A Story of Mates and Temptation (The Lost Fae Riders #3)

Chapter 1

The deities are three. The sun, the moon and the twilight between.

T here’s a taste in my mouth I can’t quite get rid of. It’s bitter, disgusting, and no matter how much I roll my tongue around, it stays. Vampyre. It reminds me of Emyr, of what it was like for him to kiss me when I was dying inside and mentally wishing I was anywhere else. It reminds me of all the years I felt dead and cold—alone. I open my eyes, the lids dry and crusted, and my hand immediately goes to my throat, remembering the dagger—Ziven’s dagger—that I slid straight into it. Death isn’t warm; in fact, it’s humid and strange here. I feel silk sheets around my body, and a tight fabric wrapped around me.

Am I a vampyre now?

It’s the only way I could have survived and still be alive. I can hear my heart beating in my chest, or at least, I think I can. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. I was stupid to think I could kill myself in front of Emyr, the vampyre prince obsessed with me, and he wouldn’t try to save me. He wanted me to be a vampyre, after all. He wanted me, and nothing was going to stop him. I made the right choice not to fight him in the forest, knowing it would have cost Hettie her life. That sweet girl was worth whatever is coming for me now. The deities have decided not to be kind to me and let me die, but at least I’m not a vampyre. I don’t think.

I lift my hand into the light, seeing my skin is pink and not drained of colour at all. There’s no paleness to it—nothing more than usual. I don’t feel hungry, beyond the usual hunger for food, and if I were a vampyre, surely, I would want blood and death? I saw what it did to Kyrell and how it made him insane for blood, how it was all he would think about.

Kyrell is gone. The fact he isn’t here anymore doesn’t seem real; it seems foreign and lost, and I’m not sure how to ever process that he has left this world for good. He was in pain; I knew that, but I hoped I’d be able to find a way to heal him with the books or just some way. He was my best friend, my person in this world I could trust to make me smile when everything was failing. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to not see Ziven ending his life in front of me.

My hand lifts to my teeth. No sharp canines. Nothing different at all.

“I’m not a vampyre.” My voice is broken and cracked, like I screamed for too long. It’s happened enough times I recognise the sound, but this time, it’s from the scar on my neck, the line I can feel has healed, but it will leave a permanent mark of how I tried to end my life before he could get me again.

“Much to my disgust, it’s not something to be delighted about, Story Dehana.” I turn my head to the side and see Emyr sitting at the edge of the bed on my left. The bitter monster prince I escaped is casually resting at the end of the bed, dressed in a dark, blood-red shirt and black trousers. His crown, a red jewelled spiked crown, is sitting in his pale silver hair. His eyes aren’t on me, and I’m thankful I don’t have to look at the light blue irises of my nightmares.

Instead of on Emyr, or the doom I feel spreading around my chest at the sight of him, I focus elsewhere. The room isn’t somewhere I’ve been before and that’s not good. I don’t have a chance to escape somewhere new. The silk sheets are unfamiliar, red, like the short, tight nightdress I’m wearing. The castle walls are yellow brick, glimmering like stars in the bright light shining in from outside. It’s bright out there, and it hurts to look for more than a second.

I can smell my blood in the air, thick and heavy, and little else over it except for the stink of the Silkvir. The rotting smell hangs on Emyr. There’s a big balcony door overlooking what I assume is sand outside. A gentle, warm breeze blows in through the willowy curtains. When Emyr looks at me, my heart pounds in pure fear, and the smile on his face tells me he is happy about that reaction. He likes it when I’m scared out of my mind. For a moment, I feel like the same blood slave who was trapped under him for years. Those endless years of misery and not a moment of hope. “It’s all going to be fine, my Story. My father’s on his way to meet you, and we’ll figure out what went wrong in your moment of madness. I forgive you for trying to leave this world after all of the misery of being trapped in that mansion.”

“Do you think it was madness?” I ask with a laugh on the tip of my tongue. I don’t see him as this terrifying vampyre anymore. I see him for exactly what he is—nothing. I’m not scared of him anymore. My heart slows as I realise that the past is not now and I’m not some weak, untrained girl anymore. I was taught to fight. I won a dragon. He can’t make me weak again. “I wanted to die and get away from you. It wasn’t madness.”

He’s on me in a flash, his body pressing into mine, and he is strong. Too strong for me to fight him off, but I scream and fight, anyway. Disgust rolls through me as his hand wraps around my throat and his lips slam down on me as I struggle underneath him, trying to get away, but he kisses me deeper, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I want to be sick.

All I can taste is him—and that bitter, horrible taste. They are the same thing and I hate it. I hate every moment of it.

“As much as I want you,” he growls, pushing himself against my thigh, “when we are married, I will have all of you. I want my wife.” He tightens his grip on my throat. “I know you don’t love me like I love you, but you’re so young, Story. In time, you will find loving me is the best way for us. I love you.”

“You don’t know what the word means!” I spit out the words between heated breaths. “I don’t fear you, and I will not bend to you anymore. I will spend every day of my life here fighting you, endlessly, until you see that I will never love you. Never. The Story you broke and tried to destroy is gone. Good fucking riddance. Who I am now, she is exceptional, and I fought for her.”

His eyes flash with anger and rage, but I don’t stop. “The Story who you beat, raped and destroyed ever since you met her is gone,” I continue, staring up at him. “I’m a dragon rider now. I am fae. I will never be a vampyre, and you’ll never own me. You can do what you want with my body. You’ve already done it before, and it changed nothing. I forgot about you the second I met my mate and was with him. He taught me what love is and what sex is really like. You are nothing. I will never love you. I will never want you. You are nothing to me.”

His hand strikes me hard across the face, and his other hand tightens on my neck. I know I’m playing with fire, but I’ve lost so much now, I can’t find it in myself to care. I’ve snapped. My neck jerks with the force of the hit, but I just laugh as my cheek stings and I struggle to breathe. “Being a fucking bitch is going to do nothing but piss me off, Story!” He grabs me out of the bed and throws me against the wall by my hair, yanking out strands of it as I scream. Pain radiates down my shoulder as I hit the stone, and I feel a rib snap. He climbs off the bed, stomping toward me.

“That it?”

“I only enjoy breaking you,” he snarls like an animal, his voice low and dangerous. “You know I enjoy that. Stop fucking laughing at me!”

I glare at him and grin. “Do it. I don’t care.”

He shakes his head. “I should have kept that little girl to tame you, but don’t worry, when I find her with the rest of them, I’ll make sure she is here to make you behave. Your soft heart is stronger than your new resolve to die.” My laugh stops. “Whoever decided to fuck you, whoever you smell like—well, I’ll tell you this—he is dead. I will find him and end him in front of you. Only I get to have you, Story. Only me.”

“You’ll never break me again and you’ll never own me.” Even I don’t believe it now. Not when he knows I have a weakness—Hettie. I sent her running into the forest, but for all I know, he could find her anyway. Some random fae might have taken her in, a helpless child, but if Emyr puts out word that he is looking for a child with her description and reward, they will give her up.

His eyes narrow. “I’m going to fuck that spirit right out of you,” he spits. “I’ll teach you exactly how and why you belong to me.”

A voice interrupts. “Son.”

My eyes widen as the king enters the room, and immediately the room feels wrong. I remember him—remember him killing my friend like it’s happening right in front of me all over again and I can’t stop it. Like it’s real and cold, and he is just stopping Kyrell from being free. I remember him ripping his heart out of his chest in the most brutal way, the spray of his blood, the joy in his dead eyes at the sight of death.

Nothing’s really changed about the immortal king, with a crown nestled on his head. Except now he has creatures flying in the sky, and he found the mansion with the dragon-riding fae. I hope he doesn’t have the books. Catherine and Avaluna might have successfully gotten away with them in the madness of the attack. We lost so much, but we had to keep the books safe. I just read the last page, the one where it told me the books were actually deities and alive, bound to the pages. I read how to free them too. I’m not sure freeing the deities would be good for the world, not when they have likely gone insane from being bound to the books for so long.

“It’s been very long since I saw the prince—now king—of the Moon Dynasty. I smell him on you.” The king pauses and cocks his head to the side. Ziven. “I enjoyed ripping his dragon apart and watching him fall from the sky. I doubt he survived the fall and the death of his dragon.” No. No. No. His dragon is dead? Ziven…no, he is alive. I can feel our connection in my chest, still alive and burning, like the first moment I met Ziven. I can feel him out there because he is my destined mate, and he is not dead. I’d know. But Brythan? His dragon… Deities above.

At least I know he won’t risk coming after me and being killed by them. He wouldn’t be able to get me without a dragon, and Maeve was hurt. She won’t be coming either. I want them safe. It’s best this way. Hopefully, he doesn’t come after me. I want him safe—even after everything he did. Even after killing my best friend. I love him. I want to see him again someday. I need him.

“He must have manipulated her somehow. She loves me—” Emyr is cut off by the king’s laugh.

“You can’t break a dog with beatings and expect it to love you when a kinder owner offers a hand.” The king turns his eyes on me, and I feel the coldness, right down to my bones.

“I’m not a dog,” I snap.

“I’m so sorry, father. She’s running her mouth, and it is unlike her.” Emyr steps closer to me. “Her time in the mansion has corrupted her mind against me.”

The king moves like a ghost towards me. His presence is too much because it feels wrong. Empty. He walks straight over to where I’m crouched on the floor by the stone wall that I was thrown into. “I won’t hurt you.”

“How many fae have you looked in the eyes and said that to and still hurt them?” I sarcastically question.

He doesn’t even pause to answer. “Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I don’t know or care.”

I rise to my feet on my own, my hands shaking under the full weight of his stare.

“You look like her,” he murmurs, his gaze searching my face. My eyes. My hair. He seems to spend a long time looking at me and seeing the past. I know who he means, the princess who he married and then destroyed with hate. He never loved her and he chose to be a vampyre and burn the world down instead. “But you’re more beautiful. Different. That same determination in your eyes is there across your souls. It’s no wonder my son became so invested in you. If I’d seen you, I’d have been invested too.”

He moves a step closer and I press myself against the wall to escape any way I can. “I’m sure you’ve heard all the horrible things about me from my last blood slave. Avaluna.” He looks at my hair and picks up a lock, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. I swear there is longing in his voice when he says her name. I know she is free and she won’t be coming back to him. Calix will never let him close. “I know she was corrupted into leaving my side, but I had plans for her. She was not like the others.”

“She never spoke about you,” I say coldly, knowing it will hurt him more than anything else I could say.

His eyes flicker, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. He drops my hair though, and I’m glad for it.

“She’s mine,” he says simply, before sitting at the edge of the bed and gazing out the window. “I will have her again.”

My heart races as I press myself against the cold stone wall, trying to steady my breathing.

“The world is changing,” he says, almost to himself. “My Silkvir are spread across the lands where the mansion once stood and here in the East where the Sun kings once ruled. The lands of the Moon are going to be no more, but their city is nothing but dust now. The fae who escaped are running, hiding from my creatures. It’s futile for them to escape and hide. I plan to level the entire land with fire and start anew. Build a brilliant city for my son and heir…and for you to rule beside him, Story Dehana. With you at my son’s side, as princess of the vampyres, the hope inspired by your name will die and the fae will stop looking to you for a hero to save them.” He pauses. “And once I have Avaluna back, she will be my new queen. Two of your kind ruling with us, as it should be.”

I force my voice to remain steady, though anger burns as hot as a dragon within my chest. “And where exactly do the kings of the fae—the real kings—fit into that vision? Do you honestly think King Daegan and King Ziven will bow to you? The dragons too? The fae are done with being slaves, and rebellions will always happen. We are done being your food, your slaves.”

His head tilts slightly, amused by my defiance. “And you speak for all of them, do you? I’m sure not every fae is so enamoured with your opinion. Freedom? They were freed from one type of ruler and given another. Buried kings used them as slaves, too. No, they haven’t truly been free before.”

I bite back the response rising in my throat, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of my anger. He wants me to react.

His expression changes like smoke in the wind. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked why you didn’t turn, Story?”

My blood is so cold I’m not fully convinced I’m not turning into a vampyre at this very moment. “Why didn’t I?”

“You died,” Emyr demands, his gaze flicking to me. “I felt it. You died in my arms, with vampyre blood already in your system from me, and it should have worked.” He grabs the bed base. “I brought you back here, expecting you to turn within hours. But you didn’t. Instead, you healed. Every wound on your body—every mark, even the one on your neck where you tried to kill yourself to escape me—closed as if they were never there. Still fae and perfectly fine, despite death.”

I say nothing, but his words send a chill through me that I can’t shake off.

“She’s a Twilight heir, and it would never have worked on her,” the king murmurs with a certainty I don’t like. Twilight heir? What exactly does that mean?

The king’s eyes narrow on me. “The red hair. The eyes of green like a fire that burned in the city, right outside the royal households. There were twelve noble families with the purest of blood when the world fell to its knees for me. She is a descendant of a noble household. Twilight blood is rare. Most of the Twilight Dynasty has been diluted. You’re one of them.”

He rises, his steps measured as he heads to the balcony. Sweat sticks to my skin from the heat. “The vampyre blood we give to turn others only works on those without the blood of deities. The Twilight Dynasty carries the blood of those gods, and it is what made them different. You don’t need to be a vampyre to achieve immortality when it is in your blood already. You can live as long as you wish. But the perfection of your bloodline had its flaws,” he continues with a cruel smile, his eyes dropping to my stomach. The cycles, the infertility. I read about it for the princess and now for me. I never got to ask Avaluna if she suffered like I do. “This one is broken, isn’t she? Like my wife was, and there was never a cure. If you’re looking for heirs, Emyr, you may need to search elsewhere.”

“I’ll make heirs for us to raise as our children. No one will know,” Emyr replies coldly, his eyes locked on mine. “This one is still mine. She always will be.”

The king nods, satisfied. “Very well. The wedding will be tomorrow. Let her have this one last day where she believes she’s free. Perhaps I should have offered your mother that courtesy. She might not have betrayed me if I had.”

Emyr doesn’t flinch at the jab, his face impassive.

“Her funeral is today,” the king continues. “Tomorrow, a wedding. A symbol of progress after winning the war.” He looks to the sky. “Before my own wedding to Avaluna, of course.”

Their words blur together in my mind as panic rises like a drum. Beat. Beat. Beat. The realisation hits me like a crashing wave along a cliff side—Emyr is going to force me to marry him tomorrow. I have no plan, no escape from this place, and I’ll end being his bride. I don’t want that and I’d rather die, but it seems like I can’t even have that option.

I can’t feel Maeve.

I know she’s alive—I can feel it somewhere deep within me—but I can’t reach her, and without my dragon, I can’t fight my way out of this. I’m trapped.

My back slides down the wall as they leave, their words fading, and I can barely hear them. Only when I hear Ziven’s name do I snap out of it. “That king, Ziven, and the other one are still missing. Along with too many dragons and fae. After the wedding, I want to return to hunt them down.”

“We will find them, but I do not feel they are a threat anymore.” The king is confident and my stomach drops like a rock. “Where else could they go? We will find what is left of them and destroy them. We won’t be stopped.”

“No one can stop us and I am glad of it,” Emyr echoes his father, looking back at me. I want to be sick again. I’m a prize to him. I always have been, and now he has me back exactly where he wants me. Kyrell won’t be there to pick the pieces up this time.

He’s won. It almost feels like it was all for nothing. I can’t get out of here and I still don’t even know where I am. I feel the trickle of hot blood sliding down my forehead, and I wipe it away, staring at my blood marking my hand as it shakes. I want to be strong and pretend I’m not scared, but I am. I’m tired and scared. A sob echoes out of my throat as I wrap my arms around my knees and rest my head against them. I pray to the deities, even when I know they can’t hear me because they are trapped within pages of a magic book.

I pray to them anyway. Not for me.

For Ziven.

My life is over, but his—he has to be okay. Because I love him, and if anything can survive this world, it has to be him. Even if I might not.