Sweet Ruin (39 page)

He’d told her she couldn’t go less than twice a day. When she’d asked if that included “snacks,” he’d thrown her over his shoulder and whacked her on the ass, informing her that nothing about him was snack-sized. She’d laughed and laughed. . . .

As much as she’d been drinking, had she dreamed his memories? At times, when he revealed something about himself, she wouldn’t seem surprised at all.

He was apprehensive about her seeing his past in that brothel. Would she run screaming? Or pity him? He didn’t think he could handle her pity.

As if he could handle her running away from him? Already he was addicted to her laugh, her candor, her blazing sexuality. She was more tempting than meadowberries to a halfstarved slave. . . .

I’m going to have to tell her soon.

“She’s not coming,” Josephine muttered. “This is getting old.”

“I thought you were enjoying yourself with me.”

“You, I like. This—not so much. She could at least make these no-shows more interesting.”

“Each time I figure we’re walking into an ambush.” And why, he wondered for the thousandth time, hadn’t Nïx contacted his enemies, passing along Rune’s predicted location? King Saetthan, for one, had a colossal bounty on his head and was a fey ally of Nïx’s—

“Rune, look! In the water.”

A model boat floated down the canal. He turned to Josephine. “All yours.”

She started to go intangible.

“No, Josie. Use your telekinesis.” He’d been encouraging her to practice.

She nodded, aiming her hand at the boat. Her brows drew together as she lifted it, directing it closer. Off by a ways, she levitated to snag it in the air. But at least she hadn’t destroyed it outright. She ripped free a note affixed to the mast.

She no longer acted as if she could read, just handed over the missive.

In one week, she’d learned much of the runic language; she would pick up reading English so quickly. He tore open the envelope, finding a crisp invitation card. Once all this was over, when he had her settled in Tortua, he’d teach her. For now, he read aloud:

“What’s Titania?” she asked.

“A fey kingdom.” The pink moon was this month’s full moon. He gazed up at the sky. The ball would be tonight. With the time difference, they had roughly eight hours till it started.

Josephine canted her head. “Okay, so what’s this ball thingy?”

He crumpled the invitation. “A trap.”

Rune stood by the fire in Tortua, gazing at the flames. He’d dressed in his formal attire for the
ball thingy
, was only awaiting Josephine.

He wanted to leave her safely behind, but her vow compelled him to keep her close. So he’d debated not going. Titania was a staunch ally of Sylvan, and he wagered Nïx would never show.

In fact, he believed the soothsayer had planned these twelve days to lead up to this ball—as a favor to King Saetthan.

Yet Rune’s duty to the Møriør demanded he attend, which meant Josephine would too. She was eager for it, though he’d explained everything they’d be up against.

Namely Saetthan’s bounty hunters. Rune expected at least a hundred of them.

Despite their similar ages, Saetthan would never fight Rune one on one. As a full fey, Saetthan was faster; Rune’s demon half made him stronger. It’d be a good fight if Saetthan had enough mettle to face him.

The king refused, even though he’d deemed it his sacred duty to protect his kinsmen. They all considered Rune a monster, a bogeyman who preyed on their innocent family members.

Bogeyman? Yes.

Innocence? He’d yet to find it in Magh’s line. . . .

After he and Josephine had left Venice, he’d taken her shopping for a gown. He’d told her money was no object, that they could go anywhere in the universe.

Just to be contrary, she’d taken them to secondhand stores off bloody
Canal Street
in New Orleans.

He’d paced while she tried on garments, never allowing him a glimpse of what she might wear.

Outside one dressing room, he’d murmured, “Fey nobility wear obscenely expensive materials. Females favor pale colors and gauzy fabrics. Perhaps you should as well.”

“Uh-huh,” she’d said, clearly ignoring his suggestions.

Rune didn’t want her to stand out any more than necessary, else she’d feel distressed. “Though we’re likely stepping into an ambush, we should at least
try
to enjoy ourselves.”

He already had plans for Josephine tonight—seducing her fully—so he’d made preparations. Barring an attack, the setup was ideal. Females went crazy for balls. He and Josephine would drink a little, dance a little, and she’d be his.

Barring
his death
, he was going to be inside her.

Yet his plans wouldn’t work if she was miserable. She was a woman. A
young
woman. Weren’t they overly sensitive about things like standing out?

“Gauzy, huh?” she’d said from that dressing room. “Like fairy-airy?” Then she’d peeked out past the curtain and whispered, “You know I’m probably not fey nobility, right?”

“Smartass.”

“But I’m gonna need something from you. To put my whole ensemble together.”

Ensemble.
He’d inwardly cringed. Not just
one
inappropriate garment or accessory. “And what would that be?” He’d expected her to ask for jewels.

She’d cryptically answered, “Your blood in a glass. . . .”

Now she called from his room, “I’m coming out. Warning: I look wicked hot.”

“Come on, then,” he said, tone resigned. “Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”

She stepped out. His feet shuffled to keep him from keeling over.

“You . . . you’re . . .”
Vampiress. Phantom.
Somehow she’d complemented both sides.

She wore an unadorned strapless gown of jet-black satin that accentuated her seductive vampire curves. Her generous breasts were pushed up above the tight bodice.

The material was so smooth it reflected light, playing up her translucent skin and high, graceful cheekbones. The shadows framing her luminous eyes were darker, highlighting their unique hazel color.

She’d piled her silken hair atop her head, baring her be-ringed ears and her delicate neck.

Around her throat . . .

He swallowed. She’d used his blood to draw a choker, with her own tiny inlaid runes.

“Do you like the design? I had to cut out a stencil with my claw. Don’t try that at home. It’s got the runes for luck and victory.”

She’s painted with my ink.
Possession.
My halfling female wears blood runes of her own.

No force in the worlds could stop Rune from taking her tonight.

FORTY-EIGHT

Y
ou look okay, I guess,” Jo told Rune, though she’d barely recovered from her first glimpse of him in formal fey-wear: fitted fawn pants, black boots, and a tailored coat of some unusual cream-colored material that molded over his muscles.

He was long, lean, and elegant, but with that hard-core layer underneath the polish.

When she could drag her eyes off his obvious wood, she noticed other details. His hair was tied back, revealing the shaved sides of his head and his fey ears. Black was forking out all over his eyes as he stared at her. “You . . . just . . .”

“Rune, I did warn you. Get yourself together, man.”

His gaze met hers. His lips curled into his slanted grin, and she sighed.

“Ah, Josephine, you’re one to talk. I knew I was wearing you down.”

“Whatever, old-timer.” She wished she could deny that more convincingly, but he
was
.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you without your bullet necklace.”

“I don’t need to wear it anymore.” It’d served its purpose.

“Just so.” He donned his bow and strapped on his quiver, both of which turned invisible. “If we survive tonight’s ball, I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been. A favorite place of mine. We’ll drink wine, and you can stargaze to your heart’s content.”

Stargaze? With another person? “I’d love that! Even more incentive to survive.”

He offered his elbow. “Come.”

She took it, and an instant later they arrived in a moonlit garden. “Where are we?”

“Titania. I can’t have everyone seeing my mode of travel, so I traced off-site. The palace is just ahead.” He pointed out a castle not far in the distance.

The structure looked like something from a fairy tale, aglow in the night, with towering spires and snapping flags. One entire wing was made of glass, its facets sparkling like diamonds. Strains of orchestral music reached them, and exotic flowers scented the warm air.

Arm in arm, they started forward. Closer to the castle the walk grew more crowded with formally attired Loreans of all species.
Back into the Lore I go. . . .

He escorted her up a set of stairs to the torchlit entrance. Liveried demons manned the doors. Their polished horns shone in the firelight as they bowed to arriving guests.

Rune handed one his invitation, then ushered her to a landing overlooking the event.

She gasped at the sight. The ballroom was as large as an auditorium and made completely of glass. Huge chandeliers dangled from a soaring dome. The center of the transparent ceiling framed the moon above. The walls had been frosted to resemble leafy woodlands, glaciers, flames, and oceans.

Below, a gleaming glass dance floor was already packed with immortals. In the background, musicians played.

She was here at a ball—without the comforting security of a shell. Yes, this was real life, and yes, she was truly living, but she felt naked. The tall, graceful females below all wore gowns in soft colors—a sea of blue pastel, dotted with pinks and seafoam green. “I stand out like blood in water.”

“All the more with that choker.” He’d gazed at her neck so often, she could swear
he
was the vampire. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“If I were a guy and I had to choose one girl here, I’d pick me hands down. But you yammered on about the fey style so much, maybe you like that better.” She tapped her chin. “Rune, maybe you
are
an idiot.”

“If you couldn’t tell by my speechless reaction earlier, you nearly put me to my knees. You’re easily the sexiest female here. And you’re with me alone.”

“I’m more used to being inside a shell for gigs like this.”

“You’re welcome inside me.” Over the last two weeks, he’d concealed her in his body a couple of times.

“And if I get too excited and embody?” She still had trouble controlling her ghost-mode.

“Then you’ll have to remain by my side, where I can show you off.” He led her to a grand staircase.

“Are these things always so popular?”

He nodded. “Especially during an Accession.”

Had these Loreans attended to find their mates? Or their foes? “So ballpark this for me. How many here have you slept with?”

“I don’t think you want to know that. But I’ll tell you I
want
to sleep with only one here.”

Awww.
He was good.

As they descended the steps, he said, “You’re attracting even more admirers than I am.”

She’d noticed guys whipping their heads around to check her out, females too. “Good thing you never get jealous.”

He raised his brows. “Shall we dance?”

“I thought we were here to fight.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “And I can’t dance.”

“I’ll lead. Just go with it, love.”

She froze. “You called me ‘love.’ ”

“Nonsense. I called you ‘dove.’ ”

She squared her shoulders. “Bullshit. You said ‘love.’ ”

“I’ve told you dark fey aren’t capable of that, but imagine whatever you like,
dove
.”

“If we were in my motel room, I’d tell you to fuck off until you slammed me into a wall.”

“I recall that night often.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “In lieu of that, we could ballroom dance.”

“Same diff, I guess.”