Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles, Caedis Knight [year 2 reading books txt] 📗

“We Fae are old folk, but we do have cell phones, Saskia.”

I stand up straight and look him straight in the eye. “If you didn’t want to be interrupted, then why did your guard let me in?”

“You are not interrupting. We’ve just finished this round.”

This round? 

“How many rounds are there? Scratch that. Can we talk in private, please?”

He glances at his companions. They have ice crystals in their hair, and I can see a layer of frost against the dark shoulder of the woman beside him.

“They will not hear you. They’re in a tundric trance.”

“Don’t you mean tantric?”

“No. The cooling effect of my magic allows us to last far longer than in regular tantra,” he says, in his matter-of-fact Dutch voice. “Although, of course, I’m versed in that too.”

He gets out of bed, completely naked, and walks towards me. My flush returns.

“My, my, a prude Witch. How rare.”

“Whereas you really put the Ho in Holland.” I manage a taunting smile, even though on the inside I’m empty.

“No one calls it Holland. It's the Netherlands.”

“Fine. Then please put your Nether-” I wave my hand at his exposed junk. “Lands, away. I’m here for a serious reason.”

I stand my ground, but the prince walks past me to the copper wet bar in the corner of the room and pours himself a gin, the glass frosting at his touch. He sips his drink, every inch of him naked, although there’s one part of him the cold doesn’t seem to affect.

“Spit it out, Saskia. I am not in the mood for sass.”

He’s right. I came here with a mission, and it doesn’t involve stupid banter with a naked fairy. But I can’t spit it out, that’s the thing.

“I need another favor.”

“Was parting the Mediterranean Sea not enough for you?”

“Please.”

The prince looks away. “Greed is unbecoming.”

“Spare me the lecture, princeling,” I say, nodding at the three people in his bed and the grandeur of his bed-chamber…on a fucking yacht. “You are hardly disciplined with your own needs.”

He laughs, holding his gin up in a silent toast. “You know favors come at a price with the Fae.”

My eyes travel down his sculpted torso, his abs as hard and gleaming as milky marble. His skin glows in the sunlight streaming through the porthole, and I half expect him to start melting like an ice statue.

I nod and the prince ponders my offer.

“Fine. I will help you, and you will owe me a favor in exchange.”

The word of the Fae is final, meaning I just sealed a deal without any Ts&Cs. Shit. The realization sends a chill into my bones, but there’s no going back now.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I’m to Ascend today.”

“And the problem with that is?”

I try to speak but can’t. “I…” My voice fades. He focuses on me, his cold blue eyes brimming with curiosity. I can’t do it. “I want to Ascend.”

He watches me, a cunning smile playing at his blue lips. I scan the room desperately as panic takes hold.

This isn’t going to work! 

Then my eyes land on a pile of books by his bedside, all translated into Dutch.

Nabokov. Morrison. De Beauvoir. Tolkien.

“Have you read Lord of The Rings?”

“Do not insult me. It is a Fae favorite.”

“OK.” I search my brain as I flip words, translating, outsmarting the compulsion. I was an English Lit major. I can do this.

I speak in Dutch. “Moonlight drowns all but the brightest stars.”

“Why are you quoting Tolkien to me? In my own tongue?”

“How can one drown out the moon?”

The prince observes me, my gown, the moonflowers. Understanding dawns on his perfect face.

“You do not wish to Ascend.”

I do not move, and I stay silent, afraid my mother’s magic will overrun me.

“Hmm...” The prince tilts his head to the side in an inhuman way. “Interesting.”

I look out the tiny round window at the sun losing its heat. The Ascension is getting closer. My desire to go back to the MA HQ, where the event will take place, is mounting. The compulsion is literally causing me so much pain my body has started trembling.

The prince places an icy finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m staring into his pale eyes. My own swim with tears.

“I understand not liking where you come from,” he says. “Although I must admit I could benefit from having a contact like you so high up in the MA ranks. A Second is a useful person to know.”

My leverage is slipping. I need to convince him that one of my measly favors is worth him going against my mother for.

If I could only postpone the Ascension for another six months, until the next equinox, I could get him someone powerful as his contact. I may even have found Mikayla by then, and I know she’d jump at the chance of being Second. Anyone else will do; it just can’t be me!

The prince drains the rest of his Nordic sloe gin. Waiting.

“I can promise you a powerful contact, high up in the ranks. And I’ll make sure she’s loyal to you.”

He contemplates this for a moment, then nods slowly.

“And a favor still.”

I look outside at the warm light dimming beyond the confines of the yacht, then look back up at the prince. My feet are shaking, and tears are streaming down my face. I can’t fight this much longer.

“Fine,” I croak. “My favor is yours.”

He clicks his fingers and a member of staff hands him a small blue box. Reaching forward, the prince gently wipes my cheek with his thumb. My tears instantly turn to a glittering gem at his touch.

“Witch tears are more valuable to our kind than any diamond,” he says, placing the solid tear in the velvet-lined box. “I have a piece of you now, so our bond is sealed.”

He walks back to the bar, pours two drinks, and holds one out to me.

“Tell me what you need.”

I breathe in, steadying myself against my mother’s compulsion. Then I speak one last time in Dutch, every word