Quicksilver (The Fae & Alchemy Series Book 1)

It was still dark when I came to. It took me a moment to remember where I was and who was wrapped around me so close. Then I lay there, very still, not breathing, hyper-aware of the fact that Fisher’s hard cock was digging into my ass and he was almost certainly awake. I’d shared enough beds with enough people to know by someone’s breathing if they were conscious or not, and Fisher’s breathing wasn’t the shallow draw of someone still lost in sleep. It was deep and far too measured, and he felt tense behind me.

He’s going to get up and leave the bedroom.

He’s going to roll over and tell you that he doesn’t want you here.

He’s going to say something shitty so that you’ll leave.

I came up with one terrible imagined eventuality after another, my nerves getting the better of me…but none of those things transpired. Fisher’s hand was still underneath my shirt, but it had half-closed, relaxing in his sleep. The material I’d used to bind my chest had come loose and risen up in the night, and his knuckles were brushing the underside of my left breast. Very slowly but with obvious intent, Fisher opened his hand against my skin again, pressing his palm against my ribcage. I fastened my lip between my teeth, suddenly panicked, my heart rate kicking up as he ran the tips of his fingers along the underside of my breast, barely making contact at all…

It was a question.

Is this something you want?

I could choose how I answered. If I rounded my shoulders and moved away from him, I knew he’d remove his hand and let me go. We’d both get up and get on with our day, and that would be it. A door between us would close.

Or…

Or.

Fuck it.

I didn’t want the door to close.

Letting out a shaky breath, I arched my back, grinding my ass up against Fisher’s cock. Gods and sinners, he was so fucking hard. He let out a rough groan, his breath sweeping over my neck, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. His fingers pressed hard against my ribs, and I let my eyes fall closed, relishing the flood of anticipation over what was about to happen.

As if there were some unspoken contract between us, neither of us broke the silence. He moved slowly, though, as if giving me time to change my mind. Rocking his hips forward, he showed me just how hard his cock was and what he intended on doing with it.

I already knew what it felt like to have him slide inside me, but this was nothing like when we’d fucked the other day. This promised more. The tension building between us was infused with a different kind of energy. I felt it traveling a millimeter over the surface of my skin, everywhere all at once, burning hot where his hands moved over my abdomen.

My spine flexed as I arched against him, and a thrill of heat rocked me to my core when Fisher rested his forehead against the back of my head and groaned.

I wanted him. More than I wanted to go home. Gods and martyrs, what kind of sister did that make me? Hayden needed me. Elroy did, too. But in the moment, with the smell of him drowning out the entire fucking world and robbing me of all common sense, I wasn’t capable of feeling bad about that. There would be time for guilt aplenty later but for now…

Fisher’s nose grazed my ear, and a sigh worked its way out of me. How to explain the feeling of a male like Kingfisher breathing heavily into your ear. It wasn’t easily done. First, there was the shiver. It started on my neck and spread outward, prickling up the back of my head, trailing a hot-cold pathway down my spine, hitting each vertebra as it went like a skipping stone. It turned into something else once it hit my sacrum. It became heavy. A ball of ache, forming in my stomach, building, sinking lower, drumming at the apex of my thighs so that I had to press my legs together to contain it.

The shiver.

The ache.

Then, the want.

It raged so hot that it created a vortex of energy, lust, and need that spun around inside me so fast that I felt like I had to jump up from the bed and scream or fucking hit something.

Now, now, now…

Desire pounded in my blood. As if Fisher could hear it beckoning to him, he grabbed my breast, moving quickly at last, finally giving up all pretense that this might not be happening. Rolling my nipple, he drove his hips upward so hard that I felt the swollen head of his erection in the small of my back. A sharp lash of pain relayed between both of my breasts, rocketing down between my legs, and it felt for all the godscursed world like he was teasing my clit at the same time as the sensitive bud of my nipple.

“Ahh!” I wanted to beg him to sink himself inside me, but I didn’t want to speak. There were other words that would need to be said first if we broke our silence now. What happened last night had been awful, for him and for me. It had irrevocably altered the dynamic between us, and I didn’t think either of us were ready to face that yet. So I sealed my lips shut, and I leaned back into him as he worked his other arm underneath me and fully caged me in both arms. Kneading the flesh of my breast with one hand, he roughly yanked the button at my waistband open, sliding his other hand down into the front of my pants.

When he coaxed me open and dipped his fingers between my slick folds, he discovered how wet I was and growled deep. The sound of it was so masculine and predatory that I almost lost my fucking mind.

Fuck me. Please fuck me.

Take me.

Own me.

Kingfisher’s teeth nipped at my earlobe as he started to rub the swollen bundle of nerves between my legs, and my mind fragmented in an instant. His mouth. His hands. His cock. They were the only things that mattered. He knew how to touch me. How to work me into a frenzy. The way he stroked my clit, finding the perfect pressure and the perfect motion, spoke of many hours spent familiarizing himself with the female body. Time well spent as far as I was concerned. I was reaping the benefits of that experience now and then some.

Shamelessly, I ground myself against him, taking what I wanted from the contact, riding his hand as he rubbed me.

Fuck me with your fingers.

Choke me.

Hold me down and ride me until I scream.

Fisher made an animal, desperate noise into the crook of my neck as if he could read my mind and knew all of the filthy things I wanted him to do to me. As if he wanted to do them to me, too. He snarled as he ripped his arm out from underneath my shirt and closed his hand around my throat.

I’ll make you beg, Little Osha.

I’ll fill every one of those pretty little holes.

I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll never want another male ever again.

I’d imagined the words. Fabricated them out of thin air and somehow played them aloud in my own head in his voice. Fisher’s body was openly promising these things to me, though, and I didn’t want to wait any longer.

He pulled me even closer, grip tightening around my throat, his thumb digging into my jaw, and I allowed my head to rock back. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, groaning, and the thought rose to my mind unbidden. Dangerous.

Bite me.

Fisher drove his fingers up inside me, releasing a strained huff. Hand tightening around my throat, he gave me a little shake that seemed almost like a reprimand. I was so shaken by the sensation of his fingers thrusting up inside me, probing my wet heat, that for a blinding second, I couldn’t think around the spike of pleasure.

Gods, we were still fucking clothed. Fisher was shirtless, but he was still wearing his pants, and I was wearing everything. Suddenly, I needed us to be naked. I wanted to feel his body on mine. I wanted to feel him fucking everywhere. I grabbed hold of my shirt, ready to try and somehow get it off without Kingfisher having to stop what he was doing, but then I felt a rush along the length of my body, and just like that, my clothes were in shreds, falling away from my torso, my arms, and my legs. Fisher’s pants were just gone.

I’d gotten what I’d so desperately wanted. Our bodies met everywhere. Our legs tangled together, our skin clammy with heat. Fisher renewed his attentions, pulsing his fingers in and out of my slit, rubbing my clit at the same time with the heel of his palm, working me into a frenzy.

I could barely breathe. My head spun as he buried his face into my hair again, releasing another strained groan.

Fuck me.

Please! Gods, please just fuck me.

I want…

I need…

The sound of Fisher’s agitated cry bounced loudly around the small bedroom. He moved fast, drawing his fingers out of me just in time to make room for his rigid cock. Unlike the last time we were together, he didn’t slam himself up inside of me immediately. This time, I felt the swell of his head pressing against me, then the overwhelming, ground-shattering moment when he slid past my entrance and began to push up.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

Gods.

He…

Gods, he was so fucking deep. I…

Every warrior in Innìr will smell me on you, Fisher’s voice rumbled in my mind. I’m going to make you hoarse from screaming my fucking name. I’m going to mark you in every way imaginable, so that everyone knows you’re fucking mine.

Holy shit!

He…

Was that…

I couldn’t…

He set up a merciless pace, thrusting himself up inside me, pounding himself home. His hand was still between my legs, his fingers working over my clit as he fucked me. He encompassed me wholly, fully, truly. I was locked in his embrace, thoroughly wrapped up in him, shaking every time he impaled me on his cock…but still, there was one more thing…

Bite me, Fisher.

It came as a breathless thought. I can’t…

Bite me. Do it. I want it!

I can’t!

BITE ME!

The bright, sharp sting of his canines sinking into my skin made me hiss out loud. My eyes shot open, shock causing my heartbeat to stumble momentarily, but then…

A bliss like no other overloaded my senses—lightning coursing through my veins. Fisher went still, frozen like a statue, his breath coming hard and fast down his nose. He’d bitten into the dip of my neck, right above my collarbone, but he hadn’t drawn on my blood yet. He was waiting, though I didn’t know for what.

No longer cutting off my air supply, he moved his free hand back to my breast and started to slowly stroke his fingers around my nipples, lightly, tentatively circling my areola. My nerve endings jumped, euphoria soaking my system until I started to feel fucking high. It was only when my mind started to feel gluey and upside down that he oh-so-slowly pulled his hips back and then thrust his cock up inside me to the hilt. At the same time, I felt the first tingle at my neck—his first small draw from my blood.

“FUCK!” I screamed out loud, my eyes rolling back into my head. The crescendo of pleasure came down on me like a landslide. I was crushed by it. It broke me and made my soul fucking sing. It was better than any drug I’d ever experienced before.

Easy. Quiet. Don’t…fucking move.

The words were ragged. Desperate. They were inside my head, and I…I hadn’t got a hope in hell of obeying them. The moment Fisher slid into me again, drinking a little deeper, I lost any sense of pride I possessed and reached back, grabbing his head and pushing him down onto my neck as hard I damn well could.

Ruin me.

The command was all he needed. Fisher’s arms tightened around my body like a vice, and he fucked me with the force of all those sledgehammers smashing down on the frozen surface of the Darn. I broke far easier than the river had. I became pieces of myself, and Fisher was the only thing that held me together. With each heady draw of his mouth, I felt myself filling up with light until I glowed brilliant as a sun.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop…

I felt his need bubbling up inside him. He was drowning in this, too. He fucked me even harder, drinking deeper, his arms tight as bands of steel around me.

And then the world ended.

Existence blinked out into a blank void.

The stars tumbled from the heavens, and hell rose up to meet them.

Everything and nothing, here and gone.

It was every ecstatic moment I’d ever experienced, condensed and multiplied one millionfold. My body became a fiery torch, and there was Fisher, burning right alongside me.

He mindlessly slammed himself into me, grunting, and then he ripped his mouth away from my skin and roared like he was dying.

No. Not like he was dying.

Like he was being reborn.

The world came back into existence little by little, like snowflakes fluttering from the ceiling. It took a long time for my body to stop trembling. Just as he had done when I woke up, Fisher lay behind me, still as the dead, not breathing. Only this time, he was holding onto me for dear life. He didn’t let go.

Fresh, hot bread. Buttery. Delicious.

My stomach rumbled, my eyelids fluttering open. I found myself snuggled up to a snoring fox. Onyx lazily blinked his eyes open, and I swear to the gods, it looked as if he was smiling at me.

“You stink,” I told him, petting his head. “You need a bath. No more sleeping in the bed.”

He bared his teeth, laid his ears back, and vaulted off the bed, disappearing out of the open bedroom doorway. I guess he didn’t like the sound of a bath.

Sighing and deliciously sore, I slumped back against the rumpled sheets and stared up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes spiral through the gilded morning air. Where the hell was Fisher? I asked the question with a dose of resignation. If I knew him, he’d be back at Innìr by now, freaked out and angry. I’d be discarded here for three days as a result of his inability to manage his fucking feelings. I turned my head, and my heart slowed at the sight of the tiny droplet of dried blood staining the sheets next to me.

My blood.

Fisher had bitten me.

My mind went blank. I let that information float at the forefront of my mind. I didn’t try to process it. I’d officially hit my exhaustion point when it came to trying to analyze everything that had happened since the Hall of Mirrors. This was just one more thing balancing precariously at the top of a very long and bewildering list that I would have to work through at some point. For now, all I knew was that I’d wanted it. I’d asked for it, and, sidenote, Fisher and I were now randomly capable of speaking into each other’s minds.

There it was again: the smell of fresh, flaky pastry and rich butter, but this time it was blended with the subtlest hint of sugar. And coffee. It was the idea of coffee that had me climbing out of bed in the end. Stiff and a little dizzy, I wrapped myself in a sheet and went to find the source of the smell.

Light flooded into the apartment’s living room. The dust sheets had been removed from the furniture and the paintings, revealing a comfortable space full of small treasures, books, and knick-knacks that gave the place an easy sense of home. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace, scores of glass jars sat full of stubs of charcoal and paintbrushes.

Fisher sat at a round table by the windows, long legs stretched out in front of him, the light catching at his hair and warming the black to dark brown. It gilded one side of his face, softening the hard edge of his jaw and the proud line of his nose. He stared out of the window, watching the boughs of the tree on the other side of the glass gently sway on the breeze. He seemed lost in thought. At ease, even. A part of me didn’t want to make my presence known. After how troubled he’d been of late, I wanted him to savor the moment of peace. And I was a fucking coward, it turned out. There were still things that needed to be said, and I was scared of that conversation. It could only end badly, and—

Fisher closed his eyes and let the dappled sunlight play over his face. “I didn’t know how you took your coffee,” he said softly.

Shit. “How long have you known I was here?”

He smiled sadly. “I always know where you are, Little Osha.” Opening his eyes, he turned and looked at me. The smile developed a dangerous edge to it when he took me in.

“I would have gotten dressed,” I explained, “but there weren’t actually any clothes in that bag you packed for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but four different throwing knives, a field dressing kit, and a bottle of whiskey might have been overkill. A clean pair of underwear and a toothbrush would have been nice.”

This coaxed a laugh out of him. “Fair point. And noted. Only two knives and a hip flask next time. Plus underwear and a toothbrush.”

I laughed softly. “I was willing to put on the clothes from yesterday, but then I found them in the bed, in shreds, and that idea went out of the window, too.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll happily correct my lapse in my manners.” With a flick of his wrist, Fisher conjured a wave of glimmering smoke. Spreading over the rug toward me, it circled around my ankles like a friendly cat seeking to be pet. It rose up my legs, making my skin prickle with warmth, leaving luxurious black silk in its wake. The pants were wide-legged and loose. The camisole top was pretty, long enough in the body to cover my stomach—though only just—and embellished with fine lace along the low-cut neckline. Fisher’s magic hadn’t graced me with any underwear, it seemed; my peaked nipples were very visible through the sheer material.

I arched an eyebrow at him, then looked down at my chest. “Is this the kind of thing you imagine me wearing often?”

“When I imagine you, Little Osha, you’re very rarely wearing clothes.”

Oh. Wow. Okay. Color rose to my cheeks, a pleasant heat warming my face. I ducked my head, looking down at my bare feet, giving myself a moment to acclimate to the idea that Fisher wasn’t going to be an unbearable shit this morning. It had been surprise enough that he was still here, but this was a shock to the system that I wasn’t prepared for.

“Come and sit down. Eat,” he said.

I could definitely do that. I was ravenous. I joined him at the table, sitting beside him on his right, so I could look out of the window and watch Ballard wake up as I ate. Fisher wore a small smirk as I leaned across the table and fell upon the little pastries, custard-filled miniature pies, and diced fruit.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Fisher said, his voice full of laughter.

“Should I go and si—oh, Gods! Fisher! What the…?” I felt the blood drain from my face. What the hell was all over my hands? I dropped the little pastry I was holding, and Onyx dove, catching it out of the air before it could even touch the ground. I held out my hands, aghast. The tattoos I hadn’t cared so much about last night were still all over my fingers and the backs of my hands. Except there were more of them now. Many more. Stacks of small runes ran up each one of my fingers. Delicate script wound around my wrists and up my forearms. I had no idea what the fuck any of it said. And the backs of my hands? I started to feel very lightheaded. The design on the back of my left hand was simple. Ish. The lines were fine and twisted together beautifully, forming a shape that almost resembled a flower if you squinted at it long enough. The one on my right, however…

It was bigger and covered the whole span of my hand. The lines were bolder. They twisted around one another, forming a variety of knots that I had trouble even picking apart with my eyes. It wasn’t just one rune. It was many, interlocking, woven one on top of the other, on top of the other. One of the runes wasn’t even black, but a dark, iridescent blue-green color that flashed metallically when it caught the light.

Even Fisher swallowed hard as he took in all of this new ink I had gained in the night. I thrust my hands out toward him accusingly. “My mother would not have approved of this!”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh at me. He picked up his coffee, maintaining a straight face, and took a sip. Once he’d set his cup down, he reached out and took my left hand in his. His expression was blank as he studied the runes along my fingers. His brows twitched as he turned my arm this way and that, read the script that chained my wrist. When he ran a finger over the flower-like, larger rune on the back of my hand, his features became utterly unreadable, though.

He spent far longer assessing the ink on my right hand. I sat impatiently, thoughts bouncing around all over the place, unable to calm myself.

Say something. Don’t just sit there, frowning like that. Speak!

Fisher huffed softly. “I’m thinking,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

“Oh, fuck. So that was real, then? You can read my thoughts?” A note of hysteria edged into my voice.

“No, I can’t read your thoughts,” he said, eyes darting up to mine for a split second. “I can hear you when you speak to me directly, though. That’s all.”

“That’s all? That’s all!”

“Breathe, Little Osha,” Fisher chided. “Your heart’s racing.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

Fisher adopted a very intense expression. He seemed confused by something. Turning my hand toward him, he even angled his head to get a different perspective of the layered, locked rune.

“What…what does it all mean?” I asked nervously.

Fisher drew in a sharp breath, looking up from my hand. “Not much, really.” He picked up one of the custard-filled pies, turned my hand over, placed it in my palm, and let me go. “Here. Eat. Your blood sugar is low.”

“My blood sugar’s low? Wha—Fisher, what do the tattoos mean?”

He sighed, rocking back into his chair. Now that he was reclined again, the warm wash of light coming in through the window bathed him in gold again. He was breathtaking. “The one on the left means blessed one,” he said, his tone light. The fingers….” He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling far too casually. “They mean all kinds of things.”

“Could you be any vaguer?”

“I mean, probably…”

“Fisher!”

“Okay. All right. A lot of them are connected. Light. Dark. Silver. Steel. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. That kind of thing. Alchemist stuff.”

Alchemist stuff? The way he said that made it sound like that should be explanation enough and I ought to be satisfied, but I had more questions. A lot more questions, one more pressing than the rest. I held up my right hand and pointed at the mother of all runes shimmering there on my skin. “What the hell does this one mean?”

Fisher met my gaze. “That one’s difficult. I can’t give you a definitive answer. Not yet.”

“There’s magic in it, isn’t there?”

“There’s magic in all of them,” he said nonchalantly, taking a manful bite out of his own breakfast. “If you don’t want to keep them…”

“How am I supposed to know if I want to keep them if I don’t know what they mean?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Here.” He gestured for me to give me his hands, which I did. A moment later, a creeping cold ran over my skin. One by one, the runes faded from my skin until even the complex, multi-layered rune was gone.

I stared at him, stunned. “But—”

“They aren’t gone for good,” he said tightly. “I…you can change your mind about them later if you want to. You have a month or so. If you decide over the next few weeks that you want them back, I’ll return them to you.”

“But what if I decide I want cool hand tattoos after the month has passed? Do I get to choose from different designs every time we sleep together or something?”

Fisher laughed dryly, shaking his head. “No. The Marks are chosen for you. They won’t be there after a month. If you decide not to accept them, they’ll be gone for good.”

I let that sit between us for a while, knowing that there was something he wasn’t telling me. Plenty of things. I didn’t have it in me to prod any further, though. I took a bite of my food, taking in all of the ink that still marked his skin. After a while, I said, “What do yours mean?”

“Mine?”

“Your tattoos. Yours haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Well. Our runes are complicated. But yes, they do have meanings. This one,” he said, holding up his left hand, “means vengeance.” He held up his other hand. “This one means justice.”

“What about that one?” I asked, pointing at the large, swirling section of ink on his forearm.

“Sacrifice,” he said, his voice hitching.

“Why is it so much bigger than the rest?”

Fisher took in the rune, then slowly drew down the sleeve of his shirt, covering it. “I think you can probably guess why,” he said softly.

I could. I’d regretted the question even as I’d asked it. The largest tattoo on Fisher’s arm meant sacrifice, because he had, or would have to, sacrifice so much…

They were prophecies of a kind. They told his story. And it wasn’t necessarily one that he was comfortable talking about. In time, maybe. But for now…

I pointed at the small bird tattoo below my collarbone, changing the subject. “You told me you couldn’t take this one back.”

All humor left Fisher’s face. The sunlight dimmed out of nowhere, the room darkening with shadows that spilled across the walls from all four corners of the room. I knew right away that something had shifted. Our time together at breakfast was over. Fisher got up from the table, carefully setting his chair back underneath it. “No, I can’t take that back,” he said stiffly. “And I’m sorry for that.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m pretty attached to it now. I just thought, since you removed these…” Gods, I was rambling.

“Not removed. Only hidden. For now, anyway.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “We need to leave soon. You’ll find some fresh clothes laid out for you on your bed. There’s a bath already drawn for you in there, too. I’m going to go and say goodbye to Wendy. When I come back, we’ll go.”

I let Fisher go, knowing that I couldn’t say anything to shift the mood back to the way it had been. In the bedroom—the one I was supposed to have slept in—I soaked my sore body and let myself stew over everything I’d said. It was when I stood naked, dripping on the rug in front of the ornate full-length mirror on the wall, that I realized what had caused the mood in the kitchen to shift. Right there, only a couple of inches above the bird tattoo, were two small red welts. They were almost closed up already. They didn’t even hurt.

No, I can’t take that back. And I’m sorry for that.

He hadn’t been talking about the bird tattoo.

He’d been talking about the bite mark at my throat.