“…what games you’re going to enter?” Ilona asks, and I realize I’ve spaced out on her.
I blink and smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I zoned out. What was that?”
“The games in Faere,” she repeats. “Which ones are you going to enter?”
“Hmm,” I ponder. “I’d like to enter all, but since some overlap, it won’t be possible.”
“Well,” she says with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m putting my bets on you, so don’t let me down.”
Laughing, I assure her that I’ll do my best.
There are so many competitions scheduled. Ax throwing, archery, magic-wielding events, and the one I will most definitely enter… arena-style combat. I’ll be a favorite, given I spent so much time fighting during the height of the Roman Empire. Many Light Fae have led soft lives, and they only battle in these games once every century. Most will be easy to defeat.
Then again, Ronan will enter and he’s just as good as I am. We’ve actually battled many times in the Coliseum in Rome, and before that, in the Roman amphitheater in Pompeii. Those were brutal days, but we weren’t warring with each other in Brevala, so what better way to keep our warrior skills up to speed than to fuel it on by the hate groomed into us.
And just like the gladiator games fizzled out as civilizations evolved, so too, did Brevala’s clan wars. While our core hatred for the Bluff Dwellers still exists—and vice versa—there’s been relative peace for the last five centuries, give or take a few decades. Clans mostly keep to their sides of the borders and exist independently. Sure, some minor raids still occur, but no one has died in hundreds of years to my knowledge.
The actual warring has petered out completely. There’s still no fraternization because, after Ilona’s wings were cut off, no Meadowlander would look twice at a Bluff Dweller. I’m assuming the arrow through the eye of their clansman keeps the Bluff Dwellers at bay.
And yet… I’d essentially forsaken this rule two weeks ago with Ronan.
My face flushes just thinking about that night, and it’s a good thing we’re sitting near a fire so I can use it as my excuse.
The things he did to me… the things I did back to him… I’m sickened I had to turn to my sworn enemy for help, and I’m just as equally sickened that I’m still turned on by him. It was the most magnificent sex of my life.
More than anything—and I truly hate this—I’m thankful for his help. He didn’t have to do it, and, yes, I realize he got pleasure out of it, but he would have been well within his right to just watch me get led out of that bar by that man to be raped.
I wouldn’t have even blamed him; such is the enmity between our clans.
But he did help me, so now I’m wondering if anything about our evening together two weeks ago will change anything…
We haven’t spoken since. It ended when I said I needed a shower after hours in bed. When I came back out, he was gone as expected. He’ll be at the Festival, though, and we will run into each other, so I’m not sure how that will play out. I’m betting very awkwardly.
He’ll most certainly enter the games, which means we’ll be competing against each other. The prospect of that alone ramps up the heat of my desire, because as much as I enjoyed all that raunchy, no-holds-barred sex, I’m going to relish drawing blood against him over the coming days even more.
At past festivals, we had a long-standing tradition of being two of the most watched combatants, and over the centuries, we’ve probably earned the same number of wins and losses because we’re evenly matched. It’s one of the things I love about the Light Fae in comparison to the human world. The women are revered as equals to the men. We’re as strong and swift and smart. Ronan never pouts if he loses to me, just as I don’t to him. At the festival, there’s a truce in place, meaning we can’t kill each other, but we sure as hell will do everything possible to beat the other down.
Again, my mind wanders to what effect our time together a few weeks ago will have on us. Admittedly, I don’t hate him as much as I usually do. For one long night, Ronan became my lover and helped me through that vicious, drug-induced sexual psychosis. Truth be told, in hindsight, I could have probably worked my way through it on my own, but it would have been torture trying to do so. Ronan’s cock and tongue worked so much better than my fingers or a vibrator could have, although he used several of those on me, too.
I have never been fucked in so many different ways.