by Kim Schubert
…
I groaned, rolling over and into Logan, burying my aching head.
“We have to find the Fae Queen,” I mumbled into his chest.
“Go back to bed.”
“She’s dying,”
“And?”
“Her twin said it would lead to the enslavement of our world.”
“She might be scaring you to get you to help,” Logan reminded me, pulling me closer, easily accepting my pain-laden words.
I shifted against him, slipping my head onto his shoulder, loving his strong arm around my waist. I sighed contentedly.
“Where did you go?” he whispered, the mate bond conveying his worry and fear.
“To Fae, or Fairy, whatever the hell they call their world.” I pushed up on an elbow, looking down at this shirtless wonder I now called my own, the sheer masculinity of finely sculpted muscles almost distracting me from my next sentence. “I did it, though,” I told him proudly.
He shifted positions, running his thumb down my cheek and over my bottom lip. I nipped at him playfully.
“Are you healed?” he asked seriously.
I gave him a wicked smile, “I could use some help with that.”
Logan ran warm hands over my body, and while I knew part of his exploration was to be sure I was, indeed, alright, I didn’t mind. His touch grounded me and drove all my worries away. I just wanted to be lost in his touch and forget about the daunting task in front of us.
Warm hands cupped my ass and I shifted to straddle him, glad for our lack of clothing. He slipped into me like he had always belonged there and a contended sigh eased past my lips. Letting my head fall, exposing my neck, I rocked to a rhythm I knew well. He didn’t stay prone long, expertly changing our positions.
I smiled up at him, capturing his lips against my own, breathing in his scent, his strength, and mostly his love. Down my neck he trailed love bites as he lifted my left leg over his hip. My hands lightly running over his sides, I closed my eyes, awash in emotions. That’s when I saw it.
Currents, threads of energy trailing from Logan to me, thin and bright. I pulled from him, the cords absorbing into me, healing the places that hurt.
“Hey,” he whispered, “you okay?”
I snapped my eyes open; all of that could wait. I smiled up at him. “Perfect.”
Chapter 11
Someone was banging on our door. I groaned, looking up at the noonday sun that slipped around the closed curtains.
Logan stepped out of the shower, a towel slung around his hips.
“Olivia!” Garrick bellowed.
I groaned, dropping my head back into the soft down pillow.
“Go away!” I growled.
The door unlocking was not the way I wanted this to go.
“Logan,” I whined.
“She’s still resting,” he stated firmly.
“Not anymore. You are going to want to see this.”
Garrick barged in, resting thick, worn, leather-bound volumes on the circular breakfast table.
I pushed up to a seated position, noting my lack of clothing. Logan growled and tossed me one of his shirts. Easing it over the loves bites from earlier, I went to stand next to Garrick, the throbbing in my head almost gone.
“Declan found this,” he explained.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Who’s Declan?” Logan questioned, biting into an apple.
“Food?” I questioned in a whine.
He tossed me an apple, I caught it and tossed it back. I was aiming for his smirk, but he caught the apple.
“Food,” I demanded.
“It’s called fruit, and eating a few of them once a month wouldn’t hurt you.”
I made a face at him, turning back to Garrick.
“Who’s Declan?” I asked.
“My new replacement, should anything happen to me. The other lad got tired of waiting for me to die or retire,” Garrick stated with a shrug.
I laughed. “You, retire? HA!”
“Stranger things have happened, like a succubus mating the Alpha shifter,” he reminded me. I rolled my eyes.
“Anyways, what Declan was able to find is that the Fae have an allergy to iron. It burns their skin, renders their magic dulled, gives them dastardly headaches.
“The Queen told me the same. Also, being apart from Fae for too long will kill them as well. What’s made out of iron?” I asked.
“Everything,” Garrick answered.
I blinked at him. “Ev-ery-thing,” he repeated, turning to face me, resting his ass against the table. “Cars, nails, screws, pots, pans, anything with steel by default contains iron. Fireplace tools…” He drew a breath and smiled, “and bullets.”
“How can the Fae possible plan on surviving here with so much iron?” I asked.
“They’re not, are they?” Logan asked.
“No.” Garrick drew a breath, bracing his hands on the table next to him.
I felt my short-lived happiness at unlocking my magic and finding ways to kill the Fae crushed.
“Declan believes the Fae will remake the world, just like Fairy.”
I exhaled, “The humans would be enslaved.” Whispering softly, I added, “We wouldn’t fare much better.”
Logan nodded. “Where is Declan now? I’d like to know where he thinks they are.”
“I thought you’d say that. I have a vehicle waiting to take us to our headquarters here.” Garrick turned, gathering his books.
I plucked one off the top. “Reading material,” I shrugged, taking a bite of the apple, since it was apparently the only nourishment currently available.
Garrick rolled his eyes. “Be ready in thirty.”
I grunted, taking another bite as he swept out of the room.
“What are we going to do with your father and Doyle?” Logan asked, still reclined against the small kitchenette.
I sighed, sitting and setting both the text and apple down.
“I don’t know. In a perfect world, I’d have time to learn the ins and outs of my newfound powers so that I could come in guns blazing against the Fae, but—”
“We lack the time,” Logan finished.
I gave him a long-winded sigh. “That’s what you were going to say,” he defended.
“Yeah, but I was going to say it. When you say it, I instantly want to disagree.”
“But you do agree.”
“Do we have any actual food?” I grumbled.
“No, but go shower and I’ll call for room service.”
“How did you get two apples and nothing more?”
“I went to breakfast, it’s now lunch. I didn’t expect you to be awake before anything else went bad.”
I grunted at his sensibleness; apparently I was spoiling for a fight.
“Do you want company?” Logan yelled at me.
I flipped him off.
“That wasn’t a clear answer.”
I opened the door, I had just slammed.
“That’s a fucking clear answer,” I grumbled with a smile.
…
Tossing my hair into a wet bun, I scarfed down the food on the rolling cart. Logan tossed a napkin at me, I made a face while overstuffing my mouth.
He rolled his eyes with a smile.
I stared longingly at the rest of the eggs, toast, and waffles.
“Are you still hungry?” Logan asked, picking my bag up off the bed.
“No, but it seems a shame to waste,” I pouted.
He laughed. I noted that all the meat had been devoured. He handed me the worn text Garrick had left behind.
Time for a crash course in Fae.
My father was waiting in the corridor, arms crossed, foot tapping, annoyance and frustration oozing off of him.
“You cannot leave,” he hissed, matching my quick pace. Logan fell behind us, creating the illusion of privacy.
“I don’t have a choice,” I responded.
“Olivia, daughter,” he pleaded, pulling my arm to stop and t
urn me toward him. “You have unleashed massive power inside of you, power not even I know what will do. We must take time to understand it and teach you how to use it.”
“Look, I get it, I want that, but I have a rogue Fae running around with the Queen of Fae, who is dying. If I don’t get her back to Fae”—how the fuck was I doing that, by the way—“all those unruly fuckers come over to our world and we all die.”
His sea green gaze searched my own, finding no compromise. “This is dangerous. If you use too much energy or tap into your lifeforce, you will die.”
“I repeat, we all die. Give me the Cliffs Notes on how not to.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead before turning to slowly walk down the hall. I followed, coming up beside him.
“A lifetime of magic reduced to a few simple sentences,” he muttered, running a hand over his stubbled face.
He sighed with added force. “Magic is malleable, you can form it into whatever you can believe. There is a great deal stored within you, but you can also pull from the elements.” He stopped, putting a hand on my arm. “Do not ever, ever, pull from your lifeforce. Drain that and you are dead. Immortal or not.”
I nodded, “I’ll be careful.” I squeezed his hand on my arm.
“See that you are,” he whispered, moisture pooling in his eyes.
I cleared my throat. “I need you—”
“Back at the manor.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “I’ll keep them safe.”
I nodded. “Garrick said the Fae are dangerously allergic to iron. Buy whatever you need to ward the property. Be sure Mercer brings Mindy, even if he won’t stay himself.”
“I’ll protect them, daughter. Just as I would you.”
“Thank you.” I turned and walked away.
That seemed to be my father’s new job title, defender of my children, since I was out and about saving the freaking world. I never used to mind doing it, but I did now. I wanted—what I wanted didn’t matter, what I needed to do was kill the Fae and send the Queen back to her world. Easy peasy.
…
Declan met us at Garrick’s temporary office.
“I am shocked you work here,” I told him.
Garrick raised an eyebrow at me as our steps echoed off the soup pantry’s bare interior.
“I don’t.”
Logan chuckled.
“What happened with your magic?” Garrick asked. “I never did ask.”
“It’s unlocked. I can feel it inside. I’m hesitant to try anything, though.”
“Your father?”
“I sent him home to the kids.”
Garrick stopped. “Just to be clear, you are running around, unchecked and untrained, with heavens-know-how-much power pumping through your veins?”
“Yep,” I confirmed.
He looked to Logan. “And you agreed to this?”
Logan shrugged. We had discussed it, it seemed to be our best plan.
“I’ll figure it out, the same way I did being a succubus, the same way I do everything.”
Garrick opened a door into the main room. The water-stained, peeling drywall of the room we had just walked through was replaced by freshly hung and painted charcoal gray walls. Black desks were dotted around the room with various vampires occupying the seats. Their speed gave them away, fingers flying over keyboards as they spoke into their sleek headsets.
A dark-haired man straightened from speaking to one of the vamps, adjusting his finely pressed suit before turning to lay his gaze on us.
“Declan, this is Olivia and Logan.”
He nodded, clearly unimpressed. His hazel gaze flicked over Logan and me before dismissing us. I tilted my head; certainly an acknowledgement wasn’t too much to ask? I felt Logan sizing him up. Declan was shorter, smaller and didn’t have the sheer muscle capacity Logan did. While he was taller than me, he didn’t exude the threatening energy I had come to expect from a powerful Supernatural. A slow throbbing built behind my temples. Taking a step toward Logan, I braced a hand against my head.
“What’s wrong?” he breathed against my ear.
I could see them. The thin and numerous threads that wrapped around Declan, the colors spanning the rainbow, and I felt, more than knew, that each one had a specific purpose. Easing an exhale, I was debating how rude it would be for me to pluck them off.
“Don’t,” Declan’s voice warned.
I struggled to open my heavy lids. He was regarding me warily.
“You never had powers before,” he stated.
I grunted as Logan eased my weight down into a couch, realizing we had moved rooms during my little blackout.
“She does now,” Logan answered. I didn’t need to look at him to know he was staring down Declan. I could feel him carefully evaluating the man’s power after his initial dismissal. We both had missed something.
“What are you?” I asked. Jerry didn’t throw that level of complex threads. I hadn’t studied my father while he was doing magic, but this power just felt different.
Declan regarded me for a moment, looking down his perfectly sculpted nose as my head throbbed again. I dropped it into my hands, easing out a breath.
“I’d prefer not to say,” was his cryptic answer.
I opened my eyes to glare at him. “What are you?” Logan asked again.
“We won’t be asking a third time,” I added. “I don’t have time for games.”
Declan looked to Garrick for help, who offered only, “If you plan on ruling after me, dealing with these two will be your responsibility.”
Declan looked back to me and I swear I saw threads dancing in his eyes. “Gearing up for a fight?” I asked him, the adrenaline clearing my mind. “We can go, but before we do, know that my magic is new and untrained, and I have zero problems with making Garrick replace you.”
Garrick groaned my name, shaking his head. Logan’s own need to dominate wasn’t helping me stay rational, riding me along the mate bond.
“I’m not looking for a fight.” Declan over-enunciated the syllables and I growled.
I narrowed my eyes, my normal and magical sights merging as sparks danced along his magical threads. “How do you know so much about the damn Fae, anyway?”
He adjusted his suit. “Again, I’d rather not say.”
“Alright, that’s it. You, me, and a sparring room. NOW!” I demanded.
“And what, if you win I spill all my secrets?” Declan asked with a laugh. He clearly didn’t know who he was taunting.
“Nope, I don’t want all your secrets, just for you to answer my questions.”
“I don’t have time to indulge your idle fantasies of beating me.”
“Lords, Olivia, don’t kill him,” Garrick groaned.
“No guarantees.”
I didn’t get a sparring room. What I got was an empty pantry. I scanned the empty shelves, the wood rotting away, and picked out a few structurally intact places I was going to toss Declan’s body against. Slipping out of my jacket, I ignored Logan’s annoyed stare.
I don’t like this. You can’t sense what he is.
Normally I’d bluff, but since I had asked and Logan could read my mind, that response was void.
He’s got magic, probably not used to using his body to physically respond to threats, and knows a whole shit ton about the Fae, I thought back.
Do you think he’s a mole? Logan questioned.
I pondered the question, watching Declan speak with Garrick.
No, but he’s hiding something and I’m going to find out what it is.
Declan turned to me then, still annoyed at my antics. Okay, so maybe challenging him to a fight was a little immature. I’m willing to admit that. I’m also willing to admit I needed him to know EXACTLY who he was dealing with. I took over a Council that was run so poorly it harmed more than helped; I wasn’t above going after the Western Council if he thought he could run it the same way.
Besides, it did annoy me that I couldn’t place exactly what he was. Granted, in a
case of diluted blood, I had a harder time placing the exact origins of power, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m a control freak.
“Let’s go, princess, I have things to do,” Declan said, standing six paces from me. His look of boredom was highly insulting.
I huffed. “Only one person calls me that,” I told him, clearing the distance between us, “and it’s not you.”
He blocked the assault I laid into him, punch after uppercut, with a few well placed kicks. At least his look of boredom was gone.
Good, I was a contender, still.
A fake left followed by a right jab caught him under the chin, and I delighted in the flash of raw anger crossing his dark eyes, once he righted his head. Ha.
I felt more than heard Logan’s groan, my love of smashing my fists into deserving flesh rushing through my veins.
Declan came at me, fists a blur as I blocked, my forearms bearing the brunt of his onslaught of anger. I smiled, the physical altercation forcing us both to breathe hard.
As suddenly as his assault began, it stopped. I stood up from my stance, ready to demand answers again, but a flick of his fingers had me pinned in place, my jaw locked shut.
Son of a bitch! I screamed at Logan.
Do you need me?
I took a breath, my eyes attempting to narrow at the cocky asshole Declan.
Not yet.
Not ever going to fight my battles for me, was the thought I hid. I needed to get myself out of this jam. I did start it, after all.
Opening my second sight, I looked at the olive cords of magic wrapped around my body. Unlike the cords of magic I had encountered before, these resembled what I imagined my emotions looked like when I manipulated them—thicker, hardier. I could feel their weight on me. Plucking wasn’t going to be an option.
Cutting, however, was.
Closing my eyes, I looked inside, something I hadn’t bothered to do since my encounter with Emerald, the friendly fire-breathing dragon, and saw nothing. I was disappointed. I had expected massive, raw, untapped and writhing power. Even my father had said I had a great capacity.
What I got was a vastness. With a sigh, I sent my senses out. Perhaps I could pull magic into myself, like I did with emotions. Problem: I wasn’t touching anything.
Except my feet were, I realized, sending my awareness there. The concrete beneath me pulsed with emotions. This was new. My head tipped back as sensations swarmed me—desperation, heartache and hopelessness. I drew it all into me, coiled it the same way I always had.