Swept under by passion, she didn’t notice me examining it. She might not have even known it was there because she chased her physical high with no regard for how she unconsciously pulled at my magic. Fascinated, Ifilled it with enough power for the lid to remain open and she came apart around me again, the tips of her fingers staining black.
“Ah! Noth!”
I sucked a finger into my mouth and she struck me with lightning. Maggie’s burgeoning magic made my soul howl, jostling the blade still between my ribs.
Over and over, I was helpless but to pour my seed into her as fast as my blood was pouring out of me. Pain edged the pleasure higher. My orgasms brought something else. A sensation I never wanted planted itself in my chest, worming over my soul even as black spots clouded my vision. I tore at the mate bond with my Elven magic, ripping it to shreds before it took hold. I was not ruled by my Nightmare. Not if I wanted my throne.
Keep it together,I chided myself. I wouldn’t get lost in our electric tension again. There were more pressing things to worry about than our fucking.
I gasped out, “That was-”
The depth of hate on her face shut the words in my mouth. I had only seen her expression that way once - in that little cottage on the edge of the woods. Our first formal introduction. Which happened to be when she found me standing over her dead mentor. Our informal introduction had been the fertility experiment the Elves had run on her little town for generations, creating all sorts of hybrid humans.
But the scorn, the dagger? Those weren’t for herfellow villagers. Those were for Rue. The depth of that pain still lived in her taste even if it wasn’t openly on her face every day. She was here for vengeance. I couldn't be prouder of her. Her little honey trap was the perfect plan because her anger was irresistible. It tempted me like nothing else because as soon as she stopped hating me, we would be impossible.
My organs gave a lurch that sent bile up the back of my throat. The poisonous metal buckled my knees, jostling me inside her. Maggie moaned. This was the only way I would ever be on my knees before her.
“I hope it hurts,” she whispered.
It did, but not worse than the realization that I wanted to do all of this again. Better to have her bound to my side by contempt than forced to give her up for my crown.
My Nightmare finally took a giant bite of the metal, making the whole room spin. Maggie jolted as my whole body shuddered. My Nightmare rarely got his favorite treat when it could be the death of both of us. Another sharp-toothed bite and immediate relief filled my chest along with a touch of sadness. Pumpkin and I had never been closer. He snapped and crunched his way through the dagger until there was nothing left. Dark satisfaction flooded my mind. I couldn’t stop him from licking the wound clean on the inside, flickering shadows over my body.
“Why aren't you dead?” She stumbled back,the horror on her face almost comical. Her ruined dress sadly tumbled down to hide my release sliding down her thighs.
“I live to disappoint.” My wet trousers weren’t the most comfortable to pack myself back into. Standing to my full height, some of my strength returned as the cloud of pain receded.
I weaved up to her, regaining my balance after the blinding orgasm and the almost dying. I couldn’t fail to notice she fit right below my chin. Our first date looked like we should burn down the Harrowlands.
“You’re an admirable success then,” she sniped. “I’ll get a bigger blade next time.”
My Nightmare swam beneath the surface of my skin, all but purring, thrilled that there would be a next time. I didn’t blame her. Most monsters in the Harrowlands knew nothing about Nightmare Walkers, so I couldn't fault her logic in choosing what should have killed an Elf. Some knew we dealt in shadows, in darkness. Few knew we ate fear and dreams. No one knew how my Elven botanical inclinations mixed with a monstrous propensity for making enemies into smudges of night.
My lip curled. “Then I’ll just have to make sure your next orgasm leaves you unable to resist me.”
Maggie rolled her eyes, brushing me off. She snapped her dress together with a sigil and a flare of the magic I topped off inside her. “You're the worst.”
I stepped toward her, ego sliced to the bone, and shewas smart enough to jolt back. “You haven't seen me at my worst, witch.”
The door squealed open, and we froze in our stalemate.
“Why do I have to be the one to mind the minder?” Maggie’s friend Fallon asked as she walked in, hand already on her ample hips, annoyance sparking in her eyes.
Maggie twitched forward, and I shook my head, ‘no’. Not in front of the children. This was between us, and I wasn’t stupid enough to draw anyone else into our lover’s spat. Her hands balled into fists tight enough that I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t try an assassination again in front of her friend. They all thought my Pumpkin was an airheaded girl with crystals and star charts on her mind. If only they saw what I saw.
Maggie walked to the door under Fallon’s perceptive gaze. “The asshole isn't even ready yet. Still getting dressed for hells sake. You get him to dinner then.”
That’s right. She had charged in here under the pretext of getting me to dinner. Now she stormed right off again. It was like watching a bird of paradise take flight. That lovely killer was one more complication I didn’t need to add to my plate. Banter was one thing. Murder was entirely another. A messy, distracting, delicious complication.
I slid the empty handle of the dagger into my pocket to jack off to later.
“I’ll be down shortly, Fallon.”
She shrugged and left me to my own devices. I doubt she cared if I ate as long as I didn’t have a snarky opinion about her food. I just needed one second of breathing room where calamity wasn’t happening.
My mirror started a pulsing glow. Walking over to my reflection, I took up my dinner jacket with a clenched fist. Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out through my nose, trying to regain whatever calm I had left in me. I adjusted my tight jacket over my broad shoulders, checking my long, charcoal-black hair slicked back behind the graceful swoop of my gold-pierced, Elven ears. I looked like a King, not the Nightmare inside me. My fist met the mirror, shattering my reflection. Except no Elf, no True King, would have a fresh scar crawling up from under his collar and over his chin.
One more reason for my people to deny my right to the throne. Elves didn’t show weaknesses like scars, shifting into monsters, or battling sleepless nights filled with memories. The new trimming was courtesy of Brad, the torture-happy madman on a quest for a shifter army to rule the Harrowlands. A final token of a dead man who had been flung across three territories and smashed to pieces. Since my bodyguard tossed me to him in the first place, the whole sad tale was a reminder of the fact that my people didn’t want a broken half-breed on their throne.
