She should’ve known this would be the tack Eris would use. Of course, they were attracted to each other, being a Prince and a Rae. Drawing that out would’ve been the easiest thing for Eris to do. But Magda hadn’t really known what Eris would try, so it had seemed pointless to warn Kaelan of all the possibilities. Although, she guessed that once it was over, he’d be angry she hadn’t ventured a guess. She was already angry at herself for not anticipating it.
“If you’re certain that’s what you want,” Eris said. “Or you could give in, Magdalena.” Eris’s nose lifted, teeth setting. “The desire between the two of you is... well, I don’t think I’ve encountered a bouquet quite like it. When he takes you, oh, Magdalena... I can hear your cries of ecstasy already. They reach the gods.”
Magda struggled to get her voice to work. Tamping down the host of sounds threatening to escape her while Kaelan kneaded her breasts, his lips burning her throat, his hips moving against her, took all that was left of her concentration. One of his hands slipped along her belly and under her waistband. She wanted to pull away, but also, didn’t. The periphery of her focus grew hazy as his finger broke through the curls into the dampness buried there.
He let out a soft growl in her ear, biting at her lobe and then at her neck. The emotions pouring off of him were nothing but desire, need, hunger—relentless, unerring, pure. Working a second finger in, he caught the aching nub between them. She sucked in a sharp breath as a surge of buzzing warmth pushed through her and her back arched against him.
“Magda, please,” Kaelan was murmuring in her ear, stroking her, faster and deeper, slipping in, pinching, towing her against him. “Let me in. I love you.”
Suddenly the world came back into sharp focus. She let the manticore sack fall, ripped his hand out of her, shifted her weight into his hip, hooking his ankle, toppling him, and planting a foot on his back. Never once did she take her eyes off of Eris.
“End it,” she said through the strained tremble of her vocal cords.
Eris sighed. “All right.”
With a wave of a graceful hand, the trio on the floor disappeared. Eris fell back against the shiny fabric of the chaise.
“I don’t know why you resist. My island is a paradise. What more could you want than to spend all of your days in the throes of passion with your love?”
“He is not my love,” she said. The shudders of Kaelan’s touch and desire continued to work through her. Under her foot, Kaelan had gone still and silent. She could sense him, coming back to himself. The panic, the humiliation, the anger... ate away at that unadulterated hunger that had almost consumed him.
Eris chortled, head shaking. “Mortals. What can I do for you, Pixie Rae Magdalena of the Eastern Cliffs?”
Magda took her foot off Kaelan and reached down to retrieve the manticore sack. “Not me. Him.”
A young man entered, carrying a golden tray with a slender decanter and three goblets.
He stopped by Magda, holding out the tray. She waved him away, keeping her gaze on Eris.
“No,” Kaelan growled at the servant who knelt to offer Kaelan a drink. The servant moved on to Eris as Kaelan pushed up, slowly. Magda didn’t look at Kaelan directly, though she could see the fiery flush of his skin and feel the searing waves of fury breaking off of him.
“And who are you?” Eris asked Kaelan.
“He’s an Elf Prince,” Magda said for him, afraid of what he might say to Eris in the heat of his rage. “But he’s being hunted by his father.”
“Ah,” Eris said, taking a goblet from the tray. The servant moved off, out one of the shadowy doors at the back of the room. “The Prince of prophecy.”
“You know of it?” Magda asked.
“Certainly,” Eris said. “So few prophecies ever come this close to fruition. Most wither before they’ve even sprouted.”
“So there’s still a chance it won’t come true?”
Eris took a sip, lips changing from wide and plum-hued to thin and pink. “Always,” Eris said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about prophecies. What do you want?”
“I want you to change his appearance, so that anyone who knew him before would not recognize him, but he still must appear a Pixie Prince. The magic must not be detectable or easily broken.”
“So you wish for him to be permanently altered?”
“Is there another way?” Magda asked.
“There are ways more numerous than you can imagine,” Eris said, setting the cup down on the floor and rising. Once standing, height too became relative. From afar, Eris appeared towering, lithe as a willow branch, but moving closer, Eris remained the same height, defying perspective.
This close, Eris’s hair was slicked back, black, face dramatic and copper skinned, full lipped, light scents of gardenia rolled around the silken flows of robes.
“It all depends,” Eris purred like a panther. “What do you offer in return?”
Magda hefted the blanket up. “The venom of the manticore.”
