Chapter Six Zephyr
Chapter Six
Zephyr
“Oh. Fuck. Me.”
My bride’s gasp of delight brings a smile to my typically grim lips and a glow to the blackened cinder of my dark Unseelie heart.
“Fuck my life.” My bride is a gloriously expressive creature, and it seems she has more to say. “Are you really suggesting you’re ready to go there, Zephyr? I mean, you and V? Like… finally?”
My single eye shifts from Zara’s wild head of mermaid curls, crackling with the violet static of her powerful lightning magic, to lock onto Vasili Romanov’s electric blue smolder.
He is, as always, my nemesis. Cold as an Avalon winter. Cruel and pitiless and deadly as a demon’s curse.
And yet.
By the moon.
I vow I’m so sick with love for this treacherous male, this complicated mate and ally who is my only real rival for the Throne of the First King—I, who was born and bred to rule—that I find I no longer wish to quarrel with him.
For some mysterious reason, my fierce determination to force him to accept my royal leadership in this harem has softened.
Perhaps this enchanted cottage is working its Christmas magic.
“I am Unseelie. You know I cannot lie.” I hold both their gazes with mine. “And it so happens, my bride, that I am your Secret Santa—and in dire need of a gift. I have, most unfortunately, left the Yuletide gift I crafted for you behind in our vehicle.”
And what a Yuletide gift it is.
A powerful artifact, one that weaves together the strongest symbols of her arcane Gemini power and my wild Unseelie magic.
Forsooth, ‘tis a mark of how desperately distracted I’ve been this night over my bride’s safety, our sweet Neo’s welfare, and the health of our future offspring that I left such a thing lying in a ditch beside the road.
Zara twists around to blink at me, lips parted in surprise. “You’re my Secret Santa? Wow. I thought for sure it was Ash.”
Hearing his name, my consort pokes his spiky pewter-gray head from the kitchen, grins at the four of us entwined before the fire, and says cheerfully, “Nope. I drew someone else, princess.”
I carefully avoid looking at Neo.
I happen to know Ash has secretly exchanged the name he originally drew with Mordred, so that Ash can be Neo’s Secret Santa.
But I am sworn to secrecy.
Thanks to this Secret Santa tradition Zara and Neo both clamored for, our harem is thick with Christmas secrets.
My second cousin Mordred has spread himself over the bearskin rug to warm his bare webbed feet before the fire, where his burly sex demon frame takes up an unreasonable amount of space. Now, watching the byplay, he voices a throaty chuckle that brings his infernally appealing dimples into play.
Ash winks at him, then ducks back into the kitchen to conclude his domestic duties.
Still, my bride awaits my answer.
And she is never one to wait.
I sweep an arm wide to encompass the glittering miracle of the fat Yule tree, the row of stockings hung expectantly over the hearth, and the lavish swoop of holly and ivy festooning the rafters.
“Is now not the proper moment,” I ask, “to reveal all our Yuletide secrets?”
“Maybe so.” Zara turns to face me fully, tucking the ripe swell of her belly between us. Her warm turquoise eyes search my face. “And I can’t wait to find out what kinda Secret Santa gift you made me, for real.”
Then her pert nose wrinkles. “But that doesn’t mean you’d let Vasili, uh, call the shots in the sack. Which he definitely would, if he’s playing Krampus and reaming you. You know how he is.”
I do indeed know how he is.
And I know how she is. I know how she will be if Vasili and I do not, in her words, “process our testosterone-fueled bullshit” in short order.
The lingering tension between Vasili Romanov and myself is the lone fly blundering in the ointment of our polycule’s happily ever after.
Gravely I study my bride. Zara is quite petite for a mortal, but my Unseelie kin are not a large-boned race.
This means she is, very slightly, taller than I.
My gaze roams her gorgeous face, creamy-skinned and glowing with the triple miracle of creation she shelters in her womb, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.
Yet she is frowning with worry.
For me.
“Zarina Selene Gemini,” I tell her softly, from the heart. “Truly, you are a goddess. You will make the most magnificent mother to all our children.”
A smile spreads over her face like a sunrise. Then her teeth sink into the pink bow of her lower lip. “Thanks for that, it means a lot. But we’re talking about you. You and V. And how you’re gonna manage to bend for him when you’re dommy as fuck, Zephyr.”
I wrap my arms around my queen’s waist, still narrow despite her ripening belly. As always, my heart swells with warmth and purpose to feel our offspring tucked protectively between us. What does it matter that none of this first fruit from her fertile womb is—genetically—mine?
My turn to sire an heir of my bloodline will come. She is committed. And I am patient.
I can wait.
“Are you so surprised I would yield the whip hand to another in our bed?” My quizzical gaze shifts from Zara’s wondering face to Vasili’s. The warlock tilts his head to assess my words, his pretty face sharp with suspicion. The dwindling fire behind him lights his hair in a crown of silver fire.
Just the sight of his tall lean silhouette, lurking before the fire like a nightmare, makes my chest clench and my balls tighten.
Without breaking his stare, I murmur, “Allowing this one to have his wicked way with me, this once, will be no great sacrifice. I assure you. Even if I am bound for his pleasure… I am far from helpless.”
“So trusting.” Vasili’s lips curl in a smirk that flashes a slip of fangs. “And what a lovely idea you’re giving me.”
Once upon a time, that snake’s malevolent hiss would have alarmed me. But no longer. Now I see him for what he is.
Just a man, as I am a man.
A man with hidden scars, still tender, that must be closely guarded from greater injury.
Without words, with my level stare and quiet stillness, I let him know I am not afraid.
The Christmas scents of bayberry and spruce mingle with the powerful vetiver of his mating scent. The air in this cottage is thick with the musk of pheromones, from him and all the shifters, and the tang of expectation from the rest of us.
Vasili pulls in a slow breath of this heady aroma. “I suppose we’ll see then, just how trusting you’re prepared to be when Krampus wields his whip. Won’t we?”
Zara’s teal brows draw together in a furrow. She pivots to shoot the villain a look of warning. “Trust is a two-way street, bad boy. Don’t let this Krampus fantasy go to your head, okay?”
Somewhat to my own surprise, I find I am smiling.
“Pray do not trouble yourself, my bride,” I tell her. “You and Ash and Ronin will ensure that our Krampus does not… abuse his privilege.”
My faith in my consorts—especially those three—is absolute, and that faith threads audibly through my tone.
The subtle hum of tension in the room softens to a whisper of anticipation.
For once, at least, I seem to have said the right words. Slowly I am learning to be with this queen and her harem.
To speak first and act first as a lover rather than a king.
“Well, fuck.” Zara wiggles into position and slips an arm around both of us. “Gotta admit, Your Radiance, you’ve definitely surprised me—in a really good way. If the two of you fucking are gonna be my Christmas gift, I can’t wait to unwrap you.”
Her shift in posture brings me face to face with him.
Vasili.
My ally. My love. My rival.
His gaze traces the slash of the eyepatch that hides my deformity. My missing eye. That is my hidden wound. Despite all my intentions, my shoulders stiffen and my chin rises. Yet the tips of my pointed ears are tingling.
Ears are erogenous zones for the Fae.
Green eyes wide and wondering behind his spectacles, Neo tucks up trustingly next to Vasili. Without breaking my stare, Vasili wraps a possessive arm around the boy to claim him.
“I’m not surprised at all,” Neo pipes up stoutly. “He’s always really gentle and nice with me—aren’t you, Zephyr? And he’s been extra tender with you while you’re pregnant, babe. He doesn’t need to swing a flogger to feel good.”
The residual tension eases from my shoulders. I grin at my young defender until my own fangs show, and relish the sweet blush that spreads over his face. “Indeed I do not, sweet boy.”
Neo’s own smile blooms on his earnest face. Even his ears turn pink with blushing.
Zara still seems to be pondering the concept of me—the most unyielding of all her lovers—yielding anything at all to Vasili in our bed. Now she licks her lips and wades gamely in. “Yeah, but… whip or no whip, you’re…”
“A virgin.” Vasili pounces on the word hovering on her lush lips and savors the syllables like vintage wine. “That’s what our little queen’s trying to say.”
My own lips part in confusion. I massage the empty socket under the tight slash of my eyepatch as though this act will aid my hearing.
Vasili sighs over my confusion like I’m the village idiot. Still, patiently (for him), he elaborates.
“Lucius bends for me. I bend… very occasionally, when he asks nicely… for Max. And everyone else in our polycule bends for me and all the alphas—and some for Zara when she’s in a pegging mood.”
Zara and Neo both grin at this. Neo is one of those mates she pegs.
“You’re the only one who doesn’t bend for anyone,” Vasili finishes pointedly. “Your Transcendence.”
“Ah.” I adjust the eyepatch over my empty socket and apply myself to his question. “Well, even so, I’m hardly a virgin, in that or any other way. Kindly recall that Ronin and I… exchanged favors… before the Beltane fire the night we declared our love.”
A shadow darkens the kitchen door. Ronin himself, come to listen as I tell our tale, amber eyes glowing like twin suns while he idly dries a wineglass.
‘‘‘Twas years before I met the rest of you,” I resume, appreciating the sinuous strength showcased by the distressed denim clinging to Ronin’s thighs and the bulge of his manhood—prominent even from here.
“Ronin was an insolent boy and I was barely a man, but it was Midsummer Night in Wales, where the ancient rites are yet practiced. So I had him, and he had me.”
“Best night of my fucking life,” Ronin says huskily. “At that point. Both virgins that night, weren’t we, love?”
“Indeed we were.” My own voice warms and thickens with the memory. For we surrendered more than our bodies that night. I gave him my heart and claimed his in exchange.
Ronin abandons his task to prowl into the great room, supple hips moving under the sway of his raven mane, his powerful frame drawn toward me like iron to a magnet. Lucius and Maxim, too, turn away from their vantage near the window and stalk after Ronin like the predators they are.
Ash’s big frame fills the kitchen doorway, dishcloth limp and dripping in his hand, to watch this loaded moment unfold.
Slowly the centrifugal force of my bride and her consorts, those of us clustered before the fire, is drawing all our mates like the sun draws planets.
Zara’s breath catches subtly in her throat. She too is watching Ronin, color rising in her face. Her breasts rise and fall more swiftly under the soft emerald cashmere of her holiday sweater.
Green is my color, the color of Unseelie royalty. My hair and my dragon, too, are green. My heart warms to see her wearing it.
I clear my throat and tell her softly, “Being the one who bends is not my accustomed pleasure, I’ll grant you. But I am not… aesthetically opposed… to the arrangement.”
“In that case, it seems we all have Christmas presents to unwrap,” Lucius growls, low and guttural, with his wolf lurking in his voice. “Shall we take the unwrapping upstairs to the bedroom, my queen? Or do you prefer this bearskin rug, before the fire?”
That alluring prospect is more than sufficient to draw Ash fully from the kitchen into the great room.
“Zara’s maybe too pregnant to be fucking on the floor.” Humor lurks in Ash’s voice, but hunger burns like twin stars in his silver eyes.
“I’m not that pregnant,” Zara parries without missing a beat. “As long as we choose our positions wisely, I’m all for jumping right in.”