He’d been a handsome man, muscled and well-proportioned, with pain in his grey eyes and honey on his tongue. She’d thought she could heal him. She’d thought that she’d ended up on that beach because he needed her, because she could make a difference. For a while, she’d thought she was making progress, but the children fed his fury.
He’d been hard on Thomas and had ignored Agnes. She remembered the incident with the watch, just a curious boy playing with a trinket. Thomas hadn’t meant any harm. She blinked back tears in memory of that cheerful little boy, his relentless curiosity and his sunny nature. She hoped he had lived long and had many sons. She hoped he had prospered in her absence, and Agnes, too.
“You have to recognize the limits of your own powers,” Nereus said. “You can’t make a man whole who is broken beyond repair.”
Lila turned in his grip to meet his gaze. “You seem to know a lot about Malcolm. I didn’t think you’d met him.”
Nereus smiled, his gaze warm upon her. “I had to avenge you. You must see that.” He bent and touched his lips to hers even as Lila recoiled. “It was my duty to protect you.”
Lila stepped out from under the weight of his hands and retreated until her back was against the cabinet. “You killed Malcolm?”
Nereus folded his arms across his chest, his expression less seductive. “He was taken by the sea. He was claimed by me.” He pointed to the watch. “That is a trophy of justice done.”
The hair crept on the back of Lila’s neck. If the entire collection was similar tokens, then Nereus was much more violent and vengeful than she had realized. “How?”
“He was a fisherman,” Nereus said. “They die all the time, especially if they head out to sea alone.” His eyes flashed. “He was easy pickings.”
Lila had never thought about Malcolm dying. He’d been so vital. “When?”
“After your escape,” he said with satisfaction. “I gave him a year.”
“But what about the children?” she demanded. She’d assumed they’d be fine, that Malcolm would raise them among his kind, but they would have been alone.
Nereus scoffed. “I took the boy the first time he ventured into the sea alone.” He smiled. “So easily done.” He opened the next drawer and Lila spotted a blue cloth bag that made her catch her breath. She’d sewn that little calico bag herself, sewn it by hand for Thomas to store his treasures. His hoard, Rhys had called it. She reached for it with a trembling hand, feeling the stones and shells inside it.
“He was never parted from it,” she said, knowing that she could list the contents. There was a black stone with a fossil in it. A spiral shell worn down by the sea so that only a filigree lattice remained. The beak of a seabird. She remembered each discovery, remembered him running to show his latest find each time. She’d never let her children go onto the beach alone, but now she realized she’d had no idea what to fear.
Or who.
“He was in the end,” Nereus said, his tone reasonable. Lila steeled herself against him. “You have to realize, Lila, that they were unnatural. They couldn’t be allowed to live.”
“What about Agnes?”
He shook his head. “She never came to the sea. I tried to call her, but she refused. I claimed her son, though.” He pointed to a small jet pin carved in the shape of a leaping fish. “Her husband gave her this on their wedding day and she gave it to the boy on his.” Nereus smiled as he caressed each item in his collection and Lila took a step back.
“I have to leave,” she said.
“Too late. We’re underway.”
“I can’t have your child. I’ve already conceived. I’ve already chosen.”
Nereus’ gaze turned cold. “There are ways. You know that as well as I do.” Then his easy smile returned. He locked the cabinet and claimed the key, gripping her elbow and guiding her toward the door. “But there’s no need to argue now. I came to tell you that dinner is ready.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But I am, and I insist that you join me.”
Anger and rebellion rose within Lila, but Nereus was resolute and his grip was relentless. She chose to pretend to be convinced.
He led her to a dining room dominated by a large round table. Once again, the lighting was soft and luminous. There was music playing and the blinds were closed against the winter night. A long line of fire crackled in the modern fireplace set into one wall. There was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne within it, and a pair of champagne flutes on the table. Lila sat, wondering how she would escape, as two staff members appeared.
They were attractive but so slender that Lila found it hard to be certain of their gender. They were dressed in clothes so simple that they could have been a uniform: black trousers and white shirts. They worked with silent efficiency and Lila noticed that their eyes were glazed, as if they were drugged.
“A little charm is the best motivation,” Nereus said as one popped the cork. The other held their chairs and offered their napkins.
Lila knew then that the staff would be of no help to her.
How was she going to escape?
The champagne flowed into the glasses, bubbling as it was poured. The glasses were set before them, then the second staff member re-appeared with two large plates. He set down one in front of each other them. They were oysters, a dozen on each tray, with half a lemon garnishing each plate.
Half a lemon with the rind cut in a distinctive curl.
Rhys was aboard! Relief swept through Lila, but she knew instinctively that he wouldn’t charge in to rescue her. He’d want to know what she wanted. That was Rhys’ code of honor and in this moment, Lila appreciated it—and him—more than ever.
Nereus waved the staff members away. He raised his glass of champagne then eyed Lila. “You look startled. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just so pretty,” Lila said. “But I couldn’t possibly eat a bite.”
“Shall we drink to the future instead?”
“It might be bad for the baby,” Lila said, unable to forget his words about there being ways to be rid of Rhys’ son. She pushed the glass away slightly, feeling Nereus’ annoyance rise. She had a thought then of how she could alert Rhys to her choice. She smiled at Nereus and used their style of speech. “It would be so much easier to relax in your company if I didn’t know you’d killed my son.”
Rhys had been able to hear their speech before.
Lila hoped he could hear it now, because Nereus put his glass down hard and wrath flashed in his gaze. Then he shook his head, composed himself, and turned the full weight of his attention upon her. His voice dropped and Lila knew he was going to try to charm her again.
She only hoped she could resist.
“It would be so much easier to relax in your company if I didn’t know you’d killed my son.”
Rhys was stunned when he heard Lila’s claim. He abandoned the rest of the meal preparation and went to the door of the kitchen, opening it slightly to watch Nereus and Lila. There were two crew members in the kitchen, standing to one side and awaiting orders, apparently lost in their daydreams. It was eerie how unaware they were of their surroundings and how they could be stirred by a command.
Balthasar said the charming was intense and must have been sustained over an extended period of time. The two Pyr had been hard-pressed to get aboard, even working together, and Rhys was still wary of being revealed.
He didn’t trust any of them.
If Nereus had killed Lila’s first son, the King Under the Seas wouldn’t have any qualms about killing the second. Rhys fought against the shimmer of blue light that revealed he was on the cusp of change. His instinct was to defend Lila, but he had to wait to be sure—and remain disguised while he did so.
“Lila, Lila, Lila,” Nereus said, shaking his head. His tone was filled with disappointment as if she were a wayward child. “I only did what had to be done.” His tone was persuasive. “I told you as much already. I did the responsible thing. Our lineage must be kept p
ure...”
Lila was staring at the table, her entire body taut with her resistance. “Then you can’t blame me for protecting my unborn son.”
“You have to see reason, Lila,” Nereus replied in that soothing tone. Was he trying to charm Lila? “It’s for your own good, Lila, as well as the good of our kind. Even if you manage to deliver this abomination, you can’t defend the child forever.” He sighed with apparent regret. “It’s fated to die.”
“No, he isn’t.” Lila insisted.
“How do you imagine that?” Nereus asked. “If I don’t do the responsible deed, then the Dark Queen will hunt him and do it for me.”
“You said you would deliver him to her,” Lila said with heat.
Nereus smiled. “His destiny is an unkind one, Lila. The child has no future. It would be kinder to end this madness now, before it has progressed very far.”
“No.” Lila insisted. “I have chosen.”
“And I invite you to choose again.” Nereus rose smoothly and went to the bar. He took a bottle from a locked cabinet and poured its dark contents into a glass. He returned to Lila and placed it before her. “This will see the situation resolved by morning,” he explained. “It will be as if you chose correctly in the first place. We need never speak of it again.”
Lila took a breath and stared at the glass. She had to know it was an abortifacient. Rhys wanted to shatter that glass and ensure no one could ever drink its contents. Lila, to his relief, seemed to agree.
“Lila, Lila,” Nereus cooed. “This is for your own good. Look at me!”
She looked up with obvious reluctance and even Rhys could feel the weight of the king’s will pressing upon her.
“It will be best,” Nereus insisted. “It would be kind, Lila. Imagine the agony endured by the victims of the Dark Queen.”
Lila frowned and seemed troubled. “I couldn’t heal that damage,” she whispered and Nereus sat down beside her.
“It’s hard to admit our shortcomings, Lila, but we all have them. You trust too readily. You see the best in others. It’s your gift. You are gracious and kind, but you must think of the future.” He slid the glass closer to her hand. “Drink this and we’ll put this incident behind us forever.”
Lila sighed and wiped away a tear. “Of course, you know best, my lord,” she said in a meek tone that Rhys couldn’t reconcile with her character. She lifted the glass and for a heartbeat, he feared she’d been convinced—or charmed.
Then her eyes flashed and she flung the contents of the glass into Nereus’ face. “I won’t let you execute another of my sons!” she declared and jumped to her feet. Her chair fell backwards behind her but she scrambled over it in her haste to retreat.
Nereus roared and snatched for her.
Rhys shifted shape as he leapt across the dining room floor, breathing a fearsome plume of fire in defense of his mate. He saw Lila’s smile of relief and knew he’d made the right decision, then Nereus pivoted to fight. He’d seized his trident, though Rhys had no idea where it had been hidden, and the silver tines flashed as Nereus struck the first blow.
It was remarkable to Sebastian that despite all he disliked about mortal society, he kept returning to it. It was more than a need to feed and survive. He was drawn to humans in a way that annoyed him.
Perhaps he was addicted to them.
If that wasn’t a troubling realization, he didn’t know what was.
Despite his hatred of air travel and congested public meeting places, of artificial light and of being cloistered with strangers for periods of time, he’d taken a commercial flight to Ireland. He was hungry and more than a little bit irritable when he strode down the cobbled streets of Dublin late on the night after his arrival.
He fed quickly, without lingering over the choice, and the city had one less homeless beggar. He would tell Micah that he had put the man out of his misery. Maybe that would mitigate Micah’s inevitable annoyance about Sebastian’s abrupt departure. His victim’s blood had been thin, redolent of alcohol and some venereal disease that disgusted Sebastian. The vermin of human society were so much junk food—accessible, cheap and ultimately dissatisfying.
Maeve’s townhouse was easy to find, given the faint glow of red magick emanating from it. The back door, in the dark yard, had a lock that was ridiculously easy to pick. He’d expected more of a challenge from the Dark Queen, but apparently she was careless.
Or she had other alarms in place.
Sebastian slid into the shadowed interior and listened for long moments, scarcely breathing, as silent as only a vampire could be. Nothing. The house was as good as abandoned. He narrowed his eyes at the bottom of the stairs and scanned them, noting the faint beams of the motion detectors. He chose a path instinctively then followed it, ducking beneath one beam and leaping another, moving like quicksilver. He paused at the top of the stairs, listening. The alarm system hiccupped, reset, and remained silent.
He moved so quickly that the system discounted the input from the sensors as a glitch. He was following a path mapped out and taken by another, one who had paid the ultimate price for his transgression, and Sebastian knew it all too well.
He felt followed by a shadow.
Or a ghost.
Sebastian reached the top floor of the townhouse quickly and identified the bedroom by the red radiance showing beneath the door. There were no alarms here, as it was assumed any intruder would have been caught on the ascent. Maeve’s bedroom was a boudoir, in every sense of the word, red and silver and lush. Satin and fur, pillows and toys. Sebastian thought it frivolous.
One mirror was broken, which interested him. He found a broken crystal orb on the carpet beneath it, and poked it with a fingernail. It was devoid of magick, no more potent than the emery board left on the dresser. It had to be one of the orbs held by the dragon princes.
He straightened and turned, letting the magick reveal itself. There was a portal here, in this room, a way for Maeve to move easily between the realms. He’d come to her Dublin home expressly to locate it and use it.
The one who had come before him had found it, which was proof that it existed.
Sebastian stood and waited, still as death, then he saw the faint pulse of red. There was an armoire on the far side of the room, a massive piece of antique furniture. The red pulsed as if there was a light inside it. He opened the doors, pushed back the clothes and smiled at the outline of a door in the back of it. The red light came from behind it.
Sebastian opened the door and stepped through the opening into a smaller room, one hidden behind the bedroom. It had to be fitted beneath the gables of the roof, as dark and sinister as the bedroom was light and feminine. There were spiders and the wood was unfinished, the rafters bare. In striking contrast, there was a beautiful display cabinet built into one wall, a remarkable piece of workmanship in a place where no one would see it. He found himself drawn closer to examine its contents.
Ah, a unicorn horn. It couldn’t have been anything else with that pearlescent hue, so long and straight, encircled by a chain of faded and dried daisies. A centaur’s hooves rested beside it, then a scale of glittering topaz and gold that looked the right size to have fallen from a dragon’s hide. He saw a mermaid’s mirror and what must have been one of her scales, smaller than the other and iridescent green. He peered at something dried and horrible and concluded it might have been pointed ears, once upon a time. They perched beside a harp. The case was crowded but not full, and Sebastian guessed that these were Maeve’s trophies from the last of each kind she eliminated.
There was nothing that hinted at vampires. There was a white feather, one that might have fallen from an angel wing, and he eyed it thoughtfully. He wondered at that dragon scale, then reminded himself to hurry.
The portal to Fae itself had to be in this room. He didn’t expect it to easily reveal itself, but the faint glow of red troubled his vision. The shadows looked both deeper and less substantial in its light. He ran his hands lightly over the inside of the
roof and along the floor, disturbing cobwebs and sending mice scurrying. He finally found the portal by feel, the silver light icy cold as his fingers slid over the crack, as if an arctic draft blew through the hairline gap.
He found the latch then, knowing it had to be there, and hauled open the door. The Fae warrior standing guard on the other side was even more surprised than Sebastian when they suddenly were confronted with each other. That increment of preparedness was just enough: Sebastian seized the warrior’s weapon from his scabbard and sliced him open before he could move.
The Fae warrior gasped as he turned to a cloud of silver mist. His physical form dissipated like fog, right before Sebastian’s eyes, and his garments fell empty to the ground. Sebastian could hear a crowd roaring in the distance, like they were at a sporting event. He grimaced, not looking forward to mingling with immortals any more than he liked mortal companionship.
And crowds were the worst.
If there was a party or celebration, though, Maeve would have taken Sylvia there. The uniform and the weapon might prove very useful.
Fortunately, this Fae warrior had been of similar size to Sebastian.
He refused to see that coincidence as ominous.
Nereus was going to kill Rhys.
Rhys exploded from the kitchen in a flash of blue light, shifting shape as he bounded across the dining room. The half-crucifix from his father flashed gold against the garnet and silver of his scales, and his eyes were filled with protective fury.
Nereus bounded to his feet and seized his trident. He jabbed it into Rhys’ brow, thrusting with all his might. Lila saw blood flow over Rhys’ garnet and silver scales and feared Nereus had been aiming for his eyes. Rhys roared and ducked, his heavy tail swinging hard, as he breathed fire at Nereus. The table and the chairs were swept to one side of the dining room, the table breaking one of the windows when it fell. Lila ran, keeping behind Rhys and out of his way. Nereus tugged his trident free and snarled as he aimed another blow at Rhys.
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