38
Jeryn
With Flare’s cunt still encasing my cock, I scarcely had time to process this turn of events. Not three seconds into the aftershocks, I might have called the view a hallucination wrought from making her come. Perhaps the vision of her glowing eyes, flushed cheeks, and moaning mouth had intoxicated me. Merely looking at her was enough to inebriate my system, to say nothing of bringing her to orgasm.
Except where my body had been spilling into Flare moments ago, clarity returned. It slapped me across the face as my little beast squirmed in my arms. Despite my desire to grip her tighter, to fuck her in a dozen various ways, the other half of my reflexes did as she bade and released her.
The soaked muscles of Flare’s pussy slipped from around my dick, the hasty movements causing me to groan. Painful. Mournful. At the disruptive noise, she halted. Eyes shimmering, she grabbed my face and dropped a quick kiss on my lips, denying me the chance to snatch her mouth and reciprocate. A disgruntled growl scrolled from my throat, to which she chuckled.
Swinging her head toward the ship and then back to me, Flare patted my shoulders, urging me to make haste. She scrambled down my torso like a crustacean, her feet hitting the surf, seawater splashing around her ankles. Yet it was the vision of her dusky nipples and glistening vagina that triggered the lucid side of my brain.
I broke from my stupor. We launched into motion.
The slit in her skirt left no part of Flare’s anatomy to the imagination. As for the bodice, the ocean had swallowed it whole like a delicacy. Under no circumstances would anyone be permitted to see her disrobed.
This visual was mine.
Although Flare had sliced open the clasps of my shirt, it was better than nothing. After sealing the flaps of my pants, I peeled off the sopping garment and tossed it her way.
Flare caught the fabric and threw her arms into the oversized sleeves. Because she’d severed the closures, the resourceful female used her dagger to slice horizontal incisions down the center, enabling her to tie the front shut. Then she rolled the cuffs up her forearms, the hem hanging to her knees.
However, the skirt was a lost cause. With the slit ascending to her waist and displaying every glorious attribute between her hips, Flare hopped out of the garment, letting it puddle to the sand. At which point, my lungs drained.
Her, in my wet shirt. Her, with that mussed hair. Her, newly fucked.
This view. Also mine.
Frantic, the gorgeous little beast draped her skirt across the chair where we’d feasted. Together, we raced from the cove and through the caves.
This could be a trap. It could be an ambush. Except such logic did not add up. Summer and Winter would charge into the forest, intent on locating me and apprehending Flare. Neither court would need to disguise itself.
Even if that were the case, neither court would know what appropriate—and effective—disguise to wear. Nor would they present themselves as Autumn. This much at least, I had concluded upon sighting the ship. Otherwise, I’d have thrown Flare over my shoulder and vacated the cove at the first hint of danger.
The occupants of that ship were clear. The reality hit me slowly, then expediently.
Regardless, I would not take chances where Flare was concerned. I seized the beast’s fingers and maneuvered ahead of her, with the knife harnessed to my hip.
Returning to the ruins, we sprinted up the stairs. Across the halls. Past the vestibule. Through the stone doors. At the landing, we stalled in our tracks.
Two figures stood on the bridge, on the fortress’s end. With their backs turned, they marveled at the ancient platform and the leviathan skeleton resting on the lake floor. The man towered behind the woman, with his arms secured around her middle.
The tall male with a dark shag of hair wore what could only be described as insolent attire. Snug boots with intricate pleating, lightweight pants dyed in demon-black, and a shirt of the same shade, fitted to accentuate his muscled physique. At least, he’d been wise to forgo the customary leathers and heavily accessorized trimmings, but while the closed footwear and breathable textiles made sense, his choice of color would do him no favors in the sun tomorrow. Not that he would ever give a fashionable shit.
The slender female attached to him was outfitted in a khaki linen jumpsuit. A herringbone pattern accented the bodice and ran down the sides of her pants, and long sleeves protected the woman’s arms. As always, understated elegance combined with practicality.
A stack of mismatched bracelets encircled the man’s wrist. The scarlet ribbon in particular caught my eye, which matched the one ornamenting the woman’s hand beneath her cinched wrist sleeves. I’d seen this pair wearing such cords on prior occasions.
Two other facets identified them. Red hair plaited into a loose braid. Two verdant irises that gleamed like mischief itself when the couple twisted our way.
Having heard the doors creek open, they stared. Amazement. Astonishment. Both reactions carved into their features, one face as sharp as a thorn, the other cut like a diamond.
Briar. Poet.
Princess. Jester.
At my side, Flare sucked in a breath. In unison, a similar noise ejected from Briar. The little beast leaped down the steps, the hem of my shirt flapping around her naked limbs. At the same time, Briar launched into a run.
The women vaulted toward each other. With joyous cries—one audible to the world, the other not—they crashed together. Flinging their arms around one another, the females clutched and rocked from side to side, their bodies shaking with elation and relief.
From behind the spectacle, Poet observed with a tilt to his lips. Amusement brightened the jester’s eyes, the lashes lined in black kohl.
My woman was the first to pull away. She cradled Briar’s face and planted a sequence of kisses on the princess’s freckled cheeks. In turn, the princess unleashed a teary laugh and inched back to comb through Flare’s hair.
“Finally,” Briar exclaimed. “Did you miss us?”
“Come now, my wifely thorn,” Poet’s satin voice interrupted as he sauntered toward them. “Don’t you know? Everyone misses us.”
Predictable. Pompous.
That shirt hung open to his navel, revealing a sculpted torso. Once a vain fucker, always a vain fucker. Beyond that, the word wifely elicited a memory.
My gaze clicked once more toward the scarlet ribbons. The ends of Briar’s ribbon hung longer, evidence that it had once belonged to Poet. Whereas the tips of his own bracelet dangled shorter, proving it had previously graced the princess’s arm.
They had swapped. The sight, along with Poet’s endearment, reminded me of news that had traveled across the continent before I’d traveled to Summer. Poet and Briar had gotten married in private, then celebrated later with their family and the kingdom.
“Well?” The jester opened his arms to Flare. “What are you waiting for, sweeting?”
As Flare whirled to embrace Poet, a barbaric noise sliced across my tongue, too low for them to hear. Nonetheless, the little beast skipped backward and shook her head, delivering the same question I’d been thinking.
She uttered a word that came out inaudible to them. A one-syllable inquiry the jester and princess could nonetheless read. “How?”
How were they here? How had they found us?
Yet the beast seemed expectant, hardly surprised when Briar grinned. “We had help,” she explained, indicating a red butterfly perched on the bridge’s rim.
The creature had been stationed there, but now it sprang into the air and landed on Flare’s crooked finger. Another member of her fauna pack, I concluded.
Delighted, the beast stroked the butterfly’s wings. “Thank you, my friend.”
Thank you. As in, the creature had done her a favor.
My eyes narrowed. Every Season had its fauna messengers. Summer relied on the generosity of butterflies, among certain marine species.
At some point while here, Flare had contacted Poet and Briar. Given how long it would have taken for the fauna to reach Autumn, then for the jester and princess to act, Flare’s missive must have been dispatched prior to … everything that had happened.
The butterfly flapped into the trees, its red wings vanishing into the thicket. It must have led our guests here. Across the sea, through the rainforest, into the cave tunnels, and to the ruins.
My attention slid back to Flare. She hadn’t told me about her missive to Poet and Briar. Not that I could blame her. Only recently had Flare trusted me enough to reveal her belief about finding a key in this realm, an indication of her purpose for born souls.
But while I understood her reasoning, I stalked down the steps at a languid pace, my voice wry. “You have explaining to do, Little Beast.”
The levity from seconds ago died. The trio spun my way, only one of them looking pleased. Flare’s teeth flashed into a brilliant smile, her eyes sparkling like melted suns.
As for the revolutionaries beside her, I encountered a different reaction.
Briar’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to one of those projectiles she favored as weapons—thorn quills, one of which materialized from a hidden location amid her clothing.
Poet’s orbs flashed with rancor. With a lethal hiss, he maneuvered in front of the women, ignoring Flare’s protest. In a series of rapid-fire movements, the staff I hadn’t noticed until now cut across his fingers, the murder weapon flipping in a sequence meant to eradicate its opponent.
Then the staff froze, its tip aimed at my cranium, though I did not flinch. Notwithstanding his protective instincts regarding Flare—the only tolerable characteristic about him—did I still hate this parasite?
“What have we here?” the jester drawled. “’Tis an unwelcome bystander.”
Yes. I fucking did.
“Jeryn of Winter,” he mused with fatal calm. “The prince who’s so fucking smart, it’s made him fucking stupid.”
“Poet,” I greeted with mock civility. “It’s unfortunate to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He raised an eyebrow. “I take it, cruelty is still your specialty.”
A verse. Two minutes. The bastard had been here only two minutes, and already his tongue had taken to spewing frivolous shit.
As for cruelty, I gave him a flat look. “Fortunately for you, I have no current interest in causing pain.”
Poet appraised my sun-bleached pants. “Then you should have worn something else.” Nudging the fabric, he murmured in a tone equal parts seductive and deadly, “Of course, I could change this color to red. It would be a pleasure.”
With the staff poised in his grip, his muscles flexed like rocks. Moreover, the jester’s wrathful expression made it plain. If the rod didn’t crack open my head, the dagger stashed in his boot would impale my stomach.
I had fought at this man’s side during Autumn’s castle blackout. I knew his skills, from a mastery of artifice and sin to a capacity for violence.
This threat, I had anticipated. I gave the pair a deadpan look that illustrated a crucial fact: I hadn’t reached for my scalpel knife.
At length, my unwillingness to brace the weapon tethered to my hip registered on them. That, and my state of undress, which mirrored Flare’s.
Momentary confusion wrestled across their features. Only then did they notice pivotal details. My torn shirt haphazardly concealing Flare’s nudity. The rumpled brown waves sweeping her shoulders, as though she’d walked through a tornado. Her naked legs, my low slung pants and exposed torso, the bite marks on our skin, the red stains where I’d sucked on Flare’s throat.
To the outside observer, we’d either been fucking or fighting. Though, whether it had been consensual or involuntary was the next unanswered question for this couple. And since they’d witnessed how I had treated Flare in Autumn, the jester and princess drew a false but fair conclusion.
Fuck.
With a furious growl, the jester charged.
I had known he could move fast, yet I hadn’t given the man sufficient credit. He launched with the speed and strength of a panther. But before I could block his staff with my fist, Flare got there first. And before I could shove her out of harm’s way, lest the staff should clip her by accident, her fingers seized the weapon mid-strike.
The jester’s rod halted inches from my skull. The force of Flare’s grip jolted Poet in place. Despite her size, she was strong. And despite the velocity of his attack, the man had registered her intervention in time, his serpentine reflexes stalling at the same moment.
Flare rushed between us. Holding up her palms, she blocked Poet and Briar from me, urging back the jester’s weapon, albeit marginally.
“Don’t!” she rushed out, although they couldn’t understand her verbally. “It’s alright. He’s my …”
My inhalations seized up. What would she say?
Yet she didn’t need to articulate a thing. Although the jester and princess failed to comprehend her words, Flare’s gesture and its implication penetrated. We watched them connect the pieces, from our disheveled state to the absence of clothing.
Poet came from the promiscuous court of Spring and had a profligate history. Neither of these applied to Briar, however she was married to this man, and they were rarely seen with their hands off each other. Of all couples, these exemplars knew sex when they saw it. Albeit belatedly, they also knew when the desire was reciprocated.
They also knew Flare. The sated blush painting her face spoke volumes.
As for me, whatever evidence stretched across my visage as they caught me gazing at Flare altered their stances. Their heads flipped between us, surveying with fresh eyes. Old wounds. New wounds. A scar had formed on my bicep, courtesy of an unclassified spider as massive as a fucking horse. Flare had a similar blemish on her lower back, in addition to scars made by talons and tusks.
The astute jester and princess also knew survival when they saw it.
Poet’s features sharpened. “Wicked hell.”
Disbelief pinched Briar’s countenance. “It cannot be.” She veered toward Flare, checking the woman from head to toe for injuries or signs of duress. “You and him. On purpose?”
Flare peeked at me. I hardly gave a shit what the jester and princess thought, but the unfathomable look on the beast’s face escalated my blood pressure. Minutes ago, she’d been coming around my cock. To say the least, we hadn’t been afforded time to figure out where we went from here.
Yet those eyes gleamed. Willing. Voluntary. She twisted toward Briar and nodded with a small smile.
A typhoon of air emptied from my lungs. I wanted to snatch her. I wanted her back in that ocean. I wanted to kiss the living fuck out of her. Yet I had no right to feel that craving.
Worse, Poet noticed my reaction. Having worn a mask for most of his life, this man missed nothing. No detail was safe from him.
I scowled, for all the good it did. The jester picked apart my features, searching for a trick but finding none. That led to an alternative interpretation, with Poet narrowing his gaze, an inspired glint reaching his eyes.
Shit. I had liked this man better when he’d been seething.
After a moment, Briar relented. Poet followed suit and disarmed his staff.
Still, they did so with reluctance. Although they trusted Flare’s word and would not second guess her choices, the couple remained vigilant toward me.
I expected nothing less. For all they knew, I had been exiled for months. But for all they knew, I also hadn’t changed.
“Well.” Briar cupped her hands in front of her, then elbowed Poet. “What’s this? My husband being uncharacteristically quiet?”
“’Tis rare, but it happens,” Poet remarked while scrutinizing me. “I must have misplaced my tongue somewhere between the wicked and the hell .”
“Good,” I grunted. “Leave it there.”
His feigned grin tightened like a noose. “Give me time, sweeting.”
The fuck, I would. My glare only motivated his infernal mouth to slant, not quite amiable, but no longer mercenary. Taking hostile pleasure in my annoyance, he tsked. “Think carefully, Prince of Pestilence. Show me your weak spot, and I’ll discover a shiny new toy.”
Footfalls resounded from the ruins’ east wing. I whipped toward the disturbance, my fingers landing on the knife hilt and then ceasing. My brows stapled together as an athletic figure strode from the foliage, a sleeveless bronze vest exposing a fleet of raptor tattoos that climbed one muscular arm. No armor. No cloak. Yet he possessed the vigilant gait of a warrior.
The glowing vegetation sketched the man’s angular visage in subtle light. It was enough. His presence returned me once more to Autumn’s castle blackout.
Twilit blue irises. Ashy blond hair that radiated in the dark. Twin broadswords as long as wingspans, which he braced in his grip.
Surly but chivalrous. Ethical. Principled. And intuitive to the point of absurd.
Aire.
Moving like the wind itself—forceful, intrinsic—Autumn’s First Knight halted beside the lake, inclining his head to the jester and princess. “This outpost is clear.” His attention strayed to the ancient building, reverence claiming his features. “Long have these walls been silent.”
“And yet they are occupied,” I stated.
The man swerved. Disapproval clashed with discipline as he registered my presence. “Your Highness.” He lowered his head, then did a double take when he noticed Flare.
More to the point, the knight comprehended how little she wore. I would have snapped his neck then and there, but for the swift manner in which he glanced away, the gesture courteous rather than amorous.
“Er … hello … I’m …” Aire cleared his throat, then muttered to himself. “Seasons, does no one in this clan stay dressed for long?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Poet remarked.
Briar flushed, testifying to the number of times this warrior had encountered the jester and princess in compromising positions.
The virtuous knight grumbled. He opened his mouth to reply but froze. Nothing about the atmosphere had changed. Nonetheless, his demeanor tensed, some form of instinct or perception tensed his jaw.
This would have been the moment to withdraw my knife. Same for the rest of this group, each of us armed with our choice of weapons.
But rather than charge, Aire did the opposite. With a perceptive grunt, the soldier jammed his broadswords into the crossed sheaths at his back and stalked past us. In unison, we turned to watch as he ambushed a cluster of shrubs germinating beneath the fauna statues. There, he thrust one fist into a hedge, gave forceful tug, and yanked a smaller form from its confines.
An indignant feminine shriek echoed through the rainforest. With one arm, the knight seized the intruder by the back of her hood and hauled her a foot off the ground. Under the cloak, the female squirmed, flailed her limbs, and threw punches in Aire’s general direction.
Flare gasped. My gaze tapered.
A girl.
Ample curves filled out the vestment, pants, and tunic. Despite the abundance of her figure, plus indications that she would grow tall someday, she could not be more than a juvenile’s age. A younger sister, perhaps.
Although the mantle shielded her features, the female’s voice rang through clearly the moment she opened her mouth. “Get your mangy fucking paws off me, knight!” she growled while slapping Aire’s forearms.
Offended by her vocabulary but evidently accustomed to it, the soldier huffed. “It appears we have a stowaway.”
Without ceremony, he released the female. She stumbled into the middle of our group but fumbled to keep the hood over her head, the motions panicked. As her fingers wrestled with the fabric, I caught sight of the girl’s arms. Some manner of vine-like pattern marked her flesh, neither scars nor ink. Rather, it appeared to be a type of skin condition.
The girl pushed down her sleeves. She had to be roasting in that cloak, yet she tucked the edges around her face and turned up her chin. This hinted at more of the same pattern across her chin, though in this light and with the hood blocking my view, I deciphered little else.
Poet groaned. “Fuck.”
Aire’s gaze skimmed the female from head to toe, checking for injuries despite the cloak. Satisfied that she’d gotten here in one piece, he moved on. “Brazen creature,” he sighed with displeasure. “If it isn’t the infamous Someone.”
“I told you,” she barked at him. “I’m not a ‘brazen’ anything, and I’m not called Someone anymore. My name is—”
“Aspen!” Briar reprimanded with a mixture of horror and anger. “What on earth—”
“I’m fine. I’m half-aquatic fae, so getting here was easy.”
Not about to swallow such bullshit, Briar crossed her arms as though they were used to the girl delivering chronic fibs. “I’d love to know how you accomplish that.”
“I swam?” Aspen replied hopefully. “I can hold my breath underwater for days at a time, so I just needed to grab the ship’s, uh, rudder thingy and let the vessel pull me.”
“A brazen one and a liar,” Aire accused while looming over her.
The girl wheeled on him and stabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m no liar, you dickhead.”
When everyone remained quiet, she hedged. “Fine. It was a wee bit tight in the cargo hold, but I managed.”
“Clearly,” Poet remarked with a dark twist to his lips. “Couldn’t stay away from my wife and me, could you? Most people have this problem.”
Humble as ever. Yet there was no masking the displeasure in Poet’s tone.
“Okay, look.” Aspen raised her defensive palms. “I wasn’t planning on following you.”
“Another lie,” the First Knight grunted.
The female scowled at him. “Did your sixth sense tell you that?”
Aire’s forehead crimped, straining against something. Following a moment of unease, he clipped, “Any honest person would have no trouble detecting falsehoods.”
Umbrage peppered her voice. “My decision was last minute.”
“That is not the point. It’s dangerous here!”
“Oh, cut the shit. It’s dangerous everywhere, so you can stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Aire galled through his teeth, exasperated.
From a harness at her hip, Aspen whipped out a short axe and pointed the blade at him. “I’ve had enough of you playing the holier-than-thou bodyguard. I can take care of myself. Go work off your hero complex on someone else.”
“You are not a trained fighter.”
“Oh, my mistake. I guess this axe is just for show.”
The stowaway shoved past Aire, leaving him to stare after her with a slack jaw. After a beat, the warrior veered his gaze to the jester and princess. With a lash of his arm, he gestured at the empty spot where Aspen had been standing, as if to say, Can you believe her?
So. Not a younger sister.
Her weapon struck my memory. The girl had made a brief appearance during the Reaper’s Fest riot. She’d thrown her axe across the town square and pinned King Rhys to the fire stake like a pig.
Pointed looks from Poet and Briar drew the girl near. While Aire stalked off to patrol the bridge, the trio murmured to one another, their measured voices indicating this girl was part of their clan and had earned the right to be treated as an equal player. Nevertheless, this didn’t change the fact that she’d inserted herself into something confidential and perilous. The stowaway looked sheepish, although that feisty lift to her shoulders persisted.
Flare and I exchanged a fleeting glance. The impact scorched my flesh, the private moment squeezing into the space between us. My fingers extended toward hers, eager to touch, to grab, to—
The huddle split. Our trance broke.
With one more glance beneath her lashes, Flare peeled herself from my gaze and padded toward Aspen. Gently. Slowly. With the hem of my shirt fluttering around her limbs, Flare scooped up the girl’s hands, the flesh engraved with a pattern of foliage.
Flare gave her a vivid smile and mouthed a declaration. To which, the stowaway blinked, not comprehending a word.
“Flare said you’re a daughter of the trees,” I explained.
The jester and princess vaulted their gazes my way. Against their will, I had impressed them. While I should not give a shit, my chest experienced a boost of pride.
Yes, I knew this woman well. Indeed, I understood her perfectly. Let them see this.
Aspen’s attention detoured over Flare’s shoulder and landed on me. Her eyes expanded, then sought refuge in Flare’s features, a timid grin sliding across her mouth and revealing a beauty mark hidden under the mantle.
Flare twisted to the jester and princess, her eyes glistening as she pronounced the next two words slowly. “You came.”
Because that had been easy to read, Her Highness snatched up Flare’s fingers. “You untied me from the bonfire. You saved my life,” she stressed. “Of course, we came.”
In the background, Aire gained Poet and Briar’s side. Where there had been two yesterday, tonight there were six.
My little beast spoke, the word easy to read and meant for everyone. “Welcome.”