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Raven Chronicles, Chapters 26-28




Clad in moonlight, Shisti knelt before the fire in her room and prepared to weave Azar's blood into the wards around Raven Castle and Inisfail. She'd promised the woman, after all, and even come to like her.

Enough to set her free rather than murder her, anyway.

The idea of disappointing Azar made some tiny bit of conscience inside Shisti uncomfortable. She hadn't thought any of her conscience had survived after her time in her father's court, nor had she felt guilt or regret for as long as she could remember.

Azar called them friends. In Shisti's experience, friends were just those who hadn't betrayed her yet, but Fechin's new plaything didn't have guile in her. She'd grown up feeling loved and protected. It never occurred to her that those around her might be plotting against her behind her back, or lying to her face.

There were more than a few in court who held grudges against Fechin, and targeting Azar would feed their revenge. Shisti had found herself in the unexpected, and ironic, position of protecting Fechin's woman. The man was so addle brained he missed clues he shouldn't.

The larger part of Shisti scoffed at the idea of living in such a state of innocence, but a small part of her couldn't help her curiosity. Though it was far too late for her, that was the life she desperately wanted for her daughter.

So, Shisti studied Azar, trying to imagine her daughter's face. Pretended Azar's genuine smiles, peals of laughter, and easy way with people belonged to her unborn daughter.

Thinking of her baby sparked magic between them, bringing Shisti's attention back to the work at hand.

The wards weren't hers, and changing them from keeping Azar in to letting Azar out wasn't easy. They needed a delicate touch — requiring a level of intense concentration that left Shisti exhausted, with sore eyes and an achy head.

She glanced at the Nymphs and Nixies kneeling around her. Nudity didn't bother beings so close to nature, in fact, they preferred a lack of clothing. Firelight glimmered off the faint blue and green scales of the three Nixies. Their hair was slicked back and dark, like it was always wet. The five slender brown-skinned Nymphs held hands and left their hair loose to blow wildly in the breezes Shisti's magic generated.

When she'd robbed Vilkos and his band of degenerates of the women they'd planned to rape, she hadn't given any thought as to what would become of them. They were supposed to disappear from her notice, like birds freed from a cage.

However, most of them attached themselves to her. More friends, maybe. This sort of friendship she understood. They mistakenly thought her some sort of hero, or that they owed her a debt. She hadn't acted to help the women so much as to rob the men, but Fae abhorred the idea of owing a debt to anyone. She'd not asked for anything — it was reward enough to irk Vilkos and the Wild Hunt.

Although most Fae didn't like witches, these women were fascinated by her magic, and in exchange for lessons, volunteered their energy for Shisti to draw on. The Nixies and Nymphs had plenty of wild earth and water magic compatible with hers.

Shisti dipped her fingers into the bowl of Azar's blood and drew the symbols and runes of her spell in the air as she chanted. Her magic turned the blood into a mist that drifted toward her window, seeking weak spots. Smaller than droplets, the mist seeped into fine cracks and imperfections.

With Azar's blood in the ward, Shisti guided the energy to the runes and symbols comprising the spell. Adding a tiny smudge to an angle, an extension to a straight line, or an additional thickness to the delicate sweep of a curve, she gradually changed the purpose of the magic.

The wards accepted Azar's blood, sending a slight quiver through the protections around the castle. The magic thinned. Shisti gave a tentative push. The barrier allowed her fingers to sink in, passing nearly all the way through until it bowed slightly. She pulled away before the magic snapped back at her.

Shisti released her power. "That's all for today, ladies. I'm going to get some rest."

The Nymphs and Nixies adjourned to their quarters — rooms next door to Shisti's, easily appropriated since no one wanted to live anywhere near her.

Alone, she cradled the slight swelling of her abdomen. As she often did, Shisti sent love and magic to her daughter and received love and magic in return. "Did you see how to do that, little one? Soon Azar will be able to leave the castle."

A thrill of magic was reply enough. Unfortunately, her daughter also loved the boy. Shisti tried hard to ignore him. He reminded her of Vilkos, and being forced to submit to the will of another. Forced to bear his child.

She licked the streaks of Azar's blood from the fingers of the other. It sent a hot buzz through her, no matter how many times she allowed herself the indulgence. Her daughter quivered in excitement and satisfaction as the magic warmed her.

Fortunately, she'd amassed a stockpile she could savor after Azar escaped.

Her daughter — sweet, pure, innocent, and with no understanding of the ways of males — shared the love and magic with her brother. Shisti tried to prevent it, afraid the boy would be an abyss who returned nothing, or worse, demand the magic and drain her daughter.

To her shock, this time the boy returned the same emotions and power to his sister, then sent a tentative strand of hope and love drifting toward Shisti.

Unexpected shame filled her. The child was innocent of wrongdoing. He hadn't asked for Vilkos to be his father, and she'd grown up without the benefit of being loved and protected. Could she do that to her child?

While Vilkos was his father, she was his mother. She remembered longing to be loved. There was still enough hurt, confusion, and resentment in her heart she couldn't wish that treatment on an innocent.

Being around Azar was making her sentimental.

Shisti took hold of fragile hope from the boy and embraced it, sending love in return. As if he'd been waiting for that acceptance, the boy, her son, flooded her with joy.

Curious, Shisti sent magic to him. His response was slower, and a bit clumsier than her daughter's, but he shared magic with her. The talent in him would need to be nurtured.

Sharing magic among the three of them chased away her weariness and brought a smile to her lips. She couldn't leave any child to Vilkos, his insane father, or the Wild Hunt.

Coming to an impulsive decision, Shisti picked up her knife and sliced both palms. Pressing her bloody hands to her belly, she whispered a chant to give her babies strength and help them grow faster. She monitored them for any sign of distress, but they each absorbed her spell eagerly.

She could buy some time this way. Vilkos would think she had five more months of pregnancy, but she could reduce it a few days at a time over the coming weeks.

Picking up her knife again, Shisti selected a vial of Azar's blood and moved to the balcony. Outside the castle wards she emptied the contents into her bowl and cut her palms again, mixing their blood with one finger. The wards definitely wouldn't accept Shisti's blood alone, but maybe mixed with Azar's, she could insinuate hers into the protections of Inisfail that kept everyone locked inside.

The cracks and fractures in the Inisfail fog accepted the blended blood, allowing Shisti to expand on the faults.

A few more casts should see the fogs weakened enough to free Azar. Then Shisti would free herself, and give birth to her children far from the Raven Court.






The Queen of Winter traveled on the winds high above Alba and the ocean. Across the sea, the protective fog around Inisfail blew this way and that, stretching and thinning to reveal glimpses of the protected territory beyond. Her spell had been busily undermining the wards.

One more well crafted spell would fracture them.

Shisti, and the daughter in her womb, would provide an extra source of magic if needed. They'd shared so much power between them, they'd already grown stronger than Beira had hoped. The infant she'd created would be a witch to rival even her magic one day.

Traces of Shisti's blood twisted through the wards. So, she'd had enough and wanted to leave. That was new. And perfect. What Shisti wanted to use to get out, would provide an additional way in. Half of that blood had come from Beira, and offered a tangible hold she could use.

Opening her eyes, the Queen of Winter came back to her physical self and smiled.

Artemis would be pleased. Beira rose from her bed and pulled on her dress. She strode through the icy corridors of her palace to the wintry courtyard, then out the gate into the snow-adorned forest.

She found the Goddess of the Hunt in a meadow, one arm extended, the other bent, aiming her bow at her target somewhere in the forest beyond. Her chariot awaited use, empty harnesses trailing over the ground.

"News, Beira?"

"Now is the time. The protections have never been thinner. Once your Amazons arrive, I'll send you to Inisfail, and your army can hunt all the satyrs Gaia wants."

Artemis fired her arrow, not bothering to watch its flight. She unstrung her bow, stowed it in her quiver, and raised the hunting horn from her belt to blow a clear, ringing note. One by one, her six golden deer emerged from the woods. She moved around the animals and coaxed them into their harnesses.

Beira stood well back from the beasts. More than one person had been nipped or shoved around by the vicious racks of antlers.

With her deer in their places, Artemis climbed into her chariot and picked up the reins. "It will take me a few hours to get home, but Gaia can open a gateway for us to return." She waved a hand around the meadow. "Will you allow her magic to manifest here?"

Beira nodded. It would be easier to redirect an already open portal than to create an entirely new one. "Gaia and her magic have ever been welcome in my territory." She bent to pick up a stick, snapped it in half, and tossed one part into the center of the clearing.

She handed the remainder to Artemis. "Gaia can use this to find the other half."

"Thank you." Artemis tucked the broken stick into her belt, called to her deer, and they took off, climbing into the sky.

As Beira watched her go, strong but intangible hands slid up her bare arms and under the straps of her dress. The material pulled away from her skin and whispered down her body to pool at her feet.

Truly, there was no better man to enjoy physical pleasure with than the son of an incubus. And when an incubus freely offered his heart… She felt something that lit up her world, giving her the warmth that the Queen of Winter craved, but had no business wanting.

She leaned into his embrace, eagerly offering him what he wanted. He came to her so rarely anymore, and she was never sure how long he could stay.

"You found me, my love."

"You're mine," he said, like that was enough, his voice little more than a growl.

It was enough from the one man who thought of her as woman before witch. He desired her for pleasure before magic.

Her lover lay her down in the snow and rose above her. He was only a shade of himself since Ymir had ripped him from the world, but she could add the sienna tone of his skin, the purple hue and fierce need in his eyes, and the silky texture of long hair the shade of midnight.

Beira sighed as he covered her and kissed down her throat before biting, the sting soothed away by his tongue. He continued a line down to her breasts. Her nipples puckered, painfully sensitive in the chill air and anticipation. She groaned as he palmed them.

"You have missed me, cariad," he crooned, pressing one thigh so it parted her naked legs, the thick muscle hard against her core. "Not allowed another to touch you?"

He ground against her, arousing her so easily. The pressure between her legs consumed her senses.

"No one touches me except for you." No other lover would satisfy her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Come back to me."

"Soon, my cariadon," he murmured.

Beira locked away the sudden sadness. It had been so long. He always said soon, but he never returned to her. She distracted herself by riding his thigh, his breath hot against her breast.

His lips teased one hard nipple while his fingertips tortured the other. He swirled his tongue around the pebbled bud, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. He groaned, sending vibrations over her nipple, straight down into her core. Her hips writhed searching for more contact along his thigh.

He moved down, dipping his head between her thighs, and slid his tongue between her folds, parting them. He buried his tongue into her pussy, stroking her, working her into a frenzy.

His tongue swirled around her clit, and he slid a finger inside her. Her body tensed as an orgasm built, threatening to consume her. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair and pulled him away. It wasn't time to come. Not yet.

There was something wild and freeing about her stolen time with him. All that existed in the world was the two of them. It had to be enough for now. She reached for his cock. It was hard under her touch, the skin silky.

Beira circled her fingers over the turgid, velvety head, teasing the gleaming drop of liquid that appeared. His breath caught as she drew her palm along his shaft and stroked him. With every pass of her hand, he pressed harder between her legs.

"I can't take much more," he growled. "It's been too long."

Beira smiled up at him. "Then don't. You've kept me waiting for so long already."

He dropped ardent kisses to her neck and breasts, making her shiver. She savored every gasp and groan she got out of him. He forbade her any other lovers, but wherever he was, he had none, either. He needed the contact as much as she did.

Her grip around his cock tightened, and he threw back his head, teeth gritted.

"What you do to me." He drew back.

She groaned at the loss of his comforting bulk atop her, but he turned her over.

The patient, teasing lover vanished, replaced by a being of pure need and hunger. When he lifted her hips, she braced herself on her elbows and her knees, readying for him as best she could.

He thrust into her, making them both moan, then drew back, only to drive deep again.

Beira reared back to meet his motions, and pressure built low in her belly. With every thrust, he stoked the fire between them higher. Her skin felt aflame, and he was the only one who could quench the burn.

His fingers dug into her hips. He reached underneath her with one hand, slackening his pace. She moaned when his skilled fingers found the nub at the core of her, rubbing it with a touch that was at once skilled and rough.

The deep tug of desire grew, but she resisted it, wanting it to go on.

Her lover was not a man to tolerate resistance. While she irrationally hoped if she didn't climax, their encounter wouldn't end, he thought the more she orgasmed for him, the longer they could be together.

He redoubled his efforts. Between his body slamming into her and his fingers deftly arousing her, she had no defense. In that moment, the witch was gone, replaced by the woman.

Her moan echoed through the trees, and a deep, primal pleasure seized her from head to toe. Her body arched, muscles shaking from the orgasm that he had just given her.

Waves of sensation drawn out to edge into pain washed over her, and his hands pulled her hard to him, as he spilled inside her.

This was the way it was meant to finish — him giving her his essence, and her feeling a kind of elusive peace. He kissed between her shoulder blades and down the bumps of her spine, then he pulled away.

Eyes closed, Beira lay perfectly still, feeling the last ghostly caress down her spine again. When she opened her eyes, he would be gone. If she waited, maybe he would return. At the least, she could delay the acknowledgement that she was alone once more.

She allowed the single tear to slip down her cheek. "Merzhin, where are you?"

Wherever Ymir had sent Merzhin, she hadn't been able to find him. It was one of a handful of times magic had failed her.


The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and powerful magic rippled over her skin.


The Amazons were arriving.

Beira sighed, opened her eyes, and rose to dress.

In the meadow, loose snow swirled. The broken stick rose from the ground. A line of Gaia's magic formed a zigzag rent in the air. The second half of the stick slid through and reunited with its mate. Ripples of nature magic pulsed from the repaired stick in ever expanding circles.

The portal opened with a final explosive push.

Artemis came through, the six golden deer pulling her chariot. She'd replaced the skimpy, mock armor she favored in Beira's court with her fighting armor and her chariot boasted a great number of blades and spiky protrusions.

Behind the Goddess of the Hunt, Amazons marched out of the portal and formed neat ranks. The women carried swords, shields, and spears, and wore fighting leathers with metal breastplates, hair either cut short or caught up in braids.

Catching the edges of the portal, Beira wove her winter magic into its periphery. Raw nature magic flowed over her, mixing readily with her energy.

"That's all of us," Artemis called.

Beira, deep into her magic, gave a half distracted nod. She formed a vortex around her. Thunder boomed as she raised her hammer and gathered pure lightning.

She spun and aimed all her power at Inisfail.





"Would you like to wear white?" Smiley held out the full skirt of a gown hanging in Azar's closet. The three brownies who had taken her care as their responsibility were more excited than she was about her wedding.

Wear white? Azar held in her snort. She'd been thoroughly ravished every night since Fechin kidnapped her. And afternoon. And morning. There wasn't a schedule for when Fechin wanted her. White hardly seemed appropriate. She was no innocent girl going to her wedding night. She was already pregnant!

"No. I think I'd prefer to wear a different color. Green." Dark green reminded her of the trees in her beloved forest. If her father couldn't be here, at least she'd have a small reminder of her past as she embraced her future.

Smiley turned back to the clothing, murmuring to himself. "This one is nice, isn't it?" He backed out of the closet, a dark green gown draped in his arms.

"It's perfect." Dreamy finished a braid in Azar's hair and pinned it in place.

"No boots," Bossy ordered.

"No heels," Azar countered.

"Be glad she's not insisting on trousers." Smiley offered an impish grin.

Azar had thought about it, but she'd learned about picking her battles during her time at Raven Castle.

The brownies helped her put on the flowing, long-sleeved green dress embroidered in swirling patterns with silver and gold thread. With the hemline brushing the floor, no one would see her shoes.

Mischief and Tricks flew through the window carrying red and black flowers woven in a wreath that they placed atop Azar's head. More ravens brought shiny earrings, bracelets, and a necklace.

Gifts from Fechin, no doubt. She put them on. Sometimes she felt like nothing more than a toy that he liked to see dressed in shiny things, but today she stifled the urge to feel resentment.

Fechin was a king. It would hardly be appropriate for his bride to show up for her wedding, however short and informal a ceremony, wearing trousers and no riches.

Dreamy offered her a bouquet of more red and black flowers with a sigh. Unsure about the colors, Azar nevertheless accepted the blooms. Perhaps the Morrigan would approve. It seemed rude to refuse flowers from Fechin's mother's garden.

When the trio of brownies pushed her to stand in front of the mirror, she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. Had she lost so much of herself in a little over a month?

"There. You're lovely." Smiley beamed.

"The most beautiful bride." Dreamy clasped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek.

"Hurry, or you'll be late." Bossy pointed to the door.

Azar followed them from the room to the bottom of the stairs, where an elegant woman wearing a formal gown in orange waited for her, holding a lacy bit of green material.

"Is that for me?" Azar reached for the veil.

The other woman held it out of reach. "It's tradition, my Lady. A happily married woman must place the veil on you, so your marriage will be happy, too."

Azar held still while the happily married stranger played her part. It was a nice gesture, but also reminded her of how alone she was here. Shisti was her only friend, but she didn't like Fechin and probably wouldn't attend the ceremony. "Thank you."

"Of course. We're all happy for you and Fechin." The woman offered a curtsey with a rustle of skirts and hurried away.

The brownies led Azar into the garden along a rose petal strewn path.

Fechin wore all black as usual, with his long hair in neat braids. He waited in the center of the arched bridge across the fish pond.

Another stranger, dressed in a hooded red robe, stood at his side. A crowd of courtiers left an aisle between them. Only a few faces were familiar from the dinners she'd attended. Everyone watched her with happiness, envy, and expectations.

Azar's heart ached as loneliness and homesickness threatened to overwhelm her. Her feet felt like boulders as she forced her smile to remain on her face and take the required steps.

When she'd been delivered into Fechin's arms, the brownies backed away, leaving her stranded.

The red-robed man placed her hand in Fechin's and wound a ribbon around them. "May your joys be as bright as the morning, and your sorrows fade in the sunlight of love. May good luck be with you wherever you go, and your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow. May you always have a sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, and shelter each other so nothing can harm you."

Fechin slipped a golden ring onto her finger. The band depicted two hands holding a heart under a crown.

And that was it. A short ceremony. As Fechin had promised.

Music filled the air as Fechin led her onto a cleared grassy area and twirled her into a dance. "You must keep one foot on the floor at all times, or fairies might steal you away from me."

She laughed in spite of herself. "You're their king, aren't you? You could just make them give me back."

"I will always bring you home, maité anam."

Others joined them on the dance floor, and Azar found herself passed from partner to partner. Even Bossy partnered with her, and she found herself caught up in the festive mood. Her spirit lightened, and her smiles came easier.

Breathless and happy, she went with Fechin to sit at the head of the table. As they watched entertainers putting on a play in the meadow, he held her hand in his larger one, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. "Are you happy, maité anam?"

Azar sighed. At this moment, she was. A part of her didn't want to admit it. Telling Fechin he'd made her happy seemed like rewarding him for kidnapping her and taking her choices away.

But she already kept a secret from him, and she didn't want to add to her guilty conscience with a lie. "Yes. You win. I am happy, and I love you, Fechin."

His joyous smile lit his black eyes, and he leaned toward her upturned face.

A series of thunderous booms roared across the sky. Azar tilted her head farther back. Overhead, beyond the blue sky, a layer of grey fog hovered.

Beside her, Fechin swore.

The fog parted, revealing a second layer of blue sky.

"What's happening, Fechin?" Was that fog what was keeping her in? Was her world under that second blue sky?

"The wards, maité anam. We are under attack."

What felt like claws raked through Azar, digging into something deep inside her and latching on. She screamed at the invasive agony. Her child!

Azar doubled over. Wrapping her arms around herself, she collapsed to her knees, then to her side, curling her knees to her chest.

"Maité anam!" Fechin dropped to his knees beside her.

Hundreds of lightning bolts struck the fog between layers of blue skies, tearing it to shreds. A few strikes came through and struck the ground and forest, setting the trees on fire. People screamed while others stared, dumbfounded.

"Go," Azar managed to get out through her clenched teeth. "Protect Inisfail."

Fechin changed to his raven form and flew toward the storm. Waves of power emanated from him as he rose into the sky.

Almost casually, a streak of lightning broke away from the fog and struck him like swatting a gnat. The blow sent him reeling, but he recovered, seemingly unharmed.

More bolts followed the first, one after another, breaking through his protections.

Body limp, Fechin turned human and fell.

Azar screamed, in her own pain and in fear for Fechin.

Ravens soared into the sky, aiming for Fechin. Each of them caught part of his clothing in their talons or beaks. Flapping their wings in unison, the flock slowed his fall.

The birds deposited Fechin in front of Azar. His body shook. Blood poured from his nose and eyes. The reek of charred skin and feathers assailed her nose.

Invisible claws dug deeper into Azar. Her blood burned, a searing sensation traveling from her fingers and toes, up her legs, and down her arms, to join under her hands, cupped over her baby.

Azar imagined she heard the infant wailing in distress, and her heart ached for the life she was powerless to protect. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she curled into a tighter ball.

Wind buffeted her back. Cool breezes soothed her fevered skin. The double blue skies and fragmented fog faded. She darted a desperate gaze to Fechin.

His eyes opened. One hand struggled to lift and reach for her. Their fingertips touched for a moment, then Fechin disappeared from view as everything burned white hot.




Magical Love in London

Book 1: Marriage of Inconvenience cover reveal inside!


This is another series that took me by surprise. I thought I'd try a Regency Romance, because it's nothing like I would normally write, but I don't do well with virginal misses who go all aflutter at a single touch.

So, I turned to paranormal, my go to genre.

If you've read RealmWalker or Poisoned Heart, you know there are other worlds that have suffered invasion. In this series, the Fae have opened portals to escape an invasion, and they end up in 1800s London.

Then I got to wondering - who invaded those worlds? And I started writing that series, so be on the lookout for that series, which will be MFM romances in Limbo.

Anyway, Marriage of Inconvenience is the first Paranormal Regency. I'm aiming to be finished in September.

Raven Chronicles, Chapters 24-25




Fechin, in his fully raven form, flew with Mischief and Tricks, dodging their attempts to rob him of his shiny bauble, and block him as he made his way to Azar in his mother's garden. She loved to sit by the pond and watch the fish.

For the last month, he'd done what Azar asked and come to know her. He'd introduced her to numerous courtiers, walked with her in the garden, had a second throne created for her, taught her about the Fae she lived among, and brought her presents every day.

Azar balked at accepting whatever she considered too expensive, but loved random things from around the palace. A button. A stick. A pretty seashell. She kept her ever expanding collection of prizes on display in her rooms. A competition had grown among the ravens over who brought Azar the best gift every day.

She carried treats in her pockets and doled them out so liberally it was a wonder there was food left in the kitchen. If he didn't put a stop to their game, all the ravens would be too fat to fly, but he couldn't bring himself to prevent something that brought Azar joy.

The only thing he hadn't been able to do for her was the thing she most wanted - reunite her with her father. She'd explained about his forgetfulness, and stopped asking, but Fechin knew Azar well enough by now to see the slight dimness always present in her eyes. While he was making her happier, she still wasn't happy in Inisfail.

Fechin had left Azar under guard several times while she slept and searched for her father. On his first trip, he'd found Azar's house abandoned. Since that discovery, he'd been a coward and not mentioned the empty home. As far as he could tell, the only thing missing was Azar's father, but the overturned furniture and torn up flooring made him think her father had not gone anywhere willingly.

Now the opening in the sky was gone. Azar said she was from Aribi, though, so eventually he'd have a place to start.

And while he'd left Azar under guard, Shisti hadn't killed anyone, or even tried to, as far as he knew. Fechin watched her closely, but never saw any indication she'd taken steps against Azar. He had seen a smile on Shisti's lips when by chance she saw Azar in the garden once, which frightened him more than if she'd attacked Azar with her ever present knife.

Vilkos had become aware of Azar, too. There was no way to keep her presence a secret. His brother had also been suspiciously well-behaved since his unexpected return.

Fechin almost wished one or both of them would act against him. This waiting game on top of all the usual drama among courtiers gave him headaches, and he'd not had a full night of sleep in over a month.

A wing thwacking Fechin's face brought his attention back to his current battle. He swooped low and flipped sideways, slipping through a narrow gap between Mischief's talons and Tricks' beak, to triumphantly drop a silver key into Azar's lap.

Azar still insisted on wearing trousers and tunics rather than dresses, but her beauty took his breath away each time he saw her. She laughed and held up his gift. "Did you steal this from someone who needs it?"

Ignoring the bit of cheese Azar teasingly held out as a reward, Fechin changed to his human body, straightened his clothes, and claimed her lips in a kiss.

He released her when she struggled against him. "What's wrong?"

"While you were distracting me, your miscreants emptied my pockets!" She pointed an accusing finger at Mischief and Tricks, who had almonds and bits of cheese spread all over the grass. "I'll have to go back to the kitchen."

"You shouldn't feed them so much, anyway. You're spoiling them."

"I like to." Azar held up the key. "Are you going to answer me? Did you steal this from someone who needs it?"

"The key is yours. You will have to find the lock it opens."

Her eyes lit up. "Your castle is huge! You have to give me a hint."

Your castle. Fechin held in a disappointed sigh. He hoped to hear here say our castle. Our bed. Our home. But she still hid a part of herself away from him.

"When you find it, you'll see it's exactly where it should be." Like you, Azar.

She scowled. "That's a terrible hint."

"Well, it's the only one you get."

Her eyes took on the gleam she got when she was up to something. She held up the key and waggled it. "Mischief, Tricks. You're clever ravens. I'll get something special from the kitchen if you show me — "

"No cheating!" Fechin cut off her words with another kiss as he transformed into his half-raven form. Sliding his arms around her, he flapped his wings and swept her into the air.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to be carefree and play. Had he been so playful before? The Morrigan loved him and he'd never had to be guarded around her, but they hadn't played games, other than war strategies.

When Vilkos arrived after his mother died, there had definitely been no boyhood games between them.

Fechin landed on her balcony, carried into her suite, and set her on her feet.

The new silver box stood out in the midst of all her raven gifts.

"I think I found what this key opens." She scowled at him. "I like to decide how my treasures are arranged."

His Azar had to have some raven blood in her heritage.

She inserted the key into the lock, twisted it, and opened the lid.

Inside, the wedding ring he'd commissioned for her lay atop a cushion.

Carved from ebony, two wings wrapped backward, while the bird's face formed the front of the ring. Emerald eyes sparkled, and the beak clutched a diamond.

"It's beautiful."

"Will you marry me, my maité anam?"

She didn't answer him. Her eyes darted between the ring and his face. He'd done as she asked. He'd waited a month. His hope she'd accept him now turned icy the longer she didn't respond. Even giving him a reason why they shouldn't marry would be something he could argue against, but she said nothing.

"I see I need to persuade you." He stalked her across the suite as she held her hands out, like that would stop him. When he lunged, she darted away. But he caught the back of her shirt and let his talons out enough to shred the material.

Azar whirled and leveled a disapproving glare at him. "You ripped my shirt. Again!"

"I'll have another brought for you." He tore the rest of her clothing off of her, taking his frustrations out on material rather than her.

He placed a naked Azar in the middle of the bed and reached for the silk ties on each bedpost.

Fechin bound one delicate wrist, then the other, above her head, pulling the ties taut. This was something she'd become used to, even looked forward to, and when he dipped his fingers between her legs, her pussy was slick.

Stroking her abdomen, where the slight swelling assured him his child was growing, sent a rush of possessiveness through him. She would be his before his child was born.

He'd made other preparations. Just in case. He reached to one side of the mattress and brought up a third strip of silk that he tied around her knee, repeating his actions for her opposite knee.

Azar watched him, a slight anxiety in her eyes, but she didn't protest. He'd known she wouldn't. She trusted him, but he was about to push her. Punish her for not saying yes immediately.

Fechin kissed her soft lips. She tasted of the sweet Fae wine they'd had with lunch.

She moaned into his mouth and blood rushed to his cock. His erection pressed into her belly. The sounds she made — soft mewls as he nipped and kissed his way down her neck, urged him on.

Unable to stop himself, he thrust, parting her folds and penetrating deep. Her muscles gripped him as he stilled and took a minute to savor the feel of them joined together. Pulling back, he slid slowly into her again.

Her erect nipples begged for his mouth. He dipped down and took one between his lips, caressing and nibbling just hard enough to make her gasp over and over. She writhed beneath him, reaching for pleasure he wasn't going to allow her yet.

"Marry me. Azar."

He knelt between her legs, grinning down at her. Her eyes were glossy with lust as she looked up at him. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, making it harder, and reached up with his hand to work her other, feeling the bud pucker at his touch.

He rode her hard and fast, his plan for her making him more excited than usual. She was close. Her tight sheath clenching around him. But he was closer. He pulled out of her heated depths and covered her belly and breasts in ropes of his seed.

A sheen of sweat broke out across her brow and chest.

Azar groaned her frustration.

The edge of his need for her met for the moment, his body calmed and he set about persuading her to marry him in the language they each understood best.

Leaving her bound, he rose from the bed to retrieve the ring, a bowl of water and a towel.

He placed the ring on the pillow next to her head, cleaned her stomach and breasts, and set the bowl and towel aside. Between her thighs once more, he kissed his way up her thigh until his mouth fell upon her hot center. He slipped his hands under her ass to lift her, and paused.

"Marry me. Azar."

“Fechin!” She panted when he dipped his tongue inside her. She tasted of sweet need.

"That's not a yes. All I want to hear from you is yes."

He ran his tongue over her clit while sliding a finger into her. He drank in the sight of her body bared and spread before him with his finger deep inside her as he pushed her closer and closer to release.

Her head fell back, and her long hair spilled over the pillows. She ground against him and her breasts bounced enticingly with her movements.

He pulled away.

She screamed her frustration.

"Marry me, Azar."

The scent of her arousal was all around him, making him crazy. She was so beautiful, so warm and soft and wild. He moved his lips down the side of her throat, tasting the warm skin of her neck.

She tipped her head back, giving him access to the silky-soft skin under her ear, the dips and hollows above her collarbone.

He skimmed his hand down her leg. “You’re exquisite,” he murmured.

“You’re a tease,” she snapped.

He grinned at her. "Marry me, Azar."

She stared at him mutinously. A bead of sweat slid down her skin in a tantalizing trail between her breasts.

Fechin found her clit with his tongue, lapping at it, making her moan. He sucked it into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He nibbled gently, making Azar cry out. Her back arched as she almost orgasmed again. He caught her nipples in his fingers, gently twisting and pinching. Her body jerked toward him. Passion darkened her eyes. Her full lips parted as she panted.

He listened to the rhythm of her breathing, and when it quickened, then hitched, he knew she was close to orgasm again. He let go of her nipples and ran his hands down her sides, trailing his nails over her skin. He released her clit, licking it gently, holding back the pressure until her moaning became a frustrated demand for more.

"Marry me, Azar."


He slipped two fingers inside her, pressing on her g-spot as he stimulated her clit once more. He worked his fingers in time with his tongue, building the speed and the pressure. Azar writhed beneath him, bucking her hips and pressing herself against his face.

"Marry me, Azar."

She closed her eyes.

Unable to resist, he covered her body with his and thrust into her. Her tight wetness enveloped him, and he groaned against her breast as he buried himself inside her. For a second, he couldn’t move as everything in him became centered on her. He could spend a thousand years making love to her and still never tire of the perfect fit and the rightness of her in his arms.

Surely, she had to see that and give in.

He brought her to the edge again.





Azar arched and writhed under the assault of Fechin's tongue and fingers. He'd never tortured her so well or for so long before.

She lay in a sweaty mess. Caught thoroughly in Fechin's silk bindings and seduction. Every nerve thrummed with need. He rose over her and rubbed his erection against her sex.

Azar thrashed in her bonds, torn between pride and need — as much hers as his. She didn't want to give in, but it was clear Fechin had no intention of stopping his game, and she was not nearly as skillful a player as him.

She craved his touches and smiles, and wanted to marry him. But some part of her still resented how she'd ended up here, and the lack of choice ever since.

Her hips jerked, trying to take him further inside. She was right on the edge of bliss when he pulled out. As he sat back on his knees, she raised her hips, seeking his touch. His hand slid up her inner thigh before going straight to where she ached most.

Still, he didn't give her what she needed.

"Marry me. Azar."

She refused to answer. The only way to deny him anything, was to offer him nothing. In all the time she'd been at his castle, she'd yet to win an argument or debate with him.

He moved again, giving her long deep strokes.

She moaned at the blissful friction of his body rubbing against hers.

What would it hurt to say yes? To give him what he wanted? In this, anyway. There would have to be a reckoning for his behavior today, but her body and mind were too fractured to fight this war she couldn't win. She felt only contradictions.

Pleasure that hurt.

Love and hate.

Need and lack.

Desire and regret.

She wanted to weep.

"Yes! Yes, I will marry you." Anything to get this over with.

Her skin felt like it was burning, and he was the only one who could soothe her. His hands dug into her hips for a moment, then she yelped when his fingers found the small nub at the core of her, rubbing it with a touch that was at once harsh and gentle. It was too much.

Azar was only sensation stretched too thin. A deep tug of desire grew, but she resisted. She no longer wanted actual pleasure from this. His actions were about power over her. However, Fechin was not a man who would abide her resistance.

He redoubled his efforts. Between his body slamming into her and his fingers adeptly manipulating her, Azar had to give up. When she finally reached that peak again, Fechin finally let her go over. The climax, so long denied, felt like lightning from head to toe, and she shook with the force of her release.

From the tips of her toes to the tingling in her scalp, every part of her burned with the raw passion coursing through her. She waited for the wave to crest, but they pounded through her one after another.

His movements turned erratic and he thrust in one last time, shuddering as he grunted in pleasure.

Fechin slipped the raven ring on her finger, and immediately released her wrists and knees, massaging her arms and legs. Rolling onto his back, he gathered her close, stroking her hair as he murmured to her.

"We'll be married this afternoon."

"So soon?" She should have known he wouldn't waste any time.

"Now that you've agreed, there's no reason to wait."

Her father wasn't here. That was reason enough to put off the ceremony, wasn't it?

He pulled her closer, wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "This will be a short, informal ceremony. We'll have a more elaborate wedding after your father arrives. Guests will want to come from all over Inisfail to attend, but I don't want to wait."



Azar examined her palm and wrist. Shisti had healed the wounds perfectly, as she always did, and promised she was making progress on finding a way past the wards.

It was taking so long, and Fechin was wearing down Azar's resistance. She still longed to find her father, but now there would always be a part of her that belonged to Fechin. Must she always be torn between places and people?

A small, annoying part of her whispered she should tell Fechin about the plan to escape the wards, now that she'd agreed to marry him. Shouldn't there be honesty between a husband and wife? Somehow, it felt like a coerced wife was entitled to keep a plan for freedom to herself. She'd not forget her wrists were bound when he put the ring on her finger.

But he'd worked so hard over the last month, and they were happy. Well, Fechin was happier than she was, but she was learning to live a life here. At least, she was until today. Much of the goodwill and trust Fechin had built up had vanished this afternoon.

If she told him she'd been plotting to leave him with Shisti's help this whole time, while he'd done nothing but try to please her, she would destroy any chance of their new-found happiness.

He'd lock her away in the tower again. And he might punish Shisti for trying to help.

No. She had to keep that one secret from him. When Shisti's magic did work, Azar could decide whether to use it or not. Maybe by then, Fechin would understand. He'd promised over and over he would bring her father to court, and she wanted to believe in him.

But what if he couldn't? It was better to keep that option available for herself. If she needed to leave, it would be because he hadn't kept his word, and if she never left, he didn't need to know she could have.



Raven Chronicles, Chapters 22-23




After several days to prepare for his journey, and waiting out unfavorable winds from a massive storm, Bres had finally set sail, but progress was slow — if getting only as far as out of view of the island could be considered progress at all.

"Damn you, you stubborn ship." Bres ducked the swinging boom aimed at his head. It had only taken one smack from the wooden beam to alert him to that trick. He also had to maintain awareness of uncoiling ropes that turned into snares, loose decking that tripped him, and changes of direction that sent him staggering.

Anyone would think a Fomorian wasn't welcome aboard one of Merlin's ships. He adjusted the tiller to head north. The ship veered east, like it had been waiting for a chance to be contrary.

"No wonder ships are considered female."

All the sails went rigid and the ship came to a stop.

"Sorry," he mumbled insincerely, wrestling with the tiller again. The last thing he needed was to end up in the Queen of Winter's court.

Bres yanked on the tiller again. It jumped out of his hands and the ship turned east. "If you're taking me to Beria, no thank you." He had no desire to become one of her toys. She was as bad as Ymir.

He'd spent the days trapped ashore studying his maps. There were several routes he could take, all of them with different risks. Aribi lay to the east, on the far side of Africa.

The shortest distance would be to sail across the Mediterranean Sea. That route would carry him perilously close to several places not especially friendly to Fomorians — mainly the Hellas and Aegyptus courts. It was unlikely he could pass the whirlpools, sirens, or the lighthouse that guarded the ocean.

His magic had mostly recovered over the last few years, but if he had to rely on it constantly, he could find himself drained, and helpless, at exactly the wrong time.

By far the safest route was to head south and circumnavigate the entire continent of Africa, not setting foot ashore at all, and maintaining his distance from all the courts. There were a few dangers, but if he skirted Atlantis, it should be simple enough to avoid the sea monsters any coastal courts could send after him. The Fomorians hadn't raided the distant courts enough to have created vendettas there.

It would also take the longest amount of time, and that was a luxury he didn't have. An inner clock had begun ticking the moment he first thought about leaving Morgan and Meghan behind. He wanted to be gone as short a time as possible, and live through the experience. He had children to return to. Or, he would.

Two routes led north. The shorter one threaded through the southern end of Ymir's territory, a hundred islands, and several courts before ending at Rus. Then the journey would be overland to the south.

His best bet was to head farther north, giving Ymir's Court a wide buffer to the west. That meant the risk of sailing into ice up north, having to travel near Louhi's domain, and possibly running into Koschei of the Rus Court.

Bres would rather face that crazy man than Ymir. Koschei was insane, but an ally of sorts, or at least not an outright enemy.

Of course, everything depended on getting the ship to do what he wanted in the first place. It hadn't come with instructions when he stole it.

"All right, Ship, we need to get to..." A crazy idea took hold. Could it be so easy? "Do you happen to know where any of the Inisfail treasures are?"

The ship waited, creaking as waves buffeted the hull.

Maybe it needed more specifics. "The spear, the stone, or the cauldron. Can you take me to the nearest one of them?" That would make his journey so much shorter, provided the relics hadn't gone far.

The ship did nothing.

"So, that's a no, huh?"

Great. He'd barely sailed out of sight of his island and he was already talking to himself.

With no warning, the ship took off, sending Bres sprawling as it sped east. Again. He picked himself up from the deck. "That's going to leave a mark."

He really didn't want to see the Queen of Winter. Although, it was possible she had one of the relics he'd asked about. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd taken a relic when she'd been banished from Inisfail.

When the coast came into view, the boat veered south — Inisfail on the right, Alba on the left.

"Oh. Trying to go home, are you?" Wherever the ship was headed, it was going there in a hurry. The sails billowed and the landscape on the port side blurred too fast for him to spot landmarks. He moved to the front of the ship and held onto the railing with a death grip. If he wasn't in charge of where he was going, at least he could see what was coming for him.

Bres finally got his bearings when the end of the island came into view and the ship curved left. Another left sent the ship up a narrow river that ran inland, mostly north.

The vessel came to an abrupt halt that nearly sent Bres flying over the prow, despite his death grip. He made sure the anchor medallion remained tucked safely in his pocket. The ship could only move if the anchor was aboard, so at least it couldn't abandon him.

"Where have you brought me? Which relic is here?" Of course, there was no answer.

Bres leapt over the rail, boots splashing into ankle deep water, and waded ashore. On land, a pull northward urged him to continue in that direction.

He'd been to this part of the world before. A bit more than ten miles away, a vast magic reservoir called to all Other Worlders. Some legends said Merlin had constructed the colossal stone edifice in Inisfail and moved it here. Others said the stones had been there far longer than Merlin had been alive.

Either way, the standing stones were a focus for magic. It was a perfect hiding place for relics. The magic of the stones would overwhelm smaller energies, thus hiding the presence of anything not as powerful.

If he found one of the treasures so close to home, he could be back on the island tonight. Bres hurried toward Stonehenge, but kept a wary eye out. There was always someone, or something, lurking around places of power.

Ghostly shadows moved over the grassy plain and around the stones where humans wandered in and out of the thinner areas separating their world from his. In such basins of power, magic often leaked between places.

The human version of Stonehenge had been allowed to fall into ruin, but the monument he stood before was intact. Vertical columns thirteen feet high, topped by horizontal stones, formed an intact circle around an inner ring of smaller upright bluestones, that in turn stood around two sets of even smaller vertical stones, each capped by a horizontal lintel.

Summer solstice brought the height of power, but that was half a year away. Even so, magic flowed around Bres, seeping into him. He froze, worried his power hadn't been sufficiently restored. Places like this were dangerous for anyone as broken as he'd been. Magic didn't like being fragmented. More than one person had come here hoping to mend themselves, and been immolated instead.

Bres stood alone, except for a tawny cat so gigantic he lay sprawled across two of the warm horizontal stones in the sun. The creature didn't raise his head or open his eyes, but his long tail flicked.

Power radiated from the cat, although it was hard to tell how much was innate to the creature and what came from the stones.

Why had the ship brought him here? A spear or cauldron would stand out, but an extra stone wouldn't necessarily be out of place. With a wary eye on the sun-bathing beast, Bres walked around the largest ring.

The Stone of Destiny was only three feet high and rounded. He searched each ring for anything that felt off or out of place, then expanded the pattern to outside the monument.

The grassy plain wasn't completely flat. Small hills and dips made it more rolling than level. He climbed one hillock and reeled back a step before he fell into a pit. Pieces of rock littered the bottom. Some were the size of pebbles, but others were bigger — up to a few feet long.

The Stone of Destiny could be here. He jumped into the hole and sorted through the chunks of rock.

"What are you doing?" a voice screeched.

A fairy.


Skin, hair, and eyes a greyish-blue that matched the hues of the grey sarsen and bluestones she fed on, she stood about two feet tall. Hands on the hips of her low-cut, full-skirted ball gown, she stared at him, unafraid even though he could squash her under his boot.

Maybe he should be the nervous one. Who knew how long she'd been absorbing the magic here? It was always a good rule not to piss off fairies anyway.

"I wanted to see if there was anything worth my time here." He gave a deprecating look around. "I don't think so."

She stomped one small, bare foot. "I have all the best rocks!"

Bres shook his head. "I happen to know about the best rock, and it's not here."

"These aren't all of my rocks you know. I have more." But she didn't sound a hundred percent sure. Good. She was curious. Fairies were greedy creatures. If she didn't have the best rock, she wanted it. "What does the best one look like?"

"It's about three feet high, round, carved from white stone, and full of engravings."

She flashed him a triumphant grin. "We have that rock!"

We. He wanted to sigh and cheer at the same time. The Stone of Destiny was here, but there were more fairies.

"I don't believe you."

The fairy flapped her wings and rose into the air. She whistled a series of notes, and received two whistles in return.

With a smug grin, she flew higher. "The best one is in another barrow. I'll show you."

He jumped out of the pit and followed her to another hill, where two more fairies, identical to the first, awaited at the bottom of another hole.

The Stone of Destiny lay on its side. He'd recognize it anywhere. Now he just had to figure out how to get it away from the fairies. "Huh." Bres shrugged. "You do have it." He turned his back on it, and them, to start walking back toward the stone circle.

"Where are you going?"

The only thing more attractive than magic to feed on was a possible deal. "I just wanted to see it."

The three fairies buzzed around in agitation. "Don't you want it? It's the best one!"

He stopped and turned back. "Well, if you don't want it, I could take it away. As a favor to you."

They gasped in unison. "A favor! To us!" They giggled. "We're not stupid."

Unfortunately, that was true.

The first fairy, at least he thought it was the first fairy. Hovered in front of his nose. "What will you give us for the stone?"

Bres knew better than to answer an open-ended question like that one. "What do you want?"

She landed, grew in size to match his, and simpered forward as she ran her hands over her body. "It's ever so lonely here by ourselves."

"We don't have any men," the second fairy whispered into his ear.

The third fairy ran her hand up his thigh. "Won't you stay?"

"We'll trade you the stone for a kiss."

"The men have all gone away."

What choice did he have? "One night for the stone."

They gave him feral grins with sharp teeth that made certain parts of his anatomy cringe.

"Deal." The fairies chorused and closed in around him. They clasped his hands and pushed on his chest, forcing him backward until he tumbled into the barrow. They were on him in a flash. Yanking at his boots and clothes.

"It won't be bad."

"You'll like us."

"We can be whoever you want."

A woman with orange-gold eyes and long black hair gave him a gentle smile as she reached for him.

Bres shook his head and jerked away from her. She wasn't the one he loved. He didn't even know the woman.

Her visage morphed and Morgan was there. Her green eyes sparkled — alight with happiness he hadn't seen since before he'd claimed her as tribute. Naked, she stepped forward, intertwined their fingers, and pulled him into her bedroom.

"I want you. Do you want me?"

He stared at her lush pink lips. Some part of him knew this wasn't real. It wasn't Morgan, but it's how he wanted her to be with him. Just this once, he could have her willing.


Bres lowered his mouth, kissing down her neck, along her collarbone to her breasts. Morgan moaned as he flicked his tongue across one nipple until she writhed beneath him.

"I need more. I need you," she murmured.

He kissed and nuzzled her skin, tongue dipping into her navel. She dug her hands into his hair as his mouth travelled down her body. Her sounds of pleasure were interspersed with whispered words, telling him how much she wanted him.

"I'm so wet for you." Her voice was throaty and breathless as he buried his head between her legs, her words exciting him. She got even wetter as he licked along her folds, stroking her with two fingers before sliding them inside her. Her body arched towards him and she spread her legs wider.

Bres latched onto her clit, sucking and licking while he pumped his fingers mercilessly inside her. She clutched at his head, whimpering helplessly as she came, her body bowing.

Keeping up the relentless onslaught, he brought her to another shuddering climax and she cried out with a raw, primitive sound. Bres wrapped his hands around her thighs and pressed her open even wider. She came a third time.

He wanted to punish her for all the times she'd denied him. Make her feel all the pleasure she'd cost both of them when she'd rejected him over and over.

Her words turned from praise to pleading as he forced orgasm after orgasm from her, until she lost all her words.

Eyes burning into hers, he bent to kiss her as he moved above her. Morgan lay beneath him, body flushed, eyes feverish. In one swift movement he grabbed her hands and put them over her head as he drove his cock into her.

She made a half grunting, half moaning sound as the weight of his body pinned her down, his hand holding hers immobile.

"Do you see?" He grunted as he drove his dick and anger into her. "You've wasted years when we could have been happy!"

He pulled out and drove into her again. Concentrating on each and every thrust, he focused even harder on not coming. Her greedy sheath clenched his shaft and he felt his balls pulling up. Morgan threw her head back. She drew her knees higher, taking him deeper into her pussy, rocking against him, matching him thrust for thrust.

Bres grit his teeth, fighting against the inevitable. He slid his hand between their bodies and circled her clit. She came apart just as he was losing control. Right now, just like this, was how it was meant to be between them, but he wasn’t sure how they were going to make this work. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in her.

The Morgan under him vanished, and he turned onto his side. Small, soft hands pushed him onto his back. A warm, wet mouth sealed over his cock. He closed his eyes as a second mouth sucked on his throat, and a third bit his nipple. Morgan was everywhere. He squeezed a breast. Slid a hand up a thigh. Kissed an eager mouth.

A tongue licked the sensitive underside of his tip. He groaned. As he was about to come, the mouth left his cock, replaced by a tight, welcoming pussy.

Morgan's shapely body appeared over him. He raked his eyes over her body, stroked her thighs and over her ass, pulling her tighter onto him. Cupping her breasts, he teased her nipples as he pushed deeper into her.

She braced her palms on his chest and moved up and down on him as he held her waist and thrust to meet her. He groaned as she wiggled, grinding her hips into his, her movements becoming faster and urgent. His breathing was ragged as he put his hands on her shoulders, bearing down so he could take her harder. His cock twitched. A hot flash shot down his spine into his balls as they grew tight. With a ragged moan, his whole body shuddered as he came inside her and she vanished.

On her hands and knees, Morgan arched her back and offered him a coy smile over her shoulder. He rolled to his knees, cock hardening for her again. Bres seized her hips and dragged her backward. Impaling her, he rutted against her until her arms gave out. He held her hips higher, the wet sound of her pussy taking him making him all the harder.

He raised one hand and brought it down on her ass. She screamed and bucked, her tight inner muscles clenching around him at the impact. A second smack. She tightened around his cock again, but tried to scramble away. Bres shifted his legs from inside her thighs, to outside, trapping her legs closed between his, dick still deep inside her.

Bres brought his hand down a third time, harder than before. The world wavered around him. The woman in front of him lost her pale skin and red hair. Grey-blue skin and tangled hair. The fairies.

It had never been Morgan at all.

Caught up in anger and passion, he rained blows on the fairy's ass until her skin glowed red and felt hot beneath his fingers. Panting his exertion and excitement, he slid a hand to her front and found her clit. He stroked her until she came with a strangled cry, and he emptied his cock into her.

Panting, he pushed the fairy away, but Morgan returned. She lay on her back and slid a hand down her body, moaning as she played with her clit.

He shoved her hand aside, draped her legs over his shoulders, and buried himself inside her.


Bres blinked awake in bright sunlight, and wished he hadn't. Every muscle ached, including his cock, and he felt utterly drained, despite the magic in the reservoir attempting to level him out.

His skin itched, but his arms were too heavy to lift. He ran his eyes down his body, covered in bites and scratches. The fucking fairies had given as good as they'd received. He was lucky things hadn't been worse.

He lay on his back at the bottom of a ditch. Fortunately, it wouldn't be hard to climb out. When he could move.

Aaaaany minute now.

A man's face, surrounded by a tawny mane of hair and beard, peered over the edge of the hole. Golden-green eyes with elliptical pupils studied him. "You lived."

"Debatable." Bres summoned his strength.

It ignored him.

The man smiled — a grin that showed off especially sharp fangs.

That hair. Those eyes and fangs. The cat.

"Was that rock worth it?"

The Stone of Destiny!

Bres turned his head to one side. Nothing. Concentrating hard, he turned his head the other way. There. The three-foot stone stood propped against the dirt wall, his clothes neatly folded in front of his prize.

At least it hadn't been for nothing.

Bres rolled to one side, pushed himself to sitting, and dragged his pants up his legs. The anchor was still in his pocket. He breathed out a gust of relief. "I hope it was worth it." He pulled his tunic over his head and laced his boots onto his feet.

He stretched a hand toward the stone, but halted before he made contact. What if the stone remained silent? He didn't want an audience in case he failed. Bres pulled his sleeves over his hands and picked up the stone. Reaching over his head, he laid it on the grass and levered himself out of the pit.

Time to get out of here before the fairies came back. Tucking the stone under one arm, he set off for the river, and his ship.

"I'm Pemangsa." The enormous man moved with a cat-like grace, muscles rolling smoothly under his tawny skin. He was even taller than Bres. It was easy to imagine a long tail swishing behind him. "Who're you?"


"What's so important about that rock you risked your life for it?"

Bres eyed Pemangsa, unsure if he could fight the man off if he wanted the stone.

"You ask a lot of questions."

Pemangsa's eyes glowed more green than gold. "Cat." He held one hand palm up. "Curiosity." The other palm came up, level with the first, and he shrugged. "I don't want your rock, just to know what it does."

Bres smiled at that. "It roars for rightful kings."

An ear flicked. "You need a rock to tell you this?"

Only a feline could inject that level of disdain into his words. Bres supposed it was because all cats, Other World or from the human world, already thought they were kings and queens.

"It never hurts to have confirmation."

"For you, or everyone else?"

"Both, I think."

"What are you the king of?"

"You're asking a lot of questions again."

"You're touching the stone and it remains silent. Perhaps the fairies broke it." He placed a huge hand on the stone. "I am the King of Cats."

A roar thundered through the air.

Pemangsa flashed his fangs. "Seems to be working."

Bres glanced down. His sleeve had slipped, and there was nothing between the stone and his skin. But he hadn't proclaimed himself king of anything. Hadn't dared even think of it.

He glared at the cat. "Don't you have some sun to lay in?"

"Eh. Not much sun here in winter. Where are you going?"

"I'm sailing north. Nothing but water, darkness, and ice." No self- respecting cat would like that.


Dissuading a cat from what he wanted to do would take more energy than Bres could muster at the moment. His skin itched, and his body ached. He needed a shower, and still had nine miles to walk.

It couldn't hurt to have the King of Cats as an ally. Fomorians could always use another friend.

And when it came time to fight, cats loved to hunt birds.


Leaving Pemangsa on the main deck, Bres headed down two steep staircases to the lowest level. Rows of drawers lined the wall, all neatly strapped closed. He opened a long, narrow drawer in the bottom row and deposited the Stone of Destiny inside, nestled amoung some clothing he stored there.

Unable to resist, he placed his palm on the rock and whispered, "I am the King of Inisfail."

Nothing happened.

His heart sank. He would be the king Inisfail needed this time. But he couldn't return to Inisfail in triumph if the stone didn't roar for him. Maybe he had to wait until his children were born until he was the rightful king. Maybe he had to boldly make a proclamation like Pemangsa had. But his confidence was shaken.

In the meantime, he'd have to keep the Stone of Destiny somewhere no one could use it against him. The hold of his ship would work.

He closed the drawer and buckled the strap to keep it in place. There was nothing for it. The journey to Aribi was back on.

Up top, Bres shook his head at the sight of Pemangsa, now in his huge cat form again. He took up half the deck on one side of the ship.

He ran his fingers over the anchor in his pocket. "North, ship."

To his surprise, the ship smoothly set sail.





Ymir flowed into Ginnungagap, the abyss of creation. Fields of ice, vortexes of flame, and streams of etir always rejuvenated him. He formed a human body, albeit a hundred feet tall, and relaxed onto a throne of etir. It was probably all in his mind, but being trapped in human sized bodies felt cramped after a while. He liked stretching into his full size as he gathered information from his spies.

Odin had his ravens and wolves. Ymir had the squirrel in Yggdrasil. No one took the creature seriously, making him an excellent spy. He scampered from branch to branch, roots to treetop, giving Ymir glimpses of other worlds.

A pregnant Valkyrie walked through Valhalla. His work with the warrior women had resulted in many pregnancies. The child he needed would be born on schedule. Ymir didn't linger there for long. Hugin and Munin could sense etir.

The squirrel darted up the trunk to Vanaheim, where Odin's soldiers fought against the Vanir.

The dwarves of Myrkheim created weapons and relics. Ymir checked on that realm frequently to see what they were inventing.

Muspelheim always bore watching. The Norns called the fire giants World Wreckers, and had told Odin one of them would begin Ragnarok.

Leaving the squirrel, Ymir traveled farther. Distance made connections more tenuous. A Draugr blinked and Ymir saw the sea. Normally, the undead warriors stayed on land to guard their treasures and barrows, but their near immortality, abilities to change sizes and shapes, control the weather, and turn to fog made them too valuable to limit to a few square feet.

Moving their possessions onto a ship made them portable, and since they were half dead, there was plenty of room for etir.

Ymir enjoyed his glimpses of the sea. He turned the Draugr's head up. Scant grey clouds smudged the horizon to horizon blue sky. It was rare to have such clear weather this time of year. A salt-tinged breeze lifted a few hairs escaping his heavy braid.

Bringing the Draugr's eyes back down, he studied the waves as the ship pushed through the swells. The ship appeared to be the only thing in the world. No land in sight. Not even a bird.

Where was the ship heading?

Ymir walked the Draugr over the deck. So, they weren't the only ones in the world. The Draugr brought a spyglass to his eye and examined the other ship. Dragons. Gold. A vague memory stirred. Where had he seen ships like this before?

A sea battle. Not his battle, but one he had witnessd… between the Fomorians and… King Arthur's navy. This was one of Merlin's enchanted ships.

The spyglass focused on the deck of the ship. No crew. Well, an enormous cat sprawled across the deck, but he didn't seem concerned with steering the ship.

Adrift? The vessel plowed through the waves heading north, though, like it had a destination rather than floating at the mercy of currents and tides.

Take the ship? The idea appealed to the Draugr. They were always happy to add to their treasures. As he opened his mouth to give the orders, a solitary figure climbed from below deck and came into full view on the other ship.

Male. Clad in leather pants and boots. Long black hair blew back from the man's face. The glowing skin said some sort of Fae. There were few Fae who went to sea aboard ships. Merrow and Selkies had no use for ships.

Ymir compared the man's relative size with things aboard the ship. Tall.

Seagoing Fae using ships and giant-sized?


The spyglass focused closer in on the man. Not scarred. Or at least none visible scars at this distance. A too pretty face. That had to be Bres.

Ymir compelled the Draugr to change into a seal and slipped over the side of the ship into the ocean. He knifed through the sea to Merlin's vessel and pressed his ear to the hull.

Only two heartbeats on the entire ship.

Where could Bres be going? There was nothing to the north except ice, eventually. If he turned east, that troublesome witch Louhi ruled in Pohjola, and beyond her land was Rus.

None of that concerned Ymir. The interesting thing here was that Bres sailed with only a cat for companionship. The Draugr dove away from Merlin's ship and swam toward his.

While one of Merlin's enchanted ships would be a prize, the greater prize was south. Prizes, actually. If Bres was here, he wasn't protecting them. Something was important enough to bring Bres out of his island refuge.

That meant the Morrigan's granddaughters were unprotected, and free for the taking.



Raven Chronicles, Chapters 19-21




Shisti sat next to Fechin’s whore. Could anyone really be so guileless and naïve, or was this an act? "I was walking through the gardens and saw you looking so sad that I had to stop. This castle can be so dreary. Sometimes I come to the gardens because a bit of color can be just the thing to cheer up the day."

"I'm afraid I can’t appreciate the beauty of any cage," Azar muttered.

“A cage?” Shisti could relate to the sentiment. This place was a cage to her, too.

“I probably shouldn’t talk about it.” Azar ducked her head.

"Do you really want to leave?"

Azar nodded, looked around, and leaned closer. "Do you know how I can leave this place? I need to get home."

"Where is your home?"

"In Aribi. We have a house in an oasis."

There was no desert oasis in Inisfail Fae territory, as far as she knew, and the only Aribi she’d heard of was far from Inisfail. How had Fechin gone there and returned so quickly? She’d been out of contact for a few days, but not nearly long enough for a trip across continents and oceans and back.

She sent her magic out, pushing against the wards that surrounded Inisfail. Before, there had always been a solid push back. A sort of bounce that repelled her. Now she could press right up against it, and the texture wasn’t smooth. There were cracks. Had Fechin found a big enough fracture to leave and return?

“It’s just that my father isn’t well.,” Azar was babbling. “He needs me.”

It shouldn’t matter why Azar wanted to leave, just that she did. But the way she spoke about her father reminded Shisti of her mother. "If you really want to go, I can help you."

"You can? We just met, and you would do that for me?"

Trusting. This woman was too trusting. She’d be killed in no time.

The delicious irony of the woman Fechin loved not wanting to be with him after all the arrogant bastard had made Shisti endure fed an icy sensation in her heart. "Of course. No woman should have to be stuck with a brute she doesn't want."

That much was true. Shisti longed for her mother's court, where the men were little more than food to be played with. Except for one, who’d never seen her as something to breed or use. One who’d died because he’d dared to love her.

Azar threw herself into Shisti's arms. "It would be different if he'd spoken to me first, but he just… he just took me. And now he says I have to stay."

Taken by surprise, Shisti froze as Azar hugged her, then remembered she was playing a part and patted Azar's back. "Fechin thinks of himself as king entitled to everything. He doesn't consider what anyone else wants. Of course I'll help you regain your freedom."

Pulling back, Azar sighed. "I've tried the doors and windows. There's some sort of block on them that I can't get through."

"Those are wards created by blood magic. They control who can come and go. If you give me some of your blood, I can adjust the magic so you can get through them."

"You can do that? Does Fechin know?"

"No." Shisti smiled at the girl. "I assure you, Fechin has no idea of what I'm capable of."

But he would.

"All right. I don't want to get you in trouble."

"It's my pleasure and no trouble at all." Shisti drew her ritual knife from a fold in her dress. "All I need is some of your blood. The magic is old and powerful, so it may take a few attempts."

Azar held out her palm. "I understand. Do it." She winced as the sharp blade cut into her palm.

Shisti guided Azar's blood into a few vials, whispering a healing spell when she had enough.

Holding up her hand, Azar stared at her unblemished skin."That's amazing."

Although Shisti hadn't done it to be nice, she let Azar hold that belief. It wasn't benevolence, just something to make sure Fechin didn't know Shisti had the blood of his woman.

"I'll get to work on a way out for you immediately. The wards can be complicated, so play along for now. Then, when Fechin least expects it, you'll be free. I promise."

"Thank you, Shisti." Azar threw her arms around Shisti's neck again. "You're my only friend here. I'm so glad we met tonight."

“I am glad to have met you, too.”

Leaving Azar in the garden, Shisti made her way toward her rooms. Waving a hand at her door, she unlocked it and pushed it open.

The moment she'd been waiting for.

She brought a drop of Azar's blood to her tongue. She hadn't felt magic on the girl, but her blood burned with the taste of it. And life. So much life.

Three lives.

Fechin had already bred Azar, and she carried twins.

Shisti smiled, a sense of genuine happiness making her feel light. For the first time since she'd been sent to this heap of stone, joy bloomed in her heart. With the blood of Azar and the babes who carried Fechin’s blood as well, she could curse not only Azar, but Fechin and all his bloodline forever.

Moon-Clad once more, Shisti knelt in front of the fire.

She emptied one vial of Azar's blood into her scrying bowl. Better to save the rest. With a quick slash of her wrist, she added her blood to Azar's and chanted the words to access her magic.

Infusing her will into her words and the blood mixture, Shisti conjured her curse.

"With my blood, I curse yours to know only short lives filled with pain. Joy will turn bitter, and to know love means death."

The bowl heated as the blood bubbled and absorbed the magic. Dark red smoke rose into the air and dissipated with a pop.

Shisti swayed on her knees as the magic necessary to enact her curse drained from her, leaving her at an unexpected, dangerously low level. Gasping, she braced herself on her hands and knees, panting through the dizziness making her vision swim.

She needed to replenish her energy. Fortunately, she knew where to get almost unlimited sex magic, even if it was with Vilkos. Leaving herself vulnerable was not an option.

Warmth spread through her, starting in her womb. The magic, given freely, rejuvenated Shisti’s flagging levels, and for the second time tonight, she felt happiness.

“Thank you, my daughter.” Shisti pressed a hand to her abdomen and sent power back to the tiny girl growing inside her. Sharing this way, her daughter would be born with innate knowledge of magic and have another advantage. If they were going to escape all the courts, monsters, and servitude to live in freedom, they both needed every chance available.

Shared magic grew exponentially, and as she received and returned the energy, her power grew to levels she’d not experienced since she came to the Raven Court.

With her magic at an all-time high, she felt invincible. She was willing to take her revenge on Fechin over time, but Vilkos needed to learn a lesson immediately.





Vilkos lounged on the Wulven throne in his audience hall. He kept the place dim — he and the men of the Wild Hunt were capable of seeing clearly in the near darkness, and bright light hurt eyes that preferred the moon.

Plus, the near darkness kept out all except the most determined of petitioners. Those who sought help from the Seelie Court went to Fechin. Vilkos listened to those of the Unseelie Court.

Fortunately, most were too cowardly or intelligent to bother him with anything but the most urgent or important pleas.

The hall wasn’t as ostentatious as the one Fechin used. Only fifty people fit comfortably with its walls, but that only helped keep people away — the ones who thought fancy meant power.

In the center of the room, the entire ceiling opened to the night sky, allowing moonbeams to illuminate the tree he’d brought from the Fae forest where his mother and her sisters once ran. Its roots had been soaked in their blood when the Morrigan’s son slaughtered them. It was all he had left of her.

Over the decades, the tree had flourished under his care. Its trunk spanned twenty feet, the canopy twice that, and its roots had taken over, running across the floor. Branches extended to the walls and over them, giving the entire hall the sense of being within the tree.

His throne, a high-backed wooden chair grown out of the live wood, sat atop a large root, a square wooden table next to it. Other chairs and small round tables perched on lower roots. Years ago they had long banquet tables, but the tree didn’t dead wood in its presence.

And their entertainments required more freedom of movement.

Girls screamed and ran around the room. As usual, a door stood open. If the girls made it through the door, they were free. Or so they believed. Men of the Wild Hunt wouldn't stop their pursuit at a door. Sometimes a long chase proved more satisfying when the prey was finally caught.

Vilkos felt no desire to chase any of the screaming girls. His wolf only stirred for one woman now.

As a child, he'd seen his mother murdered, and his father's descent into madness. He'd vowed to never take a mate. To never put himself in that position. Now here he was, with Shisti, of all people, as a mate. Emotions he'd never wanted to feel warred within him.

He missed his mother and the way she'd sing and dance under the moon with him. The fierce ache still hurt even after all the years since her death. She was loving, kind, gentle, and too trusting, and that’s what got her murdered by the Morrigan's son. She and her two sisters, slaughtered like they were no more than animals.

The loss of her had caused his father to go mad, and Vilkos had effectively become an orphan. Nicusor took over the Wild Hunt. Members had always been ruthless, and more animal than man. Since his mother's murder, The Wild Hunt's sole purpose had become revenge.

Vilkos had become the Morrigan's adopted son, but more hostage to keep his father in check. Not that Nicusor cared about his son. He and the Wild Hunt had returned the slaughter — of the Morrigan's family, only two daughters, Morgan and Meghan, remained alive. Fechin lived since the Morrigan had saved Vilkos, a son for a son, but if the women ever surfaced again, they'd be killed on sight.

Ever since he'd been brought here as a boy and told Fechin was his brother, there had been a competition between them. They used to like one another, but the rivalry had long since become deadly.

A particularly high-pitched scream brought his attention back to the spectacle in front of him.

One by one, the girls were captured, each man dragging his screaming captives to a table. Some were forced to their knees, others bent over a table. Clothing ripped. There were a few guests tonight. A sluagh. A puca. A fuath.

And a satyr. Interesting. They were a proud species, not given to asking for help.

"Thigran, what can the Unseelie Court do for the satyrs?"

The satyr forced the girl he'd caught onto his goat-legged lap. "We want the Wild The Hunt to destroy the centaurs."

Centaurs. The beasts thought they were better than everyone else in the forest, and wouldn't hesitate to loose their bows at anyone they considered a threat. Nevermind they weren't even Inisfail Fae. They were refugees. Who were they to decide what was just and who deserved punishment?

"What's the problem with the centaurs?"

"They're killing us. What else?"

Vilkos wanted to kill the satyr in front of him. Perhaps the centaurs were on to something.

"They've already been to see Fechin."

That got Vilkos' attention. He did his best to avoid the whiners and complainers of the court. "And what did my dear brother say?"

"He sent that animal.” Thigran tightened his fist in his girl’s hair until she whimpered. “The Dullahan. He’s scattering us. We have no protection against him."

Vilkos raised an eyebrow. No one had protection against The Dullahan. He was a last resort. Why had Fechin sent him already?

“I’ll send a message to my father.” If nothing else, the Wild Hunt might enjoy a bit of sport against the headless hunter.

The sluagh, a skeletal, grey-skinned man with dark, leathery wings, glanced up from his terrified captive. “Your father will want to know why you’ve returned to the Raven Court before he grants any favors.”


Shisti entered the hall. Her presence filled the room, causing everyone to go silent and pause.

He'd had her many times while he was in rut. She'd not uttered a word of complaint, but she accepted him rather than participating. Seeing her come to him, his wolf sat up to attention. She moved gracefully, her long dress flowing around her. Her skin glowed in the moonlight.

Vilkos extended a hand as she sauntered toward him. "You can tell my father I'll be king in six months. The Unseelie will rule the Raven Court. I'll have an heir."

The Wild Hunt stared at Shisti, and the sluagh barked out a laugh. “You stole your brother’s woman?”

More like Fechin had stolen Shisti from him, and Vilkos had reclaimed what was his. "Don’t believe me? Smell her."

If he hadn't been watching Shisti so closely, he would’ve missed the slight tightening around her eyes. She gave him next to nothing. Her face remained a mask, even when her body bent to his will. He didn't care if she was happy as long as she bowed to his dominance, but she never looked resentful or angry. Nothing to let him enjoy his power over her.

If he couldn't have happiness, he'd settle for a fight, but she didn't give him that either. He wanted her fire, to either match his, or as something to smother.

She made no verbal protest, but that slight narrowing of her eyes may as well have been a shout. He had a moment to savor getting a reaction before the mask was in place and she smiled.

Vilkos wasn’t a man given to nervousness or fear, but his wolf didn’t like that smile.

The atmosphere thickened with tension and anticipation. Shisti pulled at the laces on the front of her dress and let it slide to the floor. Naked, she paced toward him. He half-rose, cock hardening as his body readied to take his mate.

"No need to stand on my account." Waves of magic pulsed from Shisti, the air pushing him into his seat.

"In fact..." More power flowed from Shisti as she waved one hand. "All of you stay exactly where you are."

The men of the Wild Hunt slammed back in their chairs, twitching as they fought her control. Vilkos couldn't help a sense of admiration. His mate needed to be strong or the Wild Hunt wouldn't respect her. But she shouldn't be using her magic on him.

Shisti strode across the room, bare feet sure as she traversed the roots to his chair and straddled his lap, her hands going to the buttons of his pants to free his dick.

Taking his length in her soft hand, she stroked him to fully erect, then leaned forward. Her warm breath drifted across his ear as she whispered, "I was going to use your body like you used mine. Make you feel helpless while I pleasured myself."

That was fine as long as she got on with things and fucked him. She couldn't remain this powerful all the time. He'd catch her again and punish her. This was the sort of game he liked. Hunter and prey — especially when the prey was clever.

"But, you'd like that, and I think you need a lesson.” She cupped a breast and lifted it to her mouth, sliding her tongue over the soft mound as she rolled her nipple in her fingers.

Vilkos tensed every muscle he had, focused his will and strength, and yanked against the magic restraining him. One arm moved a fraction of an inch.

Shisti noticed, flicked her eyes back to his and gave him another one of those smiles he didn’t like. Her eyes half closed as she slid a hand down her body and pushed two fingers into her cunt. She brought herself to orgasm quickly, back arching, head thrown back.

Turning in his lap, she faced the Wild Hunt, not him, as she spread her legs. She let them see her tits and cunt while all he saw was the back of her head.

Shisti rode him, gliding her slick pussy along his dick, holding him in one hand, but never taking him inside. She gave herself over to her desires. Moans she'd never offered him echoed around the room. She thrust and rotated her hips with abandon.

The sound of her wetness as she worked to bring herself to orgasm again teased his ears. The musky scent of her sex filled his nose.

Every man in the room groaned and grunted. All eyes fixed on his mate as she writhed atop him.

“You’re going to come. They’re all going to come.” Shisti panted, speaking the words in a throaty voice full of lust. She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her pupils dilated, and she inhaled deep. “I’m going to come.”

Shisti’s glowing skin brightened until he had to squint while he watched her.

Her magic built to impossible levels. Where was she getting so much power? It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. All he could do was feel her fingers gripping him tighter. The strokes jerked him faster.

Unable to resist anymore, his balls drew up and his dick emptied into her hand. Snarls, howls, and grunts told him every man had just done the same thing.

She released her hold on him and held up her dripping hand. As he watched, her skin absorbed his seed until her glowing skin was once again pristine.

That felt like the biggest violation of the night. Power games were one thing. Being forced to watch her… feeding on his essence was something completely different.

Her cold grey eyes met his. "So, perhaps now you understand the difference between an orgasm and pleasure."

Shisti climbed off his lap, leaving him full of rage and dissatisfaction. Unashamed and unrepentant, she gracefully descended the roots, stooped to lift her dress from the floor, and covered her nakedness. As her fingers tied the laces to secure her dress, she ran her eyes around the room.

"Gentlemen, feel free to smell me now." She inclined her head toward him, eyes landed on his cock, glistening with copious evidence of her orgasms.

"Ladies." She clapped her hands once. "Come along. It's time to go."

The girls, now able to move, held the scraps of their clothing together, scrambled to their feet, and preceded Shisti as she sauntered out the door without a backward glance.

Vilkos fought against the air still binding him to his seat. His emotions were clear now.

He'd known he was playing with fire. But it was Shisti who would burn for this.





Dayiel trudged along the sandy road. It wasn't much of a road, just a slightly flatter place among dunes. Wind constantly blew loose sand across the track. Only regular caravans left signs of a route marking here to there.

With sunset close, the scorching afternoon temperature settled into a cooler range as the sands changed from golden to rose hues. Although, even in the hottest part of the day, he didn't sweat in his leathers and armor. His skin didn't burn. He didn't sleep, eat, or feel thirst. He walked day and night with no destination, just a direction. There was no logical reason. Just an absolute certainty that this way led to Azar.

Footsteps thundered behind him, and a man shouted, "Dayiel!"

He drew his sword and spun in one motion. Two lines seared down his back, one on either side of his spine. The strange, fiery phenomenon occured whenever he readied for a fight. A memory of an injury, maybe?

In the week since he'd left his home, holding the blade in his hand had become natural. His memories hadn't returned, even though his blinding headaches were growing worse and more frequent, but he could defend himself. That gave him hope he'd be able to fight for Azar when he found her.

The man running toward him was big. As tall as Dayiel's six-and-a-half foot height, but broader across the shoulders, and dark where Dayiel was fair-haired and light-eyed. The man's name escaped Dayiel, but he recognized him. He lived near Dayiel's old home, but was dressed all wrong. Instead of farmer's clothes, he wore black leather. A wide, curved sword hung at his hip.

He came to a stop in front of Dayiel. Out of breath, he braced his hands on his knees and squinted up at Dayiel. "You set a brisk pace, my friend. And no notice you were leaving! Some people might think you didn't want my company."

Did he want this man's company? "I know you."

"Yes, Dayiel. I'm Zrel." He spoke in the patient tone people used when they were explaining something they'd explained to him before. Standing, Zrel put his hands on his hips and twisted from side to side. "Do you remember?"

Dayiel nodded. Given the name, he recalled being told the same name before. "I saw you in the village. What are you doing here?"

"Oh." Zrel's shoulders sagged. "It's been a long time since I saw you dressed like..." He flapped a hand at Dayiel's armor "That. I thought you remembered, um, before."

"You knew me… before?" Maybe Zrel could help with his memory. At the thought of remembering, a spike of agony pierced his skull behind his left eye. Dayiel turned and walked rapidly. If he didn't think so much, the headache might go away.

Zrel jogged alongside him. "We've known each other longer than either of us cares to remember, even if you could remember. Which of course, you can't. We're friends."

Friends. Some people in the village weren't as judgmental, but he couldn't call them friends. Could he? Zrel hadn't moved to draw his sword.

Dayiel sheathed his blade as he walked in the direction that led to Azar.

Zrel kept pace. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I have to find Azar."

"Your daughter?" Zrel grabbed Dayiel's arm, bringing him to a halt. "What happened? There wasn't any news in the village."

Should he have told someone in the village? Dayiel stared between Zrel's hand and face. The man said they were friends. But was that true? If they were friends, why couldn't he remember him from before? And why hadn't they seen each other more? He didn't remember this man ever coming to his house. Or going to his. They'd never shared a drink or a meal.

But the man had traveled for a week to find him, and run all the way. Dayiel hadn't stopped to eat or sleep. If this man was a friend, what could it hurt to tell him? And if he wasn't, how could he make things worse? Azar was already kidnapped.

"The bird stole Azar."

"The… bird? What kind of bird?"

Dayiel nodded, eager to talk about something he remembered so clearly. "He was in the trees. Azar went to talk to the birds. Why must she always talk to the birds?"

"You know why she talks to the birds, Dayiel." Zrel spoke in a soft voice, like people did when they pitied him for his memory problems.

Did he know why Azar talked to the birds? Pain momentarily blinded him and threatened to take him under until he released that thought. It didn't matter anymore. He walked again. "The raven took her and flew away."

"Raven?" Zerel caught up, nodded like that was believable, and sounded relieved. "So, where are we going? Do you know who he is or where he took her?"

Dayiel came to a stop and turned to face Zrel. "Why are you here?"

"What? You don't think I'm going to let you have all the fun, do you? I'm coming with you. Friends don't let friends go to war alone."

He'd known he'd have to fight to save Azar. The raven had taken her. He wasn't likely to just give her back. "Is that what we're doing? Going to war?"

"If not to get your daughter back, we'll have to fight a war to get to her, if you're going where I think you're going."

"Where am I going?"

Zrel sighed. "It's a good thing I'd follow you into Hell, my friend, because that's where we're heading."

Hell. Images of flames and black-winged monsters flitted across his mind before bright, white pain took Dayiel to his knees. He wrenched his thoughts to Azar.

He had to find her. Save her from the birds.

His vision cleared, allowing him to stagger to his feet. Zrel held his arm until Dayiel steadied himself. He studied Zrel's dark eyes, trying to decide if he could be trusted.

"Do you know what I am? Why I can't remember? What causes my back to burn sometimes? How I know how to use a sword?"

Zrel blew out a breath. "Yes. But it might be better if you let your memories return on their own. Too big a shock might be… damaging."

Dayiel laughed and held out his arms. "I'm already damaged! Please. If we are friends, tell me of my past. I think it's better I know."

"I don't think this is the best time to talk." Zrel scanned the sky. "Never can tell who might be loitering."

Invisible people in the sky? Zrel might be crazy, too.

"I'm not losing my mind." Zrel shook a finger at Dayiel. "Look. There's one thing we can try, but you need to pause your journey to do it. It'll probably make you pass out, given what I just saw, and here in the open isn't the place for it." He sighed. "I promised her I would only do this as an absolute last resort."

"Promised who?"

"Adeen. I promised Adeen when the time came... If the time came, I would help you."

Dayiel's heart beat faster. "You knew Adeen… before?"

"Yes, Dayiel. I've known her as long as you have."

"Adeen died. I remember Adeen died." He would never forget that day of blood and ashes.

"Yeah, yeah." Zrel flapped his hand again. "I know what happened that day."

The words seemed odd. What happened. Not that Adeen died. "What do you know? Did she die? Was that real?"

"It was real, but not the whole truth."

How could something be real but not true? He needed answers. "Why didn't you help me before?"

Zrel's shoulders slumped. "If I help you, everything changes and there's no going back. You could have lost Azar."

"But now I've already lost Azar."


"And Adeen wanted you to help me."


He would do anything for Adeen. She'd never hurt him. If she trusted Zrel, he had to, even if he didn't remember him. "The next village. We'll stop there."

"You're sure?"

No. How could he be? "Yes."


Impatience made the trip seem even longer, even without stops, but mid-way through the next morning, an oasis village came into view. Brick buildings with roofs made of palm leaves curved halfway around a blue lake. Tall trees offered a bit of shade that unladen camels occupied.

Not the largest or most prosperous, but they'd have somewhere safe and private for whatever happened. The chance to restore his memories seemed too good to be true, but he couldn't wait to try.

Zrel bartered for meals and accommodation, turning over coins to use a house for a few days.

Coins! Dayiel berated himself. He should have brought coins, but he hadn't thought to. He knew he needed money. What had he done with his coins? They might be on the cart at home.

Maybe birds had taken them, too. Azar's ravens liked to steal shiny things.

"Come on, Dayiel." Zrel led the way through the marketplace. The aromas of spices competed with perfumes. Merchants offered bright silks and jewelry. "I've found a house we can use for a few days."

A few days? Uneasiness opened a pit in his stomach. Would he be helpless for so long? Could he trust Zrel? Would Azar get farther away? What about his headaches?

Zrel stopped at a variety of stalls to haggle for wine, bread, cheese, and fruit. "There'll be cooked meals delivered later, but we'll have to fend for ourselves now."

Dayiel ambled along behind his friend, unsure whether to mention he didn't feel hunger or thirst anymore. Purchases completed, Zrel made his way out of the busy part of the village into a quieter residential area. He stopped in front of a small house made of brick that looked like every other house.

"This is us." Zrel pushed the door open and entered.

The furnishings were simple, but appeared srurdy. The main area combined a cooking hearth, dining area, and common seating area comprised of cushions on the time floor. A room at the back was separated by hanging beads and contained two beds.

Dayiel sat on one of the beds and faced Zrel, who sat on the other. "What do I have to do?"

Zrel chuckled. "Right to it, then, I see. You're sure you want to do this? There's no going back."

"I have to. I have to save Azar. I have to remember before. Tell me what happened."

"Your memory is broken because you Fell."

"Fell." That didn't seem like it would cause such extensive memory loss. "Did I injure my head when I… fell?"

"Not that kind of fall." Zrel chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "You fell in !ove, then Fell to be with Adeen."

"Adeen died."

Zrel shook his head. "Adeen… you'll see when you remember. And since she was your anchor, your mind broke a bit more when you lost her, but you held it together for Azar. Adeen was proud of you."

"Azar still needs me." Dayiel glared at Zrel. "I need to remember. If I can't save her because my memories are fog and you could have helped me, I will no longer consider us friends."

That earned a grin. "You always were uppity." Zrel reached into a pocket and removed a vial. "Drink this."

Dayiel took the vial, opened it, and sniffed the contents. Nothing he could detect.

"It's water. From the river of memories. Adeen fought through several Underworlds to get the water in case you ever needed to remember. Your wife is one fierce woman."

"Adeen is dead."

"Drink, my friend. You won't believe me if I tell you. See for yourself."

Dayiel put the vial to his lips and downed the contents. White hot agony lanced through his head.



Raven Chronicles, Chapters 14-18




Moon-Clad, Shisti knelt on the thick rug in front of the fireplace in her suite of rooms. She longed to be outside, bare under the night sky. Or in the middle of a storm as wind, thunder, and lightning fed her power. While the Fae had no issue with nakedness, or most kinds of magic, they didn't like witches.

For what she wanted to do, being that much closer to her magic would have been a comfort, but she was used to making do trapped in this pile of black rock.

She drew her athame down her arm. The sharp ritual blade sent a red cascade into the incantation bowl she used for spell work, and the pain focused her on the reason for the magic — an unwanted life growing inside her.

Her visions were never wrong. Fechin would become king, not Vilkos. And she would put him on the throne. That wasn't possible if she was pregnant with Vilkos' child.

Shisti chanted the death magic that would harness the energy as the baby died. Infant deaths contained raw magic. If only she'd had the chance a week ago, on the longest night of the year. That was an especially auspicious time to take power.

Again, she would make do. Her power spun magic around her like a tornado, tearing at the flames, billowing her curtains, and whipping her hair. Shisti directed her power inward, searching for the life that fed on her, and found not one, but two.

The boy felt like a wolf.

The girl, though, did not.

She felt like magic and happiness, and a future of endless possibilities. An unfamiliar sense of protectiveness seized her.

A daughter. Shisti could love a daughter. She would take her away from courts, and intrigue, and manipulative people who would use her. A daughter would love her in return. The two of them would be happy together, and Shisti would do everything possible to protect her.

But first, she had to get rid of this boy. The son who would bind her to Vilkos and give him a chance for the Raven throne.

The first part of her spell finished, Shisti opened her mouth to add the killing words. They wouldn't come. She heard them in her head, but her tongue wouldn't utter the words she needed and they remained stuck as a lump in her throat.


He'd done this to her. Vilkos and his command to protect the child.

She hurled her athame against the wall so hard the blade slid into the stone. In a mindless rage, she threw her bowl of blood into the fire and stormed around her bedroom.

She pressed her hands to her abdomen and willed herself calm. This rage wasn't good for her daughter. She focused on serenity and sent love to her girl.

I will endure this. I will survive, and we will be free. I promise you, my daughter.





Fechin loved her desperately. Or, so he said. But if he loved her, how could he do all those things to her? Why wouldn't he talk to her? He seemed sure to the point of arrogance that she would love him in return, but she didn't now. At least she'd been able to keep that much of herself to herself.

She’d had a life he didn’t understand where she’d had to work hard just to get enough to eat every day, and some days she hadn’t eaten at all. Now she had no worries.

Except for her father. He was alone.

Except she was pregnant.

Except she was a prisoner, unable to remain angry with her kidnapper.

She had to do better.

This man wanted to ransom her father for a child. A baby he'd already created within her. How was she supposed to love someone who would use her body and her love like that?

The rooms were sumptuous, the furnishings lavish. The house she shared with her father would fit in the bedroom alone.

None of it appealed to her.

Especially when she touched the windows and balcony doors, but was rebuffed by a barrier that kept her safely indoors. She wasn't to the point of wanting to kill herself, but being able to go outside would be nice. She threw herself into a chair and thought.

A gentle tap on the door preceded its opening.

"Hello, Smiley." She'd resorted to naming the child-sized men for traits she could see when they'd explained they didn't share their names with anyone. They seemed like to like the nicknames she gave them.

The brownies were the only people she saw other than Fechin in the week since she'd arrived. They kept the fire lit and brought her endless trays of food.

The food, delicious and richer than anything she'd eaten before, could be another trap. What if there was something in it that made her more open to Fechin's suggestions? She couldn't starve herself — she had to keep her strength up — but missing one meal wouldn't hurt her, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone hungry.

She glared at the offerings. Meat. Vegetables. Bread. Cake. Water. Wine.

Azar carried the tray to the window. She couldn't leave, but air entered. Maybe the food could get out. She tore the bread into bits and tossed a scrap at the window. It passed through the barrier and landed on the balcony.

She'd have to throw harder, or she'd have a pile of evidence showing her rebellion. Fechin would probably insist on watching her eat in order to protect his child.

The child.

Azar angrily hurled a second piece of bread. It arched over the balcony. A dark shape swooped through the air and snatched it out of the air. A raven!

The bird landed on the railing and devoured its snack. It cawed, and more black birds perched along the balcony.

Azar cut everything into bite-sized pieces. As she prepared to fling the food outside, the ravens swooped into her room instead. They helped themselves to everything on the tray. She eyed the door in case Fechin returned, but the food was gone in no time.

One bird dipped his beak into the wine goblet. Azar laughed. "I don't think you should drink that." She gently pushed his beak away and poured the beverage down the sink in the bathroom.

Azar stroked soft feathers on glossy heads. "Thank you for your assistance. This had to be just between us, all right?"

Laughter answered her.

“See you at dinner?”

The ravens cawed and flew out the balcony doors.

Did she feel differently now? Not physically, but she'd have to wait for Fechin to return to test her theory.


Azar stared out over the forest yet again. She would learn nothing about this place if she remained trapped in this tower. She had to get out of this room and figure out where she was if she had any chance of escaping and finding her father.

Wherever this place was. It was far from the desert oasis of her home. From her windows, she had a view of the ocean, miles of trees, and even snowy mountains in the distance.

She tried to ignore the opulence of the castle. She'd agreed not to fight, not that she wouldn't try to escape. It was merely a redirection. Like Fechin used sex with her. It had to seem real, though.

With a sigh, she opened the door to the closet and examined the array of fancy, expensive clothing awaiting her. If she sold a single one of these gowns, she’d have enough money to feed her father and herself for a month, easily. And there were so many.

Azar ran her fingers over the soft material. Some of the dresses looked too complicated. There was no way to get them on by herself. She pulled off her tunic and trousers. Settling on a green dress with only a few laces in the front, she lifted it from the hangar and slipped it over her head. The shiny material whispered over her body and swirled around her ankles.

The mirror showed her a girl trying to play dress up, and she frowned at herself. Is that what Fechin would see? That wouldn’t help. She went into the bathroom and opened drawers until she found some combs adorned with brilliant green stones. Fancy hairdos proved to be harder to figure out than elaborate dresses, but she managed some twists that didn’t look too ridiculous. A little color on her lips and cheeks, and she was done.

She practiced walking in a pair of high-heeled slippers so she didn’t fall on her face until dinnertime, when Smiley delivered another tray.

He gave her a friendly smile. “You look very nice, Azar.” He winked. “Green is Fechin’s favorite color.”

“Thank you.” It was reassuring that she didn’t look preposterous, but the Brownies probably would never say so, even if she did.

After he departed, she ignored the tray. She could always throw the food out the window later, if it came to that. She wrapped a blanket around herself and stood by the window to wait for her captor.

The door opened without a knock and closed with a click. Azar didn't bother to look up. It was Fechin. He never knocked, and his presence surrounded her.

"You've not touched your meal." He sighed. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't fight anymore."

She turned to face him and let the blanket drop to the floor.

He stared at her. While he didn’t speak, his eyes ran up and down the length of her, like she was dinner.

Azar walked toward him, pleased when she didn’t twist her ankle. "I don't want to fight, but I want to leave this room. If you want me to eat, take me somewhere else."


"You keep me here, come in for sex, and leave me alone again. If you want to have any chance of making me happy here, I want to meet others. I want at least the freedom to go to a library, or the kitchen, or anywhere else than the room you keep your bed in, because right now, it seems like that's all I'm here for."

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

Azar put a hand on his arm. It was the first time she'd touched him on her own. He realized it too, judging by his intake of breath and widened eyes. "I’m trying to meet you halfway, but you have to compromise, too. If I'm truly not a prisoner, don't treat me like one."

He stared at her hand on his forearm, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Very well. Tonight, we will eat in one of the dining rooms with a few guests.”





Shisti strode through the rooms, gardens, and corridors, a beatific smile firmly in place. She'd been brought up to never show any annoyance, discomfort, or sadness. None of the courtiers she passed would know how her fury simmered beneath the surface of her skin.

Fury at Vilkos. The rape she could forgive. That was only about power after all, and she'd channeled that sex magic even as he thought he held all the control. She'd been nearly drunk on the level of energy created between them by the time his rut ended.

No, her fury was at the control he still wielded over her. As soon as she freed herself from his compulsion, he would regret daring to touch her, and he would die for planting a child in her womb.

Every time Vilkos had used her body while he was in his mindless rut, he thought he was dominating her. Overpowering her, but the magic he used to hold her down and fuck her, she saved, and would use to fuck him in the end.

Sex, blood, and death were the strongest ways to fuel magic. The life inside her — created by sex, it held Vilkos' blood, and would soon die.


When the time came, she would harness it to kill him.

Courtiers’ whispers carried on tendrils of listening spells reached her ears.

A woman. The king has a consort! She's beautiful. An heir! Fechin will be king!

What was all this? She and Fechin had a deal. Casting an illusion over herself, she tracked the whispers through the palace to a private dining room and entered one of the secret corridors that riddled the palace. Servants used them to remain out of sight. Shisti had discovered them when one had attempted to escape passing her in the hall and hadn’t been quite fast enough to disappear before she saw him.

Shisti nearly lost control of her emotions as she peered through the spyhole and caught sight of the woman sitting next to Fechin.

Petite. Beautiful.

His little whore smelled like sex.

Like him.

Shisti knew Fechin's scent. She'd scrubbed it off her own skin often enough.

He'd broken their bargain.

That meant she was free to kill whoever she liked.

Fechin touched the woman's cheek and smiled at her.

He'd never smiled at her at all, much less like that. One man had, before her father made him disappear. Tears sprang to her eyes, shocking her. She thought she’d cried for the last time years ago.

She watched them throughout the otherwise boring dinner, like hundreds of dinners before.

Fechin hadn't just had sex with Azar. He loved her.

And Azar… she did not love him. She tolerated his touch, but her face was a mask. Shisti recognized the false emotions. She’d worn them, too.

Shisti hid the laughter bubbling up inside her behind the tiniest of smiles. While the broken bargain allowed her to kill this consort of his, there was some fun to be had here if she kept the girl alive.

She could always kill Azar later. After Fechin had fallen even deeper in love. When it would hurt all the more and Fechin least expected it. After she turned the woman Fechin loved against him.

Some things were worth waiting for, and sips of revenge over time were something to savor.





From his place at the table, Fechin watched out for Shisti. Not seeing her at dinner surprised him. The two of them had long since stopped keeping a pretense of civility between them. He dined alone or with courtiers while she dined in her rooms. But he’d been sure Shisti would hear about Azar and some dramatics would ensue.

He'd broken their bargain. She was free to murder again, and he had the sinking sensation the witch planned to start with Azar. His magic was strongest here in the palace. Shisti was powerful, but he could trap her behind some wards. She would escape eventually, but one Azar gave birth to his heir, he would come into his full power as king. Then he could banish Shisti from court forever.

Azar chatted with the Elf, Selkie, and Trow around her, as at ease and friendly with them as she was standoffish with him. The Brownies had fallen in love with her from the moment they'd met her, much like he had. Despite her ire with him, she'd been only kind to them.

Kidnapping her wasn't the best start to their relationship, but he was as much a prisoner of circumstances as she was in Inisfail. The idea of siring his heirs with anyone else didn't appeal. She was his choice.

As the meal progressed, Azar lost some of her icy demeanor toward him, even accepting a bite of food from his plate. In addition to dressing in clothes he’d picked for her, those were the first signs of a thaw from her, and he cherished them. Now they could build a genuine relationship between them.

After the dessert course, he leaned toward her. "I'd like to show you a place special to me. Will you come?" Azar nodded and put her hand in his.

She looked much happier. A glow to her skin and a sparkle in her eyes. He had doubts about bringing her in public with the dangers all around her, but it had been the right thing to do.

He led her through acres of gardens to a door at the base of the ravens’ tower. She was breathless when they arrived at the top of the steps.

He opened the door and held it for her. She scooted past him into the room.

"Ravens." She gave him a genuine smile — the first since he'd brought her to Inisfail Fae territory.

“I know you like birds. The ravens live here. The largest one is called Mischief, and this is Tricks. The tower is off-limits to everyone but me, and now you.”

Azar moved easily among them, and the birds accepted her attentions, fluffing their feathers and holding out their wings, bumping each other to get more caresses. Fechin could relate. What he wouldn't give for her to touch him as freely.

A brownie entered the tower room, gave Azar a bashful smile as he waved.

"Hello, Smiley. You look nice in your uniform." He'd even combed his hair. The little man's wizened cheeks flushed at her compliments.

"Your Highness, the Merrow and the Selkie have been waiting for an audience. But you've been busy, and they say they won't wait anymore. If you won't see them, they'll go to war."

Fechin closed his eyes and searched for patience, blowing out a breath. He had to deal with this now. "I must attend to a small matter that cannot wait. Stay here until I return for you." She should be happy enough among the birds. Hopefully, this wouldn't take long and they could return to a pleasant evening.

He changed to his raven form and leapt out the window. Flight was the quickest way to the throne room. When he arrived, two men were toe to toe, angry faces a scant inch from one another as they yelled.

The Merrow had long hair in shades of green, and the Selkie had sable coloring. Both were red-faced from yelling.

"Your rapist son stole my daughter's pelt and kidnapped her!" the Selkie shouted.

"Your whore of a daughter seduced my son." the Merrow bellowed in return. "You whores steal our people like you stole our land!"

"We stole nothing! We’ve tried to live in peace. If you don’t like us so close, you're welcome to slaughter the satyrs. We had to leave our territory! They were selling us into slavery!"

Fechin resisted the urge to knock their skulls together. "Where are this Merrow son and Selkie daughter now?"

"Gone.” the Selkie snarled. “I've just received word of my daughter's kidnapping."

The Merrow snorted. "No one had to kidnap her! I've seen her mooning over my son."

"Enough!" Fechin paced. It sounded like the son and daughter had run off together. It was an excellent plan — one he wished he could duplicate with Azar.

Fortunately, the Merrow and Selkie were both Seelie, and would listen to him. "If they've gone missing recently, they can't have gone far. I’ll alert my army to find them, and bring them to me." While he said the right words to appease the angry fathers, he hoped the couple had covered their tracks well enough to remain hidden.





I must attend to a small matter that cannot wait. Stay here until I return for you.

Azar bristled as she repeated the words in a mocking falsetto. Her prison had expanded, but it was still a prison.

She pressed her hand to each window in turn, fingers coming into contact with the invisible barrier that kept her inside. This was an opportunity, though, and she wouldn't waste it. She needed to know where to go when a chance presented itself. Surely not every exit was blocked to her.

Would these birds talk to her like the ones at home? "Will you show me what you've seen?" The largest bird, Mischief, hopped to her.

Azar closed her eyes. Images of a vast forest filled her mind as the raven swooped after a headless man riding a horse. The raven cackled a sound a lot like laughter as the man swing a whip made of bones at her.

"You think that's funny, do you?" The man’s head, cradled in the crook of one of his arms, glared at the raven.

One by one, more birds shared their memories of the landscapes they flew over. No desert oasis. Where had Fechin brought her? She'd never make it home on foot if it was too far for a bird to fly.

New anger at Fechin sent heat through her blood.

Heedless of his orders to stay put, Azar left the birds, her temporary newfound acceptance of her circumstances vanishing.

He'd brought her so far away.

He'd never let her go.

And now she couldn't find her way home.

At the bottom of the steps, she held a hand to the door, elated when the expected barrier wasn't there. She entered the garden, wandering through the green trees, and black and red flowers. Her path meandered, taking her by several fountains and a pond with a wooden bridge spanning its width.

Azar sat on a bench in front of the pond, reluctant to return inside. The gardens weren't a forest, but seeing the open sky overhead and the trees around her made her feel less of a prisoner.

She kicked off the uncomfortable shoes, drew her legs to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees.

"May I join you?"

Azar jerked her head up. A woman with silvery hair, grey eyes, and a blue hue to her skin stood next to the bench. "You're beautiful. Like you’re made from stars."

She flushed as the woman stiffened. Had she said the wrong thing? This lady in front of her carried herself with confidence. She wouldn't have to wonder how to put on any of the gowns in Azar's closet, or how to make her hair elegant. She felt like a simpleton next to this woman’s sophistication.

Abruptly, Azar realized she hadn't answered the woman's question and indicated the bench. "I apologize if I offended you. Please sit down. I’m Azar."

"My name is Shisti." The woman sank gracefully onto the bench.

Dinner was nice, but full of men who simpered and were probably only nice to her because they wanted to impress Fechin. This was Azar’s chance to make an actual friend.


Raven Chronicles, Chapters 11-13




Ymir drifted as fog in Niflheim, the Land of Mist. There were times he regretted the loss of his body. On the other hand, death provided an excellent alibi, he'd lost none of his power, and traveled the realms at will.

Odin and his brothers, Vili and Ve, ruled Asgard. Believed because they'd killed him, or so they thought, that made them gods. Ymir snorted. Upstart Fae. They'd taken his body, claiming to have created the universe from his corpse. The fools. He was primordial. Etir, the substance that created everything, flowed in his veins. Simply dismembering his body didn't kill that.

Hel, daughter of Loki, ruled Niflheim. She was no friend of Odin — he'd banished her, fettered her brother Fenrir, and thrown Jormungand, her other brother, into an abyss.

She was building an army and had a plan to get rid of Odin. No one did revenge like Hel. Ymir approved. Why couldn’t Shisti be more like her?

Gathering himself, he floated toward the World Tree, Yggdrasil. The three wells in the roots and the branches provided entry to other realms.

The well that led to Jotunheim, the land of giants, he passed by, in favor of the well leading to the abode of the Norns. The hags were useful — able to see destiny.

He slid up the side of the stone and flowed out the top, using liquid etir to form a rough human shape.

"Ymir," the Norns chorused.

One giantess paused, her ladle going still in the cauldron hanging over the flames in the fireplace. One of her sisters glanced up from the book in her lap. The third studied a scattering of stones and bones on the table in front of her.

He couldn't tell them apart. All three of them wore shapeless grey dresses, had the height of their Jotun ancestry, blue eyes, and thick golden hair they wore in braids.

"What do you want, Ymir?" they asked as one.

"What news of the Morrigan?"

The Norns stood, abandoning their activities to form a triangle with him in the center. They linked hands and their eyes glowed as they channeled their magic.

"The Morrigan lies beyond our sight."

The same disappointing answer he'd been getting since the end of the war. It told him nothing. Had the wretched woman died? Traveled to an unknown world? He'd searched all the realms he could, as well as the minds of newly slain heroes. None of them knew anything.

"Tell me news of my daughter." Two years. Shisti had been at Inisfail Court for two years and not managed to get pregnant. She would — the Norns had seen it, and Shisti's own visions showed she would make Fechin king. How long did it take to fuck a man?

He'd made sure she had the appropriate education — the dead heroes in Valhalla had taught her everything she needed to know. When she'd gone to the Raven Court, any delusions of love as something necessary or permitted had long been destroyed. She had one purpose.

Eyes glowing brighter, the Norns tilted their heads back.


"With child."

"Shisti grows life."

For a second, he thought he'd heard wrong, but with the way the Norns had of saying the same thing three times, there was no mistake. Finally. When the Raven Throne was under his control, he could put his plans for Asgard underway. The Morrigan had a treaty with Odin for no other reason than she liked his faen ravens, Hugin and Munin.

Even Hel's scorned fury was no match for the Morrigan. She had to be out of the way before his plan could work.

"Will Shisti have a son?"

"Yes." One Norn gave him a smug smile. "She will birth a son."

Ymir frowned. The Norns loved their games, answering questions without telling the questioner anything useful. There must be a catch. "The Raven's heir?"

They cackled. "The Wolf's."

Ymir clenched his fists. Could she do nothing right? The stupid girl couldn't even get fucked by the right man. Was this some revenge for sending her there? "Will the boy take the Raven throne?" That was all that mattered. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged.

"There is another."

"Another son!"

"The Raven's son!"

He resisted the urge to sigh. Of course there was. "What must I do to rule Inisfail?"

"A daughter is needed."

"Your daughter."

"To slay the Raven's son."

"Then my blood will rule Inisfail?"

"If there is no daughter, your blood will never rule Inisfail."

"Who must the mother be?"

"A Valkyrie."

"The greatest Valkyrie!"

"She will bear the daughter who kills the Raven's son."

With the Raven’s son dead, the way to the throne would be open for the son Shisti would bear. "When does this daughter need to be created?"

"No time like the present.”

“Unless it’s the past.”

“Or the future.”

The Norns cackled again.


Ymir slid past the golden tree Laeradr and entered Valhalla — his favorite playground. Golden shields lined the ceiling and walls of the great drinking hall, and fallen heroes always sat at the long tables drinking and feasting, no matter the hour. Odin kept them in reserve for the day Ragnarok occurred.

Ever since Odin and his brothers had taken Ymir’s body, he'd been working to turn the Valkyries into his personal harem and private army. When the time was right, Odin would die, but not a glorious death in an apocalyptic battle at the end of the world. The real threat lived much closer, and would result in a far more insignificant and ignominious death. Hel would see to that.

In the meantime, Ymir had a different matter to see to. One that required a body suitable to create a daughter. A warrior with prowess and intelligence. Not drunk enough to make him clumsy, but intoxicated enough to allow let Ymir feel the heat in his blood.

Fortunately, Valhalla contained any number of bodies he could use.

He surveyed his options. With a simple touch, he influenced thoughts of the fallen heroes drinking in the mead hall. The first so-called hero was an idiot — all brawn with no brain.. The second was far too drunk. The fifth had a touch of magic about him and sensed Ymir's intrusion. He wasn't drunk at all, only pretending interest in the drink. Clever.

Ymir sent etir into the man, battling the his will to remain himself. Skimming the man's mind, Ymir sought information he could use. The warrior was called The Demon, and although young, had slain many in battles. He worshipped Odin.

Well, no one was perfect.

Ymir shoved The Demon's awareness back and rose from the seat awkwardly, fighting for control as he remembered how to wear muscle and skin. He stumbled a step, the man's drinking companions roaring in laughter, assuming he was drunk. He reeled down the aisle between long feasting tables, gait smoothing into confident strides as Ymir gained control. He walked the body away from the men's quarters, turning at the end of the hall toward the building the Valkyries occupied.

The man stopped struggling at the realization of their destination.

Locked doors posed no problem to etir. The Valkyries’ quarters were nearly as sparse as the men's. When they became Valkyries, they left all trappings of their mortal lives behind. Weapons and armor made up the extent of their possessions, along with their flying horses. No frilly curtains or trinkets cluttered the space.

Ymir needed the greatest Valkyrie.

Currently, that was Skera.

He'd visited her before and directed the Demon to her sleeping quarters. Muscled, fair-haired, and blue eyed, she was a fierce warrioress, as apt to slay men herself as to escort them to Valhalla.

Skera preferred a woman's touch, as evidenced by her bed partner, but that didn't matter. She lay on her back, thighs spread as a woman licked her cunt.

Ymir wound etir up the leg of the bed and into both women — taking Skera's mind captive and sending her partner's into slumber.

She fought against his control. Her body arched with the strain of her attempts to break free.

The Demon hardly needed a leash anymore. He was eager to fuck a Valkyrie.

“No need to close your legs on my account.” Ymir slid etir around a bare foot and up a smooth calf. The liquid flowed over her body, forming bonds around her ankles, knees, and wrists, holding her in place.

He took deeper control of her mind slowly. It was so much more rewarding when they realized they couldn't win. Couldn't stop him. Every woman knew his presence, if not his name.

The Demon pushed the sleeping woman out of his way and climbed onto the bed between Skera's splayed legs. He wanted to dominate her. Command her. Thinking of this Valkyrie forced to obey him excited the man. His cock lay along her pussy, and he rocked against her, sliding through the abundant slickness her previous partner had created.

The body Ymir was in liked breasts. He cupped one, bringing his lips to her nipple, circling it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth to suck and graze the hard bud with his teeth. Skera stared at the ceiling, doing her best to impassively ignore him.

The Demon didn't like her inattention. A growl rumbled his chest.

He clamped calloused fingertips around her nipple until Skera squirmed, sweeping his flattened tongue over her soft flesh and closing his mouth over the tip, flicking it with his tongue. Another flick, and she arched into him. He steadied her, a hand at her hip, and latched on to her breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth.

She shuddered.

He moved to her other breast but didn’t assault it with the same fervor he gave to the first. He toyed with it, swiping his tongue around her nipple but not touching the tip. He grasped it between his fingers, rolling it, pinching and pulling in tandem to the teasing his mouth delivered to the other erect bud.

The Demon captured the peak between his teeth and slowly bit. Skera closed her eyes. His low groan was muffled by the flesh in his mouth. Each time he tugged on the sensitive flesh, her muscles tensed. He sucked harder and his teeth dented the skin. She jerked under the assault.

Ymir slid his finger into her hot, wet folds, stroking her clit, rubbing her juices over it, making it slicker and wetter. She pressed against his hand. He stroked slowly, rhythmically, down to her entrance and back up to her clit, circling it before moving down to her entrance once more.

His lips found her mouth, and he kissed her, his tongue moving with hers in rhythm with his slow thrusts as Ymir made her kiss the Demon. He kept his thumb on her clit, teasing it, feeling the build of tension, the way her thighs clenched, and her breathing became labored. He stroked her. Forced her to ride the edge.

Ymir slid into Skera's memories, making her feel recent pleasure. Another nip, another stoke, some pressure from teeth and fingertips, and an orgasm rushed over her. She trembled with the clenching waves tightening her core.

Instinct took over now. Ymir hardly had to control them at all.

The Demon kissed his way down the column of Skera’s throat. At the dip where shoulder met neck, he nibbled, then latched his mouth over the spot and bit until the pleasure bordered on pain before easing back.

He kissed his way across her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel. The brush of his lips on her thigh left her quivering, and the slight pressure of his teeth on her clit tore a shaky sigh from her. His teeth clamped around the bundle of nerves and he bit. She cried out.

Laving away the sting, he swiped his tongue over the hurt. She jumped when he slid a finger into her slick core.

"You like to fuck women, hmm? Have you had more than fingers?"

Skera ignored him.

He moved his finger in and out while teasing her clit, sucking and nipping, adding a second finger when her pussy tightened. She squirmed, trying to get away. There was no escape. He dragged his fingers out of her quivering sex and poised them at her entrance. “You’re going to come for me. Hard. Do you understand?” He didn’t give her the chance to respond. He flicked her clit at the same time as he slammed his fingers into her pussy. His palm smacked her lower lips, and the orgasm whipped through her.

The Demon smirked into Skera's furious glare. Satisfied he'd proved his point, now the man wanted to fuck her. The jerky movement of his hands as he skimmed them up her thighs betrayed his excitement. He shoved her legs farther apart.

He slid the head of his cock along her wet slit as he thrust. She gasped and tensed under him. She squeezed her inner muscles in an attempt to keep him out, but with a rough push, he entered her. Willing women were fine, but this taking of what she didn't want him to have, making her feel pleasure even in her disdain, was a new thrill for the Demon. He pulled back and rolled his hips to work more of his cock inside, stretching her with short thrusts, each one taking him deeper. With one more steady push, he joined them fully.

“You feel good. So damn tight. I knew you would be.”

He paused, buried to the balls in her wet heat. Sliding a hand between them, he sought her clit, finding the swollen bud. He knew how she liked to be touched now, and stroked her, bringing her body to the edge of orgasm again. Her jaw tightened, and she closed her eyes, fighting the pleasure he forced on her. He toyed with her, teasing her with light strokes that he knew weren't enough, then giving her sharp pinches or a smack before returning to the stroking she liked.

A sheen of sweat made her skin glisten. His pants and moans matched hers, and it took all his control not to move inside her as their battle escalated. Her continued resistance made him harder. More eager to fuck her. And determined to make her come on his dick on his terms.

He groaned as her pussy spasmed and contracted rhythmically around his cock.

"Good girl. Your body was made to please a man."

She jerked against her bonds, body arching as she pulled against them. Her blue eyes were open now, staring at the Demon with utter contempt.

He gave her all his weight, pressing her into the bed. Burying his face in her neck, he breathed in the scent of her sweat and arousal. He moved his lips down the side of her throat. Her skin tasted salty and sweet. Soft breasts with hard nipples slid against the flat plane of his chest as he withdrew his hips and drove into her.

Her breath escaped on a shaky sigh. In and out, he thrust. Their flesh slapped with the steady drive of his hips and the sounds of sex filled his ears.

The ripples of her orgasm traveled along her core. Ymir yanked her away from it, changing the angle of his thrusts and pounding harder into her. His cock grew larger.

She made an unintended sound of pleasure and pushed against him as much as she could in her bondage, pulling him deep within her. He moaned against her mouth. Their rhythm quickened until his orgasm roared down on him, and his entire lower body clenched, pulsing in waves of pleasure. Her orgasm rippled through her.

Her pussy clamped down. She moaned and he grunted. He thrust once more and came. Each jerk of his cock sent another rippling contraction through her body. He filled her with a mixture of seed and etir, holding her down to let the magic work on her womb.

Finished, he pulled away from her and eyed the next woman. The Norns said the greatest Valkyrie would be the mother of his daughter. Who knew what criteria that judgement was based on? Destiny was fickle. Better to not leave things to chance.

He parted the other woman's thighs. Skera glared at him, watching soundlessly, helplessly. Leaving the second woman asleep, he used his fingers to work her to wetness. He cared nothing for her pleasure, using her body to fuck roughly, in nothing more than a rut.

The Demon collapsed atop the second woman. Ymir released the Valkyries and rolled the man’s body off the bed. There was more work to be done.

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The sound of air slicing gave him warning, so he wasn't completely surprised when the sword entered his back. He glanced down to see the tip jutting from his chest before the Demon's body collapsed, leaving Ymir standing as etir.

“And now your body is made to please me,” Skera called to the dying man.

Sex with an unwilling Valkyrie was always a risky proposition. Oh well. The warrior was loyal to Odin, and Ymir had finished with him. Dead heroes of Valhalla slain anew by Valkyries went to Hel’s realm. Another soldier for her army.

Ymir flowed to the banquet hall to select another warrior. He had more Valkyries to fill with seed and etir.

With so many daughters sired tonight, one of them was bound to grow up not to be such a disappointment as Shisti.





Azar dreamed she was free. She wandered through the forest near her home, bare feet padding over familiar trails as she listened to bird calls. No ravens. Even though she longed to hear her mother's voice coming from one of the clever birds, she couldn't stand to see black feathers right now.

Some travelers to the oasis near her home had brought talking birds that had blue and yellow feathers. Another had grey feathers with a bright red tail. She didn't need a raven to speak in her mother's voice.

Sunlight dappled the dirt beneath her feet, streaming in between the thick canopies overhead. A warm breeze lifted her dress and trailed across her skin.

No castles or towers in sight. No fancy cages anywhere. She exhaled a breath that carried pent up frustration with it.

A male groan came from ahead of her. She knew that sound. Fechin made it when he bedded her. It wasn't bad enough he'd forced himself into her life — now he was invading the sanctuary of her dreams!

She told her feet to turn around.

Dream of the sand. Dream of the lake.

Don't talk to the birds, Azar.

If only she had listened to her father and not wandered in the woods!

Another male groan, accompanied by a breathy, feminine sigh.

He’d not only invaded her dream, he’d dared bring a woman here? Her feet ignored her commands and carried her forward.

In the shady part of a grassy meadow, Fechin lay on his back, knees bent, feet flat on the ground, the golden skin of his naked body revealed in full. Even seeing him from the side, his expression was one of bliss as he gazed adoringly at the naked woman who sat astride his hips and placed her hands on his rock hard biceps to bend forward and kiss him.

The guttural sound of pleasure that rumbled from his throat stole her breath.

The faithless liar! She’d spent a week listening to him blather all his words about love, adoration, soul mates, and a bond, and every one was a lie. Azar curled her hands into fists. She’d started to believe what he said.

Irrational pain filled her heart, and her eyes burned with unshed tears at the sight of this betrayal. She was so stupid when it came to him!

Azar tried to smother those emotions. Why did she care? She should be glad Fechin dreamed of having sex with other women! It only meant she was right to keep as much of herself from him as she could. He could make her body betray her, but not her heart, and never her mind.

Not after this.

The woman sat up and arched her back as her hips rose and fell.

Azar’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the cry rushing up her throat at the sight of Fechin’s stark beauty in the throes of ecstasy. He palmed the woman’s breasts as she rode him faster, took him deeper — her cries and the pace of her body increasing.

Fechin’s hands cupped the woman’s ass to guide her movements. The muscles of his arms bunched and flexed as he lifted and lowered her on his cock.

Azar never should have come here. Never should have seen this, but no matter how badly she wanted to flee, she remained rooted in place as shock built toward hate.

Only that afternoon, he’d been holding her, his tongue and hands caressing her body. Now it was clear she meant nothing special. She was the means to an end for him. The one he wanted to use to gain his throne.

No matter what happened when she was awake, she wouldn’t allow herself to be used by him. Ever. All she wanted was to get as far from him as possible. But he wouldn’t release her until he got he wanted. He’d made that clear.

“Fechin,” the woman panted in a voice husky with need.

That single word was like cold water pouring over Azar, and she was able to move. She took a step back as she struggled against the tears burning her eyes. Stretching out a hand, she braced herself on a tree trunk to push away, but her eyes were drawn inexplicably to him.

Fechin sat up. His mouth was against the woman’s shoulder, dark eyes an abyss she all too easily fell into. Her breath hitched when she found him watching her with a hungry look.

She’d been caught, but instead of fleeing, she remained frozen. Those black eyes continued to hold hers. His lips traveled down the woman’s throat to her breast.

The sight sent warmth spreading between Azar’s legs, and her nipple hardened. His gaze never left hers as suckled. The other woman cried out like Azar wanted to. Her fingernails dug into Fechin’s shoulders, drawing him closer as his tongue swirled over her skin.

Azar felt his breath and tongue against her flesh. He seemed to know she felt him as his eyes fastened on her chest in such a tangible way that her thighs trembled.

How could he be staring at her with such desire while he was inside the other woman? What was she still doing in here? Why hadn’t she fled?

Her tongue licked over her lips with the urge to taste Fechin as a sheen of sweat broke out over his skin. She’d lost her mind. She’d already known she was losing herself to him.

“Do you like this?” His words froze Azar before she could bolt.

His hands slid higher on the woman’s back when she panted, “Yes.”

He turned his head into her hair and, still holding Azar’s eyes, said into the woman’s ear, “Then come for me.”

Azar’s body reacted, a rush of heat coiling low in her belly. Unable to bite back a moan, she took another step back, torn between the yearning of her body and the anguish in her heart.

A sane woman would have left as soon as she saw proof of Fechin’s duplicity. She wouldn’t be watching him as he again took one of the woman’s nipples into his mouth, nipping at it so she bucked and screamed.

Her need grew deeper as the woman scored his shoulder with her nails hard enough to raise drops of blood on his skin. He lifted his head from her breast and, for the first time since he’d noticed Azar, he looked away from her to focus on the other woman.

Azar couldn’t help following his gaze. Her eyes landed on the woman as she arched against Fechin, threw her head back, and moaned as she orgasmed. The world lurched out from under Azar as he gazed at the woman’s face with what could only be called love.

The tears she’d been fighting spilled down her cheeks. She swiped them away.

The woman on Fechin's lap turned to face Azar, meeting her own eyes.

"Welcome to my dreams, my love."

Azar jerked out of her dream and sat up. There was no sanctuary from the man.

He'd taken her without her permission and pushed this new life on her. She despised him even as she loved him. Although, she had to wonder about that, too. He could control her. Maybe he could make her feel things she wouldn't if she had a choice.

Azar remembered another dream, in which she'd told him she liked his touch. But she hadn't agreed to stay with him. Had she?

The man muddled her thinking and senses.

She had to get out of here.





For a week Azar had wailed, paced, and refused to look at him. But when he touched her, she gave in, every time.

Now they were sharing dreams.

She’d have to accept the bond between them. It would only deepen. The magic wouldn't let her hate him much longer. For now, her body was his, and if that’s all he could have, he’d have to accept that and make it enough to save Inisfail.

For now.

He rose from his bed and dressed, anxious to see if she was more receptive to his company now. Azar certainly hadn't been happy when she thought he'd taken another woman. He'd seen her jealousy when she thought he dreamed of another woman, even if she didn't know what it was she felt.


Azar sat on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She wore pants and a long shirt. Irritation spiked. He'd given her a wardrobe full of dresses fit for a queen, but she dressed in little better than rags she'd convinced the Brownies to bring her. While he wanted to see her in the gowns and jewelry he supplied, part of him understood her need to rebel.

He controlled almost everything about her life now. Letting her wear what she liked to spite him was a battle he didn't need to win. Seeing her desire him in their dream was a victory far greater. Fechin smiled at his beloved.

She blazed like fire and stormed across the room. “How could you do that to me?” Her small fists pummeled his chest. “You think this is funny? That I’m some toy you can play with?”

Fechin caught her wrists. "You will calm yourself. Stress is not good for the child."

“Calm myself?” she sputtered. “Of all the condescending —” Her face went slack as she registered the rest of his words. "The… child?" She jerked her hands away from him and pressed them to her belly. "I'm pregnant?"

Fechin couldn't interpret the emotions flitting across her face, but his heart leapt as he spoke the words. Even though it was early, only a week so far, he pinned all his hopes on the babe growing inside his maité anam. "Yes. You’re pregnant. And if I have to keep you relaxed, I know exactly what works. I’m happy to do my part."

"Pregnant." A tear slid down her cheek.

He once again wished things could be different between them. That he could be a man capable of doing things her way. Did she not want a child? More likely, she didn't want his child. Fechin reached for her, wanting to offer comfort, shared joy, anything she needed or would accept. The chasm between them had to start closing somehow.

Eyes wide, Azar held her palms out, like she could hold him back while she retreated. “You kidnapped me, manipulated me, used my body for sex, and got me pregnant and didn't need my permission, all because you think I'm your soul mate."

"You are my maité anam.” He paced after her. “Give me a chance. Let me show you how it can be with the bond between us."

"I promise you can have your chance after you take me home. If you truly love me as you say, you will do this like a normal person and get to know me, not force me to be with you. Take me back to my father. He can't be left alone for so long.”

“We can make a deal. For every month of your pregnancy, I’ll leave you with your father for the same amount of time after the child is born. But I will return for you. You belong with me.”

“I don’t belong to you, nor should I have to make a deal for you to do what's right!"

“It’s the best I can do. Give me a child and I’ll take you to see your father."

She ignored the offer. "Take me home now. I can be pregnant there as well as I can here."

"I can't let you leave while you carry my heir." The idea of her being out of his sight now made him crazed.

"So I am a prisoner."

Anger and frustration rose inside him. It was the same circular argument over and over. "If that's how you want to see yourself, then yes. You're a prisoner."

"You're just using me. This isn't love."

He resisted the urge to shake sense and understanding into her. "I love you regardless of the throne."

"But not enough to put me first.”

He had to put the greater good first — thousands of Fae relied on him for their lives. That had to come before his happiness, or hers.

“If you won't let me go home, bring my father here."

Her request was reasonable, but he couldn't leave her alone here long enough to retrieve the man. He couldn’t even be sure the portal remained. Shisti had every reason to kill Azar. And Vilkos... There was no telling what either of them would do to Azar, especially if they realized she was pregnant. "It's not as simple as that."

"Why not?"

She was innocent in so many ways. It was refreshing to be around someone with no ulterior motives. Unwilling to burden her with the knowledge others wanted her dead, and would happily murder her, he used what he knew worked to distract her. Pacing forward, he caged her against the wall.

"Now is not the time to talk about your father." Dipping his head to the crook of her neck, he inhaled her clean, sweet scent. He needed to lose himself in her. Revel in something pure.

Her pupils dilated, and she held her breath as he slid her tunic over her head. He slipped her leggings and panties off and nudged her legs apart. "Wider."

"Let me go." This time it was more plea than demand as she obeyed him.

"I will never let you go." Fechin penetrated her, pressing his fingers into her hot slickness while his thumb circled her clit. He knew how to physically pleasure her, even if he hadn’t won her heart yet.

She whimpered as his mouth came down to her throat, kissing her there before biting. His tongue soothed any sting, and he kissed a line down to her full breasts. Her nipples puckered, and she groaned as he palmed them one after the other.

"So perfect, and so beautiful," he crooned, and parted her legs with his thigh, pressing his hard muscle against her core. He ground against her, dropping fervent kisses to her neck and breasts, making her shiver.

She rotated her hips until her slickness covered his thigh, and her head fell back. He knelt, lifted her leg, and kissed the inside of her knee. His tongue made slow circles on her skin. His fingers danced up the inside of her other leg as his tongue moved up. He ran his nails along the crease between her sex and her thigh.

One of his hands cupped her butt so he could position her. Fechin licked a long line over her pussy, savoring the taste of her. He captured her clit between his lips and sucked, tongue circling against the tiny bundle of nerves. He sucked one of her lower lips into his mouth, brushing his teeth against it.

His tongue dipped inside, tasting her. One finger joined his tongue, curling inside her. She jumped as the pad of his thumb hit a sensitive spot. He rubbed it, and his tongue moved back to her clit. He hummed against her, sending vibrations through her pussy. The leg she stood on trembled and he took her weight.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as the first wave of an orgasm crashed over her. He slid another finger into her wet channel, and she gripped down on them.

“Come, Azar.”

And she did.

Satisfied Azar was ready to take him, Fechin sat on the bed, turned her around, and pulled her against him. She exhaled a sharp breath as he settled her backwards on his lap.

Fechin liked nothing more than to hold her down or bind her when he took her, but this time, he didn’t want to reinforce he was dominant — she already knew that, and it gave her the illusion she was forced into what he wanted. He needed her to know he was right about their belonging together, and that she felt it, too.

Her slick entrance pressed against his rigid erection. She braced herself on his knees to raise her hips and he guided her down, penetrating, then burying himself to the hilt within her.

Azar rocked back with an ecstatic moan, turning her head to look over her shoulder as he filled his hands with her breasts. His fingers moved down to clench the soft flesh of her thighs, and he held her still as she adjusted to the intensity of their union.

He lifted her in the same moment he thrust, and she brought herself back down. Mutual pleasure shot through every nerve ending, and left her lips in an expressive moan. She rode him tentatively at first, then harder as her confidence built, and she found the angle that brought her the greatest sensation.

His hands travelled up her sides, stopping at her breasts, teasing them and gently pulling on them, the tips tight with arousal.

Azar bucked her hips as he held her in his embrace. The raven inside him reached for her, striving for a deeper connection. He trailed kisses along her neck and bare shoulder. Her skin and soul burned hot, sending a painful pleasure through him where they touched, physically and magically.

The only thing left was to feel. Carnal pleasure. Love. A sense of destiny.

Sensations between them built, climbing to new blissful heights as Fechin sped up his thrusts. He pumped into her, and she met every thrust with a surprised cry. Azar clenched around him as she crested the wave of orgasm she'd been chasing.

Her pussy gripped him tight as he came deep inside her. She slumped in his arms, sated and sweaty. Rolling to his back, he held her unresisting body to his chest.

"I love you. Azar. So much. I'll find a way to prove it, and you'll be happy here. You'll see. Just stop fighting me about everything."

"No more fighting." She mumbled the words into her pillow so quietly he almost missed them. Her tone lacked the fire he'd come to expect.

He wanted to believe her, but the capitulation came too easily. After a week of hysterics, this sudden about-face felt like a trick. Fechin ran his fingers through her hair. That was likely paranoia. There was no deception in his innocent Azar.

The bond connected them so deeply she'd found his dreams. It was more proof she was his. Her agreement probably just meant she was finally acknowledging what he'd been saying the whole time.

She'd accepted hospitality. She'd thanked him. She wore clothing he provided. She ate the food, which was turning her Fae.

He was looking forward to seeing what magic she wielded.

Even without the bond, they were practically married by Inisfail Fae law.



Raven Chronicles, Chapters 9-10




The Queen of Winter raised her hammer and channeled magic to increase the tempest. Overhead, more clouds added to the mass of those turning in a circle as they darkened from light to dark grey. Thunder boomed and lightning ripped across the sky. Winds lifted her from the mountaintop and carried her above the storm, where she stared at the full Long Nights Moon, also a Blue Moon — the second full moon of the month. There would be magic rampant in the world tonight.

The last two days of storms and sex had been building up to this — the double moon on the longest night of the year and the start of winter, when her powers naturally heightened.

Tonight, death and blood would add to the mix, combining all the most potent magics. The culmination of the celebration in her castle would elevate her magic to a level she’d not experienced since before her banishment.

She held her hammer aloft, collecting lightning, thunder, and the light of the double moon. Power crackled over her skin, and she leapt from the sky.

As the clouds circled above, so the dark sea rotated below. Surrounded by standing waves, the massive whirlpool spun, revealing the basalt column on the sea floor. It was rare the whirlpool grew so large for so many days in a row. When uncovered, the grotto in the spire acted as a focus, collecting all the magic for miles around.

All hers, to do with as she pleased. It was the perfect time for casting the spell she’d been planning for two years to achieve the revenge she’d craved for decades.

Directing the wind to transport her to her castle atop Ben Nevis, she bypassed the towers and turrets of ice to soar into the banquet hall, where hundreds of men and women awaited her to commence the final night of festivities.

Some wore elaborate costumes — a few next to nothing. Those in attendance from the start looked a little worse for wear, while others were… fresh.

She smiled in anticipation. Not for long.

A row of twenty women with differing hair colors, but sharing the traits of pale, luminous beauty and slender builds, wore floor-length dresses to hide their deer-hooved feet. The Baobhan Sith had a large part to play tonight.

Long tables draped in snow white tablecloths, and filled with thus far empty place settings, lined the length of the hall.

"Celebrants of the Winter Festival." Beira raised her hammer and sent forks of lightning dancing through the air. Catcalls and whistles greeted her as she landed on the dais at the head of the tables.

"Tonight, we take the first step on our journey home. Inisfail Fae call us Alba Fae. They think because they banished us when they were stronger, that we belong where we ended up. That they could rip us away from our home and we would forget!"

Hisses and boos rang through the crowd.

"But we are not Alba Fae — we are the Dhibir. The exiled. And we will return to take what is rightfully ours!"

Rampant cheering echoed around the room.

Beria waved her arm in a sweeping gesture at the long tables. Platters of food and drink appeared. "Indulge yourselves." She picked up a goblet and raised it in a toast, adding in an undertone, "You'll need your strength."

More whistling and cheering as people took their seats.

Taking her place at the head of the tables, she followed her own advice and filled her plate. She’d need her strength for the spell she wanted to cast.

Shisti had been at the Raven Court for two years and hadn't snared the prince who would be king. While Beria hadn't forgiven the girl's father for what he'd done to their daughter, there hadn't been any point to wasting the opportunity having Shisti at court presented.

The spell Beira had placed on her daughter should be finishing now — the fogs that protected Inisfail Fae weakening and thinning. Her magic would never have worked from the outside, but placed on a guest of the court, well, it was always easier to take down an enemy stronghold from within.

Two years gone by, and no heir. Not even a pregnancy. That was disappointing, and about all the time Beira had to waste. Who knew when The Morrigan would return? She was a much more fearsome adversary than her sons. If the Goddess of War and Death came back, things would quickly get infinitely more complicated.

When Beira’s spell completed its dismantling work, she would be ready. Now to prepare.


Halfway through the meals, a squat man with shaggy red hair and saucer-shaped blue eyes, one of the many boggarts, indistinguishable from the others in the castle, made his way around the feasting crowd and sidled up to her. "Mistress, your guest has arrived."

“Good.” Beira set her fork down and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "Bring her to me."

He bowed. "Right away, Majesty."

Artemis made her entrance, pausing at the top of the stairs. Her long chestnut-colored hair hung down her back, and green eyes lit with poorly hidden interest scanned the room. She wore black leather straps and gold armor, more ornate than functional, that displayed swaths of bare golden skin. The goddess was in no danger here. Although her carefully guarded virginity might be, if she planned to stay for any length of time. There was no shortage of men and women happy to relieve her of such a… burden.

The virginity of a goddess would add power, and an ironic touch, to the spell.

"Artemis." Beira touched the back of the seat next to hers. "Welcome to our festival. Sit, and we can talk."

Hundreds of eyes fixed on the Goddess of the Hunt as she made her way to the proffered chair. Artemis filled a plate, a ubiquitous servant poured wine, and the goddess started her meal.

Beria sipped from her goblet. "Will you stay for the whole celebration?" Virgin the goddess may be, but far from innocent. She’d partaken of pleasure in Beira’s court before. It was no coincidence the goddess had arrived tonight of all nights.

"Perhaps." Artemis' lips twitched in a half-smile."I wanted to check in and see how things are progressing. Gaia is growing… impatient. She wants the satyrs."

"Not to worry.” Beira pushed her plate away, eager to get on with things. “My magic is shredding the fog around Inisfail Fae territory as we speak. Rally your Amazons. I'll be able to open a portal for them soon, and they can hunt satyrs to their hearts’ content. Gaia's vengeance for Echo will be complete."

“I love a good hunt.” Artemis sipped her wine. "Gaia will be pleased with this news."

The midnight hour would be upon them soon. Beira stood and clapped her hands once. Tables and chairs vanished to make room for dancing. Musicians moved to their spelled instruments, and music drifted through the hall. Dancers paired up, and the waltzing began.

Every touch, step, emotion, and breath caught by the music added potency to her magic.

Catching the eye of a Blue Man across the hall, Beira inclined her head toward Artemis. The man’s eyes lit up, and he turned his attention to the goddess. He moved toward her with a singular predatory grace, muscles flexing under his blue skin.

For a moment, Beira regretted not keeping him to herself, but she’d get more power from the pleasure of others tonight.

“For me?” Artemis purred.

“I thought you might like him. The Blue Men are infrequent visitors to my court. He should satisfy your taste for an exotic curiosity.”

“He does look good enough to eat.” Artemis allowed herself to be lifted from her chair and swept into the throng of dancers.

The waltzing changed from formal to manic. Formal costumes shredded under hands eager to touch flesh. New rhythmic motions took over, moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin replaced the music.

Beira felt every stroke, caress, thrust, kiss, and orgasm as if it was happening to her.

“Ladies.” Beira leaned forward in her chair. As one, every Baobhan Sith glanced up from her partner. “It’s time.”

The vampires laughed and drew sharp talons across the necks of their partners.

Blood magic added to the sex magic, making the atmosphere in the room even more heady.

Beira reached into the earth for the tunnels through the mountain that ran deeper, under the sea, to the basalt column in the center of the maelstrom. She opened herself to the store of magic waiting for her.

The first thrust was almost too much, more pain than pleasure as power forced itself inside her. She swallowed convulsively as magic slid down her throat, then gasped as pure energy lifted her from her seat to float in the air.

Magic stroked her skin, traced her curves, and pulsed into her in waves, filling her, sending shafts of desire all the way to her core. What felt like hands trailed down her belly, barely touching, sending shivers of desire through her.

She parted her thighs, the magic swirling and pressing against her center, slow and sweet. Raw energy filled her, so tight and heavy. Deeper and more intimate than any sex with a man. The lust grew more intense, taking her hot and hard, over and over, faster and faster.

The first of the men the Baobhan Sith preyed on succumbed, then the others fell, one after another. Their deaths added the final power she needed.

The pleasure and magic crested, rushing in like a tsunami as the standing waves in the sea dropped and the whirlpool shattered, forcing the last of the magic to empty into her. White fire rippled over her skin, and warmth spread through her stomach and chest, out into her limbs until her fingers and toes tingled.

As her orgasm went on, she gathered the energy in the hall, pulling what she wanted. Hunting instincts from the Baobhan Sith. The ability to create storms from the Blue Men of the Minch. Some foretelling talents from the Bean-nighe. Lightning from the dragon, Beithir-nimh. Shape-shifting from the kelpies. The orgasm of a virgin goddess. A touch of spell casting and life from herself.

Carefully, Beira crafted the magic into a tiny ball, gave it sentience, and released it on a gentle whirlwind. Storm clouds moved southwest, across Alba and the sea, toward Inisfail Fae.

Above enemy territory, the storm sought a way through the mystical fogs. Forks of lightning struck, and there… in the sky, a rift. Her spell working perfectly. The cloud drifted through, carrying the ball of magic. She directed the wisp toward the black edifice of Raven Castle. Spiraling up the stairs, Beira sent the magic under Shisti's door, but her room was empty.

Beira spun her magic out of a window and rose up the side of a tower to peer into Fechin's room. Maybe Shisti had finally made some progress. But there was a different woman in Fechin’s bed.

Disdain rose in her. Shisti should have been rid of her competition long ago. Her daughter always had too soft a heart. Happiness required the ruthlessness to take it and keep it. A lesson she’d hoped her daughter would have learned by now. Twisting downward, Beira let her senses open, spreading her cloud thin. There. Shisti wasn't far away.

She lay over a table, arms bound over her head, while the wrong brother thrust into her. What was Shisti's game? Perhaps her visions had changed and Fechin didn’t become king anymore.

Beira guided the ball of magic to Shisti's womb, only to find it already occupied — by a boy with magic that felt like wolf. So Vilkos was to be king, not Fechin.

That change in circumstances didn’t alter Beira’s plan. Coaxing the magic to take form settled her magic against the boy. This child would be a girl, naturally.

And when she was born first, someday the Raven Throne would return to a queen.





Bres lay on his bed, running his fingers over his bare chest. In the pitch black of his windowless tower room, he couldn't see the scar, but he didn't need to. Instead of flattering, his nickname of The Darkly Beautiful was now a taunt.

The perfect looks he was so proud of — high cheekbones, long, sleek black hair, big blue eyes, and ethereally glowing skin were traits he’d from received from his Fae mother.

All of them meaningless with the single, ugly slash across his chest.

On the giant-sized Fomorian stature he’d inherited from his father, the scar was barely noticeable. The physical wound The Morrigan inflicted on him during the last war had healed, but the reminder left behind felt like failure.

The Fomorian side of him was proud of the mark on his flesh. Many warriors wore their battle scars with pride. But the Fae side of him detested the lack of perfection. After all, he'd become king when the ruler before him lost an arm fighting for the Fae, and was therefore disqualified from ruling because his body was no longer perfect. The Fae admired ideal beauty almost to obsession.

His magic was even slower to recover than his body. The Morrigan had struck him with the Sword of Light. She had not only marred his skin, but drained his immortality until he’d been hardly more than human, and left him to die. He should have. That he survived was surely a sign he was meant to rule. His powers, years later, were almost to the point of fully restored.

He longed to return to the forest of Inisfail Fae territory. Toraigh, the island he'd taken refuge on after the war, was windswept to the point of no trees at all. It was a cold, lifeless expanse of rock. Appealing to the Fomorian side of him, but not the Fae. It seemed like the two halves of him never agreed on anything.

But the time to repay the crow was rapidly approaching.

If he could find her.

And a treasure.

The sword was out of reach, wielded by Fechin. Bres had no desire for another taste of that blade. He wasn’t likely to survive that again. Three other treasures were fair game, though, their locations lost.

The stone.

The spear.

The cauldron.

Possession of any one of them would strengthen his claim to the Inisfail Fae throne — especially if he found the Stone of Destiny. It sang for true kings. No one could deny his right to rule when it sang for him.

Of course, an heir wouldn't go amiss.

The treasures were lost — had been for centuries — but now that his magic was restored, heirs he could do something about immediately.

Bres rose from his bed, pulled on his leather pants, and headed up the stairs of the tower barefooted. Torches mounted on the walls burst into flame as he approached, illuminating the dark corridor as he spiraled to the top floor and opened the wooden door, locking it behind him.

Windows allowed moonlight to stream into the room through the bars. A fire warmed the open space, filled with a couch and a couple of chairs arranged around a low, rectangular table that held the remains of dinner.

Three doors, to two bedrooms and a bathroom, led off the main area. While his prisoners couldn’t leave, they lived in relative luxury. They had comfortable furnishings in clean surroundings. Meals prepared with the best foods. Nice clothes of the richest and softest materials. Books and art supplies to occupy themselves.

The sisters, twins with red-hair and glowing fair skin, watched him with wary expressions. The look of dread on their faces when they first saw him always gave him a thrill. They were right to be worried. He kept his treatment of them random — kind, cruel, loving, impersonal. They never knew what to expect from him, or what they could do to influence him.

He couldn’t blame them for being confused — from day to day it was a mystery to him how he’d react to them. Some days he saw them as beautiful women he cared about, and others they were just reminders of what he’d lost.

Meghan wore a floor-length gold silk dress while Morgan wore a green long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and boots. She sat on the floor in front of Meghan as she brushed her sister’s hair. They jumped to their feet as he crossed the room.

“Meghan. Morgan. How are you tonight?”

“Release us, Fomorian.” Morgan glared daggers at him. She was the more spirited one and always made the demand.

Bres flashed a grin at Morgan and turned to Meghan. She tried to back away, but he stretched out one long arm, palmed the back of her head, and forced her to him. Bending, he pressed his lips to hers and breathed magic into her.

Between heartbeats, she stopped fighting him and parted her lips with a needy moan so he could slide his tongue inside her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went soft against him.

He wasn’t called the Master of Love Spells for nothing. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Meghan leaned into him, her long red hair falling forward to tickle his skin. She pressed a feather-light kiss on his mouth, then on his chest as he urged her head down. Small, delicate hands caressed his shoulders and chest. Kneeling in front of him, she trailed her mouth over his abs. Meghan’s clever fingers undid the laces of his leather pants and freed his cock.

Her palm encircled him, fingers exploring the length of his semi-hard dick. He lifted his gaze and met Morgan’s icy, emerald eyes as her sister stroked him to full hardness. The pressure of her hand was just right, the speed and rhythm steady.

Under his influence, she would have no memory of doing this for him unless he wanted her to, but she remembered how to please him. She and her sister had pleasured him often since he’d taken them as tribute when he was king.

Meghan’s lush, pink lips wrapped around his cock. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him, pure lust in her gaze. Each stroke, lick, and suck brought him closer to the edge. He thrust his fingers into her hair, guiding her. Slowing her down just enough to stop him from going over, but still sending zings of pleasure up and down his spine. He didn’t want to come in her mouth tonight.

Bres pulled Meghan to her feet and gave her a playful swat on her ass. “In your room, little one.”

“You bastard.” Morgan stood, fists clenched.

“Don’t be jealous. You’ll get your turn.” The door clicked behind him.

Meghan’s room, in feminine in shades of gold and dark pink, smelled of vanilla and roses. She pulled her dress over her head, dropped it to the floor, and waited by her canopy bed, sighing when his hand found her breast. Her dusky nipple hardened under his fingertips and his body throbbed.

Bres shoved his pants to the floor. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her, tasting and teasing, his teeth gently biting her lips as his hand slipped down her stomach and between her legs. She opened to him, gasping when he slid one finger between her folds, her heat and moisture tempting him to bury himself inside her right then.

He lowered her to the bed, and she spread her legs wider as he took her higher and higher with gentle strokes of his finger.

“I — oh!” Her lips parted as he replaced his finger with his erection and teased her clit with the head of his cock until she was moaning and gasping.

When she tumbled into orgasm, crying out his name, he grabbed her by the hips, and buried himself deep in her.

Meghan’s eyes opened and locked on his, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Underneath him, Meghan moved her hips, little movements that drove him just a little deeper inside.

He filled her up, seating himself fully inside her. Hauling one of her knees up, he pushed further, making her cry out as he thrust in deep. Closing his eyes, he moved slow. He wanted to feel everything, linger in the feeling of being inside her, so he took long, leisurely strokes.

She groaned, her hips lifting to meet his, urging him to move faster. Not yet. Bres gritted his teeth, wanting this feeling to last longer, but losing that fight. He picked up the pace, leaning down so he could kiss her mouth. Her neck.

With a groan of pleasure, he rolled onto his back, taking Meghan with him. She let out a little cry of surprise but straddled him, his pulsing member still buried deep. Eyes wide with the shock of fresh pleasure, she lifted herself, then sank slowly back down. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, driving himself into her as her mewls of pleasure reached his ears.

As she rode him, the spiraling pleasure consumed him, the feel of her welcoming body taking him higher. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, her mouth slightly open, little cries of pleasure escaping her lips.

Putting her on her back, he pinned her wrists above her head and indulged in taking her.

“Oh. Yes,” she murmured in a breathy tone.

Her legs wrapped around him as her hands roamed, touching his face, his shoulders, trailing down his back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent deep roses and vanilla scent.

“Yes, yes,” she moaned against his ear as he ground into her deeper. Their moans, sighs, and groans filled the room, the sounds of their lips and skin slapping together. He held her tighter against him and pummeled into her. Kissing and licking every bit of skin he could reach as her body shuddered with pleasure. He reached between them to pluck at her clit while continuing to fuck her.

Her tight sheath clenched around him.

“Yes, that’s it, beautiful,” he urged between thrusts until squeezed him tight. He rocked into her again, staring into her forest green eyes, as she looked back, eyes glittering with lust.

Meghan arched off the bed with a moan. Her orgasm set off his, her sweet pussy milking his aching cock. He grunted as he thrust deep, feeling his balls drain dry as he came and filled her with his seed. His vision went white, and spine-tingling pleasure coursed through him. He collapsed atop her, savoring her body against his, wishing any part of it was real.

With a sigh, he pulled away and left her to sleep. In the bathroom, he showered and opened the door to reenter the living area, raising one hand to catch the candlestick Morgan tried to implant in his skull. It was always something — a fork from dinner. A chair. A shoe. She’d even tried to strangle him with curtain tiebacks and shoelaces. Morgan was imaginative.

He took a step forward, and Morgan backed away. She had more fire in her than her sister, and he liked to play with it, unable to ignore the urge to get burned.

Had they found themselves in different circumstances, she might have ruled beside him in Inisfail. But the timing had never worked. She’d loved another, then he’d had to marry for political reasons. His wife and son were dead now, and Morgan had been betrayed — handed over to him as tribute he’d never wanted.

Yes, when he was king, he had treated the Dagda and Ogma badly, but the men had always been cruel to Bres. Nearly dying changed a man’s way of thinking, though. Not about the Morrigan — Bres’ blood burned with the desire to kill that crow — but about his actions. He could free the sisters, but a part of him couldn’t.

Plus, they’d be killed if they returned to Inisfail. The Hunt would run them down. Their father had killed a Wulven woman, which caused her mate to go insane. He’d taken over The Wild Hunt and repurposed it to seek revenge by wiping out that entire bloodline. Morgan and Meghan were the last two descendants.

Bres had sworn an oath as king to protect them and not reveal the danger to them. Of course, he’d sworn it to The Morrigan, who had then later tried to murder him, so maybe he had been released from that vow. Part of him wanted to be honorable, though. The Morrigan had tried to kill him, not released him from his promise.

“Come here, pet.” He couldn’t resist taunting her.

“Don’t call me pet.” Her lips curled in a snarl.

“Remove your clothes.”

She tilted her chin in defiance and took another step back as he closed in.

“Do it yourself, or I’ll do it, and make things worse for Meghan.” Threats were the only way to get Morgan to react. He detested her impassiveness and disgust. He’d rather have her passion and anger.

She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor, pulling off her pants and boots to reveal her lush figure.

“Get on the bed.” He reached for her.

She didn’t. Morgan bolted for her bedroom. He knew she would. She always did.

Bres lunged after her, catching her and taking them to the floor. With his heavy, giant-sized build, he easily pinned her beneath him. She lay on her stomach, with him pressed against her backside. Her body trembled, but not in fear — this was rage directed at his control over her.

Morgan needed to feel like she fought as hard as possible before she succumbed to the pleasure he gave her, so he offered her every chance. In truth, even if he let her run, she couldn’t escape the tower or leave the island.

He’d just emptied himself into Meghan, but his cock hardened against Morgan’s ass.

Bres kept Morgan trapped under him until she stopped struggling and let her feel him loosening his grip a little at a time so she could move, but only as far as he let her. He lifted his thigh from her legs and pressed his body away from her, not touching but keeping her aware of him and caged.

“There is nothing like the feeling of being inside you,” he murmured. “I know you feel it, too.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. That makes how good you feel so much better. I love that you hate me, but your pussy gets slick. I love that your mind fights while your body surrenders. The sweetest things you give me are the parts of yourself you’d rather keep.”

Morgan threw her head back. Her skull struck his chin, and she made a break from him. There was her fire.

He caught her again, putting her on her back and pressing her into the floor with the length of his naked body against every inch of hers.

She screeched in anger and frustration. “It means nothing. You’re using magic. You can make us want you,” Morgan sneered, “but at least you can’t get us pregnant. It’s the only blessing in this place.”

Bres laughed. That was true before, but with his body and magic restored, he could most definitely get the sisters pregnant now. Meghan probably already was. “Is that what you think? I control how your body reacts to me. I control when you orgasm, how you pleasure me, if you remember what I do to you, or make you do to me. You think I can’t control your body as to if you get pregnant or not?” He spread his palm over her flat stomach.

Her eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes.” He sat back on his knees. “Look at me.”

When she didn’t, he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “I’ve told you, you belong to me. This body is mine to pleasure and take pleasure from. I have been enjoying you and your sister as you are. If and when I require a child from you, this body will provide me that pleasure, too.”

So many emotions ran through her green eyes. Dread. Fear. Anger. Denial. “Just get it over with.” Morgan spoke with a tone of resignation.

He resented when she tried to make their encounters something she had to endure. The darkest part of him was determined to make her enjoy what he did to her. What they did together. Make her see what happened between them, though coerced at the start, didn’t have to be bad.

Bres took her hand and placed her palm flat on his chest. Morgan closed her eyes as he forced her to feel him. He let his eyes half close, savoring her touch as he made her small hand slide over his skin, down his chest and abs, until her soft palm settled on his cock.

He curled their fingers around his length, hating that even after all this time, she never touched him of her own volition.

Bres cupped her breast with one hand, earning a gasp of pleasure. His cock jerked in her hand at this small victory. She might not want to touch him, but he’d learned what touches she liked.

He brought her pleasure when he was with her. He could tell by the way she bit her lip. By the way she fisted the sheets. The way the muscles of her pussy clenched around him when she orgasmed.

But she would die before admitting it.

She shuddered as he caressed the tip of her puckered nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger. Bres lowered his head to press his lips to hers, following her as she leaned away from him. He used kisses to transfer magic to Meghan, but he didn’t do it now, although that’s what Morgan expected.

Morgan turned her head and parted her lips, no doubt to give him a different sort of tongue lashing than he wanted from her.

He wrapped his hand in her long hair to hold her in place, taking advantage of her opened mouth to deepen the kiss before pulling away.

“Tell me you don’t want me.”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? I won’t give you any more power or enjoyment than you already take from me.” Morgan glared at him. “Do what you like. You will anyway.”

No, it was the opposite of what he wanted. Bres growled and lifted her off the floor. He wanted her to admit she felt pleasure from him. Speak the truth, so for once they could join as equals, not with him her captor and her his tribute. But the fire he loved in her made her stubborn. She would never volunteer those words. And in that way, she wielded more power over him than he ever could over her.

Well, tonight he was going to make her want him as a woman wanted a man.

She lay passive when he placed her on her bed and flinched when he reached out to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. That instinctive movement to avoid him enraged him and send a pang of guilt through him. He’d never beaten them or raised a hand to them in anger, even so, she feared his touch.

Bres wrapped his hands around her wrists and placed them on his shoulders. He licked a line over her collarbone and nibbled his way to her chest.

Morgan gasped as he tongued the underside of one breast and closed her eyes as his mouth closed over the tip and sucked. He trailed kisses from one breast to the other and nibbled at the sensitive flesh. Pushing the full softness of her breasts together, he held them to his mouth for suckling.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she gave him one reaction while trying to avoid rewarding him with another. A thrill of victory stole through him.

Bres gave her nipples each a sharp bite, then released her and moved down, kissing and nibbling his way over her belly. He drew a hand up her leg toward the apex at her center, wanting to feel proof of her arousal. Her body stiffened and her thighs slammed together.

When his fingers touched the hot slickness he wanted to find, his cock hardened even more. She turned her head away.

Forcing her thighs apart, he settled between them and lowered his face to her sex. Pulling her closer, he opened this fresh assault on her senses with gentle laps along the delicate folds of her pussy until she writhed against his mouth. He held her in place, giving his attention to the swollen nub of her clit.

Bres slid his gaze up her body. Eyes locked on hers, he licked her slick cleft, suckled her clit, and slid a finger inside her.

Morgan moaned, fighting his hold, not to escape, but to raise herself to his lips and every thrust of his tongue. Her face, unguarded in the moment of her orgasm, showed pleasure that was more honest than any words.

Pure male satisfaction flooded his already heated veins. He wanted to flip her over and ride her hard. Take out all his anger and bitterness toward the Morrigan by driving himself into the woman beneath him. Take her in nothing more than a mindless rut. Bury himself so deep inside her, she never forgot how it felt and couldn’t deny him ever again.

Instead, he lifted her hips and positioned his cock at the entrance to her glistening pussy.

She was ready.

“Watch.,” he murmured, wanting her to stay aware of him as her body surrendered to his. Bres drew his initial taking of her out for both of them, pushing into Morgan with one slow, relentless thrust until her wet heat embraced every inch of him.

Morgan let out a breath as he held still, her tight sheathe rippling around him.

He withdrew and thrust again, almost losing himself. Using all his will, Bres slowed their passion, taking the time to watch his cock slide from within her, shiny with her arousal, then disappear into her as he claimed her body again.

He found his iron control slipping as she lifted her legs and joined her ankles behind him, welcoming him even deeper inside her.

Morgan’s body arched toward him. The cry from her lips and the telltale rhythmic spasms of her sex snapped the last of his restraint. He gripped the swell of her hips and pounded into her, letting her release draw his from him.

Bres emptied himself into her as a guttural moan tore from his throat and he collapsed atop Morgan.

Holding her thighs around him, Bres allowed himself a few moments to savor this connection between them as he remained inside her, allowing her womb time to take his seed.

He pulled out of her warmth and stood to pull the blankets over her naked flesh.

This night he’d created life within her, and didn’t want to sour the experience by remaining with her when her ire and hatred returned. Especially when she figured out he hadn’t used any magic on her — that all the pleasure and desire she felt this time was real.

He had Morgan to fight him and Meghan to love him, but as soon as the pleasure was over, both left him feeling empty.

Bres locked the tower door behind him, went through his quarters, and continued down the tower stairs until he emerged into what he thought of as a rock garden. There wasn’t even enough sun in this place to warm the ground enough for plants to grow.

His father, Elatha, stood with his head up to the sky, hands clasped behind his back. Where Bres was dark, his father was light — golden hair and eyes, suntanned skin. Even his clothes were golden, as were his rings and the chains around his neck. “I received your message.”

“I didn’t know you were coming today, or I would have prepared a welcoming party for you.”

His father faced him. "It's all right. I don't plan on staying long."

Naturally not. Bres’ mother refused to set foot on the island, and his father didn't like being away from her. "I think I know what you want to talk about, and I won't be part of it. I have no advice for you other than to forget about being king again."

"The throne is mine."

"It was. I don’t think you can say it’s yours anymore."

"Not helping, Father."

He shrugged. "I’m not here to help you. One war got you the throne, a second lost it to you. Is it worth a third? How many must die? Leave the Fae to the Fae."

"I can't. I wasn't a righteous king before, but I know better now. If there's a chance Vilkos could take the Raven Throne, we have to stop him. His father is mad. With Vilkos on the throne, they'll control the realm and The Wild Hunt. No one would be safe."

"But the way you want to go about it — you want to take with injustice what you could not keep justly. Look at what you do to the women you took as tribute years ago. Why would the Tuatha dè Danann trust you're different if you still treat them like slaves?"

Bres summoned calm. Not even his father could know of the promise Bres had made. "My claim to the throne is strengthened if I have an heir. The women are granddaughters of The Morrigan."

"You've kept them prisoners for years.” Elatha shook his head. “You think the Fae have forgotten about them? Their uncle occupies the throne you covet. If he sees you again, you'll have to answer some questions, if he's in the mood for conversation rather than revenge."

“Meghan and Morgan aren’t safe in the court.” That was as much as he could reveal.

"That’s not the only reason you keep them. If you insist on going through with this quest of yours, talk with Balor."

"Has he returned?"

His father nodded. "He didn't find The Morrigan this time either, and is likely to be in a foul mood and spoiling for a fight."

The Goddess had turned the tide of the war, driving the Fomorians into the sea, proclaiming the first of her sons to sire an heir would take the Raven Throne, and vanishing.

Balor, also injured by The Morrigan, had hunted for the goddess ever since.

“Thank you, Father.” Bres strolled through the makeshift town a short distance from his tower. Balor was holding court at the bar. He wore an eyepatch to cover where The Morrigan had half-blinded him when she took his eye. Two human women sat in his lap, touching his bare chest and hair. "Ah, Bres. My favorite former king. What brings you here?"

Taking a seat, Bres waved away the woman aiming for his lap. "Inisfail Fae."

Balor swatted the women's asses, making them squeal as they left him. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low.

"I heard Vilkos was heading home on my way back here." Balor took a swig of his drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"That makes things more urgent. Something must be happening."

Balor shrugged. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Maybe the Morrigan will come home."

The Fomorian rubbed the skin around his eyepatch. "But we still can't enter Inisfail. That's why I've been searching for the witch outside the wards."

"I still have her granddaughters. They might be able to get us past the wards."

"You would be king again?"

Bres nodded.

"The army dispersed. It will take time to find enough Fomorian soldiers for another war. If you want to fight quickly, you'd be better off hiring some mercenaries from the Winged Court. Or maybe an Ifrit. Fire would tear through the forest quickly enough."

The Ifrit lived in another realm. At one time, Bres would be able to travel there with little more than a thought. Having to make the journey on horseback, by boat, and on foot would be tedious and take months. The idea of burning the forest made him nauseated. There were many kinds of Djinn. He didn’t have to buy the services of an Ifrit.

"I'd rather not become King of Ashes." The Fae would never forgive him if the forest burned.

"That makes things more complicated.”

What wasn’t complicated when it came to the Fae? Bres’ powers would be at full strength soon, but soon was relative. It had already been years.

There was nothing keeping him on the island. A long journey would be a break from the monotony of the rocky landscape. If he made it to Aribi before his magic returned, the time to get there wouldn't have been wasted. And if it returned on the way, he could shorten his trip. Nothing lost.

"Is your daughter still in the high tower?" Some prophecy about Balor’s death had scared him enough that he'd locked his daughter in a tower on the island, which had given Bres the idea for Meghan and Morgan.

Balor nodded.

"Will you watch over the tributes?" Traveling with Meghan and Morgan would be problematic. Morgan would try to kill him and escape at every turn. Now that the sisters were pregnant, nature would take its course without his presence. It might even be better if he wasn’t around when they figured out they were carrying his children.

There were many kinds of Djinn. Maybe he could get some help in finding the lost treasures rather than burning down the land he was destined to rule. Leaving Balor to his women and drink, Bres walked to the cliff edge and down the rough-cut stone steps to the waterline where the cold, black ocean washed up on the shore.

The trail along the stony beach was almost invisible. He hadn’t come here since he’d taken refuge on the island after the war.

Inside a sea cave, Prydwen awaited. The proud ship had languished in the sea cave since Bres stole her from King Arthur. A vessel like this was meant to be sailed into battle and conquest. Golden dragon heads graced the bow and stern. Copper plating gleamed from her sides. The ship was armed with dragon fire to protect herself, and spelled by Merlin himself to catch favorable winds in her three sails.

The perfect transportation for his long trip.



Raven Chronicles, Chapters 4-6




Fechin stood under the waterfall shower in his bathing chamber, and washed twice to scrub all traces of Shisti from his body, wishing he could remove all traces of her from his mind and soul. The many spells she'd tried to use on him over the years didn't require concentration to bat away, but did require some attention, and he resented each one.

The need to get out of her proximity, and feel free of the castle he'd once thought of as sanctuary, gnawed at him. He resented her for that, too — turning his home into a place he wanted to leave.

Physically clean, he waved a hand to shut off the water. No point in dressing. Water streamed from his body as he left the bathing chamber and strode toward the balcony in his bedroom.

Calling on his mother's magic, he surrendered himself. Thousands of pinpricks swept across his skin as feathers took him and he became the raven.

The Morrigan's power carried to all her descendants and bonded ones.

Fechin soared from his tower and over Fae. The magic of the land flowed through his veins and he savored the connection. The pureness replaced the unwanted touch of the witch.

He circled over the forest, banking in wide circles. To the west, the dense treetops thinned to mangroves and a swamp leading to the sea. North, the trees climbed foothills that became alpine meadows, tundra, and craggy mountains. Beyond the peaks, a snowy expanse of ice and snowy-covered glaciers. East, the desert, and south, grassy plains. As his circles grew smaller, clearings, homesteads, and villages interrupted the expanse of treetops.

The Ocean Court. The Ice Court. The Desert Court. The Plains Court. The Forest Court. Each had its own king, queen, royalty and agendas. It was impossible to keep track of their squabbles and alliances as they changed daily, if not hourly. Once they'd all been united under the Raven Court, but as the magic weakened with no official king, Fae divided. As if all these splintered courts weren't enough to deal with, they further fractured into Seelie and Unseelie,

The Seelie wanted to see the Morrigan or her descendants on the Raven Throne. The Unseelie wanted a Fae on the throne, considering the Morrigan an outsider, since she was Tuatha De Danann.

His spirits plummeted. The thin places were expanding, and faster than before. Without one king to unite the magic, it would fracture, and bring more problems on the realm than too many courts in the kingdom.

The Fir Bolg.

Balor and his Fomorians.

The Alba Fae Court.

The Nordrvegr Court.


Fechin blew out a weary breath. He was a placeholder, nothing more.

To strengthen Fae, he would have to give the witch what she wanted. Find a way to create life in a woman made of ice, inside and out.

The raven inside him screamed its rage at the idea of bonding with the witch.

Its scream echoed through Fae, further tearing the thin places. One opened in the sky directly in front of him, and the raven tumbled through.





Azar bent to pick up another stick from the forest floor. It was near sunset, and she needed to get home to start the fire before Papa arrived. She loved the house she shared with her father. Not large, but solid, and with a thatched roof that birds liked to build nests in.

She couldn’t help wandering through the forest, always fascinated by the birds. Especially the ravens. Sometimes they accepted her gifts and brought her shiny things in return. Sometimes they just took what they wanted, making her smile when they preened in triumph at their cleverness.

You must not speak with the birds, Papa always told her.

Why not? They see so many things when they fly.

They stole your mother from me. I'm afraid they will steal you, too.

But Papa was always confused about what happened. Mother had died. Everyone saw her struck down by warriors as she protected Azar during the raid when she was a little girl. The villagers had returned after the attack to find Mother's body gone. Only blood-soaked earth and scorch marks left among burned buildings.

No one could have survived so much blood loss. Azar could still see the huge red pool when she walked down the main road through the village, even though it had been cleaned away years ago.

It wasn't the birds who stole Mother from Father. It was their daughter.

Sometimes, when the birds spoke, they sounded like Mother, so Azar went into the forest and listened to them every chance she could. Ravens were clever and could speak human words in addition to their own language, but even knowing that, her guilt eased to think Mother was a raven instead of dead because Azar hadn’t run fast enough.

Guilt that had prevented her from marrying yet. How could she leave her father alone, when it was her fault Mother was gone? He couldn't manage the house and farm by himself.

But Dorlan wouldn't wait forever. He wanted to start a family, and he’d already asked her to marry him three times. There might not be a fourth chance.

An owl hooted. An owl? She glanced at the sky. It was dark. Papa would be home! She had to hurry.

A man leaped down from a tree and was beside her so quickly she hardly saw him before he was touching her arm. He was huge, broad-shouldered and much taller than her. Raven black hair laying over his shoulders and eyes so black. With his black clothes and cloak, he seemed to be made of night.

He must be a spirit. Maybe a Djinn!

Papa and Dorlan said all men were dangerous, and they would try to hurt her. Surely they couldn’t mean every single one, but this man did feel dangerous. Her heart beat fast as a hummingbird's.

She dropped her firewood, screamed, and backed up, then turned to run.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him.

“My… My papa will be looking for me.” She tried to tug free. “Let me go.”

The dark man didn’t listen, pulling her so close her breasts pressed against him. Her nipples hardened and heat coiled between her thighs. What was happening to her?

"What is your name?" he murmured.


"Azar. My name is Fechin. What are you doing out here alone?"

She swallowed. "Talking to the ravens." Why had she told him that? He’d think she was crazy. Like everyone else.

He smiled. "You like ravens?"

Azar nodded.

“I am also fond of ravens.” He cupped her face between his large hands and stared into her eyes for an endless moment.

Captivated, she couldn’t look away.

“Azar.” Fechin rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, a soft caress that left her trembling. He leaned close. Too close! He couldn’t mean to —

His lips touched hers in a soft kiss. With a gentle insistence, he urged her to open.

Closing her eyes, she gave in. Some irresistible pull drew her to this dark stranger. The rolling strokes of his tongue along hers spread warmth through her. With each breath, the pressure of his lips firmed. Energy built within her. Dorlan never made her feel like this. The thought jolted sense into her, and she squirmed in Fechin’s embrace.

His chest vibrated with a low growl, primal and raw, that stilled her. He kissed her harder, deeper. His hands left her face and stroked her back, pulling her closer.

Hands pressed to his shoulders, Azar arched into him as he slid his hands lower. The hard press of his erection against her stomach tore a shocked gasp from her.

This was dangerous. She should be scared, but lust hit her so quickly her body went limp. Fechin gripped her tighter.

What was this control he had over her? She wanted his kisses. She wanted more. Azar slid her hands into his hair.

Fechin made a rough sound, half growl, half something else. Her feet left the ground as he lifted her with a hand under her bottom. He squeezed her flesh, then his rough palm slid up her leg.

“Touch me, Azar.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest. The sound whipped through her, leaving her weakened. She rested her head against his shoulder, letting him support her. He cupped the weight of her breast, massaging the achy flesh while he kissed his way down the column of her throat. At the dip where shoulder met neck, he nibbled. Each nip sent a jolt of desire down her spine.

The tiny pinch of pain shocked her, but she liked it. He latched his mouth over the spot and bit until the pleasure bordered on pain.

Cool air hit the sensitive tips of her breasts. What happened to her dress?

Azar shivered, but the warmth of his touch seeped into her. He massaged her breasts, and the kneading left her squirming in his arms. She focused on the sensations and the way his touch made her heart flip-flop.

He flicked her nipples. Sparks ignited. He did it again. Pure pleasure skipped across her skin. She waited, eager for what he would do next. With his fingertip, he circled her areola. She moaned. He stilled with his fingers clamped around the hard bud. Anticipation built. She pressed her lips together.

“You’re holding your breath, waiting. Do you want something, my Azar?”

Words wouldn’t come. She nodded.

“What?” He wanted her to talk? Couldn’t he guess?


The demand was clear. He kissed her neck, licked the spot he’d teased a moment ago, but didn’t move his fingers. She arched into his embrace, silently begging him to tug on the erect nipple. Roll it. Flick it. Do something.

He only held the hard point clamped between his calloused fingertips. “Fechin, please.” Instead of meeting her unspoken demand, he released her nipple and caressed her breast, and making her crazed. The teasing touch wasn’t what she needed. She covered his hands with hers and pushed her chest forward, rubbing the points into his palms.

Fechin pulled his hands back, denying her the relief she craved. “What do you want? Tell me.”

She couldn’t voice her need. The very thought of putting her desires into words embarrassed her.

“You have beautiful breasts. Full, lush mounds meant to be suckled. Is that what you want?” He brushed his lips over the tips. She moaned. “Are they sensitive?”

She nodded.

He pulled back. “I bet.” He was teasing her? Oh no. She didn’t know how to play these sorts of games. She cupped one breast and lifted it to his mouth, offering herself.

“Do you want my mouth here?” Fechin tapped his finger to the hard point. She heard the amusement in his tone, but was beyond caring.

He swept his flattened tongue over the peak, then eased back.

“Perfect. You’re perfect.” He closed his mouth over the tip and flicked it with his tongue. She shuddered and arched into him. He steadied her, a hand at her lower back, and latched on to her breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth. He became her entire focus — his teasing licks, the brush of his thumb over the base of her spine, the hungry sounds he made. The wickedly needful sounds she made.

The sensations wrapped around her, cocooning her in a cloud of pure lust.

Fechin set her on her feet and spun her around. "Put your hands on the tree and don't let go. Open for me."

She shouldn't be doing this. Half of her instincts said to run, the other half begged for more of his touches. Rough bark pressed against her palms. When had she lifted her arms?

His hand slid under her dress, up her thigh. His fingers found her center and stroked her.

“You are so wet.”

Azar flushed, mortified, but unable to move or speak.

"It's good you respond so well. That will make things easier on you."


He rubbed her, finding her nub, which made her gasp, then he was pushing a finger inside her.

"You shouldn't —"

"Shhhh. All of your body is mine to touch as I please."

She stiffened and turned her head to glare at him, but forgot what she was going to say as she stared into his fathomless black eyes. The way he ordered her around and touched her without permission should anger and frighten her, but she couldn’t look away.

He pushed a second finger into her, stretched her.

"You are going to be so tight around my cock." His hot breath whispering in her ear sent a shiver through her.

Her mouth opened to protest, but again, no words came out.

“That’s right. You are mine.”

But she couldn't be his. She was going to marry Dorlan. She tried to pull away, but Fechin’s big body caged her against the tree.

His fingers moved in and out of her, making her ache.

Her body convulsed around his fingers, and she could finally make a sound as she cried out.

He kissed her to take it away.

She glanced toward her house. This wasn't right. If Dorlan found out, he wouldn't marry her. Papa would be ashamed of her.

Fechin turned her face back toward him. “Come with me.”

"Into the forest?"

Fechin nodded. "I'll show you a forest like you've never seen before." He held out his hand. "Come with me."





Fechin didn't wait for her decision. He might have stayed in this world too long already. He'd flown back and forth several times through the rift, but had no way to know how long it would remain open. Was this what happened to the missing centaurs in the forest? Why hadn't they returned? Nothing else had come through — maybe that rift was one way. Maybe the raven’s scream had changed something.

Azar hadn't taken his hand. While he'd been lost in thought, she'd taken a step back and pulled her torn dress over her chest. Her fiery hair was tangled, and there were questions in her copper-colored eyes he didn't have the time or inclination to answer.

It was likely she needed to be in Fae when he impregnated her, so the magic attached to the inheritance of the crown.

There would be no debate.

He caught her gaze and held her eyes. "Sleep."

Azar blinked up at him. A pang of worry went through him. She should have slept immediately. If this part of his magic didn't work here, or on her, things could get complicated.

"Sleep, Azar." He put more magic into the suggestion and added her name. Fae always had power over anyone who had given their name freely, but too much could damage her, or make her sleep too long.

She slumped into his arms. He summoned his raven magic to form wings from his shirt and cloak. In his half-raven form, he flew up, out of the forest toward the tear between worlds.

"Azar!" The cry was so distant he thought he imagined it as he soared higher.

He'd found his maité anam. He'd had to cross to another world to do it, but now he could send that spiteful witch back to her grasping family. Hopefully, it would close on its own. At least so far up in the sky, there was less of a chance someone would accidentally stumble across it.

Cloaking himself and Azar in glamour to hide them from sight, he flew to the balcony of his rooms.

He dismissed the glamour and his wings, waving a hand to lock the door and soundproof the room.

Laying Azar on the bed, he stripped her of her dress and undergarments. She was young compared to him, but all woman. When they bonded, she'd share his immortality and keep her beauty forever.

Using silken cords, he bound her wrists over her head and her ankles apart, but loosely so he could move her legs.

His drive to possess her would not tolerate any delay she may cause by demanding explanations.

Fechin climbed onto the bed and pressed his body to hers. He dwarfed Azar's tiny frame, but he gave her all his weight, pressing her into the mattress, enjoying her soft curves against his hard planes. "Can you hear me, Azar?'

Her brow furrowed.

He caressed her face. "Don't wake yet. Just listen and speak only the truth, Azar. Do you want to have children?"

"Yes." One burden lifted from his shoulders. At least that desire wouldn’t have to be forced on her.

Bracing himself on one arm, he cupped her breast. "You like it when I touch you, don't you, sweet Azar?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you want to please me?"


"Kiss me, Azar."

She opened to him, and he took her mouth, sliding his tongue into her. He could feel the bond building between them, so tangible he would swear he saw the connection forming a cord between them.

"You will stay here in Fae, sit beside me as queen, and submit to me."

Her answer didn't come verbally, but the bond between them thickened in response.

Fechin parted her legs and brushed his mouth across the lips of her sex. Azar smelled clean, sweet, and free of magic. She was still wet from his attentions in the forest. He parted her damp folds and licked, drawing his tongue slowly over her swollen clit.

She whimpered and writhed. Fechin lashed her with his tongue, holding her in place, taking his pleasure by giving pleasure to her. Her body trembled. He kept one arm across her hips, the other slid two fingers inside her slick wet warmth, exploring. In and out.

Slowly, then faster, mimicking how he’d fill her with his cock. “Fly, Azar.”

His voice rolled from his chest, dark and commanding. Fechin curled his fingers inside her, loving the feel of each shudder and clench of her thighs. He flicked his tongue over her clit again, moving his free hand to the other breast, where he pinched and rolled her nipples just enough to make her moan.

Her body tightened again, an orgasm was rising. She panted and tossed her head. He stilled his fingers as she clenched around them and took her clit into his mouth.

She bucked off the bed beneath his hold as she came. The keening cry made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before. She shuddered and fell back on the mattress with a satisfied sigh.

Fechin added a third finger and lashed her clit with his tongue. Her body rewarded him with a soft sigh and more of the cream that made her pussy glisten.

He’d prepared her as much as possible to take him. She wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't experienced, either, and so tiny.

It was time.

"Wake, Azar.

He lowered his mouth to her pussy, lapping at the sweet essence she made for him. He stroked her channel, feeling her body readying to come again.

Her eyes fluttered open, arousal slamming into her conscious senses. She blinked, eyes widening at the sight of him between her spread thighs, and yanked on her restraints. He lunged to cover her mouth with his and cutoff her questions. Fingers bringing her slickness to her clit, he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance and swallowed her shriek as he thrust into her slick heat for the first time while her pussy rippled around him in orgasm.

Azar’s confused body tried to grip his cock tight and keep him out at the same time as he pushed through her resistance until he impaled her on his full length.

Fechin tangled a hand in her hair to still her head as he moved his mouth over hers. He rolled a nipple between his fingers and held still inside her as she writhed and kicked her legs pointlessly. He was inside her, far too deep. All her body could do was adapt to his possession.

Catching her eyes, he murmured, "You feel only pleasure."

Azar relaxed in her restraints, her submissiveness igniting lust within him.

He moved, rocking into her, relishing the feel of her softness under him.

She was so small, and he so large when he thrust in, her abdomen bulged with his cock. He could watch himself inside her for hours. Sliding a hand between them, he stroked her clit. "Move with me. Come for me, Azar."

She braced her feet against his thighs and rolled her hips to match his rhythmic thrusts.

Gods. She was so open to suggestion, her body made for receiving his cock and the pleasure he offered.

But the time for playing was later. He had reached his limit of slow sex tonight. Waving a hand, he tightened the ropes, pulling her body taut so fast she gasped. Her back arched, putting her perky breasts on display.

He licked the underside of one breast, flicked his tongue across the nipple, and sucked her pink tip into a red bud. Curious, he sank his teeth into her other nipple.

She mewled and clenched her inner muscles around him. She liked a little pain.

Lust and the need to breed her made him tilt her hips so he could fuck her that little bit deeper

Azar panted as a full body flush spread over her skin. Her breasts bounced wildly as he rode her hard.

She was beautiful in the throes of passion, and in chains pinned beneath him, as she took him. A warm sensation built in his chest, full of passion, adoration, and protective instincts. Love. It was the manifestation of his love for her. The bond snapped into place.

Magic broke away from his soul and flowed into her as he came deep into her.

Her eyes widened, startled alertness breaking through the half-trance she'd been in. "What's happening?"

Fechin could only guess what his soul felt like as it created life within her. It was too soon to explain. "Sleep, Azar."

Her eyes closed, and her breathing evened out.

He remained inside her and placed a palm over her abdomen.

With any luck, she'd think that encounter was a dream, and he could introduce her to her new life properly when she woke.

Fechin pulled out of her and cleaned between her legs. Releasing and massaging her wrists and ankles, he tucked her under the covers. He'd done what was necessary, but a small part of him couldn't help wondering if he should have done it differently. He didn't have the luxury of months to convince her.

He kissed her forehead and moved to the balcony, eyes going to where he could still make out the shimmer in the sky. A streak of red, gold, and orange traveled across the blue expanse. He shook his head. Nothing good would come of these rifts. Too many things could pass through.

With the veil between worlds thinning in multiple places, Fae needed a king to protect it, and to become king, he needed an heir. He glanced toward his bed, where Azar slept.

The spark of magic between them tonight had started life inside her. Pregnancy with raven babes didn't last as long as a typical Fae pregnancy. In five months, he would be crowned king. He had to hope he could hold Fae together that much longer.




Raven Chronicles, Chapters 1-3




Fechin slouched on the Raven throne, hoping his growing boredom looked like neutrality to those watching him. The chair, a black bird with wings extended and curved beak overhead, formed of onyx, jet, and obsidian, wasn’t exactly comfortable, either. Slouching, he could get away with. Squirming was definitely not kingly.

Selkies. Elves. Trow. Merrow. Puca. Kobolds.

They all blurred into bickering courtiers wearing brightly colored finery and sparkling shoes, in direct contrast to his all black attire and scuffed boots. Their delicate hands fluttered in the air as their soft bodies struck dramatic poses while they endlessly argued.

He wanted nothing more than to draw the Sword of Light from over his shoulder and settle things in an efficient, and permanent, manner.

If they insisted on these meetings, the least they could do was make them useful. Who cared if a border was one foot farther or nearer? Or if two houses wanted to wear the same shade of green? Or whether they held the ball on one day over another?

His fingers twitched on the arm of the throne. It wouldn’t take long to cleave them all in half, but even he might need two swings for some of the fatter ones who lived on the Raven Court’s hospitality. He let the idea drift away. With his luck, every time he cut one in two, he’d end up with twice as many.

Why couldn’t any of them see there were bigger problems — like the magic of Inisfáil Fae tearing itself apart.

But only he felt it.

The only other, aside from The Morrigan herself, who might feel the magic shredding, was Vilkos. The title of King would go to one of them. Fechin held the throne at the moment only because he was older. To be crowned the true King of the Inisfáil Fae, he required an heir, and if his brother sired one first, being older wouldn’t keep Fechin on the throne.

But his brother had abandoned the castle two years ago, leaving Fechin as the lone target for all the politicians and hangers-on. It seemed only fair if Vilkos could become king, he should have to sit through half of these tedious proceedings.

Although, the ravens were muttering about Vilkos returning.

That was another thing to worry about.

Vilkos had a chance to become king, but there was no chance he’d protect the Inisfáil Fae.

An especially high-pitched voice echoed through the room. Fechin winced. Maybe he should move the proceedings to a smaller space in the castle. One where the voices wouldn’t rebound so much. Hearing the petty squabbles three times from multiple angles did not improve his mood.

Or, perhaps a darker room, where he could be in shadows. The throne room had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in far too much sun and left him on display atop the dais.

He’d already had all the decor and furniture taken away, hoping if there was nothing to look at, and no chairs or tables to use, that would hurry things along.

No such luck.

Now the courtiers milled around, arguing about where everyone was entitled to stand. And, free to move rather than stuck in a chair, their gestures and posturing were more elaborate — like they were actors in a play.

Fechin made a mental note to have the chairs returned — and bolted to the floor. Or maybe with one leg made shorter than the rest.

Shouts and swords clashing in the corridor outside brought Fechin upright from his slouch, and shut the courtiers up as they turned to face the back of the hall. He half-rose, hand on the hilt of his sword, as the double doors burst open, and a centaur stormed into the throne room, tossing a sword aside.

Had he been at court before? Centaurs rarely came to the castle. Fechin would remember someone like this.

Black-skinned and bearded, the centaur made an imposing figure. The broadsword strapped to his back, and the bow slung over his shoulder, plus the scars he bore on his human chest and horse flanks, all marked the man as a warrior, not a courtier.

Massive, even for one of his kind, the centaur’s ten-foot height towered over everyone else in the room. Flashing hooves scattered the Fae far more efficiently than anything Fechin had managed. He relaxed into his chair.

What did the centaurs have to complain about? They weren’t part of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts, and tended to handle their problems themselves — the way Fechin liked things dealt with. Maybe this was finally something important.

The centaur came to a stop in front of the Raven throne, crossed his arms, and waited.

It was a power play to see who would speak first. Fechin resisted the urge to grin and gave in to his curiosity. “What can the Seelie Court do for the centaurs?”

Tossing a look of distaste over his shoulder at the people he’d left in disarray, the centaur swished his tail. “Get out.”

He didn’t raise his voice, or even sound threatening, but the courtiers fled.

As the doors closed, Fechin rose and extended his hand. “I will hire you to do that every day and pay you well.”

White teeth flashed from a bushy beard as the centaur clasped Fechin’s arm. “No, thanks. Places like this make my skin itch.”

Fechin could relate. “My guards in the hall?”

“I didn’t kill them.” Huge shoulders shrugged. “They mumbled something about appointments, so I made a few points I meant.”

Unexpected laughter escaped him. “What should I call you?”

“Iphos. My father is Basileus of the centaurs in the forest.”

Making Iphos a prince. Up close, the signs of exhaustion were clear. Dried sweat on his flanks. Tangled hair. A dullness to his eyes.

Fechin gestured to the doors. “Let’s walk.”

The throne room was the most magicked space in the castle. Every court had at least one listening spell in place to keep up on all the latest decisions and gossip. Fechin didn’t have them removed, and the courtiers didn’t try to listen in other places. Well, not very often. He’d made it known anyone caught magicking other areas of the castle would be banished from the castle. A fate worse than death for the self-important freeloaders growing fat courtesy of Fae Court hospitality.

They entered the surprisingly empty hallway, aside from the unconscious guards, and Fechin led the way through double glass doors into the main garden. It was his favorite place. Acres full of the flowers and trees his mother favored — black and red roses, snapdragons, orchids, and dahlias. Weeping willow, cedar, and rowan trees. The magic in this place, and the fairies, kept all the flowers and trees in bloom, no matter the time of year.

Everyone knew about the Morrigan’s bloodthirsty side, but his mother loved as fiercely as she fought, and he’d spent many happy days with her in the garden.

Burbling fountains interspersed among the plants provided enough noise to make their conversation inaudible to outsiders. And, the magic twisted the paths, so no one could anticipate where he would be, or follow him as he walked. It was as private as they’d get. “What is so important that you’d risk a medical condition to come here today?”

Iphos tossed his head. “Satyrs.”

They’d come to Inisfáil Fae territory from Hellas Fae lands with the centaurs centuries ago, along with the dryads. The centaurs and the satyrs had never agreed on anything, or played well together.

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re stirring up trouble again.”

Fechin slipped his hands into his pockets and lifted one shoulder. “When aren’t they?”

Iphos shook his head. “It’s different this time, or I wouldn’t be here. Six centaurs have disappeared while trying to handle the satyrs. We don’t think they’re working alone.”

Alliances were always being made and broken, but six centaurs disappearing was a problem serious enough to warrant the attention of the Raven Throne.

“Who do you think they’ve aligned with?”

“No idea.” Iphos shrugged. “There haven’t been any new arrivals, and the dryads wouldn’t drop a leaf to help a satyr.”

Seeing as the dryads were all women who couldn’t leave their trees, and the satyrs a band of roving rapists, the dislike seemed warranted. When the satyrs had sought asylum among the Inisfáil Fae, one term of their acceptance into the land was to stop the rapes and murders. As leader of the Inisfáil Fae, Fechin couldn’t act against the satyrs unless there was proof they’d broken the deal, no matter how repugnant he found the goat-men.

Fechin blew out a breath. He had the army spread thin already, but if centaurs were going missing…

“I can send some ravens to scout the forest. I’ll also send one to the Dullahan and ask him to have a look around.” The Dullahan’s sight could see across the countryside on the darkest night, and even the satyrs knew better than to cross him. “We can send a message to your father as well. You’re exhausted. Eat and rest at the castle. I'll send the ravens tonight. You won't make it back before they arrive, even if you left right now.”

"Accept food and hospitality from a Fae?" Iphos snorted. It hadn’t taken the centaurs long to learn the rules about dealing with the Inisfáil Fae and incurring debts.

"You’re free to run yourself to death if you like. But there are plenty of rooms here. It’s a trifling thing, not worthy of debt."

“In that case, I’ll stay one night.”

Fechin nodded and channeled magic into his voice. "Ink and paper."

Moments later, a trio of brownies appeared. The child-sized, brown-skinned sprites wore immaculately pressed black uniforms and polished boots that imitated Fechin’s typical attire, although where his hair was in neat braids, they kept theirs in shaggy mops. They worked around the castle, making sure the place was tidy and running errands for treats. Six hands shoved the supplies he'd asked for at him as they elbowed one another to get to him first.

“I brought them!”

“I was here before you!”

“Mine are better!”

Often Fae were cruel, treating the brownies as annoying pests, but his mother had a soft spot for them, earning their loyalty, which they had transferred to him. He accepted quills from the first, ink from the second, and paper from the third so there wouldn’t be any arguments, and offered them to Iphos.

"Tha —"

Fechin cut him off with a sharp wave. “That’s no trouble.” The brownies were the least strict Fae on matters of protocol, but no point in letting anyone see a debt incurred.

Iphos scratched out a note to his father and handed it to Fechin.

He turned to the brownies. "The centaur requires three guides to his room. Any debt is mine and will be paid with honey from the kitchen. Agreed?"

The brownies nodded and scampered ahead.

"Right this way, Sir Centaur.”

“We’ll show you!”

“And make sure you don't get lost.”

Iphos shook his head and followed the chatterboxes, but not before he gave Fechin a skeptical glance.

The centaur would be safe enough with them. Fechin left the garden and climbed a winding stone staircase leading to the top of the tower the ravens liked to use. Windows were always open on all sides of the tower so the birds could come and go as they pleased. There were always ravens here, and he always felt more at home among the birds than anyone else. They roosted on perches and in nests they’d built in the rafters to store their pilfered treasures.

He approached the largest female as he tied a string around the first note. "I need a message taken to the Dullahan."

Mischief fluffed her feathers and cawed laughter. She loved tormenting the man who struck fear into everyone and took off as soon as Fechin hung the message around her neck. The Dullahan wouldn’t thank Fechin for this.

The thought made him smile.

Fechin held up the other rolled paper to a male called Frolic. "This must go to the king of the centaurs. No sightseeing. Straight there."

Frolic squawked and bobbed his head to accept the message.

He stopped in front of Tricks, the most mischievous raven, which was really saying something compared to the other troublemakers. “And I need a spy. Someone clever and sneaky who can find out secrets and report back.” Tricks preened and pretended not to be interested in Fechin. “You’re probably right. It’s perilous and not a job for you." He turned his back on Tricks. "There's something dangerous in the forest. Centaurs disappearing. Satyrs on —"

Fechin chuckled at the swish of air on his neck as silent wings took off.



Feeling a bit more light-hearted after spending time with the ravens, Fechin left them to their antics and descended the stairs, but his mood plummeted to the dungeons when he caught sight of the witch as he exited into the corridor leading to the kitchens.

Shisti swayed toward him, courtiers and servants giving her a wide berth as she walked down the hallway. The daughter of the Queen of Winter was also an effective deterrent to courtiers — unfortunately, he was among the deterred when it came to her.

Pale, perfect face made up artfully to hide the blue tinge to her skin, grey eyes set off with kohl, white hair elaborately styled, gown low cut and tight to display her body, she attracted all eyes.

He sighed. It had been a week since she'd tried to snare him in her web of sex and fertility spells. If she conceived with him, the competition to become king would be over, and she would become queen, giving her family a power base in three realms.

His luck had run out.

"Your Majesty." Her voice slid over him like ice.


"Walk with me?"

"I'm busy."

But she wouldn’t be dissuaded and turned to walk beside him without missing a step. He didn’t touch her. The magic on her was enough to make him shiver from three feet away.

He didn’t care who she gave her body to. If he had any luck at all, one of those unfortunate men would get her pregnant. The one woman he’d bedded since Shisti’s arrival had died under mysterious circumstances. Well, only a mystery in how to prove what he knew she’d done.

Another mysterious death occurred when he’d refused to bed her and threatened to banish her.

And she’d spoken of her visions — how she would be the one to make him king.

He didn’t want to believe her — how could he when his mind and body recoiled in disgust at the thought of touching her? The raven inside him retreated behind walls deep within him whenever the witch approached.

But he knew better than to dismiss the visions of a witch. His mother was the Goddess of Fate, after all. If there was something to what Shisti saw, he needed her at court.

So, Fechin had struck a bargain with the witch that, as Inisfáil Fae, he was beholden to keep. She would not kill anyone else, and he would try to breed her, spilling his seed only into her.

Resigned to another unwanted obligation today, he opened the nearest door to one of the many unused rooms in the castle. It was a random choice, so she’d not have been able to prepare any traps for him. A long wooden table and some chairs were the only furnishings, pushed against the wall under a high window with curtains tied back with sashes to reveal the darkening sky.

She always wanted to get into his suite — his bed — but he'd never take her there. He'd always have to be paranoid about what she'd left behind. Nor was there any way he’d willingly enter her bedroom.

Closing the door, and steeling himself for the cold, he took one of her breasts in his hand and pinched her nipple through the soft material of her gown. She resisted crying out at first, but he increased the pressure until she let out a reluctant gasp.

“You want to be fucked, whatever you don’t want ripped, take it off now.”

He was rough, even when he liked the woman he was fucking. Clothes didn't last.

Shisti waited, a small smile curving her lips up. Or it could have been a smirk at her little game. She knew he didn’t want her. Perhaps having her clothes torn off let her believe he did.

He obliged her silence, ripping her dress and shift off her to let them pool on the floor. Let her figure out how to get back to her rooms without clothing. Her body, pale, long-limbed, and amply curved, would have stirred him if it belonged to anyone but her.

“On the table. Lay down with your head over the edge."

Her lithe body was graceful as a cat, or more like sinuous as a snake, as she crawled onto the hard surface.

“Open your mouth. Suck me.” He pressed his cock past her lips.

Shisti’s mouth was the warmest part of her, when she wasn’t spouting curses and lies. Her tongue slid up and down his length. She wasn't bad, had been trained quite well, actually, but she used her skill as a distraction — always testing to see if she could make him fall under her spell.

Already her magic crawled over him, trying to invade his body and mind. He shoved his cock into her mouth far enough to gag her.

Did it again for good measure.

She took it passively. Would allow him to continue, thus taking the fun out of it.

He pulled out of her wet mouth. "Turn around."

More sinuous movement as she laid back and spread her legs a bit. Not far enough for him to see her pussy, only a hint of pink. "On your stomach."

He pulled her back so her legs dangled off the table, sliding one hand around her to stimulate her clit.

Fechin plunged into her, fucking her hard from the first thrust as he pumped in and out of her pussy with abandon, trying to build heat inside her with friction. Whether the frigidness of her body came from her heritage or the magic she worked, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

She pushed up on her hands.

He waved a hand, and the ties holding the curtains open extended to wrap around her wrists and pull her arms straight.

Shisti writhed in her bondage. She didn't like being tied, but he didn’t trust her. It was bad enough he had to touch her as much as he did.

“You hate being powerless, don’t you? But it makes me hard.”

Their deal said he would try to breed her, and come inside her, and he kept to his side of their bargain, to the exact wording. But he hated the feel of her pussy around him, and he knew from the way his magic and raven rejected her, he’d never be able to create life within her. So Fechin fucked her like she wanted, but not how she wanted.

Fortunately, when they’d struck their bargain, she’d not specified where inside her he had to spill his seed. He pulled out and rubbed the head of his cock along the seam of her ass.

She hated this especially, which made it the slightest bit enjoyable for him.

He pressed through the tight ring, the slickness from her pussy making the slide easier.





Shisti hated Fechin. He was all male — big muscles, battle scars, and tanned skin — a body made for holding a woman close and making her feel protected… though he’d never done that for her.

When she’d first arrived at the Raven Court, she'd thought him attractive, and hoped he would be kind — in spite of his mother being a monster — and that he would make her unwanted fate bearable.

He hadn’t.

Fechin had never wanted her, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t make him. It wasn’t fair of her to put all the blame on him, she knew. She hadn’t wanted him, either, and wouldn’t have come here if she hadn’t been forced to, but she’d put some effort in when he hadn’t. Now, he always took her from behind. In a way, it was a small mercy. She didn't have to look at him either, and could pretend he was someone else.

Someone who had loved her, once. That face was blurred by magic to make her forget. The spell on her felt like her father’s oily, otherworldly touch, but love was stronger than even the most powerful magic, and he hadn’t been completely successful. She’d never feel that way for Fechin, but she’d thought an alliance might be possible.

She needed him to move faster and get this over with. This attempt was another failure — she could tell already. Shisti desperately wanted release almost as much as she wanted this to be over. She arched her body and received a hard swat to her ass. It was her job to stay as he positioned her and not move, like she was some toy to be arranged and used.

Her soul filled with resentment as he filled her ass.

After today, she was finished. No more throwing herself at him. Next time, he would have to come to her, and she would be ready with her list of demands.

The first one being he kept his dick out of her ass.

She’d been at this damned castle for two years, for her arranged marriage to the man who would become king. She’d seen his coronation in her visions, and she was responsible for making him king over his brother.

Once her father found out, he’d practically sold her to the Raven family — after forcing her to endure training on how to please men from his soldiers. He'd torn her from her home, her love, and her mother, banishing her to the Inisfáil Fae castle for use as… as breeding stock. She only knew her father hadn’t actually sold her because Fechin didn’t want her here anymore than she wanted to be here.

The only man she hated more than Fechin was her father.

Day by day, slight by slight, he’d turned her hope into resentment. Even after she’d told Fechin she’d make him king, he humiliated her at every turn.

Ignored her in the halls.

Never paid her a compliment.

Didn’t offer her company or escort her in public.

Snubbed her at court functions.

He'd made her a laughingstock.

A woman to be pitied.

His whore.

She should be queen of all Fae by now — those who mocked her crushed in her grip and under her heel.

Fechin fucked her plenty, but only ever came in her ass or throat. Never in her pussy, which she kept ready with potions and magic. Once. She only needed him to come inside her a single time, and she would be pregnant, thus becoming queen, and able to refuse his touch forevermore.

But he humiliated her even where no one else could see.

His thumb never let up on her clit, forcing her to come, even as she hated what he did to her.

Fechin slammed himself into her one last time, and his cock jerked as he pointlessly emptied himself into her.

He gave her a pat on her ass when he finished and left her bound, her naked backside in the air.

Patted. Her. Ass.

Like she was a horse he’d just ridden.

The bastard.

Anyone could open the door and see her like this. This time, Fechin had crossed a line. Cursing the man, she plotted her revenge as she used her magic to work on the knots binding her.

One day, she vowed. One day I will crush Fechin. Then I will destroy my father and any other man who uses me or gets in my way.





Vilkos ended his run through the forest on four paws, shifting to human as he came to the treeline and took in the view of the castle that had been his home, but never felt like it. The full moon reflected off the towers, keep, and battlements of black stone, and the moat resembled ebony glass, with only the occasional ripple revealing the presence of monsters within its depths.

Everything about The Morrigan was black. Nothing about that had changed in the time he’d been gone.

Candlelight and magic glowed in windows open to the night air, and the wintry breeze carried the slightest tinge of salt from the ocean on the far side of the palace. To his magic enhanced vision, a light purple shimmer surrounded the entire building and grounds. The wards — unchanged and open to him.

Clumsy, brother. Fechin had always been too trusting. Vilkos would have adjusted the wards the second his brother left.

A black raven swooped low, aiming at Vilkos’ head with a derisive caw that scratched the inside of his mind. One of Fechin’s pets on an errand, no doubt. The things were a nuisance he’d longed to eradicate for years. When he was king, he’d fill the palace with wolves and let them eat their fill.

That was a nice daydream, but for now, better to get inside to see what was happening before the bird came back and ruined the surprise of the prodigal son returning.

With a thought, Vilkos pulled his glamour magic around his body in an invisible shroud, and traversed the open, grassy ground, easily passing through the two gates and crossing the drawbridge. Where to go?

If Fechin was sending his ravens out, he must be in that tower, not the throne room. Vilkos turned his steps in that direction, listening with one ear for anything interesting in the buzz of conversations around him. Was it possible the nobles were still arguing over the same things they had been two years ago when he left?


Meaty aromas lured him toward the kitchen, where dinner preparations were underway. He snatched up a plate of sliced meats and covered it with his magic as he snacked on his path through the corridors lit by torches and magic crystals leading to the tower.

Courtiers and servants streamed toward Vilkos, forcing him to step aside as they rushed past, their steps a bit faster than he’d seen so far. He rounded a corner and caught Fechin’s irritated voice snapping at Shisti.

Vilkos hurried his steps and turned at the next intersection, catching sight of his brother and the woman who wanted to be his wife. Fechin pushed open a door and pulled Shisti into a room after him.

Lounging against the wall, Vilkos finished dinner. The cooks were still excellent. As he waited, he tried not to think about what Fechin was doing to Shisti. He’d wanted her when she arrived at court, but she’d only ever had eyes for Fechin.

The door across the hall flew open and Fechin strode from the room — looking more tense than when he'd pushed his strumpet in. Nor had he been in there long. Another fight with the potential queen? After two years, it seemed like they should have gotten past all that.

Maybe she'd accept comfort from Vilkos now. If he did that sort of thing. Over the last couple years he’d heard stories about how dark she’d become, and she wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

She'd been so determined to have Fechin when she arrived, she'd brushed Vilkos aside like trash. He'd left the castle and wenched his way through all the courts, fucking every woman he wanted, but none had fallen pregnant with his child.

He'd thought Fechin would have bred his prize by now. That was the cost of the throne after all. But the supposed royal couple to be was not wedded, expecting, or even happy.

Vilkos set his plate on the floor and licked his fingers as he crossed the hall. He pushed open the door, and took in the sight of the witch's bare body, bent and bound over the table, cum dripping from her ass.

He laughed. No wonder there was no heir. Dear Fechin seemed to be confused.

Far be it for Vilkos to waste a perfectly good wet pussy on offer. He dropped his glamour and closed the door, making sure it clicked.

Shisti whipped her head around, eyes wide as she stared at him.

Good. Let her worry about what he would do to her. Her rejection stung, even two years later.

A gesture with his fingers, and the air around the door thickened. No one could enter or hear them now. Another flick of his fingers, and he added his magic to his brother’s on the witch's bindings.

"Get out," she snarled.

"Is that any way to greet your newly returned brother-in-law?" He dropped his gaze to her pussy. "Or potential king?"

He crossed the room and slid his hand up her leg, smiling at her flinch. His hand fit perfectly over her hip, ideal for holding into while he took her from behind.

She tried to twist from him. "You will not be king. Don't touch me. I'm not yours."

"I'm going to do a lot more than touch your hip." He slid his belt from its loops and smacked her ass. He could see the appeal in fucking it. But not right after his brother, and not when he could smell how ready she was. He gave her a few more smacks with his belt, finally earning a shriek.

"Stop this. You've had your fun. Let me go. I won't love you, or forgive you, if you do this."

So tiresome with the protests. He sighed and bent over her, looping his belt in front of her face. She jerked away, but he pulled the leather against her mouth and yanked it tight. Punching a new hole in the leather, he buckled the makeshift gag at the back of her skull and flipped her onto her back.

Furious grey eyes glared daggers at him from under the tangle of her white hair. Her breasts, rounded and pink-tipped, bounced as he yanked her body toward him. He filled his hands with the soft mounds, using the pads of his thumbs to tease her nipples erect. "It's for the good of Fae, you know. I don't need your love, forgiveness, or permission. Fortunately, my brother already managed to make you wet."

Vilkos twisted her nipples until she cried out. Stepping back, he pulled his shirt over his head and kicked his boots off, then dropped his pants to the floor. His cock was already hard, and he gave himself a few strokes as he imagined how the first thrust into her would feel. So much sweeter when they didn't want to yield.

She swung her foot at his head, but he caught her heel and trapped her leg under his arm.

He rubbed her clit with the head of his cock, then angled down and pushed into her.

Shisti was tight, and inadvertently squeezed her cunt around him when she writhed as he forced her to take him. "Fuck. Does he never take this cunt?" She flushed.

"He doesn't, does he?" Vilkos pulled back, thrust again, and groaned at the unexpected pleasure. Her pussy was cool inside, just like that icy exterior of hers. But she was wet, and getting wetter as her body accepted his invasion. Who knew fucking his brother's witch would feel so good? "He's a fool. Rest assured, little witch, I have no problem breeding you. And when I'm king, I'll fuck you on the throne this tight cunt earned for me."

He took her harder, using those curvy hips of hers to pull her onto his dick even as she squirmed in his hold. "This is what you were sent here to do, isn't it?" Her pussy lost its cool temperature, warming up around his cock.

Vilkos inhaled, and paused, balls deep in the witch. The air scented of fear, the satisfying smell of an unwilling woman's arousal, his lust, and now that he'd warmed her up… something sweet. What was that?

Dropping his head to her neck, he breathed in deep. The faint, enticing smell teased his nose as he traced the scent to her breasts. There was something... He laved her nipple, ignoring her muffled protests as he sank his teeth into her deep enough to taste blood.

Could it be?

He pulled out and crouched, pressing his nose against her cunt, and inhaling again. Her body offered up more of that sweet smell. It made his mouth water.

Shisti bucked against him. Her eyes were closed and a steady stream of sounds came from behind her gag. The scent faded. She was trying to keep it from him.

Vilkos drew his hand back and delivered a sharp smack on her pussy. The idea of her keeping anything from him infuriated him. His wolf raged inside him. She cried out at the impact and her words cut off.

He smiled and spanked her pussy again. "I think I know how to warm this pussy of yours right up, Shisti."

Two more smacks, and her pink skin was turning a nice shade of red. Vilkos leaned forward and licked along her glistening flesh.

The sweet scent turned into an explosion of taste on his tongue, awakening every primal instinct inside him. His wolf howled in triumph and anticipation.

Shisti was ripe.

The base of his dick ached as his knot formed for the first time. He wasn't just going to fuck her once. He was going into rut.

"You smell fertile, so we're going to be here until I'm sure my plowing you results in something growing inside you. My brother missed it. But my senses are sharper. You can't hide your readiness for breeding from me."

She panicked, thrashing against him as nonsensical words poured out of her through the belt. His skin itched as magic crackled in the air around him. He pulled his arm back and gave her the hardest smack yet. Her spell winked out as a scream interrupted her words.

Vilkos slid his palms over her smooth thighs and spread them wider. He licked her cunt again, pushing his tongue into her. Her sweet scent amplified.

He brushed his fingertip over her slick lower lips. “You’re wet, Shisti. Drenched. You like being spanked?” He circled her opening with his fingertip. Her new warmth lured him closer. He didn’t fight the temptation, and pushed two fingers in. Her breath rushed out as her inner muscles squeezed his fingers. “Sensitive too.” He pressed his hand to her lower belly, holding her still. “That brother of mine clearly hasn’t been fucking you properly.”

“Look at me.” He added a third finger, pumping them in and out ad she shook her head. A throaty groan escaped her. He grinned and stroked her until her arousal soaked his hand. Her breaths quickened. Each exhale lifted her breasts and erect nipples.

In and out he slid his fingers, adjusting the speed and angle to take her to the edge. Each time her sex quivered and her breathing hitched, he changed the depth, delaying her release. He wasn’t quite ready to allow the witch to orgasm.

Vilkos enjoyed the sounds of tortured pleasure coming from behind the belt. He replaced his fingers with his tongue. She cried out, and he groaned. Her flavor was sweet, and left him hungry for more. He slid his hands under her rear and lifted. More arousal flowed the longer he licked her.

He hooked her legs over his shoulders. The move pushed her pussy against his face, slickening his chin and shoving his nose into her glistening pink core. He loved her taste. Possessiveness flared. He ignored it and focused on stimulating her. With his hands on her butt cheeks, he fucked her with his tongue.

A groan crawled up his throat. She shuddered in response. Perfect. He growled softly, letting the rumble against her sensitive lips take her higher. It wasn’t enough. More. He wanted more. She trembled. Yes, that was what he needed. He wanted Shisti on the brink. He wanted her to understand her pleasure was his to control.

"Don't you want to come, sweet Shisti?" He smirked into her glare. "That's okay. I don't want you to want it. I want to take your pleasure and make it mine. Fight me, witch. Go ahead.”

He nibbled her clit, pulling and sucking on the hardened nub until she moved restlessly beneath him. The second he thrust his tongue into her core, she arched her body, pushing herself against his face. He felt the slight change in the muscles along her core. She was close. Ready to come.

He murmured words of praise as he worked his lips and tongue on her flesh, sucking her clit, and stroking her tight channel.

It was time to show her his power over her. Her body arched off the table as orgasm took her.

Shisti’s body surrendered to his fingers and tongue over and over.

Her sounds went from indignant fury when she fought, to pleading right before she lost the battle, to sweet gasps and moans as she went limp in defeat and he lapped up her release. She'd stopped fighting him. Her legs splayed wide, leaving what he wanted open to him.

He stood, and when he sank into her depths this time, her pussy was hot and beyond wet. Her slickness coated his dick and overflowed onto his thighs as he thrust inside her. Good. She’d need to be wet. He didn’t want to damage her already. He needed her to carry a healthy child, after all.

"Don't you want revenge on my brother for making you his slut all this time? At least as my whore, you'll be queen, too."

The cries and feel of the hot, wet pussy of the unwilling woman, the idea of taking the title of king by taking his brother's woman, the power he would enjoy wielding over all of Fae, all combined into a heady aphrodisiac that drove him even wilder.

His body started to change. Fingernails turned into claws. Sharp fangs replaced human teeth. Muscles stretched and bulked.

Vilkos rutted her, slamming his hips into hers as his knot formed at the base of his dick. Gripping her hips even harder, he pulled her down as he roared and slammed his hips against hers, forcing his swollen knot inside her all at once.

She screamed while he rocked against her. The walls of her slick pussy clamped around him and rubbed his sensitive flesh.

"Yes. Gods, yes."

He should have ignored what she wanted two years ago and taken her then. Releasing her hip with one hand, he pushed her face to the side to bury his head in the crook of her neck. She smelled of magic and woman and fear. But most if all, she smelled sweet. He licked her throat, and she shuddered. His fangs lengthened even more, and he opened his mouth wide. He grazed her skin, earning a whimper.

Vilkos bit, not trying to mask the pain he caused her. His fangs sank deep, and her blood filled his mouth. In order to carry his offspring, she needed the magic in his saliva in her blood. She thrashed, her pussy massaging him as she struggled. Shaking his head, he bit deeper, tearing into her soft flesh to ensure her neck and shoulder would be scarred for all to see.

Lifting his head, he eyed his mark on her with satisfaction and licked her blood from his lips.

The witch... his witch lay limp beneath him, gagged, bound, and defeated. All the fight fucked right out of her, body accepting him as his magic worked through her blood. He lifted her legs to his shoulders. Tied within her by his knot, he moved in short thrusts and toyed with her swollen clit. Her channel slicked and trembled as her orgasm began anew. "You're ready, my whore."

She found a spark of defiance and glared at him.

A rush of pleasure shot through him, racing down his spine, drawing his balls up, and pulsing down his cock, ending in an eruption of hot seed that filled the witch.

Her back arched as her pussy clenched around him in helpless spasms as her body milked him for every drop of cum.

With it, a spark of magic traveled from him to her and settled deep inside her.

Her wide eyes, muffled scream, and the frantic shakes of her head told him she felt it, too.

A primal, all male sense of satisfaction filled him with elation and tore a possessive growl from his throat. "It's done. You will bear my child, and I will be king."

In the meantime, his knot wasn't going down anytime soon. Dominance and lust still flowed through him. Leaning forward again, he licked the blood from her neck as he released the buckle at the back of her head and tossed the belt over his shoulder.

"You've done what you wanted," she rasped. "Let me go."

He remained lodged deep within her, keeping her legs on his shoulders, hips tilted. "I took what I wanted for the first time," he corrected, placing his palm flat low on her abdomen. "I am your Alpha. This body belongs to me now. I will pleasure it and use it to pleasure myself when and how I want." He fingered her clit, giving her fast circular strokes as he let his dominance roll from him in waves. She wasn't a wolf like him, but her dilated pupils meant she felt his control over her. "You can fight against me all you want because I enjoy breaking spirited women, but you will cause no harm to yourself, and do everything possible to protect the life growing within you. Do you understand?"

She resisted. Her fists clenched, and she shook her head, although she never broke eye contact. Her mouth opened, then closed when the words she wanted to say weren't the ones he'd demanded of her.

He focused more dominance on her and smacked her breast. "Say it," he commanded.

"I understand."

"Good girl." He shifted, rubbing her inside with his knot and pressing harder on her clit.

Her eyes closed as she shattered again, bowing off the table. "That's it. You'll learn being my bitch doesn't have to be bad. I will make your obedience feel good for you. At least this sweet cunt of yours will never go wanting again."

Especially in the next few days. Her pussy was about to experience a Wulven in full rut.

A Wulven pregnancy didn't last as long as a typical Fae. In six months, he would be king.