Feversong (Fever #9)(97)

The way Cruce had just worded it hadn’t defined the occasion. Barrons might have been carved of stone, given how still he’d gone. He was no doubt standing there wondering if one of those times I’d slipped off to the beach with V’lane and come back tan, we’d been having sex all day.

“Get Cruce out of here,” I murmured to Jada.

Barrons exploded the instant I said it, and I realized my mistake. Merely by saying those words I’d confirmed that it had indeed happened. If it hadn’t, I’d never have tried to get Cruce out of there; it made me look both guilty and protective of him. Barrons had only gone so still because he’d turned one thousand percent of his focus on me, waiting for the slightest, subtlest sign of confirmation. It spoke volumes about how much I’d changed and how well I could guard my secrets that I’d had to actually say something for him to read me.

He slammed Cruce up against one of the tumbled walls of Chester’s with such force that bricks went flying and mortar showered down around them, his hand closing on his throat. I blinked. Barrons had somehow gotten…larger, without his skin darkening into the first stages of transformation to the beast.

Cruce’s dark, tattooed arm was out, his hand on Barrons’s throat. They were dark, mighty, giant Goliaths, locked together.

“You will never save your world if you kill me now,” Cruce said coolly. “She will die. You will die. The human race will die. Release me. Or all of you die.”

I glided across the wet pavement, placed my hand lightly on Barrons’s arm and said, “Please, Jericho. Don’t kill him. We need him. He raped me that day in the street. He was the fourth. Not Darroc. Cruce is the one who gave me the elixir. The elixir that saved me from your son,” I said pointedly. Funny how things worked out.

Barrons’s hold tightened further. “Give me one good reason not to kill him. Ms. Lane,” he growled roughly around thick, long black fangs.

“Because I asked you not to, Barrons. That’s good enough. You killed the other princes, and I was grateful. I wasn’t ready then. I was still afraid of what I’d become. But this last prince is mine to kill or not to kill. And I say no. At the moment. And although Cruce is incapable of understanding that word, I know you know that a no from me means no. And you will honor it,” I said in a voice that brooked no resistance. It was one of the defining differences between the two proud, dark, violent males. And if he didn’t honor it, he wasn’t the man I believed he was.

Both of them turned to look at me.

I was startled to realize both were regarding me with frank hunger. Not merely lust but…desire for me, the person. Cruce wasn’t lying. A powerful alpha in his own right, he was drawn to my power, strength, resilience, and passion. Struck by the similarities between them, I realized the Unseelie King had been right when he’d said things could have played out differently: Not the only possible, the king had told me. Perhaps Barrons becomes Cruce…or me. Mere choices defined who and what each of us had become. Cruce wanted me just as much as Barrons did.

That knowledge was a useful tool.

Barrons released his grip on Cruce’s throat and stepped away.

I looked up at the dark prince and said quietly, “Would you please stop the rain?”

It ceased instantly.

“I’d appreciate it if you would make sure it remains sunny until we’ve either solved our problem or died.”

Sunshine broke through leaden clouds. A breeze high above us began whisking the dense thunderheads away.

“For you, MacKayla. Do you see how simple it can be between us?” Cruce murmured softly. “You have only to accord me respect and consideration. Ask and I will make it yours, if it lies in my power to do so. I would move universes for you, if you would only see me as clearly as you see him.”

A deep, atavistic rattle began in Barrons’s chest, and I knew Cruce had just signed his death warrant again.

I whirled and locked gazes with him, shucked my pride, doffed my prickly alpha stubbornness and said, You are my world, Jericho Barrons. Not him. Never him.

The rattle died and his dark eyes gleamed. He inclined his head.

I glanced back at Cruce. “Can you use your Fae power to remove some of the dirt from beneath the hole?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying it a long moment. His gaze flickered strangely and, were he human, I’d have called the expression consternation followed by annoyance, perhaps even unease. “No,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. “Something is causing interference. The effect of the sphere extends well beyond the rim, and that…disturbance is neutralizing my endeavors.” He frowned. “This is not something I have encountered before.”

“How do I use the queen’s power?”

“I told you my terms.”

“Tell me how to restore your wings and I’ll do it.” And in the process, maybe I could figure out how to use it without requiring further instruction.

He smirked. “Nice try, MacKayla. But you must sign the Compact in blood before I am willing to teach you anything.”

“What Compact?” everyone demanded simultaneously.

“Cruce said he would teach me how to use my power and help us save the world if I restored his wings.”

Jada said flatly, “No loss there. Do it.” Ryodan and even the still-seething Barrons concurred.