Blood Crown

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  She can’t keep her feeling of creeping malaise from Scott.

  His presence has a semi-protective effect—that’s true. But Julia’s getting sicker, and they both feel it.

  Victor moves ahead of them. She can’t put her finger on it, but he’s been acting weird since he tossed himself into the middle of the fray back in Faerie.

  She has no reason to distrust him. Actually, they need him. Neither she nor Scott bugged him about coming back when he was needed in One. They need Julia alive more.

  Jacqueline eyed him strangely too, and Domi opted to stay with Jacqueline and Hashna. And after the enlightening conversation at the Unseelie court, Julia can’t blame him.

  Scott didn’t want to leave until he knew that Domi was not going to start passing his mother to every horny Fey in Faerie.

  Though Julia doesn’t trust either of them, Nirvana and Starr assured her that Singers would not be with anyone but pure-blooded Sidhe.

  But to Julia, that seemed like just another thinly veiled form of prejudice, fey-style.

  Then there was the horrible situation of Delilah and Tharell imprisonment. They made her and Scott see that through before their departure.

  Julia closes her eyes against the memories, but they come as their small party of four trudge forward toward hell.

  Hours prior

  “I am the Sidhe warrior assigned for your protection.”

  “You can’t leave Faerie,” Julia states.

  Lachlan’s bloodless lips curl with his arrogance. “I can do all things when the Blooded Queen is by my side.”

  Julia is sick of being called “queen.” However, now is not the time to admit that. Again.

  She looks at Scott.

  He spreads his big hands. I can’t illusionist us out of this one, Julia.

  I know, she sends back.

  “It’s better this way, Julia,” Scott says aloud. “We have Victor and me—Lachlan’s a great bonus. It’s actually a skeleton crew if you ask me.”

  Julia hasn’t asked. She can admit to herself that she’s pissed off because she has to go to hell.

  Laughter threatens, and she tamps it down ruthlessly. “I get it. I need protection. But what makes anyone think, as the Rare One, I can even enter hell.”

  “Hades is normally reserved for those who possess a great deal of demonic genetics.”

  Julia nods. That’s exactly her point, but she waits for Lachlan to finish.

  “In your case, the spore is like a...” He makes a waffling motion with his hand.

  “A ticket to the ball game,” Scott inserts, dark brows hiked.

  “Speak for yourself,” Julia says. The only sport she ever liked was jogging, and maybe that didn’t count.

  They exchange a private smile.

  “Anyways,” Scott says, still grinning. “If Julia didn’t have the spore, she could be in danger.”

  Lachlan stares at Scott. “You and Victor will be in danger. You have a short”—he cups his chin, a sudden light infusing his face—“shelf life. We must find the substance that will neutralize the spore. You and Victor carry so much angelic blood, you will begin to sicken the instant you step foot within Hades.”

  Julia’s heart rate kicks up. “Hey, that’s not part of the deal. I wasn’t counting on Scott and Victor being sick.”

  “It is slow, but steady,” Lachlan explains. “They have time if we make haste.”

  Julia’s brows pinch together. “How long do we have?”

  Lachlan gives an elegant shrug, only slightly hampered by the sword at his hip. Flicking his long white braid to his back, he sighs. “I can only estimate. Those of the fey don’t relish traveling to Below any more than any supernatural creature would. I can only speculate on the side of prudence. Let’s think in terms of twenty-four of our solar hours. Or those which are observed outside of Faerie.”

  A day. Julia has one day to get rid of the evil inside her.

  Scott takes her hand, pulling her to him. “It’ll be no big deal. In and out—like the burger joint.”

  Maybe not. Julia tips her head back. “Not funny. And your obsession with food is kinda disturbing.”

  “Got your mind off shit, though, right?”

  He did.

  She really loves him.

  “Hey,” Scott says softly, kissing the tip of her nose. “No time like the present. We’ll go see Jacqueline and my baby sister. Then we’ll make sure they boot Delilah and Tharell gone.”

  Julia gives a soft shake of her head. “I don’t know if Delilah’s in any shape. She’s so...”

  “Vacant,” Lachlan supplies, and Julia gives him a slightly unfriendly look.

  Delilah’s messed up because of them. It’s not like anyone is providing blood to the vampire in their midst. “Yeah,” she agrees, crossing her arms.

  Lachlan gazes at her as though he isn’t part of the problem.

  Riiight. Sometimes Julia thinks they’re the smartest most dumb supernaturals she’s ever stumbled over.

  “Let’s go,” Scott says, and Lachlan turns on his heel, moving soundlessly through the sithen.

  After endless turning through tunnels of stone, they come to the Faerie prison.

  Tharell turns from his former position as they arrive.

  He was pressed against the partition separating him from Delilah as though touching the surface would make her wake up.

  Delilah is settled against a suspended cot as she was before. Staring. Starving. Any idiot can see that. Her cheeks are hollowed out.

  “She needs food,” Julia says.

  “What the fuck is this?” Scott asks. “Why didn’t you tell us she’s starving.”

  “Food is provided. Though she is offered nourishment, it is untouched each day.”

  Scott bunches his hands into fists, advancing on Lachlan.

  No, Julia sends. This won’t get her freed.

  He pauses, and Julia can tell it’s a supreme effort for him to halt the course of his emotions.

  “It is blood the female craves.”

  Julia turns to Tharell, whose deep-purple skin seems to pulse with life.

  “So if she gets out of the cell, who will offer up a vein?” Julia looks at all of them.

  No one meets her eyes.

  Victor and Scott won’t. After all, it’s a sexual act, one Julia’s pretty damn familiar with.

  Lachlan won’t because he’s too “pure.” He won’t bleed for a death-bringer. She’s of no relation to Julia per se, and Jacqueline barely dodged the breeding bullet, so she can’t really be making demands.

  Julia feels like she’s out of options, and the ones that remain suck.

  “I will feed the female death-bringer,” Tharell states.

  “Of course you will,” Lachlan says.

  Their eyes lock, and Julia can feel the testosterone rise. “Just let him out and into her cell.”

  Lachlan’s shoulders release their tension, and she watches him put himself together to do what she asks, though it’s damn clear he would rather do anything but cooperate by helping Tharell and Delilah.

  Julia’s also aware that no one loved Queen Darcel. But Darcel was what they knew. And she was pure.

  Lachlan would let Tharell rot in that cell, with the occasional release for a battle. That would suit Lachlan just fine.

  Lachlan strides to the cell, placing his hands flat on the clear substance, and the outline of a door appears.

  As he lifts his palms, the solid glass-like material disappears within the outline he created.

  Tharell steps out, looking almost bruised next to the solid ebony of Lachlan. Tharell doesn’t respond to the baiting posture and walks around Lachlan, moving with purpose toward Delilah’s cell.

  “She murdered Queen Darcel,” Lachlan says unnecessarily.

  Darcel needed killing, Julia thinks so loudly, Scott’s jaw jerks, and he shoots her a knowing look.

  Tharell repeats the process that Lachlan employed to Delilah’s cell.

  Her eyes are c
losed, but when the hole in the cell appears, she’s up and off the cot in a blur that takes Julia’s breath away.

  Scott moves in front of her, but Delilah shoves him, sending him into the wall that separated the two cells.

  Julia jumps back, and Lachlan tenses, moving in front of Julia at the same time Scott jumps to his feet and moves toward her.

  But Delilah has eyes only for Tharell, crashing into him full speed.

  He snaps his arms around her.

  Rearing her head back she strikes. No preamble, just fangs to Tharell’s throat. He grunts, accepting the impact.

  Lachlan shakes his head, moving out of her line of sight and retreating in obvious disgust.

  Scott takes her hand and pulls her behind him.

  She’s not going to drain me, Scott.

  He keeps her behind him. Whatevers.

  Delilah stares at them over Tharell’s shoulder, taking great sucking pulls, and who she is gradually seeps into that flat stare.

  Humanity floods that gaze, and she releases Tharell. Then they stare at each other.

  A huge, ragged tear mars his throat, and tears well in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” They begin to cascade down her cheeks. Soft pink begins to color her pale face with life as Tharell’s blood erases the vestiges of starvation.

  Tharell wipes the wetness away with his thumbs. “Bloodlust.”

  “Yes, bloodlust,” Lachlan repeats.

  Delilah glares at him. “I want to go.”

  Julia answers the question she sees in Delilah’s expression. “The only way Tharell can leave Faerie and not be dominated by his demonic blood and go crazy is... to be your mate.”

  “Vampire genes trump fey and demonic,” Scott comments, smirking.

  Lachlan turns a cool look in his direction.

  “It is your decision, Delilah,” Tharell says quietly. “I can go on forever in Faerie, as I have for millennium.”

  She cradles his face, still an entire head taller as he squeezes her against his body. “Do you want to?”

  “I can persevere as I always have,” Tharell says evasively.

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispers, her dark eyes brimming again.

  She brushes her lips against his. Her skin is creamy against the map of the violet hues of his. The streak of his blood is like a crimson stain, black against the plume tones of his flesh.

  Tharell’s shoulders drop, the tension easing from him even as Delilah slides down the front of his body, and he sets her carefully on the ground.

  “Touching,” Lachlan says sarcastically.

  They turn to look at him.

  “I will not pretend to be moved by a display that is distasteful to Faerie.”

  Delilah gives him the hardness of her gaze. “I can’t help what I am. I am the product of a Rare One and royal singer lineage. I’m not ashamed of that fact. I’m powerful enough to surface buried genetics within Tharell. He is fey—that’s true—but he’s more than that.”

  Delilah untangles from Tharell and strides toward Lachlan. Her clothing is splattered by blood spray, and flecks of scarlet speckle her face and delicate jaw. When she stands before Lachlan, she tips her head back, looking up at the huge male. “You should be asking yourself how much the Singers will dilute your precious Sidhe blood. Instead, you’re worried about the power of my walking death.”

  “You’re a queen killer,” Lachlan states in little more than a growl.

  Her sudden grin is frightening, and Lachlan winces. When Delilah opens her mouth wide, sharp fangs protrude. “She needed to die.”

  No one disputes this.

  “We must go,” Victor says.

  He’s right, and Julia’s relieved to have a disruption to the rivalry between the fey and vampire.

  A flutter appears in Lachlan’s jaw, and he pivots, not asking anyone to follow him.

  Delilah has recovered so well, Julia forgot she was comatose.

  She and Tharell walk behind Lachlan’s angry march from Faerie. Julia and Scott follow, with Victor bringing up the rear.

  They exit Faerie, with the negotiations intact but Julia’s future uncertain.

  Dark Master stares a hole through the back of the Rare One’s head.

  His hands ache to bind her to his stone tableau Below. To use the merciless skills he misses terribly.

  But he must wait.

  The combatant mate of hers will sicken—in this, the Sidhe is quite accurate.

  What he does not realize is Dark Master will be restored in his own realm while the others are weakened.

  They will never make it to the crater in the center of Hades, where the molten fire breathes its hideous life.

  Fatal to all. Healing to one. That is what Julia seeks.

  But she will never find it.

  On the trudge, the Unseelie Sidhe at the lead, the royal mated pair between... and Dark Master, a scheming boiling presence at their back.

  His smile is small, his soulless heart joyous.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jenni

  Talk about feeling like a loser. Dull guilt throbs inside Jenni like an aching tooth. Except it’s all over her body, digging its way like a leech into her soul.

  Really, if she were like the shallow women who surrounded her in Port Townsend General, it would be so easy to place blame on other people. Like Adi.

  If Adi hadn’t come into her life, none of this Were shit would be going down right now. Bray wouldn’t be trying to use her to lure the males away from an innocent woman and child.

  But if she hadn’t, Jenni wouldn’t be alive.

  Jenni finds that she really wants to live, desperately. Her perspective is so much different than other people’s. Facing mortality will do that to a person.

  So finally, Jenni got what she so fervently wanted. She’s by herself. After a two-hour-long chat with Adi, which she barely survived because the guilt alone made her already-rolling stomach churn even harder, she finds herself in a tiny room in the main structure.

  Quillon didn’t get his wish after all.

  His quiet eyes, so like the dangerous woods she traversed earlier, followed her to the room.

  So much is left unsaid between them.

  Not that it matters—Adi told her everything she didn’t want to know. Think about.

  Jenni puts her face in her hands, legs swinging restlessly from the bed Adi used to sleep in. Now, like Quillon, she’s been gifted with one of the nesting cottages not too far from the main structure.

  The Were Gathering.

  Jenni remains here. She is a single Were, apparently Alpha, and as such, does not live among the males. Devin and Ella get special dispensation because a mother and whelp are never separated.

  Jenni’s alone again, and since she’s not shallow, she feels like shit.

  I could just tell Quillon. Tell him Bray wants them out of the way so he can get at Devin and Ella.

  But then Bray will find a way to her. He’s just that vindictive. She knows that instinctively. How can Jenni allow that? She didn’t meet death face-to-face and receive a second chance to throw it away.

  She isn’t cowardly enough to hand them over, either, though.

  Jenni knows what she must do.

  But a small part of her—no, a big part—wants Quillon. Or a chance at something.

  He’s arrogant and insensitive.

  And he touches something deep inside her. Maybe this new creature she’s become is aware of things that are impossible for her to know yet.

  Jenni tries not to remember Adi’s words. That’s totally impossible, though. They fill her head.

  “Listen, girl, Quill digs you.”

  Jenni had looked at her in disbelief. Quillon is gorgeous. No human guy has ever given mildly attractive Jenni more than a passing glance. Lance was okay, but he didn’t look like a god.

  Quillon does.

  A lot of people who have red hair suffer from the dual affliction of pasty-white skin with freckles. But not him. A natural duskiness bla
nkets smooth skin that appears perpetually tanned. His eyes, though—God, his eyes soothe her. Inflame her.

  Torture her.

  Jenni doesn’t think he’s enough of an asshole to lead her on, but she did tell Adi the truth. “He is a slice of scrumptious.”

  Adi smirked, squeezing her hand. “Well, I’ve got Slash the Stud. And I kinda grew up with Quill. We didn’t see each other much except at gatherings, but he’s kinda like a brother or something.” She wrinkled her nose, clearly sort of disgusted by him as a male prospect.

  “And maybe he ʻdigs meʼ”—Jenni makes air quotes—“because I’m available, and there doesn’t seem to be a proliferation of women for the guy werewolves.”

  “Were—males,” Adi corrects almost absently before going on, “There’s enough. Like he and Dare said, they’ve got scouts out. It’s always been this way. I mean...” Adi yawned for about five seconds then covered her mouth, mumbling an apology. “Sorry, this pregnancy stuff is hardcore. I’m freaking beat all the time.” She rolled her expressive hazel eyes then snorted. “Don’t mind screwing Slash’s brains out, anyways.” She winked, and Jenni laughed from her belly.

  Even though Bray was circling her like a shark, Adi lightened Jenni. She couldn’t be mad that she’d left Jenni high and dry. The bottom line was Adi had saved her and had to get the hell out of there to avoid more Lanarre reinforcements.

  Plus, she’d apologized about a hundred and fifty-two times.

  And in the end, Jenni wasn’t sorry. She’s alive. And the ignorance she suffered for nearly a week is light payment for another chance of living. Even if she’s a werewolf.

  And Quillon drew her like a magnet.

  Jenni determined she has to get out of here. Bray’s going to try for Devin and Ella, and she isn’t going to help that bastard. But selfishly—and this made Jenni drop her eyes from Adi’s inquisitive stare—she wanted to have a few more moments with Quillon.

  Jenni knew it was a form of self-torture.

  But she just had to see. Maybe run her hands down those strong arms and see if they felt as good as they looked. Maybe more than seeing. Much more.