Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,61
up with her.
The dance she chose was not one he knew, but it was a formal affair. That much was clear.
She was drawing on her roots, he realized. This was something she’d learned if not in N’skara, then from its people.
“She is an unfitting match because she is a dark Maji—one that doesn’t just accept the darkness. She embraces it … it becomes her.” Lazarus took a swig of the ale and then proceeded to drain the goblet. Tonight, the dark whispers were worse than usual, and he turned to his vices to chase them away.
“Fortunately for you, Lazarus,” Thorne said, tossing a few berries in his mouth while he openly watched Quinn, “that is the case. Quinn’s a beautiful woman with a lot of fire. She would do well here in the mountains where she would be free.” Lazarus tensed. “But I think her heart would always yearn for another, one that could understand her. To hold such power, and so dark …” Thorne shook his head. “It is a gift, but also a curse.”
Lazarus downed another goblet of ale, but the more he drank the louder the whispers became. He eased back into the wooden chair, watching the tantalizing twists and turns of her body. He wondered if she noticed the way they watched her.
Knowing her, she probably did and reveled in every second.
The very thought infuriated him. He pushed the chair away and got to his feet, ignoring the whispers as best he could as they followed him, prodding at his mind and his soul for a weak point. They became louder and louder, chasing him from where he stood, until he wasn’t sure if it was the whispers at all, but rather a voice that was very real.
He came to a stop and his mind cleared.
When the sounds died out he was looking down at Quinn. The music still beat, but she wasn’t moving. The other’s danced around them, pretending not to notice. Not to see. But not her.
No, she simply smiled, and it was wicked.
Playing with Fire
“Playing with fire doesn’t mean you’ll get burned. Those that understand the flame understand that it cannot help what it is—and take heed.”
— Quinn Darkova, former slave, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister
Lazarus stood from the table with such a sharpness that it drew several eyes. He had barreled towards her from the long wooden structure, moving fast yet stumbling, only to come to a stop and stare like a drunken fool. At her. After all the lies and tricks, she wasn’t in the mood. Not even a little bit.
“Do you need something, Master Fierté? Or should I call you Prince”—she said scathingly—“since you’re to be a king?” The titles fell from her mouth one after another without regard. He hadn’t given her any thought when he lied, she saw it fit to return the favor.
“Quinn, this isn’t the place—”
“You’re right, it’s not. I’m enjoying a dance right now, making friends, playing nice, behaving—just as you wanted me to.” She turned to resume dancing with Vaughn, ignoring Lazarus entirely. She should have known that wouldn’t do. Lazarus was not a man that took to being ignored well.
Calloused fingers grabbed her wrist, pulling her to a stop. Vaughn stood a few feet to the side, frowning between the two of them but not daring to interfere.
The breath hissed between Quinn’s teeth. The spirits she’d consumed writhing as they wreaked havoc through her completely intolerant system. Strands of fear rose up as she called them to her and shot them down her arm to where Lazarus held firm.
He loved pushing and pulling her as he pleased. Maybe it was time for him to see why fear twisters earned their name.
The inky tendrils crept from her bare skin to his, coasting up his hand, wrist, and forearm before wrapping tightly. Where he should have shuddered and bucked, dropping to his knees before her as an empty vessel … he stood.
Slowly, Quinn turned to look at the man who somehow withstood her.
Murky, depthless eyes stared back. She kept pumping fear into him, watching as his own bodily response only marginally changed. Far less responsive than any man, woman, or child had ever been. He shifted on his feet, his eyes brandishing unshed darkness.
“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Lazarus growled. Quinn’s eyebrows came up as she slowly turned her front fully to face him once more. There was something in his expression. Something she’d only seen the makings of once before.