Stilling, Victor unleashes the tendrils of his Singer essence, seeking that which his blood tells him is here.
Danger.
After a full two minute perusal of his environment, he is flummoxed.
He scents nothing—sees nothing. But the boil of blood never lies.
Scowling, Victor rounds the rear of the SUV. Placing his hand on the door lever to the driver’s side, he sighs, giving a slight shake of his head.
Damn, locked. Lifting the flap of his waterproof overcoat, he palms the key fob and depresses the button with the symbol of an unlatched padlock.
The interior door locks pop to attention, and with a last survey of his immediate surroundings, Victor slides inside.
Dark Master
He daren’t breathe.
The Singer’s sense are more acute than Dark Master would have thought possible.
Dark Master waits until Victor inserts the key and the engine makes sufficient noise to mask his next move. He dives upward like a swimmer gasping for air at the water’s surface. His eyes meet Victor’s briefly within the confines of the small mirror held at the upper center of the shield of glass.
Victor’s gray eyes widen with a sort of confused surprise. No doubt the ugly angelic costume Dark Master has stolen has Victor all sorts of muddled.
No matter. Dark Master snaps a forearm around Victor’s neck, jerking the Singer backward and up. He is very thankful that his inhuman strength and sharp instincts were among the few traits from Below that transitioned to this form.
Thank dark for small fortunes.
Victor’s hands clamp onto the steering wheel as he arches backward in the vise-like hold.
He manages to wrench the wheel from the steering column and frantically heaves it to the side.
Dark Master brutally tightens his hold.
The Singer is strong, possessing the strength common of the Combatant, an ancient warrior class of Singers.
Dark Master does not mind murdering another of the Rare One’s personal guard. In fact, he finds it an economy of time management: steal Victor’s identity and take down another protector to his direct enemy. There could not be a sweeter opportunity that presents itself.
Hands like steel grip Dark Master’s forearm and begin to squeeze. The wretched Singer mouth he now owns opens, and he howls in agony.
Dark Master’s teeth make purchase on the back of the Singer’s neck. He bites down for all he’s worth.
Victor bellows, making Dark Master’s eardrums ring as he convulsively bucks in the seat.
Sudden heat drives up his body, exiting his ears, eyes, mouth, and even his ass.
Blood explodes from all the holes in his costume, running down his face, soaking his clothing—stealing his vision.
Belatedly, Dark Master realizes the Singer is a Boiler—a being that can heat a creature’s blood to fatal temperatures. And now, he has effectively heated the blood of Dark Master’s costume, causing agony beyond description. Dark Master feels as though he is burning from the inside out.
With white spots dancing before his eyes, he literally hangs on by his teeth as blood continues to run from all the holes of his body, and he begins to drown in his own blood.
Victor, sensing his victory is near, twists his head, dislodging Dark Master’s teeth, along with a chunk of flesh.
The moment is enough for Dark Master to seize the nanosecond before Victor can reinforce his talent against him.
With lightning precision, Dark Master palms the Singer’s head, savagely yanking to the left.
The vertebrae give way with a series of stuttering cracks and pops.
In the next moment, the big body falls limp, and Dark Master spits blood from his mouth. Plugging one nostril with a finger, he blows the blood out of first one nostril, then the other. Sucking ragged breaths, he flops backward.
The blood he expunged from his borrowed body looks like scarlet paint tossed around within the interior of the vehicle.
The exchange, which seemed like it had lasted hours, took hardly three minutes. Dark Master could not have taken the Singer warrior down without the element of surprise. In fact, the act was a near thing, even factoring in Victor’s confusion over his looks. Grudgingly, Dark Master must concede that in the end, the horrible costume served a purpose.
Exhausted, Dark Master slumps in his seat. Coolly surveying the Singer’s corpse, he thinks over his next move and his limited options.
There are not many choices when a creature of the dark must accomplish deeds in a realm not suited to his makeup. Even having filled the essence of the angelic into his body, to be committed to the ugliness of their race for the rest of his years, existing in this realm sickens him.
Shifting his eyes to Victor’s body, Dark Master believes he cannot tarry. The exchange must be accomplished before the blood of his target cools. The Singer has ruined this costume, and he will seek another. His body holds angelic essence, and he does not have to remain within this vessel. Any ugly Singer corpse will do, as long as it has sufficient blood of the angelic.
Decision made, he opens the door and heaves himself out. Turning, Dark Master yanks open the other door. Despite blurred and bloody vision, his eyes peg Victor’s lifeless body filling the front seat. Tall and powerful in life.
Dark Master silently rejoices as he drags the big male from the vehicle, letting his body drop to the pebbled ground.
He falls to his knees beside it. Calling on his ancient magicks, Dark Master does the impossible—he allows his soul to fill the dead Singer.
Victor’s eyes snap open, but they are no longer the Singer’s.
They are ... of the dark.
CHAPTER TWO
Julia
Victor’s arms are a solid weight around Julia. His blood syncs with hers as all Singersʼ blood does—heat and truth co-mingling.
With the Fey mound directly before them and her reentry inevitable, she feels as though it’s the last tangible thing she’ll know for a long time.
“My Queen,” Victor says, releasing her from the hug and turning to Scott.
The two Singers stare at each other for a span of seconds.
“The hell with it,” Scott finally says, his dark eyes tightening as he steps forward and embraces the impeccably dressed and somewhat stiff male Singer.
“We’ll miss ya,” Scott says simply, giving a sound clap to Victor’s shoulder.
He nods, a vague smile on his lips. “I will do everything within my power to oversee One in your absence.”
Julia squeezes his forearm. “I know you will.” She has never questioned his loyalty.
She turns to face the portal to Faerie.
They’ve traveled on foot nearly a mile to reach the Fey mound positioned next to the Hoh Rain Forest in the Olympic Peninsula region of Washington state.
A leaden lump of dread settles into the pit of her stomach, and the demon spore gives a short pulsing ache.
The foul piece of demonic is only reminding her of its presence.
And that’s why she and Scott are here and not back at Region One, revamping and restoring all that was lost after Tony Laurent massacred ninety percent of her people. It’s not a journey of want, but one of necessity.
Region Two Singers now reside at One, as do some wayward Were who also call One their home.
Cyn, Julia’s best friend since forever, could live with a pack such as the Northwestern, where Adi comes from, but as part Singer, she would rather not enter pack politics.
And there might be a certain ex-cop turned Were she has her eye on.
Julia’s had enough supernatural politics to last her a lifetime. Yet here she stands, just outside of Faerie, in the undisputed political mecca of the supernatural.
With a deep inhale, Julia slips her hand inside Scott’s as they walk toward the Fey mound.
The sithen will know me, she consoles herself. At least, Julia hopes it will recognize her, that the briar will not attack her.
In theory, now that
she and Scott are married, consummated and the soul-meld solidified, they should be stronger as a pair.
Jacqueline and Domiatri have gone ahead of them, along with Tharell and Delilah.
Julia fights excitement, anxiety, and a case of the general what-ifs as they move forward.
Has Jacqueline had her baby yet? Julia wonders. What was the judgement of the Fey when Delilah and Tharell entered as death-bringers?
Scott narrows his eyes, sensing her trepidation through their connection. “The Fey will help us, and the wicked witch is dead...” He smirks.
Julia suppresses an eye roll. She totally gets that Scott’s trying to lighten her anxiety.
Julia will attempt to begin negotiations for a blending of the species as she promised Tharell, which, in turn, was actually a promise to Faerie itself. It’s all pretty confusing. The whole oathbreaking thing is something she wants to put behind her and make good on.
But she and Scott both know that their main purpose is to get rid of the spore.
It’s like a grain of sand in her eye that she can’t get at. The Combatant in Scott can’t abide evil festering inside the Rare One he’s mated to. And Julia can’t stand it, either. Not to mention they can’t have children because she and Scott can’t risk contaminating an unborn child. And even though Julia’s been through so much in the short time since that fateful day on the beach in Homer, she finds she’s just like every other chick in the world. She wants love, happiness, and a family.
But the spore won’t allow that to happen.
The “Fey mound” is really a misnomer. Julia’s eyes skim over what looks to be like any other rolling hill of green, the shade all the deeper for being right next to that rain forest that borders it.
In fact, the drizzling mist that isn’t quite rain manages to soak them anyway. The fine wetness blurs her vision, as if she’s looking at the mound through a sheet of rain on glass.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Scott comments, tugging her forward gently.
It never looked like much before, either. Julia gives him an absent nod, watching the almost-invisible depression where the door is.
Domiatri agreed to this day.
Julia told him when they would come. Of course, when she last spoke to him, there was no way for her to have known that she and Scott would have a handfasted wedding or that Jason would not be sharing her life anymore.
She tries not to think of it, but in the end, the image of Jason’s grave that stands just inside a thick copse of trees in the heart of One surfaces in crisp detail. The tiny graveyard is visible from the broad front porch of the Victorian house she now calls home.
Julia squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to let the horrible memories of his death—and William’s—plague her. But sometimes grief just sneaks up, hitting Julia between the eyes when she isn’t prepared for it. When she’s unguarded.
Scott doesn’t need a weeping, shaking queen, though. He needs a partner. Straightening her spine, she follows him the few yards to the portal to Faerie, which becomes more visible moment by moment.
It’s ancient magicks at work here. Julia senses them. Her blood warms inside her veins, responding to the living and breathing magick of what exists just within the Fey boundaries.
The sithen.
Sentient enough to be a threat or a welcoming committee, it is a fickle but integral part of Faerie. A living, breathing part of the magick of Faerie.
That’s why Domiatri will be on the other side of the “door” they can’t see.
He’ll be their Unseelie sidhe escort.
Without him, the sithen, and the violence of the briar, might be the greeting that kills them.
“It’s ten minutes past the appointed time,” Scott mutters, his body tense.
Julia presses her hands against the depression where a vague “door” can be seen if one’s looking for it.
She smirks, glancing at his stiff posture as he leans against the side of the hill. “You’re not known for your patience.”
Scott exhales, pushing off from the emerald wall of the mound. “Can’t help that I want to get this over with—get you safe.”
A pang of guilt pierces her for teasing her mate about something he’s so worried about. Pivoting, she faces Scott.
He strides the short distance to her side and wraps her in his arms. “I can’t lose you.” There’s a note of almost panic to his tone, unreserved anxiety that’s not like him.
Julia tips her face back, creating a small distance between their bodies so she can see him better. “I’m still here—alive. Our soul-meld is completely solid.” Her whiskey-colored eyes search his nearly black ones. “You know there has to be a reason why I was wounded...” She gives a little shrug. “Or whatever you want to call this.” Her hand floats to rest on the approximate site of the spore then drops at her side. “In this crazy life, I have come to believe there is no coincidence. If I’m this big deal leader, the messiah of the supernaturals?” Julia gives a short laugh. “It’d be so beyond dumb—if it weren’t my life.”
Scott’s eyes travel down her body as his palms caress her arms, shoulder to wrist, then he takes her hands.
Julia squeezes Scott’s hands, so big around hers. “If I’m so important, a demon spore is not enough to do me in.” Her lips twist.
Scott scowls. “Not funny, Julia.”
Her brows rise. “I’m not trying to be. Just inserting an abnormal amount of logic.”
He smiles a little at that.
“See?” On impulse, Julia steps forward once more and encircles her arms around his taut torso. “The Fey will have answers, or a magick, we don’t, or something, Scott. You need to believe that coming here isn’t for nothing.”
Scott looks like he’ll say something, but just as he opens his mouth, the depression becomes what they knew it was all along—the door that leads to Faerie.
“Let me go first,” Scott says quietly, putting Julia’s body behind his protectively.
Julia doesn’t argue. She’s not that stupid and doesn’t really feel like Scott going all Combatant because he needs to make a point.
But they didn’t have to worry anyway, Domiatri is right there on the other side.
Julia releases a breath she was holding, instantly feeling better that everything is going according to plan.
Scott moves through the door first, his shoulders nearly brushing the sides of the arched, medieval-looking thing. Julia remembers it being a different door the last time they passed through. The sithen has a mind of its own.
Isn’t that what Domiatri said in his own words? That the sithen was a constantly changing environment?
The inside of Faerie is different from when she was there last, and Julia’s sense of well-being wilts a little around the edges.
For one, an open smile is glued to Domiatri’s face.
Julia remembers him as a solemn, fierce warrior. She’s pretty sure Domi is still all that—but now the corners of the person she remembers seem blurred, softened.
“Hello, Blooded Queen.” He sweeps forward, bending at the waist. Then he rises, tilting his face with a small nod in Scott’s direction. “Blooded King.”
Scott snorts. “I know I get second billing,” Scott says good-naturedly.
Domi’s smile broadens, and they grin at each other.
She’s not the only one relieved that Domi is here and that so far, they’re safely inside Faerie.
Julia slips through the threshold, her fingers laced with Scott’s, and takes in what was once dark and pulsing with an almost evilness to it.
No longer. With a glance at the door, Domi uses magick in a hot rush that sweeps past her like a warm ghost she can’t see but feels. Julia senses the ancient portal seal behind them with a pop that feels like a reverse vacuum, causing her ears to feel full.
Domi moves to the side, revealing who stands behind him.
Jacqueline walks forward, and there are no words sufficient to describe her—she’s radiant. It could be she’s
finally not mental anymore because she’s tucked within the bosom of the Fey. Or it could be because of the completely adorable newborn child in her arms.
“Oh my word,” Julia breathes, rushing forward to see the baby, her anxieties and unanswered questions fading.
Jacqueline coos softly at the beautiful child, who has pale-green skin.
Julia and Scott’s eyes meet.
“I have a green sibling,” her mate says, sounding vaguely non-plussed.
Domi hikes his chin. “She is a beautiful color, though it is a Seelie shade.” The slightest frown mars his perfect forehead.
Julia doesn’t care if the baby is rainbow colored—she’s adorable.
“What’s her name?” Julia asks.
“Hashna,” Domiatri says proudly.
Scott’s brows draw together. “What does that mean?”
“Savior,” Jacqueline says quietly, smoothing her finger between the baby’s silken brows.
“That’s a lot to put on a kid,” Julia says.
Jacqueline and Domi look at each other, free hands clasping. “We feel like that is what she means to us. Jacqueline was sick,” Domi states.
Jacqueline’s eyes tighten, Julia’s sure, from the memories of who she was for a couple of centuries, while suffering from the sickness of one who possesses fey blood, and is too far from Faerie for sanity.
“And now she is not.” He pauses for a heartbeat then adds, “And I was alone.”
Jacqueline’s eyes shine, and she whispers, “And now he is not.”
After a few seconds of swollen silence, Julia leans forward, gazing at the fuzzy hair growing on Hashna’s head. “Is that blue hair?” She gives a swift look in Domi’s direction.
He nods. “We cannot be sure. She is too young to have come into her full coloring, but by three cycles, little Hashna will be the color Faerie has intended.”
Julia laughs softly. “No offense, Jacqueline, but it looks as though she doesn’t take much after you.”
Jacqueline shakes her head. “That doesn’t offend, nor do I wish her to. It is fine that Hashna resembles her sire so strongly.”
Julia has a pang of guilt. She didn’t mean to showcase the woman Jacqueline used to be by saying Hashna was somehow better because she looked like Domi.
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