Kiss of the Goblin Prince (5 page)

Slowly, his pulse settled, but he kept the lights on. The nightmare that visited him every night for the week he’d been back in the world of men was still too fresh and too close to the reality he only just escaped. What a goblin would do to a human in the Shadowlands was enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life…even without the ones that haunted his sleep. He pushed aside the old memories. He had too many and had lived for too long. Longer than any man should.

He stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep with the lights on, and he couldn’t turn them off in case the shadows crept back in and tore apart his sleep. There were too many horrors waiting to wake him, and all were of his own creation. A litany of mistakes and misdeeds. He closed his eyes and hoped he’d be proven wrong and that sleep would come, and it would be peaceful. He counted the beats of his heart. Nothing. He was still awake.

Another night wasted.

Dai tossed back the covers and got off the air mattress. Borrowed furniture, borrowed room, borrowed life. He raked his fingers through his hair. Staying here in the hope that Amanda would come around and see Eliza was foolish. One dance and a tiny bit of magic and she was in every thought, if not dream. He doubted she was having a similar problem.

He picked up the newspaper he’d bought the day before while out walking and flicked to the real estate section—the bit he’d skipped reading while trying to learn more about the world. He wasn’t sure what kind of house he was looking for, only that he needed something. He couldn’t roam Eliza’s house all night. But if he had his own place, there would be no one to disturb.

He sat in the leather chair behind the large desk and spread out the paper. It almost felt like he was researching ways to break the curse again. It wasn’t homesickness that caught him unaware, as the Shadowlands had never been home, but he missed his library and his desk with the outdated map of the world inlaid on its surface. Maybe he should’ve stored that with Birch too—he doubted the goblins would value the antique.

Hindsight was always perfect, but in the moment he did what he thought best, not expecting to ever have need for his books again. He’d never planned on being part of the world of men again. He’d expected to die or fade to goblin like his cousin Meryn.

Meryn still linked Dai to the Shadowlands. Unlike his tentative, golden connection with Amanda, blood ties couldn’t be broken. He was bound to Meryn by a sickly, gray thread, a constant reminder of everything his cousin lost. A reminder of what Dai could have easily become. Goblin. A heartless, soulless beast blind to anything but gold and battle. Maybe Meryn didn’t even know what he was missing. No goblin he’d ever caught or killed seemed to be aware of anything being amiss. They were perfect in their own hideous ways. Like a dog after a bone, they lacked a mind to reason with. And yet they survived in the Shadowlands, a place more desolate than any desert or ice-coated land.

Dai checked his hands again. He was still getting used to seeing himself as human in the Fixed Realm. He’d been goblin on the outside and human on the inside since being cursed. Although toward the end he was dangerously close to losing his soul and becoming totally goblin. He was sure the shock of being human would pass…he hoped the nightmares would as well. He vowed to catch up on the missed sleep during the day when his nightmares had less power.

He glanced at the clock. Hours until daylight. Perhaps a beer would help him nod off, and he’d manage another hour or two of sleep.

With a small effort of will and a slight tweak of the threads, a bottle of beer floated into his palm. Creating a beer out of nothing would’ve been true skill but would require a source of energy—there was a reason real magic users tended to be thin. Magic burned energy. He blinked and cleared the magical sight.

The icy bottle chilled his palm. He shouldn’t be using magic for such petty purposes; he shouldn’t be playing with it at all. He had to fit in with modern society. His fingers made patterns in the dew on the glass. But he couldn’t give up magic any more than he could quit breathing. It was part of him…and for the first time in his life he had real power.

Not a slave.

Not a cursed man.

He didn’t know what he was.

Dai twisted the top off the beer and flicked it at the bin under the oversized desk. The lid rattled around the bottom before stilling. He propped his bare feet up on the edge of the table. The long-sleeved T-shirt and flannel pajama pants kept the chill off the rest of his skin. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something useful like find a place to live. Come morning he’d ring Birch and start asking questions. A week should be long enough to examine his books. And as much as he liked experimenting with the magic, having his texts would make things easier. He began searching the newspaper for a place big enough to store his whole library.

The sound of birds jerked Dai awake and his feet slid off the desk. His hand reached for the knives he no longer carried as if he were readying for battle. In that second he realized where he was. He took a breath and relaxed. He’d grown so used to the silence of the Shadowlands that the usual sounds of the world had the power to startle him. He glanced out the window. Daylight stained the sky pink.

He flexed his fingers. The weave of reality was all around him, begging to be played with. The threads, split and joined, wove around each other and tangled. So beautiful, so easy to manipulate. The window unlocked and opened at his thought. He sucked in the cold morning air. His lungs cramped and shivered like they had in the Welsh winters when mist lay heavy on the ground, and ice had lined any still water. Outside, the sun crested the roofs and moved higher just like it always had. He watched, mesmerized by its movement. There was no sun in the Shadowlands, no night, no day. No life. Only eternal gray and the knowledge that he would never be able to make the bastard Claudius pay. The muscle in his jaw tightened. Some crimes were unforgivable. He understood that too well. In his darkest nightmares, the blood was still on his hands.

There was a knock on the door a half-second before it swung open.

Dai pulled down his sleeves so they covered the marks on his arms. He wasn’t ready for the world to see his past. “And if I’d been naked?”

“I would have closed my eyes.” His brother stood in the doorway. He was hardly recognizable. A man, not a goblin. A husband, not a king.

“You’re up early.” Since the wedding a few days before, Roan and Eliza took their time getting up in the morning.

“I saw the lights on.”

Through the open door Dai saw the house was too well lit for early in the morning. Crap. Had he been turning on all the lights in the house every night?

“You also left the fridge open.” Roan nodded at the two empty beers on the desk.

“Sorry.”

He’d never thought to close the fridge, simply willed the beer to his hand and didn’t consider the process. He frowned as he thought about the way he was using magic. Could he get a beer without opening the fridge?

It would mean altering the material of the fridge for just a moment so the beer could pass through. The practice of magic was proving different to the theory. His fingers curled as he was tempted to try, but he would have to wait for Roan to leave. His brother knew nothing of the magic he could use and that was probably for the best. The magic Roan used in the Shadowlands had almost taken his soul. He’d only worry if he knew.

“You didn’t sleep again.” Roan leaned against the door frame.

“Too much noise in this realm.” Dai tried on a crooked smile.

Roan pressed his lips together but let the lie pass. “You will get used to it.”

How could he tell Roan that surviving the curse was never a plan he’d made?

They’d vowed to die before fading to goblin. But every thread of the Shadowlands that ran through Roan and tied him to the curse was replaced by Eliza’s love for him, and his for her. She did everything he’d tried to do for centuries in a few short days. The death he expected had been exchanged for a second chance.

“I’m sure I will.” Dai flipped the newspaper closed.

Roan paused with his hand on the door frame. “You’d tell me if it was something serious.”

“I’m fine.” Dai forced a smile and relaxed. “It’s just goblins keeping me up.” That at least was the truth. Erasing the memories of the Shadowlands was harder than searching for a cure to the curse.

“The curse is broken.” Roan’s fingers whitened against the wood like he could force Dai to believe it.

He already did. He was in the Fixed Realm, and there was no going back.

***

Being on hold was like existing in the Shadowlands—meaningless. It was the third time Dai was transferred to a different department within the Birch Trustees. He’d never gotten the runaround as a goblin.

Chatter filtered in through the open study door. Dai lifted his head. He recognized the voice and laughter as clear as sunlight. Amanda. His lips twitched as he remembered the way she’d looked at him at the wedding. The last woman who’d smiled at him that way had ended up whipped and sold, with Claudius making sure Dai watched from screaming start to bloody end. Seiran’s only crime was that she was caught kissing him. Claudius was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch.

“Mr. King, how may I help you?” The voice was oily, as if used to smoothing over all manner of problems.

Dai stood, immediately on guard. “When can I collect my books?”

Not that he had anywhere to put them yet, but he needed them. It made him anxious that the bank had already kept them so long.

“They are being catalogued and the contents examined, sir.” The words were slick, as if read from a script.

“Why does Birch need to examine them?” When he’d packed them all up and deposited them in the Birch vault with the rest of his ill-gotten goblin wealth, it was so the world wouldn’t lose the knowledge contained in the books and scrolls if he died. Goblins had no respect for anything that wasn’t either a weapon or gold; if it was both, it was a highly valued item indeed.

If he’d known he was going to live and Birch was going to take their time returning his treasure, he would’ve put it somewhere else where he could’ve retrieved it at his leisure. He knew plenty of secluded caves, lost tombs, and the like where they would’ve been safe from weather and archeologists who’d lock up the books and spend the rest of their lives wondering what they meant. He knew what they all meant. It was his life’s work and a distraction from the ever-present weight of the curse slowly stealing his humanity. That thirst for knowledge—and love for his brother—kept him from turning fully goblin.

“Just a moment, sir.”

Amanda’s laughter echoed down the hall, but he pushed down the warm thoughts that sound brought, because he knew they would be followed by memories he’d rather forget. It wasn’t her fault; the damage had been done hundreds of years before. Yet she called to him in a way he couldn’t describe. He wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her and break down the boundaries he’d built for himself.

The phone clicked, and once again hold music filtered down the line.

Dai clenched his fist and the lamp on the desk blew, followed by the light overhead. Glass hit his hands like brittle rain, but Dai remained silent. He knew when to play mute. It was a useful skill for a slave to have and had saved many fights with his brother.

Aggravating whoever was on the phone wouldn’t help his case. Instead he focused on a melodic chant monks had taught him to gain control of the anger. He gritted his teeth and forced the words to flow through his mind. Learning to control the fury that could never be spent by shedding Roman blood had been the first step to learning how to master himself and then magic.

Wielding magic was like holding any weapon—it required training or the user was more likely to injure himself. It was one thing to know which end of the sword to hold, but another to be able to handle the blade in battle. He’d never had the opportunity to use magic while goblin, and now that he needed help there was no one left alive to ask for guidance. All he had left were his books.

And Birch had them.

He glanced out the window. Roan was digging in the yard. Since breaking the curse, he’d busied himself around Eliza’s house as if he’d been there all his life. If Dai dug into the magic of the world in the same way, he’d do irreversible harm. Who knew what the shock waves would do, or what threads would loosen? It would only take a few cut threads to unravel the world as everyone knew it and make it into something else. He swept the broken glass to the side with the edge of his hand, then changed his mind and used magic to push the shards back into place as if the bulbs were never broken. The familiar pressure in his temples returned. He didn’t remember being told magic would hurt. But then what didn’t?

“I’m sorry for keeping you on hold. The processing is taking much longer than I first thought.” The man paused. “Is there any reason you require
all
of those magical texts?”

Dai narrowed his eyes. There was something beneath the question, like the slither of scales over skin. A shiver ran down his spine. The real issue wasn’t the texts; it was the magical secrets they held. The lore he’d paid little attention to when his sole aim was breaking the curse, information he could really use. Dabbling in magic without proper safeguards was dangerous.