Sweet Ruin (40 page)

He took her in his arms and swept her onto the floor. At first Jo was awkward, but as soon as she let him lead, a miracle happened. “Look at me! I’m a wicked good dancer. You’re passable too.”

His lips curled. “You’re wicked good at everything.” Then he grew serious. “Do you know how proud I am of your runes?” His gaze was so solemn.

How could she resist him when he was like this? When the entire experience was like a dream?

I’m falling headlong. . . .

So many things reminded Jo of that grand wedding she’d crashed. She felt like a bride in her elegant gown. The music wasn’t too dissimilar. The dancing seemed about the same.

She peered up at Rune.
He’s my guy. My groom.
When his eyes held hers, she didn’t bother hiding what she was feeling.

Adoration.

The message must’ve been received, because he gave her a nod, then swallowed, as if with nervousness.
Yeah, this is the real deal, Rune.
And she suspected he was falling right beside her.

As he twirled her around the floor, she gave herself up to the night. Trusting him, she leaned her head back and simply
felt
.

Giddiness. Dizziness. Joy. She almost ghosted from pleasure. She was living a fairy tale; she never wanted it to end—

“I’m about to get blitzed.” His torso muscles tightened under her palm.

Jo raised her head. “Like trashed?”

He murmured, “No,
rushed
.” He scanned the crowd. “Fifty swordsmen are about to descend on me.”

FORTY-NINE

T
he imminent attack puzzled Rune.

If Saetthan had dispatched these bounty hunters, then why not hire twice the number?

Rune concluded they were all fey, but probably not ex-military. Carrying short swords, they displayed neither the martial showiness of Sylvan soldiers nor the distinctive longswords of the Titanians. They wielded no Draiksulian bows.

Perhaps these males might give him a challenge. Perhaps that was why there weren’t more.

“Josephine, I want you to stand over there by the wall and become intangible.” He wished he could send her away completely.

She laughed. “Forget it. I’m fighting too.”

“If you give me room, I’ll return to you within minutes.” Nearby guests made outraged sounds as hunters elbowed their way toward the dance floor. The orchestra went quiet, one instrument at a time. A hush fell over the ballroom. The wiser attendees dispersed.

One sword-bearing male stepped onto the floor, then another, and another. Each was focused on Rune.

His only trepidation was due to the female at his side. “If you’re vulnerable, my thoughts will be divided.” He unstrapped his bow.

“I can use telekinesis while I ghost.”

“Can you focus it enough to pick out my foes alone? I mean this. Trust me, Josie. Let me show you what I do.”

She hesitated. “If you get killed, I will kick your ass so hard.”

Though Jo dutifully moved to the wall and ghosted, her nerves made her outline flicker, so she remained visible in flashes.

She was a wallflower who wanted to be out on that ballroom floor—so she could fight.

Everyone had fled the area, except for a few idiot spectators peeking out from doorways and balconies, scandalized by the promise of a clash.

Bounty hunters advanced on Rune, surrounding him. How could she not fight for him? They kept coming, their circle tightening.

One gave a battle yell. Heart in her throat, she watched them charge.

Utterly calm, Rune strung
five
red arrows—poisoned ones. He turned his bow horizontal and let them fly. The arrows fanned out in the air, drilling through the first line of men, then the second—then the third.

Fifteen men down! They moaned on the ground, dying from Rune’s agonizing poison.

He nocked five more arrows, repeating the shot. At least a dozen dropped.

Like a blur, he swept through the fallen, collecting arrows from the last wave of bodies. As he refilled his quiver, he kept one arrow in hand to stab necks, wasting even more swordsmen.

He was faster than blood splatter, dodging jugular sprays. Compared to Rune, his attackers seemed to be moving in slo-mo. They plodded and slipped on the bloody glass.

She’d seen him in action, but never like this. Never against so many opponents.

With his quiver full, he vaulted to a balcony. Three couples were hiding there. Though Rune gave them only a passing glance, the males gazed at him with terror. The females sighed over him, about to swoon with desire. One reached for a meager touch of his leg.

Rune’s next round of arrows flew in a curving trajectory. He’d arced them to make impossible strikes, then leapt down for another arrow harvest. Not a drop of blood marked him.

Her worry faded. On occasion, he’d spoken of his fey and demon halves, one more methodical, one more aggressive. The methodical fey was at the fore as Rune coldly and efficiently destroyed the threat. Only a few were left standing.

He was magnificent. And he
knew
it. In the middle of a kill, he turned to take in her breathless, awed reaction.

The cocky dark fey
winked
at her.

She’d never wanted him more.

Once he finished taking out this trash, she’d kiss those smirking lips and nip the bottom one till he groaned. When they were alone, she’d strip, revealing the lingerie she’d bought today.

And if she let him have her tonight? He’d told her he would take pains to get her ready. She imagined him petting her with those amazing fingers until she was wet and aching, then he’d work his big shaft inside her. When he entered her to the hilt, would his kiss steal her cry?

As she fantasized about his ripped body thrusting and moving over her, she started to pant. Her heartbeat quickened.
That’s my guy
. She needed him desperately.

Tonight. Tonight she was going to surrender—

Steel kissed her throat.

FIFTY

A
soft gasp.

Rune whipped his head around. He’d defeated all the swordsmen who’d engaged him, but one had sneaked in to target Josephine.

Gods damn it! Why had she embodied?

The male yanked her back to him, a knife against her fragile neck.

This
was why Møriør had no mates—because Orion allowed no vulnerabilities. Rune couldn’t have a more glaring one than his need for Josephine.

When the blade nicked her tender skin, he all but lost his mind. He bared his demon fangs, yearning to maul that male, to savage him with poisonous claws.

Blood slipped down her throat.
Black
blood.

From drinking his. A thought arose that he couldn’t even acknowledge.

Despite the danger, she wasn’t afraid. Her irises darkened and the shadows around her eyes deepened—a predator signaling her threat.

In his panic for her, Rune had forgotten that she was no mere female. She was a force. She was death and death rolled into one, and she looked like she could barely wait to strike.

Rune told the man, “Release her. Or die a nightmare death. I’ll warn you once.”

Movement on a balcony. He whipped his head up.

Saetthan.

Rune’s half brother strolled out, clad in formal attire with their father’s sword drawn. A pair of royal guards flanked him. “What a mess you’ve made, baneblood.” He regarded all the bodies with an amused expression that resembled Rune’s own.

“I thought you were behind this,” Rune said. “Ill-planned and ineffectual is your signature.”

Like a dragon twitching its tail, Saetthan twirled that sword.

Rune expected more guards to file out on the balcony, yet none came, leaving only the two. He never got opportunities to strike his half sibling this unprotected. “Next time I hope you’ll send me a real challenge,” he called. “Are funds tight in Sylvan?”

“I didn’t need an army to take you down. I only needed to distract you—while I collected your mate. My spies told me you’d found yours, but I scarcely believed an abomination like you got a fated female.”

Rune’s hand dipped to his quiver. He’d wanted a fair fight; Saetthan had targeted his woman. All bets were off.

His fingertips brushed the flights of one-and-done. He’d string it among four poison arrows. Those would hit lower; the guards would dive and take them leaving Saetthan to contend with Rune’s most precisely lethal arrow.

“Ah-ah, Rune,” Saetthan chided, all confidence. “If you aim for me, your pretty pet will lose her head.”

Rune gave a laugh. “If you believe that, then your spies didn’t tell you quite
enough
about her.”

Saetthan shuttered a look of puzzlement. “You’ll forfeit either your life or hers this night, to pay for taking my mother’s.”

Keeping Saetthan in his sights, Rune said, “Josie?”

“I got this. Do what you gotta do.” She began to dematerialize, to the swordsman’s shock. Descending through the floor, she forced the intangible male down as well. She made it slow, eerie.

“What trickery is this?” Saetthan demanded. “Your mate’s as much an abomination as you are!”

While Saetthan gaped, Rune nocked his arrows, unleashing them with all his might.

Each guard caught two.

Reacting with uncanny speed, Saetthan swung his sword up to deflect the one-and-done.

The arrowhead connected with the blade.

Light erupted. A boom like a thunderclap.

The sword . . .
exploded
!

Charred metal bit into Saetthan’s skin. Shards hissed and cooled as they plummeted, clanging against the glass floor. The blast hit the glass dome above; ominous fractures forked out.

My gods.
Rune had destroyed the sword—the uniting symbol of that entire accursed family. He quickly fired another volley into the smoke.

By the time the air cleared, Saetthan had disappeared.

Rune turned to Josephine. She’d dragged the swordsman to his waist, and he’d comprehended his fate; there was no fighting her. The hunter was terrified, his short yells chilling.

The two sank below the glass floor, visible for a few moments as a dwindling flicker. Gasps sounded among the attendees still present on the outskirts of the ballroom.

Josephine surfaced. Alone.

Her secret was out. She must have the strength of an alliance to depend on.

She gazed around at the appalled spectators. “Anybody else want to go to their grave tonight? I’ll bury you so deep, they’ll never find your body down there. You might die. Odds are . . . you
won’t
.”

Oh, yes, he could get used to having her around.

She turned to him with a sunny smile. “Best. Date. Ever.”

His lips curled. And it was in no way finished.

Rune might have missed his opportunity to kill Saetthan, but that sword had been annihilated. Josephine was unharmed. All was well.

As soon as the thought occurred, another crack sounded from above as fractures spread out like webbing.

“Quickly,” he told her. “Let’s see if we get a clue.” They hastened to a swordsman who hadn’t yet succumbed to poison. Wide-eyed, the male twisted in pain, his limbs contorted. Rune bent down to him. “Any message from Nïx? She’s surely the one who gave you my whereabouts.”