A Game of Hearts and Heists: A Steamy Lesbian Fantasy Romance (Girl Games Book 1)

Scarlett waltzes around, pretending to be heartless. I mean, truly; the girl is a vicious killer when it comes to assassination. And yet, she lends me her jacket, lets me steal her body heat… and my gods, she was so warm she felt like fleece blankets and curling up in front of an open wooded fire. She felt like warmth on the coldest days and that… that is very confusing. She acts like she wants to hurt me, but I’m not sure she does anymore. And if she doesn’t. Where does that leave us? I don’t know how to be around Scarlett if we’re not fighting and fucking.

The way she looked at me when I wore her jacket. It was… I don’t even know. And what about the carriage? The speed in which she reacted. If she hated me that much, she should have let me fly out of the car and hit the windshield. I’d have been dead in seconds and she could have been rid of me. But she stopped me. She protected me, and that is…

Confusing.

The more I think about our past, the more confused I get. My fingers skim up to my shoulder, to the inch long scar she gave me when she stabbed me last year. It was payback for poisoning her at one of Roman’s parties. I dropped the most pungent dust into her drink. She would have been puking and shitting for days.

But the night she stabbed me, she’d gone on a job. It was dangerous too, from what I made out. She knew the legacy family she was there to slaughter. I followed her into the castle. Work had quieted that week. I needed to check whether she was doing something to win back the clients I’d charmed or if it was a slow week.

I watched her loop a rope around a ceiling rafter and haul fourteen stone of man up to hang. Watched as she revelled in the pleasure of her victim’s death. Gods, she loves her job. There’s a moment when her victim’s life evaporates and Scarlett’s eyes are wide, her mouth opens, and all the tension loosens from her body. It’s sheer pleasure. When he was good and dead, I clapped from the doorway. Her face flushed. Rage pooled in those cold eyes. She could have killed me then, too. But she didn’t. She had to finish the job, for one, but I wonder if she enjoys the game too much. She pinned me against the wall, finger fucked me until my legs quivered, and then pinned me to the wall with a one inch wide blade straight through my trapezius. Fuck, it hurt, but it was only a surface wound and it healed in a couple of weeks.

And that’s the thing with us, I realise now. A lot of threats, a lot of foreplay. But any time I’ve been in danger, she’s protected me.

And I’m not really sure what that means.

I pull myself out of my thoughts and ask, “Where are we going now?”

There’s only one seat left in the carriage. Surely we can’t have many more stops.

I’m sat next to Scarlett, seat belt on this time.

“To the hardest sell of the evening,” Scarlett says, staring out the window. I notice she’s not looked at me since we got in the carriage. As if she’s actively avoiding looking at me.

“Oh? Why is it going to be a hard sell?” I ask.

Stirling folds her arms. “Because I fucked up.”

“You… I don’t understand.”

Jacob laughs in the corner.

“You’re kidding me? We’re recruiting Morrigan?” Remy asks.

“Unfortunately,” Stirling says.

At this, Remy snuffles out a stifled laugh. “Morrigan is her ex-girlfriend. And things… Well… Let’s just say their breakup is legendary in our circles.”

“Legendary? What happened?” I ask.

“And that is where I’m out. That’s not a story I’m going to tell. That’s all Stirling.”

But Stirling stays quiet in the front and no one else offers anything. I wait, watching the scenery change from the leafy trees and forests of the suburbs to the narrow streets and finally the cobbled stones of New Imperium. Another twenty minutes later and we’re through the city centre and heading towards an area I’m unfamiliar with. Instead of tight clusters of flats and newer buildings mixed with mansions, there’s row after row of castles and mansions, each one bigger than the last. Finally, they grow further apart until the driver slows to a halt.

He turns over his shoulder and says, “Get out. One hour. I’ll be back. Got another drop.”

We stumble out of the carriage, and the driver leaves.

“You alright?” Scarlett asks Stirling and squeezes her shoulder.

Stirling takes a large breath and sighs it out. “No. But I don’t know another Collector who would do this, do you?”

Scarlett shakes her head. “Not one with connections to the Borderlands. I’m pretty sure she’s the only Collector I know that actually has Old Palace magic.”

“Exactly. What choice do I have?” Stirling asks.

Scarlett sighs. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Stirling rubs her forehead. “Erm. I was thinking I’d start with sorry.”

Remy coughs. I glance up at her and her lips are twitching like she’s holding in a smile. “I, erm… I think I saw a food stop half a kilometre up the road, Jacob. You with me?”

“One hundred percent. I don’t think I want to witness this bike crash.”

Stirling glares at him. “Get fucked. For that, you can bring me a burger and fries and a drink. I’ll take whatever they have, and if it’s got alcohol in it, even better.” She pops a gum in and chews furiously.

Jacob, grinning, looks at me and Scarlett. We both nod in agreement.

“Same, hold the booze though,” I say.

Remy and Jacob leave, and Stirling marches forward towards the mansion. This one is huge. Its brickwork is more ochre than sandstone, and there are acres and acres of fields surrounding the house. It has two giant circular turrets on either end of the building, and in the middle of the central building, a large arched door. It feels familiar, but I can’t place why I know it.

When I glance into the fields, I notice dozens of horses. We’re at a stables? I confirm my thought as we approach the house and I realise that behind the main building is an enormous set of wooden units.

“Does everyone like horses?” Stirling asks.

“Yeah, beautiful animals, very regal. I’d love to ride more. I learnt a bit as a kid, but most of the horses in the Borderlands didn’t survive The Tearing.”

“As long as you like them, the house will let us in. This mansion is renowned for horse magic. Breeding, breaking, training, blacksmithing, incredible leather work too, I recall.”

“Oh my gods, is this where they hold the realm-jumping trials every year?” I gasp.

“Yes, have you ever watched them?” Stirling asks.

“Not in person, but I’ve always wanted to.” I realise now why the mansion is familiar. I used to watch the trials as a kid when I was still having riding lessons.

Scarlett reaches the door first and holds her hand up to knock.

“Are you ready?” she says to Stirling.

“To see the love of my life that I abandoned because I’m a complete fucktard? Absolutely not.”

Love of her life? Oh, this is going to be messy.

“Close enough.” Scarlett shrugs and pounds her fist on the door.

It takes a painfully long amount of time for it to open. At first, I wonder whether the mansion is going to let us in. Perhaps it doesn’t like strangers. But finally, as the frosty night temperatures eat at my bones and the shivers set into my legs, a rather short man wearing a butler’s uniform opens the door.

“Yes?” he says.

Stirling fidgets, “I’m here to see… umm. I’m led to believe Morrigan Lee is in residence tonight?”

The butler nods. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Alas not. But if you tell her I am here, she’ll allow us to be seen.”

Really? From everything I’ve heard, Stirling is probably the last person Morrigan wants to see.

“And you are…?”

Stirling scratches her neck, glances at her sister and then says, “Scarlett. I’m Scarlett Grey.”

Scarlett stifles a laugh and rubs her arm over her mouth as she tries not to let it out. The butler scowls at Scarlett, who raises her hands at him.

“I ate pecans before getting here. Sorry, caught in my throat.”

The butler presses his lips into a flat line but pulls the door open. As we enter, the familiar press of magic slides over my skin. The pressure bringing with it a hint of manure and hay and the rich earthy smell of horses and leather. And then I’m through the door and the smell evaporates.

The foyer is huge. The floor checked in those typical black and white diamonds all legacy mansions have. To the left of us is what I can only assume is the kitchen, the smells of roasting chicken and boiling vegetables and garlic drifting into the foyer. The butler leads us through the entrance and down a long corridor. We pass a wide, red-carpeted staircase that twists up and disappears into the upper floor. The house bustles with staff, people carrying leather saddles, helmets and other paraphernalia. There seem to be two different uniforms. One, similar to what the butler is wearing, a navy-coloured suit and white shirt, which I assume are all the house staff. And then another set of staff wearing beige jodhpurs, knee-high boots and a navy jacket to match the house staff. These must be the staff working directly with the horses.

Finally, the butler stops outside a lounge-like room. Its windows face the stables outside. In the room are plush Chesterfield sofas, and oil paintings dot the walls filled with regal horses and even more regal owners sitting proudly atop.

Ornate chandeliers hang from the tall ceilings and in the heart of the seating area is a woman leaning over an arm chair tattooing a Collection onto a girl. Next to her are three enormous piles of books. In fact, there are books on the floor and arms of the woman’s chair too.

The woman grips the Collection gun, her jet black hair and blunted fringe hang in front of her focused gaze. The needles in the gun vibrate against the skin of a girl, punching in and out of her skin. All around the pair are threads of pearlescent magic stretching from the walls and floor and into the gun and, subsequently, into the girl in the chair being collected by the mansion.

“Oh, cute. We’re at a Collection rite. Congratulations,” I say, bouncing on my feet. I love moments like this, the moment a new power surges through your body for the first time, the connection you have to a place. The feelings of home, knowing that in this place, the people here are part of your family.

“Indeed,” the butler says. “Loren is one of ten being inducted this evening, but she’s going first as she came top of the apprenticeship class.”

“That’s wonderful,” I say. “Congratulations again.”

Loren, while looking relaxed leaning back in the armchair, has a line of sweat beading on her forehead. She tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. And trust me, I get it. Every one of these Collection tattoos is fucking painful. I mean, you’re literally being bonded to the mansion and having a dozen needles stab into your skin with power simultaneously surging through your body. It’s glorious and horrendous all at once.

The girl, who I assume is Morrigan, is yet to look up. She pushes her fringe out of her way and that’s when I notice how many tattoos she has.

Holy mother of gods and magicians. No wonder Stirling and Scarlett want her on the team. I think she’s the most collected magician I’ve ever seen. The tattoos start on her hands and crawl up her sleeves. They’re on her neck, even one on her ear. She must be insanely powerful.

The longer Morrigan doesn’t look up, the more Stirling shifts on the spot beside me. The butler reappears with a trolley of tea and sandwiches, fruit, and the tiniest cakes I’ve ever seen.

I practically bubble at the site of the cupcakes and reach out for one. I pop it in whole and let a little groan out at how moist and sweet the sponge is. Scarlett’s expression twitches into a smile as she looks at me.

“That good?” she whispers.

“You have no idea,” I say around the cake.

I scan the plate and pick up the darkest one with black icing. “This one matches your soul…” I say to Scarlett.

She tuts at me but takes the cake. “You’ll ruin my physique feeding me like this.”

“That’s my plan… I’ll beat you by inducing a heart attack.”

She smiles, and then leans into my ear, her voice low, “And then who would make you come all night long?”

I grip her arm, my fingers sinking into her hard bicep. “You keep talking like that and that’s exactly what I’ll make you do tonight.”

The room shudders, the paintings juddering against the walls. And then, the streams of magic cease, and the last threads float towards Morrigan, the Collection gun, and Loren.

Loren shivers and sweats. Her teeth clamped together, eyes squeezed shut. She lets out a grizzled cry as the last threads flow through the gun and bury themselves into her skin. And then, just as fast, it’s over and her face relaxes.

“Congratulations,” Morrigan says. Her voice is deeper than I expected, husky as if it aged years before she did. “You’re officially a magician.”

Loren squeals. “One house down, many more to follow, I hope.”

Morrigan smiles at her and says, “I’m sure they will. Keep studying and you’ll have as many as me before you know it.”

Loren flings her arms around Morrigan. “It was an honour to have you do my first. Truly, I can’t believe it.”

She bounces off the chair and runs into the corridor. It is at that exact moment that Morrigan clocks our presence. Her eyes falling on Scarlett, then me, then Stirling.

Scarlett swallows down the last bite of her cake, she skirts from Morrigan to Stirling. The lights in the room flicker in time with the twitch in Morrigan’s eye. Shit, she is powerful. Never have I ever seen fury burn beneath the surface of an expression like I have right now.

Thunder burrows in the wells of her pupils. Murder and blades and all things vicious. I blink and she’s vanished and reappears in front of Stirling. She can translocate? My jaw drops. I don’t know anyone who can do that. I can’t even fathom the power she must hold. She has to have legacy blood.

Scarlett scrabbles to wipe her mouth and shoves me behind her as Morrigan approaches. Once again, her instinct is to protect me. Stirling slowly moves into the room, hesitant step after hesitant step.

But Morrigan holds her palm out and Stirling, I shit you not, halts mid-stride. Frozen solid, arms mid-swing.

Okay, remind me never to fuck Morrigan off. I glance at Scarlett, giving her a what in fuck’s name have we let ourselves in for expression. But she waves me off.

Stirling starts, “I’m sor—”

Morrigan swings out and slaps Stirling across the cheek. It’s loud enough the sound rattles in my head.

Ouch.

Next to me, Scarlett’s face is turning a delightful shade of red, her neck threaded with pulsing veins. Scarlett and I don’t do caring gestures. We don’t do softness, but in this moment, knowing her, knowing that she’s one slap from punching Morrigan and probably getting killed, I decide to slide my hand into hers.

It startles Scarlett. Her glance drops to our clasped hands, her mouth forming a tiny ‘O’.

“I deserved tha—” Stirling starts. But Morrigan throws another brutal slap at Stirling’s cheek.

Scarlett’s jaw tightens as her body lurches, but I hold her tight, my grip keeping her in place. The air between Stirling and Morrigan fizzes with tension and heat. I guess it’s not just Scarlett and I that have bullshit.

Morrigan leans in towards Stirling. She raises her hand, but this time, Stirling catches it as Morrigan whips out another slap.

Stirling yanks Morrigan’s fist away and then grabs her by the neck, swings her around, and shoves her against the wall. Morrigan plunges her lips against Stirling’s and… and… What the fuck is even happening?

They moan into each other. Stirling’s mouth drops to Morrigan’s neck as she peppers it with kisses.

Morrigan slips her fingers to the back of Stirling’s hair and yanks her head, spinning her and pinning her against the wall. They glare at each other, panting. A confused frenzy of thirst and tempers twisting through their expressions.

Morrigan yanks Stirling’s hair tighter. She winces, but the rest of Stirling’s face is relaxed. Morrigan loosens up, pulls Stirling in for another, slower kiss. And then she breaks away, shoves Stirling and retreats to her chair.

“What the fuck do you want, Grey?” She waves her hand at Stirling, who is a dishevelled mess. She stands straight, brushes her hair down and adjusts her clothes.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing between the pair. I can’t decide if I’m horrified or turned on. Morrigan leans in her chair, kicking her legs up onto the arm.

“Well?” she says and pulls out a cigarette. She puts it in her mouth, her index finger twitches and the fucking thing lights, just like that.

Oh my gods, she’s incredible.

Stirling brushes her hair flat and wipes her mouth. Her fingers skim what is now a delightfully red, raw handprint on her cheek.

“And don’t bother starting with an apology. Spit it out and then get the fuck out of my presence before I make you puke your intestines through your nose.”

I swallow and step a little closer to the door. Morrigan must notice because her eyes flick to me.

“Who are you?” she says.

“Quinn. Quinn Adams.” I give her an awkward wave and then her face brightens.

“You’re the infamous medic with the poisons.”

“Nice to meet you.” I give her a little bow of my head and that seems to satisfy her.

Stirling moves forward. But Morrigan’s eyes snap to hers. “That’s quite close enough. You’re lucky I don’t tear your throat out. After what you did.”

“We need your help,” Stirling says.

This makes Morrigan roar. A deep throaty laugh that echoes around the room. She throws her head back, and when she rights herself, there are tears in her eyes. But Stirling’s face is expressionless. When Morrigan catches sight of her, she stops laughing abruptly.

“Oh fuck me, you’re not joking,” Morrigan says.

“No. Not, in fact, joking,” Stirling replies, her voice mousy. I’ve never heard her so sheepish. Usually she’s cocky and full of it.

“This is where we exit,” Scarlett whispers and tugs my hand, pulling me out of the room.

“Oh man, we were getting to the good bit,” I say.

Scarlett laughs. It’s that soft, bright trill. It still surprises me she laughs like that.

“Trust me, the grovelling Stirling is going to need to do to convince Morrigan to join us… none of us need to witness that level of dignity loss. She’s taking one for the team.”

Scarlett leads me further away from the room. She has to stop and ask for directions, but eventually we find ourselves outside near the stables.

She’s still holding my hand. And I don’t know if she realises, but her thumb is rubbing rhythmic circles over my hand.

A lone horse trots and jumps and flicks its feet out as it prances around the field. Its owner or trainer running after it, a whisper of pearlescent magic trailing from her hands through the air as she runs. The night air pierces right through Scarlett’s jacket. I pull the zip higher. I don’t understand how she’s not cold. She’s not even wearing sleeves. But there are no goosebumps on her toned biceps, no hint of a shiver. I, on the other hand, am instantly icy. My nipples harden beneath the layers of clothes. I hesitate. She was warm earlier, I wish I could snuggle in. But before I pluck up the courage, she must have noticed how cold I am. She looks down, tuts, and unzips her jumper. It’s an invitation…

“What did Stirling do?” I ask as I slide my arms around Scarlett and inside her jumper. This place, my arms locking into her like they were always meant to fit; it’s too familiar, too warm, too much.

“You can’t just use me for warmth, you know,” she says, but then she pulls me in tight, sharing her warmth.

“I’m not enjoying it, if that’s any consolation,” I mumble into her chest. She’s like a furnace, and I instantly warm. It’s delicious.

“Liar.”

“Narcissist.”

She laughs. A billow of bubbling sound reverberates through her chest and into my body.

“Seriously though. That was quite the welcome Morrigan gave us. What the hell happened?”

Scarlett sighs. “They fell in love. That’s what happened.”

I lift off her chest and gaze up at her. “But that’s a good thing.”

“Is it? Love doesn’t make someone slap you that hard.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It definitely makes someone kiss you like that, though.”

Scarlett nods. “Stirling promised herself to Morrigan. Promised she’d be there for her, and then she left. Broke her vow. She abandoned Morrigan when she needed her most.”

“But why?”

Scarlett shook her head. “That’s not my story to tell.”

“Do they still love each other?”

Scarlett shrugs. “A love like that never goes away. But I also don’t know if they’ll ever get back together. They have a ton of history and mess.”

“Lesbians are good at mess, though.”

Scarlett smiles. “Then perhaps there’s hope for them yet.”

“And for us, too.” I don’t mean to say it. It just comes out. Heat rushes up my collar and into my cheeks.

Scarlett releases me, a bitter rush of air sucked between us. She tilts her head, and her fingers meet my chin, lifting it up.

There’s a softness in her expression I’ve never seen before. Her features smooth, lips part. It’s the first time she’s looked at me as though she wants to kiss me instead of kill me.

My heart thuds a hesitant thrum against my ribs as our eyes meet. She holds me in her gaze like old souls and precious memories. As if nothing else exists but me. The way she stares at me steals my breath and slows time.

She inches down, her lips moving closer to mine. She smells like strength, like leather and steel and the safety of home. Our breath mingles in the freezing night air. I inch up closer on tiptoes.

Scarlett’s thumb traces my cheek, leaving trails of tingles in its wake. Her lips brush against my cheek. Soft, warm, gentle.

“Perhaps there is…” she says and slides her hand to my neck and pulls me to her. Scarlett’s lips brush against mine. I close my eyes.

“Ready?” Stirling says, ripping me out of the moment. I swear Scarlett will murder her sister in her sleep.

Scarlett and I spring apart as if electrocuted.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re ready,” she says, shoving her hands in her pockets and stepping away. The distance between us is cold, a cavernous, aching ocean of space. As if whatever almost happened didn’t.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe there isn’t hope after all.