I hadn’t avenged Alina. Now who would?
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Barrons was saying. “This isn’t what I would have chosen. You must know that. It’s important you know that.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. There was a kernel of something gnawing at the back of my mind. Something I needed to think about. A choice to be made.
I felt his fingers on my eyelids. He eased them closed.
But I’m not dead yet, I wanted to tell him.
His hand was a warm pressure on my neck. My head lolled to the side.
D-Don’t let me … die … down here, was echoing back at me again in my head. I was astonished by how weak and stupid I sounded. How helpless. All fluff and no steel. I was pathetic with a capital P.
I tasted the second vile taste in my mouth. It drew tight the insides of my cheeks, and saliva pooled in my mouth. I examined the taste, rolling it on my tongue like spoiled wine. This time I recognized the poison before I drank it: cowardice.
I was still making the same mistake. Giving up hope before the fight was over.
My fight wasn’t over. I might not like my choices—in fact, I might despise my choices—but my fight wasn’t over.
It gave me power in the black arts, Mallucé had said of eating Unseelie, the strength of ten men, heightened my senses, healed mortal wounds as quickly as they were inflicted.
I could pass on the black arts. I’d take the strength and heightened senses. I was especially interested in the healing mortal wounds part. I may have blown one chance to live tonight. I would not blow another. Barrons was here now. The cell was open. He could get to the Fae on the slab, feed it to me.
“Barrons.” I forced my eyes open. They felt heavy, weighted by coins.
His face was in my neck and he was breathing hard. Was he grieving me? Already? Would he miss me? Had I, in some tiny way, come to matter to this enigmatic, hard, brilliant, obsessed man? I realized he’d come to matter to me. Good or evil, right or wrong, he mattered to me.
“Barrons,” I said again, this time more strongly, infusing it with everything I had left which wasn’t much, but enough to get his attention.
He raised his head. His face was all harsh planes and angles in the torchlight, his expression bleak. His dark eyes were windows on a bottomless abyss. “I’m sorry, Mac.”
“Not your … fault,” I managed to get out.
“My fault in more ways than you could possibly know, woman.”
Woman, he’d called me. I’d grown up in his eyes. I wondered what he’d think of me soon.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come for you. I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”
“L-Listen,” I said. I would have clutched urgently at his sleeve, but I couldn’t move either arm.
He bent nearer.
“Unseelie … slab?” I asked.
His brows drew together. He glanced over his shoulder, looked back at me. “It’s there, if that’s what you mean.”
My voice was terrible when I said, “Bring … it … me.”
He raised a brow and blinked. He glanced at the twitching Unseelie and I could see his mind working. “You—what—was Mallucé—” He broke off. “Exactly what are you saying, Mac? Are you telling me you want to eat that?”
I was beyond speaking. I parted my lips.
“Bloody hell, have you thought this through? Do you have any idea what it might do to you?”
I strove for one of our wordless conversations. I said, Pretty good one. Like make me live.
“I meant the downside. There’s always a downside.”
I told him a bigger one would be being dead.
“There are worse things than death.”
This isn’t one. I know what I’m doing.
“Even I don’t know what you’re doing, and I know everything,” he snapped.
I would have laughed if I’d been capable of it. His arrogance knew no bounds.
“It’s dark Fae, Mac. You’re planning to eat Unseelie. Do you get that?”
I’m dying, Barrons.
“I don’t like this idea.”
Got a better one?
He inhaled sharply. I didn’t understand the things that flashed across his face then—thoughts too complex, beyond my grasp—thoughts he discarded. But he hesitated a few seconds too long, before jerking his head in a single, violent negation, and I knew that he’d had some other idea, and had deemed it worse than this one. “No better ideas.”
There was a knife in his hand. He gave me a tight, mocking smile as he moved to the slab. “Wing or a thigh? Ah, I’m afraid we don’t have any thighs left.” He sliced into the Fae.
They didn’t have wings either, but I appreciated the humor, black as it was. He was trying to lessen the terrible reality of my impending meal.
I didn’t want to know what parts of it I was eating so I closed my eyes when he raised the first slice of Unseelie flesh to my lips. I couldn’t look at it. It was bad enough that it crunched in places and continued to move the entire time I chewed it. And the entire time I swallowed it. The tiny pieces fluttered in my stomach.
Unseelie flesh tasted worse than all four of my nightmare tastes combined. I guess our instruction booklets only cover this world, not Faery, which is fine with me. I’d hate to have to dream all the bad tastes of their world, too.
I chewed and gagged, gagged and swallowed.
MacKayla Lane, bartender and glam-girl, was screaming at me to stop, before it was too late. Before we could never again go back to being the uncomplicated, happy young southern girl we’d been. She didn’t get that it was already way too late for that.
Savage Mac was squatting in the dirt, stabbing her spear into the ground, nodding and saying, Yesss, finally, some real power! Bring it on!
Me—the one who tries to mediate between the two—wondered what price I was going to pay for this. Were Barrons’ concerns founded? Would eating dark Fae do something terrible to me, make me dark, too? Or do you only turn dark if you have the seeds of darkness in you to begin with? Perhaps eating it a single time wouldn’t change me at all. Mallucé had eaten it constantly. Perhaps frequency was the killer. There were many drugs a person could do a few times without paying too high a price. Perhaps the living flesh of a dark Fae would heal me, make me strong, and do little else of consequence.
Perhaps it didn’t matter, because the bottom line was that I’d made the mistake today—or tonight, or whatever it was—of giving up hope too soon, and I wasn’t about to make it again. I would fight to live with whatever means I had at my disposal, and pay whatever price I had to pay without complaining. I would never again accept death. I would battle it until the last second, no matter the horrors confronting me. I was ashamed of myself for giving up hope.
You can’t go forward if you’re looking backward, Mac, Daddy always said. You run into walls that way.
I dropped my regrets, a burdensome piece of baggage. Looking forward, I opened my mouth.
He sliced off another piece of flesh and fed it to me, and another. I chewed more strongly, swallowed more vigorously. A chilling heat suffused me and I trembled, as if in the grip of a brutal fever. After several more pieces, I felt my body begin the painful process of knitting itself back together. It was not pleasant. I cried out. Barrons covered my mouth with his hand, wrapped his arms around me, and crushed me against him while I thrashed and moaned. I guessed his efforts to keep me quiet meant Mallucé was somewhere nearby, or some of his minions were.
When the worst of it had passed, I ate more, and endured the brutal cycle again and again. Against his hot skin, I healed. Bracketed by his arms, I shuddered and writhed, and grew back together. The lacerations on the inside of my mouth faded into smooth, unbroken skin. Bones straightened and fused, tendons and torn flesh knitted itself, contusions melted. It was an agony. It was a miracle. I could feel the living Unseelie flesh doing things to me. I could feel it changing my innate structure, affecting it on a cellular level, infusing me wi
th something ancient and powerful. Healing every ill, taking it farther, past perfect mortal health, into the realm of the extraordinary.
A slow, sweet rush of euphoria began to build inside me. My body was young, stronger than it had ever been, stronger than anything could be!
I stretched, gingerly at first, then with growing elation. There was no pain left in my body. As I moved, my muscles bunched with coiled power. My heart thundered, flooding my brain with potent, Fae-spiked blood.
I sat up. I sat up! I’d been on the brink of death and now I was whole again! Better than whole. Wonderingly, I ran my hands over my face and body.
Barrons sat up with me. He was staring at me as if waiting for me to suddenly sprout a second, monstrous head. His nostrils flared; he ducked his face to my skin and inhaled. “You smell different,” he said roughly.
“I feel different. But I’m fine,” I assured him. “In fact, I feel amazing!” I laughed. “I feel fantastic. I feel better than I’ve ever felt in my life. This is incredible!”
I stood, stretched out my arm, and flexed my hand. I fisted it and punched the stone wall. I hardly even felt it. I punched it again, hard. The skin on my knuckles tore—and healed instantly. Blood scarcely had the time to well before it was gone. “Did you see that?” I exclaimed. “I’m strong. I’m like you and Mallucé, I can kick ass now!”
His expression was grim as he rose and moved away. He worried too much. I told him so.
“You don’t worry enough,” he retorted.
It was hard to worry when I’d just been knocking on Death’s door and now felt like I was going to live forever. I’d been jerked between the two, a badly weighted pendulum, jarringly fast. I’d ricocheted from the depths of despair to euphoria, from pulverized to stronger than ever before, from terrorized to the one capable of terrorizing. Who could hurt me now? No one!
I finally felt like being a sidhe-seer had some perks. Better than Dani’s astounding speed, I had superhuman strength. I couldn’t wait to test myself, discover what I could do. I was giddy with fearlessness. I was drunk on power, on how good it was to be me!
I danced on light boxer’s feet over to Barrons. “Punch me.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Come on, punch me, Barrons.”
“I’m not punching you.”
“I said, punch—Ow!” He’d decked me. Bones vibrating, my head snapped back. And forward again. I shook it. No pain. I laughed. “I’m amazing! Look at me! I hardly even felt it.” I danced from foot to foot, feinting punches at him. “Come on. Punch me again.” My blood felt electrified, my body impervious to all injury.
Barrons was shaking his head.
I punched him in the jaw and his head snapped back.
When it came back down his expression said I suffer you to live. “Happy now?”
“Did it hurt?”
“No.”
“Can I try again?”
“Buy yourself a punching bag.”
“Fight me, Barrons. I need to know how strong I am.”
He rubbed his jaw. “You’re strong,” he said dryly.
I laughed, delighted. This southern belle was a force to be reckoned with! It was amazing. I had power. I was a player. Once I had my spear again, I’d be even better. The playing field against evil had just been leveled.
Speaking of leveling, I wanted Mallucé. Dead. Now. The bastard had shattered my will to live. He was a living, breathing reminder of my shame.
“Did you happen to see Mallucé on the way in? Speaking of the way in, how did you find me? He lied about the cuff, didn’t he?”
“I didn’t see him, but I was more concerned with finding you. The cave system beneath the Burren is vast. I’ll lead you out.” He glanced at his watch. “With luck, we’ll be out of here in an hour.”
“After we kill Mallucé.”
“I’ll come back and take care of Mallucé.”
“I don’t think so,” I said icily. I shot him a look that dared him to argue. I was pumped up, flying on adrenaline. There was no way I was letting someone else fight this battle for me. It was mine. I’d paid for it in blood.
“Give a woman a little power,” he said dryly.
“He broke me, Barrons.” My voice shook.
“Anyone worth knowing breaks once. Once. No shame, no foul, if you survive it. You did.”
“Did you break once?” Who, what could have broken Jericho Barrons?
He stared at me through the dimly lit cavern. The torchlight flickered across his dark face, hollowing out his cheeks, making flame-filled coals of his eyes. “Yes,” he said finally.
Later I would ask how, who. Now all I wanted to know was “Did you kill the bastard?”
I wasn’t sure that twist of his mouth was a smile, but I didn’t know what else to call it. “With my bare hands. After I killed his wife.” He waved his hand at the door of the cell. “You lead, Ms. Lane. I’ve got your back.”
I was “Ms. Lane” again. Apparently I was only Mac when gravely injured or dying. We’d talk about that later, too.
“He’s mine, Barrons. Don’t interfere.”
“Unless you can’t handle him.”
“I’ll handle him,” I vowed.
The cave system was vast. I wondered how Barrons had ever found me. Carrying torches we’d lifted from the wall, we ascended and descended through tunnels and caverns without apparent rhyme or reason. I’d seen pictures of the tourist parts of the Burren. They were nothing like these parts. We were much deeper beneath the ground and way off the beaten path, in the unexplored parts of the labyrinthine cave system. I imagined that if any foolhardy potholers ever found their way here, Mallucé simply removed the problem by eating them.
I never would have found my way out.
Although I was barefoot, either the rocks weren’t cutting my feet, or they were healing as quickly as they were being damaged. Under normal circumstances I found both darkness and confined spaces highly disturbing, but the Unseelie I’d eaten had done something to me. I felt no fear. It was exhilarating. My senses were extraordinary. I could see in the dim, flickering torchlight as well as daylight. I could hear creatures burrowing in the earth. I smelled more scents than I could identify.
Mallucé had moved in. He’d brought many of the Victorian furnishings I’d seen at his house into the caves. In a chamber he’d converted into a sumptuous Goth boudoir, I found my brush on a table, near a bed covered by a stained satin spread. Next to the brush was a black candle, a few of my hairs, and three small vials.
Barrons opened a vial, sniffed. “He was spying on you, projecting himself. Did you ever feel you were being watched?”
I told him about the specter. I shoved the brush in my back pocket. I hated touching what he’d touched but I was leaving no part of me here, beneath the earth, in his hellish domain.
“And you never told me this?” he exploded. “How many times did you see it?”
“I threw a flashlight through it. I thought it wasn’t real.”
“How can I keep you alive if you don’t tell me everything?” he snapped.
“How can you expect me to tell you everything when you never tell me anything? I don’t know the first thing about you!”
“I’m the one that keeps saving your life. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yes, but why? Because you need me. Because you want to use me.”
“For what other reason would you have me save you? Because I like you? Better to be useful than liked. Like is an emotion. Emotions”—he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly—“are like holding water. You open your hand, there’s nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.”
Right now I was both. And I wanted Mallucé. “You can chew my petunia later. I’ve got an earful for you, too.”
We found the spear in a velvet-lined box, near his laptop. I wondered how a laptop could possibly be working down here, until I realized all the lights on it were that strange blue-black shade of cold light the
amulet had given off. Mallucé was powering it with black magic.
“Wait.” Barrons punched in a few commands, brought up the screen. A page of text was visible for a split second before icy sparks erupted from the computer and it went dead.
“Did you catch any of that?”
“He had multiple bidders on the spear. I saw two of the names.” He glanced at his watch again. “Get the spear and let’s move.”
I reached for the spear, nestled in velvet, and was just about to remove it from the box when I drew up short, struck by a sudden terrible thought.
I snapped the lid shut. When I picked up the box and tucked it beneath my arm, Barrons gave me a strange look. I shrugged and we moved on.
We left the boudoir, and entered another cavern, crammed with books and boxes and jars with contents that defied description. From the look of things, Mallucé had been dabbling in black magic since long before he’d met the Lord Master. There were boyhood treasures scattered among the vampire’s collection of potions, powders, and brews. I could almost see the young British child, invisible in the shadow of his prominent, powerful father, hating it. Rebelling. Becoming fascinated with the Goth world, so different from his. Studying black magic. Planning his parents’ murder at twenty-four. Mallucé had been a monster long before he’d rechristened himself.
The storage cavern opened into a long, wide tunnel lit by torches. There was a steel door in the wall. It was locked. Neither Barrons nor I could kick it in. He placed both palms against it. After a long moment, he said, “Ah,” and muttered a swift string of unintelligible words. The door swung open, revealing a long, narrow cave that looked to be a quarter of a mile long. It contained cell after cell of Unseelie. Here was Mallucé’s personal larder. I wondered how he’d trapped them all.
Karen Marie Moning’s Fever Series 5-Book Bundle: Darkfever, Bloodfever, Faefever, Dreamfever, Shadowfever Page 49