Free Death's Lover by Marie Hall

grabbed her wrist, yanking her into his lap. She was stiff, but only for a minute. Then she relaxed and began to rub her nose down his neck.
    “What makes you assume this is about the mortal woman?”
    She bit his left earlobe. Gentle at first, then hard enough to get his attention and make him wince.
    “Don’t play the fool, Dagda.”
    Shifting, he moved her directly over his cock. Her eyes widened and she wiggled her bottom on him, making him groan in response.
    “Fine,” he said, voice husky and full of desire. “I win and they live. Those are the terms.”
    “What about the week Frenzy committed to?” Her warm breath, spiked with mint, tickled his nose.
    Digging his fingers into her waist, he strained against the desire to rip off her clothes and have her now.
    “We let them have it and begin in earnest six days hence.”
    She nipped the corner of his mouth. He tittered on the brink of an explosive violence.
    “Maybe. Then again, maybe not.”
    “Six days. Minimum.”
    She inhaled. “Three.”
    “Chaos,” he growled, “that is not acceptable.”
    She sucked on his bottom lip. “Five. But that is all I’m willing to pledge.”
    Clenching his jaw, he knew bargaining for more would be futile. When his queen set her mind to something, she was as unshakeable as stone. “So be it. It is sealed. I bind you to your oath.”
    The air quickened with a hot rush of fire. Wind howled through the room, knocking books from shelves and glass containers from desks. Gradually the gale died and an unnatural lull filled the chamber. The pact had been sealed. To break it now meant eternal damnation.
    She smiled, a delighted glint in her royal-blue eyes. She looked happy, ready to gloat. That didn’t bode well. The queen hid a secret. He could almost see the cogs in her head spinning. She’d already formulated her method of attack. The Celts called her the goddess of war and strife for a reason: rarely could anyone outmaneuver The Morrigan in strategy.
    He frowned, only guessing at what she might be thinking. Knowing his queen, it would be something ingenious and devious. It was now up to him to figure out a way to thwart her. For now, his thoughts were of other things. With an animalistic growl he claimed her lips for his own.
    *  *  *
    The Morrigan sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts and watching the slow rise and fall of her king’s chest. She slipped on her robe and tiptoed out of the room. With silent steps she walked down to the rack room, Frenzy’s flogged and bloody body still hanging from the chains.
    She smiled, admiring her handiwork, and walked up to him. His breathing came out in short, shallow gasps.
    “Listen to me,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear.
    He turned bloodshot eyes to her. Even after all this, fear did not glitter in their depths.
    “I’m releasing you. Find the witch”—she cocked her head—“don’t take her soul.” She paused, leaving the rest unsaid. By the question in his eyes, she knew he caught her meaning. Not taking one’s soul had nothing to do with not harming. There was a difference. She lifted a brow and nodded, then continued, “Follow her. Gain her trust if you can, and when these five days are up, kill her.”
    “I vowed a week,” he said through clenched teeth.
    She grasped his chin, pulling his face toward hers. “Five days,” she hissed, “that is all. Follow her, then kill her. Is that clear?”
    He ground his jaw and yanked away. “I’ll do as you say, my queen.” The words lacked warmth. No matter. What did she care whether death groveled at her feet, so long as they were loyal. And Frenzy was very loyal.
    The Morrigan narrowed her eyes. “See that you do. I’m offering you penance, Frenzy. Don’t make me regret it.”
    His nostrils flared. He reminded her of a caged panther: incredible power and deadly grace.
    “I want no contact except for the day before her death. Come to me at the witching hour. I’ll make sure I’m alone.”
    He