Meet the final two POV characters. After this, you should have a good idea as to everyone's backstory and motivations, and their plans are in motion.
CHAPTER TEN
THE FOMORIAN COURT
BRES
Bres lay on his bed, running his fingers over his bare chest. In the pitch black of his windowless tower room, he couldn't see the scar, but he didn't need to. Instead of flattering, his nickname of
The Darkly Beautiful
was now a taunt.
The perfect looks he was so proud of -- high cheekbones, long, sleek black hair, big blue eyes, and ethereally glowing skin were traits he'd from received from his Fae mother.
All of them meaningless with the single, ugly slash across his chest.
On the giant-sized Fomorian stature he'd inherited from his father, the scar was barely noticeable. The physical wound The Morrigan inflicted on him during the last war had healed, but the reminder left behind felt like failure.
The Fomorian side of him was proud of the mark on his flesh. Many warriors wore their battle scars with pride. But the Fae side of him detested the lack of perfection. After all, he'd become king when the ruler before him lost an arm fighting for the Fae, and was therefore disqualified from ruling because his body was no longer perfect. The Fae admired ideal beauty almost to obsession.
His magic was even slower to recover than his body. The Morrigan had struck him with the Sword of Light. She had not only marred his skin, but drained his immortality until he'd been hardly more than human, and left him to die. He should have. That he survived was surely a sign he was meant to rule. His powers, years later, were almost to the point of fully restored.
He longed to return to the forest of Inisfail Fae territory. Toraigh, the island he'd taken refuge on after the war, was windswept to the point of no trees at all. It was a cold, lifeless expanse of rock. Appealing to the Fomorian side of him, but not the Fae. It seemed like the two halves of him never agreed on anything.
But the time to repay the crow was rapidly approaching.
If he could find her.
And a treasure.
The sword was out of reach, wielded by Fechin. Bres had no desire for another taste of that blade. He wasn't likely to survive that again. Three other treasures were fair game, though, their locations lost.
The stone.
The spear.
The cauldron.
Possession of any one of them would strengthen his claim to the Inisfail Fae throne -- especially if he found the Stone of Destiny. It sang for true kings. No one could deny his right to rule when it sang for him.
Of course, an heir wouldn't go amiss.
The treasures were lost -- had been for centuries -- but now that his magic was restored, heirs he could do something about immediately.
Bres rose from his bed, pulled on his leather pants, and headed up the stairs of the tower barefooted. Torches mounted on the walls burst into flame as he approached, illuminating the dark corridor as he spiraled to the top floor and opened the wooden door, locking it behind him.
Windows allowed moonlight to stream into the room through the bars. A fire warmed the open space, filled with a couch and a couple of chairs arranged around a low, rectangular table that held the remains of dinner.
Three doors, to two bedrooms and a bathroom, led off the main area. While his prisoners couldn't leave, they lived in relative luxury. They had comfortable furnishings in clean surroundings. Meals prepared with the best foods. Nice clothes of the richest and softest materials. Books and art supplies to occupy themselves.
The sisters, twins with red-hair and glowing fair skin, watched him with wary expressions. The look of dread on their faces when they first saw him always gave him a thrill. They were right to be worried. He kept his treatment of them random -- kind, cruel, loving, impersonal. They never knew what to expect from him, or what they could do to influence him.
He couldn't blame them for being confused -- from day to day it was a mystery to him how he'd react to them. Some days he saw them as beautiful women he cared about, and others they were just reminders of what he'd lost.
Meghan wore a floor-length gold silk dress while Morgan wore a green long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and boots. She sat on the floor in front of Meghan as she brushed her sister's hair. They jumped to their feet as he crossed the room.
"Meghan. Morgan. How are you tonight?"
"Release us, Fomorian." Morgan glared daggers at him. She was the more spirited one and always made the demand.
Bres flashed a grin at Morgan and turned to Meghan. She tried to back away, but he stretched out one long arm, palmed the back of her head, and forced her to him. Bending, he pressed his lips to hers and breathed magic into her.
Between heartbeats, she stopped fighting him and parted her lips with a needy moan so he could slide his tongue inside her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went soft against him.
He wasn't called the Master of Love Spells for nothing. "Show me how much you missed me."
Meghan leaned into him, her long red hair falling forward to tickle his skin. She pressed a feather-light kiss on his mouth, then on his chest as he urged her head down. Small, delicate hands caressed his shoulders and chest. Kneeling in front of him, she trailed her mouth over his abs. Meghan's clever fingers undid the laces of his leather pants and freed his cock.
Her palm encircled him, fingers exploring the length of his semi-hard dick. He lifted his gaze and met Morgan's icy, emerald eyes as her sister stroked him to full hardness. The pressure of her hand was just right, the speed and rhythm steady.
Under his influence, she would have no memory of doing this for him unless he wanted her to, but she remembered how to please him. She and her sister had pleasured him often since he'd taken them as tribute when he was king.
Meghan's lush, pink lips wrapped around his cock. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him, pure lust in her gaze. Each stroke, lick, and suck brought him closer to the edge. He thrust his fingers into her hair, guiding her. Slowing her down just enough to stop him from going over, but still sending zings of pleasure up and down his spine. He didn't want to come in her mouth tonight.
Bres pulled Meghan to her feet and gave her a playful swat on her ass. "In your room, little one."
"You bastard." Morgan stood, fists clenched.
"Don't be jealous. You'll get your turn." The door clicked behind him.
Meghan's room, in feminine in shades of gold and dark pink, smelled of vanilla and roses. She pulled her dress over her head, dropped it to the floor, and waited by her canopy bed, sighing when his hand found her breast. Her dusky nipple hardened under his fingertips and his body throbbed.
Bres shoved his pants to the floor. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her, tasting and teasing, his teeth gently biting her lips as his hand slipped down her stomach and between her legs. She opened to him, gasping when he slid one finger between her folds, her heat and moisture tempting him to bury himself inside her right then.
He lowered her to the bed, and she spread her legs wider as he took her higher and higher with gentle strokes of his finger.
"I -- oh!" Her lips parted as he replaced his finger with his erection and teased her clit with the head of his cock until she was moaning and gasping.
When she tumbled into orgasm, crying out his name, he grabbed her by the hips, and buried himself deep in her.
Meghan's eyes opened and locked on his, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Underneath him, Meghan moved her hips, little movements that drove him just a little deeper inside.
He filled her up, seating himself fully inside her. Hauling one of her knees up, he pushed further, making her cry out as he thrust in deep. Closing his eyes, he moved slow. He wanted to feel everything, linger in the feeling of being inside her, so he took long, leisurely strokes.
She groaned, her hips lifting to meet his, urging him to move faster. Not yet. Bres gritted his teeth, wanting this feeling to last longer, but losing that fight. He picked up the pace, leaning down so he could kiss her mouth. Her neck.
With a groan of pleasure, he rolled onto his back, taking Meghan with him. She let out a little cry of surprise but straddled him, his pulsing member still buried deep. Eyes wide with the shock of fresh pleasure, she lifted herself, then sank slowly back down. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, driving himself into her as her mewls of pleasure reached his ears.
As she rode him, the spiraling pleasure consumed him, the feel of her welcoming body taking him higher. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, her mouth slightly open, little cries of pleasure escaping her lips.
Putting her on her back, he pinned her wrists above her head and indulged in taking her.
"Oh. Yes," she murmured in a breathy tone.
Her legs wrapped around him as her hands roamed, touching his face, his shoulders, trailing down his back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent deep roses and vanilla scent.
"Yes, yes," she moaned against his ear as he ground into her deeper. Their moans, sighs, and groans filled the room, the sounds of their lips and skin slapping together. He held her tighter against him and pummeled into her. Kissing and licking every bit of skin he could reach as her body shuddered with pleasure. He reached between them to pluck at her clit while continuing to fuck her.
Her tight sheath clenched around him.
