He could stop me…my mind booms, but I force myself to calm down and evaluate the situation.
Cole stands just beside Tau. He has adopted a casual slouch, leaning against the wall mired by silent, decaying watermarks. He’s studying Xavier as the latter paces the floor between the empty alcoves, his supernatural speed causing him to resemble the elongated, crimson body of a Chinese, ceremonial dragon. Flanking them on either side are dozens of Dominion Powers. Low murmurs of Angelic conversation drifts to us in soothing, melodious rhythms. These conversations cease when Buns and Brownie’s placid voices insert themselves between the harmonious strains.
I recognize Buns’s loquacious resonance as she says, “Sweetie, I thought it was Truman Copote that said, ‘when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.’”
Appearing at the opposite entrance to the hallway, Brownie counters, “No, that was definitely Hunter S. Thompson…”
Brownie stumbles to a halt, much like a deer in headlights, while grasping Buns by the elbow. Buns’s eyes fly wide with feigned shock worthy of an Oscar. Backing away, Buns mutters, “Uh oh…” before she turns on her heels and runs away in a blur of long, golden curls.
Xavier stills, his face brightening from a snarl to one of hope. Brownie begins to spew a delicious panoply of nasty words while she bolts in the opposite direction from that which Buns had taken. Xavier doesn’t hesitate, but launches himself forward to pursue Buns with the intensity of a devoted lover. When several Powers follow him, I hold my breath and send up a silent prayer to Heaven that they won’t harm her if they catch her.
Cole’s dark, hazel eyes scan Tau’s until he receives a quick nod from his auburn head. A fraction of a second after that, Cole is gone, following Brownie toward the North Tower. Only a handful of Powers remain behind with Tau to cover the Knight’s Bar. Tau takes a couple of steps away from us, toward where the Reapers had shown themselves at the other end of the hallway. But he pauses, his back becoming rigid. He glances back over his shoulder toward where we’re hidden just beyond the bend in the corridor. Preben quickly pulls the small mirror back behind the cover of the wall. Setting it down on the floor, he silently pulls his sword from its sheath, causing my eyes to narrow in panic.
Taking a deep breath, I go down on one knee, coaxing a shimmering clone to spill from me. Directing her forward, she strolls to access the corridor. I make her stop dead when Tau sees her. “Tau!” I project my voice, while my clone quails.
“Evie!” my name is torn from Tau like a desperate, involuntary appeal.
I give my father no time to work out my ruse before I make my clone run, tearing a path along our corridor away from us. Realizing that I have to hide my entire contingent and myself, I hold up my palm, expelling what little energy I’ve gathered in a soft burst. I only manage to erect a thin illusion of an empty hallway; it hovers like a soft cloud. Should Tau touch it, the illusion will disappear and he’ll find me there before him.
When Tau breaches our corridor, he pauses. He turns in my direction instead of the direction my clone had run. He takes a couple of steps and then he pauses again. His storm-gray eyes hover above mine. Scrunching my eyes closed, I hold my breath, but not before inhaling the clean scent of my father within arm’s-length of me. He turns away then and a soft breeze caresses my cheek as he disappears from the corridor in the opposite direction in pursuit of my clone. Opening my eyes, I don’t expect the brutal pain that tears at my heart when I see that he’s gone. It almost feels as if he has betrayed me again.
The few Dominion Powers that remain to guard the Knights Bar quickly scatter as I release several more clones, all of which escape in different directions. The corridor is clear, so I stand up, dropping the magical façade that shrouds us. The air feels heavier upon my skin the closer I get to the Knight’s Bar. Approaching the medieval armor guards blocking the doors, I wave my hands in their direction, pushing them aside in a rattling clatter of metal against cold, gray stone.
Reaching the doors, Preben steps in front of me, holding up his hand to stop me from opening them. “Let us enter first, Evie,” he states, pulling the bardiche from the handles of the doors.
He flings the doors wide, stirring the evil current of energy rushing by us into the room. A shiver shakes me as I ask Preben, “What do you see?”
He folds his beige, falcon-like wings behind him as he observes, “Bright light pouring in from glassless rosette windows, broken furniture, rusted human armor, chandeliers hanging askew.”
The Prostat Power angels prowl in through the doors, disappearing from my sight. “Are they still there?” I ask Preben while my voice strains as I find it suddenly hard to breathe.
“Yes,” he says, blinking in surprise. “Can’t you see them?”
“No,” I reply, in a clipped tone.
“What do you see?” he asks through narrowing eyes.
“Brennus,” I whisper.
Just beyond the threshold, Brennus stands, watching me with a small tilt of his head. A slow smile stretches his full lips as he extends his hand to me. His lipid, light-green eyes beckon me to join him within. Dressed in a dark, elegant suit, he affects a poised demeanor, as if he had been expecting me at precisely this moment.
Abruptly, Preben slams the doors closed, pushing the bardiche through the handles again. His expression is grim when my eyes meet his in question. “You knew he was in there!” Preben accuses.
My brow darkens in confusion as I answer, “Uhh, yeah—”
“How am I to help you if he is beyond my reach?” Preben growls, showing his unease.
Anya pipes up, saying, “It will not be long. As soon as we go in, be prepared to fight.” When she steps next to me, her skin is as pale as her gossamer gown. Fear makes her hands shake as she holds them together in a desperate attempt to get them to stop.
Her terror twists like a knife thrust in me. “You don’t need to do this,” I whisper to her. “Stay here with Preben!”
Shaking her head slowly, Anya’s green eyes meet mine. “Don’t underestimate me, Evie,” she says in a voice that quivers. “You need me.”
“You’re afraid,” I state, not like a question.
“Yes,” she admits as her chin bobs. “I’m freaking out—the bad kind, but that’s a small sacrifice for love.”
Facing away from me, towards the doors, Anya takes a position between my arms. Pressing her wings in tight to her body, she makes me lift the battleaxe so that I grasp the shaft in both my hands with the handle resting against her abdomen. Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “Now, it looks like I’m your prisoner.”
I breathe a heavy sigh, attempting to calm my lurching heart. “Open the doors, Preben,” I order, meeting his eyes.
His jaw tightens as he struggles with his need to protect us, but he does what I ordered and pulls the bardiche from the handles. He swings the doors wide. Brennus is no longer near the threshold. He has moved back into the center of the room. The hazy veil that shrouds the magical realm distorts his image, making him waver like the smoke from a fired gun.
“Here we go,” I breathe low into Anya’s ear, while we both step forward, breaking the plane of the room.
Weightlessness captures me, and with it, a sense of floating in a soundless night sky. My hair spreads out around me, like in the ambient submersion of water, but my skin remains cool and dry. Abruptly that changes, replaced by the rush of tumbling and falling sideways.
In the next moment, Anya and I are sprawled upon the hard, flagstone floor of a very different Knight’s Bar. In this realm, the kirk is twice as big and the proportions are entirely off. The vaulted ceiling is cavernous, lofting high above my head. The gothic chandeliers that levitate beneath the exposed beams are enormous, three times as big as the ones in the destroyed bar had been. The rosette windows are larger and different, too. They no longer contain shattered shards of colorful stained glass but now are covered in an inky, shifting film that projects a starry sky filled with an orbiting array of planet
s.
The armor lining the walls is no longer human either, but the collection of Faerie armor that had been stored within the Archive Room. It shines like polished diamonds, reflecting against the dark, Celtic knots carved into the walls. And within every suit of armor, a Gancanagh soldier stares back at me with cold, dark eyes. They stand in divisions along the capricious room and arching galleries above.
Getting to my feet, I wait for Anya to rise next to me. Her hair, like mine, waves and floats, as if it's caught in a current of a magical pool. Seeing the intense fear in her eyes, I want to take her hand again, but I resist the impulse. Something slides quickly across my peripheral vision, drawing my gaze to it. Brennus moves with such speed, speed I can’t remember him ever possessing, to stand just a few feet from me. Startled, my mouth opens a little, betraying my shock.
Without me seeing him do it, his finger reaches out and touches my chin, gently closing my parted lips. My nostrils flare in fear, while my eyes go wide. He’s hundreds of times faster than me!
Seeming to read my mind, a smile spreads too quickly upon his lips; it doesn’t develop, but is just there in a fraction of a second. “If dis were music, mo chroí,” Brennus explains, “ye’d be playing in adagio…slow tempo. Ye didn’t believe that I would let ye in here wi’out some kind of promise that I could control ye, did ye?” he asks me as his voice churns the air around me in pelting rhythms of ominous sound.
“Somehow I knew that you’d find a way to make me claw my way off your playground—” I begin, but I stop and wince as Brennus reaches out and squeezes my upper arm tight. It’s a not so subtle signal for me to shut up.
His Cheshire-cat grin swims near my face as he exposes his sharp fangs that make my skin ache with the echoes of remembered pain.
“Shhh, síorghrá,” he croons while he draws my face up to his chest; it presses against the heavy fabric of his dark suit jacket. Holding one hand to the back of my neck he strokes my hair with his other hand. “As bad as I like ye right now, ’tis worse wi’out ye. Do na make me kill ye.”
I want to lift my cheek from him to scan the room for Reed, but I dare not move. “Who is dis ye’ve brought wi’ ye?” Brennus asks in a brittle tone. His hand on my neck isn’t allowing me to move, so I can’t see Anya at all.
Heat spreads to my cheeks while my stomach twists. “A gift…” I utter feeling choked.
“Is it now?” Brennus asks with doubt in his tone. “’Tis said dat ’tis only for her own good dat da cat purrs. Whah about dis gift makes ye purr?”
“She’s special,” I reply.
“She’s na da other. Ye believe dat I would take jus any aingeal?” he growls, his fingers thread into my hair, tipping my head to the side so that my neck is exposed. His lips move to my throat and I feel his fangs puncture the surface of my skin.
“No—” I exhale, but I can’t say anymore because his hand tightens on my throat threateningly.
He doesn’t drink, but pulls back a little to hover over the small holes on my neck that begin to well up with blood. He inhales the scent of it. “I told ye ta bring da other. Ye disobeyed me. If ye intend for me ta kill ye—ta send ye off ta some other place where ye’ll be safe from me, dan ye’re mistaken. I’ll na let ye be destroyed. Ye need ta begin to hear me again, ta know dat I am yer king. Pain is a good teacher. A good thrashing will go a long way wi’ ye.” His hands shift to my bottom, rubbing it softly.
“No,” I whisper.
“Dún do chlab,” Brennus says with menace, telling me to shut my gob as his hands squeeze me threateningly. His black hair has fallen over his forehead in disarray. “Ye will be punished, but dat will be later...in private. Ye’re still me queen and da fellas need ta respect ye.”
I shiver at what Brennus has planned for me. “And you’re very sadistic and you’ll enjoy it too much to do it now,” I say in a low tone.
“Dere is dat too, mo chroí,” Brennus admits with a cunning smile. “I plan to enjoy every moment of it—of ye.”
“If you do that, I’ll hate you,” I promise.
“When I do dat, I’ll own ye,” he replies. “But for now, dere is other pain ye need to learn.” Before I can think, Brennus orders, “Kill dis aingeal!”
“Tristitiae!” I snarl blackly at Brennus.
Brennus holds up his hand, staying the handful of fellas who circle Anya with vicious smiles. “You said you wanted revenge! Well, I’m giving it to you!” I sneer. “If you kill her now, then you’ll have to come up with another plan to get Russell because your last idea completely FAILED!”
In an instant, Brennus’ cool fingers entwine in my hair at the back of my head, tilting my face up to his. My breath catches in my lungs as he half pulls half drags me over to face Anya. My hands reach out to his sleeve to steady myself as my feet stumble along.
Anya’s eyes widen as I come to an abrupt halt in front of her. Brennus leans down and inhales the scent of my skin before his soft breath tickles me. “Ye must explain whah ye mean when ye say me plan failed, mo chroí,” Brennus whispers in my ear.
Feeling like my knees might buckle from fear, I reach out to him, resting my hands on his shoulders for support. “Tristitiae,” I whisper, “you told me once that it means sorrow—that it’s my weakness.”
“I recall,” Brennus replies, while tracing a path over my jaw with his thumb.
“It’s also Russell’s weakness,” I explain, feeling my heart pumping harder. “We’re the same in that way.”
“’Tis true,” Brennus agrees with a small frown when he pulls his lips away from my neck.
“You were wrong to think that he would come with me—that he’d do anything for me,” my voice wavers when his eyes bore into mine. To distract myself from my fear, I allow my fingers to travel up his neck to touch his cheek gently. “He wanted to save me, just like he saved me in the caves…”
Brennus’ pupils darken, widening when his eyebrows narrow. “He tried to kill ye!” Brennus’ voice is black with hatred.
“He’s only interested in my soul. If I die, he’ll see me again,” I reply. My touch is light on his skin and his eyes seem to soften involuntarily. “But Anya is an angel, if she dies…” I shrug, “his aspire doesn’t possess a soul or the will to resist you…” I trail off. I feel sick. Even as I’ve just saved Anya from being killed outright, I may have just submitted her to a far worse fate.
“Ye say dat she’s da other’s aspire?” Brennus smiles wickedly, glancing at Anya who has been watching us like a cornered rabbit. “Ahh, I remember ye,” Brennus murmurs to Anya, “ye’re da reason we had such problems in Poland. Ye threatened ta kill me queen.”
Using my fingers, I turn Brennus’ cheek, making him look at me again. “If you touch her,” I caution, “Russell will have no reason to come to us.”
“’Tis na true,” Brennus says, stroking my cheek lovingly. “Dere is always revenge. He’ll ache wi’ a need ta kill me, should I turn his aingeal and his soul mate.”
“True,” I reply, dropping my eyes from his, “if you want to wait for him to make his move. Russell isn’t stupid. If we were already turned, he’d take his time, plotting his revenge—making sure he found just the right opportunity to kill you. But if you want him to come now…” I let my words die.
“Ye’ve taught dis trough, have ye now?” Brennus asks me rhetorically, his lips brushing my forehead. “Finn would be proud o’ ye, were he here.” Brennus’ lips move to kiss each of my eyelids tenderly.
“Where is Finn?” I whisper to him, closing my eyes tighter.
“He is securing our next home. He’s determined ta help ye, mo chroí,” Brennus says in an intimate tone, tracing his finger over my lower lip until my eyes flutter open and I look into his light green ones. “He believes dat we need ta be gentle wi’ ye—coax ye into loving us again. He tinks dat if I makes ye feel safe, dat ye’ll lay yer body down next ta mine and never leave me.”
A tear slips over my cheek. Brennus catches it, crushing it between his fi
ngertips. His voice turns cold and brittle as he says, “Finn is wrong. ’Tis strength dat ye respect, so whah I could na achieve wi’ love, I’ll get trough fear. I will keep ye dis time. Ye’re moin.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask with a catch in my voice.
“’Tis na whah I’m going ta do, but whah ye’ll do,” Brennus replies with cold calculation in his eyes. “Ye have ta make a choice now.”
“What choice?” I ask, feeling a chill creep over my body.
“Ye knew dat I would na share ye—dat da very tought o’ another touching ye provokes me ta da brink o’ madness,” he says, while his hands clamp my upper arms. “So ye may choose—do I end yer aingeal or do ye?”
“What?” Dizziness makes my hands crush the lovely lapels of his jacket as I hold on to them for support.
“Tink it over, Genevieve. Should ye make me kill him, I will do it slowly…torturously. He’ll live for days knowing dat ye could’ve ended his pain so quickly—if ye had only loved him enough ta do it,” Brennus whispers in my ear, his voice casting its shadow over my heart and blackening it.
My desperate fingers pull Brennus closer to me as words spill from me without forethought. “If I could fix you—cure you, Brennus, would you let Reed go?” I ask him pleadingly.
Brennus’ hands cover mine, easing them off of him. He holds them in each of his while a sinister smile graces his beautiful mouth. “Cure me?” he asks in an amused tone. “Dere is nuting ailing me, Genevieve. I’m a god—whahever I want, I take.”
“But, what if I could give you back all that you’ve lost—give you your wings back—make you alive again?” I press on, ignoring the coldness of his stare.
I don’t see the slap that knocks me to the floor, but when I look up, Brennus is crouched in front of me with his face inches from mine. “Never make me any more promises ye can na keep,” he states with cold fury.
Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4)) Page 43