Wicked Wonderland by Lisa Whitefern Page B

showoff, spread his huge, sharply pointed wings and flew up the sandbank to her side, though he could easily have used his legs to walk the short distance. In the moonlight, the feathers on his wings shone a deep blue-black.
    Brock worshiped her. He owed everything to her. She treated him much better than her other slaves, giving him all the choicest larks for his supper. For those less-loyal birdman, like Rurik, she sometimes caught or conjured only tiny rodents.
    And she took Brock to her bed. Often. Brock’s scent was that of the blood of smaller birds he fed on, warm and spicy. Everything grew slippery and hot when the dark fae and birdman writhed together, tongues and fingers exploring each other’s flesh.
    Now, her hands sought the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his chest, and the feathers on his falcon wings. Brock made a kaw kaw call from the back of his throat and brushed his beak against her hair. He touched her hips and slid his hands to her waist. His engorged length pressed against her pussy through the gauzy skirt of her dress. She put her hands upon his shoulders and pushed the beast down, down, until he lay with his back on the cold, wet snow and sand.
    His harsh voice croaked, “Secret One, I live to serve you.”
    She bent to her knees to place a wet kiss on the swollen crown of his cock, then slid up his body so she could whisper in his ear. “You have pleased me, Brock. You alone have been truly loyal.” Brock had helped her collect the fae treasures that had been in the possession of stupid, ignorant half fae, and now they lay in the iron trunk.
    Zenia lifted her skirt and straddled Brock, but she left her panties on. Teasingly, she rubbed herself along the edge of his shaft so it abraded her clit through her satin thong. Brock let out a groan, and she giggled, heady with her power over him.
    “With your help, Brock, I will retrieve the Blue Spirit Stone and bring it back to the Dark side of the Fae Realm, where it belongs. It will be me who wears the cuff bracelet and fae crown, and I will rule all of the Fae Realm.”
    “But, Mistress,” Brock managed to pant as she slid her thong-covered snatch up and down the length of his cock, teasing him with the wetness that seeped through. “Mistress, what will you do about the redhead, the Promised One?”
    Zenia stilled and gritted her teeth. “Don’t call the fool by that title. The stupid slut doesn’t even know her fae name. Lillian is completely ignorant. She knows nothing, and she will continue to know nothing.”
    “Is she truly Orane’s daughter, then, this Lillian Rudolph?”
    His curiosity obviously overrode his lust for her. She saw that in his eyes, and it angered and annoyed her. She pushed herself off him and got to her feet. He stood too, brushing snow from his feathers, and followed her as she paced up the beach.
    “Forgive me, Mistress, but that is the rumor I hear. I’ve heard the earth fae and the air fae whisper. I keep my ears and eyes open at all times, as you have asked me to do.”
    “Yes,” Zenia answered coldly. “Lillian Rudolph is a daughter of Orane. He gave her the name ‘Lillian, the Promised One’, before he tired of her mother and turned his back on them both, as is his usual habit. He thought at the time that she would be queen one day. He was mistaken. How he could think a foolish half-breed born of a mortal could ever become queen of the Fae Realm is unfathomable to me.”
    The Secret One did not like to speak of her sylph father. Her heart hollowed when she thought of his coldness, of all the times she’d tried to impress him and failed. The very few times in her life that he’d praised her had left her with a heady euphoria, but generally, in her quest to inspire feelings of love or respect in her father, she’d been defeated time and again. His coldness stung her. It was difficult to accept she’d never been more to him than an object or possession, as important and valuable as a pretty vase of