by Rosalie Redd
“You mentioned you sent Damian to the Otherworld. Can you replicate that spell?”
Her sister relaxed her shoulders. “As much as I practiced? You better believe it.”
A strange sense of calm lightened Wynne’s spirit. She rose from the couch and wrapped her arms around Sasha’s shoulders. “That’s fabulous. I’m so proud of you.”
“Wait.” Sasha stared into Wynne’s eyes. “You want me to send you there, don’t you?”
Wynne nodded. “To save Mom.” …and Zain.
“The gargoyles, too, right? You said Gwawl imprisoned some.”
Wynne’s breath caught. She’d focused so much on saving her mom and Zain, she’d forgotten about the gargoyles. Could she rescue them as well?
Weight settled onto her shoulders followed by an overwhelming sense of conviction. Her powers were manifesting. The energy strummed through her veins. She was a strong, powerful witch. One way or another, she’d find a way to release them all.
She pursed her lips and nodded. “You bet I will.”
Sasha pointed to the bowl. “Let’s finish this potion and send you on your way before Damian gets down here. He’ll have a fit once he finds out you’re gone again.”
Wynne stifled a laugh. “I never thought I’d appreciate Neira’s love for teasing the gargoyles, but I do now. She went upstairs a few minutes ago to bother him.”
Sasha grasped Wynne’s arm and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Then we’d better hurry.”
“You’re the best sister ever.” Wynne placed her hand on top of Sasha’s.
Fifteen minutes later, Wynne disappeared for the Otherworld, the lifesaving potion clutched in her palm.
CHAPTER 29
Damian materialized, his molecules reforming into his physical shape with the force of a freight train. His hip connected with something solid. Pain rippled at the source, and the tinkle of glass shattering echoed around him. He blinked to clear his vision.
As he came to his senses, he realized he stood next to a table in the middle of a large room. Broken plates, fried chicken legs, and what looked like twice-baked macaroni littered the floor at his feet. More long tables lingered nearby and several fae sat along the benches. Wide-eyed, all glanced in his direction.
Crap.
Sasha hadn’t wanted to send him here, but after he’d found out she’d returned Wynne to the Otherworld, he’d insisted. Flustered by his persistence, maybe she’d accidentally messed up the coordinates. That figured.
A few of the closest fae recovered from their shock and rose from their seats.
He yanked his dagger from its sheath. “So nice of you to give me a welcome party. I love a good hearty meal with chocolate cake for dessert.”
“Stop. He’s mine,” a deep male voice reverberated through the room.
Damian glanced toward the room’s entrance.
Marco, dressed in his usual suit and tie attire, withdrew his blade from his cane. The ring of metal on metal scrapped against Damian’s nerves.
Marco smiled, revealing a set of sharp fangs. “How nice of you to join us for lunch. I’m afraid we’re all out of chocolate cake, though.”
Chair legs scraped against the stone floor as fae scattered in all directions. Several formed a circle around Damian, blocking him in. Their putrid smell burned his nostrils with each breath.
His muscles tense and ready for a good brawl, he grasped the edge of the nearest table and tossed it out of the way. The wood shattered against another and both careened into the wall.
Marco tsked. “Come now, must you destroy the furniture?”
The dagger clenched in his hand, Damian advanced upon his target. The circle of fae tightened, and Marco met him half-way. With a dangerous sneer, the fae slashed his sword at Damian.
Damian dodged the blow, and the tip whooshed above his head. He sliced his blade across Marco’s arm.
The fae hissed. His sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. A dark bloodstain grew and spread across his jacket.
The thrill of the fight and his foe’s impending death sent a surge of adrenaline through Damian’s veins.
He flipped the dagger in his palm, raised his arm, and aimed for the eye.
Long, sharp claws elongated from the fae’s fingertips.
Hatred for the fae burned a hole in Damian’s gut, and he brought the blade down with all his strength.
Marco caught Damian’s gloved hand. His claws cut through the leather and into Damian’s flesh.
His heartbeat slowed. The cold fingers of dread skittered down his spine.
Damian rippled his skin, hardening the flesh to stone, but he was too late. His bared fingertips had touched Marco’s skin.
His brain exploded in hot and fiery flames. Awful, horrible images of a life gone bad flooded his thoughts. He pushed at the invasion with his mind, but the relentless wave flooded through the neurons and parked themselves into his memory banks.
A scream tore from him. His dagger slipped from his fingers, and he fell to his knees.
The nearest fae shrieked and bared his fangs.
“Don’t kill him!” Marco’s words penetrated through the fog. “Get the chains.”
Find Wynne…
Find Wynne…
Find Wynne…
The mantra helped ease the pain, and he rose to one foot.
A booted heel connected with his back, and he dropped to the floor.
Pain shot along the nerve endings and traveled to his brain.
Fireworks met flames. His vision dimmed.
No! He fought against the pain and forced himself to his knees once again.
Cold metal wrapped around one ankle then the other. The click of chains melded with incomprehensible shouts, blending into a cacophony of torture.
He gripped his head to block the deafening sounds.
Cool metal encased his left wrist. He yanked, yelled, fought.
Someone’s firm grip caught his right arm, but he wrenched free.
Multiple fae’s fingers grasped his shoulders, his arms, his hands. He struggled against his captors, but soon, a cold, hard metal cuff wrapped around his right hand.
An agonizing cry burst from his lungs. “Wynne!”
“You and you, grab his arms and follow me. We’ll take him to the Misery Room and put him with the other gargoyles. I’m sure he’d love to meet his brethren.” Marco’s comments weaseled past the pain.
Damian struggled against his captors, but the horrible visions had taken a toll on his strength. As the fae dragged him over the rough stone floor, one thing was crystal clear in his mind based on the image he’d seen when he’d touched Marco’s skin. The rat bastard fae didn’t have long to live.
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Zain paced from his bed to the fireplace. The flickering flames reminded him of the beautiful determination that sparked in Wynne’s eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, and the ends flipped against his shoulder blades.
Had he really thought she’d cared about him?
Gods, he was such a fool.
He withdrew the key from his pocket and slipped the strap over his head. The warmth of the key nestled against his chest, along with a coil of dread. He rubbed his hand in his fist and glanced at the clock. The fine hairs at his nape rose. The solar eclipse on the human realm would occur within the hour.
Wynne…
Despite her betrayal, he still cared for her. She’d be safe from Gwawl since it was daytime in the human realm. Zain didn’t care about his own well-being. He’d pay the ultimate price for his failure, but her mother would suffer, too, along with the gargoyles. A bitter taste filled his mouth.
He never hated what he had become more than he did right now.
A familiar white tendril of mist slipped from the fireplace and tracked toward him, a rolled parchment floating in the midst.
“About time,” he muttered.
Ever since Marco had vanished beneath him outside of Wynne’s cell, he’d expected a summons.
H
e grasped the paper and unfurled the note. The dark scrollwork, once a source of consternation, only elicited his ire. He parted his lips and read every word.
“You failed. Come to the Misery Room and bring the elder witch or I’ll send her soul to suffer in Tech Duinn, along with yours, for eternity.”
Zain released an exaggerated breath. “Well, that’s a step up from shredding my soul into the ether.”
At Tech Duinn, souls rotted eternally, reforming and dying over and over again. There was no way he’d allow Victoria to suffer something so awful. Marco knew Zain had come to care for both Wynne and her mother. He’d gone to Gwawl, as Zain suspected he might, and used that information against him. If he ever saw that fae again, he’d beat him to within an inch of his life, wait for him to heal, then do it again for spite.
Slow and methodical, Zain shredded the parchment. The papers drifted to the floor like feathers.
He glanced around his room one last time. His gaze lingered over his empty bed where the sheets lay tangled in a heap. Visions of Wynne and their lovemaking flitted through his mind, stealing the breath from his lungs. He wished their circumstances had led them down a different path, but he’d take that happy memory with him when he died.
Not wanting to dwell on what could never be, he continued his final perusal. His attention darted past the fireplace, and he focused on the single frame nestled on his dresser.
His feet moved as if of their own volition. He snagged the picture from its resting place and clutched the wooden frame in his grasp. Agatha’s fake smile burned through his retina and pierced his skull.
“You’re stupid. No one could ever love you.”
His grip tightened.
Glass shattered.
The frame crumbled in his hand.
He hurled what remained into the fire. Flames flared with the new fuel as if eager to devour the cheating harlot.
Restless with a desire to bring this situation with Wynne to a conclusion, Zain vanished in a swirl of regret, sorrow, and grief. At least he’d had a brief respite of time when he’d experienced happiness and love. If only Wynne had loved him in return.
CHAPTER 30
Z ain sifted into Victoria’s cell. The remnants of his swirl ruffled the blanket on her bed. His shoulders tensed. He blinked hard, trying to comprehend what he saw.
Wynne stood in front of Victoria, a vial clasped in her hands. “Mom, take the potion. It will help speed the healing…”
Her attention zipped over Victoria’s shoulder to Zain. A flicker of relief passed over her features. “Zain.”
She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulder, the vial still in her grasp.
A groundswell of emotions—hope, relief, and joy—rippled through him. Wynne had returned. He couldn’t stop himself as he tugged her close. She fit against him in all the right places, and the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, and her wonderful lavender scent settled deep inside. She belonged right here, with him.
Under Wynne’s unique essence, the faint, distinct, stone-like aroma of gargoyle assailed his senses.
“From what I’ve gathered, Damian and Wynne are quite the item. Lovers, you know.” Marco’s remarks echoed in Zain’s mind.
The muscles in his shoulders stiffened, and he clenched his jaw.
Wynne’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Why did you return?”
She glanced at the glass vial clutched in her palm. The blue liquid swirled, a few bubbles popping against the corked lid.
“I made this potion to go along with the healing spell. It should speed up the time necessary to cure Mom, but she refuses to take it.” Her eyes flicked back and forth as she studied him, her skin bunching around her eyes.
“There’s no point.” Victoria exhaled and sat on the bed. “Gwawl would use me for some other vile purpose. I’d rather die.”
Zain didn’t want the elder witch to suffer, but she was right. Gwawl had no sense of compassion. But despite his fae nature, Zain did, and a jolt of adrenaline rushed through his veins. The damn gargoyle’s scent still lingered in his nostrils, though, and he couldn’t let that go.
He returned his focus to Wynne. “Is Damian your lover?”
She took a step back, her eyes widening until the whites of her eyes became visible. Her lips pursed, and she shook her head. “I never slept with him. Not once.”
Gods, he wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss her until she forgot all about this damned gargoyle, but he had to know where they stood.
“He kissed you, though, didn’t he?”
She gnawed her bottom lip, but her gaze never wavered. Her lack of response was all the reply he needed.
An ache built inside, his heart shredding at her feet. She’d played him for a fool, using him for her own purposes just like Agatha. He’d fallen for it all. Self-loathing burned at the back of his throat, but he had to ask one last question.
“Do you love him?”
“No.” Wynne choked back a sob, and her fingers tightened around the vial. “He’s not the one I love.”
His heart skipped a beat, the fickle organ eager to grasp onto any last straw of hope. He resurrected the walls around his heart and shook his head. “I want to believe you more than you can possibly know, but your little dalliance with Damian isn’t the only information you’ve kept from me, is it?”
A puzzled crease formed on Wynne’s brow. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. The ends slapped against his shoulders. “How come you never mentioned Marco was your father?”
Wynne squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them again. Had she really heard Zain correctly? Even as an internal battle raged, she had to acknowledge the awful truth. He knew about her father.
The vial slipped from her fingers. Glass shattered on the stone floor. Liquid splattered over Zain’s boots.
“No, oh no.” Wynne bent to her knees. The precious potion lay in a puddle. Her mom would never heal. Wynne’s throat tightened, her breath lodged in the constricted airway.
Anger surged from deep within her soul, lighting a fire beneath her feet. She picked up the cork, fisted it in her palm, and rose.
“How was I supposed to tell you my father was a fae?” Sparks flew from her fingertips and the entire cell shook from her anger. “I didn’t know how I felt about it much less how you’d take the news.”
Tiny pebbles and flakes of dust sifted from the ceiling.
She crushed the cork in her hand, took a step toward him, and invaded his personal space. His heady, masculine scent wafted inside, reminding her of their time together and stealing some of her thunder, but not all. “When I found out a few days ago, I buried that information deep in my brain. I didn’t want to face the truth, that my father was a fae.”
He leaned in until their noses almost touched then raised an eyebrow. “Just like me?”
The green in his irises seemed to glow, accentuating the beautiful brown. Dearest Rhiannon, she loved this man. Her fingers twitched with the need to thread her fingertips through his thick, luscious dark hair and kiss him.
Instead, she held his gaze, hoping beyond hope he’d understand. “I thought all fae were evil, despicable creatures until I met you and…fell in love.”
Tears welled in her eyes faster than she thought possible. One slipped over her lash.
He blinked, and his focused gaze tracked the moisture down her cheek. With the gentlest of touches, he brushed the back of his finger along her sensitive skin.
He exhaled long and slow. “I wish I could believe you.”
Wynne’s heart seemed to shrink, the organ shriveling in size until it almost vanished. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she glanced away.
“Wynne, it’s almost time. The solar eclipse will arrive soon, and your powers are manifesting. I can sense it in the air.” Victoria’s soft voice carried in the enclosed space.
Wynne rushed to her mother’s side, sa
t, and wrapped her arms around the woman who’d given up so much for her. “I’m so sorry I dropped the medicine.”
“Oh, honey bear. It’s all right. Things will work out as they should.” Victoria rubbed her hand over Wynne’s back.
Zain placed his fingers along Wynne’s shoulder. “We’re expected in the Misery Room.”
The muscles in Wynne’s shoulders tensed, but she wasn’t ready to give up on Zain. She rose to her feet and faced him. “You’re not like the other fae. You’re different, better, smarter. Please, help me free the gargoyles.”
A flicker of regret crossed his face, but then his features shuttered, closing her out for good. “If only I could, but I have a job to do.”
What was left of her shriveled heart shattered at his feet into a thousand tiny specks. She knew better than to fall for a fae, the ultimate in unattainable men. A part of her wished she had never met Zain, that another fae had kidnapped her. Like those before him, he’d never put her needs first. She was second fiddle yet again.
She donned her determination like a cloak. Her powers were manifesting. Fine. Bring it on. She’d do whatever it took to save her mother and the gargoyles. Zain was a lost cause, and she was on her own once again.
Before she could say anything, Zain seized her arm along with her mother’s then sifted to the Misery Room.
CHAPTER 31
Wynne materialized in front of the Misery Room’s massive double doors. She stumbled and clutched Zain’s arm. Never in a million years would she get used to the faes’ mode of transportation. Her mother gripped Zain’s other arm, her jaw clenched tight.
Two fae, dressed in their familiar brown robes, stood on either side of the metal doors. Unlike last time, they didn’t wait for a golden disk from Zain. They opened the doors for him.
Zain stared straight ahead, chin raised.
Wynne studied his tense shoulders, tight jaw, and the few rigid lines that marred his features. Heaviness settled onto her shoulders, and she wished she’d told him about Damian and her father earlier, but she couldn’t change the past.