If she came, Jacob wanted it to be because what they were doing to him was turning her on beyond al control, no matter how twisted that might be.

  What was spurring her arousal now was Jacob’s reluctant awareness of a heated male mouth pul ing on his cock like a damn vacuum cleaner—Jesus God, Cadr had a mouth made for porn. But they were preparing him for another queen’s pleasure, and she didn’t like that as much. It was grimly satisfying, knowing they both had some territory issues.

  He bit down on another cry in his suffocating darkness as something slick, big and torturously cold was lodged at his anus and then pushed in, no matter how hard he tried to clench against it. Straps were attached to it, and then he was turned over, the ice slab remolding itself to his shoulders, back and ass so he couldn’t expel the invasion. His face tingled painful y at the release from the ice, frost becoming moisture, like perspiration over his skin.

  At least no one was sucking on his cock, though it was so steel-hard with need it was brushing his bel y.

  When Arthmael reached down, touched the bar of ice that ran between his pierced nipples, he cried out at the sensation, his cock jumping. Looking down, he saw a diamond crust of frost over the rod, which coated his nipples as wel , tiny drops of blood caught in the design. Arthmael experimented with the bar, moving it back and forth, and Jacob growled against the sting, his whole body shuddering. The dildo in his ass joined the torturous composition of burning pain across his body. Yet when Cadr closed his hand around his cock, testing, it hadn’t lost a bit of its arousal. In fact, Jacob couldn’t stop his body from thrusting up into the fucking skil ful touch as Cadr stroked him, confirming that he was aroused enough to hump his grip, no matter his desire not to do so.

  “Amazing,” Arthmael murmured. Cadr stepped back, wiped his mouth delicately, giving Jacob a wicked look.

  “He knows the way of it, for certain. Her Majesty wil be pleased.”

  Lifting a wide steel band then, the Fae unlatched it and slid it around Jacob’s base. Thick as he was, it was an extremely tight fit, but he had the feeling that was the intent. Once it was on, the same phenomenon happened as had occurred with the rod. The steel became ice, and crystals ran in broken lines down his cock, spreading out into a web that encased the head. It was stil cold as hel , but so thin, almost condom-like, al owing a view of the flesh beneath, and maintaining what little flexibility the blood-engorged shaft had. He swore, writhing, the burning of ice competing against the burning of lust, his blood goaded into savagery by the intensity of the sensations.

  He’d been peripheral y aware of his lady’s attention and what was happening to her, but now he tried to obey her mandate, tune ful y back into the view of her in the bath chamber. As he did, he felt her arousal, pushed up so high by what they were doing to him, by Patrick’s mouth on her cunt, working her relentlessly, serving her to the end. The combined stimulation had her bucking up in their hold, her release sweeping over her. There was an answering spasm from Jacob’s cock, bound and frozen as it was. Before his eyes, he was getting even larger and thicker. The ice cock ring was agonizing. Al of it was agonizing, and yet riding it was the bloodlust and the trained physical lust of a servant responding to restraint and pain, at his Mistress’s pleasure. He couldn’t think, his mind caught in brutal desire, a mixture of crazed pain, raw rutting need, and pure instinct.

  Arthmael took a container of oil from Cadr and poured it in the center of Jacob’s chest. Warming oil, so warm it tingled, but didn’t affect the ice. The two men rubbed it thoroughly into his flesh, making him slick from his throat to the bottoms of his feet.

  Further bracelets of ice were added to his wrists and ankles, turning his body into this chaotic mixture of hot and cold, ice and flame.

  “Your comfort means nothing. The queen’s comfort and pleasure is your only desire. Until she is satisfied, these enchantments wil not release you, vampire. It is their nature. So serve her wel .” So lost in the sensations, how they’d aroused him, he didn’t know how wel he pleased his own Mistress when he gave a jerk of his head and spoke hoarsely, without a single thought to who they actual y meant.

  “That’s always been my only desire. To serve my lady.”

  9

  LYSSA was pleased by Jacob, but the enchantment, evidence of Rhoswen’s trickery, angered her. Stil , Rhoswen seemed to have a good grasp of the balance between pain and pleasure when it came to preparing a servant. Of course, Lyssa found that somewhat odd, because despite the fact Rhoswen was a formidable queen, there was a difference between that and a sexual Mistress, the way there was a difference between a sexual Dominant and an alpha. They weren’t necessarily the same thing.

  Though she herself was both, she hadn’t felt from Rhoswen the Mistress vibe, as Jacob might say. But she couldn’t deny the Fae queen’s knowledge of the way of it.

  When she was brought to see Jacob, she was wearing the gold and green dress, her hair arranged in rich ringlets down her back, her feet in slippers.

  Her body was in a lazy satiation from Patrick’s skil ful mouth, but it was already stirring to life, just feeling her servant’s state of mind. When she saw him, that stirring became a boil.

  Jacob was completely unclothed, so she could see the rod of ice that passed through both nipples and curved around his back. In the front, the rod formed a V at his sternum that traveled down to outline the ridges of his abdomen. Below that, it dropped down, coming together to form the manacle of ice that wrapped around the base of his genitals.

  And his cock . . .

  She had to lick her lips, because though she’d heard that cold shrunk a man, apparently for a vampire like Jacob, or because of the nature of ice in the Fae world, that was not the case. He had an impressive cock at any time, but he was distended half again beyond that.

  Wherever his muscles were not limned with ice, they were glossed with warming oil, so he was a feast from every angle. He walked stiffly, with great care, because of the dildo in his ass. However, as he reached her, it twisted her heart, how he knelt to her despite his vast discomfort, underscoring his obedience to her first.

  He was wel trained to manage pain and desire together. She was an experienced Mistress, monitoring his emotional and physical state closely while knowing how to ride that line for her ultimate pleasure, as wel as his. But beyond the training, his responses were deeply intuitive, how he reacted to being under her command, and that only increased the intense joy of being his Mistress.

  They had his arms bound behind his back, those steel bands of ice around his wrists locked together.

  When she put a hand to his slick, oil-warmed shoulder and brought him to his feet, his body shuddered at that mere contact. His blue eyes clung to her with such wild need. She fol owed the bar of ice from one nipple to the other, putting some pressure on it so he rocked forward into her touch.

  Then she dropped her hands to close them around that enormous organ. Below the thin ice coating, there was an extraordinary pumping heat.

  “You’re magnificent, Jacob,” she said, giving him a short, regal nod. “You wil please the queen wel .” He bowed his head, a jerk as if his muscles were having difficulty obeying his agitated mind. When he lifted his gaze, those blue eyes held hers. I want to please you. I want to fuck the touch of his mouth off of you. I want to mark your cunt, your mouth, your tits, all of it, as mine again. I want to kill him, wipe his memory off the planet.

  Yes, he was out of control, the bloodlust jumping on the end of a thin lead. But she knew the man beneath the beast, and she could handle both with what she knew of the darkest recesses of his soul.

  “Please the Fae queen, and then we shal see.

  And remember that no seed of yours spurts until I wil it.”

  The climax she’d experienced from Patrick’s mouth had been intensely erotic, pleasurable, a good climax. Similar to a good meal, a delicious blood. But it had no emotional component, and she’d gotten used to the unrivaled treasure of that. Craved it. It was why she’d reached out to Jacob when she climaxed. No matter that he was irritated, that connection, whether it was anger, annoyance, love, lust—anything from Jacob was welcome.

  The erotic artistry of his preparation had engaged her as a Mistress, because she was always interested in how a servant could be drawn to intense arousal in a new way. But seeing him standing in the hal way, so beautiful and virile, his barbarism warring with his intel ect, she was reminded anew he had been prepared for another woman. She was giving al that to Rhoswen.

  Intentional y, wil ful y.

  The despondency hit her without warning, much like Jacob’s earlier bloodlust, and almost as debilitating. It was a game, a battle of wits with another queen, Jacob a vital pawn in those maneuvers. She found herself wishing she could go back to that moment, take it back.

  Damn it, she’d told Jacob she’d feared this in herself. She’d never been given to fits of sentiment or self-pitying angst. She shoved it away now, viciously. It never ended. It was a rise and fal , a new chal enge to face, a quiet moment to savor, bitter tears to shed, rage to expend in violence or retribution, passion to share . . . al that mattered was he was here, with her, and she with him.

  Exactly, my lady.

  She met his gaze then. Drawing closer, she laid her hand on his chest, over his heart. I thought you weren’t supposed to listen into my head uninvited.

  I needed you.

  She pressed her open mouth to the base of his throat. He held stil , the strength of his body against hers, a magnetic pul . She trailed her hands down his arms, slid to his waist and down low on his hips, pushing herself against his cock, and relished his fierce groan. He wanted her mouth, needed the intimacy of the kiss, but she denied him, turning her face away. Instead, she brushed her lips against the rounded steel of his biceps as he tested his restraints in frustration.

  Then she stepped back, glanced toward Patrick, who stood at quiet attention behind her. “Are you waiting on us, or on your queen’s summons?” He gave her that courteous, bland bow. “The latter.”

  He’d had a tremendous erection when tasting her pussy, but he’d shown no more than physical passion for what he was doing, no opinion or preference. Her interactions with them, the nuances of their brief conversations during her preparations, had told her something, though. Rhoswen had their loyalty, particularly Cayden’s. And men did not give their loyalty for no reason. Even Keldwyn. She is a good queen, but she could be a great one . . .

  “Then we are ready when your queen is,” she said formal y. She glanced over at Arthmael. They’d brought her here, rather than Jacob being brought back to her room. Maybe Rhoswen thought Lyssa would be tempted to sample the results of Arthmael and Cadr’s hard work before she had first opportunity. Lyssa’s lips curved in a feral smile. She would have been right.

  Arthmael stood on one side of the temple opening, Cadr the other, matched sphinxes. “Though I have no standing among you, my compliments on your preparation skil s,” she said. “I am pleased, as I am sure your queen wil be.”

  Arthmael appeared somewhat surprised at the gracious comment, and sketched a tentative bow.

  “Lady.”

  “She’s ready.” Cayden spoke behind them. When Lyssa turned, she saw he’d changed out of his mail and heavy weaponry to a tunic and hose. He gave Jacob a short, appraising look. Usual y in such a situation, Jacob would studiously avoid making eye contact with another male, but this time he locked gazes with the captain, his expression chal enging. A muscle flexed in Cayden’s jaw, then he nodded to Lyssa with stiff courtesy. “Fol ow me.” The courtyard was relatively quiet at the now late hour, apparently most Fae preferring a traditional sleep schedule, though they did pass a handful of graveyard shift staff. Brownies cleaning the light sconces, house elves polishing banisters or mopping floors, things best done during times of low foot traffic. The inevitable guards at each entry point.

  They saluted Cayden as he passed. She noted the reactions to Jacob’s appearance varied from outright appraisal and curiosity—mostly from the household staff—to the same deliberate, studied dispassion reflected in the face of the guards.

  The captain walked a pace or two abreast of Lyssa, which al owed him to keep Jacob, fol owing just behind her, in his peripheral vision. Lyssa glanced at him. “I asked you earlier why the castle was so heavily defended. After meeting her, I’m even more curious as to why the queen requires such a substantial guard. She seems more than capable of repel ing any threat on her own merit.”

  “No one can remain vigilant at al times,” Cayden said neutral y. “And I am not so gul ible that I would tel you who the queen’s enemies are.”

  “Do you view us as her enemies?”

  “I do not view you as friends.”

  “A clever tongue,” she mused. “Does Queen Rhoswen have any friends?”

  “Does any queen?”

  Lyssa lifted a brow. She knew that frustrated tone.

  It came forth when a man loved a difficult woman with al his heart and soul.

  It might not be a romantic love, like Jacob bore her, but it didn’t necessarily have to be. Love was complex and had many forms. During the age of chivalry, she’d known men who gave everything they were to their liege ladies, though they’d never touch her in lust, considering it an insult to the honor they bore her. The pure love, it had been cal ed.

  “Friends are rare,” she agreed. “But I expect if your queen does have a true friend, I am speaking to him.”

  He paused, giving her a measured glance. They’d reached the opening to a tower, where a pul ey lift was provided instead of stairs. “I leave you here,” he said, though his grudging manner made it obvious how he felt about that. “The queen’s chambers are at the top.”

  He turned to Jacob then. The way Cayden kept his gaze rigidly fixed on Jacob’s face suggested Rhoswen’s captain had no wish to acknowledge Jacob’s general state of bound nakedness. Of course, he stepped forward to confront her servant, close enough Lyssa thought he might be reminded of it quite rudely if he wasn’t careful.

  “The threat you issued to Patrick? If you harm my queen, you wil suffer the same.”

  “As long as your queen does nothing against my lady, I wil not act against her. I don’t harm women.” Jacob’s gaze was just as unflinching. “Ever.” Cayden nodded. “Make sure everything is tucked into the lift, vampire. It’s a narrow space and something extraneous might get whacked off.” Jacob bared his fangs. “Your envy is showing, Captain.”

  Cayden snorted at that. Lyssa was surprised when the guard captain offered his hand to help her step up into the lift. A subtle gesture, but one suggesting his attitude might be easing toward them. Or perhaps his queen was no longer in such a petty mood as to deny her the basic courtesies that should be expected.

  That could be a good sign, or simply a distraction for something far worse Rhoswen had planned.

  There was no visible source of power to the lift, but then she looked up. She touched Jacob’s shoulder, guiding his gaze upward. A trio of thick vines, populated with what reminded her of her

  moonflowers at home, was gathered and held in the mouth of a hippogriff. The creature with the body of a horse and head of a raptor had deep purple and black plumage. She surged off the platform with the help of her powerful wings, taking them up smoothly.

  When they saw the night sky, Jacob realized the lift silo was open to al ow the hippogriff to come and go at her leisure, or at the queen’s desire. When she reached the top, she settled on the stone ledge with a dainty clop of hooves, deftly dropping the vines into a catch hook that brought the lift to a slight thump of a halt.

  As it opened, Jacob met Lyssa’s gaze. By your command, my queen.

  A bracing reminder that only one royal held his al egiance. Sliding her hand down to the smal of his back, she caressed his servant’s mark along the way. Giving him a teasing scrape of her nails over his bare ass, she stepped out of the lift ahead of him.

  Jacob wasn’t certain if this was the queen’s private chamber or simply the place she chose to enjoy those she summoned to her. He suspected it was the latter, because though Lyssa had taken him in a lush bedroom his first night with her, he’d later learned she’d had a matching underground chamber. That was where she went to be herself, unguarded and relaxed. None but a precious few invaded that sanctum. Rhoswen struck him as the same.

  This chamber was a display area for a queen’s power and beauty, not a haven for her personal quiet time. A large bed was hung with more moonflower vines and strips of silk. The fireplace was roaring, firefly Fae cavorting in the flames. In the corner, teal yarn was strung on a large spinning wheel. Whoever operated it was creating a tapestry that looked like an ocean wave, the completed portion crumpled below the wheel on the floor.

  Positioned before an open window was a standing frame like a doorway, only sculpted of smooth black stone. It looked similar to the Torii outside Shinto temples, gateways to havens for the divine, but he had a feeling that was not Rhoswen’s purpose for it. Through the window, Jacob could see the torchlike Castle of Fire.

  Now he fol owed his lady’s attention to something else. Positioned next to the fire was a no less intricately carved but far smal er throne than what was in Rhoswen’s main hal . A comfortable guest chair sat opposite from it, but between them was a smal table with a child’s tea set on it. A dol with porcelain face, long dark hair and long-lashed green eyes sat in the guest chair. Rhoswen sat in the throne, of course.

  Lyssa moved toward her, bidding him stay where he was with another touch on his shoulder.

  Contemplating the two women together caused his ice encased cock to respond, which almost wrenched a groan from his throat. The gold and green garment was a robe. The dress his lady wore beneath it at Rhoswen’s behest was a stretched sheath of dark cobwebs, every feature of her body visible and yet temptingly shadowed by the lace work. It made her raven darkness, her dangerous edge, even more irresistible.