1
Ashe's lip curled as he battled the rage bubbling in his blood, urging him to swat the annoying sprites hovering overhead. They waved their tiny spears at his face and flashed their pointed teeth, but he wasn’t worried about pain. They were merely a nuisance and a reminder of how far he’d fallen.
Still, he didn't dare raise a fist against the bothersome blighters while under his King's watchful eye.
Shayne lounged in his black throne, one leg slung over the side, his lips twisted into a spiteful smirk. “So, what's it gonna be?” he asked.
Ashe bared his teeth in a silent snarl.
How dare Shayne make demands after everything he'd done? King or not, Shayne couldn't force Ashe into a sodding thing.
“Would it hurt you to show me some respect?” Shayne growled before snapping his fingers and dismissing the sprites.
“Yes,” Ashe bit out.
Everything about being in The Court of Dark was painful, from the aroma of fresh food wafting from the nearby kitchen to the King’s presence.
"Look, you hate me. I don't care, but unless you want to spend the rest of your life locked up, you'll do what I need."
Shayne swung his leg around and sat up, wincing as his feet landed on the black marble floor. “Either way it’s no skin off my sack.”
He cracked his knuckles and smirked.
Ashe's pulse sped at the thought of gaining his freedom. "What do you want?"
“I need an agreement first. You swear to do what I ask, or this deal goes away.”
The thought of being Shayne's errand boy stung, but Ashe couldn't bring himself to refuse.
“Fine. Whatever,” he snarled, clenching his hands into fists and imagining the King’s throat in his grasp.
The Grave King rose from his throne, radiating power. “That's not going to be good enough. Not this time. On your knees."
He raised his hand, silver strands of magic crackled from his palm and slithered over Ashe. “Blood to me and mine. Your blood to bleed for me.”
Ashe wanted to refuse the voice thundering through the room. He wanted to tell the King what he could do, and with what sharp object he could do it with, but the single word of assent had condemned Ashe.
Pain slammed into him and stole his breath. He collapsed to his knees. The force of the fall rattled his teeth as his King’s magic bound him, smothering his will.
“Blood for yours and blood for mine. Command me, Lord mine.” Ashe choked on the words.
“Good.” Shayne wasted a grin as he looked down on Ashe. “Find your old friend, Daina. She was taken by The Sunburst Queen.”
Ashe's head jerked up. “I won't hand her over to be executed. Kill me now, if that's your price. My freedom isn't worth it.”
“Always so dramatic. Relax. As much as it pains me to admit this, I need the bitch alive to save The Court of Dark.” Shayne waved a hand, dismissing the glamour masking his silvery skin.
He spread his arms, revealing a torso covered with swollen red wounds, surrounded by black and purple bruises.
A jagged line deep enough to bisect him ran down his midsection. The edges of the wound were raw and ragged as if someone had attempted to sew him together. Worst of all was the star-shaped bullet wound over his heart.
“Must have really fucked up to be in this situation, eh mate?” Ashe mocked as he rose and dusted himself off.
“Yeah, I fucked up. You want your life back? Fix it. Find a way into The Court of Light. Rescue Daina and I'll never bother you again.” With a flick of the wrist, Shayne waved, wasting power to hide his wounds.
Ashe rolled his eyes and straightened his spine. “Getting into their court is going to be nearly impossible.”
“About that. There's a half-blood girl whose loyalty should be flexible enough to meet our needs,” Shayne said as he settled back on his throne and removed a black rectangle from his pocket.
He held it up to show Ashe a small computer where a gray-skinned girl with luminous purple eyes smiled from the screen.
Ashe reached for the device, but Shayne yanked it away.
“You are such a bastard,” Ashe snapped, snatching the computer.
When he looked up from the screen, Shayne raised his eyebrows. “Well, what do you think?
“This could work,” Ashe said, pocketing the device.
“Really?”
Ashe shrugged with a malicious smile. “Finders keepers.”
2
Callie collapsed into her desk chair, exhausted after dealing with two angry females all afternoon.
The five separate branches of demonkyn had vastly different cultures leading to constant clashes. The smallest insult could spiral out of control in seconds.
As a mediator, she was used to handling bizarre situations. However, this was the first time she'd been faced with a violent altercation over a freaking rose bush.
Thank all the gods there hadn’t been any human witnesses.
The kyn did not need any more bad publicity this week, not after the former Bloodkyn Queen managed to escape.
Callie groaned as she looked at the antique clock. Fifteen grueling minutes remained in her workday.
She tapped her keypad, bringing up her schedule. Only June 23, 2116, bounced around the blank screen.
She shot another look at the clock. Screw it.
Her friend’s wedding was less than a week away. Too much planning remained, for Callie to spend a quarter of an hour staring at a blank wall.
She would be meeting Char soon anyway to work on the bachelorette party.
She nodded to herself as she pushed away from her desk. If anyone had an emergency, her contact info was on the door.
She hummed as she logged out of the network and shut down the computer system.
As she put the last file away, the door opened. Dammit.
Callie feigned a smile and lifted her head. Her eyes widened, and the smile turned genuine as she found a pure-blooded deathkyn with icy blue skin framed in the doorway. Inky black hair tumbled down his back, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest.
“Hi.” Callie purred.
“Hello, are you Callasandra Lovel?” the male asked in a rough yet lyrical voice, an accent she couldn’t place lacing the words.
“Yeah, sure.” Sure? She wanted to smack herself. “What can I do for you?” To you? Under you?
“I'm Ashe,” he replied, tilting his head in an oddly cat-like movement.
“You can call me Callie. How can I help you?” She leaned forward and tossed her hair over a shoulder, drawing attention to her cleavage.
“I am the Ashe.” He bowed from the waist, his long hair sweeping the floor.
Callie frowned, not understanding until he looked up and she saw the power glowing behind his cobalt-blue gaze.
Her breath caught as their eyes met.
Magic sizzled through the air, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine.
Callie covered her mouth.
The Sandman of myth - son of the fabled Sleeping Beauty, Rosamond the Cursed - stood in her office.
Callie struggled to breathe past the panic threatening to overwhelm her. She squared her shoulders and pushed it down. She was a professional. She dropped her hand and forced a smile back to her lips. “Please have a seat.”
Ashe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, ignoring the offered chair. It had been decades since he'd last fed off emotions, the wisps of fear floating to him were tantalizing.