Primal Bounty_Pendragon Gargoyles

by Sydney Somers

  Forcing her eyes open, Elena rolled to her side and almost fell off the bed.

  Wait, definitely not her bed. She shook her head, unable to completely clear the fuzzy dream from her head, the one where she was stretched out in the back of a car—her neighbor’s car.

  What. The. Hell.

  Elena bolted to a sitting position, immediately bending to keep everything inside her where it belonged. Ug. She sandwiched her lips together, breathing in through her nose until the wave of nausea passed.

  She recognized the empty bottle of bourbon on the floor in the backseat. Not a dream then. She really was in the back of Mitch the Prick’s car. No way would she have passed out in here on her own.

  Given a choice, she would have picked a snake-infested ditch to fall into before Mitch’s car.

  The friction of her shirt rubbing her chest set off a fresh wave of heat that licked at her skin. She jerked the material down, staring at the sapphire shape in the middle of the design that looked too much like a Fae glyph to be just an ordinary tattoo.

  Glyphs were unique to every Fae family, much the same way tracings were unique to her kind, except the one branded on her skin was far more intricate than any Fae glyph she’d seen before.

  This time the nausea didn’t slow her down when she sat back up.

  “Water?”

  She tensed at the sound of the voice, the familiarity of it tugging at places that should have been buried too far to reach. “Vaughn?”

  He shook the bottle, and noticing how dry her throat was, she grabbed it from him and chugged half the contents. It was then she remembered exactly how mad she was, how much of a fool he’d made of her weeks ago, how much she hated him for it.

  And that he somehow had everything to do with waking up in the back of the car with no memory and a Fae glyph on her chest.

  “Don’t—”

  Her hand was already up, her magic coursing through her…

  She stared at her palm, or more precisely the spot that should have been crackling with blue flames. Nothing stirred inside her, no comforting hum of magic or seductive whisper that hungered for more. Nothing but a deepening pain in her chest, as if someone was drilling into her sternum.

  She glared at him in the review mirror. “What did you do to m—” She sucked in a breath at the sight of all her tracings on full display.

  “They said it might affect your memory.”

  They? Who the hell were they? Had Morgana started piecing things together? Or maybe someone else had, and had plans to turn her over.

  But why use Vaughn? Why send him into her home and neutralize her with Fae magic? What was she missing?

  She decided between one beat and the next that it didn’t matter. She’d put some distance between them and then figure it out. If he had one Fae trick up his sleeve—two if she counted what he pulled to break into the vault in the Wolf’s Den—she wasn’t banking on him running out.

  She scanned the backseat, snatching the bottle off the floor.

  “Don’t hit me, Elena.”

  As if that was going to stop her.

  Except it did. She only managed to get mid-swing before her hand stopped working. Her brain screamed to carry through, but her muscles didn’t comply. First her magic was non-existent and now she couldn’t move?

  Testing that theory, she lowered her arm and jiggled the bottle, the last mouthful of bourbon swirling around inside. All muscles operational. So what the hell was the problem?

  She glanced at Vaughn, who watched her in the review mirror, then back down at her chest. She tightened her fingers on the bottle, jerking her hand up to hit Vaughn without taking her eyes off the archaic necklace branded into her skin.

  Another stab of pain drilled into her chest, the sapphire center of the glyph glinting like a jewel catching a fleeting ray of sunlight.

  She hissed out a breath, the bottle cracking in her hand. Blood trickled from a cut below her ring finger and dripped onto her pants.

  “You were in my house.” The image was still fuzzy in her head, like she could recall a sliver of the memory and was looking at it through murky water.

  He’d helped himself to a meal in her kitchen and then she found him in the pool. And that was after sneaking out without a word after going out of his way to convince her it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Ballsy bastard.

  An echo of that anger flared to life anew, and with it a spark of something else that she squashed the moment it tried to creep out of the box she’d buried it in months ago.

  “I couldn’t move.” Another detail clicked into place. She’d left him on the kitchen floor, ordered him to get out of her house and turned away. But she hadn’t gotten far. “You did something to me and I couldn’t move.”

  And then what?

  Fear, cold and metallic. She could remember that much, and right now the only thing she hated more than Vaughn was the sharp tang of it at the back of her throat.

  Vaughn said nothing.

  “That’s it? You’re just going to sit there and not say a damn word? You wanted to talk when you broke into my house, so talk. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

  He didn’t even take his eyes off the road this time.

  She smacked the back of the seat, smearing blood across the beige fabric. “Is someone paying you? Was this the plan all along in Vegas and you just got sidetracked by your dick?”

  When he ignored her again, she turned her focus to what little of the situation she could control.

  She didn’t recognize the surrounding area or spot any signs that offered a hint of what direction they were traveling in. She didn’t even know how long it had been since she found him in the pool. Minutes? Hours? Days?

  She hit the unlock button on the door, grabbed the handle, shoved and jumped. The ground rushed up to meet her, knocking her into a jarring roll on impact.

  Pain spiked her body, the pavement dragging at her as she skidded to the shoulder of the road. Fuck.

  She planted her hands and scrambled up into a run. The treeline was twenty-five feet away.

  Tires squealed as Vaughn slammed on the brakes. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see how close he was. Didn’t slow down for a second.

  She burst past the first few trees, tearing past branches that scratched her face and snagged her clothes.

  “Elena!”

  The heel of her boot sank into a soft spot in the earth, and she tripped, catching her balance at the last second.

  “Elena, stop!”

  Fire spread through her chest, her legs slowing despite the need to keep going. No!

  She fought the tightness in her chest, the weight crushing her ribs. Another inch, then another. Any moment her ribcage would splinter.

  The front of her shoe caught on something and she pitched forward, her muscles too busy obeying Vaughn’s command to break her fall. Dirt sprayed her face, and then the agony in her chest eased.

  Her eyes slid shut and she took a breath, then rolled over onto her back. Blood trickled from her lip and her cheek stung from catching a spiny branch in the face, but at least she could breathe without it feeling like the straw feeding her oxygen had collapsed.

  His steps pounded the earth, sounding far away even when she sensed he was much closer. No doubt the asshole was enjoying this.

  She held onto that thought, let it push back the panic weaving into her blood. So what if he had a new bag of tricks no one had used against her before? She’d find a way around it and if the gargoyle made it out alive she might even be impressed.

  She watched him from her spot on the ground. “How long were you watching me?” Had he followed her earlier and discovered what she’d been up to? “You didn’t just show up tonight out of the blue.” She pushed up to her elbows, testing her ability to move.

  “Get up.”

  Obeying him was the last thing she wanted to do, but her arms and legs didn’t care. Like watching her reflection—real but not real—her body responded to the command and sh
e stood.

  “You will not run from me again.”

  “Only because you asked me so nicely,” she purred.

  He reached for her, and she jerked back a step. “Don’t. You want me to walk, I’ll walk. Apparently I’ll even hop, skip or jump if you’re in the mood, but you will not touch me.” Not ever again.

  Something she couldn’t decipher flashed in his eyes. “Walk to the car.”

  Obeying only because she didn’t have a choice, she watched him from the corner of her eyes.

  There wasn’t a trace of the warmth and playfulness she’d witnessed in Vegas on his face, but she’d seen this side of him during the Gauntlet. Cold, calculating, ruthless.

  She’d even admired it, determined to do anything to have a shot at claiming Excalibur herself. But even she couldn’t live with turning her back on everyone to come out ahead.

  It hadn’t been a problem for Vaughn who’d been driven by his need to free his sister.

  “Is this about Piper? Is she the reason you got the scar on your face?” The scar that was far too symmetrical with a symbol partially burned into the side of his face.

  Vaughn’s lips curved, the tight lines almost cruel. “Disappointed you didn’t give it to me yourself?”

  “So she’s not dead then,” Elena guessed.

  For a while a part of her—a tiny inconsequential piece of her—clung to the belief that maybe he’d received bad news, that somehow the plans to exchange his sister for what he stole had fallen apart, and he hadn’t coped well. Now she knew better now.

  “Where is she?”

  They reached the car. “No more jumping out of moving cars. Get in.”

  Grudgingly, she slid past the door he held open for her and across the seat. He slammed it behind her and returned to the front.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Ivy.”

  “Don’t call me that.” As if her body had a mind of its own, she did as he commanded. The sound of the seatbelt clicking into place seriously pissing her off.

  Vaughn put the car into gear and pulled back onto the road.

  “Where are we headed?”

  Silence.

  “You said you needed my help.”

  “I believe you made your thoughts on that perfectly clear earlier.”

  And if she told him she was willing to listen now—which she wasn’t—he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  She watched the side of the road blur past, watching for a sign of some kind that might indicate a possible destination. “So what are they offering you? Must be awfully worthwhile…”

  She glanced at him, saw a faint muscle in his jaw jump.

  “Your sister.” Elena let her head thump against the backseat. “Of course it’s your sister. And whoever has her is willing to trade her for me.”

  He met her gaze, no hint of regret or indecision in the otherwise stunning blue depths she wanted to knock out of his head.

  This was crazy.

  Did he really think he could just snatch her and get his sister back, just like that?

  He certainly wasn’t the first immortal to think she was the key to getting what they wanted. And it certainly wasn’t the first time others had been paid to find her. Nothing personal, just business.

  Someone should probably tell him that it hadn’t ended well for any of them before it was too late for him, but she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable under the circumstances.

  And with Vaughn, it was highly personal whether she liked it or not.

  “What happens when the sun comes up and you turn into a life-sized paperweight?” She checked the clock on the car, but the display was black.

  Had Vaughn disabled it to keep her from knowing what time it was, or was it busted and her useless neighbor just never got around to repairing it?

  Unsurprisingly, Vaughn didn’t respond.

  She didn’t need to know whatever the hell he was planning anyway. She just needed a little loophole to get around whatever magic he’d used to bind hers. Whoever taught him that neat parlor trick meant business.

  Only the strongest of sorcerers could harness the magic of another, and that was usually from siphoning the weaker immortal’s magic. Elena’s magic was still very much present. She had felt the breath-stealing pressure of it trying to slip its leash when she wanted to hit Vaughn and when she’d tried to keep running.

  That meant whoever was helping him had to be Fae, or have Fae connections. That explained the glyph anyway. And whoever they were, they knew she was half Fae, otherwise Vaughn’s stunt would have blown up in his face.

  While that would have been fun to watch, he wouldn’t have stepped foot in her house without having a Plan B. Whatever that was.

  She stared at the door handle, willing her fingers to grasp it. Her hand twitched but wouldn’t budge from her dirt-covered pants, at least not to reach for the door. She could drum her fingers, draw circles in the air, even flip him the bird.

  But she couldn’t touch the handle.

  She tugged her ripped shirt down, studying the glyph again. She’d never even heard of Morgana using anything like this to contain her cattle. The few captive sorcerers who’d escaped Morgana, eventually regained control of their magic.

  Elena had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that simple for her.

  “I need to eat something,” she said a while later, her stomach growling at the mere mention of food. When had she last eaten? Yesterday? The day before?

  She stared at Vaughn’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “I know your superior senses heard that, so you know I’m not faking. Or is starving me part of your employer’s master plan?”

  He didn’t even glance in the mirror at her.

  “At least when you talk the bullshit is more interesting and a lot less childish than the silent treatment.”

  A few houses blurred past as she watched for signs. “Why didn’t you just cross the veil with me? Or didn’t your boss teach you how to enchant a mirror along with your other new tricks? Maybe that’s a bit above your pay grade,” she tacked on, not really expecting a response.

  Only the Fae could enchant a mirror or body of water and make passage between this realm and Avalon possible. Her bedroom mirror was a gateway she often used to cross the veil, but he wouldn’t have known where her mirror would have led in Avalon, and likely wouldn’t have risked it.

  Emma had learned the hard way how to enchant water, but it wasn’t something Elena could do. It sure as hell would have been a convenient skill to have though, especially now.

  A series of highway signs blurred past, none of them familiar. The logo for a burger place speared across her vision. “My stomach is digesting itself back here. The sun is going to be up soon. Either you plan to turn me over by then or you plan to stick me somewhere while you go to stone, and I swear to the gods—”

  “You’ll what?”

  Surprised he’d bothered to respond, she looked at him. “I need food.” She worked through her problems a lot easier on a full stomach, and judging by her current predicament, the more calories the better.

  Vaughn took a series of rights and the fast food sign lit up the sky in the distance. She inwardly smiled, right up until he headed toward the drive-thru.

  “I’m going to need the bathroom, too. Unless you’re worried I’ll cause a scene?”

  Although going anywhere with her tracings on full display was bound to generate some attention. Even with her clothes hiding most of them, the one on her face was highly visible. And then there was the Fae glyph.

  Vaughn parked close to the door and turned in his seat to face her. “You won’t talk to anyone else inside. You will eat and you will listen to me at all times, and you will not leave the restaurant without me.”

  She raised her hand in salute. “Yes, Master. Can I take my seat belt off now?”

  Giving her a hard glance, he climbed out of the car and opened the door for her. The smell of greasy food made her stomach rumble again. Whatever was holding her magic in check was t
iring her and food was the only way she’d keep her energy levels up.

  “A little more appetizing than popcorn and wine, huh?”

  She shrugged, not liking that he knew how she’d been planning on relaxing before he ruined her night. “The company certainly affects the experience.” She preceded him up the narrow walkway, resisting the urge to snatch the takeout bag away from the woman on her way out and devouring the food on the spot.

  Inside was like most typical fast food restaurants—hard plastic booths and chairs, tables bolted to the floor, a ransacked condiment stand with napkins hanging out of the dispenser. Vaughn motioned for her to take a table in the corner. “Sit down and wait for me.”

  She didn’t waste her time rolling her eyes, her body already carrying her in that direction. She slid into the booth, brushing aside the salt someone had dumped on the table.

  Nearby a night-owl toddler with his sleep-deprived-looking parents stuffed a fry in his mouth, eyeballs too big for his face as he surveyed the room. He smiled at her, and normally when she would have winked and said hi, this time the words wouldn’t leave her mouth.

  Awesome.

  She rolled her head and shoulders, trying to loosen the increasing tension building at the back of her skull.

  Vaughn joined her shortly after with a tray of food. She grabbed one of the cups and drank deeply. Shouldn’t he be the one with the hangover symptoms since he’d dabbled in magic he shouldn’t have been able to channel to begin with?

  She couldn’t remember hearing of any gargoyles tapping into that kind of power before, but then he’d pulled it off at the Wolf’s Den as well.

  Vaughn pushed a container of fries at her and then a burger she couldn’t pull the wrapper off fast enough. The sight of the pickles sticking out stopped her.

  She lifted the top bun.

  Vaughn reached out and snagged the pickles off her burger and dumped them on his own. He flipped his bun back in place, poised to take a bite. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped, not wanting to see so much as a glimmer of the wolf she’d had dinner with in Vegas.

  That guy wasn’t real. It had all been a game to him.