by J. N. Colon
My magic emerged as I chanted under my breath. The elements in the bowl sizzled, and blue smoke whirled toward the tray ceiling.
The room spun as my energy suddenly drained. Shit. I hadn’t expected it to take that much out of me. “Uh-oh,” I muttered as my body began falling backward.
Hands dove under my back and head to keep me from crashing into the ground. “What’s wrong?” The fae prince’s scent flavored each of my ragged breaths.
“I’m a little tired from earlier.” Nothing like hours of torture to wear a girl out. “I just need a few minutes.”
Lachlan cursed. “We don’t have time for this.”
Caleb tensed as he settled behind me to keep me upright. “Give her a break. You know what she’s been through.”
A mocking laugh escaped the king’s mouth. “You’re defending her now? You didn’t want to work with her in the first place. I had to bribe you with the freedom to leave Chicago once this was over.”
My lids lifted, and I eased off of Caleb, glancing at him over my shoulder. So that was what he got out of this deal. Apparently, he didn’t want to be in the same place as his father any more than I wanted to be near my mother.
Maybe the prince and I were more alike than I thought. He may be irrational and hotheaded, but he didn’t have an easy relationship with the king.
Lachlan set his empty glass on the table. “If you hadn’t shirked your responsibilities, she wouldn’t have been put in that dire situation.”
“If you have something to say to me, go ahead and say it, Father.” Venom dripped from the prince’s words. “I’m tired of all your underhanded remarks.”
To be fair, getting captured and tortured by Queen Cyria didn’t entirely fall on Caleb’s shoulders. I could have gone to Lachlan with the information on the dagger instead of sneaking into the queen’s penthouse.
“You are so irresponsible.” Lachlan poured another few sips of scotch into his tumbler. “You are the opposite of Lorcan in every way. You will never come close to being the kind of leader he was.”
An angry flush crawled into Caleb’s neck as he stood. “If my brother was so amazing, then how did he end up getting killed?”
Whoa. Brother?
Was the painting in Lachlan’s office a portrait of his other—apparently deceased—son?
The king slammed his glass on the table, splashing scotch onto the polished wood. “Lorcan died the same way your mother did.”
Air lodged in my throat as a heavy pit of dread sank to the bottom of my gut. Oh, gods. Caleb’s words before we kissed came rushing back. I lost a lot because of witches.
I had no doubt his mother and brother died during the war.
A wind began to stir Caleb’s dark strands while his hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles showed white. “Don’t talk about her. Ever. You don’t have the right.” Menace dripped from every syllable, and he reminded me of the guy I first encountered in Shade of Nightworld, the fae everyone feared.
I slowly stood, lifting my hands in a placating gesture. “Maybe we should just stick to finding the necromancer.”
Caleb’s glowing eyes lowered to mine, a storm of anger and pain flashing through the evergreen surfaces. “You should move out of my way.”
“No.” I turned to Lachlan, who sat on the couch with a menacing expression marring his usual charming appearance. “Like you said, we don’t have a lot of time. If you two are going to keep throwing jabs at each other, I can do this on my own without the interruptions.”
The king downed the rest of his drink and placed it on the table before standing. “Perhaps it would be best for me to leave and let the two of you handle this. Witchcraft brings back memories I’d rather not dwell on.”
Without another word, Lachlan marched through the room and out the door.
I turned to the fae prince. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Now I knew why he hated my kind so much.
A ragged breath blew from his mouth as his shoulders loosened. “It’s fine. I can’t leave you to do this alone. What if you pass out?”
That could actually happen.
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying not to think of when Caleb had a hold of it with his teeth. “I’m sorry about—”
He lifted his hand to cut me off. “Don’t go there. Not right now.”
I nodded and glanced away, unable to bear that intense gaze holding a world of emotions behind the camouflage of danger. “If you help me, I can probably get through this spell fast.”
Caleb dragged his fingers through his hair as he debated. The last thing he wanted to do was help a witch cast a spell. “What do you need?”
“Just lend me some blood and energy.” I lowered to the ground and grabbed a piece of chalk. “Can I draw on your floor?”
Caleb rolled back the area rug near us to reveal more of the glossy hardwood planks. “Is that enough?”
“Yep.” I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose people that I loved. My dad chose to leave, so that wasn’t really the same.
With the chalk, I drew swirling sigils every few inches and a circle large enough to fit both of us inside. I motioned for Caleb to take a seat across from me.
He lowered to the floor as I sketched one last sigil, his fae magic permeating the air. I breathed it in as my own powers came to life again.
While he studied the symbols, I traced his features, paying special attention to those pouty lips that were such a contrast to the rest of his sharp angles.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
I shook the naughty thoughts of the prince off and grabbed my athame, holding it against my palm. As if I hadn’t lost enough blood lately. “Power of my blood, seek my will.” I sliced the blade across my flesh, wincing. A stream of crimson ran into the ritual bowl.
Caleb didn’t hesitate to take the knife and cut his hand with one quick motion. “Power of—”
I grabbed his wrist, flinching from the electricity in his touch. “I have to do that part.” My voice had softened to barely a whisper.
“Oh.” Caleb lowered the athame to the ground while allowing me to direct his hand toward the bowl.
“Power of his blood, seek my will.” A hot shiver slithered down my spine as the prince’s energy collided with mine.
Caleb’s lips parted when he felt the brief connection between us. This wasn’t as potent as the time we linked our powers to strengthen his glamour before sneaking into the summit, but it still left me breathless.
I released his hand and held both of mine over the bowl, whispering an incantation. “Find my sister who controls the dead. Seek her essence from overhead. Point me in her direction. Find the witch of dark resurrection.”
The mixture churned and boiled in the bowl, very much like a bubbling witches’ brew in a cauldron. Eddies of vibrant ruby-red smoke swirled toward the ceiling. “It’s ready.”
“Now what?” Caleb asked, leaning forward to watch as the liquid morphed into a glimmering pool of silver.
“As it is above, so shall it be below. My will is done. So mote it be.” I dumped the dense spell concoction on the floor to ooze over the wood. “Now we make a map.”
The outline of Chicago began to materialize, the different Nightworld territories changing colors. Black for demons, green for fae, scarlet for vampires, and gold for shifters.
“What’s that?” Caleb pointed to a violet mist forming over the map.
My heart plunged into my stomach. “That’s the necromancer’s essence. She’s in Chicago.”
Tensioned thickened the air, and neither one of us breathed as we waited for the spell to pinpoint the witch’s location. The mist undulated and curled until it formed a concentrated cloud—right above demon territory.
A slew of curses tumbled out of my mouth. “They have her.”
“Will this tell us exactly where to find her?” Caleb’s hands curled into fists by his knees, a vein throbbing in his neck from strain.
“It should.”
But as the purple mist continued to constrict over demon territory, a cold chill rippled along my skin.
I shook my head. “Something’s wrong.”
The prince’s gaze flicked to mine, his shoulders growing rigid. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Tiny black veins slithered through the purple. “Something’s blocking me.” Son of a bitch. A shit ton of mystical items clogged that room I stumbled upon in the basement of Toliver Tower. Cyria must have an object capable of impeding my locator spell.
A line of warmth leaked from my nostrils as a copper tinge spilled through the air. I reached up to wipe my nose, my fingers coming away with blood.
“Thorn, stop the spell.” Caleb waved his hand over the map to clear it, but it didn’t disperse the churning cloud of purple. More onyx streaks infected it like a deadly toxin.
My pulse shot through the roof as the color-coded mixture of Nightworld territories began to boil and smoke. “Oh shit.”
The floor rumbled, and I didn’t have time to throw up a shield before fire ignited.
Caleb flung himself on top of me, rolling us across the floor as the map exploded into a massive fireball. The entire room rattled, glass shattered, and pictures flew from the walls.
When the quaking finally halted, I peeked from the prince’s shoulder, his heavy form still pinning me to the hardwood. Holy shit. That fireball would have blown our faces off if we’d remained in that circle.
“You okay?” Caleb’s warm breath blew over my cheeks as he pulled back to study me.
Unable to find my voice, I nodded. The length of his body still pressed into mine, reminding me of the night we fought in the alleyway. Only this time, no animosity swirled between us.
I couldn’t put a name to what continued to tug the prince and me together. Or maybe I was afraid to.
Caleb gently pulled me into a sitting position, using his fire magic to extinguish the rest of the flames burning on the floor. “They have the necromancer somewhere in demon territory.” His chest heaved as he jammed his fingers through his hair, pulling on the roots. “What are we going to do?”
Aiden’s timid smile, soft-spoken voice, and somber hazel eyes swept through my mind. He wouldn’t be the only one suffering in Cyria’s demon-packed future.
My soul already teetered on the edge of a precipice because of magic, threatening to drop into the murky darkness, but could I live with myself if dozens perished when I had the power to save them?
“What are we going to do?” The moment I repeated Caleb’s question, like a fiery punch to the gut, the answer materialized.
The only answer.
I wiped beads of sweat from my brow and met the prince’s troubled expression. “We’re going to sneak into demon territory, rescue the necromancer, and steal the dagger before Cyria can add to her demon army.”
And if we failed, there was no telling what kind of destruction the demons would cause Nightworld.
Chapter 25
Stark fluorescent lights of the parking garage gleamed on the black Camaro as Caleb opened the trunk and lifted the false bottom, revealing a cache of weapons.
Did we have enough power to take on a demon queen and her legion of soldiers?
We’re about to find out.
A shaky breath blew out of my lungs as I reached for a sheathed dagger. “And you’re sure the cameras didn’t catch us.” Our element of surprise would be ruined if Cyria spotted us the moment we entered her land.
Caleb grabbed a broad sword, strapping it to his back. “Jasper sent word that they’ve been disabled for the next five minutes.” A storm brewed in his wintergreen eyes. “Are you worried?”
We were in the heart of demon territory. What on Earth would I be worried about?
“Nope.” Liar!
After the spell nearly blew us up last night and we learned the demons had the necromancer, Caleb and I devised a plan to rescue the witch. Rushing in with a battalion of fae like he wanted to do would get us nowhere. The demons would spot the fae sentries a mile away.
So, we begrudgingly settled on my idea. Stealth.
I wiggled my fingers and rolled my shoulders, loosening the tension from my muscles. Most of my cuts and bruises had healed, and thanks to more of that magic fae elixir, my wrist was no longer broken.
“Sentries are stationed around the border, and a few fae runes are hidden throughout demon territory for communication in case we get into trouble.” Caleb drew out a silver hilt without a blade. “Hold your finger over the rune and say saor.” He pointed to the curling symbol carved on the metal before slapping the device in my palm.
“Saor.” With a jolt, the blade of a sword materialized, the point nearly impaling Caleb’s stomach. I winced. “Sorry. You should have warned me.”
He shot me a narrowed glare. “Say folaigh to hide the blade.”
I whispered the word, and the sword returned to the ether, leaving only the hilt. I stowed it in the pocket of my new leather jacket.
The black garment had been draped on my couch this morning. He didn’t say anything, but I knew Caleb had gotten it. His scent soaked the smooth material.
Stop smiling like an idiot.
Neither one of us mentioned the kiss we shared last night. How could you talk about something that never occurred, right?
What would have happened if Lachlan had stayed gone a few minutes longer?
“What are you thinking about, Rose Thorn?” Caleb’s husky voice snapped me out of my wayward thoughts.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
That signature smirk pulled at his lips as he stepped close, invading my personal bubble. “Whatever you say.”
A flush developed high in my cheeks. “I was thinking about the plan.”
“Of course.” The laughter in his eyes told me he didn’t believe the bullshit coming out of my mouth one bit. “You should take this one too.” He plucked a knife from the trunk, the sheath attached to a leather strap.
Before I could grab it, Caleb lowered to his knee and wrapped the strap around my leg, his fingers skimming over my thigh as he buckled it.
Air caught sharply in my lungs as his touch burned through the skinny black jeans covering my legs. Son of a bitch. That damn Unseelie fae knew exactly how to push my buttons.
I absentmindedly licked my lips. I bet he could find every spot that would—
Whoa, witch. Put the brakes on the broomstick.
“Uh, thanks.” I cleared my throat.
As Caleb slowly stood, his body brushed against mine. “Don’t die on me, Rose Thorn.” His thumb stroked across the scar over my eyebrow, leaving behind a trail of fire. “Not when I haven’t shown you a good time.” The silver hoop glinted as he grinned.
I slapped his hand away and tried to stop my nether regions from reacting to the indecent images his words created. “Be serious, Tinkerbell.”
His chuckle spilled out like melted butter. “Who says I’m not?”
He was impossible. And ridiculously sexy.
“Let’s go before you have time to think of any more sexual allusions.” I shut the trunk of his car and headed toward the exit.
Caleb’s long legs quickly caught up. “Those pants look fantastic on you. They’re very, uh, tight.”
I smacked his gut. Shit. It was like hitting a solid brick wall.
After exiting the parking garage, we kept to the shadows. Cyria no doubt had her worker bees watching the city for anything suspicious.
Our boots splashed in puddles of water, and large metal grates creaked as we marched over. Pockets of steam wafted from manholes, creating an eerie mist. Chilly autumn wind cut across my cheeks and blew my long ponytail.
“This way.” I darted down the sidewalk with Caleb on my heels, following a group of twenty-somethings headed out to party.
Their laughter held the promise of an exciting night, energy buzzing and vibrant. But once the girl leading the fray mentioned Pulse, my blood cooled. Their night of fun could all crash and burn depe
nding on whose eye they caught.
The demons at that nightclub intended to feed off any slightly willing human offering a taste of his or her soul. The victim might experience a little weakness and then maybe depression for days. They could also get the urge to do terrible things.
Of course, the demon could always take too much and kill their prey. And then some Underworld creatures enjoyed eating flesh. No one would survive that.
How could humans not know, not even have an inkling of the dark world they lived in? Demons, fae, vampires, shifters, and witches surrounded them, but they ignored every strange occurrence.
Caleb cleared his throat. “Why did you run away from Illyria?”
My muscles tensed at the topic of conversation. “It’s complicated.” I really didn’t want to discuss the grand witch or my coven for several reasons. Now that I knew what happened to Caleb’s brother Lorcan and his mother, the dread had doubled.
“You’re part of the Maleor Suprema coven, aren’t you?” The tendons in his jaw flexed as he spoke the name.
I tugged on the end of my ponytail and stepped over a grate, wishing I could drop down and disappear into the sewer. “I was.” The grand witch personally led Maleor Suprema, the crème de la crème of covens.
Belonging to that group was a great honor. Or so every witch claimed.
For me, it was a nightmare.
Caleb nodded, his gaze cast on his boots as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me. I couldn’t blame him. Maleor Suprema had dwelled in Nightworld and were the front-runners in the war between witches and fae.
“You were afraid Ellexia Scarlett would step out of the door to Illyria when we traveled through the Conclave.” He swallowed hard and released a ragged breath. “Why is she after you?”
According to Ellexia, I belonged to her. And no one ran off with one of her possessions, especially a powerful weapon of destruction.
“The grand witch—” My scalp prickled, and I spotted several figures stalking along the edge of a rooftop.
I cursed under my breath and snatched Caleb’s hand.
“What the hell are you—”