by Mina Carter
“Perhaps we are,” a pixie ahead of them said, with spiked hair colored a sky blue she knew hadn’t come out of a bottle, and an armful of tattoos that proclaimed him the leader of the little gang surrounding them. She frowned at the comment. Why would they pick a fight? Even though they were fiercely territorial, the pixies usually left the Kyn warriors alone. Then again, rogues in this area never did anyone any favors. Her hands tightened on the leather grips of the heavy machete-like daggers she favored. Something wasn’t right here.
“Now why would you want to go and do a thing like that?”
Unlike the man, Feral’s voice was soft. It was a question Vixen wanted answered as well, looking over her shoulder at the speaker with a frown. At least twenty pixies surrounded them. Even with those odds, they had to know some of them weren’t walking away from this. If the two Kyn were to go down, they would take as many with them as they could.
However, it seemed the pixies had their own thoughts on that matter. Her attention diverted over her shoulder for a second, and Vixen almost missed it, only catching a brief glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye at the last minute.
At first, she thought the pixie by the dumpster had a gun, which made less sense than a bunch of them picking a fight. A bullet had no chance of putting down a Kyn—not before they’d have the shooter, and not before they’d ripped his throat out. Hell, even a hail of bullets wouldn’t put one of them down for long. It was the reason the warriors fought with blades. Decapitation was the only sure-fire method of killing a vampire, that, and sunlight. So, any guns they carried were strictly backup and for dealing with other paranormals.
It wasn’t a gun in the pixies hand when he pulled it from his jacket, although it looked like one. Vixen’s green eyes widened as he pointed the device at them.
“Feral. Taser,” she shouted.
The weapon fired. She felt the metal barbs slam into her and puncture her jacket before they grazed her skin. She took a breath before electricity poured through her and tumbled her into darkness.
Chapter Four
Vixen woke in a heartbeat, drawing in a ragged breath as the memory of pain, sharp and sudden, surged through her. The bastard had shocked her. Instead of bear, the pixies had been loaded for Kyn. Tasers—provided they were military or police spec—were amongst the only things that could bring down a Kyn. Not all Kyn were susceptible to the weapon, just some. Feral was one of the few that tasers had no effect on, but she wasn’t.
Facts connected in her sleep-addled brain: That street was on the regular patrol route she and Feral took, and they’d been carrying tasers. Which meant the pixies had been looking for her in particular, but why? Why would a bunch of pixies be looking for her?
All this crossed her mind in the spilt second before she opened her eyes and looked up and focused on the ceiling. She frowned, not quite sure what the ceiling was doing covered in fabric. A second later, she realized it wasn’t the ceiling, but rather the canopy of an old-style, four-poster bed. She sat up in a bolt of movement, looking around for Feral. Where was he, was he ok? What had the pixies done with him? With her out of the picture, he would have been easily overwhelmed. A taser wouldn’t take him down, but it would hamper him long enough for them to…
He wasn’t here. Not in the room with her, anyway. Worried, she bit down on her lower lip with her teeth, fangs safely retracted, as images of his beaten and bloody body lying in an alley someplace filled her mind. Worry rose. If he didn’t wake before sunrise…
She needed to find him, make sure he was okay. Her gaze swept the room. The bed wasn’t the only piece of furniture that was from a different era. The whole place was furnished with the ornate elegance of a bygone era, heavy dressers and wardrobes to match the bed surrounding her. If Vixen hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn she’d been transported back in time.
“I wondered when you’d rejoin us. How are you feeling?” a smooth voice asked from the other side of the room.
Having assumed she was on her own, Vixen jumped a little, turning to yank the half-drawn bed curtain out of the way.
Lounging comfortably in an old-fashioned armchair by a large fireplace was a pixie. Unlike those from the alley, he wasn’t dressed like a punk. His lilac hair was shoulder length rather than cropped and spiked, and instead of multiple piercings most pixies had, she saw only one, a small stud in his ear. Given the period feel of the room, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him in skin tight breeches and a frilled shirt, but instead, he wore blue jeans and a black shirt. Although simple, Vixen was shrewd enough to realize it was the kind of simple that came with a price tag. All of a sudden, she felt grubby in her plain shirt and leathers.
“Me?” she replied. “Oh, not too bad. Just a nagging pain in my side you know? Like some asshole shot me with a taser, pumped a couple of thousand volts of electricity through my body before I hit the deck…oh, wait, that really happened.” Sarcasm colored her voice as she slid off the bed on the opposite side to watch him. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Feral?”
She wasn’t at all fooled by his pleasant, non-threatening demeanor. Pixies were violent bastards, rising through the pack by means of brutal challenge fights, or otherwise killing off anyone who stood in their way. Legitimate match, or just having your opponent disappear, it was all the same to a pixie. As long as the disappearance couldn’t be traced back, it was all cool.
From the elaborate tattoos on his hands and his forearms, this guy was a hell of a lot farther up the ladder than the leader of the little band that had waylaid them in the alley. Which meant he was someone she didn’t need to piss off, or get taken in by, she decided, as she did a quick mental inventory.
Her weaponry was gone, no surprise there. Knocking out and kidnapping a Kyn warrior was a dangerous undertaking. Unlike Schrödinger’s cat, there was only one result when they woke—seriously pissed off. So weaponry in the vicinity wasn’t beneficial for the abductor’s long-term health.
He had the grace to wince at her comment. “I apologize for that. Soran is still young and has a slightly different interpretation of the word ‘persuade.’ Rest assured, he is being educated in the error of his ways. To answer your question, my name is Markus Lysander, and your friend is perfectly fine, at least he will be. Just a little bruised around the edges and will wake up with only a headache, I assure you.”
Vixen didn’t answer for a moment, watching him impassively as relief flooded through her. Was he telling the truth? Pixie’s were known liars.
“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him? The bastard shot me with a taser. I hope you damn well crucified him.” She stalked around the bed toward him, her movements angry as unblinking eyes fixed on him. Pixies were dangerous but so were Kyn, especially the warrior caste, and none more so than pissed off warrior bitches. Forget Xena, she had nothing on Vixen in a bad mood.
“So, handsome…” she began, “You sent your bully boys down to ‘persuade’ me. Since I’m here, and you’re still breathing, I’d say you got my attention.”
Whatever game he played, she’d already had enough of it. In fact, she’d had enough of men and their damn ‘games’ period. If she was inclined, she’d give some serious consideration into batting for the other team right about now. But she wasn’t, so she’d settle for beating the snot of out someone instead. Starting with tall, pretty and pastel-haired if he didn’t give her some straight answers in the next few seconds.
She stalked toward him, her long legs eating up the carpeted distance. Markus simply watched her, his lavender eyes dark as she placed a hand on the arms of the chair on either side of him.
“So…what do you want?” She leaned over him. “I warn you, I reached my bullshit level before nine this evening,” she added as her breath fanned across his neck and stirred the pale strands of his hair.
Markus looked up at her, his body and attitude relaxed despite the obvious tension swirling around them. She smiled, the barest hint of fangs at the cor
ners of her lips pointing out how close to his throat she could get; a subtle reminder that he might have taken all her blades away but she wasn’t unarmed, not by a long shot.
“You. I want you,” he stated bluntly, arching an eyebrow pointedly. She felt a light tapping on her thigh, right over her femoral artery. She looked down, surprised. She hadn’t felt him move. But, in his right hand he held a small blade that hadn’t been there before, pressed against the black leather that covered her thigh. A small blade that looked totally innocent, until he twisted his hand slightly. A sickly green shadow moved over the metal. Not a reflection, but almost as if something moved under the metal.
A spelled blade.
Vixen went very still. Normally, she would have shrugged off the threat of a blade. Sure, he could have cut her femoral artery, which would have been painful and given the room a whole new look. But, it would take her at least a minute to bleed out, and far less time than that to get fangs in his throat and replace the blood she’d lost. Pixie blood wasn’t her preferred type. Like most paranormal blood, it had a hell of a kick and left you with a rotten headache in the morning. However, with the choice of bleeding out or drinking pixie blood, she’d go with the headache.
Spelled blades were a different matter. They were dangerous. Created by dark magic, they could visit everything from true death right through to soul theft on their victims. Some of them were even created from souls stolen and trapped at the moment of death, usually a violent one.
She looked back up, what he’d said registering. “Me? What do you mean you want me?” she asked.
He smiled, no humor in his eyes. “Wonderful device for focusing attention, don’t you think?” he asked, nodding toward the dagger in his hand. “I have two of them. This is the smaller one, Whisper—”
Vixen couldn’t help it. “So what’s the larger one? No, don’t tell me…’Shout?’”
His lips quirked, proving he did have a sense of humor. “Actually no, it’s called Midnight. They’re a matched pair.”
“So… Midnight Whisper? Sounds like a dodgy strip joint to me,” she quipped. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
He tapped her thigh again and Vixen obeyed the unspoken command, backing up a little to lounge one hip against a sideboard near the fireplace. She was more than happy to put some distance between them. That spelled blade made her as edgy as having her fangs within striking distance had obviously made him.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied still watching her.
“You plan to? Or are we gonna stare at each other all night?” she pressed, tilting her head to one side questioningly.
He laughed, a low chuckle under any other circumstances would have been pleasing. Vixen had always had a thing for guys with nice laughs. It said good things about a man who laughed nicely, a genuine laugh that crinkled his eyes and everything. That and a nice backside. She liked a good ass on a man. So, working where she did was a dream job, lots of lovely scenery on a daily basis. However, the fact he’d had her kidnapped negated any attraction his laugh, or his ass, might have held.
“Pushy, aren’t you?” he asked, his smile broad.
“Add impatient and violent to that and you’re bang on, sunshine.”
“And absolutely perfect. Just the qualities I’m looking for in a wife.”
This time it was Vixen’s turn to laugh.
“Well, don’t let anyone say you don’t have a sense of humor.” She wiped a tear of amusement from the corner of her eye with a knuckle before it dawned on her he wasn’t laughing. In fact, his amused look had faded into one of cold seriousness that sent chills down her spine. “You’re not joking are you?”
“Nope, I’m dead serious,” he said, twirling the small blade in his fingers, the green shimmer flashing with each turn it made—a daring feat considering how dangerous it was. Even a small cut would visit whatever action the blade carried upon him. “Emphasis on the dead part.”
Vixen looked at him for a long moment, utterly still as she considered his words. Her calm look concealed the wariness churning in her gut. “Okay. So I marry you, or you kill me?”
“Pretty much. After all, I went to a lot of trouble to get you here. Surely you don’t expect me to throw all that away just because you said ‘no?’”
“Might makes right?”
Her voice was light as she moved around the room and picked up objects at random to study them. Luck might be with her, and one of them would turn out to be heavy enough to knock him out with. The question was how she was going to get close enough to him to do it. She sure as hell didn’t intend to get within range of that blade without knowing what it did. Whatever it was, that sickly green sheen said it wasn’t going to be good.
He nodded. “I’m so glad you understand, my dear. There’s also the loss of face to consider. And as warlord, you can understand I can’t allow that,” he said. “I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation at all. Only a fool would look forward to being locked in a room with an angry Kyn.”
Vixen’s eyebrows winged up. Whatever else he was, she had to admit he had guts. She wouldn’t want to be shut in a room with an angry Kyn, either. Whilst his pixie heritage might have protected him from being turned into a vampire, it did buggar all to protect him from being dead. Which led to another interesting point.
“So what’s to stop me marrying you and very quickly making myself a widow? Like say, on the wedding night?” she asked with a grin, flashing her fangs to remind him.
“Have you ever seen a vampire defanged?” he asked conversationally, “it’s quite a simple procedure, but I’m told it’s intensely painful.”
She blinked as all the color leeched from her face. Chill fingers of fear tightened around her spine. Defanging, through accident or by design, was one of the worst things that could happen to a Kyn. As a punishment amongst the Kyn, it was rare, reserved only for the worst offences. With no way to feed naturally, a defanged vampire would soon weaken and die unless a blood supply, something like a blood bank or the like, was established. More than that, as her encounter with Kalen earlier had proved, biting and being bitten was all part of the sensual experience of lovemaking for the Kyn.
“I see you get my point. Perhaps we don’t need to go quite that far though…” he said quietly, standing as someone hammered on the door. “Bloody imbeciles. I told them I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he snapped, striding over to the door and flinging it open to reveal the pixie from the alley earlier. “What?”
Sky blue eyes flicked from Markus to Vixen. “Boss, we got a problem. The Kyn are here.”
Markus’ voice was rough with irritation. “So? Why is this a problem? The barrow won’t let them in, we’re safe.”
“Umm, yeah. There’s a slight problem, boss. They brought a warden with them. They’re waiting for you in the main hall.”
Chapter Five
A few minutes later, Vixen followed Markus into the main hall of the barrow with two pixies wearing determined expressions, on either side, to make sure she didn’t decide to take a little walkabout of her own. Not that there was any fear of that, if the Kyn were here, she wanted to be with them. It was her best shot at getting out of there.
Despite the situation, Vixen stopped for a moment in sheer awe as they entered the hall. The room she’d woken up in and the corridors were fairly mundane, appearing to be something out of an old manor house. So, it was easy to forget they were in what basically amounted to a small section of Faery, albeit one tethered permanently to the human world. But here, in the hall, were majestic columns supporting a high ceiling, decorated in a breathtaking mural depicting the history of the barrow. Only, pixie murals weren’t quite the same as the mundane human ones, being a real-time account of the events they recorded. She watched a vicious battle rage across the ceiling—pixies fighting goblins and all manner of other creatures. Including other pixies. In fact, a hell of a lot of other pixies.
A startled intake of breath brought her back to t
he present and she looked around. At the other end of the hall stood Marak, surrounded by the largest bunch of warriors Vixen had ever seen in one place. Well, that she’d ever seen in one place and not arguing. Instead, they all looked her way with concern shown on their faces. Next to Marak, Kalen took a step forward, only to be stopped by the king’s large hand on his arm.
Vixen blinked, surprised to see Marak. In fact, she was surprised to see as many warriors as there were congregated in the room. She realized Marak must have cut his honeymoon short, feeling both guilty and touched he’d come to her assistance. There at the back was Geran, the guy she’d swopped patrols with so he could spend time with his mate, and others who she knew weren’t rostered on this night.
A warm feeling settled deep in her chest, heating her heart. Bless them, they’d all come to her rescue. For years, she’d thought no one liked her, total bitch that she was most of the time. Finally, she found the face she looked for amongst them. Feral, appearing more than a little worse for wear was covered in cuts and bruises, with one eye swollen shut and his arm in a sling. Regardless, he stood tall, his ‘no nonsense’ expression not boding well for the pixies around them. She knew without asking, that any pixie who crossed Feral in the future was going to get the snot beat out of it.
“Well now, we are honored. I didn’t expect you to grace our humble barrow, your highness,” Markus said smoothly, nodding toward Marak. The two men, king and warlord, eyed each other, both obviously used to this sort of game. Marak inclined his head, ignoring the vaguely insulting tone Markus had injected into his voice.
“Well, when one of my warriors goes missing—”
“You mean kidnapped,” a voice snarled, only to be interrupted by another.