“Now, go do your job,” I hissed as I squeezed him one last time then shoved him away. I picked up my glass from the bar and took another drink, ignoring the angry, whimpering werewolf at my back.
I released a tension-filled breath and rolled my shoulders as he backed away, limping. Dean and Nova mingled back into the crowd and I lost them in the sea of people. Patrick stood on the stage, next to the DJ, watching the throng of people like a monarch surveying his subjects. His eyes locked with mine and he grinned at me, showing the merest hint of fang.
How long had he been watching me? Concern twisted my stomach into knots and it wasn’t mine. Patrick carried around his concern for me like a mantle to be born. I hated him a little for that.
I wasn’t a chore or a burden but I sure as hell felt like it. I was angry with him for keeping information from me. I was angry at Danny for dying. Unfair, but true. I was angry at Dean for putting me in a position again that I didn’t want to be in. But most of all, I was angry at myself for letting all of this get to me. Angry for not being able get over it. I didn’t know how to fix it, any of it.
Patrick’s face tensed and took on a mask of elegant indifference. It was the look Jade mistook for arrogance, for his real personality. That’s where she and everyone else were wrong. The cold, arrogant expression was the mask he wore to hide his emotions. His blank eyes told me more than most people’s true expressions ever could.
The Fae’s power entered the club like a spring rain, soft and cool, with a warmth that was almost wild. The static of magic, like a storm brewing, hung just off on the horizon. Their magic was old. I felt lighter in my own skin, giddy almost, as their magic touched me, making my heart race. I stretched on tiptoe to get a glimpse of them but the club was too crowded. Humans and supernaturals alike migrated instinctively toward the door where the Fae gathered. Their wild magic was intoxicating and tugged at my will, inviting and beckoning me to join them.
I closed down, shoving the wild magic away and filling myself with the cold emptiness of a kill. I felt the intoxication in my brain calling me to come closer, to follow. But something lower and more primal inside of me growled its resistance. I was thankful for her interference. Their power was different than anything I had experienced before. It was sweet and welcoming, like coming home to apple pie at Christmas time. I convinced myself I wanted what their magic offered.
Patrick nodded into the crowd. That was my cue. I left a tip for Miguel with a wink and merged into the crowd.
“Thanks, Miguel,” I shouted over the noise at the bar. He was handsome, with sharp features, a prominent brow, and black hair like satin after a soft rain. He’d showed me, once, the apartment he kept separate, away from the colony where he painted. The paintings were all of his mother, his wife, and his daughter. He’d murdered all three on his first night as a vampire. Only one painting wasn’t of the women he’d loved in life and in death; the sunrise, so he wouldn’t forget.
“No problem. Be careful, mi sueno,” he called after me.
“You know me.”
He rolled his eyes.
I stepped into the crowd, nearing the door, and the power pressed at the back of my brain, beckoning to me. A group of six tall, lean, and beautiful people entered the club. The closer I got, the more I felt that nagging feeling in the back of my skull telling me to come closer. I didn’t like being told what to do and neither did the familiar snarl in the back of my mind.
I was supposed to drift in with the crowd but stay hidden, according to the plan. I tried to shove my way through a wall of people but had some trouble. Hiding wasn’t going to be an issue. I was consumed by the crowd of bodies circling the Fae like they were rock stars. The problem was getting close enough to get in position.
Patrick, Alex, Dean, Jackson, and Niyati moved up to greet the Fae. Anyone who knew them would’ve seen the tension lines through Patrick’s shoulders, the tightening of Dean’s jaw, and Alex’s eyes glancing about the crowd to keep everyone in view.
Partygoers surrounding the Fae grew too thick for me to wade through. Anxiety spiked through my veins as I got stuck and couldn’t make my way into position. I pinched the man in front of me, hard, to move him the hell out of my way.
Patrick’s cool breath of power swept over the crowd, calming them, and squelching the Faes’ intoxicating magic. The crowd dissipated as if nothing had happened, leaving the Fae and our envoy alone. I blended with a group headed toward a table just a few feet from Niyati. I passed by one of the Fae on my way to the only seat left at the opposite end of the bar. A beautiful specimen of a man, the Fae at the rear had Romanesque features and skin a deep bronze that glimmered under the strobe lights of the club. The color and shimmer of his skin reminded me so much of Byron that my chest ached at the thought of him.
I’d murdered Byron as he crouched in a pool of old blood and pieces of gore. He’d been claimed by Midnight Ash as a lover, as a pet, and as a weapon to be used. In her deranged attempt to love and possess him, she’d damaged him beyond repair by keeping him prisoner and feeding him human flesh. He’d begged me to kill him, unable to depend on himself or anyone else to help him. I still had nightmares where Byron’s pitiful face haunted me.
I buried Byron’s face down deep in my psyche as I turned cold eyes up to the bronze God, smiling coyly at him.
I tried to flirt. Tried being the operative word. I wasn’t very good at it. I never had been. His lukewarm response was proof enough I hadn’t lost my horrible touch. The Bronze God met my gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes were stunning, disorienting, the color of the darkest onyx. There was no warmth, only complete contempt. In his gaze, I remembered why I should fear them.
Enticing and dangerous, the look he gave me was haughty, as if he knew he could have every woman in the room and didn’t need the likes of me. I decided as the muscles moved beneath his exposed taut, bronzed skin, he probably could’ve had any woman in the room. He was dressed only in a pair of soft, tanned, buckskin pants. They appeared softer than cotton or silk and I had the urge to reach out and touch them, to feel just how soft they actually were. A quiver and bow were strapped to his back with the strap cutting a tight line across his chest. His red hair, the color of maple leaves in October, was long, in a thick braid curved around his narrow neck, hanging over his shoulder. After viewing me with disapproval, he scanned the crowd, obviously searching for something, or someone, other than me.
I shrugged and hopped up onto a barstool, waving Miguel away.
The man at the front of the group laughed, a light easy tinkling sound, like children playing with bells. He held out his hand to Patrick, who took the other man’s grasp in a warrior’s grip.
“I wasn’t sure you would be able to force our magic back. You didn’t contain it upon our arrival,” he said, still in that jovial light tone. “I was concerned.” The Fae’s skin was dark green, the color of moss after a good month of rain. He had long, silky straight hair trailing down to the small of his back in a glossy wave. All the colors of spring were woven together in a glistening fabric of hair.
“I merely waited to see if you would force my hand,” Patrick said in that same inoffensive, diplomatic tone.
Underneath all the civility, I heard the ferocity, the warning in his words.
“I am Saeran, King of the North American Sidhe,” the Spring Fae said. He again scanned the crowd, skimming his gaze over me.
I gasped with wide-eyed horror. He exuded a regal air but even his daffodil yellow eyes couldn’t keep Byron’s face out of my mind. Saeran, King of the North American Sidhe, was identical to Byron, with one exception; his coloring. For a moment I thought it had to be Byron but I knew better. I’d carried Byron’s blood on my hands since I’d taken his life.
Saeran smiled and I imagined that’s what Byron’s face would’ve looked like had he been free of Midnight Ash. Clenc
hing my hands into fists at my side, I shut my barriers down tight. I didn’t want to distract Patrick.
“I’m Patrick Cavanaugh,” he said with the confidence of his Colony behind him. “Liege of this colony and the Northwest Territory.” Patrick bowed at the waist, looking more like a Nineteenth Century gentleman than the devious genius I knew him to be. “You and your entourage are very welcome.”
“Come, come,” Saeran said as he folded his arms over his chest. “You are much more than that.”
“I’m afraid your meaning escapes me,” Patrick answered.
Let the mind games and political bullshit begin.
“My friend,” Saeran said. “You have your alpha behind you and present a fierce line of power. Where is your Blushing Death? As beautiful as these ladies are, they are not human,” he goaded.
“My Lord? I thought you would have been able to pick out the Blushing Death,” Patrick said smugly.
I wanted to move this party off the main floor. We were too exposed and there were too many humans as innocent bystanders. The Bronzed Man was getting antsy. His fingers tapped the side of his thigh, the only indication of his unease. While I noticed, no one else was paying attention to the guy in the back, just like no one was paying attention to me.
“I’m sorry but the magic of Fairie does not allow me to identify assassins,” he scoffed, a bit of disdain making his voice harsh.
I am not an assassin!
I hopped from the stool in a huff. I’d been called many things, Bitch, cold, harbinger of Death. But I did not kill for money. That was just too much. I stalked around the Fae, positioning myself behind the Bronze God, inserting myself between the door and their retreat. The group of Fae blocked me from both Patrick and Dean’s view but they knew exactly where I was. Patrick could feel me; they both could smell me. Hell, Patrick could probably see me through concrete if he tried hard enough.
“We would all dispute the claim that she’s merely an assassin, especially her I would think,” Patrick said with a satisfied edge to his voice that was dangerous if you knew what you were listening for. “Dahlia, Sweetheart, your presence has been requested.”
I tapped the bronze Fae on the shoulder with a light tap of my index finger. The Bronze God jumped out of his skin as he realized he’d been caught unawares. He didn’t like I was behind him and he hadn’t noticed. Narrowing his eyes on me, he realized he’d seen me already and discounted me. My maniacal little smile certainly didn’t help his anxiety level.
Snatching his bowstring from his shoulder, he clutched the weapon in his tight grip. I trailed my finger down his shoulder and over his bicep. He had overlooked me once. Now he’d know better. Death came in all kinds of packages.
“Now that’s not nice,” I said as I circled around the buff, bronze Fae.
Patrick extended his arm out, leaving his hand open to me. I circled around the other five Fae and took his hand in mine. I turned to face the six Fae with Jackson at my back. I didn’t like not having him in sight but I could live with it, as long as Dean and Alex were also behind me. Saeran took my free hand in his and brought it to his soft full lips. He held my hand just a bit too long, rubbing his thumb over my skin. I tugged my palm away, uncomfortable with the length and intimacy of his touch. He peered up at me with curious yellow eyes.
“Patrick, if I had known how pretty your Blushing Death was, I would have tried to recruit her for myself,” he flirted shamelessly.
“Dahlia is a free agent. Her allegiances are her own.” Patrick chuckled.
“Now,” Saeran said with a sweeping bow, “that is not entirely true, either.”
“I’m afraid it is,” I bit out. “I come as I please and I go as I please. I choose to be here.”
“I think you really believe that,” he said as his daffodil yellow eye fell on me. “None of us can help what we are, can we?” He swept that comment away before I had a chance to answer. “Let me introduce my companions,” he said with a gracious smile.
I couldn’t trust his shift in emotion or the cordial tone in his voice. It happened too quickly, in the blink of an eye, giving me whiplash. I had the feeling he was trying to cajole me into something I didn’t want to do. I tightened my grip on Patrick’s hand as I allowed my unease to flow through me to him. Patrick rubbed his thumb across the top of my hand in a soft caress, attempting to soothe my distress.
Searan held out his hand to the beautiful creature next to him. “This is Aoife.” She was tall enough to meet my eyes and I was in four-inch heels. Her skin was pale blue, like the color of the sky on a warm spring day. Her hair was long, stretching down her back in shimmering silver waves. She was thin, barely a whisper, dressed in a gown of white chiffon with nothing underneath the fabric but the flicker of permanent shadows to hide her modesty. Her warm silver gleaming eyes hid an edge of sadness.
I’d reached out to touch her, and Patrick gripped my hand just a bit harder, encouraging me back. I remained as still as I could until the urge passed, gathering the icy-hot surge of power from both Patrick and Dean into me, expelling the cloud in my mind.
“I am glad to meet you,” she said.
I nodded and turned my attention to Saeran. Watching me with interest in his daffodil yellow eyes, he motioned to the giant behind him.
“This is Feoras. He is one of my most trusted guards,” Saeran offered. Feoras was a gray-skinned monster the color of charcoal after it has been burnt. The light caught white-and-black highlights in his skin, causing a marbling effect across his body. He was silent and imposing, taller than everyone around him and bulky with thick muscles. Dressed merely in a loincloth, his strong, muscular legs were exposed, along with the calf sheath strapped to his thigh, and the ax hanging on his back. He remained immobile, like a stone wall, until Aoife brushed her fingertips across his forearm. She wasn’t a delicate woman, but next to him, she seemed small and fragile. He glanced down at her with warmth and admiration in his gaze that spoke of intimacy. He took her hand in his, which was missing two fingers on the left hand, and squeezed. He was battle worn and ready.
“I’m so glad we made weapons stipulations, too,” I said under my breath as I eyed Feoras’s ax.
“We did,” Patrick breathed against my ear, kissing my hair, “the same as yours.”
I rolled my eyes. Stupid word games.
Saeran smiled back at us and then turned to his left.
“This is Meara,” he said with the same pleasant smile he’d used with each introduction. Meara was smaller than the others, about half the size with rich, dark skin the color of milk chocolate. She radiated happiness and buzzed with excitement. She had soft features framing her bright, enthusiastic smile. I didn’t even notice that she was missing an eye until several minutes after she’d started talking.
“I am so glad that Saeran decided to bring me. I haven’t been away from home in quite some time. My brother loves to disappear from the Sidhe for days on end, but I wouldn’t dare. You’re pretty and I like your outfit,” she rambled on, speaking continuously without taking a single breath.
“Meara,” Saeran chastised with a soft, but stern, voice.
She glanced at him and giggled as she moved into the background.
“I apologize. The brownie is young. They can be . . .” Saeran said, “rambunctious.”
He held out his hand for the beauty next to him. “This is Cianna.” There was a reverence and admiration in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he had introduced the others. He respected this woman, was maybe even a little fearful of her. She was small, petite, but not as short as Meara. Her hair was the color of new-fallen snow in the sunshine, almost blinding, piled in complicated twists on top of her head. Her skin was just a little darker than mine but with a pearlized sheen to it that made the human coloring of her pink undertones shimmer. She was dressed in a pale pink rose floor-leng
th satin gown with spaghetti straps that showed her perfectly perky body underneath. Her eyes were a deep cerulean blue, glowing with wisdom and age beyond centuries.
Saeran held Cianna’s hand as he introduced the Bronze God behind them. “This is Fergal, my nephew and primary guard,” Saeran said with a sadness I suddenly understood.
I evaluated the man with a quiver strapped to his back. The similarities between he and his uncle were many and striking but he looked at me with the same inquisitive fascination Byron had.
“Should we move this party to the VIP Room?” I asked, trying to get us out of the middle of the humans.
“Yes, of course,” Patrick agreed.
“The Blushing Death is correct,” Saeran said with a mocking glint in his daffodil yellow eyes. “A more intimate setting would be more appropriate.”
“My name is Dahlia.” I didn’t particularly like the moniker the preternatural world had given me. It was embarrassing. I never thought I’d prefer my own name to something else.
“Please, follow me,” Patrick said as he turned into the crowd.
Alex, Dean, and Jackson followed, creating a wall between Patrick and the Fae. Saeran and his entourage followed Jackson through the crowd. Niyati and I took point at the rear behind Fergal. He didn’t appear happy to have me at his back. He scanned the crowd and me over his shoulder every step and a half as we made our way across the dance floor.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t stab you in the back. That’s cowardly,” I said with a small snarl curling my lips.
Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) Page 19