by Aliya DalRae
“Twelve.”
She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Twelve, then. I tried. I don’t understand how to be a mother. My only frame of reference just called me a whore. How do I learn to do it right with that kind of roadmap?”
Harrier shifted, reached out and turned her face toward him. “It’s easy,” he said. “You take everything our mother has done, and you do the opposite.” He smiled, hoping she would take it as encouragement, but she turned away from him. She tried to hide the tear that slid down her cheek with a brisk face-scrubbing, but Harrier saw.
“I suppose,” she said, then, “Harrier? Do they hate me?”
“The twins?”
Rebecca nodded, and Harrier patted her on the head.
“Another answer you should get from the source.”
Rebecca turned and leaned into Harrier, laid her head on his shoulder. “Do you think your Warlord would let me come with you? You know, to see if I could, I don’t know…fit in?”
Harrier smiled. The way Mason looked at his sister but a few moments ago left him with little doubt. “My Warlord would be honored.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
M ason threw his jacket over a chair and tugged at his collar. The meeting with Magnus could have gone so much better. Against Mason’s arguments, he was going to let Fuhrmann and the others go. Mason would prefer to have them prosecuted for the stunt they tried to pull, but Magnus wouldn’t hear of it. Victoria was too valuable, and Maxx and Fuhrmann were, in the Primeval’s words, “inconsequential.”
Mason reminded him once more of the trouble the two had caused in Fallen Cross, but he said that was Mason’s issue. He wasn’t interested in Legion minutia and instructed Mason to deal with it on his own time, in his own territory.
As far as Nox was concerned, Magnus wouldn’t budge. The “child,” as he referred to Nox, was his, and he could, and would do as he pleased. Mason was free to go, and to take “the other one” with him, but Nox would stay where he was. It was ridiculous, but he was the Primeval. There was no changing his mind.
Mason went to the bathroom, cranked the shower on boiling hot, and stripped down. The Primeval had him worried, and not only about his odd choices this night. Decades had passed since the need to deal with Magnus in person had been necessary. Where once he had been a Primeval to admire and respect, it now appeared as though his cheese had slid off his cracker.
He tilted his head back, allowing the scalding water to sear his scalp. It was a futile effort to burn the memory of his beloved Primeval’s manic eyes and crazed rantings from his brain. Some things you could not un-see or ignore.
Like that vision of loveliness Harrier was escorting through the halls. With everything going on at dinner, Mason had failed to notice how incredibly stunning his Warrior’s other sister was. Despite the red-rimmed eyes and tousled hair, seeing her managed to distract him from his troubles for a moment, and he hadn’t seen that coming.
Mason lathered up from head to foot, then rinsed the soap from his skin, gave his head a healthy shake to rid his dark hair of excess water, then turned the shower off. He grabbed the towel from the rack and rubbed himself dry, working hard to redirect his thoughts from that female.
He’d heard the stories, knew what kind of person she was, and what she wasn’t. She was no Rachel, that was for certain. Where the latter proved herself poised and collected, intelligent and giving, the former seemed most concerned with her own creature comforts. Lest he forget, two twelve-year-old children now resided in his manse because Rebecca had no interest in caring for her own young.
Once dried and dressed, his hair properly gelled, Mason sat at the desk and grabbed his cell. He realized how seriously misguided he’d been in trying to form a personal relationship with Rachel. Seeking one with her sister would be insanity, and he already had one insane Vampire to contend with.
The Primeval, including Magnus, were older than the mountains, ancient as the stars. To determine their age would require carbon dating at the very least, as their incarnation predated every calendar known to civilization. They were the fathers of the race, brought to life through holy actions or scientific theories, it mattered not. They simply were and had always been. They guided their children, and their children’s children through the tangle of humanity. When time progressed, and humans became civilized, the Primeval took it upon themselves to bring the race along at the same pace.
When the Vampires’ numbers increased, the Primeval became their governing body, providing rules and laws that most of the race were willing to follow. Those who didn’t met a swift end if caught, or ran in illegal broods. Most were ferals like Maxx, going so far as to drink dead blood and destroy their bodies as well as their minds. Others simply chose not to conform. Either way, sworn Legion Warriors and Soldiers hunted them down and brought them to justice. It was the only way to keep their existence a secret from the species that not only fed them but outnumbered them a hundredfold.
In the beginning, thirteen Primeval ruled the race. Now, however, only twelve remained, since Julius, the North American Primeval, committed suicide a few decades back. Those who knew him said he was losing his mind. That he’d become paranoid and reclusive. One day, convinced that the other Primeval were out to do him in, he ran into the sun as if some sort of demon pursued. Daywalkers tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He was a Primeval, after all. The daywalkers suffered severe burns when Julius burst into flames. Of course, they recovered, but nothing of Julius remained but a scattered pile of ash.
The Primeval Consortium had to be wondering if someday they might all meet the same end. By appearances, with Magnus unable to see reason or to put the Legion or the race before his own desires, they could easily be down to eleven before too much longer.
There had to be a way to convince Magnus to release Nox, one that did not include involving the rest of the Primeval. For the life of him, Mason couldn’t see it.
He stared at the phone in his hand briefly, then placed the call. If there was a solution to the situation, Mason trusted this male to find it.
“Merlin,” he said when the Warrior answered. “We need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
R achel paced her room like a caged lion, her eyes throwing emerald sparks across the walls, creating a kaleidoscope of color with every turn. She was furious, broken-hearted, and a whole passel of emotions she had yet to put a name to.
She got how Fuhrmann had drawn her mother into his scheme. That woman would stop at nothing to cover her own ass and destroying Raven and Nox would put that ugly little chapter in her life to rest once and for all. But how the hell had Rebecca become mixed up with them? The woman waltzed in out of nowhere, all, “Oh, Harrier, what a surprise!” Little witch hadn’t even bothered to ask after her own children.
On top of all that, the Primeval was an out and out nut case. This whole trip had been a production for him, a show he put together, so he could get his hands on Nox again. He’d even duped Fuhrmann, and if circumstances weren’t so dire, she might take some pleasure in that.
As it were, she couldn’t get the image of that awful Sorceress leading Nox away from her, docile as a puppy dog. It was as if the past century hadn’t happened at all, reducing him once more into that tortured, brainwashed male Magnus held captive for the better part of Nox’s life. He’d just walked away from them.
Oh, who was she kidding. He’d looked right at her and waved like she was a stranger. He’d walked away from her and that ripped her heart out.
All the back and forth between them, the fighting followed by genuine conversations, and then more fighting. Somewhere in all of that she’d fallen in love with him. Unfortunately, it took him turning his back on her, facing the prospect of never seeing him again for her to admit it, to herself anyway.
And that kiss. That one, anger-driven, passionate, amazing kiss, she now realized would never be enough.
There had to be a way to free him. Of course, Mason would be worki
ng on it, she was certain. But damn it, there had to be a way.
A knock sounded on the door, and Rachel spun to answer it. Perhaps it was the Warlord with news. She’d start packing as soon as they were gone, would be ready to run the minute she had Nox in her arms where he belonged.
“Mason,” she said as she swung the door wide.
However, it wasn’t the Warlord who greeted her. It was that horrible, white-haired Sorceress bitch. “You,” Rachel growled as her fangs elongated and tiny claws she rarely bared slid from the tips of her fingers.
“Please, mistress, Nox sent me.” Those were absolutely the only words the witch could utter that would stop Rachel from attacking. The woman trembled, her eyes darting up and down the hallway as she wrung her hands in front of her. “Please.”
Rachel pulled her into the room and slammed the door. “You’d better be telling the truth,” she said.
The woman searched the upper corners of the room, for what, Rachel hadn’t a clue. “I’m sorry,” she said. “One never knows when they are being watched around here.”
“What do you want?” Rachel said. “What have you done with Nox? What was your name again?”
“I’m Sasha,” she said, “And Nox needs to see you. Will you come?”
He’d asked for her. Rachel’s eyes fell closed, but she snapped them open again, unwilling to waste a single moment more. “Take me to him.”
Sasha led her down a back stairway, through tiny, bare hallways, passageways designed for a singular purpose. They gave the staff access to the house without the lord or his guests having to lay eyes upon them. Several halls and flights of stairs later, Sasha steered her into a small room, sparsely decorated with a cot, a small table with one ladderback chair, and a mini-fridge in the corner. A door in the back led to what Rachel hoped was a water closet, and opposite that stood a wall made entirely of glass. What she saw beyond the glass tore her heart out.
Based on the furnishings, no one had bothered to update the décor since the early Twenties, when Nox had escaped. The bed was oak, with a broad headboard and accented posts. A Queen Anne dresser and chiffonier rested along the far wall, and a large desk sat beside the entrance to a narrow hall. The only nod to the current century was the laptop computer on the desk and the large monitor hanging on the wall behind it.
Movement in the back of the room, or cell rather, because that’s what it was, caught her eye. Nox had entered, once again wearing nothing but a towel, his long dark hair falling in a storm cloud of curls at his shoulders. His good eye sparked as he chewed his bottom lip with an extended fang.
He walked to the dresser, yanked one of the drawers open and dug through the contents. After a moment, his entire body stiffened, and he swung to face the glass wall.
“Rachel,” he said as he scented the air.
“Can he hear me?” Rachel asked, and Sasha nodded.
“Yes,” Nox answered as well. “I can hear you. Sasha please, let her in.”
“If we are caught…”
“Please, Sasha,” he begged. “You have my vow, now I need you to allow me this, along with a little privacy.”
Rachel turned to the girl, reluctant to take her eyes from Nox, but desperate for the woman to concede.
Sasha looked up at Rachel, defeat written in her eyes. “Please be quick,” she whispered. “I’ve turned off the cameras and recording devices, but if we’re caught, Magnus will kill us all.” She led Rachel to a door across from the room with the glass wall and said a spell to unlock it.
Rachel rushed to Nox, threw her arms around his neck and breathed in the scent of him. “I’m sorry, Nox. I’m so sorry. I should have…”
“Please, Rachel, we haven’t much time.” Nox grabbed her arms and held her away from him, his eye a swirling eddy of sapphire and amethyst. “I need you to talk to Mason. He’ll listen to you, I think. You’re the only voice of reason in the whole lot. I need you to tell him to take my brother and the rest of you and get the hell out of here. Now, before Magnus changes his mind and decides to punish you as well.”
“I will not,” she cried. “And Mason won’t leave you either. You know better than to ask.”
Nox shook his head, glanced at the door as though he expected the Primeval to show up at any second. Maybe he did. Maybe he would. Rachel shivered, and it had nothing to do with the little shake Nox gave her.
“Rachel, please. Sasha is not in control of me now. These are my words, my wishes, and I’m begging you, leave. You can’t fight the Primeval on this.”
“If you believe that then you don’t know your Warlord.” Or me.
“Perhaps,” Nox said, “but I do know the Primeval. And what I know of Mason is precisely the reason I asked Sasha to find you. Mason will fight, and I don’t want anyone hurt over the likes of me. I don’t deserve it.”
Rachel shook her head, reached a hand up to stroke his jaw. “He won’t give up. I won’t let him.”
Nox tilted his head, the swirl of color in his eye softening to a warm lilac as he watched her. “I do wish we’d had the chance to get over ourselves, to get to know each other rather than sniping at one another. That’s my greatest regret.”
Rachel sobbed and fell into Nox’s arms. “Mine as well,” she whispered. “I was such a fool.”
“I was afraid to get close to you,” Nox said. “It was like I knew this day was coming. The thought of knowing you, loving you, and then having to leave you…I couldn’t let myself go there.”
“I didn’t understand,” Rachel said as she clutched at his bare back. “You were so damn frustrating, and I was furious with you. I didn’t understand.”
“Nox, hurry.” Sasha’s voice surrounded them, as though coming from speakers throughout the room. No wonder she was paranoid.
“You have to go. No listen. I understand he’ll try, and if he does, if you can’t talk him out of it, then tell him Sasha must come with us. I won’t leave her to Magnus’ punishments again. If Mason can’t arrange her release, I won’t go either.”
Rachel stiffened, pulled away.
“It’s not like that, Rachel, I swear to you. You are my heart, I know that now. I’ll survive, I always have, but I need to know that you and the others are safe. Now go. Talk to Mason. If you can’t convince him to leave, then at least tell him my terms.”
Rachel nodded and pulled herself from his arms, turned and walked away. She was two steps from the door when she spun on her heel and ran to him, threw her arms around him and kissed him, hard. “I’m not giving up,” she said. “I’ll never give up.”
But she could tell by the look in Nox’s eye that he already had.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
R achel left Sasha at the bottom of the stairs, with the girl’s promise to keep an eye on Nox. She watched the Sorceress’s slender back as she retreated down the hall. When she disappeared around the corner, Rachel stormed up the steps and made a beeline for Mason’s room.
The Warlord answered the door before she could knock a second time, and Rachel blew out a relieved breath. If she’d had to sit on this information for any length of time, she would have gone mad.
She pushed her way into his suite without waiting for an invitation but pulled up short, instantly struck by the absolute perfection of the space. Nothing was out of place. Rachel considered herself an organized person, but when travelling she found it difficult to keep everything in order. Mason, however, took tidy to Olympic proportions. He’d folded, hung, or otherwise precisely stored everything, absolutely everything. She assumed he’d tucked his suitcase away in a closet somewhere, along with the rest of his things. Not so much as a spare sock hung on the back of a chair or littered the floor. It was disturbing.
But she wasn’t there for barracks inspection.
“Rachel?” Mason asked, bringing her out of organizational shock. “Is something the matter?”
She glanced in the corners as Sasha had done before blurting, “I’ve seen him. Nox.”
“What? How?”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s insisting that we pack up and leave without him immediately.” Which would take longer for some than others, she mused.
Mason folded his arms, his eyes sparking silver. “That’s a hard no.”
Rachel exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Good. That’s the right answer. Only he figured you’d be sayin’ that, and so the idiot has backup demands.”
“Demands? Of us?” Mason looked as baffled as she felt.
“He says if we insist on a rescue, we’ve got to figure Sasha into the deal.” She didn’t mean to sound disgruntled, but when Mason narrowed his eyes at her, she knew she hadn’t said that in a charitable manner. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Will that be a problem?”
Mason walked to the desk and back again. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he considered this new obstacle. “It definitely puts a crimp in the plans, but we’ll work around it.”
“Thank you.” Rachel grabbed his arm, relief flooding from her in waves. Mason patted her hands, then removed himself from her grasp.
He stepped away from her and leaned against the desk. The way he looked at her, his head tilted to the side as though he were regarding a rather difficult puzzle, unnerved her.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, completely throwing her.
“For what?”
“The other night. Dinner.”
Rachel’s face warmed as a fierce blush crept up her neck, painted her face. “You should never apologize for your cooking,” she said. “The meal was delicious.”
Mason smiled, shook his head. “I should never have presumed, about you and me? It was rude, and…”
“Please, don’t,” Rachel interrupted him. “You’re a fine man, Mason. Perfect in so many ways. I just…”
“When did you realize you were in love with him?”
“Excuse me?”