Alone in my room, I dropped my pack of supplies and began exploring the suite. Curiosity urged me to check my pocket, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the black disc I found there. I had just located the bathroom and decided to test their magical plumbing, assuming the water ran warmer than the rest of the place, when the shush of well-oiled hinges informed me I was no longer alone.
Chapter 3
Reflexes slowed by the transition sickness, I caught movement from the corner of my eye too late to avoid getting spun out of the bathroom and flattened against a hard male chest.
“You do not want to be spinning me like a top right now.” I clutched Isaac’s shoulders while my stomach roiled. “How are you not as queasy as the rest of us?”
Of course, Isaac would invite himself into my bedroom as though he had a standing invitation. He wrapped his arms around my waist, plastering our bodies together. My chin came to rest on his shoulder, and he tightened his hold until I wheezed.
“I’m a full-blooded fae” was his answer. “I’m nauseous, but I’ve had worse eating Mom’s cooking.”
Note to self: Avoid Dot Cahill’s kitchen at all costs.
“Dell.” He breathed my name against my ear. “Can I just hold you a minute?”
“It’s only been three weeks,” I grumbled, battling a pleased flush I wanted to blame on the wolf but knew belonged to me. His warm breath feathered my skin, and my stomach clenched. “Oh fine.”
Since I had all the resolve of a cup of pudding, I slid my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his pectorals. His scent perked the wolf, who was still shaking off the effects of the restrictive magic piped into the cells at Macon. Her joy at his closeness made me ache with regret for what we might have been.
“Your sixty seconds are up,” I informed him, extricating myself from his grasp using a touch of my warg strength. He had released his aspect and thus resembled his usual self. Whatever extra muscle the blue-skinned creature might have afforded him was gone. “What are you doing skulking around the castle?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He broke away to examine my accommodations. “Your pal Bháin locked us in our room. Did he tell you that?”
“He’s not my pal, and no.” I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the balmy thirty-two degrees in my room. “How did you find me?” I remembered his hand slipping into my pocket. “The disc is a tracker?” He offered a sheepish nod and clarified it was a short-range beacon. “What do you think Frosty the Butler is up to?”
“Not sure.” He finished his circuit and stopped in front of me. “It depends on how much Thierry told the king about the real reason why we’re here.”
“They are exes,” I mused. “I’m sure there’s some animosity there. Isn’t there always?”
He grunted a noncommittal noise. “The location of the tether can’t be helped. We had to get dumped out here. I expect even the king would allow such trespass as a favor to Thierry. But why would he invite us to stay considering we’re here to re-kidnap a rival for his throne?”
“Thierry said Tiberius was important because he’s being groomed to lead.” I pondered that. “Tiberius is a Seelie prince, but the current king is Unseelie. How does that work?”
“New rulers are chosen every one hundred years by right of hunt.” Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Black Dog of Faerie?”
A faint memory tickled the back of my mind, but I came up blank. “The name sounds familiar.”
“How about the Wild Hunt?” he tried again.
“Now that I do know.” As a warg, the title alone had piqued my interest. “They’re a pack of spectral hounds led by the Huntsman. They’re set free to hunt the souls of fae who died on Earth on All Hallows’ Eve and return them to Faerie.” In their bellies. “The lore wasn’t clear on how the souls got from inside the dogs into the Ever-After, which reads like the fae equivalent of Heaven, but I hope that doesn’t mean that one day you’ll become ghost-dog poop.”
“You do care.” He smiled a crooked smile that set my pulse fluttering. “Do you want to hear the story? Dad used to tell it to Theo and me when we were little. I think I remember how it goes.”
His dad had passed away a year before Cam was born, and I had never asked how old that made him at the time. Five or so, I guessed, if Isaac remembered him so well. His mother, Dot, had never recovered from the loss and raised her boys alone. A dangerous occupation, raising three special children without the help of her family.
Isaac cocked his head as though listening to his father’s long-ago voice, picking up the story at the pertinent section.
“And the Huntsman scented dawn on the horizon, lifted his horn and called the Wild Hunt to heel until the next year. On his way to the tether, he and his pack of sleek, black hounds crossed a battlefield. Their guts were distended with spirit flesh and their hunger temporarily sated when their noses led them to one last feast. Two souls, one Seelie and one Unseelie, stood with their hands clasped as though unaware the hunt was upon them.
“The pack leader ran ahead of the others. Confused when the spirits stood their ground, he approached them, sniffed them and allowed each to stroke his silky midnight fur.
“The Seelie held the hound’s gaze while the Unseelie spoke. ‘Only in death have we known peace. If we had raised our voices instead of our swords, much of our grief might have been circumvented. Loyal beast, reaper, it is our final wish that Faerie never endure the misery of another Thousand Years War.’
“‘Mark this day, Black Dog,’ the Seelie intoned. ‘Tonight you are the hunter, but one hundred years hence, you shall become the hunted. One prince from each of our houses will hunt you across Faerie wearing the skins of hounds, goaded by your own Huntsman while you wear the skin of a sidhe noble. Your blood will anoint the new ruler and usher in one hundred more years of prosperity for the fae.’
“Instead of consuming the spirits as the Huntsman had decreed, Black Dog bowed his head to their will. That simple act of defiance shattered the bonds between himself and the Huntsman, and Black Dog gained awareness. As a gift to aid him in the trials ahead, the Unseelie entered his left eye and the Seelie his right, so that Black Dog might always view both sides of any argument with impartiality.
“Black Dog also gained the form of a man so that he might stand toe-to-toe with kings. He named himself Macsen Sullivan and established the Faerie High Court, choosing one Seelie and one Unseelie consul to join him, and instituted the Right of Hunt.
“Once a century, the Seelie and Unseelie heirs are transformed into hounds, and they hunt him. He is run to ground and torn to pieces. His blood is spilled to determine the next king. His sacrifice avoids the slaughter of thousands that would occur if the houses went to war over the crown. For the seven days after he is laid to rest in Faerie’s soul, the realm mourns him. Lore claims those tears seep into the soil and restore him, and he rises at midnight on the seventh day made whole again.”
I tugged on the collar of my shirt, all too aware we stood in a land where such legends passed into reality. “Is that story true?”
“You should ask Thierry the next time you see her. Better yet, invite her out for a run.” He chuckled and wiped a hand over his mouth. “Rumor has it, he’s her father.”
“Shut the front door.” Warg strength forgotten, I shoved him back so hard he rocked on his heels. That’s why the title had sounded familiar. Galina, Tiberius’s mother, had called Thierry the daughter of the Black Dog. “Does Cam know?”
“She wouldn’t allow Thierry near the pack without digging into her background first. That doesn’t mean she can share what she found or has been told. The conclave loves enforcing their gag orders with spells that literally gag a person on a certain topic.”
Cam had worked for the conclave so many years, it was a wonder she could talk about more than the weather. “Does this mean Thierry is a shifter?”
“She’s a legacy. That much I can verify.” He
wiggled his fingers. “I touched her, and that’s all the classification I got.”
“Legacy.” I scrolled through past conversations with Cam for context. “That means Thierry has at least one fae parent born in Faerie, right?”
“Yep. In this case, her father. Since he’s the Black Dog, my money is on her being a shape-changer of some kind.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Have you ever noticed her scenting the air? And her hearing is off the charts. I bet her eyesight is too. Not to mention those runes. She’s definitely more than she appears.”
Thierry being the daughter of a Faerie legend explained a lot. Like how a lowly marshal had access to the tether to send us here in the first place, let alone the ability to activate it. The story also gave me a point of reference for her odd sense of honor and her desire to bring balance to the supernatural factions on Earth. It appeared she was following in her father’s footsteps.
“Okay, if the story is true, then King Rook isn’t a threat to us. He would lose his crown when the next Coronation Hunt rides regardless. So, what does it matter if we help out the competition?”
“He’s the first Unseelie king in memory, and in Faerie, memories run long.” Isaac rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and finger. “Fae are loyal to their houses unto death. He must want the Unseelie tradition to continue.”
Cast in that light, this situation reminded me of some of the children’s stories I’d read that warned never to accept fae hospitality. Time moved differently in this realm, and the unwary could get lost in sweet wines laced with drugs or foods stuffed with magic herbs that wiped memories. Fae weren’t cutesy fairies with wands who granted wishes. They were old magic packaged in flawless beauty with razor teeth hidden behind cupid’s-bow lips.
“Do you think this is a sham? Feed us who knows what, tuck us into bed, then leave us to wake up in a hundred years when the new king decides to air out his consort’s chamber?”
“Anything is possible.” Isaac crossed to the bed and tested the mattress with his hand like he worried it might conceal a spring-loaded bear trap. “I don’t like you staying so far away from us.”
“I doubt Bháin has designs on my person. I ought to be safe enough.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to go exploring?”
“The lock on the door was probably meant to discourage that,” he answered dryly.
“Was mine locked?” I hadn’t checked, which I realized now that my head was back on straight had been a potentially lethal mistake. “Or did you let yourself in?”
“Unlocked.” Clearly, he wasn’t thrilled with that. “I’m not sure what that says about our host.”
“Let me change, and we’ll go poke around.” A twinge of conscience had me asking, “Are you sure we should leave Enzo alone?”
“He’d prefer it.” Isaac doled out sympathy. “He’s working on a counterspell for the nausea.”
“In that case, give me a second.” I pulled jeans, a thermal long-sleeve shirt and new underwear from the pack and ducked into the bathroom to change. I hesitated over my uniform. Toss or keep? I made an executive decision and bundled the clothes together. After I brushed my hair back into a low ponytail, I exited to find Isaac where I had left him. “Okay, let’s find out where our host keeps the spare towels.”
Isaac didn’t blink when I flung the clothes into the fire and let the elementals toss the fabric ball back and forth until it was nothing but ash. Neither did he discourage me from entering the hall or setting off in the direction opposite to the guys’ room. One, he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. And two, he was at least as curious as me if the eager twitch of his fingers was any indication.
We walked for what must have been a half hour down the winding hall with no end in sight. Only the creepy portraits, with beady eyes that gave the impression of following us, distinguished one turn from another. It was the oddest thing. We edged right several times, but only that direction. How was it possible? The king’s estate couldn’t be that large, could it?
I was about to suggest we give up and return to our rooms, which was what I began to suspect was the point of the discombobulating turns, when the landscape changed. The endless row of doors gaped, revealing a carved opening leading into what appeared to be some type of sitting room. Isaac and I exchanged a glance. By silent agreement, we crept up to the entrance and peeked around its edge.
A massive fireplace consumed one entire wall, and a dozen or more fire elementals danced in the soot. A single wingback chair upholstered in black damask had been pulled up to the hearth, and a tall fae man sat there with his feet resting on a matched ottoman. A crystal goblet hung from his fingertips, and a fall of hair black as a raven’s wing rested over one of his shoulders. His profile, what little I could see, was beautiful. But fae wielded beauty as a weapon, so good looks weren’t unexpected among the sidhe, the higher nobles. I had a good idea of who he was before I noticed the gold circlet resting on the floor beneath his chair.
“Master, are you certain you wish to interfere?”
I jerked back around the corner at the sound of Bháin’s voice, slamming into Isaac, and locked gazes with a portrait across the way. A man dressed in black, one hand fisted in the flaming red hair of the troll he had just decapitated while the other shoved aside the body, gave the impression of staring back. A creeping sensation writhed over my body, and I tensed, half-expecting the macabre figure to yell a warning to his master.
“Thierry sent these three here with a purpose,” a rich voice rolled through the room. “My dear wife is sly. Until I know the nature of their mission, I cannot allow them to proceed.”
“Your former wife is as you say,” Bháin corrected, “most clever. Do you think you can discover their purpose?”
“It’s been many months since I took a lover,” the man who must be the king murmured. “Why not this woman? I have never bedded her kind before, and the pillow talk will mitigate any unpleasantness should we prove incompatible.”
I squelched a growl before it rose up my throat. Isaac wasn’t half as circumspect. As soon as the rumble left his chest, the conversation in the room died until the crackle of tussling elementals was all I could hear.
The portrait turned smug, and I wanted to claw out his pompous eyes.
“Did you secure our guests?” wondered the king.
“The males, yes.” Bháin paused. “The female’s room I left unlocked in the event you wished to pay her a visit after dinner.”
Dinner was starting to sound like a very bad idea. Sure, I enjoyed a good steak as much as the next warg. And yes, a full belly put me in a mood to love my fellow man. But no, not even prime beef greased my thighs open for strange fae.
“Check the hall.” The king made it an order.
Clipped footsteps rang out, and I pressed harder against Isaac, pinning him behind me, shielding him with my body. It would require precious time for me to shift, assuming magic in this world permitted the change, but I could defend him. I glanced over my shoulder, gauging the distance between our hiding spot and the first bend in the corridor.
A clatter inside the room had the king snarling, and the approaching footsteps halted. “What are you doing here?”
The cultured voice that answered was a familiar one, and if Isaac hadn’t wrapped a hand around my upper arm, I might have charged into the parlor and gone wolf on her feathery ass.
One heartbeat passed. Then two. And, despite the gleeful portrait whose chill gaze burned like lasers, we remained undiscovered.
“You are but warming the throne until the next true king is named,” Rilla, aunt to Prince Tiberius and the orchestrator of his abduction, pronounced. “You have reached too far by naming yourself ruler of Faerie.”
Making the most of our reprieve, Isaac skirted me and knelt near my feet. He removed a quarter-sized object from his pocket that resembled a watch battery then pressed it into the snowy mortar used to stuff the spaces between the ice blocks in the walls. He touched a finger to his ear, nodded to hims
elf and then gestured it was time for us to go. I almost fought him to eavesdrop longer, but he stood and stuffed a cold metal plug in my ear. The static made me wince. Clearly the earbud hadn’t been calibrated with hypersensitive warg hearing in mind, but the crackle of Rilla’s voice made the pain worthwhile.
Isaac took my hand, and I let him guide me while I kept my attention on the conversation we left behind.
The portrait watched us go, and I got the feeling it would be tattling on us at the first opportunity.
“My darling wife would have been queen. I was her consort. It’s not so far a stretch. My arm isn’t tired at all.”
“Rumor has it when she abdicated, she meant for you to be the new Unseelie consul, considering how the other met a rather questionable end while in your company,” she sneered. “You should have worn that mantle, though a half-blood’s presence would have made a mockery of the High Court, and been content. There hasn’t been an Unseelie King in memory, and we would all just as soon forget you as well.”
“History is fascinating, isn’t it?” His voice was velvety soft and lethal. “According to our own laws, the legally recognized consort of a king or queen of Faerie can rule in their stead. This throne was hers, and it is now mine until the century her blood bought has been spent.”
Rilla spluttered incoherent noises. “That’s why you wed that half-blood mongrel?”
“Her name is Thierry, and she’s the Black Dog’s daughter, so I would watch my tongue were I you.”
“Very well played, Rook Morriganson. You helped her attain the throne by winning the Coronation Hunt and then championed her right to abandon the crown. All along you were aware of a loophole that would enable you to claim the title your wife never wanted.” Her voice turned cruel. “Or was it you she never wanted? Not even the lure of a crown and kingdom could persuade her to stand by your side.”
Wolf at the Door (Lorimar Pack) (Gemini Book 5) Page 4