Bound by Dance and Desire (The Fae Court of Casakraine #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

ANDREIEN

“ H umans stink,” Constin growled as we exited yet another nightclub I'd found unsatisfactory. “Why are there so many of them?”

I agreed, but to say so aloud would perhaps offend the High Lord, the reason for the influx of mortals in the last decade. As her Heir I must at least appear loyal.

“You pout like a child, warrior,” I said.

Because Constin was luudthen, he sneered at me with his brand of playful mockery and kept his life despite the disrespect.

To anyone else he exuded death as if it were fine perfume. Verdant green molded leather armor announced him as Sworn to House Casakraine, and normally the pattern of gold piping proclaimed him as belonging specifically to myself, the Heir of the city.

But tonight glamour altered my features because I didn’t intend to be recognized.

I scanned the streets of Casakraine city's heart as we walked the cobbled stone, buildings of darkwood petrified with age until it shone like polished stone gleaming under graceful magic-and-steam powered lamps.

No, this night wasn’t for politics or entertaining those who sought favor. This night was for. . .

I cursed under my breath.

For what ? Prescience was an affinity of my bloodline, but it eluded me as always.

“What's wrong?” Constin asked, his storm gray eyes watchful. “You've been restless all night.” He paused. “All week.”

I shook my head, thinning my lips. “I don't know. There's tension in the air. A hint of possibility just beyond my reach.”

I fisted my hand at my side, then forced the fingers to uncurl. A possibility that sparked every instinct in me to go to war, and House Casakraine had known peace for decades now.

Perhaps that's what it was. “I need a fight, by the Dark. A challenge.”

Constin snorted, a glimmer of mild contempt in his eyes. “If another mortal bumps into us, you'll get your wish. They behave as if we're not dangerous. What are they teaching them in the entrance orientations these days?”

“Doubtless nothing useful. They keep crossing realms.”

As if Constin was prescient, a squawking cluster of mortals spewed out of a club just as we passed, clipping my shoulder.

I swiveled in their direction, a smile stretching over my teeth to expose fangs. I could have evaded them, but why waste a fine excuse?

He grabbed my bicep. “Don’t. You know your mother doesn’t like when we spill tourist blood. Something about it being bad for business.”

“But it’s actually not. I’ve seen the data.” Whenever there was a sensational death, applications for weekend tourist permits spiked.

“Fine. But you’re the pretty public face of Casakraine city. If you’re involved in that kind of scandal, it will break mortal hearts. They believe you’re the civilized one.” His brow creased for a moment. “They’re so stupid. Have you seen the latest batch of merchandising?”

I had. Which was another reason for the glamour. “I am the civilized one.”

“That’s certainly one version of the truth. You even said it with a straight face.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to shame myself spilling mortal blood.”

He slapped me on the back. “Excellent. They have far more entertaining uses, if you’re so inclined. And in that case, many of them don’t mind bleeding. . .a little.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t insult me. A human? I would never. They're rude creatures, lacking grace and manners.”

“Not all of them,” Constin said. “She's interesting.”

I followed his gaze. “Please,” I began, then stopped, words dissipating.

As I stared, my gaze locked and my heartbeat sped as if in preparation for attack. My glamour flickered, dissipated. Dimly aware of Constin tensing at my side and shifting closer, I honed in on her.

Human. Female.

Delectable.

Mesmerizing, dancing on a busy street corner with the grace of a Fae, oblivious of the traffic around her—though that must be a crafted facade, for there was an open duffel bag at her feet.

I grit my teeth against the desire to snatch her up, protect and punish her for putting herself at risk, and focused.

Toned limbs, strength evident in the perceived effortlessness of her movements. She'd confined long black hair in a simple tail at her nape, smooth bistre skin bared by a neutral camisole and shorts.

A dancer’s uniform that did nothing to hide the lush roundness of her breasts, or the curve of hips. My fingers flexed involuntarily, aching to clench around that flesh.

Her dancing should have been provocative. There was innocence in her movements, as if she wasn't yet awake to the true potential of her body. The potential for pleasure, for joy. Though that could also be a crafted facade.

It was. When she glanced at me, her gaze contained familiar, long-enduring pain—and no innocence. The need to destroy whatever had caused those shadows to lurk behind her eyes stirred my inner beast, the dark part of my core all Fae males courted, and skirted, carefully. None of us liked to be at the mercy of our own natures.

She glanced at me again, a hesitant, lingering look. I hadn’t willed her to do so, had not extended even a tendril of persuasion in her direction. . .but a flash of light in her eyes, and with that flash. . .

. . . staring at me. A House warrior? Green is House Casakraine. . .just stay on your side of the street, pretty boy. You look like the kind of trouble I promised myself I'd avoid.

I shuddered, my blood on fire, my entire body straining against an onslaught of vicious hunger multiplying by the second.

By the Dark, I recognized this; viscerally, instinctively.

Fate hovered like phantom wings on my shoulders, offering me a choice in an eternity that was a mere three seconds.

Move forward, or turn back.

But her pain, wed to her grace, and the still gentle curve of her mouth as she smiled at a passerby then lost herself in the dance. . .I would never forgive myself if I walked away. Would always wonder what I had given up.

No. She was mine.

A lock clicked into place. . .I could have fought. I did not. Attempting to fight would leave me broken.

My mind reached for her again, intent on yanking her to me, clamping mental jaws around the dainty morsel of that mortal consciousness. I felt complete.

Known.

Centered.

The feeling evaporated. I wanted it again, would give anything to have it. If it meant keeping the mortal, so be it. She wouldn’t be difficult to claim and contain.

I stepped forward, every instinct priming for a hunt.

“Lord?” Con’s sharp inquiry.

For the first time in my life, I offered my throat. Silently, willing the girl to take it because there was no path forward in which I did not take her in return. Though no stranger to lust, physical or emotional, it had never gripped me so completely.

The moment I accepted the first mental lock, it had been irrevocable.

I began to chuckle. “Perfect. The most perfect irony. A mortal. ”

“ Andreien. ” Constin hissed my name.

I struggled for sanity from new instincts, beads of sweat at my temples, and took a moment to modulate my voice. Any loss of control now would only put us both at risk—and my guard, who would die to defend me. . .and her, once they understood. I hoped she was worthy of them.

Not a moment ago I had been lamenting the lack of challenge in my life, the need for battle. Protecting this fragile mortal would be battle enough. There were enemies in my Court who would dance in glee if I handed them such a weapon against me.

Only fools summoned the Dark. For the Dark would always answer.

But the reward for my idiocy would be sinking into that sweet body, tasting her skin, inhaling her scent. Coming to learn the mind housed in flesh crafted for my pleasure.

Soon. A mortal female should be simple enough to seduce. Which one would tell even the lowliest of Fae warriors no? It was laughable.

“Put a quad on her,” I told Constin, resolve hardening as I controlled my body, willed my cock to settle the fuck down. Now was not the time.

Constin stilled. “What?” Open shock in his voice.

“The dancer. Put a quad on her, discreetly.”

I paused, watching as she stepped gracefully onto her right toe and executed a full turn leading seamlessly into another series of spins.

They had a name for it, I knew, but though I was peripherally interested in my mother's hobby, not interested enough to know the names they called the various moves. Other than entrancing, when performed by my dancer.

Constin carried out the order, a telegem cupped in his palm, then turned back to me.

“Are you going to tell me why we just put a detail on a Houseless human female?”

I spoke three words with no direct translation into mortal language save soulbonded ( that would be a delightful conversation, trying to explain the concept and why she could never return to her home again) and heard his inhalation of breath.

The disbelief he felt shuddered through me a hundred-fold. This could not be, but yet it was. I was not a male to dance around truth when it was shoved in my face.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “Or are you bored?”

“You know better than that.”

Certain? I was certain only that she was mine. Human or no. If only five minutes ago I would have said I didn't want her, the choice was made now.

My mother was going to rampage. Realms.

The telegem in my pocket flared with sudden, searing heat and began to emit a Dark tune about an enchantress in a forest who lured disobedient faelings into her home and stewed them in her giant cauldron.

To this day, I was yet unclear about the moral of that particular story. Though I supposed the threat was the point, not the lesson.

I retrieved it, cupping the emerald in my hand to focus on a telepathic connection with my mother.

“Lord.”

“Andreien,” she snapped. “What are you doing? Why have you divided your detail?”

“There is no danger. I'll speak to you more later.” I released the link.

I’d pay for that later.

“She could be some kind of lure,” Constin said, his unease an echo of mine.

How could I blame him? This was fantastical. Soulbonded to a human? The Dark, clearly, had a perverse sense of humor.

“How could an enemy engineer a soulbond?” I asked. “And then know where to put her at the exact moment where I would stumble across her?”

The mortal glanced at me, caution in the tension of her mouth, though she had enough self-control to keep it from reaching her body.

A body that, as I stood, I continued to crave in a base, defiling way, helpless against the unraveling of obsession. I would have exhorted the Dark that this hunger not be the start of a spiraling rut, on top of a soulbond, but now I knew better.

“An Ancient could do it,” Constin said. “Or at least mimic the effects well enough to fool the stupid.”

We ignored that he’d just called me stupid—we were rattled.

A mental lock so instinctive, so seamless, that it had taken me a split-second to understand I was seeing myself through her eyes?

“No, no matter how improbable, this could not be engineered.” I shook my head, expelling a harsh breath. “If prescience is an affinity of my bloodline, we’re also plagued with another peculiarity.”

Our bonded. For every three members of House Casakraine, two would be taken by soulbonds.

My sister and I were under five centuries of age, so had not yet fallen victim. My mother had escaped hers only because she'd wed young and remained paranoid to the point of refusing to take a lover after my father was executed.

It wasn’t a gift.

It was a curse.

A weakness.

Now I understood the craving in my blood hadn’t been for war. . .at least not that kind of war. But now I must prepare for a battle on two fronts; winning her, and keeping her. The Court would try to take her from me, they would be unable to help themselves.

Glancing at Constin, I slipped the telegem into my pocket. Enough stalling.

“Have Mathen find out who the girl is. Everything about her. She has formal dance training, or I'm a twit. Start with the local dance academies that accept humans.”

One of my mother's pet Fine Arts projects, a mixed species contemporary ballet company, hosted a competitive showcase audition every four years to select fresh dancers.

“This is too much of a coincidence,” my luudthen muttered, and I agreed.

Unable to halt my fate, I crossed the cobbled street like a male walking to his execution.