Faerie Lords Boxset

by Isabella August

  She hadn’t gotten on this bike in years, of course. And if she fell off, it would instantly kill her. But sure, that sounded right.

  Zoe sat down in place, slowly and deliberately lowering herself to the ground. Step one: buy time. Minimize movement; lower your heart rate. The cold, wet snow sent a shiver down her spine, but she consciously ignored it, blocking it out.

  “Simon,” she said, with a sudden unnatural calm. “Would you please find something to make a tourniquet? I need it on my arm, somewhere just above the elbow.”

  “What is going on?” Dorian demanded. He moved forward to kneel next to her, looking her over for injuries. Zoe remembered belatedly that he had no Witchsight, and had therefore seen absolutely nothing of what had just occurred.

  Simon probably had very little understanding of what the spell had done himself — the human body and its humors were very far outside of the average Sagittarius’ understanding. Still, he responded to the urgency in her voice — he carefully pulled her arm free of her borrowed coat, exposing it to the chill air. He tugged the scarf from her neck and neatly tied it around her arm, pulling it tight enough to hurt just a bit.

  “What’s the nature of this?” he asked Zoe. She felt how much effort it cost him to keep the alarm from his voice.

  “Blood magic,” she said shortly. “Poison. It’s strong — made to kill.”

  Dorian’s eyes flickered with apprehension. “I’ll get one of the leeches,” he said. “They ought to prove useful for something today.” Zoe was dimly surprised to hear the slur cross his lips. She’d never heard Dorian use anything less than professional language to describe a client, even in private.

  “No,” Zoe said slowly. “It would probably kill them.”

  “J’m’en câlice,” Dorian said shortly. “They should not have meddled with my affairs, then.” Zoe’s approximation of his current mood notched further downward. The tiny, hysterical voice currently shouting from the bottom of her mind dimly noted down the date for later, so that she could mark the day that Dorian Moreau first swore in front of her.

  Much as the idea of choking the seigneur on her poisoned blood currently appealed, Zoe shook her head. “I’ve lost too much blood already. I can handle this. I have handled this.” She focused her Witchsight on the veins in her arm, which had begun pulsing a slow and steady black. “It’s a game.”

  “A game?” Simon’s voice registered horror, in spite of his best efforts. Zoe felt her heart speed up; the two very upset men next to her were starting to break her calm.

  “I’m gonna need you both to chill,” Zoe said. “Like now. It’s been years since I did this, and if you keep freaking me out, I will fuck it up.”

  Dorian, to his credit, went instantly still and composed.

  Simon… tried. Bless him, he really tried. But while he managed to keep his face still, Zoe could feel his aura lashing out in abject panic, scintillating between emotions as he envisioned worst-case scenarios.

  “Simon,” she said, with an edge to her voice. “Take a walk.”

  The warlock’s green eyes widened behind his glasses. “What? No.”

  “Dorian,” Zoe said. “Make Simon take a walk.”

  The lawyer rose fluidly back to his feet. A second later, he hauled Simon up by the arm, shoving him sharply forward. At first, she thought the warlock might resist — but she met Simon’s eyes directly, and something in her gaze must have convinced him to obey. He took a long, deep breath. A ripple of agony flickered through him. She understood. She’d seen his soul — she knew what he was thinking.

  I might die. If I do, he won’t be here. It’ll all be out of his control — again.

  Zoe wanted to reassure him, to take the time to phrase things in such a way that it wouldn’t hurt as much. But she didn’t have that time.

  Simon jerked free of Dorian’s grip. He fell to his knees next to her. Before Zoe could say a word, he closed his fingers behind her neck and dragged her mouth to his.

  The kiss was hot and desperate, and just a bit rough. Simon’s stubble brushed her cheek; his teeth nipped at her lower lip. Zoe’s heart skipped in her chest, bewildered. The shock to her system wasn’t ideal, of course — but in the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was one thing for Simon to kiss her in the heat of the moment, in the privacy of his home. It was another thing entirely for him to do so out in the open — in front of Dorian, in fact.

  It was a claim. A promise. An implied hope.

  The kiss was entirely too brief. As Simon pulled back, he searched her eyes. His aura was even wilder than before, flickering between passions like a kaleidoscope. He forced a smile. “Ne meurs pas,” he said. Don’t die. It was oddly straightforward, compared to the man’s usual words, each weighed and measured and cut before he ever spoke.

  “I mean. That wasn’t my plan,” Zoe told him.

  He forced himself back to his feet and turned to stalk away, his stride determined. Dorian glanced after him as he passed, his face unreadable.

  Zoe closed her eyes and concentrated.

  The poison in her blood wasn’t physical. It was a corruption of the spirit. It would kill her just as effectively either way, if she let it reach her heart… but as a Scorpio, it was something she could control. She needed to remind her blood of its usual function, to return it to its natural state.

  Step two: isolate.

  The tourniquet had physically slowed her blood, which helped. But the poison was still working its way through her by other means — seeping into the flesh of her arm, searching out the weak points in her soul. Zoe knitted her magic into a firmer barrier, fencing off the insidious shadow in her blood.

  Her body wavered. Too much magic, too little blood. Shit.

  Dorian caught her before she could eat snow. She opened her eyes to see him calmly considering her. “Well,” he said. “Don’t bother with me. Get back to it.”

  “Still pissed at you,” Zoe muttered. But the words lacked bite in the moment.

  “Bien sûr,” Dorian agreed. He kept his hand at her back, holding her steady.

  Zoe pulled at her last reserves of strength, brutally pushing through her limits. She wasn’t going to be able to do this in style — it had been too long, and she was much too tired. She skipped to the end, knowing as she did that it was going to hurt.

  Last step: burn it out.

  Zoe shoved her magic at the blood that had been hers, forcing it to heel in one desperate burst of will — the only one she thought she was likely to get. She had the advantage: it was her body, her blood. The magic that had been lying in wait on the body was passive; it wasn’t being actively replenished or directed by another will. Any Scorpio worth the name ought to win a fight like that.

  Her magic ate away at the alien presence in her blood. The darkness flashed away in hot bursts of pain; it felt like acid crawling through her veins. Zoe found herself unable to breathe against the sheer shock of it.

  Her grip on her magic fumbled. She reached for it desperately, bright spots still dancing against her eyelids. Can’t stop. Keep going. One. More. Fucking. Inch.

  The last of the poison gave up the fight.

  Zoe blinked blearily. She was still leaned against Dorian’s shoulder. “Ugh,” she said. “Did I pass out?”

  “For a few seconds, yes,” the lawyer said. “I was about to call over one of the vampires to test your theory. Is that unnecessary?”

  Zoe let out her breath slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” Her limbs shook with exhaustion. Dorian rubbed at her shoulders. “Can… can you get Simon?” she asked weakly. “He’s probably having a heart attack right now.”

  Dorian paused. Slowly, he raised a single eyebrow. “I owe him a talk,” he said. There was little inflection to the tone, but Zoe was fairly sure she knew the sort of talk to which he was referring.

  “God,” she muttered. “I jumped him, all right? Save it for later, Dad.”

  The sardonic word startled Dorian more than she’d intended it to do. He
blinked quickly — real surprise on full display. Zoe couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing.

  It wasn’t actually funny. She’d known the moment that she said the word that it was too true — that it was one of those things you weren’t supposed to say out loud. But the situation was so awful, and her nerves were so fried that the only reaction she had left in her repertoire was laughter.

  Dorian blinked a few more times before he regained control of himself. Slowly, he reached out to ruffle her hair, in a manner both stiff and awkwardly affectionate. “You are the most troublesome daughter,” he muttered.

  He released her — then, with one last considering look her way, he started walking for Simon, who had gotten himself quite a distance in his worried pacing.

  Zoe shivered. She plucked clumsily at the scarf that was still tied around her arm, worrying at the knot there. She was still scraping at it when Simon and Dorian returned.

  Simon had her back in his arms before she even had the time to say his name. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply. “Câlice,” he mumbled fervently. “How long was that? It felt like an hour.”

  Zoe flushed, both pleased and horrified all at once. “Simon,” she said. “Language.”

  “I know how to curse,” he told her. “I prefer to save it for special occasions.” She wasn’t the only one shivering, Zoe realized — Simon’s body was still trembling, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was from the cold.

  Of course, the cold probably wasn’t helping.

  Simon pulled back to look her over. His eyes took her in carefully, though she wasn’t sure whether he even knew what he was searching for. He sighed. “Let me get that for you.” His fingers pulled at the scarf around her arm, carefully unknotting it. Zoe breathed out as it released from her arm; feeling rushed back all at once, stinging at her muscles.

  Dorian was looking past them, she noticed. His lips curved down into a frown. “We have drawn attention,” he informed Zoe. “The seigneur is headed this way. Is there anything else you require from Madame Cloutier, before she is spirited away?”

  Zoe turned toward the body, her heart sinking in her chest.

  Now that the obfuscation spell was gone, she could see it plain as day: Malcolm’s touch was obvious. The black imprint of his hand lingered upon the vampire’s heart where he had ripped her power from her body.

  It was no use wondering how. The poison had been Malcolm’s version of a playful tweak of the nose — a fond and twisted memory of his, no doubt. She’d known the feeling of his magic in her blood the instant that it had touched her.

  It was him.

  Simon’s fingers dug into her arm, though, and Zoe shot him a startled glance. The warlock’s face was utterly pale as he stared at Vivienne’s body. His Witchsight was open, she realized. He’d seen the handprint.

  A horrible suspicion grew in Zoe’s mind.

  “Y a-t-il un problème?” The seigneur’s voice sounded behind her, and Zoe swallowed. None of them were currently in a frame of mind to deal with him.

  “Ça dépend,” Dorian replied coolly. His voice remained utterly even and professional, though there was still a dusting of snow on the knees of his slacks. He turned keen grey eyes on the seigneur. “How much are you willing to pay to know my problems, monseigneur?”

  The vampire smiled pleasantly, as though it was a joke. “I think that I have already paid you more than most do in a lifetime, monsieur,” he said. “I shall politely decline your offer this time.”

  Zoe swallowed. Not now. Not here. “I’m so sorry,” she told Simon. “I’ve been an inconvenience for both of you, haven’t I? If you don’t mind taking me indoors, I can just stay out of the way from now on.”

  Simon blinked a few times, dragging his mind forcibly back to the present. She watched at his brain tried to play catch-up, translating the words after-the-fact. “…you’re no trouble, madame,” he said. “But yes. Let’s find you some food, and perhaps a fire.”

  He made a show of helping her up from the ground. It wasn’t a difficult show; Zoe was fairly certain she was going to collapse into a boneless heap the moment the leftover adrenaline in her system ran out. She ducked her face into his shoulder as they passed the seigneur — but she kept her Witchsight keenly focused on the vampire all the same. His curiosity still seemed mostly focused on Simon and Dorian; he mustn’t have caught any of Zoe’s stranger moments earlier.

  “Allow me, please.”

  The vampire reached out, and Zoe felt his cool hand on her shoulder. She blinked, confused; a moment later, the seigneur had lifted her effortlessly from the ground. Her heart lurched into her throat from sheer terror as he settled her against his chest, his other arm cradling her beneath the knees.

  The seigneur shot her a benevolent smile. She felt his red hunger, perfectly leashed, beating against her soul. He wore a light, expensive cologne, she noted dimly. Had she not been so keenly aware of his monstrous nature, she probably would have found him every bit as irresistible as he thought himself to be. “You are quite unwell, mademoiselle,” he said. “Let us find you a car.”

  Zoe didn’t need to look at Simon to know that he was staring at the seigneur with absolute murder in his eyes. She forced a trembling smile. “Th-thank you,” she said.

  The seigneur’s interest remained barely directed at her. She wasn’t even interesting enough for him to consider eating. No — it was Simon he was watching. The warlock had unnerved him earlier… but now, the seigneur had accurately identified a string on which to tug in order to lead him around. And he was quite pleased to let Simon know that he knew it.

  Zoe closed her eyes, trying to keep her features schooled into a weary resignation.

  As if Malcolm wasn’t problem enough, she thought. I’m going to have to handle the leech king too, aren’t I?

  A moment later, though, she rearranged her mind around the idea.

  You’re only the third scariest thing I’ve dealt with in the last two days. Smirk all you like, asshole.

  “C'est quoi ce bordel! What the hell is going on?” Zoe’s eyes flew open. That had been Jasmine’s voice.

  The detective was standing at the gate as they approached; her eyes were fixed on the seigneur, and her gun was in her hand.

  The seigneur smiled pleasantly at her. “Detective,” he said. “Quel plaisir. How long has it been?”

  Jasmine’s eyes sharpened on him. “Put her the hell down. Or I swear to god, I will make you do it, mon osti d’sangsue!”

  Zoe closed her eyes and tried to count to ten.

  I’m gonna have to try and kill the seigneur right here and now, she thought. I’m gonna have to kill him, because he’s gonna kill Jaz.

  The seigneur laughed. A thread of real, pure pleasure shivered through his aura, and Zoe decided that she no longer knew what the hell was going on.

  “Please aim for my eyes,” he advised Jasmine. “I would hate for you to hit the young lady.”

  Jasmine faltered. Zoe saw her aura hesitate as she questioned her grip on the situation. “Zoe?” the detective asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m… fine,” Zoe assured her, though she was currently feeling anything but that. “Um. Please don’t shoot him. He’s been very nice.”

  Jasmine’s mouth dropped — not least because Zoe had gone to great trouble to put an utterly uncharacteristic note of wheedling sweetness into her voice. Catch the drift, Jaz, please, oh my god.

  Thankfully, Simon took that moment to step between Jasmine and the seigneur. “Detective,” he said warily. “Er… please put the gun down. Zoe simply had a fainting spell. We are aiming to get her back indoors.”

  Jasmine flicked her eyes between them. Slowly, she became aware of the other vampires that had congregated behind the seigneur; many of them were watching with lazy, bemused interest.

  She pressed her lips together… and slowly lowered the gun.

  The seigneur took a special sort of pleasure in passing the detective as he walked towar
d Dorian’s sedan. As Dorian pulled the side door open, the vampire lowered Zoe gently into the seat, a brilliant smile on his lips. He brushed his fingers through her hair, and she resisted the urge to gag. “There now. Are you feeling quite better, ma chère?”

  Zoe closed her eyes tightly. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Thank you.” It sounded stupid, but she didn’t trust herself to say anything else at the moment. I really wish I had the strength to wipe that smug smirk off your face right now.

  “Would you like a ride, Detective Basak?” Dorian’s voice drifted over toward her, and Zoe silently blessed him for his foresight.

  “…yeah. Fuck. Shit de marde. Sure.” Jasmine sounded ragged on the words — and oddly defeated.

  Finally, the seigneur stepped away, and Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. “À bientôt,” he murmured at her.

  You better hope you don’t see me soon, asshole, Zoe thought.

  Jasmine headed toward her, pushing into the back seat. As she passed the seigneur, though, Zoe was just close enough to hear him whisper in the detective’s ear:

  “Craving another taste, mon minou?”

  Hunger shivered up Jasmine’s aura — quickly followed up by horror and shame.

  The detective climbed into the car, and slammed the car door closed behind her.

  Chapter 9

  The silence in that car was deep enough to drown in.

  Zoe had leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, but it didn’t help; she could feel the tension against her skin. In the seat just next to her, Jasmine’s deep-seated anger and humiliation chased each other in futile circles. Simon was a riot of emotion: fear, fury, grief, and possessiveness all clamored for his attention. Zoe thought she’d seen him in a bad way before… but now, he was utterly undone, struggling even to prioritize his misery. A tiny part of her screamed that she should help him, fix him — but even reaching for her magic was enough to make her so dizzy and nauseous that she didn’t dare try it again.