Richelle Mead - Storm Born

I laughed in spite of myself, tightening my hold on him. I knew we shouldn’t be locked in this kind of embrace, but honestly…after everything that had happened, it was comforting. And a turn-on too. But mostly comforting.

“What’s that like anyway?”

“What’s what like?”

“Being a fox. Is it weird?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always been that way. It’s the only thing I know.”

“Yeah, but…why not just stay human all the time?”

“I’m stronger as a fox. Comes in handy in a fight.”

“You’re not too shabby as a human.”

“Women think foxes are cute.”

“Not that cute,” I grumbled. I could sense his smile.

“It’s a good way to let your instincts take over.”

“Which instincts?”

In one movement, he had me flipped onto my back. His hands held mine down while his body pressed against the rest of me. Those lips hovered a few breaths from mine.

“All of them,” he growled.

My breath was coming out in rapid bursts, and a voice in the back of my head was yelling, Hey! Remember how you don’t want to be involved with Otherworldly people? I knew that voice was right, but it was kind of hard to pay attention when my body was melting against his and one of his hands had slid down to the side of a breast.

“I don’t think friends are supposed to lay like this.”

“I know,” he said.

“Or bodyguards.”

“I know.”

“Or veterinarians.”

“That I disagree with.”

He crushed his mouth to mine, and it was powerful and ravenous and furious and wonderful. I couldn’t think or do anything coherent in that moment, only let him keep kissing me and kissing me.

At last he broke away. He sat up, and I could see his body tremble. The look in his eyes was still hungry and yearning, and there was a visible struggle within him, a warring of two halves. One must have won, because he took a deep breath, and that animal need faded-slightly-from him.

“I need to go,” he said at last. “I’ve got to work in two hours.”

“Okay.”

We stared at each other for a long time. I pulled a sheet up, letting it cover part of me. A grin lit his features.

“Thanks. That helps.” He stood up and moved toward the door. “Hey, would you mind meeting Maiwenn? She wants to talk to you in person, see what you’re like.”

“You seem pretty chummy with her,” I said. The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but he looked unfazed.

“She’s a good friend. And I believe in her philosophies. She wants both our worlds left intact. So do I. She can be a good friend to you too.”

“Is she strong enough to come over here?” He nodded. “If she’ll do it, I’ll meet her. I’m not really keen on going over there anytime soon.”

“I’ll tell her.”

He took a few steps out the door, and this time I called to him. “Hey…Kiyo.”

“Yeah?”

“All these people and…things are coming after me because they think I’m going to be Damien’s mother or something…but seriously, do you actually think any of it’s true? Do you really believe this prophecy could happen? Roland-my stepdad-says prophecies are a dime a dozen in the Otherworld.”

“They are,” Kiyo said slowly, a slight wrinkle between his eyes as he thought. “And most don’t come true. But a lot do, a lot more than you’d think growing up here. The thing about prophecies is…well, people sometimes read the wrong things into them. Or, in trying to avert them, they only make the prophecy come true.”

I shivered, half-wishing he would have just said prophecies were a bunch of crap. “You mean like Oedipus? How his father got rid of him to beat that prophecy?”

“Exactly. Doing that only ended up making it happen.” Seeing my dark look, he smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I told you most don’t come true. And besides, you’re not trying to have kids, so there’s nothing to worry about. Concentrate on the now.”

I gave him a faltering smile back, hoping he was right. “Thanks.”

He held my eyes for a few seconds before stepping out of the room, only to return a moment later with my burnt mirror. He set it on the dresser, regarding it with displeasure. “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“Hey,” I said, mustering some bravado, “I told you I can take care of myself.”

Those dark eyes flashed. “I know. You’re a dangerous woman.”

I wasn’t entirely sure if he referred to my fighting abilities or something else.

When he was gone, I lay back in bed with a sigh, thinking I might not move for a week. Things just got weirder and weirder around here.

Suddenly I felt a faint pressure build in the room. I sat up straight. Red eyes peered at me from a dim corner.

“Volusian? I didn’t summon you.”

“You gave us permission to come if we acquired information.”

“Yeah. I suppose I did. I didn’t really think any of you would actually listen to me. What’s up?”

“I’ve come to tell you Otherworldly interest in you has increased.”

I stared at him stupidly a moment, then pointed to the bloody athame I’d used on the Gray Man. “Gee, you think?”

He shook his head. “More than these scattered attacks. Before, others were interested in you simply because of your heritage. Now, after seeing you…some are more excited still. They find you…attractive.” I could tell the concept baffled him.

“Great. Now I’m fertile and hot. So what’s this mean? Should I be expecting daily attacks?”

“More like…organized attacks.”

“Groups?”

“Worse.”

“Worse than a group of guys trying to have sex with me? How?”

“For now, only creatures and gentry who can cross over in physical or elemental form will try. But we are weeks from Beltane, mistress. When the doors open…”

“Jesus,” I breathed. “Everything with a dick is going to come looking for me.”

He didn’t bother with a response. But when I said nothing more, he asked, “What will you do?”

“What do you think? The same as I’ve been doing. I’ll fight them off.”

He stayed quiet, but I could feel his disapproval.

“What else do you expect me to do? Submit?”

“I expect you to not sit around and wait for the inevitable. You might as well be from one of the bride-by-capture societies. Always being on the defensive will get you nowhere; eventually someone will overpower you.”

I laughed without really finding anything funny. “So, what, I go on the offensive? Head over and just start taking on random gentry and spirits?”

“No. You start claiming your heritage. They attack you because you let them, because you kick at one and then wait for the next. You make yourself a victim, yet you are Storm King’s daughter. In his day, his rule stretched farther than any of the current monarchs’. His kingdom may be gone now, but his legacy makes you royalty. If you acted like it, they wouldn’t attack you so brazenly.”

“I doubt they’d give up wanting to father Storm King’s heir just because I started calling myself a queen or a princess.”

“Oh, they’d still want you, but they would go about it differently. They’d approach you with respect. They would try to woo you. Now they only treat you with disdain. They treat you like the victim-the piece of flesh-that you have let yourself become.”

I didn’t really like the thought of a bunch of gentry bringing me flowers and chocolate, but I liked it better than rape.

“Yeah, but joking aside, I can’t just go in there and say, ‘Hey, I’m Storm King’s daughter, treat me with respect.’”

“Well,” he said dryly, “it would be a start. However, you will drive home your connection to him most when you stop relying on those.” He pointed at my weapons. “They make you human.”