All the Sacrifice of Shadows (Starstorm #2)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

D rake remained in the darkness, ever vigilant.

He didn’t leave Creslyn’s room right away, choosing instead to melt into the shadows as she slept. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way she flung one arm out across the bed as though reaching for something just out of her grasp. She was an interesting creature when she slumbered—sometimes peaceful, sometimes fitful. Every so often she made these soft little noises, like a sigh of contentment. In some strange way, it was comforting to see her at ease, so Drake stayed in her room long after she went to bed, the same thing he’d done every night since he brought her to his castle.

For him, sleep was a useless endeavor. He had no need for it and even if he did, he refused to do so. Not while Creslyn was constantly in a state of danger. He preferred to ensure she remained safe and protected, even if that meant rarely leaving her side.

Though most of the time he never made his presence known to her.

She wasn’t aware of the guards stationed along the entire perimeter of her wing, more specifically, dragon riders who were loyal to him and not their bastard king. She didn’t know the servants reported to him hourly, any time he was forced to leave her general vicinity. He’d taken every precaution necessary, but he was not a fool.

Drake knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her locked in this wing forever.

Eventually, Creslyn would become his princess, and then his queen. She would have to be introduced to Brackroth, welcomed and accepted. His main concern was the men that would undoubtedly leer at her with lascivious eyes and the waspish women who wielded words like daggers. But he had no problem cutting out the tongue of anyone who spoke ill of her.

Despite his better judgment, he’d granted Creslyn a boon.

He would allow her a shred of freedom to move about the castle, but only if she had an escort. Doing so meant entrusting her care to his general, Kjeld Holtstrom. Granted, Kjeld would much prefer to be training his soldiers and dragons than babysitting a faerie. But Kjeld was the only person Drake trusted with his life.

A breath shuddered out of Creslyn, and Drake’s gaze was instantly drawn back to her.

She rolled over, revealing a sliver of her smooth backside.

Without warning, his mind drifted to images of her naked body when he’d had her pinned to the bed. It was the first time he’d seen her fully nude. He’d caught glimpses before and while his morals were often lacking, he’d had the decency to look away. But tonight, she’d disrobed in front of him… with purpose . He’d been overwhelmed by her, desperate for her. She possessed shoulders capable of a careless dismissal, a narrow waist and hips that swayed when she walked. Her long legs were positively flawless, and he knew without a doubt that her breasts would fit perfectly in his hands.

She was all lush curves and satin skin, and he wanted to worship every inch of her.

Whereas the touch of winter seemed to emanate from him, she was the kiss of summer’s breath. Warm and inviting.

And when she’d leapt upon him, straddling him, it had taken the entirety of his self-control not to bury himself inside her right then.

Drake’s cock thickened, and he swallowed a groan.

He wanted to ruin her. Shatter her.

He longed to see those sapphire eyes of hers glaze with lust, to witness her full lips part as she cried out his name over and over. Then maybe, if she was good, he’d kiss each one of the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks like constellations.

His shadows unfurled, straining for her, but he kept them in check.

All in good time.

Yet his desire for her did not subside.

Damn it.

He couldn’t very well find release while Creslyn was sleeping in her bed, barely a breath away. Knowing the sun would be up in less than an hour’s time, he retreated to his private quarters, moving like a wraith through the darkened corridors.

Once inside his room, he removed his clothing and strode into the bathing suite. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d stood within the black opal enclosure beneath a spray of icy water and gripped his cock with an image of her in his mind. He’d wanted to fuck her from the moment he first saw her. It had only been some kind of terrible omen that her brother, Ariesian Starstorm, chose her to be his bride.

Drake stepped into the glittering stall, pulling the glass door closed behind him. Frozen beads of water pounded his shoulders and back, but he didn’t care. He’d lost the ability to feel much of anything long ago. For him, there was only pleasure and death. Nothing else.

Already his erection ached with anticipation.

Today would be no different.

Leaning against the shimmering black wall, he jerked his hand up and down the hardened length of his shaft, watching as shadows flared and coiled around his cock, pulsing and squeezing. A twisted smile curved at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t wait to see Creslyn’s face when she saw him—all of him—when she realized she was not marrying a man, but a monster forged from the darkness. He closed his eyes, imagined himself spearing her into oblivion as she unraveled around him.

Drake came hard and fast on a groan, gradually opening his eyes. He let his head fall back against the shower wall, then reached over and adjusted the handle so the hot water sluiced over his battered body. It soothed his numerous scars yet did little to ease the growing knot of tension forming at the base of his neck.

The king had requested his presence at first light, which meant it was time to pay Marius a visit.

Drake stalked toward the throne room with purpose, his boots echoing loudly. Generally, he might be stealthy and discreet, but this time, he wanted to instill fear into the soul of every curious servant and insolent noble he passed. If they thought him to be furious, they would be more inclined to stay the hell out of his way and less likely to eavesdrop.

Listening in on royal conversations was a crime in Brackroth, but that didn’t sway anyone from dispensing rumors.

He shoved open the doors to the throne room with excessive force, so the ancient wood rattled on its hinges and the courtiers milling about the opulent space scattered like rats. They darted behind pillars of mirrored obsidian, their panicked gazes reflecting in the polished surface. He could hear the erratic beating of their terrified hearts, the noise sounded like a beating drum, reverberating up into the cavernous ceiling where oak beams stretched overhead. A few of the courtiers rushed to either side of the throne room, choosing instead to cower by the murky windows, where deep red curtains fell to the ground like a waterfall of blood.

Sitting upon a throne of silver crafted to look like crawling vines decorated with thorns was King Marius Kalstrand.

Over the years, he’d lost his hair, and his silver crown embellished with garnets was set atop his bald head. Half of his long, white beard had been braided, the rest of it hung loose in coarse, scraggly strands. Beady eyes were set beneath bushy dark brows streaked with silver. His nose was crooked from having been broken one too many times, and his lower jaw jutted outward so that he always looked like a snarling beast. He was a rotund man with gnarled knuckles, and his temper was shorter than his lacking stature.

Drake strolled toward the throne, adjusted the cuffs of his black leather armor, and the spiked chains dangling from his shoulders softly clinked together.

He stopped a few feet from the raised dais and tucked his hands behind his back.

The hushed silence was almost deafening, save for the patter of rain against the windows and the low howl of the wind.

Drake inclined his head. “You wished to see me?”

Marius stroked one hand down his beard, but Drake didn’t miss the way his mangled knuckles whitened with barely contained rage. “I hear you brought a fucking fae into my castle.”

“She is not a fucking fae.” Drake’s hands coiled into fists behind his back and his gaze sharpened on the king. “She is Lady Creslyn Starstorm of House Celestine, and she will soon be my wife.”

Marius’s mottled cheeks flushed with anger, and he sat forward, damn near ready to combust. “You really intend to take a faerie as your future bride?”

“I told you my intentions when I left for Aeramere, a land ruled by a fae queen, where all five noble houses are dominated by fae bloodlines.” Drake dipped his head, and a few pieces of dark hair tumbled into his face. He looked up at the king from beneath a narrowed brow. “I’m not sure I could have been any more clear on the matter.”

“I won’t allow it!” Marius boomed, rising from his throne. He shook one knobby finger in the air. “Fae are wretched creatures. They’re filthy. Violent and ruthless.”

Drake scoffed. “Not this one.”

“She must’ve spelled you, then.” Marius paced the dais, his large stomach jiggling with each uneven step of his gait. Then he turned and pointed to Drake in accusation. “She lured you into her snares with her overly sexual nature.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“She’s using you,” he continued, shaking his head. “She’s charmed you into thinking she’s harmless. The witch did the same to me.” Marius’s wild eyes darted back and forth, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, a testament to the instability of his mind. “She’ll worm her way into your bed, then distort your mind until you’re promising her a crown and your kingdom.”

Already done , Drake mused silently. “Hardly.”

Marius hobbled down the obsidian steps of the dais. “The moment you let your guard down, she’ll kill you.”

Drake offered the barest of smiles. “Nothing can kill me.”

“Damn you!” he raged, his large body trembling with madness. With his own paranoia and fear. “This faerie will be a pestilence. A disease. A blight upon the entirety of Brackroth!”

Drake spoke in low, clipped words. “Her name…is Creslyn.”

“I don’t give a dragon’s left eye what her name is, do you hear me?” Marius ambled forward, stabbing his fucking finger into Drake’s chest. “You will keep her, and her foul, tainted magic, under control. If I so much as catch a glimpse of her power, if she so much as dares to use her godsforsaken magic within these walls, I will erase her very existence.”

Drake caught the king’s wrist, squeezed until the frail bones nearly snapped. “Are you threatening my wife?”

Marius’s tiny eyes bulged, but his mouth contorted into a sneer. “She is not your wife.”

“ Yet ,” Drake growled, furious that he’d had to repeat the same words to both this wretch of a man and to Creslyn. He would need to remedy that. Quickly.

He tossed the king’s arm aside. “Might I remind you of what I am, of what I’m capable of doing?”

His shadows appeared then. But this was not a quiet summons. No, the tendrils of sinewy darkness exploded from him, absorbing every fiber of the light, drowning out all sound. They crawled and seethed like heathens of his own making.

Marius paled, but then a slow smile stretched across his face. His lips peeled back, revealing uneven, yellowed teeth. “And might I remind you, Shadowblade Assassin, that I’m the one who hands you the names of those you’re forced to kill.”

Drake didn’t flinch, he didn’t even blink. But the king’s words tarnished his already blackened soul. It was the one thread of control Marius held over him. It had been a mistake to give the king ten vials of his own blood in exchange for the Shadowblade. Whenever the king handed him a name in red ink, Drake was compelled to assassinate the person selected on Marius’s behalf. In the beginning, he’d delighted in the bloodlust. But now, each kill was becoming more senseless, as though Marius wanted him to end lives for the sheer and brutal joy of it.

“Keep her in line,” Marius warned, “or it will be her name I hand to you next. Creslyn, was it?”

“If you touch a single hair on her head, I will find a way to end your life. Slowly.” Drake would’ve killed the prick already if it wasn’t for one vicious little detail.

If Marius died by Drake’s hand, then Drake would die as well, a regrettable oath he’d taken upon accepting the Shadowblade.

The king chuckled, his sinister laugh grating like dragging rocks against glass. “You think you can threaten me?”

“That is not a threat.” Drake inclined his head, checking his own wrath. “It’s a promise.”

He turned on his heel, heading back for the doors of the throne room that were still thrown open. Then he paused, glancing over, ensuring the cruelty of his gaze met that of the king. “And I always stay true to my word.”

He strode out into the hall, his fury seething, when a scrawny servant handed him a folded piece of parchment sealed in wax with the king’s crest.

Drake ripped it open.

Inside was a single name, scripted in his own blood.

His next kill.

The fucking bastard.