Freya, a sweet little girl who had the misfortune of being one quarter Shaitan, had been banished by the Council from Djinn society. Azar had arranged for the girl to live with the local Werewolf pack in Sterling Forest.
Djinn society had existed on the principle that one hundred years of servitude provided prosperity and security for the whole race; they basically auctioned off every Djinn on their twenty-fifth birthday for exorbitant amounts of money. It was enforced by the use of slave cuffs, which were activated from a brand that appeared at birth and disappeared once the servitude was completed. The problem with Freya, and others like her, was that they were so weak in Djinn blood that they were born without the slave mark, and thus were unable to be coerced into a hundred years of slavery.
Freya had the doubly bad luck of being born a Shaitan, possibly the most disagreeable of the six races of Djinn. Their powers were insidious; they could raise negative emotions in their victims, and those stronger in their powers could physically turn their opponent’s brain to mush. Not the kind of people you’d want to invite to parties. Freya was nowhere near that strong, but there was a natural prejudice against the Shaitan, earned over years of violence and generally speaking, evilness.
Donovan, Freya’s father, had changed Azar’s views on the inherent evilness of the Shaitan. Donovan was still scary as crap, and if he focused his onyx eyes on her in anger, she had to resist the urge to wet her pants. And he was only a half blood. But they’d bonded awhile back chasing down a bad guy, and now she hesitantly called the man a friend. But still, sometimes she’d catch him looking at her with those intense black eyes, the look in them something completely inscrutable, like he was working out if he wanted to kiss her or tie her up and torture her in all the best ways. Another thing she was going to ignore. If she buried her head in the sand any further, she was going to pop out in Australia.
“The Weres have gone,” Donovan said, his black eyes shining ominously under the fluorescent lights of Bast’s office.
“Gone where?”
“Into hiding,” Oliver finished. “They’ve taken the attack on the Djinn, and your warnings, very seriously. They’ve closed ranks and that means no outsiders allowed, including Freya. Including me.”
They’d kicked Oliver out?
That shocked Azar more than anything. The Wolves loved Oliver like he was one of their own. For him to be asked to leave, they would really have to be in panic mode.
She could see the hurt of betrayal in her friend’s eyes, and she went to him, wrapping him in a hug. Oliver was an affectionate man, and craved contact like he needed oxygen.
“I’m sorry,” Azar whispered, and she was. The Sterling Forest Pack had been family to Oliver. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her scent in deeply. His arms tightened and then he pulled back and gave her a shadow of his normally bright smile.
“It’s no big deal. I would have stayed with you anyway. You need me. But it sucks that they threw me out like yesterday’s trash.”
Donovan muttered obscenities under his breath. “They dropped Freya off at a roadside diner, like she was an unwanted pet.”
“Tao stayed until you arrived,” Oliver defended instinctively. Loyal to the core, that one.
Azar held up a hand, stopping them before they both got ruffled. “What’s done is done. The more pressing problem is what the hell do we do now?”
They were now in possession of two minors, one of which was the rightful heir to the Seelie Court, who was wanted dead by both sides of the conflict. The other was an “impure” Shaitan, who the naturally bloodthirsty members of her race would love to tear to pieces, just as a way to tie up loose ends and vent a little frustration.
The Djinn were in turmoil without any leaders, and although Killian was emergency commander-in-chief, and trying his hardest to maintain calm within the different races, they were starting to boil over into a mob mentality. Now, with the Weres gone into hiding, the chance of mounting a successful counter-attack were dwindling to zero.
Then there was Bast.
What the fuck am I going to do? She thought to him, and felt his presence wrap around her body, the closest thing they could get to an embrace these days. She missed Bast in his corporeal form. She longed to see him smile, to touch his face. But when he was stabbed with Posidagi, the Great Weapon that was lethal to Jann, he was stuck in his incorporeal form until they found a way to counter the magic-born necrosis that would spread through his body and kill him in minutes.
Don’t worry, Jaanaman, we will figure it out. We always do.
Azar smiled. I love you.
She felt him laugh and press a ghostly kiss on her lips. Until the end of forever.
Oliver and Donovan were looking at her like she was wacky.
“Bast,” she said by way of explanation. “Well, there is safety in numbers. I think we need to stick together.”
She looked around at the room. There was a Shaitan, who had little to do with the other Djinn. A Werejaguar that was also solitary by nature, despite his previous chumminess with the Pack, and Azar, who had avoided the preternatural world for a hundred years until being dragged into it unwillingly half a year ago. A more antisocial group of people was yet to exist.
Donovan cocked his head at the sound of the childish giggling. Then he shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”
“I know a place,” Oliver said, and laid out a plan.
The cabin had seen better days. The paint was peeling from the sagging eaves and the windows were dirty.
“I didn’t realize you had a love shack,” Azar teased. Oliver had said he used it when he needed some alone time, but who was he kidding? She’d seen him flirt with the women at The Onyx, where he worked as a bouncer. Though, she would definitely worry if some random guy brought her to a remote cabin in the woods. Serial killer, much?
“It’s not a love shack. I got it for a steal, and sometimes it’s just nice to get away from everyone.”
“So, you’ve never brought a woman here?”
Oliver finally gave her the full beam, cheeky grin that she knew and loved. “Ok, so maybe it’s a love shack.”
The inside was much more loved than the outside. It was still worn, and most of the furniture was produced in the sixties, but it was comfortable enough. It had a little fireplace in the corner, and a fluffy shag pile rug in front of it.
A large refrigerator box stood out of place in the corner of the living area. Azar looked at the fridge in the kitchen across the room. An old Smeg. It definitely didn’t come in the box.
“What’s with that?” She nodded towards the box.
“I haven’t gotten around to throwing it out yet,” Oliver said, and blushed. Azar had never seen him blush before, didn’t think it was even possible over the golden hues of his tan, but there it was, turning his face an unattractive beet-red.
Azar grinned, a giant shit-eating grin that made her cheeks hurt.
“Oliver, do you play fort in the giant box?”
If it were possible, he blushed even further. “My jaguar likes to play in a box, so what? It’s still a cat you know.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.
She raised her hands defensively, and tried really hard not to laugh. “Hey, I’m not judging,” she lied.
The kids decided it seemed like a good idea, and Nevyn and Freya were using the old box like a spaceship. She could see the large gouges in the cardboard where Oliver, in jaguar form, had stuck his claws over the top.
Donovan walked in, holding several boxes of groceries they’d picked up before leaving town. He looked at the box, and then at Oliver, and raised a single eyebrow. Oliver ignored him, and the laughter she’d been trying so hard to contain burst out of her mouth. Fuck, he was just so damn cute sometimes.
He stomped out of the room to grab the rest of their things. She’d make it up to him later.
Bast had stayed in the city to watch the powder keg that was Djinn society and give warning if it were about to explode. They we
re all suspended in a state of disbelief at the moment, but soon the water would boil, and rage would lead them all into doing something reckless in the name of revenge. It didn’t matter that it was a suicide mission, as long as they had retribution.
The Fae outclassed them. They’d trained for hundreds of years to be elite warriors. Every offspring was trained in the art of war. They were stronger magically, physically and were a cohesive army.
The Djinn struggled to decide on what color to paint a room unless there were Councilors present to tell them what shade. Reason was now overruled by fear and anger. There had been fights about how to bury their dead leaders, some had wanted a ceremonial funeral for all of the Councilors together in a mass memorial. Killian had to work hard to convince them that having the rest of the Djinn in one place, at any time, was just asking to be finished off.
She felt a tug at her elbow.
“I would like to go outside and commune with the earth.” Azar looked down at Nevyn and smiled. He was actually a cute kid. With his large eyes, devoid of white, he had the ability to be unnerving at times, but he’d adapted so well to what life had thrown at him and she had to respect that.
“Sure, Nevyn. Put on your jacket though, the wind is chilly.”
Azar followed him out and watched him as he found a spot within a circle of trees. Being in the city had been physically painful for the boy, and she was glad that they’d ended up in the wilderness.
He sat cross-legged in the circle and was quiet. She knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t rouse from his trance for a few hours, and she settled down to wait. She couldn’t leave him exposed, but she found herself wishing she’d brought a good book.
Within moments however, Nevyn popped open an eye.
“He comes.”
Azar shot up and a fireball formed in her hand almost instantly. Killian would be proud. She hovered protectively over Nevyn, her eyes whirling in every direction. “Oliver!”
Oliver was out through a window and in jaguar form before she had a chance to draw another breath. He let out a snarl that reverberated through the air and made every hair on Azar’s arms lift.
But it was Jack, Tuatha Dé Danann and Heart of the World, that stepped out of the woods surrounding Oliver’s cabin. She let out a sigh of relief, and threw Nevyn an irate look. “You couldn’t be more specific?”
The boy just shrugged, and Oliver let out a low, irritated grumble. She reached over and scratched behind his ear. “Thanks. Whoever said dogs were a man’s best friend had never met a Werejaguar.” Oliver chuffed and rolled his eyes, the effects of which were really disconcerting in the face of a jaguar. He turned his head and nipped at her ass with his big, jaguar teeth. “Hey, watch it,” she scolded, but with his lips curled in a big cat grin, it was hard to be mad at him.
Jack was the start of this whole dilemma, though it wasn’t his fault that everything had turned to shit. He’d just been the warning. He’d very directly, and concisely, told the Council that the Fae were hunting down Great Weapons for nefarious reasons. But the Council hadn’t listened to him, too set in the old ways, self-assured that they were the apex predators in the preternatural food chain.
The smiling face of Jack made Azar’s heart flutter a little in her chest, and she was glad Bast was back in the city. She had very mixed feelings for the handsome Fae man. Well, not technically Fae. He was Tuatha Dé Danann, literally translated to children of Danu, the goddess. She had met the goddess in question, and the adulation she felt when she was around Jack was a faint echo of the giddy joyfulness that she felt when she was in the presence of Danu herself. Nevyn was part Tuatha Dé Danann also, a watered down version anyway, and so was she. That was a concept that she was still trying to wrap her head around, and if she thought about it for a long period of time, it made her head hurt. Whenever she was in the presence of Lorcan, Black Prince of the Rebel Fae army, and his compatriots, they treated her as if she were an idol, a goddess to be worshipped. It wigged her out big time.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Lorcan and his soldiers melted out of the forest like a mirage. It was eerie how well they blended into the landscape, invisible unless they wanted to be seen. The army had doubled in size since the last time she had seen them fading into the Amazon jungle, and obviously they’d joined their two battalions together.
“We’re going to have to get more food,” she muttered to Oliver, and he chuffed in response.
“Azar, it gladdens me to see you alive and well.”
Jack hugged her close. There was a definite connection between the two of them, but it was because the blood they shared rejoiced at the proximity of another Tuatha Dé Danann, rather than any actual physical attraction between the two of them. Yeah, sure, that was it. Apparently, she wasn’t just sticking her head in the sand anymore, she was piling bullshit on top as well.
“It’s good to see you too, Jack. How was the jungle?”
He grinned and revealed Abazhana from behind his back, like a grown up might reveal a present to a child. Abazhana was a spear, one of the Great Weapons, that targeted the Marid. She’d read that it turned their blood into liquid fire as it killed them. It wasn’t a good way to go.
“It was a successful mission,” he said somberly. “Lorcan has told me what happened with Bast. I am sorry. I feel partially responsible. And for your personal loss as well, your father was a good man.”
Azar inclined her head, and pushed down the feelings that were bubbling below the surface.
“Thanks. What are you guys doing here? And, uh, how did you know we were here? This spot is meant to be top secret.” Azar raised an eyebrow at Oliver, and he growled back, then let out a grumpy huff as he stalked back to the cabin.
“I could sense the boy. Then we just sifted here.”
Great, the kid was a paranormal LoJack.
“Is that a Fae thing, or a Tuatha thing?”
“I can sense my kindred blood in his veins, much the same way as I can sense yours now that you have communed with the Goddess and your blood sings with your heritage. Don’t worry, your position is secure enough from the enemy.”
Azar tried not to think too hard about the fact that Jack could find her anywhere.
“My Goddess, my Prince.” Lorcan bowed deep to her and Nevyn. “My army is at your disposal. We have come to provide protection and arms.”
“My disposal?” Azar looked to Jack desperately.
“I have informed the Black Prince that this fight is yours. I cannot interfere in matters such as this, it would upset the balance. His army is rightfully yours and Nevyn’s.”
Azar looked around at the men, in their odd khaki uniforms that looked somewhere between Steve Irwin and King Arthur. They all looked at her with adulation, ready to lay down their lives for hers.
All of a sudden, she felt ill. She needed three stiff scotches and a lie down. She did a rough count of them in her head. Forty soldiers. Forty more lives that could weigh down her conscience.
“I have nowhere to put you,” she said lamely.
Lorcan waved away her objection. “We will camp in the forest. We are more at home there anyway.” He did an odd whistle, and turned, striding back towards the woods.
She just nodded and watched them melt into the trees like ghosts.
The days passed surprisingly uneventfully. Bast would appear periodically to update everyone on the news of the world. The Fae had randomly struck several other Adel compounds throughout Europe. Although the fatalities hadn’t been nearly as high as they had been here in New York, the attacks had shown that even when they’d had time to prepare, the Djinn were horribly outnumbered and outclassed.
On the flip-side however, Azar had never felt so content. This tiny group of misfits felt like family. Secure in the safety of a surrounding army, she could laugh and have fun with the kids, or watch Lorcan and his army train. The unconditional acceptance that she got from Jack, as well as the companionship from Oliver and Donovan, made her feel fuzzy on the
inside. She felt more confident, stronger even, when she was surrounded by them. And Bast was always there with the constant blanket of his love. Azar thought it may have been the most idyllic week of her life.
She walked out onto the porch just as the sun was setting. Oliver’s love shack might have been dilapidated, but she was starting to love the old place. The peace and quiet, the air that was so fresh it cleansed your lungs, the feeling of safety, it was a heady experience she’d never really felt before. Maybe is was the call of the wilderness that sung to her newly found Tuatha blood that made her feel so invigorated, so alive.
Donovan came out the front door, shutting it quietly even though it squealed like a cat with its tail caught on fire every time it opened. “The children are asleep. Apparently, their adventures in the woods today wore them out.”
Nevyn and Freya had spent the day running through the woods behind the love shack, Lorcan’s guards watching them closely from far enough away that they felt like they were on some big adventure into uncharted territory. She’d heard all about it from them over dinner.
She gave Donovan a small smile, which he returned. Those rare smiles made her stupidly proud.
The night was unseasonably hot and sticky, the humidity reminding her of the rainforest, and she doubted she’d be getting much sleep tonight. The love shack didn’t have newfangled technology like air-conditioning or inside plumbing.
“It’s nights like this that I think perhaps the Fae have the right idea, sleeping in the woods. Except for the spiders. And bugs. And coyotes.”
“Hmm,” Donovan grunted noncommittally.
Oliver stalked out of the woods, his spotted jaguar coat blending almost perfectly with the landscape. Oliver spent a lot of time in his jaguar form out here. It wasn’t only Nevyn who felt the constraints of civilization.
He let out a weird chuffing snarl, and jerked his head. When no one moved, he did it again.
The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0) Page 46