Crowned by Fire (7 page)

“You're all I think about,” he rumbled, as ominous as thunder before a storm. “Day and night. I'm starting to think that I've been cursed by you, my witchy beast.”

“
That isn't my problem.”

“
I
am your problem,” he snapped. “And right now, I could just kill you.”

“
You keep saying that. Why don't you just
do
it?”

She braced herself as he slammed her wrists over her head and stepped closer, molding his hips against hers. “I'd rather do
this
.” When she drew in a startled breath, he covered her mouth with his. She could feel his hard cock jutting into her belly, and it made her feel dizzy.

When he finally pulled away, she said, “You're insane. You
hate
me.”

“
No.”

His thumb stroked the inside of her wrists as he kissed down her throat. She winced, both at the burn of his silver ring and because she was prepared for the sting of his teeth, but he didn't bite her this time. She shuddered when he pressed his cool lips to the tops of her breasts. Her nipples hardened, jutting against the wispy fabric.

The witch noticed, and his eyes focused with intent. He rubbed one between his fingers, until the cotton began to chafe, and she felt each pass of his thumb as much between her legs as she did in her breast.

“
I hate what you do to me.”

He yanked her hair out of its bun, snapping the hair-tie around his wrist. His lips closed around the lace edge of her camisole and he tugged it down, baring the  breast he'd been playing with. She shuddered violently, turning her face away when his mouth brushed bare skin for a heartbeat before her top slid back into place.

It was not enough. She made a sound that caused her face to flame.

The witch laughed, mockingly. “I hate what you make me feel. But I don't hate you. Try as I might.”

Catherine's entire body was buzzing. In her rational mind, she knew that the witch was no better for her than poison, that this intoxication she felt was purely lust. But as a shape-shifter, she was automatically attracted to powerful, dominant males, and helpless to resist the instincts that made her feel like a bitch in heat. She could no more change what she was attracted to than a lion could its need for meat.

Before she could form a protest, his mouth sealed over hers. He parted her lips with his, and kissed her so thoroughly that the bittersweet taste of him lingered long after he'd pulled away. Catherine found herself breathing quite hard.

“What are you doing?” Her protest sounded like a last-ditch effort to her own ears. “You just…told me that you wanted me…dead.”

The witch rubbed his cheek against hers.
Marking his territory
, she thought, alarmed, even as her nipples tingled and warmth burned between her legs. “Take off your top.”

Catherine tried to swallow and found she could not. His voice was rough against her ear, powerfully intimate. “Are you fucking high?” she asked, even as her resolve drained away. She could feel every place where skin met skin. She wanted more. Gods help her.

He pulled the flannel shirt down her arms, baring her shoulders. “If you want to leave, then leave.” His breath puffed against her collarbone. Teeth sank lightly into her earlobe and she had to suppress the urge to  arch against him. “Otherwise, you're going to lose that shirt when I tear it off.”

Catherine could not move. She told herself it was because she did not want to appear weak, but she knew she was fooling herself. Her throbbing body was solid proof of the effect that he was having on her. “Your sister called us for dinner.” She intentionally used the wrong relationship to annoy him. Annoyance seemed to bring him back to his senses. Not this time, though. He was backing her towards his bed.

She began to wonder if he
could
tear her shirt off. Part of her wanted him to try.

As if the witch had read her mind, he took the strap of her camisole between his teeth and tugged, before letting it snap smartly against her skin. “Let her call.”

Predator liked his arrogance, but she did not yield to her subjugation so easily. This time, when he tried to kiss her, she bit him.

The witch dug his fingers into her arms, yanking off the flannel shirt roughly enough to sting, and bit her back. And then he must have given her a push, because her back was pressed against the musty-smelling sheets, and he was climbing on top of her to straddle her waist.

He tugged down her camisole until both her breasts were spilling over the lace edge. The witch glanced at her, and then adjusted the fabric, so the weight of her breasts kept the fabric pinned down. Then his cool lips and tongue sealed around her nipple, and something in her gust twisted sharply, causing moisture to trickle between her legs.

“
Oh gods,” she said in a low voice.

“
We're both damned, you and I,” the witch growled softly, and she felt the vibration of it through his chest as he turned his attention to the other breast. “The gods can't help you now.” His cock was pressed between her legs, and the pressure of it made her breath come shorter. She could smell her own arousal, and this confused her, because she could not smell any magic to prompt it.

Did that mean he wasn't using a glamor? Did that mean…she was attracted to witches? He bit her nipple firmly enough to cause pain, and she made a low sound.

Very strong
, Predator approved.
Very powerful. Good match for us.

Finn released her breast, thumbing the flushed tip, which had gone from brown to reddish brown. “What color is your cunt?” he asked, his voice husky in her ear.

Catherine wavered, torn between conflicting sensations. “That's disgusting.”

“
But you like it that way, don't you? A quick, filthy fuck. A half-scratched itch for those dirty thoughts you don't dare speak aloud.” He ground his fingers into the denim covering her crotch and she bucked. “I imagine it's red,” he said. “Just like your mouth.”

He was unbuttoning her jeans, sliding down the zipper of her fly. His mouth was just below her navel, trailing lower all the while, and she knew that if she didn't stop him, he was going to fuck her.

Would it be so terrible?

He seemed to be weaving bits of magic into his touch. Catherine had never heard of witches using magic during sex, although she supposed it made sense. She felt a cool chill ghost over her mouth, her breasts, followed by a kiss of heat that made her struggle beneath him; it seared her through her jeans, licking at her clit.

The same power he had used to burn a man's hand off, he was using to seduce her. Catherine shivered from thoughts that had nothing to do with lust. “No,” she said thickly. “No magic. Don't use that shit on me.”

“
Am I frightening you, Catherine?”

She swallowed hard. “It's a weapon,” she said, with effort. “Not a toy.”

“Hmm.” He leaned over her. “So are your teeth, your nails, your…beasts. It's all about control. Power. I don't wield power like a brute.” The sweat on her skin suddenly,
literally
, turned to ice. He ran his finger along the melting crystals, and gave her a thin smile. “I  use a firm, steady hand.”

“
Anyone can lose control.”

“
You have caused me to lose many things, but my control is not one of them.”

That's a lie
, she thought. She had seen him lose control. In the gully, he had lost it then. And when he'd kissed her. And saved her life.

Could it prompt him to end it, too?

Yes
, she thought. It was all too easy for obsession to turn to hate; if one couldn't possess the object of one's desires, one might destroy it so that no one else could, either.

“
My mind,” the witch continued, in that soft, intense voice. “My soul. My reason. These are things that you have caused me to lose.” He tugged her jeans lower, roughly. “It seems only fitting that you lose something of yours.”

She had closed her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure of his seduction, but that phrase made her open them. He had spoken…as if this were some kind of punishment to him.

As if he were using sex to put her in her place, like some sort of subservient.

“
That's why I've decided to keep you when this is over. You know my proclivities, and given the weight of your secrets, I'm sure you can be persuaded to be discreet. Although, there are so many attendants at my father's estate, just running around, breeding like beasts. I doubt he'd notice one more among them.”

He ran his hand over her belly, not noticing how stiff she had become.

“Every prince needs a consort, shifter mine.”

Catherine's eyes flew open.
Prince?

“
And when the Council inevitably sets me up with another ice flower of a fiancee, it will be you who warms my bed at night. Not her.”   

He paused.

“Perhaps I'll even give you a black beast of your own. They say the strength of the witch parent determines the true potency of the offspring—I'm curious what will happen when the shifter in question is already a hybrid herself. As far as I know, there is no name for that phenomenon…because it has never been done.”

Chapter Three

From the moment Finn laid eyes on her, he had wanted to fuck this golden creature. This was a truth that had tortured him well into the night with its visceral inexorability; he wanted her, and, as with most pleasures denied, the delay of gratification made him desire her even more. She was like the wind, as elusive as she was necessary.

And now, at last, he had the shape-shifter exactly where he wanted her: beneath him.

Inch by inch, Finn bared her to his covetous gaze. His hands felt clumsy and slow. It was a taste where he wanted only to devour. He inhaled against her throat. Beneath the smell of Cassandra's soap was the natural spiciness of her skin, punctuated by the sharp scent of arousal. Her pulse throbbed against his cheek, far too fast. Just for him.

Finn  smiled, and the shape-shifter began to squirm when she felt his teeth against her neck. Shape-shifters bit one another on the throat as a way of establishing dominance. He had done that to her. Sometimes a gesture of intimacy, it could also be an insult. The closest translation was, as the humans would say, “you're my bitch.”

Crude, to be sure, but it got the point across quite well.

Tempting to bite her again, but she was already skittish. The tenseness in her limbs spoke more clearly than words. One misstep and she would flee. It was a bad time to get creative. Finn moved away from her throat, and her shoulders relaxed.
Maybe later.

He took one of her soft, dark nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardening nub. She stiffened and made a sound he pretended not to hear, although it made his cock jerk in his pants. She liked that, then? Good. So did he. As he sucked, he began rolling her other nipple between his fingers and wondered what shade of pink she was between her thighs. He bet it approximated the color of her kiss-bruised lips.

Cassandra was shuffling around in one of the rooms nearby. He heard the creak of the old boards, the settling of furniture. Making her presence known.
She
was the reason the shifter had barged into his room unannounced.

That bastard offspring could walk in here at any moment to check up on him, but he doubted that. She feared his power and influence, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill her father and the old crone if she tarnished the Riordan family name in any way.

And if she was foolish enough to mention blackmail, he would not hesitate to kill her, to condemn her to the same hell as her namesake—or wherever else it was where treacherous women went when they died. Because the shifter turned him into a savage, filling his thoughts with lust and blood. Corrupting him. Graymalkin's warning echoed briefly in his ears, suppressing his arousal for a painful moment.

She is driving you to darkness
.

Which made him remember the dream—the Shadow Thane—the kiss that had caused the stars to rain out of the sky.

You set something in motion with your actions.

He bit down on her nipple punishingly, and her cry was a compromise of pleasure and pain. It made his cock swell painfully where it chafed against his jeans.

If the gods forbade this union, they did a poor job of preventing its consummation.

It had been a while since he had been so powerfully attracted to a female. There had been one, another shape-shifter, a few years back. She had been a servant of his father's. Beautiful, far too haughty for her station. When she had been sentenced for treason several months later, he had taken liberties with her after the interrogation.

At the time, he did not consider his actions wrong. She was a traitor, condemned to death. It seemed a waste to dispose of her, untasted. Especially after all those months he had spent in vain trying to get her alone, and out of his father's watchful eye.

There had been others, as well, but the circumstances surrounding those conquests hadn't been a young man's cruel caprices. No, as he grew older, he learned how to bargain. The savages would do anything to protect one of their own kind. Anything.

Finn had done many things in his life he was not proud of, and those things had never been more salient in his mind than they were at this very moment. Because he knew that if the shifter learned of what he'd done, she would never have him.

Not that she had much choice.

When this investigation was closed the shifter would have nowhere to go. Her family would disappear, faded into the backdrop like ghosts. She would be like a stray without a collar, left to wander unclaimed. All the better for him to do the claiming.

He hadn't been exaggerating when he scorned Cassandra's comparatively humble dwelling. His father's estates, and the staff of 150, give or take, were as resplendent as a palace. There were so many rooms. Hundreds, easily. How simple would it be to hide her there, when he knew the secret passages and their corresponding doors as well as he knew the back of his hand?

Royce made a point of keeping shape-shifters in his employ—supposedly as a gesture of goodwill, but mostly to remind them of their place. The downtrodden, the destitute; the vermin he hired had no other options, which left Royce free to mistreat them as he saw fit, knowing that they wouldn't be free to leave.

Catherine Pierce would fit right in among them; in a servant's uniform, she could move unnoticed. A bit of light housework during the day, then warming his bed at night. Every prince needed a consort, and the forbidden fruit tasted that much sweeter. He doubted she would receive such a favorable offer elsewhere.

And then there was the matter of her untapped power. He had been mulling over her heritage, her abilities. What would happen if she ever got with a witch's child? Black beasts were so rare, killed upon discovery before they could breed. If they could. Some hybrids were infertile, but Finn suspected that was not the case with black beasts.

What would the offspring of a black beast and a Triad witch look like?

All this time he had been speaking to her softly, as one would calm a startled horse. He was unzipping her jeans, and the anticipation of fucking—fucking
her—
had made his throat thick and his brain hazy. He hadn't even realized that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until he felt her flinch.

“
What did you say?”

Hell
. He ran his hand along her belly on the pretense of calming her, but also so he could be ready to hold her down if need be. “It was nothing,” he soothed. “Don't talk.”

“
You son of a bitch.” She pushed at him. “You want to use me as a breeding mare for some sick experiment?”

He waved that aside, even as an image of her belly, tight and rounded with child, popped into his head. “No.”

“That's what it sounded like.”

“
It could be an unintended consequence,” he admitted.

“
Death
could be an unintended consequence. That doesn't meant I consider it a viable option for
me
.” Her eyes burned, only half-human. “I've heard the rumors about what you do, your
highness
. What you
did
. Do you know how many members of my kind you've killed?”

Hundreds. Perhaps thousands if counting the kills he was responsible for indirectly. But they had been wild, savage shape-shifters. Out of control. More beast than human. Not like her. Finn did not think she would be happy to hear this, though.

“Thank you for reminding me why I don't want to fuck you. Not only are you a whorish murderer and a traitor to your own people—” she gave him a look that scalded like acid “—you're also a terrible person. Any pup of yours would be similarly cursed, I'm sure.”

He grabbed for her, but holding onto her when she did not want to be held was like trying to contain running water in a vise; it could not be done. He managed to close his fingers around one of her wrists, and since the hand he grabbed her with was the hand with the silver ring, it took the power out of her struggles.

And then she kneed him in the stomach. He suspected she had been aiming for his balls, but she had missed. A happy occurrence for the both of them, because the blood curse was already taking root, sending shoots of agony blooming through her body.

Good
. He released her arm, grabbing her leg instead, intent on getting her back under him. But the denim was in the way—silver worked most effectively on bare skin—and she leaned up, snatching the knife from his belt too quickly for him to stop her.

“
Let go,” she said breathlessly. “Let go of me, you bastard.”

Finn didn't let go. “The signs were there all along. It is not my fault you elected to ignore them.” He looked into her flushed, angry face. “Knowing what you know now, do you honestly believe threatening me is wise? What you are doing is high treason.”

“And if I tell people what you are, and what you plan, your title is forfeit, if not your life, which renders that all moot.”

“
Assuming I decide to let you live.” Finn saw her flinch, almost imperceptibly. “What do your fellow beasts say about making threats toward your betters?”

“
You're not my better.”

“
Aren't I? We both know you can't kill me, not without ending your own life as well.” He ran his hand up her leg. “Do you think I wouldn't silence you?” He met her eyes and allowed himself a smile. “Because I would.”

There was a long, drawn out pause. Around the hilt, her fingers were white. “So that's your game,” she said quietly. “That's how it's going to be. Blackmailing me into sleeping with you. I'm so overcome with sexual passion now.”

“Give me the knife,” he commanded.

She tightened her grip on the blade. “Tell me why you're toying with me like this.”

“You wanted to play.” She flinched when his fingers touched her still-bared breast. “So we played.”

Glaring at him, she pulled the camisole back in place. “What the hell do you want from me? To humiliate me? To make an example of me? What?”

She looked like she might cry now. And part of him wanted her to. He could do it, he knew he could. With force, with power, with the bright gleam of silver. If she did not bend, she would break. Shape-shifters were far from invulnerable. He had broken them before. They needed freedom the way they needed food and air. A few weeks spent in chains shattered their minds.

“
What the fuck do you want?” Any louder, and her voice would have been a scream. Finn started to sit up, then stilled as the blade dug into the hollow of his throat. “You don't need to move to answer.”

Under other circumstances, her stalwart nature might have amused him. But he was not used to being refused and she had made a habit of it. “You know what I want.”

“Yes, you want an obedient little pet. One that will come when you call.”

He expelled an angry breath. “No, I do not want a 'pet.'”

“You want to stamp out the parts of me you don't like. Take away my freedom. Leave just enough ferocity to make me entertaining for you, a washed-out imitation of the real thing. A fucking
pet
.”

Was that what he wanted?

Yes—and no. He wanted to capture her, yes, to make her his, but he wanted to do it publicly, so everyone would know. He was tired of all this sneaking around; it was exciting at first, but now it was a pain—sex should not require military-level subterfuge.

He wanted Others to see the strong, savage woman on his arm and know that, like a falcon with her master, she returned willingly to the gauntlet every time.

And, even though it had started as a whim, he was genuinely curious to see if he could get her with child. Not now, but soon. Whatever creature formed from their union would be powerful. Powerful enough to start a war—or end one.

Aloud, he said, “You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can't be both.”

“I don't want to be
yours
,” she said immediately. “You're a bastard.”

“
Then why are you still here?” he asked softly.

There was a long silence broken only by their breathing: his slow and heavy, hers fast and light.
Why
are
you still here?

Because part of her, obviously, didn't want to leave.

Finn let his lips curl into a smile and leaned back, putting some distance between his neck and the blade. Now that he was certain he was going to get his way, he was able to affect near-genuine complacency.

“
You're part witch, Catherine.” She winced when he said her name, and he resolved to do that more often. Such a simple means of putting her in her place. “No shape-shifter could take you now, and the only one who would is dead.”

She looked away from him, blinking as though trying to hold back tears. “Don't you dare,” she said hoarsely. “You're not worthy of speaking his name.”

In all honesty, he couldn't even remember what the male shifter's name
was
. But that was beside the point.

“
The magic around you burns brighter every day. They'd smell it, the taint of their enemies, and ask you questions. Questions you wouldn't be able to answer. Not without putting yourself at risk. And any witch worth his salt would quickly know you for what you are and kill you. Quickly, if you were lucky. But you're not very lucky, are you?”