by Rosalie Redd
With his easy smile and knee-weakening passionate kiss, Zain had the ability to seduce her. However, in this place and time, she’d never give in to his charms, not after he’d captured her and brought her before Gwawl.
But he gave me a blanket and reunited me with Mom. Wynne shoved the tiny voice into a box in the far reaches of her mind, strapped on several ropes, and attached a giant padlock. She trapped the key in her heart. No way would he ever find it hidden there.
She tightened her grip on the bars. “Have no worries. That won’t happen.”
The rhythmic squeak of a wheel echoed down the hall. A moment later, Allie strode into view, dressed in a pair of combat pants with numerous pockets and boots to match, pushing a cart with two domed silver serving trays. She stopped. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling. She flicked her hand in the air, as if trying to catch a butterfly in her palm.
Empathy for this poor girl’s plight mixed with unease and settled in Wynne’s gut, churning into a horrid concoction. What had Allie done to earn a spot in Gwawl’s army? Wynne shook her head. Some questions were best left unanswered. This was one of them.
After several unsuccessful attempts to catch an imaginary insect, a wild tirade of expletives exploded from Allie’s lips, but then she blinked, wiped her hands on a towel, and smiled. She pushed the cart to Victoria’s cell. “Victoria, lunch is ready.”
Victoria’s eyes sparked. “Peanut butter and honey?”
“Not today.” Allie’s attention flicked between Victoria and Wynne. She grasped the lids, and her eyes flickered like a child’s would if he or she had a secret to share. “You scored a tier two meal, courtesy of Zain.”
Allie snatched the lids away and revealed plates with two carved slices of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and some French-cut green beans. The food’s warm aroma settled into Wynne’s senses. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation.
Victoria clasped her hands together. “Tell him ‘thank you,’ dear.”
Allie handed one tray to Mom through the slot in the door and the other to Wynne.
Wynne sat on the bed, unrolled the fork from the napkin, and dug in. Wow, her taste buds flooded with delicious flavor. The food was Heaven in the Otherworld.
“Wynne, I have something else for you.” Allie sing-songed the words and obtained a duffel bag from the cart’s lower shelf.
Wynne swallowed her mouthful of mashed potatoes. “You do?”
Allie brought the pack to the cell’s opening. “These are from Zain. He didn’t want you to know, but he used his own credits to get these.”
Wynne’s heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”
The young woman’s eyes brightened, and that uncanny giggle escaped her lips once again. “Open the sack and find out.”
Wynne tugged the bag through the slot, untied the end, and dumped the contents onto her bed.
She blinked, and widened her gaze at the blue long-sleeved sweater, a brush with the right kind of mohair bristles, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. The items were exactly what she needed.
Wynne glanced at Allie. “Why did he do this?”
Allie shrugged and toyed with the stud embedded under her lip, pulling at it hard. A drop of blood pooled from the hole. “He said you’d had goose bumps.”
Wynne gnawed on her lower lip, confusion toying with her. He was her captor, forcing her to comply with Gwawl’s demand to take over for her mother as his crystal keeper. Yet, he did nice things for her. Had she misjudged him or was this part of some elaborate scheme? Frustration bunched the muscles in her shoulders.
“I’ll be back later to collect the dishes and take you for a shower.” Allie placed two fingers alongside one eyebrow in mock salute, giggled, then pushed the cart down the corridor.
“What Zain did was thoughtful, but remember what I said, Wynne. Let him too close, and he’ll break your heart then forget you ever existed.” Victoria coughed again. This time, her entire body shook.
Wynne didn’t like the sound of that awful bark. “Mom, you okay?”
Victoria wiped spittle from her lips. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Mom—” Wynne pegged her mother with a hawk’s eye glare.
A chilly breeze whipped down the hallway, and the rhythmic click of a high-end pair of dress shoes echoed against the walls.
Who was it? It certainly wasn’t Zain. She’d never seen him wear anything fancy. Yet, she couldn’t deny the flutter in her stomach. The muscles in her back tensed. That was wrong on all kinds of levels she didn’t want to contemplate. Steeling herself, she huffed and pressed her lips together.
Marco, dressed in a black designer suit with diamonds in the cuffs and a white bow-tie strode into view. His gaze tracked from Wynne to Victoria and back again. A wicked smile curled his lips. “Well, well. Mother and daughter, such a pair.”
Victoria melted into the gloom. She settled onto her bed, and the cot’s shrill grate pierced the air.
Uncomfortable heat flared across Wynne’s cheeks. She locked her knees and raised her chin. “What do you want?”
Marco rubbed the handle of his cane nestled in the crook of his arm. His malevolent smile slid across his features once again, darkening his brown eyes to black. “I take it you’ve been an attentive student, reading the book and learning all about crystals.”
The hair at Wynne’s nape prickled, but she held her ground. “There is a wealth of information in that book.”
“I’m sure there is. I had no idea we had such a treasure. Gwawl keeps his secrets well.” He strode to Victoria’s cell and stared through the bars. “I wonder what other secrets have been kept from me.”
“Perhaps you’re not high enough on the totem pole to find out.” The barb slipped from Wynne’s lips.
Marco’s shoulders stiffened. He pegged her with a hard stare, and a yellow hue surrounded his eyes. “I won’t put up with that attitude from a witch.”
Another insult formed on the tip of her tongue, but he disappeared in a swirl and reappeared in her cell before the pointed comment left her lips. He advanced upon her, his jacket billowing in his wake.
“Moto aria sirta.” The blocking spell came out on a whisper, ineffective and weak, and a fierce burn radiated from the skin under the wristlet. Damn the bracelet.
Wynne’s heartbeat raced. She stepped back, one foot after the other, until her bottom pressed against the stone wall.
Marco slid his cane inside his coat, gripped her arm with one hand, and wrapped his fingers around her neck with the other.
She gasped for air and pummeled him with her fists.
“Stop, Marco!” Victoria shouted.
“I don’t take insults well.” Marco narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “Perhaps you care to apologize?”
Heat flushed through Wynne’s body, fueling her anger and hatred for this fae to a new level.
“Never!” She spit on his cheek.
He flinched. His face reddened then his features morphed into long, pointed teeth, sunken skin, and glowing yellow eyes.
His grip around her throat tightened, and he leaned in, his gruesome visage mere inches from her face. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Marco, stop! She’s your daughter!”
Victoria’s voice reverberated off the walls, crashing into Wynne’s psyche again and again with the force of a monsoon.
Marco stilled and released her. His fangs receded, and the glow around his eyes disappeared.
Wynne’s mind spun as she tried to comprehend the unthinkable, the lack of oxygen adding to the shock. White spots formed in her vision.
He drew away, backing toward the cell door as if she had the plague.
“Impossible,” Marco barked.
Wynne gasped for breath. Fresh, cool air never tasted so good. Her vision cleared, but her mind still reeled. Of all the fae out there, this one was her father? No, no, no…
“It’s true. Look at her.” Victoria touched her shaking lip. “Don’t you see the resemblance?”
Marco’s sharp gaze focused on Wynne.
The firelight from the wall sconces lit half his face. Despite the other side covered in darkness, she noted his blond hair, the familiar crook of his nose, and the recognizable curve of his lip. His eyes were brown. Hers were the color of the deep sea, the same as all the Becknell witches. Yet, she couldn’t deny her resemblance to him.
Her heart stuttered then a pain flared so deep it seemed someone had placed a giant boulder on her chest. She struggled to breathe.
The skin under Marco’s left eye twitched. He shook his head, his brow furrowing, and he flicked his attention to Victoria. “How is this possible?”
“Nearly twenty-six years ago, we met at a nightclub. I drank too much, invited you over…” Mom’s lip quivered, but she raised her chin. “Still, you don’t remember me, do you?”
Marco tilted his head and frowned. “I don’t recall ever meeting you.”
A slight flinch crossed Victoria’s features before a chagrined smile tugged at her lip. “You don’t doubt my words, though. I see it in your eyes. You know she’s your daughter.”
Wynne’s legs shook, but she wobbled to the cot, sat on the cushion, and wrapped her trembling arms around her waist. This was all too much. She wanted to curl up on the bed, shove her head under the pillow, and sleep for an eternity. Anything to avoid the truth so plain before her eyes.
Marco was her father. A fae.
He ran his hand through his hair. A few strands stuck out from his head, in sharp contrast to his well-pressed suit and tie. “I have no need for a daughter, nor do I want one.”
Wynne’s cheeks heated, the comment harsher and more painful than any physical slap. Her father had rejected her, putting his own needs above hers. Now wasn’t that par for the course?
He’d confirmed in an instant what she’d known in her gut for years. No matter how confident she was in her abilities, when it came right down to it, she didn’t believe any man would ever love her. At this point, she didn’t care, or so she told herself.
Wynne rose, straightened her spine, and forced herself to meet Marco’s gaze.
“You’re an evil bastard,” she snarled.
“Evil, yes. A bastard, no. I, at least, knew my sire.”
Her cheeks heated more, the skin tingling from the insult. Before she could respond, a whirlwind burst to life at his feet, and he disappeared into the churn.
When the dust settled, Wynne peered at her mother.
Victoria leaned against the bars. She seemed to have aged ten years in the past few minutes, the lines in her face deeper and more pronounced.
Wynne ached for her mother even as disappointment fueled her sense of dread. “Why, Mom? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Victoria’s shoulders slumped, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “What would the truth have done for you? Marked you as tainted in the witch community most likely. Damn their prejudiced ways. I couldn’t allow that. Not for my daughter.”
Wynne raced to the cell bars. “You didn’t need to suffer on my behalf—”
“Yes, I did. I wanted to make things right. Guess that didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. I’m so sorry.” A tear slid over Mom’s lash and tracked down her cheek.
Wynne tried to breathe, but she couldn’t seem to fill her lungs. After a long moment, she gasped and licked her lips.
“Mom,” she whispered, “it’s okay. I’d have done the same thing.”
My father is a fae. Wynne couldn’t handle the knowledge or the ramifications, so she shoved the information into the back of her mind. If she crammed it in far enough, maybe she’d never have to deal with it.
Determination slipped from under the heavy weight in Wynne’s heart and bolstered her confidence. She curled her fingers around the bars. “You know what? We’re going to get through this. I’ll find a cure in that book, and we’ll escape. Neither of us will stay down here.”
Victoria shook her head. “I don’t believe there’s a cure in there, honey bear.”
“Did you read every page?” Wynne retorted.
“They took the book from me after I learned the crystal spells.” Light reflected off Victoria’s eyes, almost making them glow. “Do you really think there’s something in there that might help?”
Wynne inhaled through the nose, then exhaled through her mouth. “As a wise witch once told me, magic is magic, dark or light is all in the intent of the user. Get some rest, Mom. I have a book to read.”
Chin raised and shoulders squared, Wynne tracked to the bed. The old tome contained the needed information to heal her mother. It just had to. Wynne would find the right spell. With an acute sense of purpose, she flipped to the healing section and buried herself in the dark book.
CHAPTER 16
The bitter tang of fae slid along the breeze. Damian’s senses heightened, quickening his pulse, and he slipped among the shadows. Parked cars lined the street, one with its tires slashed and another with several massive dents—a typical neighborhood for a fae’s hunting ground.
Grayson, his partner in this brutal war, materialized next to him. The male’s long, dark curls hung from his shoulders, in sharp contrast to the steely glint in his eyes. “Fae were here, recently.”
“Agreed. Getting an early start.” Damian glanced at the sky. The moon, barely a sliver, peeked from behind a cloud. “Too bad. Needed to pound one into the ground…” …and take a ride to the Otherworld.
He’d stewed all day at his post, watching the sun track across the sky. Was Wynne all right? The need to sever the throat of every damn fae he ran across had kept him on edge. Even now, the muscles in his arms and legs ached from his pent-up frustration.
“Let’s check the alley.” Damian whacked the back of his hand against Grayson’s arm and pointed to the walkway tucked between the vintage clothing store and the ice cream shop. A plastic replica of a giant vanilla cone hung over its door. Not waiting for a reply, he darted between two parked cars and jogged across the street.
Grayson followed, silent in the still night.
A soft glow lit the vanilla cone, growing in intensity until the brightness pierced Damian’s skull.
“Dammit.” He shielded his eyes with his arm.
“What the—” Grayson yelled.
The bright light winked out.
“Oops, sorry!” Sasha’s familiar voice echoed into the night.
Damian withdrew his arm from his face.
An image of Sasha reflected within the cone’s swirls. An apologetic smile tugged at her lips, but then tension lines formed between her brows. “This was a new spell for me. I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”
Damian’s pulse raced, sending a jolt through his body. “Did you hear from Wynne?”
Sasha’s shoulders sagged, and tears glistened in her eyes. “Unfortunately, no. I’m so damned worried about her.”
“Me, too.” Damian rubbed his forehead. “What’s the news?”
He expected the worst, and a buzz, born of tension, rang in his ears.
Sasha’s lips moved, but he didn’t catch what she’d said.
“What?” he asked.
Sasha wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, nervousness evident in her shaking fingers. “Trixie. She found a spell that might help. Can you come over? I want to try it on you.”
Tension slipped from his muscles like water through a storm drain.
Grayson stepped into his line of sight. Concern furrowed his brow. “Dame, what’s going on? Who’s Trixie?”
A relieved laugh bubbled up Damian’s throat. “Trixie’s a sprite.”
“Damian, Grayson, meet me in Old Town. Squad Delta needs assistance.” Drake’s familiar voice burst through the mind link.
Damian gripped Grayson’s arm. “I need to stop by Wynne’s house. Cover for me.”
Grayson narrowed his eyes, but then he nodded and replied to their boss. “On it.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I want an explanation later.”
Grayson and Damian dematerialized, their molecules floating through the air on invisible currents and traveling their separate ways.
A few seconds later, Damian appeared on Wynne’s doorstep. The “I Like it Dirty” doormat welcomed him as usual.
He raised his fist to knock, but the door swung open. The scent of patchouli incense permeated the air. “Sasha?” he called.
“In the living room!”
Damian rushed along the corridor and into the home’s gathering place. Had he found a ticket to the Otherworld? Hope flitted along his nerves, increasing his heart rate.
Sasha sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over the coffee table, stirring a large bowl. An eerie yellow liquid, the color of Dijon mustard, swirled in the pot. A bubble formed on the surface and burst with a tiny pop.
Neira, in cat form, lay curled on a patchwork blanket draped over the couch’s back. She opened one eye and glared at him.
He clenched his jaw. Naturally, the aggravating female had to be here, too.
Sasha’s attention riveted to him, and a relieved exhale escaped her lips. “You’re just in time.”
Trixie, the little sprite, stood on Sasha’s shoulder. She leaned toward Sasha, placed her hand over her mouth, and whispered into Sasha’s ear.
“Yes, I put in the pine needles and the cat’s claw.” Sasha nodded and continued to stir the pot. She stilled for a brief moment then raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I used filtered water. I’m insulted you think I would forget.”
Trixie sat on Sasha’s shoulder and hid her eyes.
Heaviness settled onto Damian’s chest, deflating his lungs like a balloon stuck with a pin. Sasha wasn’t a skilled witch like Wynne. Could she pull this off?
He pointed to the potion. “Will that send me to the Otherworld?”
“That’s why you’re here, right?” Sasha’s nose twitched, but the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.