Darkness and Beauty (The Fated Series,#1)

“Nyra, please - allow me to explain-”

“You can’t explain away what’s on paper, Cathan.”

“I’ll pay it back,” he bargains, hands clinging to the side of the wagon full of boxes of personal belongings. His eyes plea for something he won’t get, and he can keep begging all he wants, it won’t change that simple fact. “Nyra, please, forgive me-”

“Forgive you!” The stunningly beautiful ebony woman whirls from where she stands atop the wagon platform, the box she was nicely setting down falling from her hands with a loud clunk. Didn’t sound like anything fragile.

My eyes drop to her left hand as Cathan continues to beg Nyra for forgiveness she’s repeatedly stating she will not give for the money he’s been stealing from her. A reason you don’t trust those who deal in nothing but lies and business. Or trust at all. Or marry those who strictly deal with promises they can never hold. He made a promise when put that ring on her finger and vowed to be loyal to her, through sickness and health.

He clearly didn’t just not uphold any of that, but he’s probably going to pawn that ring now that she’s chucked it at his head. Fucking idiot starts searching the cobblestone street for the likely knock-off piece of jewelry while she leads the two caramel-colored mares down the street, heading northeast.

I don’t watch her go nor yield to the heating urge to sock her now ex-husband. It’s not the craziest thing I’ve seen happen in this rust bucket of a world.

I hate one thing in this world above all others: Betrayal. Ultimately lying in which leads to betrayal, but lying can be punished and then eventually forgotten given a few days or weeks, even if the forgiven doesn’t fully realize it.

Betrayal...well, that’s a bit more complicated.

Walking through the streets of Fernweh - the grand capital of the kingdom of Vandaria - you can always spot someone who has made the mistake of betraying those who once trusted them. Each house, family, gang, or worship group has its own kill mark. The Firejay gang has a bird of flame, the family Moonbeam uses their crest of sun and moon, and my own group, the Jade Assassins, the most feared assassins in all of Ker, uses our house symbol. The unforgiven mark. It’s an x connected at the top with a single line. Those who have betrayed us are given the symbol around their eye where everyone has a view of it and can mark their face.

Anyone with a kill mark is seen as fair game. Not even the king would spare more than a glance at a man, woman, or child who has a kill mark.

The point of it is that if you betray a person and receive their kill mark, you’re then set free to be slaughtered and hunted down for the rest of your life. No consequences for the killer. If you kill a Marked One, you simply bring the body to the person they betrayed and get a ransom. Easy money, but not my type of prey.

Being raised by the Jade King makes me a big target for many idiotic or stupidly vengeful people, but I’ve been trained since I was four years old to defend myself, walk on silent feet, memorize the layout of an entire kingdom, use all kinds of weapons, make weapons, speak five different languages and two dead ones, get information, get my way...pretty much anything. The people of Vandaria are all too innocent. The king isn’t necessarily vicious and cruel, but he’s not very caring about his people’s needs either. If it weren’t for his kindhearted wife, Queen Claritia, Vandaria would be at war with our neighboring kingdoms, Cressida and Adaeric. Everyone hates him and pretends to love him to stay alive, but with Queen Claritia, no one needs to pretend.

Above the King, the Jade Assassins are at the top of the “don’t piss off” list. Just walking through the crowded street marketplace dressed in the distinct rough vantablack charmeuse and blue silky-lined Jade Assassin cloak makes people form a clear path and avoid my eye contact on instinct. It never entirely bothered me since assignments always required me to do them with little distraction and as quickly as possible, but there are certain times that I wish this wasn’t my life.

No one knows what I look like besides the tan color of my hands, amber eyes, and brown hair. Of course, people still seem to miss the characteristics since they don’t look up. Even if they did, the bridge of my nose down to my neck is covered with a black balaclava that hides the rest of my face from everyone. My suit is tight-fitting and flexible, with hidden wedges for knives and other fun things. It’s brutal and black as the darkest night.

Father is adamant about keeping me hidden and deadly. Though it’s one of a kind, and only one other person in the world has a suit so similar to mine, it’s still itchy in some places. Especially in the warmer weather that’s been plaguing us during this autumn season. I often find myself shifting in it to try and scratch at it without my hands.

As I walk up to the House of Jade and its three stories of elegance, I spot two girls across the street giggling at the two sentinels posted at the front gates. If they knew better, they’d be running while pointedly looking at the ground rather than at the master assassins.

One look at me, and they outright sprint down the street, paler than freshly fallen snow. It happens more than I’d like it to - people running away - but it’s the rumors and stories they’re more afraid of. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. When you’re a notorious killer who everyone calls a “murderous bitch,” it’s hard to find friends. Let alone walk into a candy shop trying to get some tarts and chocolates without someone bolting for the door or the owner’s hands shaking.

Then again, more sugar for me.

The sentinels let me go without a passing glance, and I head for the auburn double doors. My father had the house built with every elegance and finery he could find nineteen years back. It’d look welcoming if it weren’t for the hundred highly trained assassins known to be living and training inside.

The heavy hickory double doors are opened by two younger Jades just as I reach the top step. They must be newly appointed based on how shiny their cloaks billow in the soft breeze that’s more stale than refreshing. My cloak has run its coarse on shiny. My fifth cloak, that is. The last four I had worn until they were nothing but clawed tatters of cloth hanging from my shoulders. It always makes me sad to throw another cloak into the fire after having been with me for years, but it never lasts long. I’ve mourned far worse than a beaten-up cloak.

As I walk in I do the same thing I do every time I return home. I scan every inch of it and note every menial difference or fault that’s found its way into the cracks. Some people call it paranoia, but it’s a habit I have when walking into any room. Count the exits, the guards, the furniture, the steps, the light - and on and on until I feel slightly satisfied that I’ve memorized all that I can.

The foyer is big and has paintings plastered on each wall, each picturing a different city, in a different time, or another universe. I don’t know why of all paintings my father would choose those, but I’ve come to link them to the stories I read in fantasy books. The one on my left with its dense forest and shadowed figure reminds me of the first book I read. Here and Then Gone. It’s one of my favorites.

I’ve never understood how someone could have just one favorite book.

Straight ahead, a big staircase leads to the second level, the wall behind the stairs bearing two doors. One leads to the kitchen where the cook makes the best meals and sneaks me snacks every now and then, and the other to the right of the stairs leads to the training area and extra living space below ground. There are a hundred steps behind that door as a final challenge for those wishing to seek the luxury of the house. I’ve come to passionately despise those stairs throughout my life.

To my right are two smaller double doors leading to a sitting room. It has three jade settees and two matching chairs. My father had them custom-made so that when he holds small meetings, the clients are reminded of where they are and who they’re employing. To my left is a dining area with a table set for twelve. I only eat in there when we have guests or cook makes a feast for the holidays. Otherwise, I’m off on an assignment or reading and eating in bed alone. It’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s not what I’d consider perfect. Just...comfortable.

I go straight up the stairs and head toward my father’s office where he’ll undoubtedly be. Now that I think of it, my father never spends time outside his office unless he’s going to do business. He built this house and its reputation from nothing but his own mind and will. All of the one hundred assassins who live here year-round respect him. He’s kind and generous but will turn to Helias in a matter of seconds.

He could be the father you always wanted or the one you feared to have if you piss him off, and I love him either way.

His office is decorated in the same hickory brown as everything of his is. I don’t mind the color even if I did wish there was something more lively in it aside from the bare minimum of a few chairs, his desk, and the small table along the wall carrying untouched liquor. Nothing is out of place save for the papers in front of him. Just like the last time I saw him. I shake my head as my eyes roam over his dark hair that has strands of grey peeking through its surface, matching the stubby beard he’s had since I was ten. I cringe at the memory of when he used to grab me from behind and rub his chin between my neck and shoulder. The small rough hairs felt like sandpaper or the skin of a creature from the Dearg Forest. I could’ve easily escaped his arms and ran, but I loved the sound of his mischievous laugh when he did it too much to do so.

“At least tell me you managed to eat while I was gone,” I say by way of greeting.

He doesn’t bother to look up before saying, “Despite your thoughts on me, I have managed to do more than just sit here and play with my pens while you were away, little one.”

“Hmm.” No matter how old or how big I grow or how cruel I can get, he’s always called me his ”little one." Though I may complain that the name is an insult to my height compared to his, I’ll never grow tired of hearing him call me that. “Oh, I’m doing great by the way. How are you, father?”

“Last I remembered, you were the one who walked in without so much as a ‘hello father.’ Hiding that lovely face of yours from your dear father, Fauna?” He looks up, eying me up and down for any sign of injury before inclining his head to one of the chairs beside me. I flop down into it and swing a leg over the wooden arm while pulling down my balaclava and hood. A position that unfortunately allows me to see just how roughly a few days of being on the road have taken its toll on me from the narrow landscape mirror mounted behind him.

I’m pretty, in a way - without the smudged dirt, that is. My hair is somewhere between wavy and straight depending on the weather, though it currently is pulled into a braid over my shoulder. My amber eyes have small flecks of gold in them as if the Gods sprinkled tiny pieces of it over my iris while I was in the womb. My cheekbones are slightly protruded, and my chin short and narrow. My mother passed her face to me, all except the nose which is indeed my father’s.

“All went according to plan I take it.”

“Two days of tracking them to the Dearg Forest before toying with them and getting what I needed,” I report, trying not to sound too bored. “Interesting as the information was, I got interrupted by that same information.” His head shoots up and his focus goes straight into me.

It’s one thing for my father to listen, it’s another for him to hone his focus on you and your every word. If he does, it’s usually your cue to start running.

“What information?”

I keep my face carefully neutral as I began telling him, “The two spies said they were hired by the Assassins of Cressida. They were to come here and see if the castle walls were penetrable, and check up on the ′old jade swine.′ They were referring to you by the way. Gave them a nice design on their arm for the insult.” His face remains hard as stone despite my trying to ease the rage rippling off him. Fine then. “They were meeting two of the assassins outside the Dearg forest to report when I disarmed and captured them. They only gave the same information as their spies. Search the wall, find the swine.”

“The bodies?”

“Put in the darkest part of the Dearg Forest. I was in a tree watching as a carver skinned them and then took the bones.” Just the mention of the carver makes people shiver. It’s a tall, skinny creature that has big black eyes and a sewn mouth. They skin a person and use it for their cloaks, then take the bones and carve unknown horrific things with them.

I shake the image of the bag of bones from my mind. “The meat was eaten by scavengers.”

“Good.”

“What is it?”

His eyes are distant as he stays silent for a few seconds. “Nothing, nothing.” My eyes narrow. “You have a week’s rest, use it wisely.”

That’s when I notice the papers on his desk. Maps, notes, and contacts. “Another assignment?”

“I have a meeting with the client in an hour, be back then. Full attire. Though do try and wash that smell off you.”

As dismissals from my father go, that was a mild one.

He goes back to looking at his papers, but I can tell he isn’t really looking at them. Before I get yelled at, I stand up, put my right hand across my chest, and bow at the waist. No one knows how it came up, but upon entering or leaving a room to speak with him, you put your right hand on your heart and bow to the Jade King.

Missed that when I came in. Oops.

I’m a step from the door, putting my hood and balaclava back on when he calls my name. “Fauna.” His head still hasn’t risen from its bowed posture.

“Yes, father?”

“Stop by the training room before you wash up.”

“May I ask why?”

A pause, then, “Lance returned two days ago, thought you’d want to say hello.”

My body goes deadly still. Holding my breath, I nod my thanks and walk back down the hall barely containing my smile. Lance has been gone for over nine months on an assignment I know nothing of. I worried every day for him and prayed to the Gods and their Saints that he wasn’t dead.

Gods, I thought my words were going unheard.

I hardly make it to the top of the stairs before I break into a sprint and my smile becomes one so big that I can’t remember ever wearing one in the days he’s been gone. I make it halfway down the stairs before I jump over the left railing and land on the ground with a roll. The guard by the iron door doesn’t get a chance to open it for me before I ram my shoulder into it. I fly down the narrow staircase and jump the last ten steps nearly crashing into a wall before I again launch into a sprint. As I run down the poorly lit hall to the open double doors on the right, people wisely step out of my way or else I might’ve pushed them down and used them as a stepping stone.

I latch onto the wall, nearly cracking my already short nails as I slide through the doorway and into the training hall.

The training room is a hundred yards in length and fifty-five yards in width. There’s everything from archery, to knife throwing, tracking, hand-to-hand combat, and so on. I pay no heed to any of it as arrows fly past me, nearly missing my nose. The orders to cease fire ring in my ears as I come to a whiplashing halt. The room goes quiet around me, the burn of everyone’s gaze aimed at my head. I don’t care for anyone but the man shirtless and plastered with sweat in the center sparring ring. His back is to me, the strong muscles shifting as he lowers in a defensive stance. I remember that stance as clear as a sunbeam through a sky of clouds.

He’s back. He really is back, and I’m not dreaming this time. I’ve pinched myself several times on the way here just to double-check, and I do it again now, almost yielding to the burning at the back of my eyes when the sharp sting bursts from my thigh.

His opponent, a younger man I recognize as a trainee goes on the offensive with a parry and downswing of his sword. It’s a minor move that does little damage to a well-trained opponent like Lance, and his hold on his sword is weaker from his inexperience. Proving my point, Lance easily deflects both maneuvers. My eyes follow the movement of his shoulders tensing, feet pivoting seamlessly and full of power, knuckles white from his grip on his sword and the youngling’s wrist, and my eyes start to really burn. He kicks the youngling’s legs out from under him, pinning him in a swift move.

He’s back.

Every day since he’s been gone I’ve felt like I was missing a limb. I felt like every moment without him I was as defenseless as a puppy left in the alleys during winter. Seeing him here, now, I feel...complete.

We’ve grown up together, trained together, broke the rules, and got into big trouble together. You don’t just adapt and forget about someone like that overnight. But he’s back, and I’m going to tackle him once my knees unlock and I figure out how to breathe again with the few brain cells that are still working.

He stands from his crouch, putting one sword in his other hand, and offers the other to the trainee. He pats him on his shoulder, and then noticing the sudden silence, turns around. His stormy grey eyes meet mine and I can do nothing to stop the choked sob from breaking through.

Gods that sounded ugly.

His eyes widen, scanning over me once as he drops his swords. I break into another sprint, scared that if I don’t, my legs will give out and I won’t be able to get back up. I run into his arms, my legs pushing off of the ground so hard that it should’ve sent us both falling to the ground, but he keeps us upright. Just as he always has. I can’t stop the tears from running down my face like a raging waterfall, even though I know I probably should. You’re not supposed to show weakness when training. But damn what the others think, especially when his arms are squeezing me so tight that I’m wheezing as I bury my face in his neck to smell his signature scent of tangerine. I can feel his tears running down my shoulder above the cloak, and I’m grateful for our height difference that has my legs dangling off the ground. I don’t think I’d be standing for much longer if they were.

“Last I saw you,” he says, somehow managing to pull back from my own death grip enough to take my head between his hands. “You were...still short.”

I smile despite my wanting to throttle him for the insult. A balaclava covers half of his face, but not enough of it to hide the wide smile folding crow’s feet in the outer corners of his eyes. His beautiful, wondrous eyes. “Last I saw you, you were as handsome as father once was. What happened?”

“I suspect his aging took over and he stopped dying his hair to hide it.”

“He’d punish you if he heard you say that.”

“Well, it’s a good thing only everyone in the training room witnessed me say it.”

I stutter out a laugh between my sobs, feeling lighter than I have in cycles. His laugh is one every girl goes drowsy over just from hearing it once. I’m no better than those gawking girls from the street in thinking I could bottle up the sound and treasure it forever.

“I missed you.” He pulls me back into his arms and digs his head into my neck again. I can feel him breathing me in as his arms tighten on my waist.

It’s odd to know that everyone has their own scent, but you never know what yours is. I’ve tried getting Lance to tell me mine, but he changes it every time I ask. Stupid prick.

“I missed you too.”

This time I pull back and survey him for any injuries or hints of them. Though I know he’s had time to rest and is already getting into training again, you can never be too sure. It isn’t until I look back at his eyes, that I notice his change in hair color.

“You dyed it!” I screech, fisting the dark red in my hands.

“Well I couldn’t go into Kaweth with black hair when everyone there has red wine, now could I?” He leads me to the water basin at the sidewall, where men and women dressed in training attire clear out of the way.

“Hmmm. Wait a minute. Kaweth? Why the hell would you go across the Sea of the Morgayne to Kaweth?”

“Father gave me an assignment.”

“An assignment that went across the Sea of the Morgayne and into the hell mass of Kaweth?”

“Exactly.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

He shrugs and grabs a cup of water, taking it all in one gulp. He goes to fill it again when I spot a woman around my age looking Lance up and down like he’s dessert. One slow death promising stare from me, and the girl goes scattering to the opposite corner of the room. It’s a curse and a gift to have such a feral face.

“How am I supposed to enjoy my homecoming if you keep giving every girl who can provide me with some fun, a death glare.” I roll my eyes at his teasing tone.

“I didn’t give her a death glare. Plus you can enjoy your homecoming in other ways besides sex.” He acts as if he doesn’t seem convinced at all, but he is my brother, and the last thing he needs is a one-night stand and a son in another nine months’ time. Not that that would happen. Not after everything. It should probably be a concern that we’re joking about it, but comedy has always been our first defense against those emotions that are too painful to feel. It’s a terrible habit, but it’s a hard one to rid of when you’ve grown up being not only told but shown just how much pain one could feel without being physically injured.

“As much as I’d love to have a niece or nephew waking me up at ungodly hours with their crying, I’d prefer to wait until I’m twenty before babysitting a demon.”

“Ha. Ha,” he mocks blandly. “I come home to you gone on an assignment father denied me the right of knowing anything about, and now you’re accusing me of getting a woman pregnant. Why’d I come back again?” After draining his third cup of water I lock his elbow into mine and tug him to the doorway.

“Because your sister would’ve soon drained the information regarding your whereabouts from father, and then set out to find and kill you herself. Especially since it was your birthday two cycles ago and we couldn’t celebrate it.”

“Ah, yes. Ever the trained assassin following emotions, rather than reason. And I’ll have you know that I had a rather delicious piece of cake in Riela for my birthday.”

“Those emotions saved your life a year ago if I recall correctly.” I refrain from telling him that Riela’s cake is nowhere near a birthday celebration. Then again, birthdays have never really been celebrated in the House of Jade. More often than naught, you’d find yourself celebrating your birth alone during an assignment. Nothing like solitude and silence to make you feel like your life is one of a kind.

“Yes, but they did get you quite the scars down your leg.”

“And ones I shall worship in the name of Saint Lance every day til’ I die, I suppose?”

“Oh, please do - and feel free to give up sacrifices to the handsome devil anytime. Preferably beautiful women.”

“Prig.”

“Boar.”

I poke him in the ribs, and he bats my hand away as we walk into the hall. It’s times like these I missed most of all. When I could tease and pick on him all I want and he’d do it right back. If we needed to vent we’d spar until our bodies gave out and our mind was once again cleared. He was there for me more times than I can count, and I’d return it when he needed it but didn’t want to ask for it. I kept him from falling into oblivion when the woman he loved got...caught in the crossfire. It was hard for me since she was my best friend, and harder for him since he planned to propose. Our father loved her as one of his own, and he buried himself in his work after she was gone. His preferred way of avoidance.

She grew up here in Fernweh, born of well-known bakers who always came by to give me pear tarts sprinkled with the richest maple syrup and brown sugar. They were one of few people in this city that didn’t fear me - not entirely, at least. Most people see the balaclava and run the other way. They didn’t, and I thanked the Gods that the best bakers in Fernweh were going to be a part of the family.

She came to the House of Jade to ask my father for basic lessons on defending herself. She was stunning with her strawberry blonde hair, tanned skin, green eyes, and perfect body structure that I envied her having without having to try. I have to train every day to keep my lean form, but she could eat half her bakery and gain nothing. I envied her when I first saw her, but not because of her beauty. Because she had a choice to live her life as a baker, and she was choosing to walk into an assassin’s keep.

Lance and I had been standing on each side of our father’s desk in full Jade Assassin suits and cloaks, and when she walked in she looked at me first, went pale, and then looked at my brother. It took that one look into each other’s eyes for the fating bond to snap into place.

When two people are fated, it’s hard to ignore. It’s a bond embedded into one’s soul the moment they have a heartbeat in the womb. The Gods fate certain people to be together, to breed, to marry...it’s bizarre if you ask me. However, the moment Rose and Lance looked at each other in the office, the bond settled, and that was that. Only for the love of his son did our father agree to teach her what she wished to learn. Her family was over the moon with her being fated - not with the training - as only a select few ever get to be. Not soon after, she and I made a friendship so deep that I swore that if it came to it, I’d give my life up in her stead.

I never got the opportunity.

“I would’ve thought you’d be on your knees begging me to tell you of my journey by now,” Lance says pulling me from my thoughts.

“Sorry to disappoint, but father has another assignment for me, and he’s meeting with the client in an hour.”

“I know. He asked me to be there as well.”

My head whips around to look at him. “He wants both of us. Why? I mean first, he’s distant and keeping something from us- ”

“Dad’s always keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, but never like this.” His mouth closes with a snap. “Secondly, he never takes clients into his office unless it’s serious.”

“Or a commoner in need of scaring.”

“He’s only asked for both of us to be on the same assignment once, and the danger in the thought of that assignment itself was enough to pale all three of us. Something about my last assignment scared him.” I pause just outside the iron door beside the stairs, trying to contemplate what would scare my father so shitless.

Maybe it was the Dearg Forest. There are plenty of things in the shadows of the ghostly trees to stir unease, but I know how to get in and out without running into trouble. The carver’s name could’ve paled him, but he’s seen enough to not be entirely moved by it. My father has never been afraid of simple spies, nor has he worried for me when I’ve gone out before. He has been acting odd for the past few cycles, perhaps it’s not entirely this one mission.

“Look, father has never led us astray. We should trust him with it - with whatever it is despite our concerns.” My doubt must be written on my face since Lance caught it quickly. “Plus it allows me and you to spend some quality time together.” He swings his arm around me and starts leading me up the stairs. It’s not until we’re reaching the top that I notice how awful he actually smells.

“Before we spend some quality time...” I say, escaping from under his arm. “I think we should take father’s advice and wash up.”

He stops two steps from the top of the grand stairs, looking like he just got slapped in the face by an old lady. “Are you suggesting I smell, teeny?” Another nickname I so adamantly hate and love.

“Less suggesting, more...outright yelling.” My pulse quickens in excited anticipation.

“Last I checked, I wasn’t the one who hadn’t bathed in four days and am now waltzing around like the Queen of Vandaria.”

“I don’t waltz, I glide.” That dark brow of his rises in opposing question. “Besides, I’m not the one who needs to stuff my shorts like cook stuffs her turkey to get someone in my bed.”

He gives me an incredulous look and slaps a hand on his chest. “Three...”

Gods spare me.

Lance always did this when we were children. I’d insult him, and in return, he’d count down from three before he outright bolted after me. I never got far before he’d tackle me or throw me over his shoulder and carry me around like a sack of potatoes for all to see.

“Two...”

Remembering how quick he is on his feet, I turn and run through the door and swing myself around the railing, taking two steps at a time to the second floor and straight for my room. Just as I reach the archway, I hear Lance yell, “One!”

His steps get closer and closer, his laugh rumbling behind me and reminding me of the carver’s teeth. As I try to keep my feet under me and map out the halls in my mind, I start laughing maniacally myself. It’s been ages since he’s done this, and since then I’ve increased my speed for situations like this. I grab the corner of the hall and nearly run into a servant carrying clean sheets. I hear Lance yells his apology to the same servant just as I reach halfway down the hallway. My bedroom door is mere feet from me, and I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight.

“You can’t outrun me, Fauna.”

Gods, I just had to get myself in some deep shit, didn’t I?

I burst through my door and slam it shut just as Lance hits the other side. I have to throw all my strength and body weight into the door to keep him out. Before he can try and open it again, I lock the door and sink to the floor with my back against the wood. He could probably pick that lock in a minute or so, but I doubt he’ll go back to his room to get the lockpicks still tucked into his Jade suit.

“You may have gotten away for now, but you know how persistent I am,” he taunts against the wood.

I hear his footsteps as he walks back down the hall, and closes his door shut. I wait a few minutes, trying to calm my breathing and listen for any signs of him still lingering in the hall. Father used to punish us for playing such games and disturbing someone - or something - in doing so. I pray that he’s still in his office thinking about the meeting and didn’t hear my squealing every time I felt Lance’s hand brush against my cloak. I can’t remember the last time I’d been out of breath for something as silly as being chased by my brother. The happiness that fills me at the thought alone makes me stand up and quietly turn the lock. I put my head against the side of the door and listen for any commotion before slowly cracking it open. I peek down the hall, finding no one to be there. I open it halfway, getting out of a defensive crouch when the door is ripped from my hands and I’m tackled to the ground.

“Two years older and you still fall for that.”

Lance. He pulled it when I was fifteen years old and I ended up with my hair knotted from him running his fist against the top of my head. I only got out of it because our father walked in threatening us both with an hour of wall sits if we didn’t stop.

“I’m rather disappointed, Fey.”

He pins me to the ground, holding my hands by my head and using his body weight to keep me under him. I know how to get out of it, but he reads it in my eyes and moves swiftly to dig his knee into my right thigh, clicking his tongue like a disappointed teacher. “Really, Fauna, to think you would learn to keep your face neutral in a situation like this.”

“In a situation like this, I’m not usually wearing anything, nor am I on the bottom.” His answering laugh rumbles in my chest. Makes me want to stab him. Hard.

“And I assume that situations like these are all in your dreams. Especially considering the last guy who offered you pleasure, you ended up having dad hunt him down.”

“He was a drunk who took several women who didn’t even want to breathe the same air as him to bed. So yes. Gods forbid I had dad gut him in his favorite nightclothes.”

He didn’t have any nightclothes.

“You know, people would think you still haven’t found pleasure with the way you talk to people.”

“I talk to people like people talk to me.”

“With absolute fear and terror of how you’ll choose to make them suffer?”

“Asshole.”

“Brat.”