into the room. “Sigurd?”
He raised a finger at her, silencing her. The scratch of his fountain pen
filled the quiet.
Rain rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to stand here all—”
His finger rose higher. Bernard growled and snapped his jaws, but
Sigurd was unmoved.
Finally, the fae finished writing, adding a signature to the bottom with a
flourish. He lifted his beady eyes. “Rain,” he greeted warmly like he would
an old friend. “I’ve been expecting you. Forgive the delay. Between
managing my businesses and campaigning, I’ve been burning my candle at
both ends.”
“Going to become a politician instead of just bribing them?” Rain
guessed.
Nice one, Bernard said.
Sigurd’s chuckle lacked humor. “There’s no reason to be unpleasant.”
“I’m very, very tempted to make you look like Margot does now with
matching bruises and a fat eye,” she said through her teeth. Her hand went
under her coat to the sheath strapped beneath her satchel, where her elven
blade made from steel and living tree rested. “That would just be the start,
though.”
Sigurd’s laughter burst out of him. “You’re so droll.” He gestured at the
armchair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Sigurd leaned back in his chair, his red fox tail pillowed
behind him.
 We can take him, Bernard said confidently. I’ll go for his beady eyes.
You stab him in the balls. Then we’ll grab Margot and run . . .
He’s a Lunar mage, a trickster, right? If I take off his fingers, he should
have a hard time casting.
He’s a weak one. You won’t even need to bother. Bernard snarled deep in
his throat. Jet fur stood up along his back.
Sigurd snorted at her familiar’s show of aggression. “I didn’t like
ruining Margot’s pretty face, but it was effective. It certainly got your
attention.”
Rain’s nostrils flared. “You didn’t need to hurt her to get an audience
with me.”
He scoffed. “It’s not as though you keep a post box in those woods of
yours, Rain. And hurting her was necessary to ensure your cooperation. You
see now what’s at stake, and you can threaten me all you like, but we both
know you don’t stand a chance against the force waiting for you in my
lobby.”
Sigurd dug in a desk drawer, removing a clear flask full of a glowing
liquid that caught the gaslights and threw stars about the room. He fetched a
tall glass out next, then he opened the cap and poured the entirety of the
liquid into the cup. The liquid glittered with gilded flakes that swirled about
as though caught in a whirlwind.
Fairy wine. It smelled like overly ripe fruit and dead leaves.
Bernard’s ears went back. If he drinks that, it’ll strengthen his
connection to the Divine Night tenfold for days . . . It’ll still hurt if you stab
him in the balls, though.
We have to get Margot out of here before we do any stabbing. Rain
hadn’t forgotten that just outside was a lobby full of King Yaga’s soldiers
she’d have to contend with if she went the route of violence.
“Where’d you find that?” Rain kept her tone level. All things fairy,
including the beings themselves, were extremely rare and very powerful.
Sigurd’s smug chortle needled its way under her skin and made the
small hairs on her arm and the back of her neck prickle. “I planned to
expand my wealth into railyards, but I was outbid by some foreign company
made up of mortals and lousy with coin. Purchasing this”—he hoisted the
glass—“was a small consolation. I always wanted to try fairy wine, and
now I have good reason.” He saluted her with the glass and tipped it back,
swallowing hard. His eyes squinted shut. “Ack. It tastes like farts . . .” His
ruddy face went redder still. Then Sigurd flexed and unflexed his fingers,
studying them as a small smile spread his lips. “But I can feel it working.”
Moon magic filled the room, cooling the air. Papers rippled, then lifted
off his desk. Office supplies and political signs began to shudder and shake.
Sigurd chuckled.
“Margot,” Rain said evenly. Her temper had fled her, replaced by a
serene bloodlust that had always served her best in times of conflict.
Bernard pressed his side against her thigh, a show of camaraderie. He’d go
with her into hell and worse, she knew. She patted the top of his head,
filling her fingers with his coarse fur, taking strength from him.
Sigurd’s face returned to its usual ruddy shade, but the cloying scent of
moon magic lingered. He flapped the collar of his dress shirt, cooling
himself as papers and objects returned to their places. “What do you know
about dragon hordes?”
Rain’s brow knitted. What connection could she or Margot possibly
have with that? “Dragons favor items of worth. The more valuable a thing
is to someone, the stronger their desire to possess it. They keep them in
secret places up in their mountains.”
“Hiding their hordes in their mountains is a bunch of fairy story
flimflam.” He tapped the side of his nose as though he intended to bring her
into his confidence. “They keep them on their person, magically. And
there’s one such horde here in the Lunar Province. A horde I know to be
full of ancient wyvern coins, enough for a man to buy their own country.”
Greed glittered in his small eyes.
“Did your marked mercenaries tell you that, the dragae with the crossed
wings inked on their flesh?” Under her coat, Rain found the decorative hilt
of her elven dagger, and she fingered the metal grooves. It eased her.
Sigurd raised a brow. “What’s it to you?”
“Those men don’t serve you,” she said evenly. “They’re the dragon
king’s favored soldiers. They are loyal only to him. All this talk of hordes
and wealth—I see it now. You’re being played like a fiddle.”
Sigurd swatted a hand at her. “Those men are loyal only to coin. Coin
that I have in abundance.”
“Whatever you know, you know it because King Yaga wants you to
know it. If you were a smart man and wished to stay safe, you’d run the
other way fast and far.”
“Being safe isn’t always good for business,” he said, leaning back in his
chair. “If you want to see an end to Margot’s suffering, you’ll make a
bargain with me and help me claim my horde.”
“Finally, he gets to the point,” Rain grumbled to Bernard. “You already
know what I want. Margot’s freedom and you far, far away from her and the
other women of The Red Boot.”
 “Yes, so predictable,” Sigurd drawled. “It is said that witches hold no
allegiance to anyone save each other. Is that true?”
Rain shrugged. “True enough.”
“There is another witch living in the woods outside of River Row.”
“Sora Yaga.”
“You know her?” He grinned.
Rain was tired of seeing him smile. She hoped to see him looking
scared and hurt soon. “Yes, I know of the witch who lives in a hut that
moves about on great chicken legs. She’s impossible to miss. Witches are
not pack animals, but we do hold a certain deference toward others like
ourselves. That said, I won’t hurt Sora Yaga. She’s never wronged me, and
her falling out with her wicked father amuses me.”
Sigurd smacked his lips together like his mouth tasted tart. He pulled
out another flask from an inside jacket pocket, a silver one, and he drank
from it greedily. “Ack. I can’t get the taste of farts out of my mouth.” Then
he waved at her like he was shooing away flies. “You won’t hurt the witch.
I’m going to do that until she gives me what I’m after. I just need you to get
me to her.”
Rain thought his words over. Bernard whined at her, uneasily. “I would
not have to harm her?” she clarified. “I need only bring you there?”
His smile was full of sharp pearly teeth. “You couldn’t in any way warn
her of my presence, but yes. Bring me inside her hut. I can’t get close to it
without the great blasted bird legs trying to claw me to bits.”
“And what if Sora Yaga kills you?”
Sigurd’s chortle was full of malice. “Do you know nothing of fairy
wine? At this moment, there is no greater mage. Not even the duke himself
could outmatch me. With my connection to the Divine Night, I can take a
man’s sight, make him deaf, paralyze him. I could turn myself into any
nocturnal beast I choose or just gift myself their attributes. I could sprout
the wings of a bat and the head of a wolf and the ass of a beaver right now
if I wanted. I’m unstoppable, Rain. I need only be in a room with her. Sora
doesn’t stand a chance against the power coursing through me, don’t you
worry.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried for you. I’m hoping she rips you apart. Assuming
she does, what happens to our bargain? What happens to Margot?”
“It’s like I said. I didn’t enjoy hurting the girl. You get me inside that
dratted hut and our deal will be done. Come what may.”
Rain lifted her chin defiantly. “I want Margot free and sent home now. I
want to see her to the door of the tavern. I want your guarantee that you and
all of your dragae bastards will never darken her door again. You and your
men won’t ever hurt any of them at The Red Boot. And—”
“And then you will agree to the bargain and bring me to Sora or death
take you?”
Rain nodded. “I’ll agree.”
Speak the words so very carefully, Rain, Bernard urged her.
I know what I’m doing.
“On my life, I will set Margot free this night,” Sigurd said, “and allow
you to see her to her door. Myself and my mercenaries will never step foot
in that putrid little establishment known as The Red Boot ever again. We
will bring no harm to the women at the tavern, in exchange for your
cooperation. You will get me inside the hut of Sora Yaga, and while there,
you will not interfere. You will do nothing to warn her. You will accomplish
all of this before sunrise.”
 “On my life,” Rain said, and her pulse thumped, “after escorting Margot
safely home, I will bring you inside the hut of Sora Yaga for you to do as
you will. I will not help you hurt the witch. I will not warn her of your
presence. I will only gain you admittance.”
“Do we have a bargain?” Sigurd extended his hand across his desk.
Rain stepped to him and took his hand reluctantly. His palm was dry
and cool. “Yes,” she said, and the weight of the bargain magic cinched
around her ribs.
“Yes,” Sigurd echoed, squeezing her hand in his.

***

Rain held Margot in the back of Sigurd’s coach as she sobbed. Bernard lay
across their feet in his wolf form, whining miserably. Twice Margot tried to
tell Rain something, but she couldn’t get the words out. Her eye was
swollen shut and leaking tears. Rain planned to see to her injuries as soon as
she was certain she wouldn’t need the spare blood.
“Everything is going to be all right now,” Rain said as the coach
rounded on Dimmet Street and the brick face of the tavern loomed closer.
Margot clung to her, dribbling snot and tears onto the shoulder of her
coat. Rain wanted to stab Sigurd in the balls for that. Margot never lost her
spirit, come what may. Now here she was, a mess of nerves and trembling
uncontrollably.
I’m going to bite that bastard’s head off, Bernard hissed.
We’ll get the job done and then come back and heal her.
Bernard rose to his feet with a snarl. Let me heal her now. Explain to
her that I’ll need to borrow some of her blood. I’ll have to take more
because she’s mortal, but it won’t be much, and all I’ll have to do is touch
her. She won’t feel it, and she won’t miss it. I won’t even complain about
how bland human blood tastes.
Rain explained what was needed. Margot nodded her head, and Bernard
set to work, evaporating into a shadowy mist that fell over her, darkening
her skin, tinting it the color of smog. Slowly the flesh around her eye began
to tighten, the swelling receding. Her bruises lightened to a yellow color
and then vanished completely. Her skin regained some of its warm glow.
Then Bernard was a wolf once more, sitting back on his haunches,
looking pleased with himself.
Margot wiped her nose as the coach came to a halt in front of the tavern.
She patted Bernard’s head in gratitude, then turned to face Rain. “Thank
you.”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean it, Rain. Thank the divines and the ancestors and the gods
and whoever else is out there wanting it. I thank them for you. I’ve been
treated poorly by men before, but . . . the last three days . . . the horrible
things they said to me . . .” She swallowed hard.
Rain took her hand in hers and pumped it. “One day I’m going to make
all of them hurt for you.” She choked on the words. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t
there sooner. I didn’t know. I’ve been a bit stuck in my own head here of
late.” Her reason for being stuck in her own head tugged at her. She pushed
it down, not allowing herself to think her mate’s name.
“It’s not your fault. Sigurd had me write a letter. He expected me to tip
Susan off, I think, and then they’d go and fetch you, but I ain’t no traitor.
And Penny gets a little wild sometimes when she thinks someone she loves
is hurt. She might not have waited for you. I didn’t want any of you lot
wrapped up in this. I don’t know what trouble he’s got planned for you now,
Rain, but I’m worried sick—”
“Don’t worry.” Rain’s fingers tightened around hers. “Sigurd is a dark-
hearted louse. And he’ll get what’s coming to him soon.” Thinking about
the arrogant fae made her painfully aware of the bargain magic that clung to
her, and she swallowed down her own anxieties.
Margot’s throat bobbed. Then the door to the tavern was thrown open,
and Penny and Susan ran out into the street to greet them. The bar was full
of customers, but they went ignored in favor of rushing the side of the
coach, asking questions so rapidly Rain couldn’t parse their words.
Rain handed Margot off to Penny’s wide embrace. She’d leave the
explanations to her. Then she shut the coach door and tapped on the roof,
and Sigurd’s driver set off again down the cobblestones.
She’ll be all right now, won’t she? Bernard asked.
She’ll be all right. We’ll see to it.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 12

(Rain)

T he coach dropped Rain and Bernard off at a secluded hunting cabin

deep in the woods outside of River Row. She was familiar with the
area and friendly with the trees. Sigurd was waiting for her outside. He
ordered the driver to stay his horses until he returned, and then they set off
on a hike through dark woods, headed in the direction of the meadow Sora
Yaga seemed to favor. It was nearing midnight.
Before the next tree line, Rain stopped and unhooked her satchel. “I’ll
need to conceal you in this now.”
Sigurd frowned. His scruffy tail drooped at his back. “That old, smelly
thing?”
“Do you have a better idea for how I’m to get you inside Sora’s hut
without her noticing you’re there to commit murder?”
“You could hide me in your shirt.” He leered at her.
“The stars will plummet from the sky before I ever let you anywhere
near the inside of my clothing. Now, are you a trickster or aren’t you?
Transform already, and make it something small.” She held up the satchel
for sizing.
Sigurd formed a tight fist with his fingers, then stuck out his thumb and
held it up toward the moon. “Rat,” he said, and the cloying scent of moon
magic radiated from him. His body shrunk down and down, letting off a
fragrant red mist until he was no bigger than her boot—a rat with a long
twining tail and ruddy fur.
Rain bent low and picked Sigurd up by the scruff of his neck. The beady
eyes were a bright magenta. “A rat. How fitting . . . Are you hungry,
Bernard?”
She flung the rat into the air toward her familiar. Sigurd squeaked and
squealed. The red mist returned, puffing out of him, but Bernard was quick.
The demon’s wolfish jaws clamped down around him with a crunch and
snap of bones, and Sigurd went stiff and then still in his maw. The familiar
shook the fat rodent once, then twice.
Don’t swallow him! Rain warned. I still have to bring his body to Sora’s
hut . . . he just never specified that he had to be alive while I did so.
Clever. He didn’t specify that he had to have all of his blood either,
Bernard pointed out. Ack! He tastes like fairy farts, though.
Bernard dropped a beheaded, shriveled mass of bloodless rat on the
forest floor by Rain’s feet. He coughed up the head next, and she grimaced
down at the mess.
Bernard smiled a wolfish smile up at her, tongue lolling out of his
mouth. His teeth were stained pink. Ha. I bit his head off after all.
Nose scrunched, Rain gathered up Sigurd’s remains, tucking them into
her satchel, and then reattached the bag to her belt under her fawn coat.
Beside her, Bernard grew in size and in energy. He began to shuffle his
paws in place, battering up a cloud of dust, breathing heavily. Soon he was
bounding about the forest.
Weeeeeeee! His cackles echoed in Rain’s head. When he finally came to
heel, he’d grown his wolf to be the size of a horse. I could make myself as
big as a tree if you wanted.
“I don’t want that,” she chided. “Stop playing about and take me to
Sora.” Rain climbed onto his back, clutching handfuls of the black scruff at
his neck for balance.
You’re no fun at all. The fairy wine in his blood won’t last forever, you
know. It’s use it now or it’s gone. Can’t I at least make myself as big as—
“No.”
How about a dragon or one of those dirigible contraptions? We could
travel in lavish comfort or—
“No,” Rain groaned. She could still feel the weight of the bargain magic
pressing in around her. “Come on. We have a time limit to keep. Dawn will
sneak up on us before we know it, and then I’ll be as dead as that rat. I’m
not in the clear yet, and need I remind you that if I die, so do you?”
Oh fine. Sourpuss, he said but with all the malice of a raspberry tart. He
bounded off between the rows of trees, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Wind whipped through Rain’s hair, and soon she was grinning. She
hadn’t smiled like that since Night . . . An image of him sipping milk came
to mind. She shoved it away. Bernard’s whoops and cheers lifted her spirits.
She felt lighter.
Then they came to a creek bed which looked like a sleek expanse of
damp rot in the dark, and it smelled no better. Bernard wasn’t slowing.
“No . . . No you don’t! Bernard!” Rain gripped his fur so hard her
knuckles went white. She squeezed her legs together along his back.
Cackling and squealing through their linked souls, Bernard leapt the
creek in one sleek jump. Rain screamed with her face buried in his neck.
They glided through the air at a speed that sent icy autumn wind raking
across her cheek. He landed with a thud, casting up a great wall of mud.
 Splattered in wet filth, Rain sighed with relief, grateful to have survived
the ordeal. “You wicked thing . . .”
I AM A WICKED AND MAJESTIC DEMON! All the immortal
provinces shall fear me and tremble!
“You’re full of farts is what you are,” she said mildly, her smile
restored.
Large tongue hanging out of his mouth and tossing spittle, he galloped
through the trees and into the meadow. Lunar butterflies shot into the air,
ousted from the massive flora that grew only in the fall, like the star lilies
and the turnip roses and grape daffodils. Bernard bounded after the bird-
sized insects, bouncing from one to the next, spooking them into flight, like
a kitten playing with a ball of string.
“Will you control yourself, please,” Rain said, unable to hide the
laughter in her voice. “Sora’s hut usually rests beside the arm of the river
Eventide. It’s not far now.”
Bernard charged forward, stirring up a great kaleidoscope of butterflies,
blue wings luminous in the moon’s soft glow. Sora’s hut leaned crookedly
beside a copse of pine trees. Rain’s stomach flipped. It would be a gross
exaggeration for her to claim she knew the witch well. Over the last several
hundred years, they’d spoken only once.
The dragon princess had made a borscht, the smell of which had called
Rain and a hungry Bernard out of the forest after an unsuccessful day of
hunting. Bernard had recognized the out-of-favor dragon princess
immediately. Rain offered a trade of furs for a bowl of the beetroot soup,
but the witch accepted chores instead. They’d spoken briefly about the
migration of the wolves in the area, while Rain and Bernard worked
dutifully, and then neither had attempted to repeat the endeavor again.
 What if Sora wouldn’t open her door for her?
The hut shuddered, shaking the lunar butterflies off its thatch roof, and
then the house rose up on its great chicken feet. It stood there stiffly, leering
at Rain with its slanted windows.
“Sora Yaga? I need to visit with you. Because . . .” Rain hesitated. The
bargain magic cinched around her ribs. It was difficult to draw a full breath.
She’d vowed not to warn her of Sigurd’s presence. She needed to be wise
with her words. What should I say?
Ask her . . . for some coffee?
I hate coffee.
You hate everything.
Not everything . . . Rain cleared her throat and decided to be as fae-
honest as she could be. “My life depends on whether or not you open your
door to me.”
The hut lowered itself to the ground with a thump that shook the earth.
Moments later, the door swung open, the frame sprouting razor sharp teeth,
and a hot blast of air hit her, smelling of brimstone and ash. Rain unhooked
her satchel and chucked the bag inside its dark maw. The moment it crossed
the threshold, she felt the bargain magic fade from her, and her lungs
expanded.
The razor sharp teeth shrunk, fading into the wood, and Sora’s familiar
showed herself in the form of a little dragon with black scales. The familiar
slipped out through the shadowed opening, into starlight.
Oh? What have we here, Bernard said, charmed. He shook Rain off his
back and evaporated into a puff of dark mist, reforming into a matching
little dragon with glistening black scales. Sora’s familiar became a sleek
panther next, followed by an owl, and Bernard mimicked her one shape
after the next. Only familiars could become objects as well as living things.
Before long, the two of them had run out of animal forms and began to shift
into various weapons: an obsidian great sword, an ax made of dragon scales
...
I need more blood, Bernard said eagerly.
Rain rolled her eyes. I’m not giving you my blood so you can win some
asinine trickster contest.
Lamplight illuminated the doorway, and Sora stepped outside, holding
Rain’s old satchel ahead of her with the tips of her fingers, her nose
wrinkled. Her flaxen hair was down around her shoulders. She wore a
velvet gown and a gilded belt that wrapped at the waist, its ends tasseled
and dangling over her bare feet, a formal dress of a time long ago, a time
familiar and dear to Rain.
The witch shook the satchel out, and the rat carcass tumbled into the tall
grass beside a spool of string, a metal and flint striker, a jar of various
needles and buttons, and two sheathed daggers.
“You brought me a dead Lunar mage?” Sora narrowed large indigo eyes
at Rain.
“His name was Sigurd,” Rain said. “He made a bargain with me, but the
bargain didn’t suit him. A rat, even one full of fairy wine, is no match for a
hungry wolf, you see.”
“I see.” Sora crossed her arms elegantly, considering her. “Sigurd was a
pain in my side, always showing up uninvited.”
“Dragae soldiers filled his head with tales about dragon hordes. He
wanted yours.”
Sora nodded. “I owe you a boon, then.”
 “You don’t.” Rain dug her boot at the earth, feeling uncomfortable.
“Sigurd hurt someone dear to me. I’d have—”
Movement in the doorway drew Rain’s eyes, and air left her lungs in a
rush. Night ducked so his curved antlers didn’t scrape the lintel. He was
dressed in traveling clothes and his long cloak, the same one he used to
wear when he’d visit her in the forest. Even in plain clothing, he seemed too
majestic for such dull surroundings, too proud and blue-blooded for the
simplicity of tall grass and dilapidated wood.
That was probably how the two of them appeared together standing side
by side. Majesty and old wood.
Sora’s slow smile curled her lips. “It’s my understanding the two of you
are acquainted.”
“We are,” Night said in a silky purr that made Rain shiver.
She stumbled back a step, heart thundering in her chest. Time to go,
Bernard.
Bernard had returned to his cat form and was pouncing about, batting at
butterflies with the dragon familiar. He groaned in protest through their link
but joined Rain’s side promptly.
“It’s good to see you again . . .” The words felt like sandpaper leaving
her throat. Good was the wrong word for it. The sight of the duke was a
reminder of her loss and a knife in her chest. She backed away, eager to part
from the handsome vision that made her recall long walks through the
woods, his melodic voice like warmed honey reading her fairy stories, an
archery competition, awaking in bed beside him with his cool breath on her
neck—all visions that caused her great pain.
She made it another step before Night prowled after her.
 What in the name of all the divines was he doing? Rain scowled,
retreating faster. Her boots caught in tangled weeds. She stumbled and
caught herself.
He answered her thoughts with a roguish grin that crinkled the scar in
the corner of his mouth.
“Stop this,” she scolded. Bernard!
I’ll get him. Bernard jetted toward the duke.
Night cupped his hand, forming a crescent shape with his thumb and
fingers. “Sleep,” he said, and Bernard tipped onto his side, disappearing
below the tall grass, snoring loudly.
Rain spun on her heels and sprinted for the tree line. “What are you
doing?” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Stop running, and I’ll tell you!” Hints of wicked amusement colored
his words.
Absolutely nothing about this was funny. How dare he toy with her in
this way? Under her breath, she cursed him and the tug of excitement low in
her belly.
“Hang it all,” she grumbled.
Rain lowered her head and sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her.
The steady thump of the duke’s boots followed her, drawing nearer. She
was quick, but he was younger. He caught her before she made it to the
trees, wrapping her up from behind. She stepped on his foot and shoved his
hands away. Undeterred, he snaked an arm around her waist and held her
firmly against his chest. When she fought his hold, he lifted her off her feet,
grunting from the effort of confining her thrashing body.
She gave up the fight quickly after that. It wasn’t usually in her to do so,
but he was a Lunar mage. She didn’t want to be put to sleep, and the scent
of moon magic mingling with his peppery cologne was rich in her nose,
alluring, distracting, and threatening.
His touch warmed her against the chill, and what if this was the very
last time she got to be like this with him again? In his arms. Touching her
mate.
Not alone.
She was so painfully lonely the ache in her chest opened like a gaping
wound. Beside the wound, the bond thrummed in her heart—and between
her legs—so hard she thought she might swoon again.
“What could you possibly gain from chasing me?” Rain asked, her
voice unsteady.
“A bride.” Night’s breath warmed her ear. He set her back down on her
feet, holding her firmly. Head lowered, his chin nudged her neck.
Rain’s brow knitted. “But you . . . you have a betrothed now.”
“Do you still dream of me?” The naked passion in his voice sent a
liquid heat coursing through her. “I dream of you every day. Then every
night I awake in hell.”
“But the papers,” she said, breathless. “You’ve a fae feast scheduled to
celebrate . . . ?”
“Do you think of me as often as I think of you?” He brought his lips so
close they skimmed the shell of her ear.
Rain turned in his arms. He let her, gazing down at her with two silver
pools she could drown in. His hands rested on her hips, a heavy welcomed
weight. In that moment, Night was the living embodiment of a fairy story.
He had stars in his smile, obsidian in his hair, and the moonlight of his eyes
was so piercing, so extraordinary, Rain couldn’t get enough oxygen into her
lungs. Being near him made her weightless. If he let her go, she might just
float right out of the meadow.
Pulled by a force greater than herself, she came up on the tips of her
toes and pressed her lips to his.
It took only an instant for her to realize she was about as good at kissing
as she was at words. She missed part of his mouth, catching only his bottom
lip in a hard pucker. She pulled away, frowning. If he’d noticed she didn’t
know how to kiss a man, he hid it well behind a look of absolute
astonishment.
“There,” she grumped. “You win. I admit it. I’m an absolute mess. I
don’t eat. I barely sleep, and when I do, I dream of you—now get your
fucking hands off me. You’ve an engagement to go and prepare for, and we
still want very different things.”
Instead of letting her go, he pulled her in tighter until she was pressed to
his hard body, her hands caught between them. “We have differences?” he
teased. “What differences?”
“You don’t believe in lov—”
Night nuzzled her ear with his nose, and she forgot how to make words.
Rain turned her head away from him. “And I don’t want any part of
your war. I’m sure you have more important things to do between all of
your political maneuverings and your new engagement.”
He towered over her, his chin nestling in her hair. “Our engagement,” he
said, the words muffled against her scalp.
Rain blinked into the wool of his cloak, certain she’d heard him
incorrectly. A weight she hadn’t realized was there lifted off her shoulders.
“What did you just say?”
 “I told you before I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m cutting quite a few
corners. For the benefit of the Seelie and Unseelie monarchs, I’ve already
sent out the announcements for our engagement.”
She was so dazed and confused, a steady gust of wind could have blown
her over. She wanted to hug him and hit him at the same time. Of course,
she didn’t want her mate off marrying someone else, but that didn’t change
anything between them. “But I didn’t accept your proposal!”
He pressed a light kiss to the side of her head, one she leaned into
despite her better judgement. There was nothing hurried or hard about his
kissing, she noted glumly. “I knew if being apart made you even half as
miserable as it made me, you’d come back soon enough, and here you
have.”
She squinted up at him. “But I didn’t come back to you. I came to Sora.
I didn’t know you were here.”
“You came back to me,” he insisted. “You planted saplings in my
courtyard, and I’m certain you visited my room that day too. Now here you
are, whatever the reason. . . close enough,” Night said, and then he scooped
her off her feet, ignoring her squawk of protest, lifting her onto his shoulder.
“I only visited your room for a moment to . . .” She couldn’t complete
that thought. Anything she said would have to be a lie.
Or the truth. The truth was even worse, though.
She’d visited his room because she had to see him again. She’d told
herself it was because she wanted to plant the saplings and needed to be
sure he wasn’t awake to catch her, but that wasn’t all of it. She needed to be
near him again.
“I’m taking you home,” he said merrily.
 Rain made a fist and struck him near his kidney. He dropped to a knee
with a groan. “You’re not kidnapping me again, you damned—”
“Sleep,” he coughed.
Her fingers went numb first. Then her arms and legs were suddenly too
heavy to lift. “What did you do to me?”
A pained chortle choked out of him. He rose slowly, adjusting her on his
shoulder. “I’m not going to harm you, Rain. You know that, yes?”
Her exhale shot a burst of vapor into the cool night air. “I know, but you
don’t just get to do whatever the bond wants you to. You’re forgetting to
use words like ‘please’ and ‘may I’ around me. It’s making me feel . . .”
“Feel like what?”
“Like I’d like to stab you with something,” she confessed, trying to
wriggle her fingers and toes. It was unnerving that she couldn’t.
“Wonderful. You make me just as violent. The audacity of forcing me to
come and kidnap you again.” His tone was aggravatingly playful, flustering
her in a fashion that was equal measures torment and pleasure. “I can’t
think of a single fae legend where the bride had to be stolen twice. You
deserve a thorough spanking for that.”
The act he described played out vividly in her mind, right there in the
woods, bent over his knee . . . Her pulse went thudding out of control.
“Threatening to spank a witch is a great way to get yourself turned into a
rotting pea. I ought to ruin all of your pretty shirts with dagger holes,” Rain
carried on under her breath, certain she didn’t know how to turn anyone into
anything, including a pea, rotting or otherwise. Then she grunted from the
effort of trying to move her numb arms and legs. “What’d you do to me?”
“Your body is at the command of the Divine Night. If I can see you and
my will is greater, I can steal your voice, make you blind with darkness, or
deafen you for however long I wish it. I can paralyze your limbs with sleep.
I can put all of you under if I like, but I enjoy listening to the sound of your
voice, even when you’re being contrary. I can heal, and I can send one to an
eternal night by speaking death into their ears.”
“Such a formidable mage,” she goaded, “carrying off a little witch half
his size . . .”
“An equally formidable witch covered in knives,” he quipped,
pretending to be affronted. He carried her back in the direction of Sora’s
hut, tall boots cutting through grass that came to his hip. “When they turn
our romance into a legend, I’ll make sure the poets know exactly how many
daggers you had on your person.”
“Twice as many as I actually have?”
“Three times that at least.” His grin was clear in his voice, and then he
continued, his gait long and sure, jostling her gently on his shoulder. “A
Night Mage can take away pain or give it. Likewise, I can take pleasure or
grant it . . .”
She worked her throat. “Is that what you’re going to do to me when we
get back to your home? Play games with your magic?”
“Our home,” he corrected briskly, then he stooped to pick up Bernard’s
sleeping form. “And no. First, I’m going to feed you. And then I’m going to
bathe you.”
His words sunk in, rooting to the marrow. Liquid desire caressed her
spine, raising the fine hairs of her arms, and her skin broke out in
gooseflesh. Her mouth opened and her tongue tied. She made an incoherent
noise, a keening whimper. Then with great effort she managed something
more coherent. “Why does everyone want to bathe me?”
 “Hmm?” He patted her thigh reassuringly, his hand threateningly close
to where she was growing wet and needy. “You smell like mud, sweat, and
vanilla. I like all of your smells but prefer the vanilla.”
Bathing was a bonding ritual. It wasn’t one commonly discussed, but
she recognized it the second he spoke the words. She wanted to be bathed.
She ached for it.
He was going to strengthen their bond . . .
Would she let him? Her mind went blank like it had given up on helping
her entirely. Her heart and soul continued to whirl and battle. The last week
without him had been dreadful, but what was a week to an immortal? Even
if it had been the longest of her life.
Rain glanced about for her things that had been dropped in the grass.
None of it was there. Not Sigurd’s rat body or her spare set of daggers. Sora
must have collected them. Rain would probably have to trade her for them
later. She sagged against his shoulder, too tired at the moment for further
battle.
Night hefted her across the meadow, nearing the forest. “When I reach
the trees, are they going to behave themselves? If they don’t, I’ll have to put
you and them to sleep.”
Rain sighed. “Trees are not gentle things. I’d hesitate to call on them.
They might accidentally crush you.”
At that he picked up his pace. “Five hundred years is a long time to live
amongst the trees. It makes me curious. The Seelie fae I’m acquainted with
usually prefer warmer climates—they’re more sensitive to the cold. So why
these trees, Rain?”
The answer put a lump in her throat. “Everyone comes from someone,”
she said quietly. “Surely even me.”
 “Naturally,” he said, and his voice had gentled.
“I don’t remember much of what happened before Bernard and I used
bargain magic to make him my familiar. Or maybe it was the injury, the
dagger in my stomach, or the pains of a war that refused to end. I’m not
sure. Either way, I can’t remember my family. But I miss them all the same,
you see.”
“You don’t remember them but hope that perhaps they remember you,”
he offered.
“Exactly. If I leave, they might finally come looking for me. I’d like to
be here if they do.”
The arm over her legs softened. “I see . . .” They walked on in somber
silence for a time. When he spoke again, his tone had found its usual
irreverent humor. “Hmm. How much of you is relieved I’m here with you
now, and how much of you is still thinking about stabbing me?”
“I don’t recognize my own feelings,” she confessed. “I haven’t since I
saw you for the first time. You make everything feel like a desperate
whirlwind. Hot and icy. Passion and the brink of insanity trapped together
in a hurricane. That’s what you do to me.” She worked her throat. “So I
suppose my answer is both equally.”
“Hmm. That’s close enough to a declaration of your affections for me as
I’m likely to get, I think.” They walked on in silence for a time, Bernard
snoring loudly in Night’s arm. The gentle sway of his body reminded Rain
of how tired she was, what little sleep she’d gotten, and it was well past
midnight now.
“You can’t carry me like this the entire way,” she said, fighting back a
yawn.
 “I’ll be just fine. You’re light as a sparrow.” Then he rested his hand
high on the back of her thigh, just under the curve of her bottom. “And the
view from here is highly motivational.”
She snorted at him. Reflexively her eyes were drawn to his backside,
lean supple curves flanked by narrow hips that flexed with his steps. Her
view was definitely better. “It’s not you I’m worried about. I don’t want
others to see me this way.”
“No member of my house would shame you or speak a word of it.”
“No, they won’t, because they won’t see it,” she said firmly. “When
we’re in sight of your estate, you’ll let me walk in at your side, not over
your shoulder like a captured criminal.”
“Would you walk alongside me now? Your hand in mine?”
The image that played out in her head at his words, strolling hand in
hand through her trees, was frustratingly lovely. Then a surge of panic shot
through her at the very thought, and she was flying into the whirlwind
again.
“I . . .” She hesitated. Her fingers tingled. She was starting to get feeling
back in her hands. Rain had a very strong will. She’d be able to move again
soon, and he wouldn’t know, if she was careful not to give herself away.
The moon magic was still there, still filling her lungs with its cloying scent,
still raising the hairs on her arms, but her strength had weakened it.
“Hmm. That answers that,” Night said, adjusting her along his shoulder,
jostling her out of her anxiety.
She sagged over him, letting her chin rest on his back. “I wish I could
explain my feelings better. I simply don’t have the right words.”
“Bonding with me makes you feel like you’re drowning in deep murky
waters full of monsters,” he said placidly.
 Rain crooked her neck to stare at the back of his head. “That’s an apt
description, actually.”
“I’ve recruited a witch to consult on the matter.”
“The dragon princess?”
“I was consulting with her when you arrived unexpectedly. She owes
you a boon now. You should hold her to that. It took me seven months of
laborious errands and chores to earn a boon from her.” He stepped over a
protruding collection of roots and into a glistening pile of leaves.
Rain grinned against his back. “I earned her boon in one evening.”
“Don’t gloat,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s unbecoming.”
“Everything I do is becoming to you,” she grumbled. “You’ve gone mad
with bond lust. You’re not thinking clearly about what a poor match we
are.” Not that she was doing any better. The parts of her that enjoyed a good
hunt, that fueled her bloodlust in times of battle, all the primal pieces of her
makeup, loved that she was being hauled away in the manner of the old fae.
That portion of her mind was thrilled that he’d chased her through the
meadow, happy to be touching him, whatever the reason.
Unfortunately, the other parts of her were drowning.
He asked about the events leading up to Sigurd’s demise. She answered
him honestly, sensing that his loyalties would be to his mate over another
mage, especially one as repulsive as Sigurd.
“You tricked a trickster,” he said, sounding amused. “I’m not surprised.
You can be quite resourceful in a pinch.”
“He underestimated me,” Rain said. She tried to shrug, and slowly her
arms let her. Her will was winning against the moon magic. “Sigurd over-
valued the strength of his hand and significantly miscalculated mine. It’s as
simple as that.”
 He fell quiet then. Rain wondered what thoughts ran through his mind,
before deciding she’d rather not know what political machinations she may
have just inspired. Bernard continued to sleep soundly—and loudly—in the
crook of his arm.
“You miss your family,” he said, and his words surprised her. She’d
been sure his thoughts were on trickster mischief.
“With everything I am,” she admitted solemnly. “I miss having family
even if I can’t remember what that feels like exactly.”
“Rain, we may have different ideas about love, but I understand the
importance of family . . .” The honey sweetness of his voice coated her in
comfort. “My family wasn’t always the most functional, as you know, but I
wouldn’t trade any of them for another. Not even my father.”
She was quite certain she could move now. With a word, she could
distract him using her trees, then while he used moon magic to subdue
them, she’d grab Bernard and escape.
But his musings about family brought her pause.
Night kept his word as they reached his estate. He released Rain from
the magic that put her limbs to sleep, not realizing she’d already broken
their hold with her stubborn will. He set her on her feet. “Do I need to
remind you that I can cast the magic again in an instant should you try to
flee from me?”
Rain rubbed more feeling back into her arms. “Do I need to remind you
how many sharp objects I have on my person should you become too
presumptuous?”
A grin lit up his handsome face. He extended his hand. “I could be your
family, Rain.”
 His voice was a silky purr full of a promise she could feel on her skin
like a caress, and her heart stopped. When she took his hand, the organ
started again with a great kick against the cage of her ribs.
Their connection was ice and embers. A thrill shot up from their linked
fingers, into her chest, warming her. A burning flush stole the sting of the
cool night from her cheeks and nose. She was weak in the knees, and she
couldn’t decide if it was the aftereffects of his moon magic or their bond or
a debilitating combination of the two.
Night was not unaffected. He kept stealing glances at her as they
walked, his thumb following an eager path along her knuckles. Stone steps
led to an elaborate set of thick double doors which parted for them, hauled
open by two stout footmen.
An underbutler took Night’s cloak. The duke waved him off when he
tried to accept Rain’s coat. She appreciated that, though the human
underbutler eyed her mud-splattered appearance with grave concern, like
she might dirty some of the many exquisite things about the great house.
Her hand in his, Night walked them to the altar in the foyer on the left
which honored the Divine Night, opposite the Divine Day. He allowed her
to light the incense with a long match. Perfumed smoke rose up before an
engraved metal image of a gilded moon.
Then Night handed the bundle of snoring cat to the underbutler. “I’ll
allow him to wake in a moment. He’ll be very cross when I do,” Night said.
“Be prepared to feed him heavily until he’s been appeased.”
“Don’t put your fingers anywhere near his mouth, though,” Rain
warned.
Night walked her straight to the kitchen next, ignoring the curious eyes
of staff. His house was a labyrinth of marble halls, sleek stones, and
elaborate arches, oil paintings, and fine woodwork. Rain was overly aware
of the prints her boots were leaving on the floors and rugs.
Kitchen staff bustled about, preparing several dishes. A large stove
heated the room, letting off a heavenly aroma of mutton and ripe fruit.
A half-fae woman balked at the duke’s appearance. Her skin was a light
shade of pink and her ears were subtly pointed, but her face was round and
soft like a mortal’s. She led with a polite curtsy. “My Lord . . . supper isn’t
ready just yet. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I need you and the staff to clear out for a few minutes,” he instructed.
Rain squeezed his hand a bit tighter, moving behind him to avoid the
many sets of intrigued eyes that had latched on to her with overwhelming
interest.
“My Lord . . .” The cook worried her hands in her white tunic.
Night’s voice was warm and reassuring. “Nothing will sour in ten
minutes, Cook. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”
She looked uncertain, but she couldn’t very well deny the Duke of
Night. “Of course, My Lord. As you wish,” she said meekly. Then she
clapped her hands and shooed her staff out of the kitchen.
Alone, Night towed Rain to the scullery in the back. He turned on the
taps and filled the sink basin with warm water. She watched him with
interest as he removed his cufflinks, tucking them in his pocket, and rolled
up his shirt sleeves, revealing more smooth gray skin and veined forearms.
Then he gathered up a cake of tallow soap that smelled like almonds and
washed his hands. Rain wondered at the number of boilers a house of this
size might possess. It was a relatively new technology. Only wealthy homes
had taps, and even fewer had hot water.
 Night motioned her over. She shoved up her coat sleeves and obediently
came to stand in front of him at the sink. She was painfully aware of how
covered in mud she was and how filthy her skin had become. Night caged
her in with his long arms, grasped her cold hands in his sudsy ones, and
took his time washing her. He moved his fingers languidly over hers,
brushing his thumbs down the creases of her palms, working gently at the
sensitive spaces between her digits.
His tender touches made the bond thrum in her chest with nearly
unbearable exuberance. He laid his chin in her hair, rubbing her small hands
between his larger ones until they were pink and hot and clean. There was
no part of her wrists and fingers he hadn’t caressed. She was so dirty he had
to drain the sink and fill it again. He washed her up to her elbows, his touch
lingering on the shallow nicks and scars at her knuckles and the callouses
on her palms. He ran an inquisitive finger over a long scar turned white on
her forearm but didn’t ask about it.
Then he found a scrub brush with clean bristles and applied it to her
coat. Dried dirt flaked off of her with each careful stroke.
“Thank you,” she said softly when he was done. Something prickly had
thickened in her throat. No one had ever been so tender with her before.
He nodded his head, his gray eyes bright as though caring for her in this
way did something to him, fed something deep in the recesses of his fae
being. It certainly did hers. He linked their fingers once more and brought
her back to the kitchen. If he held on to her because he was worried she’d
bolt, it wasn’t necessary, especially once she got a proper look at the food.
She was hungry, and so was her mate.
And she needed to nourish him. The bond sent her pulse surging in her
neck and thighs. She moved instinctively, following his cursory gaze to the
bread on the counter. It was full of nuts and sprinkled with cinnamon. She
broke off a piece and turned to him.
Obediently he opened his mouth. She fed the bread to him with great
care, watching as his lips closed over the morsel, skimming her fingers. She
studied him as he chewed and swallowed, drinking in every sign of his
enjoyment.
“Did you like it?” She knew he did but needed to hear him say it out
loud.
“Mm-hmm. I liked it,” he said, nodding his head, a secret smile in the
corner of his mouth. His satisfaction grew hers.
“This one next.” She pulled him along to the roasted leg of mutton
because he’d glanced at it. She picked off a piece, the meat nearly too hot to
touch, and she blew on it. He moved to help, but she batted his hand away,
instinct taking over.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth. When it was the right
temperature for her mate, she brought the cooled piece to his mouth. He
parted his lips. Delight surged inside her at the contented sound he made as
he chewed.
This was excellent, but she needed to make him something to eat with
her own hands . . . One of the servants had started to mix whipping cream.
Stale bread had been added to a collection of overly ripe Seelie berries
which were brighter and larger in size than raspberries and grew year-
round. Its juices had turned the bread an inviting pink. She fed him a bit of
the pudding, and then she mixed the whipped cream. When it had
thickened, she offered him some, first on a piece of pinkened bread, then on
the end of her finger. He took her offered digit into his mouth and sucked
the whipped cream off, and she felt the pull of his lips deep in her core and
in a tug behind her navel. Intimate muscles fluttered.
She wanted her lips on his again but didn’t dare repeat her disastrous
first attempt. Then he was feeding her in turns, pudding and bits of mutton
and buttered bread until they were both full to bursting. Seeing that he was
sated, she felt the same. Not just full, satisfied in every way possible. There
was no room for worries, no conflicts in that intimate space between them.
Only contentment.
Rain glanced about at the mess they’d made, and it had certainly been
longer than ten minutes. The poor cook was probably chomping at the bit
by the doors.
“It was such a pretty meal . . .” she said.
“It served its purpose,” Night reassured her. “And the others won’t mind
. . . Or they will mind, but they won’t dare complain.”
As they left the kitchen, Night stopped a maid. “Have a bath readied in
my room. I want the water hot, and add lots of warmed towels. Lots of
them,” he stressed.
The human girl nodded her understanding and scampered off to do his
bidding.
Rain’s stomach dropped and then filled with butterflies.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 13

(Night)

H er innocence and timidity went straight to Night’s heart.

With gentle encouragement, he walked Rain up to his chambers,
and once they were there and the door was shut, the blinds drawn, candles
lit, he knew with certainty he’d never be able to play her like some hand in
cards. No tricks, no traps, no bluffs.
Just kindness. That’s what his protective, noble mate deserved, and
that’s what she’d get.
Rain was not a card. She was a player. A warrior who tricked tricksters.
There was no doubt in his mind that she was worth the effort, worth the
chase, worth his bond. She was the wife he wanted, the partner he needed,
the true mate that could save his court.
Leaning against the far wall near the crackling fire to give her space, he
let her explore his bedroom. She visited the various hangings and art on the
walls first, poking her head into the dressing room. Her amber eyes
constantly flitted over to the copper tub centered on the carpet. As she took
in the steam curling off the clear waters, delicate muscles in her throat
flexed with her swallow.
A high-backed chair sat beside a bench seat and a stand with a ceramic
basin and a pitcher full of more steaming water. Two cakes of vanilla-
scented soap—the soaps she’d made for him—were situated on the stand
beside a rubber dropper, a vial of almond oil, and a box of soap made from
various plant oils the mortals called palm soap.
She crossed to his bed, running her fingers over the stacks of thick
towels, testing the plushness of the silk and cotton mix. “What now?” she
said so softly he almost couldn’t hear her.
“Rain, look at me.”
She did eventually, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
He pointed at the entrance. “That door isn’t locked. I hauled you here to
my house, I know, but I’m not going to make you do this. I’ll tell you what
I want, what my instincts want, but nothing happens unless you want that
too. Do you understand?”
Her chest filled with a deep inhale and released slowly. “You think
because I’m quiet and I’m small that I can be pushed around. It’s a common
mistake made regarding me.” She met his gaze, and there was fire and steel
in her tawny eyes. “You can’t make me do things I don’t want to do, Night.
No one can. I’m only here because I want to be here.”
A smile tugged at his scarred mouth. “Good. On the bed beside the
towels is a robe for you.”
Rain lifted the robe in question, a thin silk piece in a cream color. She
held the fabric up under her neck and let it drape her body. It fell above her
knees with large hanging sleeves, and her cheeks flushed. “You want me to
wear this?”
“I want to undress you slowly, then wrap you in that myself. But we’ll
do what you’re comfortable with.”
Her lips twitched. “Turn around. I can undress myself.” When Night
hesitated, she made a twirling motion with her fingers. “And no peeking,
My Lord.”
Night groaned playfully in protest, but he obeyed, facing the wall. The
sound of shifting wool and rustling fabric was a gentle sort of torment, but
he dutifully kept his curious eyes forward. Then silence swept over the
room, and Night could feel the uncertainty radiating from his mate. The
gentle padding of her footfalls against the carpet disrupted the quiet as she
crossed the room.
“Do I have to keep staring at this wall?” he asked eagerly. “I’d much
rather stare at you.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure . . .”
Night glanced over his shoulder and found her standing in front of the
mirror, tightening the corded belt of the robe around her middle, studying
her reflection. The cream of the silk highlighted the golden hues of her skin,
those not covered in dirt. Her hair was a tumble of loose snow down her
back. Her amber eyes darted to his in the reflective glass. The strength of
will in the little half-smile she gave him stirred him down to his core.
This was what a force of nature looked like wrapped up in silk, he
decided. When it came to keeping his duties in order and his priorities
straight, having her in his life would make that very difficult. He’d want to
shove everything to the side. Hopefully that desire calmed once their bond
was cemented.
Night gathered her clothes and coat and left them out in the hall for the
servants to launder and press. Her satchel and knives he placed on his
nightstand, then he retrieved three of the lush towels from his bed. The first
he unrolled and laid on the floor on the broad side of the tub. The others he
set folded on the chair.
Rain padded over to him. “What are you doing?”
 “Preparing.” He placed the bench seat, one that likely belonged to a
vanity, on top of the towel. Then he positioned the chair across from it
alongside the tub. He retrieved the stand with the pitcher, basin, and
supplies next, maneuvering it within reach of the chair.
Rain watched him work, worrying the belt of her robe.
Night gestured to the bench seat. “I’d like to wash your feet. Please sit.”
Biting her lip, she did as he asked, tucking the short robe beneath her.
The silk stopped at her knees, little knobby things that he wanted to kiss,
they were so dainty. Night pushed aside the towels and sat in the chair. He
added a cake of soap to the basin along with a fold of terrycloth, rubbing
them together under the water until the curls of steam came up smelling like
vanilla, the little white autumn flowers that would forever remind him of his
mate.
When Night reached for her foot, Rain tensed. He gentled his touch,
lifting her leg at the ankle and setting it in his lap. Folding the terrycloth in
half, he let the warm mixture run down her shin bone, then he followed the
trail it left behind with the cloth.
The state of her feet made his stomach drop. “You even have scars on
your toes.”
A breath of humor escaped her. “Not so many there,” she said, and he
caught the warning in her tone. The number was higher elsewhere.
He washed her from her knees to the tips of her feet, one leg after the
other. Night retrieved a new cloth and started again, attentively cleaning the
slight spaces between her toes, feeding the thrumming bond that warmed
his blood.
Rain squirmed, and a little gasp parted her lips.
 Night lifted a brow. “Is my fierce warrior mate, who lets no one push
her about, ticklish?”
She giggled, the sound so sweet and pure and good that his chest went
tight.
“Lausat, you precious creature,” he whispered, and her skin pebbled
before his eyes. His lips curled. “I thought you might like that term.”
“It’s an old, old word,” she purred. Her arms fell to her sides, gripping
the edges of the bench seat. “And I’m an antique. Naturally I like it.”
“Is a diamond an antique? You are lovely, is what you are.” He lifted
her foot and kissed her damp flesh. “Even these little toes of yours are
charming. In fact, I think they might be my very favorite part of you.” They
curled in as he spoke of them, and another raspy laugh brightened her face.
“There isn’t a part of you that isn’t beautiful to me, not even the scars, but
your toes are most precious. If not your toes, then certainly your knees.”
“My knees?”
“They’re positively dainty.”
Her amber eyes glinted brightly, set afire by the candlelight. “Say it
again, would you please? That old word . . .”
“Lausat,” he said sweetly, and a shiver went through her, “my bride
mate. Thank you for the honor of letting me wash you.”
A new emotion crossed her expression, furrowing her brow as he
lowered her now clean feet from his lap one at a time. The toes he adored
curled into the towel on the floor.
“You need a bride,” she choked out, appearing to want to say more, but
her eyes misted. Quickly, she blinked the emotion away.
“There is war all around us, Rain. Securing and marrying my true mate
puts out a small fire for the Lunar Province. It stops the Seelie and Unseelie
from forcing us into an alliance that will devastate my court. Marrying you
puts out a larger fire . . .” He returned the terrycloth to the basin, watching it
float amongst the bubbles. “I need someone I can depend on in the coming
crisis. A survivor. A warrior who tricks tricksters. My every instinct
confirms that partner needs to be you.”
Rain’s chest rose, pressing her small breasts to the thin silk. “I was
never more tempted to leave my forest and seek a new home elsewhere than
when whispers of war reached me . . .” She lost her voice. Her lip was back
between her teeth.
Night gathered one of the towels, lowered onto a knee before her, and
began drying her legs. “One war is more than enough for anyone to fight in,
but it isn’t fighting that I have in mind for you this time. I need help
avoiding the battle,” he said encouragingly, then compulsively he kissed her
little knees, each of them in turn. Her skin was welcomingly cool under his
lips. “Without you, I foresee the trees that are your home destroyed by
Seelie war machines, and the human girls you cherish enslaved by the
dragon king.”
Her cheeks colored like blooming rosebuds. “Spoken like a true
trickster, using my love—a thing you don’t believe in—to manipulate me.”
“I am,” he admitted, and he met the fire in her eyes without flinching,
“because the passion and responsibility you feel for those girls in that
shabby little tavern is the same passion I feel for my entire court. I won’t let
the Lunar Province be destroyed by this conflict. I. Won’t.”
She reached for him and smoothed back his hair, fingers grazing the
base of his antlers. “You can wish to stay out of it, Frey Magis, but I think
we both know the day is fast approaching where staying out won’t be
possible for anyone. Even the great Duke of Night.”
 “I know.” On his knees, peering up into her eyes, he breathed the words
like a prayer, “Help me, Rain.”
“I don’t want war. But I don’t want to be alone anymore either.”
Sagging, she hung her head, and her ashen hair curtained her face. His poor
mate. Night’s heart dropped to the floor. “All I’ve ever wished for was
family, Night. Not war or riches or wealth beyond measure. Not politics and
the battle and blood favored by the gentry. Just freedom and trees and love.”
“I need you, Rain.” Pain infused his words, tightening muscles in his
arms and shoulders. He was on his knees begging without shame. He’d
stopped carrying about such things as his pride ages ago, the weight on his
shoulders had flattened him so. “And in exchange for your help, I vow to
you I’ll do my very best to give you the things you want, whatever they
look like to you, however you want them. Marry me, bond with me, help
me.” Her mouth opened, but he silenced her with a raised hand. “Don’t
answer tonight. Think on my request and be sure. I know the cost of what
I’m asking. I need you to be certain.”
Her throat bobbed. “How long do I have to think about all of this?”
A breath of amusement broke free of him. “Well, our engagement feast
is scheduled for next month, so before then, please.”
Her smile was wistful. “I can manage that.”
He rose to his feet and offered his palms. “I assume you’d rather not
remove your robe.”
Without hesitation she took his hands, her slender fingers disappearing
inside his, and she stood beside him. The blind trust in her quick actions
pleased him and the bond down to his bones. Their connection beat fiercely
through his veins.
“I would rather keep it on . . . this time,” she said.
 Night moved the bench seat so that it was beside his chair, parallel to
the tub. He helped her perch on the cushion, facing away from him. Then he
rolled the towel he’d been using and combined it with the other. He sat in
the chair and placed them in his lap, creating cushions for the back of her
shoulders and neck as he pulled her down over his thighs. With some
adjustments, her head rested on the rim of the tub, neck supported by the
towels. Her ashen hair tumbled over the rim, the ends rippling the water.
He combed her locks with his fingers, loosening snarls. Then he parted
the strands and used a dropper from the stand to apply almond oil. He
worked the golden oil into the roots, raking his fingers along her scalp. Her
eyes fluttered shut, and a murmur of contentment slipped through her lips.
The bond rejoiced. It sung in his chest.
He retrieved the pitcher of water and tested it to make sure it wasn’t too
hot. Satisfied that it was the right temperature for his mate, he poured it
lightly around her scalp. Wetting her hair, he caught the stray rivulets that
tried to run down her face or toward her eyes.
She started to cry then, and the sight of her tears turned his throat raw.
His mate was trapped in murky water full of monsters, and here he was
holding her under, insisting on bonding. “My poor Lausat,” he cooed. “I’m
so sorry, sweetheart. But I just can’t let you go.”
Every fiber of his being clung to her. She was his. His duchess. His
salvation. He needed her. He set aside the ceramic pitcher, now empty, and
wiped away her tears with his thumbs. She chewed her lip, her mouth
trembling.
Night chucked her chin, willing her to cheer up, to defeat the swell of
emotion caused by her distressed soul. “None of that now,” he said gently.
“You’re safe in my arms. My little warrior who tricks tricksters. You don’t
even need my arms, do you . . . ? That’s better now . . .”
She swallowed audibly and sniffled. He made a lather with a bar of the
palm soap. Then he scrubbed it through her hair while she struggled to stifle
a whimper so pitiful it put an ache in his chest.
As he massaged her scalp, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. He
whispered reassurances until her body loosened over him. Her hands had
been folded tightly around her middle. They went lax across her abdomen.
The lids of her eyes softened, and for a moment, he thought he’d eased his
mate to sleep, or perhaps she’d swooned again.
Then her white lashes fluttered open, and there was something new and
determined in her gaze.
Night refilled the pitcher from the bath water and rinsed her hair,
combing the wet through until the strands were sleek and smooth and
glossy clean. She smelled of vanilla and the meadow he’d chased her
through.
He squeezed the excess water from the strands, then helped her sit up.
She turned on the bench seat, her legs spilling over the edge, the curve of
her knee brushing his. She kept her leg there, the hem of her robe riding up
her thigh. Both the touch and the flash of skin brought him pause. There
was something significantly intimate about them. He sat there for a moment
staring at that expanse of golden flesh, feeling the heat of her knee resting
against his.
Rain bundled her dripping hair into a knot at her nape, likely unaware of
his runaway thoughts, his growing fascination. Night unfurled one of the
towels and tossed it over her shoulders, protecting her robe and skin from
the wet droplets. With the other towel he replaced her hands, gripping
sections of her hair and squeezing it dry between the cotton fabric.
Her eyes were fixed on his chin, her expression thoughtful and
determined. Night ruffled her hair playfully, stirring the strands, and a
lightness lifted the tension out of her features.
She kissed him then, her weight falling against his chest. Her lips were
gentle and careful and salty from her tears. This was not the passionate and
bumbling kiss of before. With her first kiss, he’d been too shocked to
absorb any of it. Too surprised to taste her, to respond. She’d kissed him
angrily, a flash of hot skin taken away too quickly.
This time her lips parted over his, soft and delicate. The contact only
lasted for a moment, but it was an excruciatingly beautiful moment, one he
clung to.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she confessed, eyes down, her shoulder
propped on his chest.
“I’m glad you couldn’t.” Then he pulled her into his arms, and he
claimed her mouth with his. She came willingly, lounging over his lap, his
arm supporting her weight. He deepened the kiss, tipping her back.
Her mouth warmed. Her lips parted for him. He touched her tongue
with his, a gentle encouragement. She mimicked the movement, searching
his mouth tentatively. Night teased her lower lip with his teeth, and she did
the same, repeating every caress, every playful touch with timid wonder. He
kissed her until her lips were bright and swollen, and her breathing turned
labored.
Night cupped her face. Her hands went to his hair, fingers grazing the
base of his antlers. Heated blood surged through his veins. His cock,
already alert, stirred beneath her, straining the wool of his trousers.
 He broke the kiss to gaze down at her. “You’re a quick study,” he
teased, “based on your first attempt—”
“Let’s never talk about the first attempt,” she groaned.
“What if I want to talk about it?” A chuckle reverberated through him.
“It was the first time you kissed me. A good mate would wax on eloquently
about the shape of your lips and other such nonsense. I should write you
lines about its swiftness.”
“Stars help me, please don’t.” Rain covered her face with her hands, her
cheeks coloring. When she looked at him next, she stared with tired watery
eyes. Her lids were heavy. She yawned and stretched in his arms.
“You must be exhausted.” Between the bond battering at her and the
events of her evening with Sigurd, she had to be beat.
She was so tired, in fact, that she didn’t put up any fight at all when he
stood her up and tucked her into his bed, burying her in blankets. He
stripped down and dressed in a nightshirt. Lips quirking, he caught Rain
watching him.
“And here I thought you had your eyes closed,” he said playfully.
“You didn’t tell me not to look,” Rain said, no longer appearing nearly
as sleepy.
As he blew out all the candles, she muttered to him about the softness of
the bedding and mattress.
“I sleep outside,” she said groggily. “Beds make me feel like I’m
sleeping on mushy bread.”
He slid in next to her, took her into his arms, and rolled onto his back.
She draped over his chest, her weight an insignificant thing, her hair
dampening his shirt.
“Am I too soft?” he asked.
 She nuzzled her cheek against the smooth expanse just above his heart.
“No,” she murmured, “you’re just right.”
Tucked together, they didn’t need as many blankets. He pushed them off
as one of her legs tangled about his. She fell asleep first, her breathing deep
and even. He followed swiftly after her.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 14

(Rain)

R ain awoke burning and touch-starved. Her core throbbed, her blood
boiled, sweat beaded her brow. She was accustomed to awaking from
her dreams in this way, her head full of images of her mate, intimate
muscles between her thighs clenching with need.
But this time, as she dabbed at her forehead and tried to sit up,
everything felt different. Images of her mate didn’t fade from her. The dull
ache didn’t lessen. It strengthened.
The duke was a solid force beneath her, his nightshirt rumpled. Rays of
daylight broke through the velvet curtains, casting diamonds in his hair. She
sat up, momentarily straddling his waist, uncertain what time it was. He
slept with one arm behind his head, antlers curving back into the generous
stack of pillows. Her hair had dried in wild waves around her shoulders.
“Night,” she said on a ragged exhale. “Night, I need you to . . .” She
couldn’t finish the thought, didn’t have the words. She had no experience
with seduction, though this didn’t feel like that anyway. This felt like
demand. Like desperation.
Like he was hers to order about.
His eyelids fluttered, but he remained motionless, deep in slumber. She
rolled off of him, tangling the bedding. He stirred then as though he’d felt
the loss of her.
With heavy movements, he turned onto his side, blinking his moonlight
eyes, illuminating the shadowed spaces between them. “The sun is still out.
Come back and go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. “I . . .” She swallowed, and her voice turned
husky. “I feel like I’m on fire, and I need you . . . I’ve never . . . but I need
you.”
She was not making any sense. How he could possibly understand her
was a mystery, but understand her he did. He slid an arm under her
shoulders and pulled her in close. Propping his weight up on an elbow, he
hovered over her. “In your dreams, where did I touch you?”
“Everywhere,” she panted.
He proffered his free hand, his face serene. “Show me.”
Rain grasped his wrist and ran his touch across her body, over her
breasts, down her stomach. Her nipples pebbled. Her breasts felt full and
achy. Guiding his hand lower, she lost her nerve just below her navel.
“Did I really stop there of all places?” he asked archly, his voice warm
and thick with sleep. “Surely not even the dream version of me would stop
just before the very best part.”
Laughter loosened something in her chest that had gone tight. She felt
lighter, freer, and grateful for his good humor.
Her hands drifted over to his shirt while his hovered below her scarred
belly button, a gentle pressure that was as lovely as it was intimidating. She
plucked at the top buttons uneasily, her brows knitting. “When it comes to
matters of intimacy, I’m afraid I’m significantly inexperienced.”
“You’re innocent,” he said matter-of-factly.
 She rolled her eyes. “I’m old and I’ve killed people—stole the life from
someone just last night, in fact, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m hardly
innocent. But I haven’t ever shared my body with another. I didn’t used to
care about such things, but then you walked into my life and turned
everything upside down.”
“How rude of me,” he said dryly. “Then you have an interest now in
such things?” The teasing tone failed to fully disguise an edge of hope.
“A growing interest,” she admitted, squirming closer. His body
responded to her nearness, muscles tautening, his chest radiating heat. Her
mouth opened, and she hesitated. He stared at her, eager for her words, so
eager he shook her playfully to make them come faster. “I want you to teach
me,” she confessed finally.
His brow lifted. “About pleasure?” The gravelly change in his voice
was subtle but unmistakable. It sent a thrill through her.
She wetted her lips and worked her throat. “I want to know what you
know. It’s a dream I keep having. I ask you to teach me, and you promise to
show me all, and then I always wake up well before I’m satisfied.”
His arm tightened around her. He pressed his body along hers, evidence
of his desire hard and hot against her side. “I’ll teach you if you want that,
and I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”
“Please.” Her voice broke.
He kissed her nose, running a gentle finger from her chin down to her
sternum between her breasts. He stopped once more just below her navel.
Pinching the silk robe, he tugged on it. “Do you want to keep this on?”
Another nod. “Please,” she repeated, quieter than before.
“Then it stays on.” He brushed the back of his hand along her cheek,
encouraging her eyes up to his. “Have you ever touched yourself before?”
 A line was back between her brows. “Touched myself how . . . Oh! You
mean . . . I guess I’ve never bothered with that either. I frequent a brothel. I
understand the mechanics of things. I’m not woefully ignorant.”
“Of course you aren’t.” He pressed a kiss to the crease in her brow she
hadn’t realized was there until it relaxed. An impatient breath sawed out of
her. “I’m going to touch you,” he warned.
“Where?” The word was more prayer than whisper.
“Absolutely everywhere.”
He started with her lips, caressing them with the pillowy pads of his
fingers. Then her neck and the subtle points of her ears. He pressed a kiss to
her throat. Languidly, Night touched her breasts. He kissed them in turns
over the silk, weighing the supple curves in his palms. She felt each stroke
of his fingers, each press of his lips, in a tug between her legs. Her nipples
tightened further under his exploration, and her lungs shuddered.
His touch trailed down her stomach to her scarred navel. He dipped a
finger inside gently before continuing down and down to the mound of her
sex.
“Open for me . . . just like that, sweetheart,” he crooned as she spread
her thighs. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt uncertainly. He bent his
head and kissed her fingers, and her hold loosened.
Night ran his hand down her leg to the knobby curve of her knee, a
ghost of a touch leaving gooseflesh in his wake. On the path back up her
body, he slid his fingers under the hem of the robe. She swallowed audibly,
painfully shy about having no clothing underneath. Rain watched his hand
with rapt interest as he pushed up the silk, revealing white curls and pink
flesh. He gently thumbed the intimate petals of her sex apart, and she
gasped.
 Stars, that’s where she wanted him most of all, needed him desperately.
Had needed him there for much, much too long. Her heart kicked against
the cage of her ribs like it wanted out.
He seemed to enjoy every sigh she made. He praised her when she
gasped and moaned; even the smallest of sounds earned new
encouragement. She melted beside him, feeling wholly relaxed. Pressure
climbed deep in her core, and her toes curled into the bedding. Then her
hands tightened rhythmically in his shirt. She wanted to investigate his
body too, but uncertainty stopped her.
She’d never been explored in such a way before, and she wanted to
watch. She was riveted, studying his hands and the gentle path of his
fingers, basking in the pleasure he gave her.
His caresses grew more urgent, and her wetness increased, the sound of
skin sliding over skin lurid and intoxicating. She released his shirt, fisting
the bedding beneath her in its place, opening herself to him. He stroked her
faster. She felt herself hurtling toward some unidentifiable thing, desperate
for more friction. She pulled her knees up and bit down on her lip.
“Do I have to hold still?” she rasped.
“Move the way your body wants to.” Then he lowered his head and
sucked her nipple to a point through the silk, and she felt a delicious pull
deep in her core.
Rain’s back bowed. Her hips jerked forward, desperate for more touch,
more pressure, more of him right on that bud of nerves, right there.
“Perfect,” he told her. “You’re perfect.”
Rain’s head went back, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She saw sparks
pop behind her lids. Absorbing the rapid climb of pleasure, her lips parted
around a shallow breath. Intimate muscles quivered and tightened as she
found her release.
It was over too soon. She wanted it to last forever.
Her pulse plummeted. A desire to close her eyes and drift washed over
her. Night removed his touch and tugged the ends of her robe back down
her thighs. His fingers were glossy with her pleasure. He brought them to
his mouth and sucked on them.
Rain blinked in surprise.
He met her gaze with a roguish grin. “No offense to your sweet little
toes or your dainty knees, but I have a new favorite part of you.”
It seemed like such a forbidden thing to taste her there, but it made her
curious.
He read her expression and answered her question before she could ask
it. “A little metallic, like one of your blades. There’s sweetness in your
pleasure too, like ripe cantaloupe,” he said. “You taste like a sweet dagger.”
“Hmm.” Her gaze slid down his body to the erection tenting his
nightshirt. “Isn’t there more to teach me?”
“Not all in one day,” he said.
Her release had emboldened her. “But now I think I’d like to know what
you taste like.”
His head went back with a groan, antlers jabbing the pillows. He carried
on like he’d been stabbed. “By the divines, Rain, don’t test me . . . It’s
important to our bond that I treat you gently and teach you slowly, but I’ve
longed for you for what feels like ages now, and I’m a weak bastard. Do
you understand?”
“Teach me slowly?” she said, chuckling. “But I really want to know.
I’ve never tasted a duke before. I bet you taste expensive.”
 “Or I taste like the wine you spat out the other day.”
Their joined laughter shook the mattress beneath them.
He rolled onto his back with a sigh and pulled her over his chest,
encouraging her head to rest against his heart. “When you’re comfortable
enough with your body that you’ll let me take this robe off you, I’ll let you
learn what I taste like.”
She was too contented now to protest. His pulse was loud, thundering
under her ear, a consistent comforting thrum. The bond hummed in her
chest, sated. Twined together once more, his soothingly solid form
supporting her weight, Rain drifted back to sleep.

***

Rain stayed with the duke for fourteen nights. It took three of them to fully
adjust to his nocturnal schedule. She slept tangled around his body each
day, but he didn’t make any more attempts to teach her about pleasure, and
she didn’t have the courage to insist.
When duty called him away, she and Bernard explored the great house.
She had a special fondness for Night’s many libraries. While she found old
books to read, Bernard exercised his affection for expensive cheeses and
crusty bread. He was given generous helpings of both whenever he wanted
them, a gift to ease his ongoing frustration about being put to sleep with
moon magic.
He’d almost forgiven the duke. The cheese was certainly helping.
Rain teased him that he was becoming fat and spoiled, though his
trickster shape never actually grew in such a way. She practiced writing in
her spare time using modern spellings and the shapes of the newest letters,
working old muscles that had gone woefully underused by putting pen to
paper.
Bernard played postman in his crow form, delivering her letters to The
Red Boot. Penny always wrote her back, letting her know that Margot was
well and they were managing fine without her. She complimented the
progress Rain was making with her handwriting. Rain knew she was just
being kind. Her writing was barely legible, but it made her smile anyway.
They were safe and fed. Penny had started selling palm readings topless for
tips and had made a tiny profit. Susan was thinking about adding a cheap,
unaged alcohol distilled from corn to her stocks at the tavern, a foreign
drink growing in popularity. It was cheap to make, but the starting supplies
would use up the last of the duke’s coin. Rain looked forward to Penny’s
letters every day.
One of the evenings Night was particularly busy, she helped herself to
his bedroom bookshelf, rearranging them into a new order that suited her
interests better. Hours later, she returned from tending to the saplings in the
courtyard, and the books had returned to their original order. There was a
note on the shelf in Night’s neat handwriting:
Leave my books alone or suffer my wrath.
Hope you are well.
-Night
The note made her smile.
She helped the staff in the kitchens. The half-fae cook understood the
necessity created by the bond, though the human servants found her
presence amongst them strange. Rain imagined everything about her was
rather strange compared to them: her clothing, her manners, her
pronunciation of certain words were all too antiquated for them to always
understand. But it satisfied her mating instincts to make Night bread she
kneaded herself, so she endured their stares and discomfort. She baked him
biscuits and tartlets and chopped vegetables for his soups.
Night made her things as well, trinkets mostly, parchment folded into
flowers and birds. He was getting very proficient at it, compared to the
wrinkled things he used to give her. Although she cherished those wrinkled
things she couldn’t always identify, the flowers he made now were growing
more elaborate and the birds more complex.
Her favorite was a sparrow folded out of the pages of a fairy story she
loved: the tale of Three Knights and the nature goddess Rae, a child of the
Divine Day. In the story, Rae fought to restore her mate, a Vanir demi-god
—one of the Lunar fae’s earliest ancestors.
Night baked for her once, but the attempt was disastrous. The bond,
however, wouldn’t let her not eat the biscuits that were somehow both burnt
on the outside and doughy in the center . . .
She didn’t have the courage to ask him not to cook for her again, so she
wrote him a note:
Not even Bernard is willing to eat your baking.
Her first line was fae-honest, but it also felt like the sort of thing that a
mortal or a younger fae influenced by mortal sensibilities might find
insulting. He didn’t seem like that sort, but just in case, she softened the
blow with more fae honesty:
And I think you’re beautiful. Other people probably think so too.
-Rain
She left it for him on his nightstand. When she returned from tending to
the saplings, he’d folded her note into a tulip and left a return letter on a
scrap of paper beneath it.
 For you I shall set aside my apron and rolling pin and never don them
again. I looked silly in them anyway.
And I know you’re beautiful. Other people have undoubtedly noticed,
and I’d like to sack all of them.
-Night
Smiling, she traced the letters that formed his name with her fingers,
feeling slightly jealous of his ability to turn a phrase in such a charming
way.
She kept his gifts in plain sight in the bedroom they now shared,
decorating open spaces with his parchment offerings. Rain added the tulip
in amongst them.
As the sun rose before bedtime, he tried to engage her in deeper
conversation about her life, but she had so little to share with him,
convinced that tedious descriptions of surviving in the wild would bore
him. She avoided the subject, preferring that he do most of the talking, as
was their habit.
He bathed her again. She wasn’t willing to allow him to strip her,
preferring to get in the tub and under the cover of water and suds before he
tended to her. For now, her body and her scars remained her own.
In those two weeks, he didn’t once bring up his proposal, but the
question loomed big and menacing in her mind, a dark cloud in the distance
threatening a storm. He’d promised to be her family and intended for her
not to have to fight in a war, but Rain didn’t know how to become part of
something in half-measures. If she was in it, she’d be all in it.
She wanted to help him, but wasn’t what he was asking too much?
She’d already endured one war. She didn’t think she owed the fae provinces
another. But this hardly touched on her greatest fear. The duke was attentive
now, but what would happen to their connection when their bond settled?
Falling in love with him would be so easy, if only he had the capacity to do
the same. If only he didn’t believe love belonged in fairy stories and not in
their relationship.
That evening, she waited on her mate to return from a meeting in the
smaller library near the entrance hall. She had a fondness for the various
maps and charts that hung on the walls, and many of the books were quite
old, written in a language with spellings she recognized. It smelled like her
mate: beeswax, vellum, and old leather. She knew immediately it had to be
one of his favorites too. The armchairs were worn and well-used. The
lighting was gentle on the eyes.
She’d separated her favorite finds into two stacks on an end table near
the library entrance. Bernard watched her from the comfort of the nearest
chair in his cat form, looking bored. She understood his restlessness. They
weren’t usually quite so stationary in their day-to-day life. She planned to
take him outside the manor on a long walk soon, but the guards Arne and
Elayna who watched the entrance in turns had discouraged her earlier. She
would allow Night a chance to explain to them that she wasn’t a prisoner
here. If the guards did it again, she’d enjoy letting Bernard bite them.
After another hour of browsing books and examining magical charts
with illustrations of finger placements for moon magic, Night entered the
room in a hurry. When he saw her, he heaved a great sigh.
Rain climbed down from the chair she’d been using as a makeshift step-
stool to reach the books that were too high—most of them were too high.
She was not vertically endowed.
“Oh?” she said of his pinched expression. “Is everything all right?”
Standing near him, she wished she had the chair still. He was brooding and
he towered so.
Anxious lines bracketed his mouth. His fingers made fists at his sides.
“I was told you asked to go outside. Elayna stopped you, and her request
seemed to make you upset, and then I couldn’t find you in the courtyard or
our room or the other libraries and I thought. . .”
She frowned at him. “You thought I left without a word? No note?”
“I’m glad I was mistaken,” he said in a sheepish manner that was very
unlike him. He ran an unsteady hand through his midnight hair, ruffling the
strands.
Rain stepped up to him, chin tipped back so she could look into his
eyes. “It flustered me that your guards seemed to think I needed permission
to take a simple walk outside without you, but I was confident you’d clear
that up with them once you were free.”
“I can do that . . .” He still seemed uneasy, his eyes fixing on an
imperfection in the rug by his boot, his jaw set. He wasn’t looking at her.
He pointedly turned his attention to her stacks of books. “What’s this?” He
gestured to the smaller pile.
“Old books I plan to read next.”
“And the tall stack?”
Her head canted to the side. She smiled up at him. “Newer books I plan
to make you read to me.”
His returning grin went lopsided, and some of the distress melted from
his features. He crossed to the stack of older books to examine them.
Rain stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tight.
“That stack isn’t for you.”
His jaw firmed. Worry returned, a line deepening between his brows. “I
can’t look at the books you intend to read?” His fingers tapped rhythmically
against his thumbs, an uneasy staccato at his sides.
“I’d rather you looked at the other ones . . . What have I done wrong?”
She wanted to shake the surliness right out of him. “Why are you acting this
way? Did your meeting about the railyards not go well?”
A muscle in his cheek flexed. “The meeting went as expected. I didn’t
know if you had left because I don’t know your mind. I don’t know your
mind because you still won’t tell me what you’re thinking. Not about
anything. You avoid conversations with me like you’re avoiding letting me
see that stack of books.”
“You want to know what I’m thinking?” She pointed at the gathered
volumes on the end table, her tone sharpening. “I’m thinking about reading.
I’m thinking about going for a walk to stretch my legs and to exercise my
demon. I’m thinking about visiting with my friends the trees and maybe
with the girls at the Boot. I’m not thinking about leaving your company
without a word.”
“That’s a start.” He shifted toward the short stack of books again. She
stopped him, catching his arm and pulling. His eyes narrowed. “And why
can’t I look at the books you’ve picked out for yourself? They’re my
books.”
Rain huffed. The second book on the short stack was titled The Last
Night King, and her eyes flitted toward it guiltily. She’d only skimmed it so
far to learn Seelie Queen Isla had murdered his uncle, seeking revenge for
action taken during the wars. “I was curious, so I selected a few history
tomes, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want to look at books that reminded me
of the family I lost.”
His gaze softened subtly. “If you’re curious about my family,” he said,
removing her hand from his arm and briskly kissing the fingers, “then I’d
rather you asked me about them. I want you to talk to me, Rain. Do you
understand?”
She nodded despite feeling completely uncertain. Did he understand
that she’d lived alone in the woods for centuries? She didn’t know how to
do any of this. Words were not her strength. His displeasure stung her
deeply, like a pinprick to her heart.
More reasons why she’d make a woefully inadequate duchess . . .
“I’d like to go on my walk now,” she said, choking down the new lump
in her throat.
“I’ll accompany you. I have time.”
She shook her head, and his face fell. His hurt expression was another
pinprick. “I like being alone with my trees sometimes. They’re more
themselves then . . .” She tried to think of a better explanation, something to
chase away the pain in his eyes, but that was the truth. She wasn’t
accustomed to being cooped up in a manor full of so many people. She
needed to get out and away from all of them.
Including him.
I’m upsetting him, she told Bernard.
Give him cheese, Bernard suggested. That always cheers me up.
“But you’ll come back,” Night said slowly.
“Of course I will.”
“And you won’t be gone very long?”
She hadn’t thought of how long she’d be gone, but she also didn’t like
the idea of having some sort of curfew. Rain shrugged her shoulders. “I plan
to sleep here . . . The freeze has arrived. It’s too cold and uncomfortable to
stay outside very long.” It was the best she could offer.
 Night walked her to the door, his steps impatient. He waved off Arne,
who hurried away down the hall to avoid the duke’s ill temper.
“You will return,” he said again, as though he were reassuring himself
more than clarifying with her.
Rain hesitated by the doors. It was difficult to leave with him looking so
deflated and ill at ease.
“Give me your coat,” she said finally.
“My coat?”
She worked the buttons on hers, shouldering out of it, jostling her belt
and satchel and the hilts of her daggers. Penny’s freshly pressed blouse
hung off her frame. “Your coat, please.”
With a gesture from Night, a footman fetched it. The duke accepted
hers. It looked so much smaller draped over his long arm. Then he helped
her into his frock coat. She had to roll the sleeves several times, but the
inside was soft and well-lined, the front covered in strokable wolf fur. A
fine coat, fit for a lord. She was almost too warm, but it smelled like him:
peppery cologne and old books. She lifted the collar and breathed him in.
He caught her enjoying it, and his expression smoothed. His broken
smile made her stomach swoop.
“Now I have to come back,” she explained. “I’ll want my coat, and I’ll
need to return yours.”
She started for the door, but Night stopped her, catching her shoulder.
When she turned to face him, he pulled her against him by the coat’s lapel.
She came willingly. Bending his head, he touched the curve of his antlers to
her brow, then he stole her lips with his. His kiss was full of unspoken
longing and deeply-rooted affection. It was embers and ice, a flare of
connection that went to her marrow.
 He tasted like black tea and honey and passion. His body was a sturdy
and unyielding force before her, his arms solid walls that held her tight, and
as they kissed, she wondered why they needed words at all. She could feel
his desire for her, his worry, his need, in the fingers that fisted in her hair.
Perhaps if they spent more time kissing they’d solve all their problems.
The next time he was flustered, she’d just press her lips to his. That would
fix it because she was getting the hang of this kissing thing. Proficient,
she’d even call herself.
Perhaps she wouldn’t make such a terrible duchess after all.

***

Rain walked her familiar amongst her trees under a quarter moon in the sky,
in the direction of the river Eventide. While they walked, she decided to
finally let Bernard in on a little secret.
He did not take it well.
What do you mean no one thinks cats are threatening? Cats are
terrifying! The bulgy eyes! The way they just stare at you so unnervingly!
He yowled up at her from beside her boot.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, fighting back a smile. “They’re just not
frightening to most of us.”
I’ve seen women scream in horror over a tiny mouse or jump in fright
because there was a spider hanging from a web nearby, a dratted spider
that they could squish beneath a shoe. A cat has teeth and claws, and you
mean to tell me they aren’t frightening?
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “Haven’t you noticed people keep cats
as pets?”
 Pets, he shouted. I thought they were servants! Servants they keep to
chase away the ugly mice!
“I’m so sorry, Bernard,” she said, choking down her desire to laugh,
forcing an appropriately apologetic expression onto her face.
His reply was cut off by rattling branches. The trees were distressed.
Rain removed a glove and pressed her palm to the nearest trunk.
And then the trees were screaming. Her head filled with their cries. She
had to cover her ears to dampen the shrill sound.
What’s happening? Bernard bounced around her feet, frantic, his back
arched.
“Giants at the river,” Rain whispered. “The girls!”
She sprinted for the tavern as fast as her legs would carry her, Bernard
bounding beside her. The frost and dead leaves made the forest floor slick
in unexpected places. Rain kept her footing, tearing through brambles and
brush.
“Help them!” she begged the trees. “Help!” she screamed.
For the last five hundred and two years, she’d walked the forest. Many
of these trees had been saplings in her lifetime. She’d tended to them,
protected them, and given them her affection. Now, she was calling them in
for every favor, every kind word.
They responded. She could hear the echo of groaning wood, the snap of
massive branches, the whoosh of heavy limbs striking against something
solid and hard. The closer they came to the river and to the edges of the
Row, the louder the trees were, drowning out the sound of whistles and
screams.
She broke through the tree line from between a collection of pines. Two
giants were attempting to cross the river to reach the Row. Giants were as
big as ten men, with tusks for teeth, thick hides, bald heads, and a hunger
for flesh. They were so big they could walk across the bottom of the
Eventide and their chests would still be above the water. The two across the
way were larger than the trees they fought against, but her trees battled in
earnest.
Oaks and pines and maples swung their branches, swatting at the giants.
They grew their limbs and trapped them, making nets of vines. Rain peeled
her eyes away from the battle and rushed through the front door of The Red
Boot.
Susan scrambled toward her. “Oh thank my ancestors!” She embraced
her.
“Margot? Penny?” Rain demanded.
“The ferry.” Susan released her and pointed out the window toward the
Eventide. “It employs street children. They sleep there by the docks. Margot
and Penny went to fetch them. The constables are useless. All they’re doing
is blowing their damn whistles and shouting nonsense. I brought the first
batch of littles I could find on the street and tucked them up into the loft. I
was about to go and find more and then—”
“We need mages,” Rain said. She glanced down at Bernard. “We need
the duke.”
Bernard hissed up at her. I don’t want to leave you.
You have to go to Night. He needs to know what’s happened before it’s
too late. Susan will speak for you, and I’ll do what I can while you’re gone.
Her familiar had to take her blood, and he did so with a paw laid gently
on her leg. He took enough for her to feel it. Her pulse slowed. She was
lightheaded, and spots of light popped before her eyes.
 I think we should stay together, Bernard said as he broke into a misty
shroud that expanded and morphed. Soon, a wolf the size of a small horse
shook his shaggy head at her.
Rain caught Susan by the shoulders. “Bernard will take you to the Duke
of Night. Keep to the trees and they’ll protect you. Tell him what’s
happened here and be quick.” She helped Susan onto Bernard’s back, giving
her a leg up with her bent knee and cupped hands.
Susan grasped great fistfuls of course black fur at Bernard’s neck, her
expression resigned. Rain had a moment to reflect that if Susan had been a
fae, she’d have made an excellent warrior. She was unflappable.
She caught Susan’s wrist, and their eyes met. Rain swallowed. “If
something happens to me . . .”
Understanding softened Susan’s expression. “I’ll tell him,” she
promised.
Nothing had better happen to you, Bernard groused, and warmth spread
through her stomach and chest. His life was tied to hers, but though he’d
pretend otherwise, it wasn’t his own welfare he was worried about at all.
She didn’t need him to say what she already knew, however. They’d been
together too long to need such reassurances.
I’ll be fine, she vowed. Keep Susan safe. Go to Night as fast as your
legs can carry you.
Rain held open the tavern door, and Bernard barreled through it. Susan
clung to him, her head down near his shoulder blades. They rode off into
the trees. Nowhere else was safe. River Row was in chaos.
Rain bolted outside. The walkways were crowded with stampeding
humans. Food carts and horses had been abandoned. A constable’s whistle
shrieked. She sprinted toward it in the direction of the docks.
 Frightened mortals ran for their lives, and Rain pushed past them. It
wasn’t that she didn’t care for the other poor sods in the Row who took
shelter in alleyways and beneath market stalls. It was just that they weren’t
her girls. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to them.
She heard Margot then. The woman shouted curse words at a giant,
waving her arms over her head. Penny was beside her, throwing stones at
the creature. From Rain’s positioning, she could see the ferry workers, some
of them human children, stranded on the docks. The girls were trying to
draw the giant’s eyes away from the young ones and toward the bank so the
workers could escape.
And no one was helping them.
Penny hurled a large rock. It struck true, catching the side of the giant’s
ear. He spun about, bald head gleaming in the moonlight. His tusks were
capped in bronze, his large ears pierced with matching heavy metal loops.
He lumbered toward the girls with a roar that shook the earth.
Margot turned and fled.
Penny was searching for another rock along the bank to throw.
“No!” Rain screamed.
Penny looked up too late. The giant reached her with his great long
limbs. He hauled her up in his fist and shook her hard, his grip much too
tight. Her face purpled, her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
Rain shouldered out of Night’s coat, freeing her arms. She let loose a
roar of her own and unsheathed her dagger with a rasp of metal on metal.
The elven blade was tipped in sharpened steel and made of living tree. Her
roar caught the giant’s attention, but he had no interest in her. He had the
meal he wanted trapped in his thick fingers, and he was slowly squeezing
the life out of her.
 Margot cursed and shouted and flung rocks. “You great fucking brute!
Come over here and try that with me! You whoreson!”
The giant lumbered away, headed back for the waters.
Rain caught up to the creature just as he made it to the edge of the
Eventide. The waters were high and moving swiftly. She leapt with all her
might, using her dagger to slice through leather clothing and into thick hide.
Clutching the hilt and digging deep, she scrambled for purchase on the
monster’s back.
The giant grumbled, annoyed. Her dagger had barely broken his tough
skin. She used the sharp blade to climb the giant, shimmying up his
clothing, striking out to create new holds in leather and flesh. He tried to
swing her off, swatting at her with big slow limbs. She was faster, swaying
side to side, dodging his grasp.
“Let her go!” she grunted. “Drop her or die!”
“Your mother’s a dog!” Margot taunted the giant. She chucked another
rock. It connected with the side of the creature’s head and bounced off. The
giant growled. He bent to pick up a projectile along the bank, nearly
flinging Rain into the river. Rain dug in and held tight as the creature hefted
a boulder big enough to smash a man to mush. He hurled it at Margot,
shaking Penny like a rag doll in his other hand.
Margot dodged the boulder with a frightened squeal.
Rain leapt for the giant’s exposed armpit, shoving her elven blade into
flesh, finding purchase in the softer tissue. “Grow!” she screamed, and the
living tree in her blade sprouted deep into the giant’s underarm and
thickened at the base.
The creature dropped Penny then, flinging her into the river. The rapids
carried her off. Rain leapt from the giant toward the bank, landing and
rolling forward. She hopped to her feet, searching the edges of the Eventide
for Penny’s willowy form and her auburn hair. Farther down the bank, a
constable hauled the girl out of the icy waters.
“Penny!” Margot fled toward them.
Rain had the briefest moment to feel her relief, to take a quick inhale of
cold air, clinging to hope. They would tend to Penny, get her inside and dry,
and she would be fine. She was safe now.
Rain was struck hard in the back of the head with a force that would
have crushed a mortal’s skull. The giant’s blow lifted her off her feet and
sent her flying into the bank. She protected her face with crossed hands,
landing on her belly in frosty grass and frozen dirt, the air knocked from her
lungs. Jagged rocks cut at her arms and ripped her blouse.
The giant stomped toward her. She couldn’t tell the ground from the
sky. Her head swam, but she stumbled to her feet anyway. When knocked
down, Rain always got back up again—a dangerous habit. Had she learned
to stay down at some point, she’d have significantly fewer scars.
She’d also probably be dead.
“Grow,” she coughed. The giant’s armpit was rich with veins, and the
creature was fading fast, a river of blood coating the side of his leather
clothing. “Grow,” she said with building strength, and the tip of the living
blade burst from the giant’s side, running it through.
The giant stumbled on great trembling legs. Then his eyes rolled back
into his hairless head, and he collapsed along the bank, nearly crushing
Rain. He landed with a great thud, and the earth quaked. On unsteady legs,
she ambled closer to him and kicked the side of his face for good measure.
The creature remained unmoving. Her ears were ringing, and her skull
throbbed. She thought she might vomit.
 Then she did vomit. Rain upended her stomach’s contents onto the
shoulder of the dead giant.
“Loose,” she called to her blade, wiping her mouth with the back of her
hand. Her dagger made a wet sound as it retracted through the creature.
Across the river, the trees continued to battle the other giants. She would
join her trees, ensuring the safety of her girls, but first . . .
She tried to lift the dead giant’s arm to get at her dagger. Pain flared in
her head, and she saw sparks of white.
Darkness engulfed her.

***

Rain recognized the voices that whispered over her. Elayna was repeating
her name. She blinked her eyes open, staring directly into the guard
captain’s narrow face and cropped magenta hair. It was surprising to see her
so close. Her voice had sounded like it was coming to her from the end of a
long tunnel.
At Elayna’s back towered a set of long feathery wings, like the wings of
a barn owl the same shade as her vibrant hair. Beside her, Arne had a
leathery set, like a bat.
“She’s waking up,” Elayna said. “Hold her still. I’m going to heal her
more . . .”
Elayna made a shape with her fingers to match the quarter moon above.
Incense filled Rain’s lungs, and the throb of pain slowly subsided. Her
nausea left her next. Elayna grasped her forearm and helped her sit up.
Arne had retrieved Night’s coat. He draped it over her shoulders. “We
saw you from the air,” he said, awe in his voice. “You took down that giant
all by yourself.”
“With one dagger,” Elayna added. The corner of her mouth curved
upward. “When the time comes, I’ll be proud to call you My Lady.”
Rain didn’t know what to say to that, squinting into the guard’s face.
Vaguely she remembered why she was there, but it all felt so distant, like
she’d been ripped from a dream. None of it seemed entirely real. Her brow
knitted.
“Night?” she rasped, trying to get a grasp on her thoughts but finding
them coated in smog, polluted and unclear.
Her question was answered by the shadowy figure gliding over the
Eventide with great gray wings. Antlers curved back off his head. His cloak
billowed around him loosely like the wings had ripped through his clothing.
In the distance, the trees continued to battle and bind the giants, branches
swaying and twisting, the lumbering creatures swinging and thrashing.
Night landed amongst them, wings stretched wide and glowing silver in
the starlight.
Rain tried to stand. He was alone. He shouldn’t be alone.
Elayna dropped a firm hand on her shoulder, settling her. “Your mate
will be fine. Trust me.”
“Just watch,” Arne said.
Rain watched with her heart in her throat. “What’s he doing?”
“Whispering death to them,” Elayna said.
The giants had stopped fighting. Their hands went to cover their ears.
Desperate cries rent the air. Then silence. They were dead in moments, in a
heap of twined limbs on the forest floor.
Rain’s breath misted before her in gulping gusts. The rush of her pulse
thundered in her ears. Slowly, the trees fell silent and still like they’d never
moved at all.
The peace that followed felt wrong somehow. Haunted.
“He’s all right. You see?” Elayna said.
Night turned then, wings retracting behind him. She felt the weight of
his eyes from the other side of the river. They’d found each other across the
expanse. He lifted a hand to her. She raised hers in salute and reassurance.
She was well. She’d be fine. He nodded, a slow dip of his sharp chin.
In one large leap, he launched himself back into the sky and was
following the tree line away from her.
Rain worked her throat. “Where’s he going?” She wanted him safe and
at her side, not going somewhere she couldn’t, because . . .
Because she loved him.
Desperately.
The realization caused her pulse to surge. She hadn’t meant to fall in
love with the duke, not when he so clearly didn’t want love in their
relationship. He wanted duty and responsibility. He’d promised her family
and all the devotion he could spare, not love.
But stars above, she loved him. Her toes curled in her boots, and her
teeth ached from the force of it.
The end of Arne’s leather tail flicked at his side. His wings folded in
around him. “He’s checking the forest for more giants. We can’t go with
him. We can’t listen when he speaks death to them.”
Bernard? Rain glanced about for her familiar.
I’m here. His voice was small. Sad.
Rain climbed to her feet on legs that felt rubbery. Farther down the bank
of the river, Margot and Susan held Penny between them. The constable
Billingsley looked on at a loss, backlit by a gas lamp.
 But why weren’t they taking Penny inside? She’d freeze out here. She
was all wet . . .
Bernard. She couldn’t even think the words she wanted to ask. Her feet
propelled her forward without a thought.
Margot and Susan cried, their shoulders shaking, their sobs catching on
the cool autumn breeze, turning the cold bitter. It stung Rain’s eyes and
made them water. Bernard lay at Penny’s feet in his large wolf form, his
shaggy head hanging. Penny’s usually creamy complexion was ash white.
I couldn’t fix her . . . Bernard said solemnly.
No! Rain didn’t want to hear his words, but they were already in her
head. She couldn’t un-hear them. Cold, piercing dread spread through her,
hardening her stomach.
The giant broke her neck in two places. She was dead before she made it
into that water.
“Stars above,” Rain cried. Feet catching in the grass, she stopped yards
away from her friends. Her arms and legs were trembling, unable to carry
her farther. Her eyes burned and welled.
Arne and Elayna had followed her. She hadn’t even realized they were
close until Arne’s large hand clamped onto the back of her neck, steadying
her.
“Your blade, My Lady,” Elayna said softly, sliding the elven dagger into
its sheath at her belt. It was clean of giant’s blood. It had been tended to and
cared for. Cleaning another’s blade was a sign of great respect amongst
warriors. An old gesture she was too miserable to appreciate.
Bernard had always warned her away from loving humans. They were
fragile and their lives were too short. She’d known there was wisdom in
that, but with the girls she simply couldn’t help herself.
 It had been Penny who’d invited her inside that first night years ago.
The hard freeze was coming. She needed a place indoors to lay her head
down. Her elven-fae body was more sensitive to the cold. She had furs to
trade for a room, but they weren’t worth much.
Penny had brought her inside and spoken with Susan. They’d placed a
pallet on the floor of the kitchen by the warm stove for her to sleep on.
They wouldn’t accept anything in return. Not even chores.
“It was hardly a proper bed we offered you,” Penny had said. She’d
only been nineteen at the time. She’d had such a charming smile, youthful
and sweet and infectious. Rain vowed to come if they needed her, vowed to
protect them for their kindness. She had done her best over the years to
keep them safe . . .
And now Penny was gone. Her life snuffed out.
Rain had failed her.
Billingsley spoke, his voice low. “The lot of you will freeze out here.
Come on now. You’re wet, and you’ll catch your death. Get inside.”
Margot wailed. Susan pulled her up beside her.
“You go on. I’ll get the girl,” the constable offered, gesturing at Penny.
“No,” Rain said sharply, and Billingsley paused. “I’ll tend to her.”
Susan nodded, her blue eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Arm in arm, she
and Margot walked toward the tavern, the constable at their heels.
Bernard rose to his paws. Where are we going?
Rain didn’t know yet. “I’ll tend to Penny alone,” she told the guards.
Elayna and Arne had moved to follow her, but they paused then, sharing
uneasy glances.
They didn’t make her repeat herself. Wise of them. It wouldn’t have
gone well. She may not know where she was headed, but she knew she
wanted to be alone while she got there.
Rain scooped Penny up in her arms, a dripping bundle of long slender
limbs, wet auburn hair in tangles around her ashen face. It surprised Rain
how cold her skin already was. Bernard followed at her heels. The trees
around them clattered their branches together in solemn salute. Tears
blurred Rain’s vision. Her throat ached.
The skies parted, and rain fell in a gentle patter. It seemed fitting. She
wanted the world to stop what it was doing and feel miserable with her. It
shouldn’t keep going about its business. Not when her Penny was gone. The
trees did their best to shield Rain from the wet, but most of them had lost
their leaves to the season. Droplets soaked into her hair and bit at her skin.
She carried Penny’s body through the woods to the oldest oak tree in the
forest, ancient and steady. Rain’s favorite tree, the one she’d been lounging
in when she met Night. Instinct had brought her this far, and finally she
knew what she wanted.
The ground was hard beneath her boots. The freeze had finally arrived.
Frost glittered on the edges of the old oak’s limbs, casting its bark in silver
under a quarter moon.
Rain dropped a kiss on Penny’s brow, then laid her at the base of the
tree. “I know she’s not elven,” she said to the oak, wiping her eyes with the
sleeve of her coat, “but I swear to you she’s worthy. Please old friend,” she
rasped.
Rain, Bernard cautioned, she was wonderful, but she was only mortal.
I’m not even certain the tree can do what you seek . . .
Rain wasn’t sure either, but she had hope.
The ground under her feet shivered, and the roots lifted from the frozen
earth like the tentacles of a sea creature. Roots reached and grabbed,
wrapping Penny in their embrace, covering her in spindly plant fibers.
Carefully, the roots pulled her below the ground, under the ancient tree.
More roots pushed fresh earth over the opening they’d created, leaving a
dark mound. Then the tree settled with a low groan, and all was still once
more.
It was almost too cold to cry. Rain’s tears fell hot down her cheeks, then
cooled quickly, leaving icy streaks that froze in the bitter wind.
“Thank you,” she sobbed, pressing the flat of her hand to the oak’s
trunk, the bark veined with green and gold that glinted in the night. The
tree’s essence had changed. It wasn’t just warm and ancient now. It was
sweet and coltish and full of vibrant life. “Penny,” she whispered.
She’d always wanted to take the young girl away from the rough hand
life had dealt her, to tuck her someplace safe and soft and warm. This was
the best she could do for her now. Her body would always be safe, always
cozy. Her essence would always be at peace here.
The tree’s branches stretched toward the sky and sprouted thick auburn
leaves, no longer simply living but alive. No longer just an oak but now an
immortal tree.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 15

(Night)

F lying was terrifying. It made Night feel completely out of control, like
he was free-falling into a bottomless pit. “A fart in a whirlwind,” his
guard captain called the sensation. Wings had their uses, however. His mate
had summoned him. His throat had tightened the moment the girl
mentioned the giants. He hadn’t hesitated to make use of the speed of flight.
Rain.
He’d watched her down the giant from the air, too slow to reach her in
time. When she’d fallen, he’d roared at the sky. Elayna was ahead of him.
She was the faster flyer.
“Heal her and don’t leave her side!” he’d screamed.
He’d wanted so badly to ignore duty and go to her first. If her eyes
hadn’t opened when they did, he would have. The giants could do their
worst—he’d have gone to his mate come what may. But Elayna made it to
Rain with a speed he couldn’t match, and his warrior mate was sitting up
soon after.
Then duty called. He couldn’t let more giants cross the Eventide to
threaten Rain or his court.
Though it had taken hours, he was confident there were no other giants
in his province. Because of their size, they were not capable of concealing
themselves. He’d scoured the southern borders and found nothing.
Sunrise loomed, turning the sky from an inky black to a rich indigo. He
spotted Elayna and Arne waiting for him alone outside the tavern. His
hackles rose immediately. Why wasn’t Rain with them? They’d been
ordered not to leave her side.
He landed stiffly, wings stretching wide before furling behind him with
a speed that loosened silver feathers. His guards bowed to their lord.
“Where is she?” he groused.
Arne began to stammer.
Elayna stepped forward, her head bent in deference. “The human called
Penny died, My Lord. Distraught, your mate asked to tend to her alone.”
Night’s nostrils flared. “I told you—”
“—to treat her as my lady,” Elayna said. There were times when he
appreciated her candor. Now was not one of those times. “I obeyed my
lady’s orders.” Seeing his expression, she gentled her tone. “My Lord,” she
added.
“It’s been hours of freezing rain and bitter cold. Fuck all—she has a
head injury, and she’s in mourning, for the Moon Mother’s sake. Would you
have listened to me in that situation? No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have
argued with me until you were blue in the face and followed anyway.”
“She would not have let us follow her,” Elayna admitted helplessly.
Ruffling his hair, he snapped, “Which way did she go?”
She pointed south, away from River Row, deeper into the woods. Night
turned to squint through the trees. He touched his eyes with his thumbs,
borrowing the sight of an owl to further sharpen his senses.
Wings widening with a snap, he leapt into the air and sped off south,
using his owl eyes to watch for signs of his mate down below. He spotted
boot prints and large wolf paws and sensed he was getting closer. Before
long, he was hurtling forward, instinctively certain he knew where she’d
taken the girl’s body.
By air, it took only a handful of minutes to reach their old meeting
place, but it felt like decades. The old oak stood out from the other trees,
covered in bright auburn leaves. It was the same oak Rain had been perched
in the night he met her, her favorite tree, but it had changed.
The oak no longer appeared so ancient and tired. Green and gold
glittered through the bark, and the leaves were lush, new, and seemed
impervious to the frost that made the brambles below sparkle. A standing
figure of fur rested against its trunk. He glided lower to investigate, wind
whipping through his hair and antlers. The scent of sulfur stung his nose.
He landed softly on the frosty forest floor, his tall boots crunching
glistening grass. “Rain?”
The bundle of furs shivered in the gloaming. The scent of hell was thick
in the air. He realized then that what looked like a massive black bear
blanket was the demon familiar trying desperately to warm his mistress.
Night ripped the fur back, and his mate stumbled toward him, bleary-
eyed and swaying on her feet.
“Divine blood,” he cursed, catching her in his arms.
He cupped her cheek. Her hair was wet, skin ice cold and too pale. Her
head lolled. Her words were slurred. Quickly, he grabbed up the fur and laid
it back over her. Night forced her limp arms around his neck, covering her
with his wings, shielding her from biting wind and stray raindrops blowing
off the nearby branches. His borrowed coat hung off her slender frame,
damp, dirty, and blood-stained.
 “Rain, wrap your legs around me,” he demanded, clutching her against
his body, desperate to warm her.
“I don’t want to leave Penny,” she slurred, reaching back for the tree,
trying to push her hand through the tangle of his wings. “I don’t want her to
be alone. It’s horrible being alone.”
The skin along her cheek was stiff and much too cold. She wasn’t
talking sense. Her plummeting body temperature had made her delirious.
“She’s coming with you,” he said, anxiety hurrying his words. He
wrapped the fur tightly around her, securing her to him. “You’re taking her
with you here.” He pressed a hand briefly over her heart. “Hold on to me,
sweetheart. You aren’t alone anymore.” He jerked her leg up against his hip.
She obeyed, clumsily locking her arms around his neck. Her head tipped
onto his shoulder.
She burrowed into his neck. Even her breath was cold. “No one’s
coming to look for me, are they?” she whispered.
Night squeezed her tight, wings spreading wide at his back. The fur
moved, tightening around her and him.
“Keep her close to me,” he told Bernard. Then he launched them into
the air.

***

Night burst through the front doors of his estate, his mate clutched tightly to
his chest. In a puff of lavender magic, his wings faded. His shirt and cloak
hung off his body, a gaping hole in the back of them letting in the cooler air,
pebbling his skin.
 The sun kissed the horizon in the distance. A servant was in the process
of lighting the incense for the altar of the Divine Day when Night’s sudden
entrance startled the match out of his hand. Bernard dropped from around
Rain’s shoulders, transforming from a fur blanket to a shadowy smog. The
smog became a cat at his feet. The demon scrambled to hover by the doors,
keeping out of the way.
Night barked orders, and the foyer swarmed with servants coming to see
what the commotion was about. “Send for a physician immediately. Draw a
bath in my room. Luke warm water,” he stressed, “not hot. Bring towels,
blankets, and fresh linens, and add more logs to my fire.”
He ran Rain up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Maids sprang
into action, rushing ahead of him to tend to their work.
A copper tub was carried into his bedroom by three footmen. Servants
dragged pails of temperate water filled from the tap in the lavatory across
the hall. They emptied them into the tub. At his command, the pitcher was
filled with steaming hot water and set on the stand beside the tub. The fire
was stoked and fed, and the temperature quickly rose. Sunlight filtered in
through the velvet curtains as Night removed Rain’s filthy borrowed coat,
letting it fall to the floor.
“The maids will help you undress,” he told her. “I’ll be just outside until
you’re in the tub.”
“No!” she clung to him, her grip weak, body shivering. “I don’t know
them.”
“We have to get the wet clothes off you. They’re half frozen.”
“I can do it.” With trembling fingers, she tugged at the buttons of her
trousers.
 But she couldn’t do it. She could barely stand. When the tub was filled,
he ordered the servants out of the room.
“All of you is beautiful to me,” he said hurriedly, helping her with her
buttons, his movements frantic. “Do you hear me, Rain? All of you. Every
follicle. Every pore. Let me help you.”
She leaned into him then, pressing her brow to his sternum. If she took a
moment longer to think, he was going to haul her into the tub fully clothed
and strip her there. His pulse pumped panic through his veins, surging
loudly in his ears.
“Don’t ask me about the scars,” she muttered into his torn cloak. “I
don’t remember how I got most of them anyway.”
Night stripped her hastily, jerking off her boots and tossing them aside.
He peeled down her wet trousers and drawers, earning no complaint, but
she protested when he started on the blouse.
“It’s Penny’s,” she said, chin trembling.
“You can keep hold of it,” he promised. The sorrow in her gaze put a
dull ache in his chest.
He unbuttoned the blouse and helped her out of the sleeves, but then he
draped the garment around her neck like a scarf. She worried the edges of
the linen with shaking fingers, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as he removed
the band of boned cotton and linen she wore to cover her breasts. A thin
white scar curved over the top of her left breast. Her slender belly was
scarred too, the navel torn open and healed back together unevenly, the
shape jagged like a bolt of lightning.
Evidence of her bravery.
Seeing the wounds his fierce mate shouldn’t have survived, he felt only
admiration and surprise. He’d known she had an impressive will, but this . .
. this was no less than legendary.
Night kicked his boots off and shucked his torn cloak. He brought her to
the copper bath. It wasn’t big enough for two, but Rain was slight. He lifted
her in his arms and stepped into the tub clothed. He lowered them into the
temperate water together, causing it to overflow. Water sloshed against the
sides and dribbled onto the carpet.
Rain hissed, the water a shock to her senses. After several long
moments, she sighed, slipping under the waves to her chin. He worked off
his torn shirt and laid it over the edge of the tub with a wet splat. He took
her back in his arms, pressing her bare chest against his, sharing his heat.
He flattened his hands along her back, testing the warmth of her skin,
finding many scars with the pads of his fingers and instinctively tracing
them. Knife wounds. Cuts, gouges, and various injuries he couldn’t identify.
He didn’t ask about them, but curiosity burned within him.
Rain rested against him, but he wouldn’t let her fall asleep, worried
she’d lose consciousness or worse. He checked her fingers and toes next. If
she was bothered by his lack of ‘please’ and ‘may I,’ she didn’t comment.
Her hand movements were stiff, fingertips pale with signs of frostbite. He
healed them with his connection to the Divine Night. In his distress, he
called so much moon magic to him that furniture rattled in the room.
Towels and blankets floated off his bed, lifting into the air. Droplets of
water left the tub, floating around them like iridescent bubbles. Carefully he
added hot water to the mixture, raising the temperature of the water and her
by gentle degrees.
When she was restored and her body had stopped shivering, she buried
her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m going to marry you,” she whispered.
 Night’s heart stuttered. He’d felt the movement of her lips against his
flesh as her mouth formed the words. Water droplets plopped back into the
tub. The furniture stopped rattling. His grip around her tightened. “You
might still be delirious from the cold.”
“I’m going to marry you,” she said more firmly, “and while you’re
trying to prevent a war, I’m going to start one.”
Night caught her chin between his fingers, and he lifted her eyes to his.
An undeniable fire burned in those amber depths. “You wish to avenge
Penny.”
Her jaw set. “There haven’t been giants this far north since the first war.
We both know they didn’t wander up here by accident.”
“The dragon king received news of our engagement and sent us an early
wedding present,” Night said evenly. “A warning for refusing his kin and
the offer of alliance that would kill us all.”
“I want the dragon king’s head as a wedding present.” Her hands lifted,
disturbing the water. She held his face between her palms, slicking his
cheeks, but he felt more captured by her eyes than her touch. “Do you
understand me, Ardis? I’m going to marry you, but I’m not the harbinger of
peace you hoped for.”
Ardis. The word made his soul sing and the bond thrum, even as it was
spoken in bloodlust. Husband mate, an old elegant word. As for peace, he’d
always known war was coming. Stalling would only get him so far. It was
one of many reasons why he needed her so. Marriage to his true mate gave
him time. Time he desperately needed.
Marriage to her would help him find victory.
“I understand who you are. I’ve known it since I first laid eyes on you.”
His thumb trailed along her chin. Her slight breasts pillowed against his
chest, accenting the curved scar there. He released her chin, and with his
thumb, he followed the broken flesh. Her skin pebbled. “We have a lot to
discuss about where and when you’ll be starting this war of yours, but first
say that old word to me again.”

***

Night wanted his mate to want to marry him. It was a foolish wish, one he
tried all week to banish from his thoughts. He had wisely offered her a
marriage of convenience, and yet here he was, craving a marriage full of
flighty affection instead.
The persistent bond growing between them was largely responsible, he
was sure. When it settled, keeping his priorities straight would become
significantly easier. He needed a partner. An ally.
Not a fairy story.
A week flew by at his estate. No other giant or troll sightings were
made. He expanded patrols to be sure. Rain wanted her hands in all of his
duties that involved war and rumors of war. She kept to the bonding rituals
with great attention, committed to completing their mating.
He gave her a generous allowance because a future duchess should have
spending money. Rain asked what she was to buy. He listed off clothing
items a gentry woman might favor. She’d stared at his coins crossly for a
moment, but then accepted them. It pleased him to give her things, even
though he was fairly certain she would send most of the money to the
remaining women at The Red Boot.
She’d left during the day while he slept and returned later with fabrics
and a new set of boots she’d purchased. She spent the next evening
fashioning new clothing for herself. She dressed like a soldier: long tunics,
thick belts, woolen trousers, shirts made of broadcloth, jackets with a high
collar. Efficient, practical clothing.
Penny’s blouse had been folded sweetly and given a place of honor
tucked under a pillow Rain never used, like she wanted it close but could no
longer bear to look at it.
She slept on him every night. He’d grown so accustomed to the weight
of her, nothing else would do. When she ran an errand or went for walks
during the day, he tried stacking several blankets and pillows on top of
himself to mimic the pressure of her, but nothing worked. He ended up
dozing fitfully until she returned.
It was more than the weight of her. It was her presence: sweet and
uncertain, analytical and thoughtful. The gentle sounds of her deep exhales,
the patter of her heart pressed against his, the humidity of her breath on his
cheek—he needed all of it. All of her.
That week she attended every meeting with him. Usually she kept quiet,
but if she had questions, she voiced them to him in a surprisingly crisp and
direct fashion, especially when it came to guards and mages—the majority
of their force. The Lunar Court’s militia was laughably small and existed
only in secret. When they weren’t together, separated by his need to make
appearances at functions or clubs, she studied in his front library, old
history books mostly. She claimed there was little she remembered, and she
needed to know her enemy better.
That evening they shared the midnight meal in his bedroom. Rain
wasn’t comfortable eating with an audience, even Bernard, the act of
feeding each other too intimate to share, and he agreed with her, but it cut
down on the amount of work he could attend to during the night. Usually,
he’d share his meals with accountants, advisors, and the business owners he
needed to speak with.
Preserving meals for her required adjustments. Adjustments he was
eager to make. He was coming to crave her in such a way he couldn’t tell
what parts of his desire were born of the bond and which parts were his
entirely.
Rain surprised him then. After making a small plate of shepherd’s pie
from the cart of food and refreshments next to his armchair, she came and
sat on his lap instead of next to him, disrupting his thoughts and sending
them scattering. Balancing the plate in her hand, she tested the crispy potato
crust with her finger, then the meaty insides, making sure it wasn’t too hot.
The bond liked when they didn’t use utensils, so she ignored the forks and
spoons.
“You’ve been deep in the history books again,” he said, noting the
impressive stack on the nightstand, aware of how his voice had gone rough.
They shared a bed every day, though he knew she sometimes left it to take
walks with Bernard and her trees, to gather supplies, to experience sunlight,
to pick wild herbs she wanted to add to the food she helped make him.
To mourn poor Penny.
“I have been, and I have questions for you.” She took a roll of bread
from the cart, using the edges to scoop up bits of shepherd pie.
He opened his mouth and let her feed him, chewing and swallowing
before responding. “I was hoping you wouldn’t just leave it all to the books
. . . Did you make the bread? It’s excellent.”
She blushed and nodded. He had grown fond of the stain of color that
showed high in her cheeks when she was delighted. It reminded him of the
time he’d brought her to release, a moment he relived in his dreams with
great regularity. She’d flushed beautifully for him then. He planned to do it
again and soon, but she’d been in mourning.
But now she was sitting in his lap . . .
Rain mulled her words over, tasting a bit of the crust. “At the end of the
last conflict, the Lunar Court was called in to serve as a mediator between
the Seelie and the Unseelie.” She shifted her weight, rubbing herself against
him. He couldn’t tell if it had been intentional or not. His body responded
anyway.
Night swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Hostages were
entrusted to the Lunar Province for safekeeping during peace negotiations.
The peace talks took more than a century, and they weren’t all that peaceful.
My parents died in a border skirmish during that time.”
Rain scooped up more of the meaty mixture with a pinch of the roll and
placed it in his mouth. Then she licked her fingers clean. He studied her
while she did so, oddly fascinated by the movement of her pink tongue. It
did more than inspire lust in him. Lust he expected. He understood lust . . .
This other feeling, this fixation, puzzled him.
“The Seelie queen . . .” Rain said, lapping the last of the gravy off the
side of her finger. She licked her lips. “She demanded King Yaga’s daughter
Sora be given to the Lunar Province. According to my research, the witch
had turned spy against her father during the war. Do you think Queen Isla
chose Sora to preserve her?”
Reflexively, Night ground his teeth. “Don’t make the mistake of
assuming the queen had noble intentions. She isn’t the sort to be altruistic
unless she has something to gain.”
Rain’s gaze lowered to the roll she was pulling apart between her
fingers. “I know what she did to your uncle, a man you cared for and
respected. The man who raised you with kindness. If talking about this is
painful for you, I—”
He waved her words away. “I’m well. Go on. Ask your questions.”
“I just need to be sure I understand it all . . . There’s so much I don’t
remember about that time. The books help. Talking to you will help more.”
She chewed her cheek, uncertain, breaking the pieces of bread into finer
bits.
He laid a hand on her knee and steadied his voice. “Keep talking to me.
I promise you aren’t hurting me.”
“Or at least not too deeply, I hope.” She popped a corner of bread into
his mouth, watching him chew. “But you won’t convince me it doesn’t hurt
at all.”
He parted his lips for another serving of meat pie, then spoke with his
mouth full. “You’re picking at a well-healed scab. It has to come off
eventually.”
She leaned her shoulder against his chest, resigned. “The Seelie hostage
is unnamed. The way they described him in the books, though, he was some
sort of strategist, I think. He’s repeatedly referred to as ‘the Seelie queen’s
favored’.”
“They called him Row. Otherwise, all I know about him is written in the
same books you’ve read. His deeds were before my time, but according to
rumor, he was the reason the Seelie started to win the war against the
Unseelie and finally the dragon king had no choice but to come to the
negotiation table.” Night touched the scarred side of his mouth reflexively.
“The hostages were never supposed to be harmed . . .”
“Was Row her mate? Queen Isla never married. It’s helpful to
understand what motivates your enemy. Love lost is certainly a strong
motivation for vengeance . . .”
“Or family lost. The Seelie cherish their blood lines deeply,” he offered.
“Rest assured, harming Row was not the intention when the last King of
Night became involved.”
She pushed the bread around her plate, letting it soak up the gravy. She
fed a soggy piece to Night. “Sora still lives.”
“The food is excellent,” he told her, eager to see her blush again. “As a
part of the treaty, the chosen hostages were required to swear fealty to the
opposing ruler and to live out their days in the neutral lands of the Lunar
Province. Row wouldn’t bow to the dragon king. Per the peace agreement,
he had to die. At his request, my uncle gave him a warrior’s death and then
offered him to the trees.”
“An elven death,” Rain said thoughtfully.
“A noble end.” He took another large bite of the offered pie, swallowing
it down.
“The queen disagreed.” Rain fed herself next, staring off through the
balcony doors. The moon was high, the night too cloudy to see the stars.
“Isla fiercely disagreed,” he said. “However, she could do nothing at the
time. The treaty required that the Seelie and Unseelie not venture outside
their court for two hundred and fifty years, monarchs included. The peace
agreement was sealed by bargain magic.”
“Then after those years, she came to the Lunar Court, killed your uncle,
and stripped the province of its king . . .”
Night’s chin dropped, guilt and shame twisting his insides. His uncle
had been a good and kind man. A dutiful ruler, loved by all who knew him.
He’d had no children. His mate had been unable to carry an heir to term, a
common fae difficulty. Night had been like a son to him.
 Rain touched his cheek, the brush of her flesh so light he barely felt it,
but it pulled him from his revelry. “Why didn’t you take the empty throne?”
He couldn’t meet her inquisitive eyes. Instinctively, he touched the
scarring at his mouth. “Because the queen didn’t murder my uncle.”
Rain studied him, brow furrowed.
“I murdered him.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 16

(Rain)

R ain thought she’d misheard her mate—hoped she’d misheard him.

“How could that be?”
He pinched a piece of the bread off her plate and placed it in her mouth.
She sensed it was to give himself time to prepare his words, or to avoid the
question entirely. His fingers kept traveling to the scars at the corner of his
mouth, aimlessly grazing the jagged tissue, then pulling sheepishly at his
lip.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion, his face
blank. He stared off at a corner of wall between two hangings. “The queen
came unannounced and demanded an audience. Night . . . my uncle at the
time was the Night . . . He knew why Queen Isla was there when she
arrived. It had been two hundred and fifty years to the day since the treaty
was struck and he’d had to take Row’s life. He never spoke of the man
except to name this city River Row. I believe he respected him deeply. It
wasn’t fear I sensed in my uncle that day, but pain for what he’d had to do.
He wanted to make it better when he let Isla inside. He wanted to pay
penance.”
Rain laid a hand on his chest, a gentle encouragement. Then she set
aside the plate of food and poured him a cup of tea. He accepted the cup,
balancing it on the arm of the chair without drinking it.
“I didn’t realize the Seelie queen was a witch,” Rain confessed. “Or I
didn’t remember it.”
“Her familiar is a fairy, and their combined powers are god-like,” Night
said, his fingers straining around the cup in his hand. “It’s those god-like
powers that make King Yaga incapable of keeping to himself. He always
has to have more, has to be the strongest. It’s the dragon way. Queen Isla
used her fairy powers that day to bend my mind . . .”
Rain’s eyes went round. The urge to soothe him was overwhelming. At
a loss as to how to do that, she sat there gifting him with her silent
company, feeling woefully inadequate. How terrible to be manipulated in
such a fashion. A spark of fury ignited inside her, burning low in her gut.
How dare the queen do that to her mate?
He continued softly, “My uncle used his dying breath to try to rid me of
my guilt. He told me he didn’t blame me. Told me it wasn’t my fault.
Demanded I see to his mate. Protect her . . .” Night lifted his cup and took a
heavy swallow. “They were true-mated. My aunt died within days of him.
There was absolutely nothing I could do. Not for either of them.”
She added honey to his tea because she couldn’t think of a gesture good
enough to console him. Using a small spoon, she stirred the honey and
encouraged him to lift it to his lips. Briefly she touched the scar at his
mouth. “And how did you get these?”
“Queen Isla forced me to run my uncle through with the dagger I carried
. . .” He sipped his tea and then set it aside. His eyes were red-rimmed and
hollow. “It was dreadful, not being able to control my own body, horrible in
a way I’ll never be able to describe. I tried to turn my blade on her for what
she’d done—what she’d made me do.”
 “Stars, I’m so sorry . . .” She was sorry for all of it. For the weight he
carried, the pain he’d endured, and for making him talk about it now. She
hated words. This would have been a torture for her.
But now that the floodgates were opened, he didn’t appear to be closing
them. He continued unabated. “The queen stopped me with her fairy magic,
handed me her iron-tipped dagger, and compelled me to take it to the side of
my mouth. Something to always remind me of what she was capable of, she
said. Then she just left. And my choices were to take the crown and start a
new war or choose peace. My uncle fought hard for that peace. The Lunar
Court needed leadership, its mages needed guidance, but we didn’t need a
king to lead us back into war. I became Lord of the Lunar Court and
allowed the Seelie and Unseelie to impose their tariffs all in the name of
that peace. The tariffs were supposed to break us.”
“But you didn’t let them,” she said admiringly. She stroked the scar at
his mouth, drawing his eyes. “The queen did this to you—to my mate.” Not
a question.
He nodded, his gaze silver pools in the twilight. “Sora believes that the
magic of a true mate bond will prevent the queen from being able to compel
me ever again. In a way, my will belongs to you now. She won’t be able to
turn it against me.”
“Hmm. Good to know.” Rain brushed blue-black hair off his brow. “For
hurting my king—”
“I’m no one’s king, Rain,” he said somberly.
“You’re my king. As far as I’m concerned, I died in that first war, as did
whatever loyalties I had that I no longer remember. Fuck the other courts.”
At her crass words, he coughed a laugh. She pressed on, “I choose to bow
before the man who sacrificed all for the sake of peace, who made his
province a safe place for people with less power to call home. My king and
my mate,” she cooed, “for hurting you so gravely, I’ll have to take the
Seelie queen’s head one day soon. My wedding present to you.”
His eyes lit. Instead of being tired and melancholy, they softened into
something dreamy and heavy-lidded. He gripped the nape of her neck with
a pressure that was both unyielding and tender. He kissed her before she
could finish deciphering the flood of emotions streaming through his gaze.
Hot and hard, his lips took hers.
He’d kissed her before, but this was something different. She felt
consumed, feasted upon, and the bond reveled in it. Pleasant heat pooled
low in her belly. Sensitive muscles clenched. In his lap, she felt the growing
length and weight of his desire prod at her thigh. She leaned into that firm
pressure, and it twitched under her. Curiosity burned through her gut.
Tipping her back in his arms, he lowered his head and kissed her scarred
navel. “My brave mate,” he said, his voice husky.
Rain quivered in his arms. He was everything her dreams promised he’d
be. Tender and generous, able to teach her so many things . . .
“You don’t believe in love,” she said, breathless.
Night groaned. “Whenever we talk about this, I always end up
accidentally insulting you somehow. Could we skip it?” He nuzzled her
neck, then gently caught the shell of her ear playfully between his teeth.
“Yes,” she said, chuckling, “but I just thought I should warn you. It
seemed polite to do so.”
“Warn me about what?” He undid the top buttons of her woolen shirt,
slipping a hand inside the opening he made. She watched intently as he
fingered the curved scar high on her chest. She liked how he explored her
with no hesitation, touching her old wounds without discomfort, treating
her injuries with the same unadulterated boldness he displayed toward his
own. When he touched her in such a way, she felt cherished.
“I no longer care that you don’t believe in love,” she said quickly,
remembering she’d been trying to say something important. Then his hand
slipped lower, shoving down one side of the band of fabric she wore in
place of a corset. Her breasts were small and didn’t require much in the way
of support.
He arched a brow at her. “You don’t?”
“I’m going to make you fall in love with me ev—” She sucked in a
breath. He’d rolled her nipple between his fingers, a gentle tease that made
it stiffen. She worked her throat. “Even though you don’t believe that’s
possible.” He’d put a catch in her voice. “Even though that’s not something
you want in our partnership. I believe in love enough for both of us.”
For a moment, his expression was completely unreadable. Then his gaze
flooded with feeling, too many to differentiate all of them, but she did her
best: passion, fear, worry, longing, panic . . . Hope. A line deepened
between his brows, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something.
She freed him from that burden, sealing his mouth with hers. He
responded to her kiss, clutching her close like he just couldn’t get her near
enough, couldn’t hold her hard enough. She teased his lips apart with her
own, then she sucked gently on his tongue. He moaned low in his throat, a
sound that sent a desperate thrill through her.
Night removed his hand from her shirt, then fisted the fabric. “I want to
take these off you.”
“All of them?” She regretted the worry in her voice. She wanted to be
braver around him about such things. Shyness was her reflex, however.
 He started to withdraw politely. He’d never push her on this, and for
that she loved him with a passion that would find no equal in the world.
“Yes,” she said suddenly, catching his retreating hand and bringing it
back to her shirt. “Remove them. All of them.”
Night touched his brow to hers, a display of fae deference that made her
throat and eyes sting with emotion. “You’re sure?”
“All of them,” she said with an unshakable certainty. Stars above, she
wanted this man in every way possible. Didn’t he understand? Wasn’t it all
over her face? Couldn’t he see it in her eyes, feel it in her fingers? Surely
her want of him was seeping from her very pores?
He stood then and brought her with him, lifting her easily. She clung to
his neck, her legs wrapping his waist. It took only two of his long strides to
reach their bed. He tossed her onto it with a playfulness that left her
giggling.
He lifted her foot first, removing her boots and socks one after the other.
She wiggled her toes, feeling the cooler air on her skin. She started to scoot
farther up the bed to make room for him, but he caught her by the ankles
and dragged her back down so she was seated near the edge, jarring another
laugh from her.
His broken smile was painfully beautiful. Candlelight made silver
diamonds of his eyes. She sat up, bracing herself on her arms, resisting the
urge to look up at the ceiling as he thumbed open the last of the buttons on
her shirt. She shouldered out of it, heat flooding her cheeks.
She started to help with the strapless band of fabric that secured her
breasts, but he stopped her, briefly trapping her wrist, speaking words with
his gaze in that way of his. He needed to do this for her, he told her with his
eyes. She raised her arms over her head instead, and he slid the band up and
off her body, tossing it to the side.
His gaze flittered to the scar at her belly, to all of the scars and scrapes
on her stomach, but never lingered. Never prodded. Never made demands.
His eyes were dark and dilated. His cock stretched the front of his trousers.
The longer she stared at the bulge, the fuller it seemed to grow.
Her timidity returned, and her throat bobbed. She knew intimacy could
hurt the first time. She didn’t look forward to that part. Night chucked her
chin until her lashes lifted. Apparently her eyes had done some talking of
their own.
“Pleasure is all you’ll feel tonight.” His honey-rich voice was thick and
sweet. The hair on her arms rose.
“Because of your magic?” she guessed.
His smirk went crooked. “I don’t need moon magic for that.”
Rain reached for her belt, but he stopped her again, gently pushing her
hands away and working the fastening himself. He brought her trousers and
drawers down slowly. She helped, lifting her hips.
Then he lowered to his knees before her and encouraged her thighs
apart with his hands. Rain blinked at him. Surely, he didn’t plan to . . .
“You’re a duke . . .” she said sheepishly. “I assumed . . .”
His smile was wolfish. “You thought I’d pleasure you like a
gentleman?”
Rain scoffed. “I wouldn’t know what a gentleman does in bed, I
suppose, but this . . . I just assumed . . .” It seemed like the most forbidden
thing. A wild and depraved thing. A thing she wanted desperately,
remembering what his fingers had done to her, the pleasure they’d wrought.
Stars, what could he do with his tongue?
 He kissed her knee, then shouldered between her legs, trailing his lips
farther up her thigh. Her breaths came in short bursts. His fingers tested her
intimate white curls, then the furrow of her sex. She was already wet.
He spread her folds with his fingers and kissed her. Right there, and her
head went back. “Stars, you are no gentleman.” She swallowed, her lungs
catching. Rain spread her thighs farther apart. His tongue lapped at her, a
quick testing swipe. “Wicked,” she said admiringly. “You’re absolutely
wicked.”
Her hands burrowed into his hair, clutching her to him. His lashes lifted,
lips curling upward, watching her. He’d told her once before that she should
move the way her body wanted. When he pressed the flat of his tongue
against that bud of nerves, her hips jerked. She allowed the rhythmic
movement to continue, rolling into the caress of his lips and tongue, letting
go of bashfulness.
“My king,” she gasped, fingers moving to the base of his antlers,
grasping hard. “My wicked king.”
His eyes met hers again, gazing up her body from between her legs. He
puckered his lips and sucked on her sex, and Rain’s spine arched like a
pulled bowstring. Her release consumed her, stealing the air from her lungs.
She dropped to her back on the mattress.
He licked her through her climax until the clenching and pulsing
subsided. Then he entered her with his finger. Her body was ready for the
invasion, and it gloried in it.
Slowly Rain sat back up, wanting to watch as he pressed into her,
working the digit deeper. She felt fullness and pressure, but no pain, not
even as he attempted to slip a second long finger inside. There was more
fullness, and then her body resisted him. He was gentle. The second finger
retreated.
Emboldened, she brushed blue-black hair off his forehead. His skin was
sweltering. “Take off your clothes.”
His laugh was breathy, a look of rapture softening his features. “The
barrier of my clothing is helping me stay patient, darling. I need most of
them for now.”
“Your shirt?” she begged.
He removed his fingers and wiped them clean on the bedding. She
helped with his buttons. When his shirt was open and his chest was bare, he
lowered himself over her, pressing her body into the mattress. He was
careful, letting her grow accustomed to his weight, holding himself up on
his elbows. Experimentally, she wrapped her legs around him, squeezing his
waist between her thighs, longing for more of his bare skin. He moved over
her, rubbing his straining erection against her through his trousers, caressing
the neediest part of her body with his.
He buried his head in her neck, dropping sucking kisses along her throat
and jaw. “Do you feel me now?”
“Yes,” she moaned. Stars, how could she not? He was hot and so very
hard, his shaft thick and heavy. The curved bulge glided over the furrow
between her legs. Muscles low in her belly tightened. She rolled her hips to
meet his, surprised as pleasure built anew. It seemed greedy to be on her
way to another finish when he’d had none. His body rocked hers, the
motion sending pleasurable pulses through her core.
When he paused, a whimper of disappointment escaped her. His lips
quirked. He reached down between them, opening his trousers, freeing his
length from the confining wool.
 He gave her a moment to inspect the shaft with her fingers, her touch
tentative. The skin was slate gray and surprisingly silky. The head of his
cock leaked a clear fluid. He swiped a drop of his essence onto his finger
and lifted it to her lips. She opened her mouth, and he placed it on her
tongue, a question in his raised brow.
She tasted him, licking her lips. “Salty,” she said. Then she grinned.
“Definitely expensive.”
Chuckling, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. With his help,
she straddled his thighs, his cock jutting upward toward his exposed belly.
The sides of his shirt fell open, revealing an expanse of smooth gray skin,
dark nipples, a shallow belly button, and a lean stomach. A tuft of dark hair
started below his navel, trailing down to his sex.
Rain explored him, first the head of his cock, then the thick vein that ran
down his shaft. Very gently she cupped his balls, his sack satiny and full.
His pleased sigh delighted her.
“Do you want to make me come, Lausat?” His eyes had dilated to near
black. He fisted his shaft and pumped it once. Her head tipped to the side,
absorbing the movement.
She nodded. “You . . . want inside me now?” Nerves had her body
clenching tight.
“You’re not ready for that, sweetheart,” he said, smiling broadly. Rain
exhaled, relieved and disappointed at the same time. He grabbed a pillow
and slid it under his head, propping himself up. “We’ll get you there, just
not tonight.”
“But isn’t that what you need now?”
“You’re small, darling. I’m not, and I don’t need to be inside you to
spend. Let me take care of your body. Let me show you how good it can
be.” He gripped her waist, scooting her forward. Then he sat her down
against the shaft of his cock, flattening it against his belly. More liquid
pearled on the tip, leaking onto his stomach.
Rain hesitated.
“You’re not hurting me,” he soothed. “Fuck, Rain. You’re wet and so
damned hot. I’m going to try to bring you to release, but you feel so perfect
I can’t promise I’ll make it.”
She smiled down at him, feeling powerful. His face contorted with
restraint, then his fingers firmed along her waist, and he moved her. She
rocked forward slowly, gratified by the whoosh of his breath, the pink color
blooming in his cheeks. When she increased her pace, rubbing sensitive
flesh deliciously along his shaft, his nostrils flared, and he bit his lip. The
bond loved that.
She loved that.
Pressure building in her sex, she rolled her hips with growing urgency.
She was going to come again. It made her feel wanton and greedy and
incredibly alive. Her nerve endings thrummed. Seeking balance, she placed
the flat of her hands against his chest and worked his cock until her thighs
burned. He helped her when her energy waned, pulling her forward and
back. She was so wet, the slippery sounds both excited and embarrassed
her.
“You beautiful creature,” he panted. His murmured encouragements
chased away her worries. “Gods, yes, Rain. You’re a piece of the divine, a
drop of starlight . . .”
His words pulled her farther up that mountain, bringing her to a peak.
“Keep talking,” she breathed.
 “Come, Rain,” he begged. “I want your pleasure, sweetheart. Gods, do
it now.”
She was so deliriously close, and the sight of him grimacing to hold
back his release only nudged her farther toward the brink. A sheen of sweat
coated her scarred body. Her golden skin glowed dimly in the gloaming.
“Ardis!” As her climax crashed over her, her eyes rolled back in her
head. Night bucked his hips and pressed her down, lacing his abdomen with
his spend.
In the stillness after, Rain ran a finger through his release, curious. She
lifted it for closer inspection.
“Rain,” he said warningly. “Don’t you dare taste me like that. Not
tonight. Certainly not with that look on your face.”
Her grin felt wanton. “Why not?”
“You’re not ready for me to take you yet, you wicked girl. Don’t tease
me.” He swatted her ass, a playful admonishment that startled laughter out
of her.
“But we’ll get there?” she said hopefully.
“We will get you there.”

***

Rain tended to her saplings at dusk the next evening, Bernard curling and
unfurling around her ankle in his cat form. The courtyard’s old oak began to
rattle its branches at her. She removed her gloves, new ones made of
kidskin, and pressed her palm to its bark.
Margot and Susan came to her mind. They both appeared sad in a way
that put a lump in her throat. They were asking after her, hopeful she’d
come for a visit.
Night was busy. She wasn’t certain when she’d see him next, so she left
a note, letting him know she planned to go to the tavern. Bernard was
excited to get out again.
Along the way, he jabbered about human jokes he’d overheard the
kitchen staff sharing. Rain wasn’t sure she understood them, but she smiled
encouragingly all the same.
The Boot was closed up and empty when she arrived, very unusual
given the time of day. Susan and Margot came out to greet her.
“Thanks to the coin you sent us, we’re taking a brief holiday to shop for
distillery supplies,” Susan explained.
Margot appeared several years older than the last time Rain had seen
her, but the lively glint in her hazel eyes was still there. Dimmer than before
perhaps, but there. She pulled out a leather bracelet with a wooden charm
on its end, and she handed it to Rain. Engraved in the center of the round
charm were Penny’s initials.
“Do you know what that is?” Margot asked.
“A charm?” Rain guessed.
Margot and Susan shared a smile. “Of a sort,” Susan said. “It’s called a
memory flat. Mortals like us use them as a reminder to pray to all of our
ancestors. It can get challenging remembering them all. The flats help.”
“Oh?” Rain looked it over with new understanding, a fondness spearing
through her. “I assumed such things required blood relations.”
Margot shrugged. “I’ve never been blood-related to any of my family,”
she said, staring pointedly between Susan and Rain.
Rain blinked at her for a time, letting her words take root and grow.
Then she hugged her so tightly she made the girl cough. Susan chuckled at
the two of them.
“You like it?” Margot guessed.
“I will cherish it,” Rain said, voice thick. “Thank you for being my
family.”
Bernard kept oddly quiet after that. He’d been fond of Penny and had
taken her loss as hard as the rest, Rain reasoned.
“Your ancestors are made stronger by your thoughts about them,” Susan
explained, “and the stronger they are, the more they are able to protect and
assist you. When you have something you’re thankful for, you squeeze the
charm and thank Penny. When you have bad luck, you hold the charm and
ask for her to intervene. Just talk to her, Rain. Make her strong enough to
help you.”
There was something beautiful about that. She rubbed the smooth charm
between her fingers and took a moment to thank Penny for her friends. Rain
visited with them for a time, sharing about life living with the duke. There
was laughter and tears and more talk of Penny. Susan took Rain upstairs,
offering for her to take one of Penny’s things as a memento.
Rain stared at Penny’s unmade bed, her stack of books, the little
knickknacks on her nightstand, and she couldn’t bear the thought of
disturbing any of them. It looked like she’d just left the bed that morning.
Like she might walk back into the loft again soon and need all of her things
right where they were. There was soul-ache in the realization that she never
would, but there was peace in allowing her presence to continue to haunt
that space a while longer too.
Penny was safe and warm and cozy now and would be always.
Rain assured them the charm was all she needed. She hugged them in
turns, the mortal way. Then she laid her forehead against theirs in the fae
way. Before she left, she tied the leather band around her wrist so the charm
could rest easily in her palm.

***

Bernard remained distant during the walk back, leading the way instead of
padding at her side.
Are you all right? she prodded.
Bernard didn’t answer immediately. You called them your family . . . but
you haven’t known them as long as you’ve known me . . .
Rain jogged up to him and scooped him into her arms.
Oh no, Bernard groused.
Rain nuzzled his fur, ignoring how strongly his sulfur scent burned her
nose. Of course you’re my family.
You’ve never said before, is all, he noted glumly.
Carrying him in the crook of her arm, she scratched behind his ears until
he was purring. “Well, of course I didn’t. It never occurred to me I’ve had
family all along. I guess it’s the Seelie in me. They don’t have
unconventional families, but I do. No brothers and sisters and cousins. I’ve
got prostitutes and a demon and a duke . . .”
Not very conventional at all, Bernard agreed. Now unhand me.
Instead, Rain kissed the top of his head. “You’re not any less of a
powerful and majestic demon just ‘cause you like affection, Bernard.”
I don’t like affection.
“Sure you do.” She stroked his neck, eliciting more purrs.
He leaned into her touch. Maybe a little. In moderation.
 Rain headed for the meadow favored by the dragon princess. Cutting
through it shortened the distance to Night’s estate.
Her home.
Rain! Bernard’s shouted warning came too late. The dragae brute was
on her in seconds, leaping out from the tall grass, brandishing a dagger.
Dusan. That bastard. When he lunged at her, Rain moved her arms
instinctively to protect Bernard, giving her attacker a clean shot at her
exposed side.
His blade ripped through her traveling cloak, burying itself in her flesh.
Rain froze. She knew it had entered her body, but the shock kept the pain at
bay.
“Bernard,” she gasped. Hot agony scorched through her.
Gnashing her teeth, she recognized that hideous burn. The blade was
tipped in iron.
More dragae sprang from the grass and stepped out from the trees. Her
familiar burst into a dark cloud and fell over her. Bernard pushed the blade
out of her side. The searing pain brought her to her knees.
They’re surrounding you. You have to run. Bernard’s voice was sure and
demanding. It cleared the chaotic thoughts pulsing through her mind.
I . . . I can’t just yet.
Yes, you can.
“Oh gods,” Rain moaned, climbing back to her feet with sheer will.
Dusan was instantly recognizable, the same bastard who’d imprisoned
the girls at the Boot for two days, the one she’d bargained with. Her lip
curled back in a grimace.
That one’s the least of your worries, Bernard said. Stay away from the
blood mage.
 Nine soldiers circled her. She spotted the blood mage instantly. He was
smaller, thinner, and covered in self-induced scars. He had a tail that
whipped sided to side, a long scaled one, and he wielded a little penknife, a
short folding blade he’d use to carve his flesh, draw his blood in a pattern
that called magic to him.
I need your help, Rain whimpered.
I am helping you, Bernard said. I’m holding your lacerated insides
together.
“Oh fuck,” Rain gasped.
Sora, Bernard said. She owes you a boon, and she’ll have no love for
these dragae. Get to Sora.
Rain craned her neck. She couldn’t see the hut, not from her position.
Rain dropped to her knee again, pretending to be in too much pain—an easy
feat given the circumstances. She took hold of the hilt of the dagger in her
right boot. When Dusan moved in closer, she pulled the blade and buried it
in his thigh. He screamed at the sky.
Run, Bernard shouted.
Rain leapt up and sprinted for her life. Her side screamed at her. She
lowered her chin, gritted her teeth, and pressed on. Lunar butterflies shot
into the air. The soldiers were fast, the thump of their boots thundering
behind her. They jeered and cursed at her, their presence looming closer.
The arm of the Eventide wasn’t far now, and Sora’s crooked hut came
into view.
“Sora!” she screamed. “You owe me a boon!”
The hut rose up on great chicken legs. One swipe of its massive claws
and it threw a clod of dirt as big as a boulder, downing one of her pursuers.
Then Rain was tackled to the ground. She scratched and punched and
fought. Old and new, her wounds protested. Gritting her teeth, she shoved
her thumb toward Dusan’s eyes, but the body pinning her into the grass was
heavy and strong. He knocked her arms away.
In her peripheral, the great bird legs swiped and stomped and a dragae
was crushed into the dirt. Rain reached for her elven blade, but the soldier
brought the flat of his head down hard against the soft side of hers. The first
time dazed her. The next hit connected, sparks popped behind her eyes, and
the world went black.

***

Rain came back to herself propped against something moist and unyielding,
unsure if she was awake or dreaming.
Thank the blazing stars, Bernard gasped. Rain? Open your eyes.
Her lashes lifted. The darkness around her was absolute, save for a
distant torch on the cave wall yards away. Her head throbbed. Nausea
turned her stomach. Her mouth was too dry, and the air around her was
dank with little movement. She had a crick in her neck she wanted to rub
out, but when she tried to lift her arm, the pain in her side stole her breath.
Whispering voices drew her attention. Her vision swam, then slowly
solidified. The blood mage with the bald head and scars argued with Dusan.
Dusan’s leg was bandaged with a band of cloth stained crimson.
Can you heal me? Rain asked.
Yes, but you’ve lost so much blood I’m scared to do anything more than
what I’ve done already.
Rain stretched her arms out behind her, feeling cold stone. The rush of
falling water echoed somewhere in the cavernous space. Her hands and feet
were frigid. She’d lost feeling in her extremities. The two dragae hadn’t yet
realized she was awake. They argued.
“I can’t guarantee there won’t be consequences,” the blood mage
grumbled.
“King Yaga was clear. If the true mate bond isn’t complete, we kill her
now and dispose of her.”
“Yes,” the mage groused, “but the king doesn’t wish the Duke of Night
to be harmed. I sense their bond isn’t complete, but it’s very, very strong. I
can’t guarantee that killing her won’t also kill her mate.”
Limping, Dusan drew a blade from his side, a curved piece tipped in
iron. “Doing anything less than exactly what King Yaga tells you to do is a
good way to end up dead. No true mate bond, the witch dies. Those were
his orders.”
Rain had just enough time to feel panic as Dusan limped toward her,
stained dagger in hand, ignoring the blood mage’s protests. She raised her
arms, shielding her face. He batted her limbs away easily. She kicked out at
him, her legs heavy as lead, her pulse slow and sluggish. He dodged it.
With a flick of his wrist, Dusan jerked the end of the blade across Rain’s
throat. The iron burned like hellfire. She tried to cry out but choked, her
throat filling with blood, fingers dragging uselessly over hot wet skin.
I have you, Bernard soothed, his voice small.
Don’t let me drown! She could think of no worse way to die, panic
gripping her in ice, but Bernard worked quickly, sealing her wound. Her
fingers went to the gash in her throat. The skin closed up to form a jagged
scar across her windpipe. She choked and swallowed mouthfuls of copper
and salt.
“There. She’s dead,” Dusan said.
 The blood mage shook his head. “Her familiar heals her.”
“But at what cost?” Dusan looked her over and shrugged. “She’s
dying.”
Bernard, you have to leave me. You have to go get Night. Her breaths
came in small gasps, her throat full of poison. She coughed and swallowed.
Her heartbeat slowed painfully. Her eyes wanted to close, her vision
tunneling and growing hazy around the edges. She was so very cold.
I can’t, he said solemnly. You’ve lost too much blood. If I leave you now,
you’ll succumb. I’d die on the way to your mate . . . I’d rather die with you.
I . . . I’m trying to hold on, she said. Her legs dragged against the cave
floor, fighting futilely to get her feet under her. She braced herself, and that
little effort brought her so much pain and exhausted her so thoroughly it
nearly sent her under. Darkness loomed at the edges of her vision. Her
hearing sharpened. The flow of water was loud in her ears, the voices of the
dragae arguing louder still.
I know you are, Bernard told her gently.
Tears pricked Rain’s eyes. You don’t have to die too. Demons can be
reborn, reforged. You can go on. I want you to.
Bernard’s chuckle was low and thoughtful. That’s not for me. I’d rather
cling to the piece of soul you gave me and cross over with you, my dear
family. I want to walk with you through the stars for the rest of forever.
I love you, Bernard. Rain sniffled. Her strength was failing. It took
every last ounce of will she possessed just to remain upright against the slab
of damp stone at her back. She found the charm on her wrist with her
fingers and squeezed it. The Penny charm. It was flat and smooth and warm
in her clammy palm. She let Penny know she’d see her again soon, then she
asked her to look out for their girls.
 She thought of her mate, and she begged Penny to make sure that what
the blood mage had said wasn’t true. When she died, she wanted Night to
carry on. She wanted him to fight and win and thrive. She didn’t want their
growing bond to choke the life out of him.
She wanted him to know how very much she loved him. She’d never
have the right words to tell him so. They’d fall from her lips bumbling and
stammered, but she’d give them to him anyway.
“This is taking too long,” Dusan grumbled. He rounded on her and
kicked her, his boot connecting with her shoulder and knocking her to the
gravel. Tiny rocks bit at her palms. Splayed out on the cavern floor, her side
throbbed and her throat burned. Her breath stirred up a cloud of grit and
dirt. Blood coated her tongue.
She was furious, and she was tired. Her body was wracked with shivers,
the charm the only source of heat in her hand. Penny, help me.
She wanted to live. She wanted to make them pay, make them hurt.
Rain gritted her teeth. She wanted to see Night’s broken smile again.
Damn it all. She wanted a chance to make him fall in love with her.
Her fingers tightened into trembling fists. Kicking her over was the
worst thing Dusan could have done for himself because Rain had a terrible
habit. After years of battling as a warrior and a survivalist, she had a will
that was unmatched by death.
When knocked down, Rain always got back up again.

The End for Now

***
Get King of Tricksters right here.

OceanofPDF.com
 Also by S. L. Prater
More banter. More spice. More naughty magical kissing books …

OceanofPDF.com
“Before the summer ends, I’m going to ask you to
marry me,” the beast growled. “And you won’t
say no …”
https://mybook.to/rosesandrituals

Fiona is ready to spend her holiday having fun, but her father has other
plans. Worried that his witch daughter has become too reckless after
suffering a loss, he bargains her off to serve as assistant to Dr. Elias Van
Doorn.

Cursed by a demon to take on the form of a beast, the famous doctor works
in seclusion. Fiona should be frightened by his horns and his size. She
shouldn’t find his aggravation so delightful or the swish of his tail so
captivating or his arrogant mouth so alluring. An irresistible bond begins to
form between them, but as she surrenders to her primal desire, she resists
giving up her heart. Grief, it seems, is the greater curse.

In just one summer can the clever beast tame this beauty and claim his fated
mate?
OceanofPDF.com
A rakish priest is attempting to reform the
Wicked Witch of Kriegspiel. He’s about to get
more than he bargained for…
https://mybook.to/wickedwitch

Witch Erin Green seeks freedom far from the controlling machinations of
her uncle, a priest. Becoming a professor at the University of Kriegspiel
was supposed to be her fresh start, but the Church of the Cloth is at it again.
To encourage the compliance and regulation of witches the church will
utilize pairing ceremonies to bind these free-spirited women in marriage to
their priests.

To make up for past misdeeds, Chancellor Ren Boaz steps in to help the
beguiling new professor remain unwed. After all the hearts his rakish ways
have left broken, will the Wicked Witch of Kriegspiel turn out to be Ren’s
just deserts? Or maybe just dessert?

OceanofPDF.com