King of the Mountains Page 12

  The four kings. The ones who were supposed to take their thrones and then end the world.

  Faeries wouldn’t care. They’d be fine after their leaders took control. Humans would be the ones to leave, suddenly and in horrible ways.

  She remembered the vision of human faces stuck in moss. Mushrooms... there had to be a clue in that. Or perhaps it was merely the horrible truth. The world would end whether or not she succeeded in placating the Mountain King.

  Morgan tried a smile, though it felt brittle on her face. “It’s not the same. In the human world, I’m alone all the time.”

  “It sounds lonely.”

  There was the word again. Lonely. Like the mere thought was a curse everyone should try to avoid.

  “No, it wasn’t lonely,” she corrected. “It was lovely to be on my own and live the way I wanted to.”

  Even if sometimes she stacked pillows at her back so she could feel like someone was in bed with her. Or she sometimes had to use the doors to open jars, and any time something creaked outside her window she hated to be the only one checking to make sure nothing was outside waiting for her.

  No. She wasn’t lonely. She was just tired of being alone.

  Giving up the pretense, she let all the anger and tension ease out of her shoulders. Her spine curved forward, and she leaned closer to the faerie, who reached out a hand.

  The little fae patted Morgan’s forehead. “You don’t have to be alone all the time,” she said. “It’s okay to want people around.”

  “I don’t want people around. I don’t even like people.”

  “Then why don’t you have faeries? You seem to like us, and we like you.”

  Morgan wished it was that easy. She would love to have a garden full of faeries like this one. They could pollinate all her flowers. Little mud monsters could ensure the soil was healthy, and the plants were getting enough food. Hell, she’d even take a couple Arcane’s just to have snakes eating her mice.

  “I wish I could,” she replied. Sadness made her voice thick and quiet. “But witches and faeries don’t mix.”

  “Why not? We mix well enough here!” The faerie darted up into the air, spinning in the moonbeams. “We could live together forever! Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

  She gave the faerie a tiny laugh. “Because witches need to live in the human realm. We’re immortal, like you, but only with the sacrifices we make in our own realm.”

  How many things had she killed? Too many to count, although Morgan was unlike the others. She tried to sacrifice smaller animals to the world, taking their life force as her own.

  A rabbit gave her five years. A deer, maybe ten, unless it would have been killed by a wolf early in its life.

  Something dark in the wells of her magic bubbled to life. The young men had given her over four hundred years combined. Morgan would remain alive for a very long time.

  And that’s why witches sacrificed humans. They just lived longer.

  Shivering, she rubbed her arms to clear the goosebumps from her skin. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t stay here. I need to go home, and I can’t. So I feel trapped.”

  The faerie floated back down in front of her, a frown on her face. “You can’t go home?”

  Morgan pointed to the places where portals would open. “The Mountain King said these only open on Imbolc and Samhain. I can’t leave this place until then. They’re months away.”

  A blinking, blank expression washed over the faerie’s face. Morgan’s gut twisted. Why was the faerie looking at her like that? As though Morgan had said something it didn’t understand?

  “How did you get here?” the faerie asked.

  “Another faerie opened a portal for me. They wanted me to kill the king, that’s is why I tried when I first came here.”

  “Oh,” the faerie said. A bubbling smile brightened her face. “Then just do that again!”

  Again, an icy shiver trailed down Morgan’s back. A warning, perhaps, that she was about to open Pandora’s box. “I can’t. Remember? The king said the portals only open on Imbolc and Samhain.”

  The faerie heaved a sigh. “Yes, those portals only open on Imbolc and Samhain. But why don’t you just have another faerie open you a portal? We can do that whenever we want. The king doesn’t trap us here.”

  Her heart stopped beating. Her lungs stopped taking in breath. And her stomach dropped out of her torso and far into the earth below.

  Any faerie could open her a portal?

  The damned king had lied to her. No, not lied. Twisted the truth, and she had believed him!

  Morgan licked her lips and asked the faerie one more time, just to ensure she had heard correctly. “So any of you could open a portal for me?”

  “Well not any of us.”

  Morgan’s rush of anger eased.

  The faerie continued, “Only the bigger ones. Portals take a lot of blood and magic to make for someone your size. I can open one for myself, but you’d only be able to fit your arm through it!”

  There it was again. The rage made her hair stand on end and every bit of her witchcraft boil inside her.

  He’d lied to her. He’d made her feel like she was trapped, stuck, enchained. And for what?

  Did he think he had trapped a pet witch? That she would stay here, sucking in his magic and every other bit of him? Like a slave he’d taken from the human realm, as he claimed faeries loved to do?

  Her power stretched deep in her belly. It spread through her bones, strengthening her with all the magic of ancient witches burned at the stake. She heard them screaming in her head. He’d taken her freedom, just as they had experienced all those years ago. And they would make him suffer for it.

  She stood. The frame of her body felt stronger, filled with a power that was all her own. Electricity crackled at her fingertips. Her hair moved in a wind that did not blow.

  “Witch?” the faerie stammered, her voice quiet and hesitant. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Morgan stared at the creature, and she could feel heat behind her eyes. Her voice warped with hundreds of other witches, so angry they came through in a scream that echoed through the gully.

  “No. You did nothing wrong.”

  The faerie bit her tiny nails. “Why do you look angry then?”

  “Because I am, little one.” She turned back to the forest and felt the tree roots recoil. “I am furious.”

  Morgan strode toward the forest and the cottage beyond where the Mountain King slept. Where he had stolen a kiss and some of her magic.

  If it took a large faerie to open a portal for her, then she would drain him dry.

  15

  Rage crackled underneath her skin. She floated down into the valley, her feet barely touching the ground. The pools of her magic burbled like a cauldron ready to pop.

  All she could focus on was that he’d lied to her. And for what? A few weeks where he had toyed with her, forced her to absorb his magic, and then this?

  He could have sent her home. Liam didn’t need to keep her around for any reason other than to satisfy his own natural curiosity, or his own need. She didn’t care what the reasoning ended up being. She would show him why no man should ever try to trap a witch.

  Morgan threw the door open with a spark of magic flung from her fingertips. The solid wood hit the wall this time, not the floor.

  A whispered word sent the pots in his living room ricocheting to the sides. They remained unbroken, but the plants screamed their discomfort. She hadn’t hurt them, just woken them from their slumber.

  Her ears rang as Monstera roared inside her hidden room. The rage in the plant’s voice threatened retribution if the witch tried to kill her master again.

  Morgan didn’t have to take his life. All she needed was enough blood to open a portal and then she would leave. She’d disappear from their lives forever.

  But first, she wanted to ensure their king remembered never to trick a witch. Ever again.

  The door to his bedroom creaked open. He stood in t
he doorway, peering at her with a sleepy gaze. Shadows clung to his form from the darkened room beyond. She could just make out the long tangle of his hair and the broad set of his shoulders. Loose linen pants covered his legs, but he wore nothing to keep his bare chest from her hungry gaze.

  He should have quaked in fear. Morgan hovered in the air, her toes just touching the ground. Her hair whirled around her head. Her eyes burned with anger. White hot electricity crackled between her fingertips and she swore thunder rolled in the distance.

  “You lied to me,” she growled. Hundreds of voices laced with hers. The age old anger of women who had been repressed, lied to, and made guilty for existing. Witches whose ashes lived inside her lungs.

  “Faeries can’t lie, Morgan.”

  “But you can twist the truth. You trapped me here!” Her words snapped with power. A tendril of lightning shot off from her fingertips and hit the ceiling. A shower of sparks rained down upon them.

  At the threat, he narrowed his eyes. “Careful. You’ve already broken more things in my house than I usually allow. If you break more, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “Is that a threat?” She almost hoped it was. Then she could unleash her anger without feeling the slightest bit of guilt.

  He stepped out of the bedroom and into the dim moonlight. He was too beautiful for her to look upon, and that made her even more angry. The chiseled shadows of his abs caught her attention even through the haze of anger.

  She wanted to lick her tongue between the valleys just to see if he tasted like honey there as well. The damned man had clawed his way into her head, and she wanted him out of it.

  Another pop of lightning hit the ceiling near him. This time, a single spark fell onto his linen pants. The burst of flame wasn’t her intention, but she felt an answering flare of power from him. He hissed out an angry snarl and slapped at it.

  “Morgan, stop this.”

  Even more power built inside her, pouring out in waves of wind that pushed him back. “Tell me to stop it again.”

  He looked at her through his shield of long hair. “Stop what you’re doing now, woman.”

  The order rolled through her very soul. Let him try to control her. She’d show him why he should fear a witch.

  Lifting her hands, she let the power roll from her fingertips. It sank into the ground and the pots all around them shuddered, clanking and popping. “Stop telling me what to do!” she shouted, and her voice echoed.

  Roots reached from the ground, shredding the floorboards into splintered pieces. They tangled around the king’s legs, forcing him to kneel.

  The potted plants grew impossibly fast. Their stems stretched up into the air, then coiled around his arms. More and more reached for him even as he snapped off their vines.

  Morgan flicked her gaze to the ceiling. The moss on his roof grew long roots that tangled in his hair, pulling and creating a webbing that held him in place.

  More greenery grew quicker than he could break free until the king was trapped within his own creation. His own realm rebelling against him until he was kneeling at her feet.

  Again.

  She stepped toward him. Her hips swayed in a loose walk of confidence. A descendent of witches had bested him.

  Morgan knelt and tucked a finger underneath his chin. She forced him to look up at her. Power swirled in her belly, desiring nothing more than to be released into him. She wanted to play havoc in his mind.

  But now wasn’t the time for that. Instead, all she did was smile. “I said I’d kill you, king. It just took me a little longer to get you back on your knees.”

  To his credit, he didn’t appear concerned about her words. Instead, he allowed her to tilt his head up and exposed his throat. “Please, witch. If you came here to kill me, you wouldn’t have made such a racket.”

  Was he not afraid? He should tremble at the sight of such power before him. She frowned. “What is it you think I came here to do?”

  “You came back to finish what we started.”

  “Of all the arrogant fools,” she snarled. “You lied to me. You could have sent me back with a portal at any point during this entire charade. I don’t take kindly to prisons, Liam.”

  He licked his lips, and the small glimpse of his pink tongue made her knees weak. “The sound of my name on your lips is foreplay enough. You didn’t have to bind me, witch.”

  Morgan pulled her hand back from him as though he had burned her. How dare he turn this into something sexual! She wanted to go home. He was her ticket there, and he would send her back. Whether he wanted to or not.

  She reached her hand out and a small pruning knife shot to her palm. She caught the handle and shoved it underneath his chin. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for games, handsome.”

  A spark burst to life in his eyes. A green spark she recognized all too well.

  She shouldn’t have talked so much.

  “Life’s a game, witch,” he growled. “Checkmate.”

  The vines holding him in place snapped. His arm shot out and wrapped around her, yanking Morgan against his chest before she could even blink. The pruning shears dropped to the floor with a dull thud. His heat burned her palms against his heartbeat.

  “Let go of me,” she berated, her entire body shuddering with pleasure at the feel of his smooth skin against hers.

  Liam leaned down and inhaled her scent. He followed the column of her neck with his nose, breathing deeply as he held her with arms made of iron bars. “You’re still wearing the dress I put on you.”

  She continued to struggle against him. “What else was I supposed to wear?”

  “I can think of a few things.” He leaned back just enough to grin down at her. “But I’d prefer nothing.”

  She bared her teeth in a snarl. “You have high hopes for tonight, faerie.”

  Long fingers skated down the open back of her dress, tracing the ridges of her spine. “Oh it’s more than hopes, witch. You came back to my home just when I hoped you would.”

  “I didn’t come back to sleep with you!” A burst of power rocketed down her fingers and sank into his muscles.

  His torso twisted away from her like she’d tasered him.

  Good, let him feel a little of her bite. She wrenched herself out of his arms and stumbled backward. Even then, her entire body yearned for him. She wanted his fingers on her back again. She wanted them on her breasts, between her legs, even one in her mouth.

  Damn it!

  She pointed at him, electricity still dancing between her fingers. “What have you done to me?”

  He opened his arms wide. “Nothing. I could ask the same of you, but I realized a while ago you weren’t casting any spells on me. I can only believe we feel the same. I’m just not fighting it.”

  She was absolutely fighting whatever was between them. He was perfection incarnate, and she needed to protect her damned soul.

  Breathing hard, she took a step back into the rubble of his living room. “I don’t want you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I want to go home,” she gasped.

  He followed her across the tangled roots now dormant on the floor. “No, you don’t.”

  Swallowing hard, she bumped against the wall and pressed her back against it. “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  Liam braced his arms on either side of her, caging her between muscular forearms. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Your lies taste like whiskey.”

  Shit. He was a faerie. He knew every time she lied.

  Morgan didn’t even know when she was lying. But she knew in this moment, she wanted nothing more than him. His skin on hers. His taste in her mouth and his passion pouring into her like a bottle of sangria on a frigid winter’s night.

  She thudded her head against the wall and whispered, “Fuck it.”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him flush against her body with the force of an avalanche. The hot thrust of his tongue sent shock waves straight
to her core.

  She moaned. The sound wrenched from her body without permission, but he reacted like he’d been waiting for it. Liam groaned against her lips and palmed her thigh. He lifted first one leg, then other, pinning her against the wall with his hips.

  He was already hard and hot between her legs, pressed exactly where she wanted him.

  Just his touch was like she’d dipped herself in lava. He warmed her to the bone when she hadn’t realized she’d been freezing.

  His tongue traced her lips. He lingered at the corners of her mouth, licking and tasting her. He was equal parts rough and tender, both man and beast.

  She muttered against him, “This means nothing, faerie.”

  He lapped at her words, sipping them into his body like the whiskey they were. “Are you changing your mind, witch?”

  “Would you let me?”

  At her words, he stilled. Liam pressed his forehead against her collarbone and the gusts of his breath fanned down her chest. He took a few moments before responding, “If you change your mind, then I’ll let you walk out of this cabin. Whatever impression you have of the fae, we don’t force women.”

  It was enough. More than enough for her to place a hand against his neck and squeeze. “Then continue, faerie. But don’t disappoint me.”

  She could feel his smile against her wrist. He turned and pressed a kiss to her pulse before easing them to the floor. His firm grip prevented her from falling. She felt light as air in his arms.

  He helped her lay back on the floor, cushioned with soft moss. Morgan lifted a brow.

  A prideful grin spread across his face. “Comfortable?”

  “I might have preferred the floor.”

  He rolled his body, pressing his hips, stomach, and chest against hers in the briefest of touches that had her arching into him. “Trust me. You won’t.”

  His head dipped down, lips tracing the outline of her shoulders. Warm and soft, they trailed up to her throat, only to follow the line down to her collarbone and between her breasts. Morgan’s breath caught as his tongue flicked out and eased under the fabric covering her breasts.