by Gwen Rivers
Liam tapped one thick finger against the side of his glass. He was too interesting a puzzle, wearing sweatpants and drinking whiskey in an abandoned Italian restaurant. No man should look that good under those circumstances. “The dark fae aren’t relying solely on magic. They raided a munitions warehouse and tried to take over Underhill a few months back.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Magic. Power. It’s what they are seeking. Fae who have crossed out of the PR have vanished and we believe the dark fae are behind those disappearances.”
So, they were in New York.
“What do you plan to do about it?” I didn’t want to cross swords with Liam. Especially since the only weapon I had was the switchblade in my boot.
The werewolf shook his head. “Not much until I can find a way to track them. They don’t look any different than the standard fae. Or if they do, I can’t smell the difference.”
“Smell?” I raised a brow.
He tapped the side of his nose. “The twisted ones don’t give off any sort of dark or blood magic scent. I can tell the difference between a fae and a giant from a mile off, but a fae a twisted one?” He shook his head.
And he couldn’t track them by human terror the way I could. But if there were as many here as he’d implied, I’d be overwhelmed. My magic wasn’t up to snuff and if they were using mortal weapons as well as magic, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
“So, they just keep hunting us? Keep killing us?” I clenched my hands into fists to hide the shaking. I’d thought about nothing but getting to New York and finding the gathering. Now that I was on the cusp, my task felt impossible.
Liam reached across the table and put his hand over mine. “You’re safe here.”
“You just said—”
His eyes were intense. “I will make sure you are safe. That Kiesha is safe.”
In spite of myself, I grinned. “Don’t let her hear you call her that. It’s Rage. Not just a name but an attitude.”
He shook his head but didn’t remove his hand. “Just a slip. Let’s keep it between us.”
Something hot sparked in his gaze. I pulled my hand back. That wasn’t just sexual heat I saw in Liam but something that looked like yearning.
“I should probably get back. In case she wakes up.” Never mind that the werewolf girl had been sleeping in the building on her own for who knew how long.
No little girl should wake up terrified and alone.
Of course, it had nothing to do with Liam trying to forge a connection between us. Sex was one thing. But I couldn’t give him more than my body. And he’d already refused that.
“Emma?” Liam called as I was halfway to the door.
I paused and glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Night,” was all he said.
As I made my way up the stairs, I tried to convince myself that all I felt was relief. Not disappointment. And certainly not a longing of my own.
I knew better than to long for anything beyond revenge.
Liam watched his mate until she disappeared from view. He missed her company. He’d wanted to call her back but didn’t know what to say.
She’d almost given him heart failure when she’d moved to take off her shirt. If she’d had even a whiff of desire in her scent, he might have swept the eighty-year-old whiskey bottle to the floor and taken her right on the table.
But she hadn’t. Instead she had smelled of…curiosity. Reluctance. And fear.
Did he scare her? She sure-as-shit scared him. But not because of sex. Fated mates were rare. Except for the werewolves, it seemed. Just since he’d taken up his post in New York, Liam had had three of his wolves, Gray included, meet their soul’s missing half.
He’d lived in dread of it himself.
Liam liked sex, liked women. The idea of being committed to one so completely that she was a permanent part of him unsettled him down to his very core. And if he read her correctly, Emma would be even less willing than he to embrace their combined destiny.
She was a woman on a mission. Secretive, sly, smart. Sexy as hell. And she didn’t trust him at all.
What a mess.
Still, his gaze went to the stairs.
He wanted to know everything there was to know about her. She was so guarded. So standoffish. He would gain her trust, no matter how long it took.
His phone buzzed and he rolled his eyes when he saw the number on the screen. “What are you doing up?” he asked Addison.
“Studying for a French midterm.”
“In the summer?”
She sighed. “I failed last semester and I had to make it up. Verb conjugations are a beast.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled.
“So you can’t help me?”
“Dove, the only language I speak is English, though I can read a little German. Don’t ask me to pronounce it though. It will sound like I’m having an allergy attack.”
“That reminds me of a joke. What do you call someone who speaks two languages?”
He knew it but played along for his niece’s sake. “Bilingual.”
“How about three languages?”
“Trilingual.”
“And one language?”
“Dunno.”
There was a pause and then she said, “American.”
“My mother spoke Gaelic,” Liam offered.
“And she was an immigrant, right?”
“Scots-Irish.”
There was a pause and he could tell they were getting to the point of her late-night phone call. “About the dark fae.”
“Not you too.”
“Who else was talking about them?” Addison asked.
“Just…someone I met. What about them, dove?”
“I’ve heard some unsettling things. That they are growing in number, especially around the PR.”
He didn’t ask who had told her. The One True Queen of the Unseelie had many beings in the know answering to her call.
“I’ve been made aware. I’m looking for a way to track them.”
“They were our people. Yet they found a way to circumvent the Oath.” Addison sounded stressed. “I haven’t forgotten the attack they staged on Underhill.”
He didn’t blame her. The fae migration to the PR was a mess and that was before the twisted ones had emerged.
With all the magic the fae had wielded for countless generations no longer accessible, some of the higher-ranking nobles had turned to dark means to retain their magic. They’d somehow severed ties with the courts and were no longer subject to their laws. The dark fae drained the life energy out of the fae they captured. Siphoning power out of those they came across.
Where there’s a power-hungry will, evil would find a way.
“I’m wondering if maybe I should ask for help from a higher power.” Addison’s tone was reluctant.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Not yet. If for no other reason, because your mother will lose her mind if you summon a god.”
“I’ve talked with Taj and with Jedda.” She named the two Seelie kings. “They can’t track them either.”
No one could.
His gaze slid to the stairs. Could Emma? She said she’d thought the twisted ones had been responsible for the attack on the fae she saved. Did she have some means to track them?
“Uncle Liam?”
He closed his eyes. He’d seen the girl grow up. He had taught her to ride a bike and took her shopping for her first car. In many ways, she was like a daughter to him.
But she was also the queen. And if she made a decree, he would be forced to obey it.
“I have an idea. Hold off on divine intervention for a spell.”
“Harde har har,” Addison snarked. “What’s your idea?”
He could tell her about Emma without actually telling her that the girl wasn’t bound by either the Seelie or Unseelie oath. And without mentioning that Emma was his fated mate. The first would cause his niece to stress when she already had a full plate of
fae problems. The second would cause him nothing but grief.
Knowing Addison, she’d have the wedding planned before he’d even gotten around to mentioning the connection to Emma.
“What’s this idea?” She cracked her gum. A most undignified habit for a fairy queen. Perfectly natural for the seventeen-year-old girl she was.
“I met someone today. A fae. Her abilities are unusual. And I think she can help me.”
“Will she want to help you? No more of your volun-telling the fae.”
“I’m not that bossy.”
She snorted. “I’ve received a dump truck’s worth of complaints in the six months you’ve been there.”
“All from Magda no doubt.” The fae woman was a pain in his rump. “She’s going to be working for me anyway. I’ll feel her out, see if she’s willing.”
Addison didn’t push. She didn’t wish to involve the Norse gods any more than he did. They brought more problems than they solved.
“I’d better get back to studying.” His niece sighed. “Mom will be on my case if I fail a graduation requirement again.”
“She’s only tough on you because she never got a degree herself,” Liam offered.
“I know. But every conversation we have lately starts with and how did you do on your French test?”
“Want me to talk to your dad?” Liam offered.
“Nah. Wait ‘til I actually flunk for that.” Her laughter was like the tinkling of bells.
“Good night, your majesty,” Liam murmured.
He could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Night, Uncle Lucky Dog.”
It had been her pet name for him since she was about three and always caused him to smile. After pocketing his phone, he finished another shot of whiskey and then what remained in Emma’s glass. One of the downsides of his werewolf metabolism. It took a ton of alcohol for him to get drunk.
And tonight, he desperately craved oblivion.
Her scent drifted to him through the room and he closed his eyes, being lulled by the sweet smell of honeysuckle and home.
Another scent made him jerk out of his trance. Blood, a lot of it.
He raced for the door and out into the night. His heart thudded against his ribcage. In a city the size of New York it could be anything. An accident, human on human violence or more of those hate crime thugs.
But it wasn’t. He heard the chanting before he turned down the darkened side street. All the overhead lamps were out, a trick of the dark fae. It was how they’d received their nickname, because they operated in total darkness.
The fae they were siphoning twitched on the ground. From the amount of blood pooling outside her body, Liam recognized death spasms.
But he could still get her justice.
The dark fae always traveled in groups of seven, which the pack had started referring to as a clutch. The tallest stood in the middle and wore a robe up over his head, his face obscured. The bloody blade he’d used on the fae woman was poised above his head. Something flashed and the beings reached forward, stealing whatever it was they ingested during their gruesome ritual.
Liam took it all in while he was in mid-shift. As Alpha, he had more than the wolf to draw on. His most fearsome form was that of the Beast. Half-man, half-wolf. It was an image he was careful never to show to the mortals for fear of mass panic.
But when he was outnumbered, it could be useful.
The dark fae were so engrossed in their ritual that they didn’t hear his approach. He beheaded two before they turned. Their heads tumbled to the ground and bounced in opposite directions.
The other five attacked.
They weren’t trained to fight in formation. Their numbers served more as an advantage to him than to them. He kicked one into two others and they went down like bowling pins. A blast of magic struck him in the side, but he shook it off. The pack bonds provided some protection against the raw power the twisted ones wielded. Not like a shield, more like the spell started to disperse before it struck home. A spent bullet instead of a through and through. The advantage let him stay on his feet when anyone else would have gone sprawling, but it still hurt.
He turned to face the magic wielder, the one who held the blade. He didn’t know if it was silver, but judged the large male his biggest threat.
The fae swiped down, using his brute strength to drive the dagger as though he could jab it into Liam’s heart. Liam spun, grabbed the arm above the wrist and used the fae’s momentum to flip him over. He should have decapitated him while he was still falling.
His mistake.
The final fae shot a jolt of pure wind at him. Unlike raw magic, Liam had no protection from the elements. The gust blew him back into the side of the building so hard that the brick crumbled on impact. The wind held him with his feet suspended five feet above the ground.
“Alpha,” the fae who held him hissed. “Our quarrel isn’t with you.”
Liam growled. He couldn’t grate more than a few words in this form. His vocal cords were warped and barely capable of speech.
“I will warn you once.” The dark fae moved closer, gifting Liam with a trace of his scent, that of a lightning storm. “And only once. This city is ours. Any fae that crosses out of the pocket realm is fair game. If you interfere with us again, we will hunt your people next.”
With that, the wind died away and Liam face-planted onto the concrete hard enough that his head bounced.
The large male with the dagger climbed to his feet. He kicked Liam hard, flipping him onto his back. Liam responded on instinct and tried to roll away, but with the building at his back there was nowhere to go.
The fae’s hood had fallen back, revealing a fair complexion and ruddy cheeks. He flipped the dagger once and drove it into Liam’s shoulder. Hate blazed in his black eyes.
“Grant,” the one who’d wielded the magic barked. “Enough.”
“Next time I will end you,” Grant sneered and then they vanished.
Leaving the silver blade buried in Liam.
“Emma.”
I awoke to the sound of someone calling my name. My surroundings were foreign, but that was nothing new. I usually didn’t stay more than a night in the same place. A glance at the foggy window showed the sun flirting with the eastern sky.
Too damned early to be awake.
I was about to drift off again when I heard my name called once more.
It came back in a rush. New York, the fae being attacked by the hate group in the street. Liam bargaining with me to stay.
Liam. That was his voice.
“Emma.” He sounded strained, as though he were in pain.
Beside me, Kiesha still slept. Careful not to wake her, I stood up and pulled on my sneakers and then made my way to the stairs to see what the Alpha wanted. I’d make it clear that just because he was my boss didn’t mean he was the boss of me. I wasn’t a morning person under the best of circumstances.
Which, sleeping in a rundown building with no AC during the peak of summer heat, was not.
Liam wasn’t in the restaurant section so I headed into the kitchen, already mentally preparing for our battle of wills. I couldn’t let the werewolf think he could snap his fingers and have me jump. What sort of a precedent would that set?
I pushed through the door and then stopped dead.
Liam was sprawled by the open back door, a dagger in his shoulder. And he didn’t look entirely human.
His face was misshapen, the bones elongated. His arms ended in paws not hands, each finger tipped with a wicked black claw. Fur of the deepest blue-black covered his skin. Beneath his jeans, his legs must have been the same because what jutted out beneath looked more like a wolf’s paws than a man’s feet.
“What the…?” I rubbed my eyes. Was it some sort of dream?
“Silver,” he spat. His voice sounded so different. Was that because his entire neck had been elongated?
“Silver?” I repeated, feeling stupid. It was then I noticed one of those hands was wrapped aroun
d something sticking out of his shoulder. And the spot was running red with blood.
Silver could kill a werewolf. Had he been shot? I doubted a single silver bullet to the shoulder would take out the Alpha, but I wasn’t going to bet Liam’s life on it.
Kneeling down on the floor beside him, I studied the half-transformed mass of muscle, unsure what to do. He looked more animal than human, though his eyes were still Liam’s. The green one glowed in the dim light, as though emerald fire burned behind it. Should I touch him? What if he bit the hand that tried to help him?
“No…fear,” he said and removed the hand from his shoulder to reach for my face.
It was covered in blood. I recoiled before he could touch me. The hand dropped to the ground. It took a moment for me to realize that he’d lost consciousness. Another to realize why.
The silver he’d mentioned was a silver bladed dagger that stuck out from his shoulder.
I cursed under my breath and looked around, though I wasn’t sure for what. Who had stabbed him? Someone who’d just happened to have a silver dagger on them?
And they’d left it behind?
Since the revelation of the fae and werewolves, silver cost more per ounce than gold. A five-inch blade alone would go for several thousand dollars. Nothing created market demand like fear.
I knew enough not to yank a blade out of a stab wound. But was the same true for werewolves? They could heal fast. Much like the forever young, what didn’t kill them made them stronger.
Liam had said silver. Not stabbed or knife or help. So clearly the silver was his main focus.
Praying I was doing the right thing, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled. It was lodged deep into his shoulder blade. Bracing one hand on his uninjured shoulder for leverage, I yanked with all my strength.
The second the blade was free of his skin the wound began to seal itself. It wasn’t neat or pretty. The area beside the gash turned ashy black, as though it had been burned.
The claws receded, the fur as well. His limbs shifted back. Slowly, Liam changed back into the handsome man I’d met the day before. Though he still hadn’t opened his eyes, his breathing was deep and even. I checked his neck and found a pulse. Had the silver been keeping him in that weird in-between form?