Hailey Edwards, page 2
Cilia took her seat and clicked the belt in place. “I thought gentlemen opened car doors for ladies.”
“I’m no gentleman,” he confessed. “But, I would gladly do it from now on if it pleases my lady.”
“Charmer,” she accused.
His wide smile flashed in the fading light. “Let’s get home Firebird. I have something I want to show you.”
Cilia snorted. “I think I’ve already seen it.”
“Perhaps.” He reached behind her seat and dropped a box in her lap. She attempted to lift the lid, and he slapped her hand away from the temptation. “Not yet; if you open it now, we won’t make it out of the driveway.”
With the lid firmly in place, she shook the box searching for clues. There was a dull thumping sound. The box itself was heavy, and whatever was inside only made a muffled thud when rattled against the thin paper walls.
“No peeking,” he scolded.
“I’m not peeking. I’ll have you know human children do this every year at Christmas and on birthdays. It’s allowable to shake the package for clues even if you can’t open it.”
“I’ve heard you can use hairspray to see through wrapping paper if it’s thin enough.”
“Really?” she asked. It did make sense. You could spray the paper until it got damp enough to see through, catch a glimpse of the gift beneath, and once dried the package would look exactly as it had before.
“I’ve never tried it, so I wouldn’t swear by it. I thought the ritual exchange of gifts was an interesting one, so I looked into it a little.”
“You’ve never gotten a present before?”
“Oh I’ve gotten plenty of gifts. Didn’t you hear me tell the humans about my first pony?” His dark laughter did nothing to assuage her. “But I have never received one freely given. Or, one that wouldn’t attempt to kill or maim me if I ever let my guard down around it.”
Cilia rested a hand on his taunt forearm. “I’m sorry Fiach. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s all right. If my mother hadn’t prepared me, then my father would have killed me to spite her.”
“So you think it’s better that your own mother tried to kill you before your father got the chance to?” she asked with incredulity.
Fiach choked on a laugh. “I have never thought of it like that.” He squeezed the hand resting on his arm before settling it back on the steering wheel. “You have an interesting perspective on my childhood. I was too busy trying to survive it to notice.”
Cilia slipped a finger between the lid of the box and the sides, careful to pry the side closest to the door and farthest away from Fiach’s keen eyes.
“Cilia,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “I warned you not to do that until we got home.”
The dappled sprawl of houses near Stella and Max’s new home had faded away, which left only dense foliage and towering trees on either side of the road. The city was invisible from here, too many miles away to mar the natural beauty. Only the strip of asphalt signaled civilization.
Fiach’s accelerated flight back to the cabin slowed to the speed limit as his eyes searched the darkness.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“Teaching you a lesson,” he replied absently.
Chills prickled her skin, her core flooded with desire and a rush of excitement. Fiach’s head jerked to stare at the juncture of her thighs, as though he could see her arousal through the thick denim of her jeans. He inhaled deeply.
“You always smell so sweet when you’re wet.” His eyes darkened. “I’ll never tire of your scent.”
Her cheeks burned in the night although, with his eyesight, he could easily see her embarrassment. She cleared her throat and talked past the lump that was rapidly forming there. “It’s easy to say that now. Just wait until we’ve been together a few hundred years. Then we’ll see who is committed.”
Fiach smiled, and she knew he was thinking of the Noce, the ceremony fae partners underwent to become soul bound. Fiach had only mentioned the rite once, and even then he hadn’t brought up the subject. Kathel, an emissary to his mother, had. Kathel believed it was only a matter of time before Fiach claimed her as his D’Ame. She wished she felt the same calm assurance as the great black cat. After a few months of being together, she could no longer imagine her life without Fiach in it.
The car turned onto a small dirt feeder road. They drove a few hundred yards, and it ended abruptly in the middle of nothing. Tall trees formed walls on three sides of the car. The only way to leave was the way they had come. He turned the car off and they sat for a second in silence, enveloped by the night.
He twisted in his seat and thumped the box. “Open it.”
Nervous hands fumbled the lid. Inside was something she was certain that she had never seen before: a thick leather strap with handles at both ends and padding in the middle. “Thank you?” She lifted it from the box and stretched it curiously. “What is it?”
“A new toy.”
She twisted the strap and tried to imagine a use for it, but nothing came to mind. “I give up; what does it do?”
“Why don’t I show you?” He stepped from the car and popped the truck.
Cilia climbed out and circled to the rear in time to see him pull a thick blanket from the trunk. Her stomach clinched when she realized he had planned for this outcome all along. He knew she would never make it home without sneaking a peek at her gift.
His mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile as he spread the blanket over the ground. In a flash, he willed away his clothing and stood nude before her. His shoulder length black hair was woven with ruby quills; his eyes blackened with hunger and shimmered with intensity. He dropped the glamour from his wings, knowing how she loved to see them. They stretched and flexed, fanning behind him before settling against his back once more. Black tattooed swirls dipped over his chest and stomach, curling along his side and over his back. The flushed head of his erection strained upright, almost brushing his navel.
He held out a hand for her to join him. She discarded her clothes by the car and tossed them on the hood. She took a few tentative steps, until she was close enough to take Fiach’s hand and allow him to reel her in, to press her against his chest. The hard-muscled skin beneath her cheek acted as an aphrodisiac, all on its own. His scent was intoxicating; the musky clove fragrance made her head swim.
“Are you ready to try out your present?”
She pouted. “I don’t know what it is, so I’m not sure if I want to try it out or not.”
Fiach tilted her chin up as his lips lowered to claim hers; his tongue smoothed over her full bottom lip, and his teeth nipped it as they parted. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He dropped to his knees and patted the blanket.
She knelt beside him and waited for further instruction. He shifted her hips and pushed her in front of him; he angled her shoulders so they aligned with his. Then he pushed her down until she was on all fours and wondering what a black leather strap had to do with this particular position. It was too wide to be a whip and too soft to be anything else she could imagine. “You could have just told me how you wanted me, you know.”
“And ruin the surprise? I think you like not knowing.”
The flutters in her stomach agreed with him.
She felt the smooth slide of leather across her lower abdomen. The padded cushion rested across her pubic bone. Fiach wrapped his fingers in the handles of the strap and pulled them taunt, lifting her backwards and into his straining erection. “Oh. I um… I see,” she stuttered. The straps enabled him to impale her with much more force.
“Do you? Are you sure you don’t need another hint?” he teased as he ground his swollen cock against the crevice of her bottom.
Cilia whimpered and pushed back onto him. The air thickened around them. Their Phoenixes were rising and wanting to mate, to join in their purest, most elemental form. Fiach’s labored breathing made her own lungs burn.
“You’ll have to guide me in.” The admission was torn from between tightly clenched teeth. He slacked the strap and gave Cilia enough room to reach between her legs angle his crest to her entrance. The head of his erection parted her folds and plunged home.
She gasped; the feeling of fullness was always a welcomed shock. He tightened the strap and pulled until her bottom was flush with his skin; the invasion was so deep that she struggled against him even as he yanked her closer. The sweet burn of penetration eased, and her muscles clinched along his length, which drew a soft curse from behind her.
“You’re so tight.”
She couldn’t speak, only feel. The strap loosened as her body pulled away from his. Her body savored the slow slide of his flesh inside of hers and the sudden snap of leather as he reeled her back. He slid in deep. He tugged and released; his balls slapped against her bottom, which made her fingers itch to stroke them.
She dropped to her elbows and balanced her weight on one arm as she reached between her legs. With her free hand, she reached through to cup the heavy weight in her hand. Fiach groaned and lost his rhythm as she tugged gently on the loose pouch of skin.
When he moved again, his thrusts were deeper. The sounds of flesh slapping flesh filled
the otherwise silent night.
“Pull harder.” His voice was a thick, guttural caress.
She palmed his testicles—the warm flesh overflowing her fingers—and pulled harder as he propelled himself into her depths. His pace grew frantic; he buried his cock, over and over, until she was straining for more, trying to go over.
He dropped the handles and wrapped large warm hands on her hips. He rocked her onto him until the tension winding in her core released, and she tumbled over into orgasm. Fiach’s strokes forced through her tightened muscles until he shouted out and filled her with hot forceful spurts.
His fangs dropped, and he thrust once more as he bit into the vein throbbing in her neck. He could feel her uncertainty as he pricked her skin, but she rapidly replaced her hesitancy with the rush of providing for her lover as no one else could. Their bodies stilled; the final tremors relaxed away as he fed, as she arched up in offering. He suckled at her neck; the brush of his lips raised gooseflesh along her body. When he was sated, he licked the small wound and nuzzled her shoulder in silent thanks.
He withdrew from her and used the edge of the blanket to clean the fluids trickling down her legs. He dressed with a thought and helped her stand. Then he carried her to the car since her shoes were nowhere in sight. He dropped her lightly on her feet so she could dress behind the shield of his muscular body. They were in no danger of being discovered; the woods were deserted except for wildlife, and it was now full dark. No one would see, but human modesty forced her to pull on her jeans and shirt quickly and left her anxious to head home.
Inside the car, she rested her forehead on her window. The low murmur of the radio and the steady sway of the car lulled her to sleep. She didn’t wake when Fiach lifted her from the car and carried her inside. She stirred for a moment while he pulled down the bed sheets, but once she felt his familiar warmth curl around her, she fell back to sleep.
Chapter Two
Fiach woke to the sharp pop of ozone and the bitter sulfuric stench that signaled they had company: demons. He kept his eyes closed and focused with his other senses. Low voices rumbled just outside the bedroom door. He had only seconds to prepare. He shook Cilia awake; her eyes rounded when she met the cold determination of his stare.
“Demons are in the cabin. I can’t tell how many, but too many for me to risk your safety. When they come, do as they ask. Don’t fight.” He pressed a rough kiss to her thinning lips. “Be brave, Firebird. We don’t have much time.”
He lay back, closed his eyes, and assumed a sleeping position. He gestured that she should do the same. When the demons cracked open the door and circled the bed, neither moved. When one covered Cilia’s mouth with a filthy open palm, Fiach heard her struggle not to purge her stomach of its meager contents. The mattress dipped as the demon forced her to sit up and then sprang back as her weight left the bed. He tensed and waited for her to be secured.
He heard the clink of metal on metal. The chains tinkled together in bell-like tones. Then he heard the definite snap of a clasp. Cilia was quiet, but he felt her fury in the subtle rise of temperature around him. Her Phoenix was seeking his; it needed to know its mate was unharmed and wondered if it should take control.
Fiach pushed reassurance into his own Phoenix. Soothing it, convincing it to calm its mate and allow events to unfold. The stifling heat that had choked the air dissipated, and a cool resolve settled around the cabin.
Sharp pressure dug into his side. He feigned rolling over and let his arm strike out to find the empty mattress where Cilia had lain only minutes before. He prepared for his upcoming role: the surprised half-breed caught unaware of his woman’s capture. His eyes shot open, and he glared around their small bedroom.
Lesser demons filled the room; Arvel had made good on her threat. There was only one demon foolish enough to risk the wrath of Fiach’s mother and attempt a coup against his father. Jarlath.
Cilia stood shackled in gold chains, looking fierce and proud. Her eyes softened as they met his, a silent recognition of their bond. He counted four lesser demons, including the one cautiously holding the chain threaded through Cilia’s restraints. She was nude, a fact the demons around her enjoyed greatly. Her hip length ebony hair was sleep tousled. Her pale, luminescent skin glowed faintly in the darkness.
The demons caged his Firebird, a mistake they would live to regret for now. Fiach reached beneath his pillow and grasped a thin crystalline tube. It was a gift from his mother, a homing beacon that she could follow if ever he needed her help. Peering around the room, he realized that time was now.
He snapped the tube and covered it back with his pillow to keep the light hidden. The pressure in his side increased as he sat up. A lesser demon pressed a gold tipped spear into his ribs. He had never thought of gold as a menacing alloy before, but as the malleable tip pressed into his skin, acute pain radiated from the contact point.
“I imagine that’s uncomfortable. What with you being a Phoenix and all,” a deep voice boomed from the hallway.
Fiach jerked his head around in time to see a tall, dark-skinned demon sweep into the room. Jarlath was a demonic parasite. He increased his power by leeching away the essence of other supernatural beings. Red symbols of power wrapped around his face and neck, burned into his skin as remnants of the abilities he’d stolen. The other symbols on his body hid under black slacks and a black jacket.
Disgust pitched his stomach as Fiach realized what Jarlath’s interest in them meant. Cilia was a Phoenix. If she were to die, she would be reborn from her ashes. Now that Fiach had mated her and became as she was, he, too, was a perpetually renewable energy resource.
Fiach tamped down his unease. “Hello, Jarlath.”
White teeth winked in the black skinned face. “It has been a while, has it not?” He walked to Cilia and traced her cheek with a finger. “It’s a shame that the myth of copulation has proven true.” His skin sizzled but he shook it off, nonplussed. “I would have loved to sample her pyroardor.” He appraised Fiach with the same sexually intense gaze. “I know from Arvel that you are off the menu as well. Not to worry, I have other uses for you, as you well know.”
Arvel was androgynous, both male and female. While some demons were monoecious and could self fertilize, Arvel was merely hermaphroditic. She required sperm or egg donors, so she often bartered with fellow demons for sex. Fiach had bargained with her mostly-female form too many times to count, and he despised himself for each encounter, particularly the last, where he asked to exchange places with Stella and Max.
Jarlath licked the coating of burnt skin from his fingertips then tossed a set of golden shackles to the lesser demon beside Fiach. The demon presented the cuffs and waited for Fiach to place his wrists into the bracelets before clamping them flush to his skin. Jarlath left in a flash of light and sound. His demon lackeys pulled Fiach to stand and pushed him to Cilia’s side, where they were led single file from the cabin and out into the yard.
In a burst of blinding light, they simply stopped being and came into existence somewhere else. Fiach looked around and recognized the opulent surroundings as Jarlath’s private residence, a palatial spread carved out of bedrock far below the surface of the earth. The frigid temperature and yawing darkness were its main attraction to the demon lord. He was a nightwalker, only allowed to move above ground during the nighttime hours.
He caught a glimpse of his mate, and she rewarded him with a timid smile before the guard noticed and hit him across the face with enough force to make his jaw pop.
Celia struggled against her bonds, but Fiach shook his head. We shouldn’t fight, at least not until we know what we are up against, he warned. He allowed himself to be led down a long tunnel and into a series of catacombs. Each boasted a dirty floor and rock walls with iron bars that crisscrossed the width of the opening. One cell glowed with the soft light of oil lamps mounted to either side of its entrance. A threadbare Persian rug rested over the dirt. A small bed sat in one corner, and a table and two chairs sat in the corner opposite.
He gazed around the space. So, this was to be their prison. He noted the thickly crusted black bars that thrummed with demon magic. A holding spell enchanted the bars; even if the enchantment could be reversed, he would pay dearly for touching the iron. Only one cell had been prepared, so he would be allowed to stay with Cilia. For the moment, that was all that mattered.
The demon holding her chains pushed her into the cavernous room and forced her backwards so that he could shove Fiach in as well. He instructed them to thread their hands through the bars to have their restraints removed. Once the golden baubles opened, Fiach rubbed Cilia’s wrists; the prolonged contact with the gold had given her a surface burn. The wounds healed as he smoothed over the chaffed skin with his thumbs. He added that mark to his tally of their captors’ sins, but for now, he was content to pull her into his arms and stroke her bare back with his fingertips.
