Chapter 13
I need to keep an eye on Turis and his associates. Something is going on with them. Something I need to get to the bottom of.
Something that has to do with the way he talked about the death of Ruskin’s father, to start with.
I’ve fallen foul of not paying close enough attention to the exact words someone uses in this realm. The Unseelie might claim to be more direct and straightforward than the Seelie, but they still have the same trick of talking around something to mislead without actually lying. So it nags at me that Turis never actually said the Seelie killed Prince Lucan. Why wouldn’t he, if that’s what he believed? It might be nothing, but I’ve learned not to ignore the danger signals my gut sends me. It’s usually right, and ignoring it is akin to just waiting around for my enemies to attack.
I need to get one step ahead of them, and to do that I need to know what they’re thinking.
I can’t let them get too far ahead. My magic might currently be able to connect with the buckle, but it’s too small and impersonal for me to be able to find it over a great distance—I need to stay close to it, while keeping just enough distance that Turis doesn’t realize he’s being followed.
I use the beacon of the buckle to tell me to turn right, up an alley back towards the entrance to the passageways that lead deeper under the mountain. I run into a few fae who want to congratulate me on my playing today, and I have to extricate myself from them as graciously as I can, afraid they’ll delay me to the point that I’ll lose track of Turis. I follow the buckle’s signal into the complex under the mountain, where most of the court seems to live. Eventually, I can tell he’s stopped off somewhere nearby. There’s only two voices, making me think the group has split up.
I tuck myself into an alcove and concentrate. I’ve done this before—eavesdropped via a bit of metal positioned near two people having a conversation—but then it was accidental. Now, it’s deliberate…and difficult.
At first, I catch only the vague shapes of words. But Turis is definitely still with Climent, I can hear the nasal tone of his voice if not the actual words.
I’m just wondering whether to give up on my half-baked plan when the conversation starts to become more heated, and the pair raise their voices enough that their murmurings become clear sentences.
“I don’t understand this stubbornness. Why not let him murder his mother? She needs to be put down, and once the ball’s in motion, war will be inevitable. You’re overcomplicating things.”
“Don’t patronize me, Climent. I was playing this game since before you were born. Let this court fight side by side with that mutt and it will be harder than ever to turn the others against him. These blood traitors are nothing if not loyal to their na?ve ideals. It’s why Lucan’s death worked so well. He’s slaughtered and suddenly everyone is reminded that we’re supposed to hate the Seelie Court. I won’t pretend I liked the way they fawned over the memory of their weak, pathetic, ‘peace-keeping’ prince, but it served the purpose. I could tolerate them loving Lucan if it meant hating the Seelie.” I can hear the sneer in Turis’s voice at Ruskin’s father’s name.
“So we just wait?” Climent asks, still sounding frustrated.
“Yes. Often enough the pieces will fall into place without you needing to move them. Pay attention to what we’ve heard. The Seelie queen wants her fugitives back badly, and I doubt she’ll wait too long to do something about it. With a bit of luck, she’ll butcher her way through this kingdom looking for them, and then Lisinder will have no choice but to go to war. Wait for her to make life difficult, continue to undermine the mutt, and the last thing this court will do is see him as a hero to be helped.”
“He’ll be a problem to be stamped out,” Climent says, more calmly now, convinced by Turis’s reasoning.
I try to listen on, but with their disagreement resolved, their voices drop back down to murmurs that I once again struggle to make out.
As I walk back to my room, I turn over the conversation in my mind. While I haven’t learned anything new about their motivations, I do think it was helpful to hear what they’d say when they thought no one else could hear. Their prejudice goes deeper than I realized—and it has a malevolent edge. It sounded like their campaign against Ruskin is well underway. What do they mean by continuing to undermine him? Attacking me in the bastet game and taunting me in the tavern could both have been considered indirect attacks against him, but they seem a little tame—and anyway, they didn’t really do anything to undermine him or his position. But we’ve been targeted in other ways here.
Lisinder said they haven’t identified who was actually behind the mountain attack—who ordered the moon orb to be made and recruited Kasgill to deploy it. Turis was the one who alluded to it in the tavern, and wouldn’t it fit into the plan of undermining Ruskin? It made him look like an enemy to the Unseelie, like someone who couldn’t be trusted. They’re not brave enough to attempt to assassinate Ruskin outright—it could backfire on them in more ways than one, but making him look like the bad guy is a different matter.
And the way they talk about Lucan still nags at me. Turis said he’d been playing this game a long time, that Lucan’s death was ‘effective’—as if it was a well-timed bastet maneuver and not a tragic mystery.
I feel a weight lift a little from my shoulders as I return to our rooms. I don’t have to work this out alone; I can talk it over with Ruskin, and together we’ll decide what to do.
But when I open the door I’m greeted by a fog of shadow. It swirls around the room, growing thickest at the center. I only have to glance at the book sitting open on a side table to understand what’s happening. It’s the same tome Maidar was reading from before, only there’s no sign of the old tutor now. I realize with a jolt that Ruskin must have attempted the experiment alone. The magic writhes and thickens in front of me, and a shock of fear and anguish claws its way across our bond. Ruskin is somewhere in that haze, I can feel it—and he’s suffering.
I don’t hang back this time, throwing myself into the shadows, letting them swallow me up. The world darkens around me as I push through the magic. It doesn’t lash out to harm me, but it’s like wading through mud. Every step is a battle. I shout out, but the shadows steal the noise, whipping Ruskin’s name away from me as soon as I’ve spoken it. Still, I can feel him ahead of me, and I push onwards, until the shape of him looms out from the darkness.
He’s the same as before, his pupils narrowed to shards of black, his teeth bared in a permanent snarl. As I approach him I can see his movements are wild, animal-like, as the shadows drag him deeper into his Unseelie side.
“Ruskin!” I shout.
This time my voice reaches him, and he jerks towards me, eyes brightening as they fall on me like a predator finally spotting its prey. But we’ve been here before too, and I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me. I fight forward, wanting to make sure he’s in earshot.
“ Solskir —” I begin, but before I can get another word out, he growls, grabbing hold of me. His grip tightens around my arm, his fingers like vises, as he pulls me against him. I’m reminded of how strong Ruskin is—how much power he keeps leashed each moment. Power he uses now to cage me in his arms. I look up into his face and see still the wild impulse of his Unseelie side there. And underneath that, fear. The truest part of himself is still there, fighting to get back to me. And I’m more than willing to fight, too.
On instinct—even though I should know it’s useless, even though I’ve never been able to break his grip before—I twist in his arms. He’s strong, but I feel strangely strong too, an odd certainty flooding through me.
“ No ,” I say, my voice firm and steady, and then I throw out my hands, shoving Ruskin backwards.
He stumbles across the room, propelled by the force of my push.
I gape, and surprise flashes across his face too, wiping away the snarl. His pupils bloom into their normal size as the magic around us stutters and then begins to fade. Among the shreds of its shadows Ruskin’s Unseelie features melt away. But even as the chaos around him dissipates, something is overtaking me: a wave of sensation that started with the building pressure in my muscles, giving me the force to push Ruskin away. Now it’s reached my senses. The room brightens around me and suddenly the precise texture of every piece of furniture and clothing stands out to my eye, crisp and sharp. Sound invades my ears, expanding out from Ruskin’s heavy breathing to the noise of the servants down the corridor, their footsteps loud as slamming doors. The hair on my arms stands on end, picking up every waft of air, and I’m aware of the individual dust motes that dance on the currents close to my skin.
It's too much all at once, and my panic rises until my breaths come short and sharp. My heart thuds at a breakneck pace, desperate for me to run from this attack on my senses. But I can’t escape it. I’m more trapped than I ever was in Ruskin’s arms.
“Eleanor.” His voice comes to me through the storm. “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.” The animal edge to his voice has disappeared, replaced with urgency and protectiveness.
“Ruskin,” I gasp, still not quite able to fill my lungs properly. “I can hear everything . I can see everything . Help me.” I reach out for the hands I pushed away a moment before, searching for something to anchor me. He’s done it before, in the mountains, when I reached out for metal and my mind filled up with too much information to function. I desperately hope he can help me again now.
He guides me against him, so I can feel every curve and trough of his body, playing havoc with my overly sensitive skin. But he’s so gentle, and I press myself against him, into him, in the hopes of distracting myself from feeling that my skull might burst open.
He begins to tap a rhythm into my back, humming as he does. I can feel the vibrations deep in his chest, the taps soft and even. They ring through my body, making my nerves sing. But unlike the other sensations, it’s not unpleasant.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “This is just what it feels like when your senses evolve.”
“It’s too much,” I gasp. “I can’t handle it.”
“Yes you can,” he says, speaking in between hums, continuing to tap against the top of my spine. His finger is like a metronome, reminding my heart of the rhythm it should be beating to. I feel it begin to slow. I blink, and my eyes start to adjust to the detail around me, balancing the world back out so that the new sharpness feels more normal.
“Keep breathing, focus on me,” he says.
I inhale, finding that my lungs can take in more air this time, and the noise of the world has dampened a touch. I can still hear the servants down the corridor, but their footsteps no longer sound violent to my ears.
“How do you know to do this?” I ask, my words coming out hitched and disjointed, gasped out in breaths that aren’t back to normal yet. Then I immediately feel foolish for asking a question Ruskin can’t possibly answer, not with his past closed off to him.
I think he picks up on my embarrassment, brushing back a strand of hair from my face so he can better meet my gaze—reassuring me. His touch sends a flutter through my heart, just as it starts to find its normal rhythm.
“I didn’t know at first,” he says. “But in our time here, I began to notice that my senses seemed superior to Lionsvale’s.
“Yes, because of your Unseelie blood,” I say, focusing on his words to keep me grounded.
“Those heightened senses are more acute at some times than at others. Especially when shifting from my Seelie to Unseelie features. When that happens, the rush of information entering my senses can be…disconcerting.”
I stare at him. “So you’ve experienced this too?”
He nods. “More than that, I had an instinctual response when it first happened. A way to manage it so I didn’t become overwhelmed.” He takes my hand and puts it over his heart, allowing me to feel the beat of it, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes deeply. “I asked Cragfoot about it. I wanted to understand what was happening to me. He said it’s been the same ever since I was a child, when my Unseelie features first began to show themselves. I struggled with it then, but with his help I learned to manage it. It seems I have been doing it ever since, and it’s a habit now—ingrained enough that I still somehow knew what to do even when the memories weren’t there.”
“I never knew,” I admit. I’m struck by the fact that I’ve learned something from this Ruskin that the old version of him never told me about himself. Maybe because he just didn’t think it necessary to share, or maybe because part of him didn’t like what it meant—that he could never escape his Unseelie side.
The sensory flood feels less oppressive now, but my senses are still enhanced, sharpening my experience of the world. When I inhale, Ruskin’s scent is still the same tantalizing mix of sweet muskiness, but there’s more to it now: there’s an edge to the sweetness, and a depth to the earthiness, notes that I was blind to before. I find it all the more enticing for it, fresh sensations sparking in my body.
“But why is this happening to me?” I ask at last. That’s the real question. One I’m afraid of the answer to.
“Perhaps for the same reason you continue to look more fae every day,” he says emphasizing the point by stroking a finger along one of my cheek bones, which have become more prominent lately. “Interra could have gifted you this. Or there could be other explanations. But you mustn’t worry. I learned to manage it, and you can too.”
I try to swallow this, but every time someone says my change in appearance is a ‘gift,’ I feel uneasy. I know Ruskin doesn’t remember me before, so it’s not like he’s comparing my more human face and this one, but it still feels wrong.
“And the strength too?” I ask. “I was strong enough to push you away. That’s never been the case before.”
Sorrow fills his face, and to my dismay Ruskin steps back, removing his arms and the warm pillar of his body from around me.
“I was unforgivably reckless. I should’ve never started that spell without warding the room first.” His fingers curl into fists. “When I think about what might’ve happened?—”
“But it didn’t,” I say, stepping closer to him, yet he remains turned away, closed off from me.
“I could’ve hurt you,” he says the words with a hard edge of self-disgust.
“Ruskin, I pushed you away in that moment because it was necessary, not because I was afraid you’d hurt me,” I say truthfully. “I’m your naminai . Even in whatever regressed state you were in, the bond would’ve prevented you from doing me harm. If nothing else, your self-preservation wouldn’t allow it. I remember how painful it was just being apart from you when you were in Interra, I can only imagine how harshly your body would reject any action that jeopardized my well-being.”
I let my words sink in, and they seem to work, because Ruskin turns back to me, a different expression on his face now, looking at me like I’m the only light in a vast night.
“You’re right, Eleanor.”
I sense he’ll let me go to him now, and as I get closer, he pulls me to him, wrapping me up in his arms.
“I know so little about you, and yet I also know you with my very soul.” He stares into my eyes, as if searching for the answers there. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel breathless again, chasing away most other thoughts. “Every fiber of me is connected to you.” He lays a hand over my chest, in a mirror of our positions moments before. “I feel every heartbeat. No matter how deeply I slip into the darkest parts of myself, the bond is still there, unshakeable, and that gives me strength.”
“I feel the same,” I say, wanting to assure him. This is still new for this version of Ruskin, I remind myself, and it occurs to me that it must be bewildering, to feel so close to someone you’ve known for such a short time.
“Do you?” he asks, sounding doubtful. “Can you possibly feel the same depths of emotion I feel for you? It seems unique, unsurpassable.” He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “Part of me believes that no one had ever felt this way before. I would fight every member of this court to keep you safe if I had to. I would tear this world apart to rebuild it for you if you asked me.” His eyes widen, his hand cradling my jaw. “I don’t pretend to understand it, but that devotion is just as much a part of me as my magic and my blood. You once said my memories are what make me, me . But I have a handful of things that survived Interra—and they all pale in comparison to you, Eleanor. You are what makes me who I am. My tether in a realm where I’m otherwise adrift.”
I pause for a moment, letting the power and beauty of his words sink into me. I want to laugh. I want to cry. Joy washes through me, potent and untamed.
“Ella,” I say, correcting him. “You used to call me Ella, sometimes.” I’ve kept this to myself, protecting it, like a candle flame, afraid it would be too easily extinguished it I let it out in the open. But now I can see the fire burns in Ruskin too, and he’ll make the light of it blaze all the brighter.
“Ella,” he says, and my heart swells at hearing the word from his lips again.
He kisses me and the buoyant feeling in my chest grows until I feel like I might float. I sink into the kiss with my whole body, clasping my fingers in his shirt, demanding more. I want to soak up every second of being with him now that we share this connection again.
He tears his lips from mine to press them along my jaw and neck, like he wants to cover every part of me. My hand runs through his thick, soft hair, and I decide I can’t hold the words back any longer. I’m tired of not saying them, of holding them back ever since he returned from Interra.
“Ruskin, I love you.”
He lifts his head and I see his eyes shining with emotion. I swallow back happy tears of my own, witnessing the evidence of how much those words mean to him.
“Ella, words are not enough, but they are all I have. I love you too.”
I kiss him again, stroking his tongue with mine, taking in the taste of him as if I could physically savor the words they just spoke. But it’s not enough. I ache to show him what this means to me. To give him everything.
“Don’t use words, then,” I say as I grind my hips against him, noting how he’s already hard. I almost moan then and there, anticipating the feel of him inside me, because now I’m ready—ready to be with him like that again. My body has wanted it all this time, but now my heart gives me permission too. I love him, and I know he loves me. I want to be as close to him as I can possibly be, connected in the same way our hearts and souls are tied together. “You promised me a celebration,” I remind him.
His eyes darken with desire as he absorbs what I’m suggesting.
“Ask and you shall receive,” he says, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and pulling me in for another bruising kiss. My hands drop to his belt, making short work of releasing his erection from where it strains against the fabric. His cock free, I caress it, enjoying the firm weight of it in my hand as Ruskin groans into my shoulder. It’s been too long since I touched him there, and as I lightly run my fingers over him, I know I want to experience him in every way I can. My nostrils are already full of his scent, but I want to taste him too, so I drop to my knees and lap my tongue over him. The noise Ruskin makes in response is almost feral and my body responds to it, sparking with the knowledge that I’m doing this to him. The noise only deepens as I take him in my mouth, swallowing down the length as far as I can, knowing there’s still inches to go. I wrap my hand around the base, sliding my lips over the silken skin, as he buries his hand in my hair. He gently guides my rhythm, but I can see from the tension in his muscles that he’s fighting to maintain control. I don’t want control, though, I want him unleashed, undone. I want to overwhelm him until I’m the only thing he can think about. Until he needs me desperately. It’s only fair, since that’s what he always does to me.
I remove my mouth, looking up at him through my lashes.
“I’m ready now,” I say. Heat pulses at my core, knowing what I’m about to set in motion. He stares down at me with blazing eyes and offers me a slight quirk of his eyebrow.
“Ready for what, my love?” he teases, his hand cradling my chin, brushing his thumb over the lips that were just wrapped around him. He wants me to spell it out, I can tell, and I feel no self-consciousness as I give him what he craves: me, asking him in no uncertain terms to take me—demanding it of him.
“I’m ready for you to fuck me until I can’t remember by own name,” I say, echoing his words from a few nights ago.
He tugs me up onto my feet before he lifts me by my ass and deposits me on the bed with one swift motion. Then he unsheathes his talons and examines my clothes—the leather riding gear I’m still wearing from the bastet game.
“It’s a shame to ruin such a delicious outfit,” he says with a grin. “But needs must.” And with that he shreds the clothes beneath his claws, ripping every layer of fabric from my body until I’m lying splayed and naked beneath him. The cool air kisses my skin as he makes to climb over me, but I stop him with a foot pressed to his shoulder. I’ve waited too long for this not to enjoy every moment.
“Uh-uh,” I say, nodding to the clothes still covering most of him. “You too.” I need to see him, to fully appreciate that body he taunted me with on our first night back in the Unseelie Court.
His nostrils flare at the delay, but he dutifully begins to remove his shirt and pants. As the beautiful planes of his body are stripped bare in front of me, I writhe against the blankets. I’m aching with need, to the point where it’s almost painful. To offer myself some relief I dip my hand between my legs, massaging my clit as I hungrily devour the sight of him.
His eyes fall to where I’m working myself and he licks his lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, a note of reprimand in his voice. “That’s my job.”
There’s no gap between the moment he finishes undressing and when he dives forward, ripping my fingers from my body to replace them with his tongue. All breath is stolen from me. I’d been aware of my heightened senses buzzing in the background, intensifying the taste and smell of Ruskin, but now the rush of sensation pushes me to new levels. I can feel every ridge of his tongue, my flesh alive to the most minute variation in pressure and texture, and a stuttering moan escapes me as my brain tries to process the onslaught of pleasure. And while my nerves work overtime to deliver every detail, my climax comes impossibly fast, rolling through me like a tidal wave.
And even then, he doesn’t stop, probing and plundering until he’s explored every inch of me, inside and out, teasing me until once again I teeter on the precipice. Then he pulls back, and I release a whine that he ignores, flipping me over on to my stomach and hooking an arm under my hips to pull me up onto my knees.
“I need you, Ella.” He’s not exaggerating, I can hear it in his voice, like he might break if he doesn’t join us together at last. “From the moment I saw you in Interra…” he says, his hand caressing my hip. I bunch my hands into the bedspread as his fingers dip back between my legs, gently brushing the oh-so sensitive bundle of nerves there. But now I can also feel the head of him brushing against my entrance.
“Stars, you were so beautiful,” he says. “Too perfect for that cursed world. I knew then I’d either die there or live to make you mine.”
“I was already yours, Rus,” I say, desperate to have him claim me, for our bodies to be united again.
He doesn’t move, though, and when I look over my shoulder at him to see what he’s waiting for, there’s something beyond the wild hunger holding him back: a layer of reverence.
He hasn’t done this before, I realize. At least, not so far as he can remember. For him this will be his first time with me.
“I love you, Rus,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“Ella,” he replies. From the way he says it I know he’s saying “I love you” too.
He slides into me, and with every inch my pleasure goes deeper and my moans get louder.
“Stars, you feel so good,” he grunts, dipping his head to kiss my spine. I twist my hips, rubbing myself against his fingers while grinding against his cock. The twin sensations send me shuddering dangerously close to another climax. He notices, because he grabs my hips to still them.
“No, not yet,” he says, and I shiver at the command in his voice.
Then he pulls out and thrusts back into me again. And again. And again. I buck against him, meeting each stroke, until we’re in perfect sync, each movement pushing him deeper, until I’m sure I can’t take any more. He increases his speed, and as his breaths become more labored and his grunts more guttural, he sets his fingers moving with deliberateness over my clit again, working me into a frenzy.
This is a first time for me too, I realize. I haven’t had Ruskin like this since I accepted the bond. It sets our lovemaking alight, the golden bridge connecting us glowing with the force of our emotions, until it feels as bright as the sun. I reach out across it, sending all my love and joy, my ecstasy. Behind me, I hear Ruskin gasp.
I feel like I’m on fire, like I’m going to burst into flames if I sustain another moment of this exquisite, carnal rhythm. Just when I think I really will combust, Ruskin takes me to the hilt, filling me completely and sending me tumbling over into oblivion. I shatter apart, clamping my muscles down around him, so that he roars and spills into me. Without disconnecting our bodies he pulls me up against him, twisting my head towards his so that he can kiss me, caressing my tongue with his. I gasp against him, reveling in the feeling of him inside me in so many ways. My orgasm doesn’t so much fade as sink more deeply into my muscles, bathing them in an exquisite glow.
“Ella, I love you,” he says between kisses—five times, then ten—and I know I’ll never get tired of him saying it, not when I had to wait to hear it again, to have this again.
We lay down beside each other, exchanging lazy touches and basking in our closeness for the rest of the afternoon. Eventually night falls and the stars come out to shine down on us through the wide window. Lying there, sated and safe beside Ruskin, I feel a kinship with them: specks of light shining out brightly, even though a dark night is crowding in all around them.