“Then do a better job of healing her. It’s why you’re here,” the king said. “Do you think I like this, Grace? Any of this? But we have no choice.”
“He’s right. My father grows impatient.”
Startled at the unexpected interruption, Abby’s eyes widened when she recognized the newcomer. “Derek?”
“Hello, Abby.” The policeman swaggered in. “Surprised to see me?”
“He’s not your father or your grandfather,” Mason replied flippantly. “Not your great-grandfather either. Can you even count how many generations you’re removed from each other?”
“I don’t understand.” Abby hugged her arms, suddenly freezing. “Why are you here? Is Penny okay?”
“Jealous?” Derek grinned, the boyish smile she once found attractive now ugly and cruel.
“That’s how you knew I’d be at the restaurant,” she whispered, the pieces sliding into place. “You used my friend to get to me.”
“Of course. Why else would I date her?” He came closer, too close. “When someone infinitely more attractive and suitable was nearby?”
“And the attack on the queen at La Bella?”
“Let’s just say we’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while,” he said, fingers curling near her temple before trailing down her cheek with deliberate slowness. “And when the perfect opportunity presented itself for us to meet…”
Abby stood her ground. “You took it.”
“But Queen Rose ruined the plan by moving you to the island,” Sinclair said. “And kept you there.”
Derek brushed the dark circles beneath her eyes in mock tenderness. “We didn’t think you’d use your magic under any circumstances.”
“You thought wrong.” She held immobile as his hand dropped to her neck, callously grazing the unmarred skin on her shoulder.
“And then Walker complicated things even more by Marking her, didn’t he?” Mason added snidely.
“The commander was tenacious when it came to Abby’s security, I’ll give him that,” he said tightly. “But he lost you and won’t be getting you back.” He lightly grasped the hilt of a dagger he wore at his waist. “Ever.”
“I see you brought your new toy with you.” Mason indicated the knife with a negligent wave and tsked. “Afraid Walker hasn’t given up on his female or don’t you trust us? Which is it, Cull?”
Derek’s focus left Abby and turned to the redheaded vampire. He pulled the double-edged weapon free from its burl wood scabbard, the sheath’s swirling grains varnished to an otherworldly shine. The metal blade was a glossy black, the handle a discolored ivory of fossilized bone, streaked with shades of amber and brown. The dagger reeked of magic, ancient and oily and…wrong.
Its tainted power oozed into Abby’s pores, layering her skin with an invisible filth and coating her tongue with foul bitterness. The back of her hand flew to her mouth, her stomach churning at the sour taste.
“Neither. My father values me greatly,” he said, seemingly immune to the putrid magic, and stressing a meaningful familial connection Abby didn’t grasp. “This token just proves it.” He strolled to Mason, brandishing the point near the center of the vampire’s chest.
“If you want to keep your gift, I’d suggest putting it away.” Sinclair’s shoulders flexed subtly. Beside him, Grace clutched at his arm, terror marring her pretty features.
What power did the dagger hold to warrant the witch’s fear for an almost indestructible Dádhe male? And why did Abby appear to be the only one physically affected by the corruption spiraling around them?
Derek didn’t take the king’s advice. “One good slice would be all it took, O’Donnell.”
“You think there’s a chance in hell you’d be fast enough to make me bleed?” The vampire leaned his breastbone into the blackened tip, outwardly unconcerned. “You got the stones to try?”
“Maybe we should find out.” He dragged the knife over the rumpled tee until it rested over Mason’s heart.
Grace gasped and moved to intervene.
Sinclair held her back. “I won’t ask again.” His warning was filled with menace, patience clearly at an end.
Derek smiled smugly at the stone-faced thlán but sheathed the blade.
The nasty taste in Abby’s mouth disappeared with its concealment. The greasy film on her flesh vanished.
“What are you doing here, Cull?” the king asked, gesturing for Mason to take his spot beside the healer. Abby’s pride and her daddy’s inherited stubborn streak kept her rooted in place as Derek and Sinclair moved to within a yard of her bare feet.
“I’m here for a progress report on the reopening of the gate. My lord grows impatient for results.”
“I have no idea how to make that happen.” Abby had the childish urge to stomp her foot. “Nothing has changed. The Rip is the same as when I was fifteen.” Frustration leaked through the crumbling facade of dignity she resolved to maintain since her capture. She was just so sick and tired.
Tired of hurting.
Sick of missing Samuel.
Derek scowled and grabbed her bound hair, yanking on the thick plait, forcing her head back. She held in a yelp as her neck arched uncomfortably, loathe to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.
“But you’re going to keep trying.” He bent down, mouth near her lips. “Until it does change or I tell you to stop.”
“I recommend you release the halfblood,” Sinclair said.
“Remember who I am,” Derek hissed. “And whom Abby belongs to.” His enmity was unmistakable.
“I don’t give a damn who you think you are, boy. The Na’fhuil is under my care. Her welfare is my responsibility, and I don’t recall giving you permission to touch her.” Scarlet replaced the bluish-gray of his eyes. “And it’s you who need to remember who I am.”
Sharp incisors arced over the king’s bottom lip. The pointed tips depressed the skin and drew blood. His power surged, flooding the room with the smell of tilled soil and fresh river water. The immense energy rolling off Sinclair hammered into her flesh. Abby’s knees shook. She locked them, gritting her teeth.
“Just break his fingers already, and be done with it.” Grace panted, gasping for air along with the other occupants in the room. “I won’t add manhandling to our list of crimes against her.”
Cull suddenly winced, and Abby was promptly set free. The MPD officer stepped away, vigorously shaking his hand and cursing a blue streak.
She waited for the pressure of Sinclair’s magic to dissipate. For his eyes to return to a smoky blue and his fangs to vanish.
For her breathing to normalize enough to ask, “Is Derek a Jumper?” How did she miss it?
“Hardly,” Mason spit out, the powerful Dádhe no less impervious than the rest of them to his House patriarch’s outpouring of power. “He’s a carrier and basically human.”
Derek’s gray-tinged face flushed. “I bear the royal blood of a Sídhe. With the right mate, my children will inherit the active Na’fhuil gene and a promised kingdom. I’ll get my legacy and reward soon enough,” he said, his bright blue eyes roving Abby’s body with an intensity that made her skin crawl. Then he readdressed the king with a disparaging grin. “As will you, milord.”
“Not all of us are doing this out of greed or a thirst for power,” Sinclair said.
Funny thing was, Abby believed him.
She had gotten the impression that the king and Mason regarded themselves on the right side of an inescapable conflict between the species. Sinclair appeared convinced he had no choice but to take a stand against what he considered the increasing oppression of his people. She couldn’t imagine what the Athair leader had promised in return for opening the doorway to Faery, but it had to be something substantial if Sinclair thought the magical community had a chance at winning a war against the American government.
“Not all of us are here by choice either,” Grace snapped, removing an elastic band from her wrist and pulling her long black locks into a ponytail
. “Are you planning on sticking around for the show this time? Or don’t you have the stomach for it tonight, my king?”
The muscles in Sinclair’s bristled jaw bulged, but he nodded once and said between clenched teeth, “Be ready, witch.”
Threading his fingers through his dark blond hair, the king exhaled and asked Mason to fetch a bottle of water. He turned to Abby with a shadow of regret lurking in the depths of his eyes. Sliding his hand beneath her braid, he gently grasped her nape and walked her to a point about fifteen feet from the aluminum seat. “Knock over the chair and stay in the Rip as long as possible.” The deceptively simple instructions were spoken softly, his rich bass oddly soothing.
“Are you insane? It’s too far,” Grace protested instantly. “She won’t be able to stay inside long enough to get to the damn chair.”
“She will if she wants to keep that Jumper of hers safe.”
Abby sucked in a breath. He knew about her brother?
Derek walked to the other side of the room and leaned his shoulder on a concrete column.
“You’re such an asshole,” Grace muttered, but no one refuted his threat.
Mason uncapped the bottle of water and offered it to Abby.
She shook her head, fearing she might beg for a reprieve if she opened her mouth.
“Take a few swallows, Bell. It’ll be easier if you have something in your stomach to throw up,” the king said not unkindly, lightly massaging the tense muscles at the base of her neck.
Abby’s hand barely shook at all as she accepted the water and drank.
Chapter 26
Samuel was on his stomach, elbows digging into the flat roof of the vacant hotel, the pitted cement still warm though the sun had set over two hours ago. He scanned the exterior of the shorter building next door with infrared binoculars, the thermal heat signatures outside the front and rear entrances manifesting orange on a blue-violet background.
He heard the lone car before it rounded the corner, the few unbroken streetlamps dimly illuminating the ancient Mustang’s passage. Music thumped through the open windows, the driver blowing through the sagging, red stoplight and disappearing from view.
The recent recession had hit hardest in this part of the city. Small business owners couldn’t keep their heads above water with the economic downturn and either closed shop or relocated to more fertile environments. The exodus had a domino effect, transforming the neighborhood into a virtual ghost town over the past decade with only the stray bar, liquor store, pawn shop, and low-income housing units surviving the financial collapse.
Ethan Hall, battle witch and cage dancer at Chess, used his forearms to slither on his belly to Samuel’s left side. Tucker was on his right.
“Four shifters are patrolling the perimeter,” Ethan said. “Not counting Sinclair and O’Donnell, there are six vamps guarding the interior.” He readjusted his bulletproof vest. “Damn, I hate this thing.”
Ethan complained bitterly at wearing the additional protective layer. It was bulky, and the extra insulation acted like a mini furnace when it was already as hot as Hades outside. But Buck wouldn’t be swayed. The Anwyll weren’t nearly as impervious to a stray gunshot as their fellow Fae Touched without a magical shield in place.
Ethan lifted a few inches and pulled at the Velcro binding around his trim waistline. The ripping sound carried, and he froze. “Shit, sorry.” He pushed the band silently back into place and tugged his cap low over his dark hair. The heavily lined hat hid the activated rune on his scalp that allowed him to see at night as well as any Dádhe. “Sinclair’s healer is inside along with an unidentified civilian male, approximately five-foot-ten. He entered the structure wearing jeans and a sleeveless hoodie that covered most of his face.”
Tucker grunted in obvious displeasure, the beta disliking the addition of an unknown player this late in the game.
“There was something familiar about the human,” Noah said. Samuel heard his nephew’s irritation through the comm. “I feel as though I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
“It’s odd Sinclair would trust an Untouched with the halfblood when he’s only permitting his blood-bound vampires and the witch inside the building.” Myles was street level, three stories below Samuel’s location.
“Should we abort until we find out who this guy is?” Buck asked.
Throughout the exchange, Samuel’s canines dropped unbidden at the reminder of the Anwyll and why Sinclair required her presence. The elongated teeth distorted his speech, so he kept it short and tried not to growl at the suggestion. “Negative. Noah?”
“In position.”
“Jones?”
“Ready.”
Ezekiel Jones, Buck’s WSC friend, was parked in a van two structures over. He had joined their small group when they crossed the border into his territory. The Lubbock Alpha had come through with flying colors, supplying invaluable intel on the current Touched politics of the area and a temporary home base.
After three frustrating days of searching what felt like all of North Texas, Samuel finally caught more than a vague trail to follow, the mating link piloting him to the outskirts of a midsize city near Dallas. A county outside of Ezekiel’s domain.
Samuel would never ask a shifter to go against his king or Clan príoh, but Jones insisted on helping with the rescue attempt. Although he wouldn’t engage clanmates, the Alpha volunteered to be their driver, promising to get them safely out of the territory after Abby’s retrieval.
Another twenty-four hours were spent on the reconnaissance of the defunct department store where they held his mate. The only way Samuel could function without going off half-cocked was to keep his connection with Abby on lockdown.
But he was done waiting. “We go in three…two…one.”
A soft crack filtered through his military-grade headset.
“One down,” Myles perfunctorily informed them.
Breaking the neck of a shifter or vampire wouldn’t kill them, but it’d take them out of the equation in a hurry. Samuel was getting Abby back tonight and hoped to accomplish it without spilling an excessive amount of blood or igniting an interregional war. Unless it was Sinclair’s blood, then all bets were off, and he didn’t give a shit if killing the bastard started World War III.
Ethan sprang from his prone position and moved in a semi-crouch several feet away from the ledge. Mumbling an incantation under his breath, he took a running start and leaped to the adjacent building.
Samuel remained in place, making no move to follow the witch. Tucker nodded his understanding and cleared the thirty-foot span from a standstill, landing next to Ethan with a soft crunch of gravel.
“Two down,” the prince said over the sound of a body hitting the ground. A pause. Another crack. A thump. “Three.”
“Exterior clear. Going in hot.” He heard Buck distantly, the team obeying his orders to use bullets instead of the customary but deadlier blades.
Samuel pushed to his feet and braced, opening the bond with Abby.
Her agony rammed into his brain, stabbing at the base of his skull like pistons in an overheated engine. Everything else went silent as the blood rushed in his ears, her pain threatening to bring him to his knees.
Samuel bellowed in rage and vaulted across the yawning gap. His claws gouged into the rough surface as he touched down hard. Ignoring Tucker’s shout to wait, he bounded to the rooftop hatch, ripped the metal door from its hinges, and dropped to the floor below.
Stealth was a tricky thing with the heightened senses of the Fae Touched. But he no longer cared about the element of surprise. His only concern was getting to his suffering mate.
Two vampires rushed him, their swords drawn.
Samuel ducked underneath the swing of the first katana aimed at his throat. Pivoting behind his attacker, he grabbed the Dádhe’s chin with one hand and a chunk of his hair with the other. He snapped the Guard’s neck in a classic hangman’s fracture and turned to meet his next opponent.
The vampire
was already down.
Tucker stood over the second of Sinclair’s warriors with his tulwar still in its sheath and a small caliber pistol in his hand. A clean hole pierced the middle of the vampire’s forehead.
Ethan torpedoed through the roof’s torn opening, tattoos ablaze, figure semi-blurred by a body shielding spell. His combat boots thunked a mere fraction of an inch away from the lifeless-looking vamp’s head.
“Damn,” he said. “That could have been messy.”
The ratta-tat-tat of gunfire and an unfamiliar woman’s scream signaled Noah and Buck had breached the interior.
Ethan took off running toward the din of battle.
Samuel surpassed him easily, storming the hallway with Tucker tight on his left flank. The bond spiked rhythmically the closer he got to Abby, weakly tugging him to her like a puppet on a threadbare string. He ran faster.
His beta surged ahead at the last second, entering the main room first. He held a Glock in each fist, big body positioned in front of his príoh. Ethan came in low, one hand holding a Beretta M9, the other outstretched with electricity dancing on his fingertips. His shield deactivated.
Myles and Sinclair were in the middle of the ensuing chaos, engaged in ruthless hand-to-hand combat, raining blows on each other at hyper speed. Fists, elbows, and knees connected with smacking thuds, the males absorbing the lethal hits in unnatural silence.
Noah was on one knee near the elevators, partially protected by a cement column. He was firing calmly and methodically at the Guards who were trying to get to their king. There was no sign of Buck.
“Mason, get her out of here,” Sinclair ordered, eyes never leaving his opponent. “Now.”
Samuel tore past his beta through the battle zone. No one was taking Abby anywhere.
Ethan swore, the Anwyll’s lightning whizzing past Samuel’s shoulder and slamming into the warrior firing a semiautomatic in their direction. Samuel barely felt the bullet that grazed his bicep as he wasted several seconds disposing of a Dádhe who tackled him from the side. Snarling at the delay, he dug his claws into the vamp’s belly and then slashed out, his hand now covered in gore.
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