Web of Lies: Trueborn Heirs Series Book 2 Read online

  Of course, she would never accept him as a real partner. No use in harboring any illusion there. He was a forfeit and the rules of his caste forbade him to pursue any such venture. He could never be with her in the way that she could be with any other man, could never give her what she truly deserved in a relationship. What he had told Blayde on the balcony of his hotel had been nothing but the truth: he wasn’t good for any kind of woman. And if he was any less selfish he wouldn’t even consider asking her to put up with what little he could offer.

  But damn it, he wanted her. He desired her so much that every time he closed his eyes, her face appeared before him, those wicked blue eyes flashing at him from the susceptible dark, daring, taunting, teasing him.

  They couldn’t be real partners, but lovers? Yes, that would be possible. If she wanted him. He still wasn’t sure where they stood after the night in Blayde’s hotel, but he knew this: if she accepted him, he would take her in any way she would have him. Even if it was just for a short time.

  Something tugged at Darken—a subtle force, almost like a magnetic pull that wrapped around him, demanding his attention.

  He followed its call and turned.

  The ground shifted beneath him. He blinked, trying to align memory and reality.

  She was standing a couple of feet down the hall, wrapped in a violet dressing gown over pale pajamas that were a tad too short for her—they probably belonged to Edalyne, Stephane’s wife—and she looked as perfect as a young winter morning covered in freshly fallen snow, still untouched by the world and its creatures. Breathtaking. Dazzling. So beautiful it almost hurt.

  Want!

  Magic flared inside Darken’s veins, washing through him with possessive heat, a burning river of feelings from shaking relief to mind-tearing desire that left him breathless and painfully aroused.

  He wanted to bridge the distance between them and pull her to him. He wanted to run his hands over her body, just to make sure that she was real, that she was as whole and safe as she appeared to be. He wanted to hold her just for the sake of holding her, to savor the feel of her skin against his skin, to breathe in her feminine scent, both sweet and crazy, and designed to make him lose his head.

  He wanted to tell her everything that had gone through his mind when he had held her broken body in his arms. Every secret thought he had turned over and over in the long hours of the night, chipping away at his sanity.

  But his throat went tight with emotion and, instead, what he said when he finally found his voice was, “You’re up.”

  Alex arched a slim eyebrow at him. “Fair observation, Captain Obvious.”

  Darken cursed inwardly. Very articulate, old son. You can do better than that!

  When she took another step towards him, she was caught by the sun rays falling through the window behind him, and Darken forgot whatever it was he had wanted to say. He raised a hand, mesmerized.

  “Your hair, it’s—” White wasn’t quite accurate. More a pale, silvery shade of blond, like threads of snow touched by the morning sun.

  Alex’s hand reached up automatically and a lovely blush colored her pale cheeks, while she curled a silky strand around her finger.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s a bit … intense.” She looked to the side. “That’s its natural color. It does get a little darker over time, but I usually dye it a more common shade first. You know,” she waved a hand and shrugged, “sticks out too much.”

  It suited her, Darken decided. It made the blue shade of her eyes that much more intense. When he gazed into them he felt as if he were standing in the middle of a wintry forest, testing the icy surface of a frozen lake. And if he wasn’t careful, he would fall through the ice and slash his neck on the shards. But, ah … what a sweet risk worth taking.

  Alex’s hand dropped back to her side. “What happened? I’m afraid my recollection is a bit … fuzzy. Mind filling me in on the details? I do remember the attack.” A soft snarl entered her voice. “And that phony weasel of a courier …”

  Oh yes, cold and sharp as ice.

  Darken told her in broad strokes what had happened from his perspective. “When I reached you, you had almost bled out.” The memory produced an echo of fear that made his deep voice husky. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to aim for a neutral tone. Alex was still recovering from death wounds. This was hardly the right time to overwhelm her with his emotional upheaval.

  “I brought you back to the border. You—you said you could molt.” And if that hadn’t been possible … No. She was here. She was alive.

  “Maxwell teleported us to Helton Manor”—he indicated the hallway and everything beyond—“and Josepha helped you through the molting process.”

  Alex’s eyes widened. “Is she alright?”

  So the spider knew about the cost of healing? Interesting.

  “She is fine,” Darken said, not without a short hesitation, trying to banish the image of Josepha’s rigid, pallid face from his mind.

  “She is resting. Although”—he checked his horanium iactari—“considering the hour, she and Maxwell might be indulging in a rich breakfast right now.”

  It was almost nine. Great Mother, when had all the time passed?

  When he raised his head again, Alex was standing a mere two feet away from him, her eyes fixed on his face.

  “You came for me,” she whispered. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  The urge to touch her became almost unbearable but in her eyes, Darken read the same skittish uncertainty he’d seen the morning after they had made love and it made him hesitant. He didn’t want to ruin the silky threads of trust that had built between them. If he scared her away now, he might not get another chance. It took all his will but he managed to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Yes,” he said carefully, “I came.”

  Her eyes continued to search his face. After a moment the corners of her mouth drooped ever so slightly and he thought he saw a hint of sadness but it was gone before he could say for certain.

  She looked away. “The men at the border—what happened to them?”

  It seemed an abrupt change of topic.

  Darken felt a delicious shiver of liquid fire travel through his veins. All he needed was to recall her mutilated body and there was no hint of regret inside his heart.

  “I killed them.”

  “All of them?” Alex asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  Grim satisfaction filled her eyes. She hooked a pale blond strand behind one ear. “Ah well. Such a pity I don’t feel up to attending their funeral.”

  “Oh, there won’t be a funeral,” Darken purred, knowing his eyes were glowing with an unforgiving fire.

  Alex stiffened. Frowned. “Why not?”

  Darken smiled his cold, brutal smile. A forfeit’s smile. “Because there is not enough left of them to bury.”

  He’d expected her to be shocked, maybe even frightened or at least appalled by the dark truth he was revealing about himself with these words. Instead, her lips curved into a sharp, malicious smile that mirrored his own. She leaned forward and sweet venom filled her voice. “Did they suffer?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “yes, they did.”

  “Good.” Her voice was soft. “Very good.”

  He’d never seen her so merciless. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  Hot, fierce longing burned through him, unfurling in his loins until he thought he would burst from desire.

  Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace, how he wanted this woman!

  In his mind, he stepped over and crushed her to him, their lips met in an explosion of fire that expanded between them and consumed them. He let his hands explore her perfect silky skin, every caress sending a pleasant shiver down her limbs. In his head, she was as eager as he was, her touch moon-cool compared to the burning heat inside him.

  He wanted her so much it was tearing him apart.

  But he had to do this the right way.

  Clea
r fronts. The last thing he wanted was for her to get involved with him out of some sense of obligation—because he had saved her life or because she had accommodated him before. If they were to take this on, it would be because they both wanted to. No pressure and no demands. No need to repay anything. Just two adults making a free, conscious choice. And if she turned him down, he would have to accept it, too, no matter how much it hurt him to see her walk away.

  Darken stepped back and took a deep breath. “About the other night—”

  The rumble of quick steps on stairs interrupted him. Darken spun toward the staircase with a snarl.

  A second later a frizzy head appeared over the banister. The wide brown eyes of one of the younger servants took in the sight of him and Alex. “S-sir?”

  “What?” Darken snapped, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  The young man recoiled and almost tumbled back down the stairs. His russet face paled, lips opening and closing as if he were a fish on land.

  Darken swore silently and forced his face into a more placid mask, trying to soften his tone. “Yes?”

  It took the servant—Karim—a moment to get his voice under control. “A c-call, s-sir. In the private study.” A tiny waver. Then: “It’s your brother.”

  And he had to call right now, didn’t he? Could his timing possibly have been any worse?

  Darken gritted his teeth. “Tell him, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Karim’s fingers squeezed the front of his white livery shirt, eyes huge. “He—he sounded like it was urgent, s-sir.”

  Which was probably putting it mildly. If his brother wasn’t one thing, it was patient.

  Darken closed his eyes for a second and let out a breath.

  “Alright. I’m coming.”

  The relief Karim emanated was almost palpable. He bowed his head and retreated a couple of steps.

  With an apology on his lips, Darken turned back to Alex, but when he did, the hallway was empty. No sign of Alex, except for a whiff of her delicious scent still lingering in the air.

  The wordless rejection was like a blow to his heart. Darken staggered against the wall and pressed his fists against it, head bowed, feeling hot and raw. She didn’t want him.

  The metal scent of blood suddenly perfused the hallway. Bewildered, Darken stared at the blood pooling in his palms, where his nails had cut his skin, numb to the pain that was nothing compared to what he felt inside.

  “S-sir?” Karim’s feeble voice was barely audible, quivering with ill-concealed fear. “Your—your brother is still waiting.”

  Swallowing the bitter taste of the rejection, Darken arranged his features into the cold, emotionless mask he always wore among the trueborn elite, needing it more than ever. As he straightened up and stepped away from the wall, his face betrayed nothing of the emotions raving inside him.

  “I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A SOFT breeze ruffled the dove blue curtains, gently swinging them back and forth, and carrying the spicy scents of pine and myrtle.

  Alex sat on her bed, with her back against the wooden headboard and her arms wrapped around her knees, the back of her head resting against the smooth wood.

  Sweet Jester, just how could I have been such a fool?

  She felt so stupid, it almost hurt more than the needle-sharp ache in her entire skin. To assume that Darken could have felt … that he actually could have contemplated …

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Alex pressed her forehead against her knees and winced when the movement painfully stretched her tight skin.

  What had she been thinking? In the real world, trueborn royals didn’t fall for ill-mannered, loud-mouthed shaper mongrels.

  Of course, she knew that she wasn’t his equal. Never would be. But somehow she’d cherished the illusion that he, who because of his caste stood apart from society in ways she understood only too well, would be able to overlook these differences. Somehow she’d thought he wouldn’t care—ignoring all the obvious signs to the contrary. And look where it had gotten her! Hadn’t she sworn to herself she would never let this happen to her again?

  Well, Darken had made it pretty clear, that this was a door that would forever remain closed. Just how he had started it: About the other night …

  Yes, yes, she knew the speech. In fact, she had delivered it more than a few times herself. Next would be “you’re a nice girl but …” Yeah, well, no thanks, she didn’t need him to spell it out for her.

  Oh, he had enjoyed what they had shared—she was pretty sure of that—and if she gave the right signals he would probably take her for another walk on the wild side. She’d seen it in his eyes in the hallway, that same wild, enticing mix of sexual hunger and barely restrained desire that whispered over her sensitive skin in delicious shivers and made her knees go weak.

  And yesterday she wouldn’t have hesitated a second to take him up on that offer.

  But last night she had almost died and that tended to put things into perspective for you. And now she didn’t want just sex. For once, she wanted more than just a few stolen moments of bliss and a quick blown kiss for goodbye. She wanted more than … She wanted more. Period!

  It was true, for a shaper nothing good was ever meant to last, experience had taught her that lesson, but that didn’t change the fact that some hidden sentimental part deep inside her still longed for it with all her bruised, callused little heart. Mitja had been right. She was too young to give up on all of her dreams just yet. She would find a way to some sort of a happy life. Somehow she would. It would just have to be without Darken Dubois-Léclaire.

  A polite knock on the door pulled her back into the present. Alex raised her head and gave the door a wary look. There was no way for her to tell who was standing behind it, not without access to her sensory threads. But if it was Darken …

  Well, if it was Darken, come to finish off their little “talk,” she would face him with as much dignity as she had left. She had already debased herself enough as it was. The last thing she wanted was to appear whiny or needy. No sir!

  Clenching her teeth, Alex pulled herself upright, angrily wiped at her eyes and brushed the tangled mess of her hair out of her face. She would have to face him sooner or later. May as well get it over with now.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to the door. Great Mother, she so wasn’t ready for this.

  “Yes?”

  The door silently swung open, revealing a tall, sturdy-looking man in a short black suit jacket with tiny silver buttons over a pristine white shirt, dark gray vest, and matching dressing pants—who definitely wasn’t Darken. He looked to be in his seventies at the very least. His thinning salt-and-pepper hair had been carefully parted and slicked across his balding head. His posture was stately and erect, without any trace of arrogance, projecting the kind of quiet authority people only gain with age.

  The old man bowed his head. “Lady.”

  Alex stared at him.

  “Allow me, Hector Winchestor, milady, butler of the Dubois family.”

  She kept staring at him.

  He politely cleared his throat. “I believe this—ehm … item—belongs to you?”

  He held up a shabby thing of unidentifiable color and shape that couldn’t possibly—

  My backpack! The Blind Child’s freaking eyes, it had survived!

  “Also, it was brought to my attention that the lady arrived without her wardrobe, so I took the liberty of compiling a selection from the house’s repository.” With a grace that belied his age, the old man stepped forward and put a basket with a stack of perfectly folded clothes onto the floor in front of the bed. It made her realize that the new clothes she’d bought with Josy just the day before had been torn to shreds—again! Seriously, her clothes currently had a shelf life of less than twenty-four hours.

  “I do hope that there is something of acceptable size to your liking, but if not, please feel free to ask for whatever you need.” The butler took a step back and interlink
ed his fingers in front of his chest, looking hesitant. “The usual procedure in case of a guest’s residency would be to clean and air the room and have the maids change the sheets, but … considering your … ehm … particular circumstances, I was resistant to give the order …”

  Alex tried not to flinch. Of course. The maids probably didn’t want to go anywhere near the things she’d touched. Might be contagious or something. The old ache gnawed at her soul with its serrated teeth.

  “The bathroom should be equipped with all the usual necessities, but … if there are any … special arrangements …” A thoughtful frown furrowed the elder man’s brow and he spread his fingers. “I must admit to a distinct lack of experience when it comes to …” His eyes wandered over to the chair, not quite glancing at her shed skin.

  It took Alex a moment to take in the meaning of his words. Her jaw almost dropped to the floor. Sweet Jester, he wasn’t trying to indicate that a dirty shaper wasn’t worth the household's efforts. He was actually trying to be considerate of her needs. Now, that was a first. And it certainly wasn’t something she knew how to deal with.

  Say something, already!

  “Uhm … thanks, sugar, but that’s fine.” After the first words were out, it became a little easier to speak. “Please, don’t make a fuss on my behalf. I can very well sleep in the same sheets for two nights in a row.” If I stay that long, anyway.

  She glanced at her shed skin and grimaced. “You should burn the skin, though. In a day or two, it will be completely hardened out and then it will be almost impossible to destroy.”

  The butler nodded gravely. “I’ll advise his lordship accordingly. If there is anything else I can help you with, please, do not hesitate to ask. Otherwise, I will leave the lady to her own devices.” With that the butler started to retreat but, again, paused at the doorway. “I suppose you are hungry, miss?”

  Now that he mentioned it … “In fact, I could eat a bloody horse!”