by Carina Cook
Besides, it was daytime. They might get in and out of this casino without even seeing any vampires.
Derek was looking at her, his face screwed up into an expression of concern. She patted his shoulder.
“Sorry. Lost in memories,” she said.
“You don’t have to come along if you want, but I didn’t think you’d want to give up the wand for an instant. Not even to me,” he said.
She met his eyes directly. “I would give it to you, if you had need of it. I’m not going to let Ben kill my ability to trust. Even if he did…” But she didn’t know how to finish the sentence, because she couldn’t decide what was the biggest betrayal. The fact that every single one of his kindnesses had been a lie? The fact that he was going to use her life to better his position with the king? Or the fact that he’d used his magic on her to make her believe, even just for that moment, that he cared about her? She hadn’t really taken the time to think about it, because she was so used to other fae projecting this thing or that and laughing at her reactions. One week, she’d fought a series of increasingly hellish things that had turned out to be nothing but magic. But the pain they’d caused was real, as was the anger she’d felt at the laughter of the spectators when the gag had been revealed.
Derek took her hand and squeezed it. “And he has Jenny and Hex. Do you think he…” But he couldn’t finish that sentence any more than she could finish hers a moment before.
“No. They’re bait, and he can’t chance the possibility that we’d turn tail and run if we found out they were dead. Plus, he can’t let Ilimitaine know that he has them, because then all of his shenanigans with the Wand of Doors will come to light. The king would never forgive him for that. He’s got to keep them alive.”
“So we’re not making a terrible mistake by not rushing out of here to kill him? Because I’ve got to be honest. That’s what I’d like to do.”
“I think that’s what he expects,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s all he’s ever seen me do. Ilimitaine set an opponent against me, and I killed it. Over and over again. But he underestimates me, Derek. He underestimates both of us. I’m not some mindless killing machine that can be turned on and off at his whim, and neither are you. When we come for him, he’ll expect a frontal assault because he thinks we’re mindless thugs. But we won’t give it to him.”
Derek’s lips drew back from his teeth in a feral smile. “Pack tactics. Present a target, and then, while the prey’s attention is elsewhere, attack from the flanks where he least expects it.”
“Exactly. You think this mage of yours can help us do that? Or at least understand what kind of enchantment he put on the wand? I don’t want to break the thing only to find that I’ve made the whole situation worse somehow.”
Citrine paused, trying to come up with some kind of example, but she couldn’t think of any way this situation could get worse. If Derek was dead, of course. But she wasn’t willing to give voice to that possibility. It felt like this whole conversation was full of things that neither of them wanted to say, but strangely they were still on the same page. It was the kind of partnership she’d always dreamed of but never thought she would have.
“I’ve got to be honest. I’ve never met her. But based on what Gregor said, and the rumors I’ve heard, I think she’s got the juice for it if we can convince her to help us,” said Derek.
“What rumors?” asked Citrine, finally getting out of the car.
“She killed the last vampire king, all by herself. With her magic. Gregor says it’s true, and I don’t see why he’d lie.”
“Really?” Citrine brightened, feeling more optimistic than she had ever since she’d heard that the shifterkin were missing. “Let’s go and meet this vampire slayer then, shall we?”
CHAPTER 14
In the past, Derek and Gregor had met on neutral territory and open ground. The longstanding enmity between vampires and werewolves hadn’t escaped either of them, and at the beginning Gregor had seemed to view their association with the same healthy caution that Derek brought to it. Eventually they’d grown to trust one another, but by that time the pattern was set. Besides, Derek thought it seemed tacky to invite Gregor to a coffee shop or a restaurant, surrounded by foods he was unable to eat.
In recent months, they’d started talking emergency plans—who to talk to in the event that something went sideways and they couldn’t contact each other. So while Derek had made his appointment with confidence, and while he’d been to the Renaissance a few times in the course of his work, it was the first time he’d ever set foot inside the private areas.
After stepping through the third security screening, he had to admit that Gregor had done a good job of setting the place up. Derek had a particular skill for cracking supposedly unbreakable security systems and had in fact taken a job or two testing them for some of the local supernaturals. But he couldn’t spot a crack in this system. The guards were attentive and thorough and worked in trios. One hung back while the others moved to intercept them and run them through the security protocols. Their bona fides were checked against files, which caused some problem since Citrine didn’t have any identification. Heck, she didn’t even exist, according to the government. Given the time, he could correct that problem, but not now.
At least he had an inside line on how to handle it. He introduced himself as a fellow security professional and made a few suggestions. It took some discussion and a phone call to their superiors before they decided on a course of action, but eventually they opted to photograph and fingerprint her. Derek drew the line at a blood sample, because that seemed like asking for trouble when dealing with vampires. Citrine seemed relieved at that.
Finally, they emerged into a long, white corridor, flanked with ornate gold light sconces. The door at the end of the hall opened, and out stepped a woman who looked to be in her late middle age. Her white-blonde hair curled under at her shoulders in a perfect, breezy bob. She wore a pantsuit that probably cost more than Derek’s entire wardrobe, or so he imagined. Fashion certainly wasn’t his area of expertise. Overall, she seemed like an average high society matron on the surface, but Derek wasn’t fooled. He could see the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster despite the impeccable tailoring of the suit, and she carried herself with the light bearing of an experienced combatant. Although she might appear relaxed, she was far from it.
“Derek Ranier? And Citrine Avonmora, yes?” she asked in a pleasant alto voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Derek, extending a hand. “Thank you for being willing to meet with us. Your son-in-law instructed me to contact you, if I ever needed anything during the daytime hours when he sleeps.”
She shook Derek’s hand and then moved onto Citrine. Derek watched with amusement as the two women sized each other up. They did so without posturing or comment, but exchanged the slightest of respectful nods before pulling back.
“I’m Dagmar Lorensson,” said the woman. “Why don’t you come into my office and we can discuss what brought you here?”
Inside the office was as comfortable as the hallway had been sterile. A soft sheepskin rug sat on the floor at the center of a circle of cushy leather chairs. The desk had been pushed up alongside the back wall, almost as an afterthought, although the fancy computer sitting atop it, with a mug of coffee alongside, suggested that it got more use than its location suggested. Dagmar gestured to the seats and offered coffee, which both of them politely declined. So she sat as well, angling her body to allow for a clean draw of her hidden weapon. They noticed, and she noticed them noticing.
“So,” she said, “what brings you to me? How can I be of assistance?”
“First, I wanted to update Gregor on a situation we have with the fae. It’s grown hostile, and we’ve found that sharing this type of intelligence has been helpful in the past,” said Derek.
“Absolutely.” Dagmar nodded. “I agree. Can you tell me more?”
Derek briefly outlined the situation with the fae, and Citrine added a detail or t
wo but otherwise left him to tell the story. Dagmar took no notes, but gave him her utmost attention, stopping him once or twice to ask intelligent clarifying questions.
When he’d finished, she said, “That’s a difficult situation, and I’m sorry you find yourselves in it. While I’m grateful for the information, I’m at a bit of a loss as to how you think we can help.”
“We were hoping to meet with your daughter,” replied Derek.
He was expecting a reaction, and he got one. Dagmar tensed. It wasn’t the kind of motion that most people would catch, but he was a trained observer, and he’d been specifically looking for it. If he hadn’t, he might have missed it entirely. Her shoulders rose just a fragment of an inch, and the muscle in her jaw jumped ever so slightly, and he made note of it. Something was up there, and he couldn’t quite decide what it was.
“And why is that?” she asked.
“We were hoping she’d look at the wand for us,” explained Derek. “We think…Citrine, can you explain this? You’ll do a better job, I’m sure.”
Citrine shot him a look laced with irony. “Oh yeah, let’s put my extensive magic experience to work here.” She shook her head in pointed exasperation before turning to Dagmar. “I suspect that Benveniste somehow enchanted the wand before he gave it to me. He’s been able to follow me—which should have been impossible—and cast illusions here despite not being physically present, which should also be impossible. We’re hoping maybe she can tell us something about the enchantment, or even help us to remove it.”
“But you’re fae yourself. Why don’t you do it?” asked Dagmar.
“My magic is stunted,” said Citrine. “I’m a fighter. It’s very rare among fae, and a long story.”
But Dagmar didn’t seem surprised. “I can tell you have the knack for it.”
Citrine flashed one of her quick, bright smiles. “I guessed the same of you.”
“Undoubtedly.” Dagmar shook her head. “I’m sorry to say this, but I’m not sure that Liss can help. If faerie magics are based on illusion as you say, they’re about as far from blood magic as one can get.”
“Blood magic?” asked Citrine. She turned to Derek. “You didn’t say that before.”
“Magic is magic, isn’t it?” he asked sheepishly. “All magic taps into some kind of latent energy, so it seems worth it to ask her to try. I wouldn’t bother her, except that my kin are in danger. If I take one misstep, they’ll pay the price. Not me. So I will go to whatever lengths are necessary to make sure that won’t happen.”
Dagmar nodded. “I can understand and respect that. But still, I don’t see why Liss would help you, even if she could. She becomes a target in the process, and for no gain. I’m sorry if that seems cold, but like you, I would stop at nothing to protect my family.”
“I understand,” said Derek. “No offense taken.”
“So we’re at an impasse,” said Dagmar. She seemed honestly regretful, but that didn’t make her any more likely to help them, so it didn’t matter much.
“I…” But Derek trailed off, unable to come up with an argument to sweeten the pot.
“What if I owed you a favor?” Citrine suggested.
Dagmar arched a brow but didn’t comment. She just waited for Citrine to continue, and after spending a moment to marshal her thoughts, she did.
“The way I see it, if we’re successful, I’ll be the only faerie here. There might be a few others hiding out since the closing of the portals between our realms, but there can’t be many. I might not be the best at faerie magic, but I’ve been a gladiator in Faerie for… well, I don’t know how long. Years upon years upon years.”
“That’s nice, dear, but I can take care of most threats myself.” Dagmar gave her a penetrating look. “Unless you can kill vampires, that is.”
Citrine shot a nervous look at Derek, and he gestured for her to go on. This line of argument might actually work, especially if she could prove her skills to Dagmar. Citrine nodded, looking resolute once more. She might be tiny, but she was fierce as hell, and he wouldn’t have wanted to stand in the way of something she wanted. She would kick his ass.
Well, that and he would have done anything to make her happy. But this wasn’t the time to go all gushy over her either, so he tore his mind with effort back to the present.
“I wasn’t going to bring it up, because I don’t want to threaten anyone into helping me,” said Citrine. “But yes, I killed a vampire once. It nearly destroyed me.”
“Tell me what happened,” said Dagmar, leaning back. “Describe the battle to me.”
So Citrine did. Derek could barely believe what he was hearing, and he’d seen her in action before. He wasn’t sure how Dagmar would take it; he wouldn’t have blamed her for writing the whole thing off as a tall tale. At first, it seemed like she might. She asked a few questions with bemusement, but Citrine’s detailed descriptions of the desiccated creature she’d fought, as well as her physical demonstration of the various moves she’d tried against it, seemed to take her by surprise. Dagmar pressed for more details, getting up once to take the place of the vampire so that Citrine could demonstrate how she’d managed to disable it.
When she sat back down, she looked shaken.
“You mean to tell me that you took on an elder one-on-one without any stakes—or any weapon at all—and lived?” she said, her voice the slightest bit unsteady.
“I did.”
Citrine’s head was held high, and the unshakeable confidence in it seemed to win Dagmar over. She nodded once.
“I’ll get my daughter for you on one condition,” she said.
“Name it,” answered Derek promptly.
“I want to spar with Citrine.”
The fae grinned, leaning forward in her seat. Derek knew she’d been sporting for a fight ever since they realized the shifterkin were missing. It would probably be good for her too. Work off some of that nervous energy. He could have used the same thing, although he wouldn’t have wanted to step into the middle of their combat for anything.
Of course, there were other ways of diffusing tension, like the one they employed in that alley…
“Now?” asked Citrine, and for a moment he thought she was responding to his unspoken thought, but of course she wasn’t.
“Liss will take a while to get ready and have her coffee,” said Dagmar. “You won’t want to talk to her before that. It should be enough time to get a few touches in, if you’re game?”
Citrine grinned. “Bring it on.”
Derek envied Dagmar’s dojo. He wasn’t into martial arts himself, because his wolfish instincts guided him plenty well in combat situations. But the padded room would have been perfect to get a good workout in without worrying about breaking things or putting holes into walls. He’d done that more than a few times when he was young, and on occasion as an adult too. It was better than putting holes into people, but he could have done without all the wall patching.
He sat alongside the wall while the two women sized each other up. This would be a serious fight, and he found himself interested to see exactly how it would turn out. Dagmar Lorensson, he knew, was legendary in the supernatural community. No one wanted to mess with her, and even Darius had been known to flinch when her name came up in conversation. But Citrine was the toughest woman he’d ever met. Not just in terms of her physical prowess, but also her mental fortitude. She’d endured the kind of treatment that would have broken most people, and here she was, bouncing on her toes and grinning with excitement. The fact that she could still smile at all awed him.
Shamed him too. His losses were real, of course. He would have given anything to have the pack back—to have Mark back. No matter what had happened, Derek had always known that someone had his back when Mark was around. Although other people cared, it just wasn’t the same. He’d filled a father-shaped hole in his heart that Derek hadn’t even realized was there. But he’d been so lucky to have that at all. Citrine’s father figure had chained her, tortured her, trie
d to break her. Her real father was dead. Her mother…well, he wasn’t sure about that. Citrine didn’t talk about her, and he didn’t want to hurt her by bringing it up. Maybe Ilimitaine had killed her. Given what he’d heard about the man, Derek wouldn’t have been surprised.
Citrine had lost so much but didn’t waste a second feeling sorry for herself. Derek knew he hadn’t been indulging in self-pity, but he hadn’t exactly been putting himself out there either. He knew he could do better.
But first, he would sit and watch this fight. He would trust that Citrine would get them the help they needed. It felt like a big thing, this trust. He hadn’t been willing to do that ever since Mark’s breakdown.
He leaned back against the wall as the two women circled each other. Both held themselves with deceptive looseness, light footed on the balls of their toes, ready for whatever the next moment brought. They moved in and out in what felt like a dance, each movement mirrored by the other as they searched for weaknesses. It was beautiful to watch, graceful and deadly.
Citrine feinted toward her opponent first, and Dagmar countered, both women watching intently for gaps they might exploit. Then Dagmar took her attempt, cutting it short. Waiting for the right opportunity. Derek found himself holding his breath, knowing that the full out assault could happen at any moment.
They launched toward each other at the same exact moment, their movements a blur. Citrine’s pointed fingers came within millimeters of Dagmar’s throat. Dagmar’s hand clutched a practice knife at Citrine’s belly. Both killing blows. The two women grinned and backed away from each other.
Now it began in earnest. They exchanged blows, blocking and dodging, dancing around each other in a deadly exchange. Neither held anything back. Sweat began to run down their brows, and their breath came ever faster, and the worse it got, the happier they seemed. Some of the exchanges were too fast for Derek’s alert gaze to pick apart, and once Citrine asked Dagmar to slow down and show her a particularly impressive move. Dagmar demonstrated with the patience of a born teacher. Then they got right back to it.