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He strolled to his bathroom, retrieved a towel, and paused before the mirror. He arched his brow, noticing a stray hair. He had canceled his monthly appointment to trim his hair and clean his brow. The minx reduced the entirety of his life into chaos.
Rune dried off and dressed before returning to his study. He took his seat behind his desk and opened a tattered, aged tome, glancing over the page as he listened for the minx’s returning footsteps.
Rune read the passage for the sixth time, unable to concentrate on his research. He glanced at the grandfather clock near the black marble fireplace, distracted by the litany of positions the Ra’Voshnik fantasized about coaxing the mortal into.
Rune’s jaw slacked as the Ra’Voshnik dwelled on a scene. He was in his bed, sitting back on his heels. Breathy cries escaped the minx’s parted lips as he held her against him. Thrusting up into her as he drank from her throat. Her thighs tightened over his waist.
Pushing the heavy leather-bound book away, Rune leaned back in his chair, glancing up for patience.
Faye’s footsteps carried to him as she descended the stairs and stopped at the bottom for long moments. Rune glanced in her direction, curious as to why she stopped. Minutes passed before she resumed her march.
She lingered in the doorway wearing a gray sweater that swallowed her slight frame. It hung off one of her shoulders, exposing the black tank she wore beneath it. Rune clenched his teeth at the slender display of her neck.
Go to her. Tell her she looks beautiful, the Ra’Voshnik commanded while it frantically prowled his mind, needing to close the distance between them. Rune didn’t dignify it with a response and confined it to the recesses of his mind.
Faye approached him, taking a seat across his desk. “Can we try it in a chair today, and if it doesn’t work, I can lay down.” She swept the stray strands behind her shoulder, leaving him a tantalizing view of her pulse point.
He stared at the rhythmic, fluttering beat as his lips parted. Rune swallowed, tearing his gaze from her throat to meet her gold lashed eyes. “Of course.”
Rune descended into himself, gathering his power as he took the mental step to stand before the edge of her mind. Most barriers manifested as a wall of stone or metal. Hers manifested as the Darkness itself. The black mist rolled ominously.
He reached forward, pressing his hand into it. She tensed, taking a sharp breath as he met resistance of the shield barricading her mind. “Be easy.” He crooned, spreading his fingers wide.
The swirling mist protecting her mind climbed past his wrist as he pushed. The wall opened a sliver, slow moving as though it was a door rusted shut. Rune wedged his power into it and pushed until he could pass through the opening.
His magic welled in the doorway he created, fighting to hold the opening that wanted to snap shut and viciously throw him from her mind. He hadn’t taken this precaution the first time he entered her mind. It snapped shut on him, snapping the bridge of his nose in its backlash of power.
The Ra’Voshnik surged for Faye, breaking free from its mental confines. It sank into the depths of her mind, searching for her. Happiness laced with sorrow stirred within her as the Ra’Voshnik curled around her. A dog at its master’s feet.
If she truly understood what it was, she would not welcome its embrace. Rune turned away from the pair and pushed his awareness over her mind, feeling for something that didn’t belong. The foreign spell that wouldn’t resonate with the rest of her mind.
“Where are you from?”
Rune divided his attention between her mind and the physical world. She studied him and the doorway he’d created into her mind wasn’t actively trying to close on him. Perhaps he underestimated the mortal’s mental capabilities. He indulged her curiosity and answered, “My court spent time between Necromia and Hell.”
She spared him an unimpressed look. “Where’s youraccentfrom? The high bitch doesn’t talk like you.”
A low laugh escaped him. “Lyssa would skin you for such words.”
“Lucky me, you need me alive.” Faye crossed her legs, leaning onto her armrest.
A hint of jealousy caressed the edges of her mind, then receded as she gazed past him at his realm. The corner of Rune’s mouth lifted as he combed through her mind. She seemed to hold tighter to the Ra’Voshnik, and the creature purred its contentment.
“I spoke High Tongue first. It has colored the subsequent languages I have learned.”
Her brow pinched faintly as her gaze returned to him. “How many languages do you know?”
“More than a dozen.”
The young mortal narrowed her eyes. “You know more than twelve languages?”
“Understanding what is said around you proves advantageous.”
Faye sighed, leaning into the part of him she named fangs, its affectionate presence soothed her. The information she gleaned about dark courts only solidified her want to avoid them entirely. Learning more than twelve languages, not because they appreciated the culture and lived among its people, but because distrust was engrained so deeply, they could only see the worst in each other. It left a bitter, disappointing taste in her mouth.
She dropped her shoulder, lengthening the exposed strip of her neck while smoothing a lock of hair from the other side. She began braiding it, brushing her fingers over her collar bone as she went.
His gaze shifted to her hands and trailed up her throat, and Faye suppressed a smile. She tilted her head, and his gaze rose to meet hers. Her lips curved into a ghost of a smile as she asked, “Was that part of your formal training? Learn every language.”
