The Goblin King (19 page)

If Roan was lost, they were all lost.

A two-foot-high slab of stone lay across the tunnel, gold weeping from the gash. Through the hole was the gleaming golden cavern. The brilliance brought tears to her eyes. She’d watched one man fade and die in there already. What if it was too late? Could she do anything if it wasn’t?

She leaned against the wall with her fists clenched at her sides. The rock pulsed against her back. Magic. Eliza stood up and placed her palm on the cave wall. It shuddered as if buffeted by a strong wind. Her mouth dried. Whatever waited on the other side, she had to face it. Waiting longer only guaranteed she would find a goblin.

With her shoulders back and her courage screwed up as tight as it would go, Eliza peered around the corner into the gold cavern. Her mouth opened and her breath was taken by the impossible, terrifying beauty. Coins rushed past, little more than a golden blur, part of the hurricane whipping around the room. Lethal and brilliant and mesmerizing. The metal would shred anyone who dared to enter. A lone figure stood in the eye of the storm.

***

Roan flung more coins into the air. They joined the fray at his bidding without him touching their surface. The magic coursed through his veins thicker than blood. Hotter than a wildfire it burned through his body. But it was never enough. He could never channel enough to break the curse and free himself. Another pile of coins got caught up in the deadly dance. The gold in his chest became soft and molten, but it wouldn’t release his heart from its grip. Nothing lived within his flesh.

In the cage of his ribs something tore as if trying to break away. The coins dropped to the floor in a heavy, metal shower. He sucked in a breath, but the feeling didn’t leave. Like a severed muscle, it ached and throbbed. He closed his eyes with his hand over his chest as if he could stop the hemorrhage of his soul.

He saw the edge of the abyss. There was no light at the end, just soft, deep black waiting to embrace him. The darkness had always been safely out of reach. Now it reached out with needy, grasping hands. He stepped back as if he could step away from the edge. The voices in the dark called to him with a seductive promise of rest and no more fighting.

Such a small cost for eternal peace. You can keep your gold. We just want your soul.

Why was he fighting when he would fail anyway? He bent, his hand on his knee and every breath cutting deeper.

“Roan?”

He snarled, but the whisper of her voice made him look over his shoulder. The arms of the dark sirens became the bleached white hands of skeletons snatching at the edges of his clothing. Eliza’s grip was stronger. He was under her spell more than she knew.

She dipped her head, her gaze falling to the floor as she refused to look at him. “I was just…I…I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Had he faded and not noticed? Roan glanced at his hand. It was still his, not the gray, gnarled hand of a goblin.

“I’m fine.” His voice cracked as he spoke. The rasping grate of the goblin he was trying not to become.

To prove the point he stood. His chest burned, the pain much the same as when a Roman sword had cut through his leather armor and come a finger width from killing him. The only difference was this time blood didn’t stream through his fingers and the world didn’t turn black. He forced his hand to drop casually to his side.

Eliza’s eyes were wide and watchful, her skin pale. Not the warm glow that should have dusted her skin after sex. If he lived for nothing else, he had to return her to the Fixed Realm before he faded. He couldn’t leave her here for the Hoard to find. She was
his
queen, not a goblin queen.

Roan reached out a hand. Her teeth worried at her lower lip, but she stepped forward carefully over the gold. Her gaze remained on him. He’d expected her to be scooping up the gold, filling her pockets and then demanding to be taken home, much like the whores that had visited before paying had become more painful than going without human company.

Her fingers closed around his hand. He lifted her knuckles to his lips and kissed her. The gold flecks in her eyes shone brighter than all the metal in the cavern. His lust for power and magic was replaced by a desire that had existed long before gold was valued.

“My king.” She smiled, but the edges were forced and her eyes guarded.

Roan’s lips thinned. She didn’t want him. She wanted to escape her fiancé. Someone always wanted something from him. Eliza was no different.

“My queen.” He inclined his head almost chocking on the forced politeness. What would it take to cross the chasm and be with Eliza?

For her to look at him the way she had when she’d writhed beneath him. Her body dancing to his touch, sweat glistening on her skin. Raw need in her eyes. By leaving he’d lost that privilege. Her eyes had grown cold.

A handful of coins spiraled into the air twisting, dancing for her. She had nothing to fear from him. She watched, lips parted. The spiral became a dragon, each coin a scale, chasing the shadows over the walls. Her face lit up, and her eyes glittered as she turned to watch the dragon fly over the ceiling.

She frowned and tore her eyes away from the dragon to Roan. “Is it safe to draw the magic?”

It was a parlor trick. Nothing more. The dragon took no more power than removing clothing. The magic was different, clearer. It lacked the begging-song and the demands to release more. Like all magic, intent determined the cost. Anything wrought in anger or with the desire to do damage demanded a high price. One he could no longer afford. He would never be able to defeat the druid with a handful of pretty tricks. And he would never be able to keep Eliza if he didn’t find a way to break the curse. Roan let go of her hand and the dragon collapsed on the floor nothing more than a spread of coins.

“Perfectly.”

They regarded each other. The silence stretched like an elastic band pulled tight. He snapped first.

“Don’t trouble yourself with my soul. I will return you before I fade.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. He hadn’t bothered to dress fully, too intent on destruction.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Please don’t give up hope.”

He snorted and tossed his head. The beads clattered around his shoulders and rained on his back. “I can count my remaining time in days.” Before his private hurricane it had been weeks. “Days until I slide silently into the Hoard and forget I was ever human.”

“Only days?” Her face crumpled.

It took Roan several seconds to realize she was upset. Not because it would be days until she could go home, but because his life would end. His demise was going to have an effect. But it brought him no joy, only discomfort as if sandpaper was being rubbed over his skin. He tried to soften the truth.

“A week tops.”

“No.” She shook her head not wanting to hear or believe. “There must be another option.”

Roan pursed his lips. How much did he tell her? What did she need to know? She waited for an answer.

“I find a way to kill Elryion without magic.” He made it sound easy, like he could’ve done it centuries ago if he’d wanted.

Her mouth opened, preparing to argue. Behind her eyes he saw the machines turning, weighing his words and finding them too heavy to be the truth.

“Will that work?”

Not even his queen was willing to back him and believe he could kill the druid and break the curse. The quick lie sat ready on his tongue, but instead he forced out the truth. She was part of this now. Bound to him by Shadowlands magic.

“I don’t know. Despite Dai’s research we are guessing blind, and unarmed.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, but the golden wisp didn’t stay put. “If it doesn’t, what then?”

“Then it’s over. Goblin or death.” He should be reveling in what time he had left. Should be buried in Eliza with her legs around his waist until he couldn’t resist the pull of the Shadowlands any longer.

“There must be another way.”

“You think you can defeat Elryion where I have failed?” Roan ran his hand through his dreadlocks and looked away. Once he’d shared her easy hope.

“There’s always a way to break a curse.”

“And how many curses have you broken, Eliza? How many cursed men have you saved?”

Not one. Bringing her here as queen had changed nothing, and everything. Unlike the concubines, he couldn’t walk away from Eliza. Queens never left their king’s side. Returning her to the Fixed Realm when his time was up was going to be like cutting the gold out of his chest. Bloody. Painful. Fatal.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Is there nothing I can do?”

Roan sighed and lowered his voice. “You are here. You slow my fade. I don’t know how.” Around Eliza the gold dimmed and rusted. All he wanted was her. He pulled up a handful of coins. They became liquid in his hand. The gold stretched forming a stem, then a bud. The bud of the rose bloomed, glistening, almost alive.

Tentatively she touched the petal. “It looks so real.” Her finger traced the veins in the leaf.

His hand tightened around the stem.
She would take his gold.

“Thank you.” Her lips pressed on his cheek. Her hand rested over his, yet she made no attempt to take the rose.

Eliza may lessen his lust for gold, but he still couldn’t give it away. Not even to her. He was more goblin than he wanted to believe. The rose wilted, faking death until it fell to the floor, nothing but golden dust.

Her lips pressed together and crept up at the corners. She took his hand. “I prefer silver.”

He laced his fingers with hers. The gold dust trapped between their palms. Roan nodded, his mouth twisted in a bitter smile. She was making excuses for him.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Eliza assessed the piles of gold coin, bars, and nuggets stacked high against the walls. The statues and thrones and crowns. One wall was covered in amber panels backed in gold leaf, stolen from the amber room before it was destroyed in World War II. His desire for gold had been quenched with priceless artifacts humans thought lost, destroyed, or simply fables.

“If this were in a bank, you’d be immeasurably rich.”

His chest swelled with pride before he could stop himself. “I am immeasurably rich. I know exactly how much is here. And how much is in the bank.”

The silver and gems they had gathered had been banked when they’d had hope, before they needed to constantly touch and see their wealth. The only clause on the bank contract was they had to be human to activate the account.

“Really?” Her brows raised in obvious disbelief. “How does a goblin walk into a bank and open an account?”

“Like everyone else.” Human banks were relatively new. There was a much older bank. “Birch Trustees caters to people with special needs. I check in periodically to let them know I’m still around. The compound interest over fifteen hundred years is,” Roan sucked in a breath, inhaling the cold metallic scent of gold. Just imagining the pile of gold stored in the vault was enough to make him hard. “Staggering.”

Eliza stood, mouth open, unblinking. “There’s a special bank?”

“Did you want to see a statement?” He had none in the Shadowlands. He only ever saw the totals stack up when he visited a branch. It was enough.

She shook her head, her golden-brown hair falling around her face. “Why didn’t you bank all of it?”

“I can’t be separated.”

The reflected gold colored her skin. The light teased the shadows, tempting them to play. He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek.

“I need to be able to touch what is mine.” He’d succumbed to another beautiful object. Another perfect treasure for his never complete collection. But this one made him feel less goblin. Roan tilted her head and touched his lips to hers. She yielded without force. Her lips opened as if she craved his touch. With Eliza he could pretend he was a man and nothing more.

“You fear me, yet offer yourself,” he murmured against her cheek.

“I fear what you will become.” She nuzzled just below his ear. Her free hand skimmed his back and traced the line of another scar. “You’ve fought a lot of battles.”

“It was the way of the world.” He pulled her top over her head. She hadn’t bothered with underwear.

This time she didn’t rush to cover herself. A trail of gold dust followed his hand. He brushed his palm over her breasts so the tips gleamed gold and pink.

“How old were you when you became king?” She gasped when his mouth closed over her nipple. It firmed under the caress of his tongue.

His fingers opened her jeans. “Eighteen.”

He pushed them down. She wiggled, helping, then stepped out. Naked except for the glow of gold. One finger slid past the dark curls on her mound. Circled her clit. Her hips rocked, and her nails dug into his shoulders. She lifted onto her toes, but he held her firm.

Her eyes half closed. “And when…ah…were…you…ah…mm…cursed?”

He teased her clit until her shaking had subsided and her breathing was rough. Music to a deaf man.

“Twenty-one, almost.” He pulled her to the floor.

“You’re so young.” She knelt in front of him.