Into the Fire (The Unseelie Court Book 4)

by Gwen Rivers

  A sea of them swarmed in front of the barrier. They are thick on the ground, like leaves after a hurricane. Relentless, unwavering. They hold no doubt, remorse or fear. They have a singular goal—the annihilation of all that lives.

  From what he witnessed on his way here, they have mostly succeeded. Every village empty, every home abandoned. The dead don’t need a home or a place. They have no feelings and nothing can alter their course once set.

  The siege would continue indefinitely.

  Unless we do something to stop it, the man’s voice whispers in his head.

  The wolf hesitates. It’s not his nature to muck about in the affairs of men or fey. They are different, complicating things that should be simple.

  We can’t cross without them. His other self reminds him. We need their help to reach her.

  The wolf stares at the throng of animated dead and paces in a circle. You could transform, he tells the man. We need not engage the dead.

  But the man refuses. My magic can’t get us through that shield. They have to lower it from within. And without Nic there to put it back in place, their city will fall.

  The wolf growls. This is taking too much time, all these strategies and tactics. He needs to do something, to be somewhere else. With her.

  What can kill the dead? he asks the man.

  Fire. The man answers promptly.

  The wolf’s eyes glitter. Then you do your part and I will do mine.

  He begins to run. As a unit, they charge down the hill for the ranks of the dead. From the city beyond, a cry arises. One of the fey spots him. Even with the barrier in place, he can scent them and the earth magic that emanates off of them. As well as fear. He knows what it must look like, a lone wolf heading to his doom. Many beings crowd the limbs of trees to watch the army of the dead tear him to pieces.

  A gust of wind ripples through his fur. The man’s spark ignites. Flames lick out from his coat and the breeze carries stray sparks from him down to the dead.

  Some of the newer dead wouldn’t go up so easily.

  These have been out in the elements for a time. They are dry flesh, quickly losing moisture that living beings need to sustain themselves. His embers in the tight space catch like wildfire, with that breath of wind spreading it throughout their ranks. The dead start to smoke and then flames lick hungrily up, an unending appetite. The scraps of skin and brittle bones catch like well-seasoned wood, one into the next and into the next. It doesn’t stop them or slow them. They surge forward as they burn. He approaches the first line and then turns right before the flaming dead fey can reach him. He will snake through the entire dead army, spreading the discord, the chaos.

  They don’t scream, don’t make a sound. Feel no pain. It’s part of what makes them so unstoppable. The only sound is the roar of his wildfire the pop of sizzling marrow. Bones char and the smell of roasting meat is thick in the air.

  Tongues of flames lick out from his unburnt skin until they caress the dead.

  “It’s Aiden!” a familiar voice calls. An image floats to his mind. The man carries names but the wolf holds her face close to his heart. The young nymph girl is pack.

  “Taj, lower the shield!” A female calls, this one older.

  “Are you sure?” An unfamiliar voice asks her.

  His wolf ears pick up the deep cadence even over the roar of the burning dead.

  “Yes,” his young ally says. “Mother, we have to help him.”

  “Hunt, to me!” The older female voice is accustomed to command. “Prepare for battle.”

  No, the man thinks. A protracted battle is the last thing they need. Too much confusion and the man worries that some of his allies will fall. He can’t pull the flames back or risk the dead escaping the inferno.

  The wolf turns again and blazes a path straight through the reaching limbs of the dead. Skeletal hands grab for him but he dodges and weaves their grasping clutches. The fire burns hotter. He is immune to the heat. The fey behind the shield of wind are not. If the fire reaches inside the city, all the fey within might die.

  Including the one he needs.

  “He’s coming this way!” The mature woman calls.

  A wall of bodies stand in his way, several of them armed with swords and spears. He dodges most, but some penetrate the fire and slice into his skin. He snaps and yanks, writhing with all his fury to make enough space to surge through. The fire inside him burns hotter still, the need to defeat this deathless foe prompting him to dig deeper, to burn them all to ash. The intensity of his split soul—part man and part beast—fuels the flames, encouraging the blaze to burn hotter and brighter than before. A river of fire, a moat surrounding the last stronghold of living fey.

  A sizzling line of demarcation between life and death.

  The dead began to crumble. The air is so thick with ash it chokes him. The smoke sends plumes up into the sky, a signal fire for any who may be left to read it.

  Swallowing, he turns and surveys the carnage. Everywhere the bodies are burning, some still upright, others decaying to the point of no return. His massive pyre is a testament to the destruction of which he is capable.

  Inside him, the man’s heart is heavy.

  Victory, but at what cost?

  The land is burnt. Nothing will grow. What was once a thick forest of dense trees and fertile soil, is only a plain of death.

  But the wolf has no time for regrets. He turns and faces the city, seeking an ally.

  “Lower the air shield,” the woman with the commanding voice says.

  “But we are defenseless without it.” Another voice cries. Male this time with a high-pitch whine.

  The woman snarls, “He just saved us from the immediate threat. We can’t stay here forever or we’ll starve. Lower. The bloody. Shield.”

  A moment later, a gust of wind blows out from the city. Icy wind carries his mate’s scent. He breathes in deep as it sweeps over him like her gentle caress, taking the last of the flames with it.

  “Aiden?” A young girl with pointed ears approaches him. Her eyes are bright. “Are you all right?”

  Give over. The man whispers to him. It’s Jasmine.

  The wolf is reluctant to cede control. Can I trust you not to linger here?

  He sense’s the man’s determination. Nothing will stop me from getting to her.

  With one last look at the carnage, the wolf recedes. Satisfaction radiates through him.

  This is what awaits anyone who would harm my mate.

  Through the Man’s Eyes

  He needs to cooperate with the beast inside him, to gain its trust. Aiden looks around at the flames licking across what remains of the dead. The beast’s instincts had made this possible. It had ignored pain, the stabs of the blades. Wounds he can still feel oozing from his back and legs. and he can’t help but agree with the creature’s final sentiment. He too would do anything to protect Nic.

  “Lady Jazz,” Aiden says as soon as the transformation is complete.

  “Where have you been? Did you find the queen?” The girl throws her arms around him and squeezes for all she was worth. “I’ve missed you.”

  He hugs her back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  She backs up and frowns at the streak of white in his dark hair. “What happened here?”

  The only outer sign from the kiss of madness.

  “Nothing you need to worry over.” He pulls away to study her. “You’ve grown since last I saw you. How much time passed on the mortal plane?”

  “A little more than a year from the time you left.”

  A shudder goes through him. Time moves differently across the Veil. Nic might live years to his minutes, or vice versa.

  “Where is she?” Freda is much less welcoming than her daughter. “Where is our queen?”

  Aiden shakes his head. Though the giantess Angrboda told him Nic had retreated to her family’s farm in western North Carolina, he doesn’t want to share that with Nic’s first. Her loyalties might be to Nic but she comman
ds the Wild Hunt. Which is now controlled by the Shadow Throne’s new queen.

  The Wild Hunt is a powerful ally and an even more deadly enemy.

  “Gretchen was taken over,” he says. “By Fenrir. She—or rather the wolf—sides with Underhill. Together they rule the Unseelie Court.”

  Freda curses.

  He scans the throng of fey, who wear woebegone expressions. They are slack faced and appear as though they’ve witnessed one too many horrors.

  Lowering his voice, he urges Freda, “You need to get these people out of here. Underhill is no longer safe for the fey.”

  Freda is frowning at his bloody shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

  Aiden waves it off. “I’ll heal.”

  She blows out an impatient sigh. “First thing’s first. Put on some clothes and for the love of the gods, put out this fire.”

  He waves a hand and the flames die down to coals and smoking embers. “I can only help with one, I’m afraid. No garments.”

  “Well, we can’t bring you bare-assed before the king.” Freda turns to her offspring. “Daughter, go find something for the wolf to wear. And a healer. Nic will flay me alive if he dies.”

  “Yes, Jord.” Jasmine runs off to obey her mother’s command.

  “You were in the other Seelie kingdom?” Freda removes her black cloak and hands it to him. “Does the Gray Throne still stand?”

  “The throne stands but not much else.” He shakes his head as he recalls the rubble of the sea glass palace. “Underhill brought it down as a message to Wardon and any who would oppose her. And when she figures out the shield is down….”

  “She’ll do the same thing here.” Freda finishes his thought

  Jasmine returns with a pair of pants that are a good deal too short and a battered linen shirt which has one sleeve ripped off. “This was the best they could do.”

  Unsurprising, since the fey have no textiles or industry. All their clothing has been stolen from the mortal realm.

  “A healer?” Freda asks.

  Jasmine’s smile dims. “None are available.”

  Meaning none would come to help him after what they saw him do. He forces himself to show no reaction. “All I really need is a hot meal and I’ll be as good as new.”

  “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.” Jasmine snags his hand.

  Her sweetness and light are a balm to his shunned soul. If none of the other fey are worth saving, little Lady Jazz certainly is.

  “I need to oversee the dispatch of any that aren’t finished.” Freda dons her winged helmet. “I’ll meet you in the throne room in one hour.”

  She moves away from the field of battle where the Wild Hunt is dealing with any of the straggling Draugar.

  “Come, Lady Jazz. I believe a hero’s feast awaits us.”

  She grins and then leads him over the barrier to the inner sanctum of the last standing fey kingdom. The trees are taller than most skyscrapers and come in every color of the rainbow. Silver with purple leaves, gold with blue. Their branches intertwine and stretch on to create roads and bridges through the air. Beneath the boughs, small huts and houses have been constructed, more like nests with roofs than any real house. The fey gawk as they pass by, their expressions ranging from amazement to distrust.

  He doesn’t meet their stares, uncomfortable with their scrutiny.

  “Did Nic find you?” Jasmine asks him. “She was desperate to reach you.”

  Desperate to reach him. The thought causes a small smile to tug his lips up. “I saw her.”

  “That’s good.” Jasmine leads him down some stairs that seem to be carved from nothing but roots and dirt. “The food is all down here.”

  He follows her down more cautiously. The wolf is uneasy with the confined space but the smell of roasting meat goads him onward.

  “Rask?” Jasmine asks a potbellied fey with long white eyebrows and a scowl who is stirring a large cauldron of bubbling brown liquid. “The First told me to ask you for a meal for my friend here.”

  “Hmmph,” the fey called Rask grumps. “Next meal’s not for another three hours.”

  Aiden opens his mouth to tell the fey that he’s going to keep the king and his court waiting but Jasmine is faster off the mark. “Please, Rask? I know you don’t like to feed anyone between meals, but he only just arrived.”

  The chef drops his spoon into the pot with a clang then gives the nymph a reluctant smile. “Oh, all right. But only because it’s you asking.”

  Jasmine beams and hurries into the larder where she retrieves cold ham, cheese, apples and a huge loaf of bread. “Thank you, Rask. You’re the best.”

  The grumpy fey gawks at her haul but says nothing.

  “Come on,” Jasmine gestures for him to follow her up another set of stairs. “I’ll take you to the garden.”

  Aiden follows, relieved when they are aboveground once more.

  This is taking too long, His wolf snarls.

  Aiden lets out a breath. Food, then we’ll get what we came for.

  Namely, a kiss from a king.

  I wake up on a gurney. Naked, with only a thin, white sheet covering me from breasts to midthigh. My shackles have been replaced by a series of metal bands. One on each ankle, then above the knee. One on either wrist and then a large one over my midsection and finally around my neck.

  There is something wedged in my mouth, forcing it open like a bit for a horse. I try to scream around it but it is muffled. Struggling, I attempt to wrench myself free of the cold metal bands. No use.

  I look around the space where the gurney’s been parked. It looks like some sort of futuristic medical lab. All-white walls and white countertops, silver instruments and computer screens. My knowledge of medicine is limited to my Aunt Addy’s veterinary clinic, but something about this room feels more like a laboratory than a doctor’s office.

  My gaze goes to the corner where, sure enough, the eye in the sky is pointed directly at me.

  I clench my hands into fists, wishing I had access to my magic.

  But it isn’t my magic, at least not anymore. It’s the magic of the Unseelie queen. My magic is limited to my deadly kiss. And my enemies have effectively neutralized that threat.

  A woman wearing a blindingly white cleanroom suit appears over me, holding a needle. I shriek and the sound is muffled by the gag.

  “It’ll go easier if you hold still.” She studies me a moment.

  Terror makes my stomach twist. What exactly are these people going to do with me? The needle looms massive as it comes closer and closer. I whimper in fear, I can’t help it.

  Contact. Then the overwhelming sting as the needle sinks deeply into my upper lip.

  Tears spill over. The woman’s focus is on her work, her eyes completely unsympathetic. I can feel the sickening tug as blood is forcibly removed from my body.

  She extracts a vial from the syringe and then adds another. Two vials later, the needle is withdrawn.

  A sob escapes. I want to beg, to ask who she is and why she is doing this. But why ask questions I already know the answers to? The people who caught me know what I can do. They know how to contain me and they want to find out how I can kill with a kiss.

  They don’t appear to care if I’m hurt on their quest for answers.

  The medic returns with a fresh needle and repeats the process again. And again.

  Return to the path you were on.

  My mother set me up for this. Put me back on the course I’ve been destined for, the road that leads to this hell. A prisoner, a medical curiosity in FBI custody. Would they try to weaponize the toxin in my goodnight kiss? What will their tests reveal? I shudder to think of the outcome. Contained to me, my deadly kiss has only ever been used to take out murderers, rapists, people who prey on the weak. But if the feds find a way to weaponize the poison….

  I shudder at the thought. It would be used for power, political gain. Magic unleased on the wrong side of the Veil.

  Finally done using me as a living pin cushi
on, the medic collects her bags and vials and departs. There is a hiss as the door closes behind her. I am left on the table like a rotting carcass at Thanksgiving.

  No wonder I’m a vegetarian.

  Please, I implore the empty space. Anyone.

  A mist gathers. It’s a strange sight in the closed room, but I see the little red light on the camera wink off. A moment later the mist takes shape.

  A hideous shape. Part bird, part woman, all evil. She is a Valkyrie spirit. A wraith I’d secured to serve the Wild Hunt. To serve me.

  And she hates me for it.

  “Little Queen,” Nightweaver appears in the room. “What has been done?”

  I glower at her. With the gag in, there isn’t anything I can say. Talk about asking a stupid question.

  She drifts down and studies my mouth. A trickle of blood has curved over the bow of my lips and down past my gag. The coppery tang of my own blood makes my stomach roil. Would serve them right if I choke to death on my own vomit.

  “That looks painful.” Nightweaver’s soulless eyes gleam.

  I shudder at her nearness. The Valkyrie still smells slightly of carrion, even in death. My nausea grows worse.

  “Nahini sends me with a message. Underhill has discovered the ruse.”

  I close my eyes. Addy. She’d found out Addy is pretending to be Aiden.

  “I’d ask if there is anything you would like me to tell her, but it’s obvious you aren’t up to conversation.”

  I glare at the cantankerous spirit, who drifts off, silent laughter echoing behind her.

  Trapped. I am trapped by the mortals. My magic is all but gone and I have nothing, nothing, nothing….

  Including a plan.

  You win, mother, I think tiredly. Kill them all, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

  I can’t protect the fey. I can’t even keep mortals from tying me down and taking my blood. Most of the people I care for are on the other side of the Veil, but even if they were here, could they find this underground place and me within it?

  Aiden could.

  My heart cracks as I think of my poor wolf. Trapped beyond the Veil, held there by the threat of looming madness. I have no doubt Aiden will find me, eventually.