My lashes quivered, a groan clawing from my throat. I forced my lids to fully open, the haze and aching in my head blurring my vision. I knew my glasses were gone. I reached up anyway, which shot agony through my nerves. Pain covered me like a blanket. The smell of blood and smoke lay on my chest. I lifted my head, glancing down at my body. I looked like I’d been cooked with a blowtorch. Most of my clothes were melted or in tatters. Cuts swathed my blackened skin, fluid gushing out like tomato sauce.

A crackle of fire drew my attention to the room.

Holy shit!

The majority of the room was either demolished or on fire. Half the ceiling was gone, as though it had been peeled back by a giant can opener. Through the haze I saw the entire wall of windows was now open to elements, the balcony gone. The sofa near where we had stood was shredded, a heap of seared remains.

“Lorcan!” I screamed, ignoring the throbbing and bleeding wounds. I pushed myself up, my knees tearing more as I crawled over the debris to where I had last seen him. The thick fumes stung my eyes and burned holes in my lungs.

Oh. Please. Let him be okay. Acid seared my throat. “Lorcan!”

I inched around what was left of the sofa, pockets of flames eating at remaining fabric and stuffing. I froze, vomit rising up the back of my throat. Three bodies, or parts of bodies, seared, bloody, and blackened lay there. Eyes and skin had melted to bone. I had to turn away. A strangled cry came from my mouth, and I gagged. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nose and coated my tongue. Fae were hard to kill, but not impossible. Not much remained of the three nobles.

Demrik. Tears pinched my tear ducts, already feeling his loss. He was good and kind. He did not deserve this.

At the thought of finding Lorcan in the same manner, I scanned the room.

“Lorcan!”

A groan whipped my head toward the fireplace where I spotted what appeared to be legs behind a pile of rubble. “Oh god.” I scuttled toward the form, shoving the wreckage off him. I plucked and brushed glass and debris, my skin numb to the nicks tearing into my palms. Blood soaked his face and body, black soot singeing his scalp and face, lacerations carving huge fissures over his frame. But his chest moving up and down was all I cared about.

He’s alive.

“Lorcan?” I grabbed his face, leaning over him. Large gashes sliced his forehead, cheeks, neck, and chest. A chunk of glass stuck out from both his torso and shoulder. “Be still. I’m going to heal you.” I gripped the shard in his side and yanked it out. A slurping sound of flesh and matter followed. He groaned again, and his eyes rolled back when I did the same to his shoulder.

Trying to center myself when I’m freaking out is difficult, but with him bleeding out into my hands, I set my jaw tight. The memory of one other time I had to do this, save his life, wasn’t far from the surface.

The spell came from me, plunging like a swan dive into Lorcan. If I lose him… The enchantment came out stronger and more determined, immediately healing his larger wounds. I kept chanting, rocking back and forth. My strength drained from me, and I stumbled over some words.

“Hey, li’l bird,” Lorcan whispered hoarsely, his hand reaching to mine, pulling me out of my trance. “I’m fine. Don’t use all your energy.” He was not fine, he was trying to hide it, and the agony of his burns and wounds creased the corners of his eyes.

I couldn’t talk; my eyes locked on the green of his irises, the terror in my gut still not unclasping from its iron grip. The deep undeniable truth of what I felt for him almost suffocated me. I could have lost him.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Police. Firefighters. EMTs. People we didn’t want to deal with.

“Kennedy?” My name hurled through the smoke and cracking flames.

“Lars!” I yelled back, getting to my feet. “I’m here.”

I helped lift Lorcan to his feet, his teeth sawing together as he put weight on one leg, pulling up the other. It was most likely broken, but I didn’t have time to heal it now.

Three large outlines moved toward us. Relief washed over Lars’s expression when he saw me. Or I think it was relief; half of his face was so bloody and charred it was hard to tell. Most of his suit was burnt or torn off, veins popping out of his lacerations.

Lars and Goran carried Travil, barely conscious, between them, his head flopping forward with every step, his dark hair streaked with red and black. All of them were caked in blood, covered in gashes, broken bones poking through skin, and clothing burned into their flesh.

My initial response was to heal, to help the wounded, but Lars shook his head.

“We don’t have time; we have to get out of here. No one can know we were here.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Lorcan looked around, the blast had torn through the room to the elevators.

“We have a helicopter on the other side of the hotel grounds. Let’s hope the stairs are still functional. Let’s go.”

The men hobbled but moved as quickly as they could toward the stairs. Just as I was about to follow them into the stairway, I spotted a large chunk of metal on the tile. Normally I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but the symbol on it drew my attention. It appeared to be an Irish flag—to be exact, a Northern Ireland flag—which I studied in school and knew to be the Irish Republican Army. The ones fighting against England as their sovereign leader. Next to the flag was another symbol. It had three bars with three dots at the top, the two outer ones tilting away from the middle one, almost like three upside-down exclamation points. Somewhere in my subconscious, I felt something stir, recognizing the symbol.

“Kennedy?” Lorcan waved me to the half-missing door. The top level of stairs was twisted and deformed from the heat of the explosion.

I reached over and picked it up. The palm-sized piece of thick metal was hot on my skin. I shoved it in my pocket, swiveled around, and trailed after my companions.

We were not unscathed, but at least we were escaping with our lives.

 

 

Billows of smoke rose from the top of the hotel, a large hole blown out of the building where we stood only hours before. Lars hovered the helicopter to take in the damage; its red, blue, and white lights flickered, covering the streets around the building below. Emergency crews streamed in like ants.

We had scarcely made it out before an assembly of firefighters sprinted for the stairs, running into the danger as we ran away.

The helicopter barely fit us all. Lorcan and I sat like bookends keeping Travil in place, his huge limp form squeezing me against the door. Goran sat up front with his King. At first I was surprised Lars climbed into the pilot seat, but of course he knew how to do everything. He was nothing if not prepared and skilled. He most likely could fly his own jet if he was inclined.

None of us spoke, but the air was heavy with our confusion about what had occurred. My limbs shook, blood still leaking from my head, neck, chest, and legs draining me of what was left of my energy.

The rhythmic beat of the propellers lulled me as the moon reflected off the clouds and dimly lit the cabin of the helicopter. Lars turned us away from the city, taking us to safety.

 

 

“Hey. Wake up.” I opened my eyes and looked around. The helicopter stood empty except for me. When did I fall asleep? Jolting up, I turned to see Lorcan standing outside, holding the door open for me.

“Where are we?” I rubbed my eyes, missing the feel of my glasses. Even if I didn’t need them like I used to, I felt naked and unsure without them. It seemed with the gain of my Druid powers, my bad eyesight adjusted. It still wasn’t perfect, but I found I needed the feel of them on my nose more than the prescription in the glass.

“Somewhere in France. Loire Valley, I think. One of Lars’s properties.” His critical wounds had mostly mended, but burns and grazes still covered him.

I climbed out, trying to breathe through the stabs of pain I could feel too potently now that my adrenaline wore off.

“Holy crap.” I took notice of the “house” not too far from us. It was a castle, or what they would consider a château here, not a house. It had five stories of buttery limestone, not including the windows in the dormer roof. A pushed-out entrance with a steeple roof stood in the middle, while two round turrets were placed asymmetrically on either side with steep pitched roofs. Toasty golden light spilled out from the windows; smoke billowed out of one of the chimneys.

“What a dump,” Lorcan muttered to himself, his dry humor sounding flat, causing me to peer at him. He kept his head forward, slightly limping, with his expression harder than the stones forming the estate.

Lorcan and I walked silently across the vast lawn, the lights from the château guiding our way. So much was going on in my head, but I still caught the coolness coming off him like a fence I could not see through. He had his guard up, not letting me see his aura. This hurt, as all I wanted to do was hold him and forget all the strife between us. The thought of losing him had been like a slap, waking me up.

When we entered the house, he gave me a wide berth, as if he couldn’t bear to touch me. I rubbed my temples, not understanding what had happened. My gut ached with the feeling that even though he lived, I had lost him anyway. Bile burned the back of my throat at the thought, panic fluttering my stomach.

“Ms. Johnson.” Lars’s voice turned my attention to the grand entrance. Despite tattered pants, all it took was a fresh shirt to restore him to his kingly demeanor. The entry stood at least three stories high with sleek marble floors and the largest crystal chandelier I had ever seen. A large round table with white roses sat in the middle, welcoming visitors. It felt more like a hotel than a home. As stunning as it was, I liked his “cozy” manor in Washington better. “Excuse my rudeness for not showing you around, but I think we have much more pressing matters to discuss.”

Oh yeah we did.

“How is Travil? Does he need me? Are you okay?” I stepped around the table.

“I am fine. Travil is sleeping; Goran is with him.” Lars turned and led me down a corridor to the back of the house. “My powers numbed his pain. He will heal.” I always forgot I wasn’t the only one who could heal others. In Greece he had helped lessen my injuries.

He transported us to a large room toward the back of the château, looking to be a study or office. It had a pair of sofas perpendicular to the fireplace, books lining three walls, going up at least twenty feet, with two rolling ladders attached to the walls. It made me want to belt out a Beauty and the Beast song, and glide along the shelves, touching every book like a long-lost friend.

“Wow.” I stared in awe. So much knowledge and facts... this could be my heaven.

A tall, skinny woman with long white hair bustled into the room, holding a tray of tea, coffee, and snacks. She was fae but must have been ancient, because her face bore actual wrinkles. Fae didn’t age like humans. They could be hundreds of decades old and still look twenty. This woman looked to be in the same age group as Hazel. She was beautiful, with a long nose, blue eyes, and high cheekbones and appeared to be in her seventies.

“Sir.” She bowed, setting the tray down.

“Thank you, Brynja. We’ll take it from here.” He nodded and she quickly exited the room. I had to admit, it was strange seeing someone else besides Marguerite bringing life and love to any of Lars’s homes. I missed Marguerite. And her cooking.

Lars motioned to the sofa for us to sit where the refreshments were placed. He continued to pace in front of the hearth, tension curling off him.

Lorcan sat opposite me, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, his head bowed.

I felt like a raft bobbing around in the sea with no help in sight. “Soooo…?” I broke the silence. “Where do we start? How did someone find out I was there?”

Lars pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not certain the bomb was meant for you. You being there may have been happenstance. I think its purpose was to take out the only noble who could have stopped his progression.”

“You think this was Luuk’s doing?” My hand rubbed at the item in my pocket.

“Who else would it be? He gains from their deaths. It weakens us.” Lars switched back between the sofas like a pinball.

“Does Luuk have connections to the Irish Republic?” Both men’s heads jerked to me.

“No.” Lars stopped, his chartreuse eyes worming into mine. “Never. The Irish are supporters of us. Not Luuk’s cause. Why would you ask that?”

“Because…” I pulled the object from my pocket. “I found this next to the elevators. It looks like a piece of the bomb.” I slid the metal across the coffee table for both to see.

They leaned over, eyeing the piece.

“Holy shit.” Lorcan bounded up, while Lars went rigid, his lids blinking like he didn’t believe what he saw.

“What?” I rose to my feet, feeling their anxiety.

Lorcan and Lars exchanged glances before Lars turned away, rubbing his hand over his chin.

“Tell me!” I whipped my head between them. “What does this symbol mean? The one below the flag.”

“You don’t know?” Lars swung around, an eyebrow curved.

I peered back down at the three lines, familiarity jogging my brain, but I was too tired to put it all together. “It feels familiar, but no. I don’t know what it is.”

“It means...” Lars cleared his throat, facing me. “We have a new player on the board.”

“Who?” My throat tightened, sensing I was not ready for his answer.

Lars stared at me, his voice crisp.

“The Druids.”

 

 

“I am sorry, what?” I sputtered. Did I hear him right?

Lars leaned over and snatched the chunk of metal, turning the symbol to face me.

“I’m impressed you recognized the Irish Republic Army flag. However, it merely suggests where they are getting the bombs from. The other mark is their calling card.” His thumb rubbed over the dark lines and dots. “This symbol is the Awen. It means inspiration or spiritual illumination. It used to be like the yin-yang symbol. Harmony between feminine and masculine. But when the Druids were being prosecuted by Aneira, the rebellion adopted it as the covert symbol of their resistance against her. If you were caught with it on, you were killed on sight, but many continued to fight and this became the icon of their revolution. After most were executed, the emblem disappeared.

“This is no coincidence, and they are not trying to hide who did this,” Lorcan said. “They want to be a known player in this battle.”

“But…” I shook my head. “I thought most Druids were dead. You guys always act like I’m the only one left.”

“You were the only one we could confirm alive, but now I have little doubt there are many out there, emerging from hiding now.”

“Exactly. I am a Druid, so why would they want to kill me?”

“Again, I don’t think this attack was meant for you.”

“Okay, but what would they gain killing my allies?”

“Don’t be naïve, Ms. Johnson.” Lars slanted his head in disappointment. “See through their eyes, not yours.”

I huffed, hating being chastised, but he was right; I needed to look at the facts and history.

“They’re striking out at all fae,” I acknowledged.

“Yes, especially anyone who was with Aneira during that time…those high-powered officials at her beck and call to destroy all Druids without reason or cause.”

Not much different from what Hitler did to the Jewish. Except the Druids were now retaliating.

“This just feels wrong. Druids are healers; we don’t murder.”

“Anyone can if pushed too far.” Lars leaned against the mantle.

My gaze darted to Lorcan, and a feeling of protectiveness clogged my chest. I would have killed those who set the bombs if they had killed him. Lorcan hadn’t said a word, nor had he looked at me once. The wall between us grew thicker by the moment.

“We are at a great disadvantage, Ms. Johnson.” Would he ever get used to calling me by my first name? “And I do not like any odds not in my favor. But tonight we lost three exceedingly powerful fae against our fight with Luuk. And now we have a whole new contender on the field, coming at us from the side.”

“What do we do?” I felt like my entire kingdom was slipping through my fingers.

“I spoke to Torin right before you came in. He was very distraught and wanted to come here. His dedication to you is courageous. I had to threaten him to stay put.” Lars lifted an eyebrow, hinting at his underline meaning. “Everything is fine back home. Your double is doing an excellent job selling the story and playing you. So far Torin has received no word anyone has caught on. However, it will simply be a matter of time.”

“I can’t go back yet. We have to figure out what to do to save our kingdom.”

“I agree completely with you.” Lars nodded. “What would you do next? What would be the most logical step now?”

Lars loved to test me to see how worthy of my crown I was. I had no doubt he already had his answer but wanted to see if mine matched his.

I took a deep breath, letting my brain file the data in a coherent order.

What we didn’t have:

 

1.)   Luuk’s location and his next piece in the plot.

2.)   Support since losing the three nobles.

 

What we did have:

 

1.)   A lead on a new group against us.

2.)   A location of where they could be.

 

“We go to Ireland,” I replied, standing behind my statement. “While we figure out what to do about Luuk and his militia, we follow the only lead we have. Find the leader of this Druid group and stop them from getting into the game.”

A grin spread over Lars’s mouth. “You are turning out to be an extraordinary Queen, Ms. Johnson.”

Any kind of praise from Lars was few and far between, and I blushed with warm fuzzies. But with Lars, it always came with stipulations.

“I need you to go one step further, Ms. Johnson.”

Finding them was such a general plan; he wanted a more concrete idea. Discovering a secret group, who probably took great care in not being discovered and had Druid powers to do it, was not an easy task.

I knew exactly what needed to be done. It was the only way to find this faction and get close enough to the kingpin. “I go undercover. Become the exact thing we seek.”

Lars’s eyes glinted with pride.

As a Druid, I was the only one. Lars was far too recognizable, and even in disguise they would not let a demon with power like his anywhere near the hive. He’d be killed in an instant. It had to be me—a Druid who had been in hiding, pursuing revenge like the others.

“What? Oh hell no.” Lorcan flipped between Lars and me like a windshield wiper. “Are you serious? It’s far too risky.”

Lars spun toward Lorcan. “It’s dangerous if we let them continue to grow in strength.”

“No. Fuck. No.” Lorcan’s jaw set. “What if they find out who she is? They will kill her.”

“That’s why you will go with her. Protect her.”

Lorcan’s and my mouths dropped together.

“Wh-wh-a-t?” I stammered. “Lorcan can’t come with me.”

“Why the hell not?” Fury curled Lorcan’s hands.

“Because you are fae.” Duh. “You are the precise thing they want to kill.”

A mechanical laugh sputtered from Lorcan. “And you think you can do this by yourself? You?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I placed one hand on my hip, the other searching to adjust my nonexistent glasses, seeking the comfort of the action amidst a whirl of anger.

“Come on, Ken.” He motioned up and down me. “You are honest, kind, and softhearted. You think you can walk up to the door and they will believe you’re some Druid extremist? I know better than anyone you can’t lie to save your life. It would be like a baby caribou walking into a lion’s den drenched in its own blood.”

Why did every supposedly nice word feel like an insult? “I am not that naïve,” I exclaimed, feeling irritation burn my cheeks. “Maybe I was, but it was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then. I’m different.”

“I don’t doubt it, but your core hasn’t changed. It’s not a bad thing. You just weren’t meant to deceive. That’s what makes you, you.” He was right. It was not in my nature, but it still upset me. I didn’t like him “knowing” me so well.

“Don’t underestimate me, dweller.” My queenly tone flushed over my tongue. Yes, I had a certain tone which usually came out when dealing with obstinate nobles at meetings. “There isn’t anything I won’t do for the safety of my people.”

Lorcan’s shoulders rolled back, like I’d smacked his nose with a newspaper. “Fine.” Lorcan rolled his jaw. “Suit yourself, Majesty,” he sneered.

Lars watched us, his expression blank, but a hint of amusement remained in his eyes.

“I will head for Belfast tomorrow,” I stated, staring at Lars.

“Both of you will.”

“Lars—” I tried to interject, but he held up his hand, shutting my mouth.

“And do not underestimate me, Ms. Johnson. I am not foolish enough to send in a dark dweller with you if I thought it would put you in more danger.”

“Then how—?” I touched my mouth, stopping myself.

“I have it on extremely good authority Druids are using their powers to control fae, to do their ‘dirty’ work.”

Lorcan swung to Lars. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. The Druid who once practiced mind control had been taken care of, but I’ve heard rumors the method has continued on.”

In the last year I had read a lot about fae history. The books actually told me their stories. The bonus of having fae books: it’s like a fun audiotape. They loved to talk and tell you all that’s written in the pages, plus bits of gossip that aren’t. One of them had been about the Druid genocide, which I was particularly interested in. Though Aneira had sown a great deal of hate, not all anti-Druid fears were unbiased.

A select group of “dark” Druids had started using fae as their puppets. Fae did not take well to being dominated. They could do it to others but did not want it done upon them.

My mind whirled with where Lars was going, the plan forming in my head. A slow smile crept on my face. “So Lorcan would go in as my marionette.”

“Precisely.” Lars rocked back and forth on his heels, a wicked grin pushing up his mouth. Lorcan’s and Lars’s past was rocky at best, as Lorcan was part of the reason the love of Lars’s life was dead. Through the war they had become allies and now worked together, but the bond was precarious, and at any moment I sensed they could return to being enemies.

Lars seemed to be enjoying Lorcan’s discomfort far too much.

“No.” Lorcan’s head began to move. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“You said you would protect her with your life, did you not, Mr. Dragen?” Lars’s perfectly manicured eyebrow bowed up.

“Yes, but—”

“And you would do whatever it took to keep her safe?”

“Yeah, but—”

“There is no but. Her safety and well-being come first, and I thought you would agree with me.” He wasn’t forcing him, but the weight of Lars’s power still bobbed like a buoy.

Lorcan ran his hand over his neck, his forehead crinkled with frustration. “Of course it is.”

“Then we are at an agreement?” Lars clasped his hands in front of him.

Lorcan glared at Lars but nodded at long last.

“Good.” Lars’s smugness choked the room. He never had a doubt he would get his way. The King turned to me. “Don’t be afraid to actually use your powers on him, Ms. Johnson... and make sure the collar is tight.”

 

 

Brynja showed us to our rooms upstairs, placing Lorcan and me across the hall from each other. He stayed stalwart in his silence, not even saying good night before he disappeared behind the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

I knew he was not happy about his role or going undercover, but the freeze had started prior to that. Now we had reached arctic levels of chill between us. Blinking back the hurt, I shut my door, my shoulders sagging with the weight of the night.

Lars told us we would set out for Ireland in the morning. He would head back to Seattle, encouraging the notion we’d been nowhere near this latest incident. The media was probably already hounding both our camps for a response to the death of the nobles. I knew Olivia could handle it. She was amazing, but I still hated putting this on her too.

I stepped farther into the large chamber. It reminded me of Ember’s room at the compound. A mix of modern and old. Lush velvet and faux fur blankets and pillows, a modern chandelier hanging over the king-size, princess-style bed, designed in soft grays, creamy yellows, and icy blues. The lavish bathroom contained a claw-footed tub, walk-in shower, and heated floors.

It was gorgeous and luxurious, but lacked the homey feel I longed for. After the night we had, I craved a comfy couch, my friends, and a bowl of mac-n-cheese or pizza.

I stripped off what was left of my clothing and cringed when the melted fabric tore pieces of my skin from my body. But I was lucky. Very, very lucky.

Turning on the faucet I gritted my teeth as I stepped into the shower, my sensitive skin aching under the spray. I scrubbed away the blood, soot, and grime and tried not to think of the gruesome images of fragmented bodies and burnt flesh popping back into my head. But they wouldn’t go away.

Neither would the overwhelming pressure of being Queen, along with all that had happened and what still lay ahead. The impossible feat of keeping the kingdom from crumbling. The family and friends I had lost but had no time to mourn. Now alone, sobs tore from my chest, my tears merging with the drops of water.

I wanted to give up. To step aside and let someone else take over. It was so tempting. I was a twenty-three-year-old girl who didn’t even get to graduate high school before her life was turned upside down. I had dreamed of going to college, not ruling the fae nation. I had no clue what I was doing. Fighting against such extreme hatred, prejudice, constant threats, and attacks would cause anyone to buckle.

Unfortunately I was not the type to give up. I worked until I understood or figured it out. Being bad at something was never comfortable for me. And this was no different. I couldn’t let down Lars, myself, or the people who counted on me.

I turned my head up to the stream and washed away the last of my tears.

“Never give up. Never surrender,” I mumbled to myself. It was a quote from one of my dad’s favorite movies. When I had been picked on at school or had a bad day, he would come into my room, rub my back, and quote the line, never failing to make me smile. I could see him in my head, stroking my back and telling me to get up and to keep fighting.

“Okay, Dad,” my voice cracked, feeling his ghost curl around my heart. “Never surrender. I promise.”

Limp and exhausted, I dressed in a fluffy robe hanging behind the door and stumbled to the bed. Lars had promised fresh clothes would arrive in the morning.

I curled onto my side and let the huge bed engulf me, giving over to my exhaustion.

 

 

I sat up, the scream shredding through my teeth into the pitch-black room, a drop of sweat trailing down the side of my temple.

Alone. Dark.

My heart thumped in my chest as I tried to swallow, shoving down the visual of the dead bodies, guts, blood, and bones spread over the hotel room. Lorcan’s detached head in the middle.

“Shhh…” A voice surprised me as a figure crawled onto my bed next to me. “I’m here. You’re safe.” Lorcan’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me into him, his hand stroking over my head and down my back. “This is real. I’m real.”

It had merely been a nightmare, my soul’s reaction to the horror I had seen tonight. I knew perfectly well where I was. Selfishly I still let him hold me as he went through our ritual. It felt so good snuggling into his chest. I blissed out at the sound of his heartbeat thumping against my ear. I could have so easily lost him tonight, finding him in pieces like I did Demrik.

And suddenly I was all too aware of his nudity, of the speed at which he’d run in here to console me without hesitation.

“What do you smell, hear, and feel?” He brushed my hair over my ear, tugging on it.

My body felt alive with need, his touch twisting my mind like a ball of twine.

“I smell you,” I whispered, moving my head up toward his neck, allowing my impulse to override my brain, the night draping protectively over me, giving me confidence I wouldn’t have in the light of day. “I hear the pounding of your heart…” My lips grazed his collarbone. He went still, his breath catching. The wall he had put up earlier re-formed.

I wanted to smash it to dust.

“Ken…” My name felt shrouded in cautionary tape. I ignored his tone, brushing my mouth over his Adam’s apple. My fingers worked at the knot of my robe.

“And I want to feel you... deep inside.” My bluntness would have embarrassed me at one time, but Lorcan had a way of smashing through my comfort zones and pushing me to the edge. Making me accept all aspects of myself.

He sucked in sharply, his throat bobbing as I nipped at his skin. My fingers loosened the robe tie as I climbed onto my knees, opened it, and let it slide off my body.

“Fuck,” he muttered, red coating the green of his eyes. I could see every part of him was turned on.

Tonight I didn’t want to think about the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this or denying my attraction to him. I just wanted.

“Kennedy. Stop,” he growled, barely clear enough to understand.

“No.” I ran my hand down his torso, skimming the tip of him.

He grabbed my arms, tossing me back onto the bed, climbing over me, his expression fierce and angry.

“You think you want this, but you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” I exhaled, the ache growing into painful levels.

“No. You won’t tomorrow.” He growled. “I can’t do this anymore... after what happened earlier...”

“Please,” I pleaded. His lashes flattened together, a struggle clamping his features. “Just tonight.”

“Exactly.” He shook his head. “But it wouldn’t be. You would hate me.”

“I can’t hate you.” I pulled pointlessly against his hold on my wrists. “I tried.”

He opened his eyes. Pinning both my arms with one hand, he palmed himself, skimming his length over me. I gasped, my hips bucking up.

“Jesus, I want to fuck you. So unbelievably hard,” he spit out, fury rolling his muscles. “Until you shatter over and over… so filled with me, you can’t breathe.”

“Oh god. Yes.” I heard myself begging, desperate for him to do exactly that.

My head spun at the friction of him sliding himself over me again and again. “You want this.” A cruel smile twisted his mouth as he continued to rub against me.

I nodded feverishly.

“Say it,” he demanded, low and gruff. His voice and movements fogged everything with lust.

“I want you. Now.” I hissed, arching.

A smug smile grew on his mouth, flicking with rage. “You will hate yourself and me. Trust me,” he rumbled, shoving back on his knees. He flicked the necklace lying between my breasts with disgust. “Stay with your fairy knight. Have him fuck you like the submissive dog he is.”

Lorcan climbed off the bed, his feet heavy as he stomped through the room, slamming my door. A second later, the sound of his door banging rang down the hallway.

I propped myself on my elbows staring at the door with bewilderment. My chest crashed against my ribs at the same time I felt the sharp loss of near-gratification and extreme humiliation.

What the hell just happened? Why was he so mad?

Damn! He totally rejected me. A silent sob ricocheted in my chest. It was like he put my heart in an industrial-size shredder, tearing and slashing it into powder, covering me in utter mortification.

From the moment we got out of the helicopter I had felt his anger and coldness increase. All directed at me. I had no idea why, but now I had a taste of his cruel torment. My heart was hurt, my mind was furious, but my body still craved his like a junkie. An addict who never wanted to recover.