Page 42 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Do you remember what you said before— ‘if you can’t talk to your enemies, who can you talk to?’” she murmurs.
“Not exactly.”
“You were feverish. You told me things—like how sometimes you want to die. You want to be done with it all, because it’s too much. Is that true?”
One word scrapes through my throat. “Yes.”
She eyes me appraisingly. “You really believe you can save this realm?”
“I trust in my magic.”
“It’s heretical, you know. This belief that you, a Spinner of forbidden Void magic, could be Eonnula’s prophesied savior.”
“I don’t believe in the savior at all. So no, I don’t think it’s me.”
She reaches up, tracing the curve of my shoulder with her fingertips. The delicate touch turns me weak, vibrates through me more powerfully than any blow dealt in battle. I want to sink to my knees before her. It’s all I can do to remain standing.
The submissive impulse clashes with my knowledge of who she is—my prisoner, my prey, the Princess I cursed at birth. A torturous self-loathing writhes inside me, because I should not crave her. The age difference does not matter—in our realm of long lifetimes, all pairings are acceptable provided both parties are above twenty. But lusting for the woman I condemned, the one I’ve been hunting for years—it’s despicable, perverted.
Worst and most twisted of all—I get the sense she wants me, too. Hates me, and craves me.
Her fingertips slide along my collarbone. “Why didn’t you come for me yourself, oh Maleficent One?”
“I did, at first. But I failed twice, and after that the Three Faeries warded the castles with spells designed to detect me, specifically. My presence would have jeopardized any mission to retrieve you.”
Her fingers arch, nails grating down my breastbone, leaving long scratches. “I dreamed of you sometimes. Nightmares of you dragging me into the dark, or snatching Dawn away. Yet I had never seen you.”
“You saw me once. At your christening, when I leaned over your cradle and spoke the curse.”
Her blue eyes flash up to mine, realization and disgust flooding her gaze. “Bastard,” she hisses. “I should kill you.”
A thrill skates through my abdomen at the words, at her threatening tone. My cock twitches.
“Do it then,” I say.
“You think I won’t?” She grabs my throat, a frenzied grip. I tip my head back, dragging in air through my constricted windpipe. My cock swells harder, and my nipples tighten to sensitive beads.
“Fuck,” I choke. And then, another word slips out—a confession I didn’t intend. “Harder.”
15
My grasp on the Void King’s throat almost loosens, I’m so shocked. “What?”
But I heard him very clearly. He said, “Fuck,” and then “Harder.”
Even though the pleasant blur of the liquor has receded a bit, I’m not sober, by any means. I’m hot all over, greedy for a new sensation to erase the thoughts swirling in my head. So I don’t think too deeply about what I do next.
I sway my hips forward, pressing my lower body to his, and I renew my grip on his neck.
The thick ridge under his pants pulses against me in response—a heavy throb.
“You sick asshole,” I whisper. But heat pools at my core, liquid and undeniable.
My enemy gets hard when I choke him, and choking him makes me wet. How perverse is that?
He’s wheezing, barely able to breathe. He could fight back—could probably overpower me quickly with his physical strength. But he yields.
The memory of his fevered speech returns, sharp and clear.Women always assume I want them subservient, kneeling before me. They don’t understand what I truly crave.
