by Cecy Robson
She frowns. “They’re rogues,” she informs him. “More than we anticipated, yes, but nothing more.”
“You’re wrong. If your master gave a damn about anything aside from himself he would have known, we would have told him, and none of us would be here.”
Her nails dissolve within her fingertips as she watches him closely. “As Chief Advisor to the House of Aleksandr, I accept your request.”
“We expect him, not you.”
“Very well,” she says, not that she’s happy.
She turns on her heel, halting in place at the sound of Gemini’s growl. “One more thing.”
She stops, her spine stiffening when she hears him stalk forward, his voice unbearably rigid. “I swear on my honor that if you ever risk my mate’s safety again, I’ll kill you and him.”
Chapter Four
Gemini pulls off Virginia Street, taking a side road that leads into a modest part of town, far away from the glitzy lights. My hand slides along the armrest. I’m not one to fidget, but keeping my hand on the armrest keeps it off my throat. I don’t want to bring more attention to my bruises there, or to the ones likely lining my back. Gemini doesn’t need another reason to make due on his threat.
I lean back into the seat and try to relax my breathing. I’m not thrilled with what he said to Agnes, how he swore to kill her and Misha if he felt my life was at risk because of them. As one of the most powerful masters in existence, I don’t want him and Misha fighting, ever. I can’t be sure who would win, and neither deserves to die.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He rolls to a stop at a light. “You’re always sorry, Taran. That doesn’t stop you from acting any time the vampires snap their fingers.”
“It was a simple snag and dump,” I say, speaking softly. “Two vampires, three of us. We didn’t think anything could go wrong.”
“But it did.”
“I know it did. But as an Alliance member, it’s my duty to protect.”
“No,” he says. “Your duty requires you to help the Alliance as a whole, should your powers be needed. That’s not the same thing as being the leeches’ go-to.”
I open my mouth and quickly shut it. I’m not going to win this one, not with the bruises scattered along my body.
“Why did he call you?” he asks, speaking of Misha. “If it was so simple, why not just send his own?”
“His vampires are known by face and by scent, they bear his mark. We don’t. We had the best chance of rounding them up and assuring the human populace would stay safe.”
Gemini doesn’t budge, his focus intense and straight ahead.
My words release carefully. I’m not blind to his anger nor can I dismiss the damage the vamp inflicted. “You said they weren’t regular rogues,” I remind him. “What did you mean by that?”
“The Alliance has learned that the Dark Legion isn’t just targeting Celia.” He squares his jaw. “They’re recruiting rogue vamps in addition to lone weres and witches.”
“For an army? Like before?”
“No,” he says. “As Assassins. They’re trying to infiltrate and wipe out the most elite in our circles. Earlier this week, one of Genevieve’s bodyguards killed a witch who tried to poison her.”
Genevieve is Tahoe’s head witch, absurdly beautiful and as powerful as an encroaching tornado. I know from personal experience. More than once our magic has clashed, and more than once we’ve come close to blows.
“We would have dismissed it as an isolated incident had our former Elder in Colorado not been ambushed during a hunt early today.”
“By another were?” I guess.
“No. By several young witches who’d camouflaged themselves as trees.”
My eyes widen. Having had my stint in witch school, assuming another form is a torturous undertaking that takes a great deal of strong magic.
“Why?” I ask. “I mean, I get that the elite are more of a threat than the average supernatural. But their supreme strength and abilities makes them more lethal and dangerous. They’re not exactly easy targets.”
“They’re not easy targets,” he agrees. “But the assassins are formidable. From what we’ve learned, they’re not willing to fight alongside the Dark Legion, but they are willing to take their money and do their dirty work.”
“Was the Elder harmed?” I curse at the stoic way Gemini nods.
“He gained the upper hand and killed the witches who attacked him, but he didn’t walk away unscathed. He’s healing slowly, not as rapidly as we hoped or expected.”
I flex my hands when I realize how hard I’m clenching them. “That means the injuries he sustained were laced with curses.”
“They were,” he replies. “Another were wouldn’t have survived the attack, and if he had, the magical damage the witches inflicted would have finished him off.” His stare cuts my way. “Genevieve took the poison, her protection spells and the speed in which her bodyguard reacted were what saved her. Otherwise, we would have lost her.”
My fingers trail involuntarily to my throat. The vamp who attacked me was absurdly fast. There was more to him than either me or my arm were ready for.
I pause when a thought occurs to me. “The Elders and the Head Witches were targets,” I say. “What about the master vamps?”
“Uri was attacked an hour ago.”
“Misha’s master?” He nods. Holy shit. Even I try not to piss him off. “Why? Going after Uri is like going after a world leader.”
Only silence greets me. “Just tell me,” I urge. “Why are only the best being stalked?”
His breath releases in a huff. “Because regardless of our differences as were and witch, and our continued distrust and conflicts with the vampires, all in the Alliance agree on one thing: Celia must be protected in order for her children to live and fulfill the prophecy.”
His response pisses me off. “They’re trying to make it easier to kill Celia.”
“Yes. But there’s more. Given the amount of magic being used and the degree of strength the assassins possess, we’ve concluded the Dark Legion is being led and empowered by shapeshifters.”
I almost lose what’s left of my dinner. Shapeshifters are born witches. They spend their lives making blood sacrifices to their deities in exchange for the ability to assume whatever form they wish. They carry the power of hell within them and are almost indestructible. Almost. But as strong as they are, and as much as I believe Gemini, too much of his theory doesn’t make sense.
“How can the shifters lead something of this caliber?” I ask. “For the most part, they seem mindless. Grunting and repeating words over and over, completely disconnected from reason and their human counterparts.”
“Don’t mistake their lack of speech for lack of communication or intelligence,” Gemini warns, the tension in his tone appearing to encompass every part of him. “They’re as calculating as they are wicked, and can communicate through and with their neophytes.”
“What the hell is a neophyte?” I ask.
“A witch close to becoming a shifter, strong, dark, but still human.” His hand opens and closes as if trying to shake some of the tension free. “They’re spearheading the rise of the Dark Alliance and using the power of the shapeshifters to reinforce the assassins’ potency.”
“How?” I ask.
“Blood,” he answers simply. “The blood of a shifter is laced with dark magic conjured in the depths of hell itself. Drinking it feeds the magic within them.”
“But you’ve attacked shifters, and it didn’t make you any stronger,” I point out.
“No,” he agrees. “But shifter magic is closely related to witch magic since that’s how they’re born. While it can make a witch stronger and more dangerous, it makes us sick.”
“What does it do to vampires?” I ask, wondering exactly how much crap we’re actually dealing with.
“Both witches and vampires are closer to humans than we are. It makes them more lethal as you saw for yourself. T
he effects however, are temporary,” he explains. “A few days, perhaps a week at best.”
I quiet. “Long enough to kill an Elder, a master, or a head witch,” I reason.
“Exactly.”
“I have to protect Celia,” I say without thinking.
“No, I do,” he snaps. I start to argue, only for him to cut me off. “No more, Taran. You can’t work for the vampires and you can’t engage in anything that jeopardizes your safety.”
“But if I can help Celia—”
“The best way to help her is by staying alive. You can’t help her or her children if you’re already dead.”
My right arm trembles with the need to release flame, rattling my entire body. The look Gemini pegs me with is forceful, challenging. He’s ready for the fight he anticipates between us. Except I’m not raring to go toe-to-toe. Not with him. I’m furious over the shit hand we’ve been dealt, and all the crap cards that keep coming.
His gaze softens at the sight of my quickly forming tears. “I don’t want her to go through this,” I tell him. “Celia needs her chance at a normal life and so do her babies.” I pause, the weight of my words making it hard to speak. “She’s never going to have it, is she?”
“I’m not sure. Not with everything her children and Aric’s are destined for.”
He pulls along the curb and puts the SUV into park. The steering wheel groans beneath his grip, the metal within it bending, revealing the extent of his frustration, but also another emotion I can’t quite place. “When I first learned of the curse placed upon you and your family, so much about it didn’t make sense,” he says. “The curse not only kept you alive, it granted you these unique powers, making you beings of magic when nothing but human blood raced through your veins. Why? Why would magic so vile and dark work in your favor rather than kill you as it was conjured to do?”
I often wondered that myself. I tilt my head, listening closely. My lover isn’t asking me a question, he’s working through his thoughts, applying reason to the unreasonable.
“I think this Darkness that’s rising had been centuries, perhaps even millennia in the making. And I think those who nourished it wanted to prevent good from winning at all costs.” He reaches out, stroking my cheek, his touch breathtakingly gentle given the ease he used to kill that vampire. “You are that good. You and your sisters, as is Aric given his supremacy among our kind.” He sighs, appearing sad. “But you were just the start. Aric and Celia’s children will be the ultimate end.”
The tear that falls slicks a line down my cheek. “Do you think they’ll make it?”
I’ve always counted on Gemini’s optimism. Today, it doesn’t come. “I can’t be sure. Not with everything coming at us, and not with our numbers dwindling as they are.”
Another tear, another breath that releases too harshly.
“That doesn’t mean we should give up, my love,” he tells me. “It only means we should fight smart. They need us, Taran. Aric, Celia, their children. They need all of us.” He wipes my cheek with his thumb. “So don’t rush to meet death. Choose your battles wisely and we’ll cheat it together. That way, maybe we can have our chance at happiness, too.”
Maybe. Happily Ever After is a concept completely foreign to me. But I’ll take the opportunity for a happy for now.
I start to tell him when he looks past me, frowning. I turn around to see what caught his attention, jumping when I see who it is.
Emme walks toward me. The best way to describe her is that she resembles Carrie. The Carrie. The one who had a bucket of pig’s blood dumped on her at prom and went supernatural windmill on her graduating class.
The only difference is Carrie was less bloody.
On either side of her stand members of Gemini’s pack in human form. I throw open the door and hurry toward her, stopping just before I reach her. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve had better evenings,” she admits, her voice quiet.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, circling her. Christ, it’s like she fell into a large vat of red and orange paint.
“I didn’t want you going after that vampire alone,” she says, casting a hesitant glance in the direction of the wolves eyeing her. “I tried to follow you, but was trapped within the crowd on the dance floor. By the time I made it outside, you were far down the street. I tried to chase after you, but someone swiped my purse and threw a pillow case over my head. I was shoved into a car and . . .” She makes a coughing sound, like she’s gagging. “I couldn’t see. I knew I was in trouble and did my best to picture pulling heads from shoulders with my force.”
Emme’s telekinesis is no joke. Still, I blink back at her, stunned. “I guess it worked.”
“Not exactly,” the wolf to her right interjects. He clears his throat. “She ripped them in half. Down the spinal column,” he adds, painting a brighter and more gruesome picture. He makes a zigzag motion with his hands. “Only jagged. Not smooth.”
“Definitely not smooth,” the wolves around him concur, nodding.
To kill a were, you have to either decapitate him, or detonate his heart with cursed gold bullets. To kill a vamp, more specifically an old one; their head must be removed and the heart destroyed. Based on the sight before me, Emme missed the heart and probably the head too, leaving the vamps to spurt body fluids like a hydrant.
“There were chunks,” the first wolf says.
“Lots of chunks,” his buddies agree.
“Had to scoop through them just to get her out,” the guy to my left adds.
“Um,” I reply.
He points to Emme’s stomach. “You see that, that’s bile. I’m guessing two, maybe three livers’ worth.”
“You think?” His friend takes a sniff. “It smells more like small intestine to me.”
“Okay, we get it,” I say, holding out a hand and trying to stop them. I’m sure this is regular dinner talk to the midnight streakers, but seriously, I could have gone without the visual. And so could poor Emme.
Beneath all the red and orange my very petite sister is probably a nice shade of green. I’m ready to hurl, and I wasn’t even there!
I cover my mouth with my hand. “You ripped them apart,” I say. “Literally.”
She makes a face. “I sort of panicked,” she offers, apologetically. “I was pulling and stretching skin and bone.” She starts gagging. “But they were the wrong kind of skin and bone.”
I’m picturing lots of crawling organs trying to rejoin as Emme continued her ripping frenzy. It’s awful. It’s twisted.
And it’s what kept her alive.
“Screw them,” I tell her. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” I hug her against me, trying not to cringe when she feels wet and spongy.
“Eww” the wolf next to me says.
“Really?” I ask. “After the chunks, this is what grosses your ass out?”
“Taran,” Emme says carefully. “You’re hurt.”
She may not have noticed the bruises, but she feels them with her healing touch.
“I’m all right,” I tell her. In truth, I could be better. My throat is sore and scratchy, and it hurts to swallow, and when I move, the throbbing along my spine grows more pronounced. But I don’t want to upset Gemini further. He’s already angry enough.
Emme holds me closer. “Here, let me just help you.” Her head falls against my shoulder. “It will feel good to help, instead of harm.”
“Okay,” I say, her comment making me sad.
Emme doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t killed or that her hands aren’t stained with the blood of our enemies. It only means she’s had to fight harder to keep her innocence and hang tight to her kindness. Like the rest of us, she pushes through the nightmares as if they didn’t come, and does her best to live with sins she never meant to commit.
My eyes scrunch closed as I feel her power work through me. I don’t realize how bad I’m hurt until something cracks along my lower back and the soothing sensation of
her touch stretches across my right hip.
Gemini steps forward, straightening when he sees what she’s doing, and how much time she takes to heal me. His gaze drifts my way, the anger he demonstrated earlier flashing briefly across his watchful stare.
I’m sure we’ll discuss the dangers of chasing a vampire down a dark alley in more detail later; that conversation never gets old. For now, his attention strays to Emme. “Why isn’t she bathed and dressed?” he asks his wolves.
I release Emme, although I admit I get a little stuck.
The bile sniffing wolf approaches Gemini, keeping his head lowered. “The Elders don’t want us using the safe houses until they’re checked for possible sabotage. They request your presence, along with your mate and her sister at the Den.”
“All right,” Gemini says. He extends his arm. “Come on, Emme. I have clothes you can use.”
“Thank you,” she says, her head bowing as she passes the wolves. It must have been difficult being alone with them. While they wouldn’t hurt her, she like the rest of us aren’t Pack. If it weren’t for our mates and our positions within the Alliance, none of us would be allowed at the Den.
Emme, unlike Celia, Shayna, and I, doesn’t have a mate. The longer we associate with the weres, the more it seems to impact her and the way others within the Pack view her.
She slips inside Gemini’s ride, gasping when her shoe leaves a mark. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he tells her. “It’ll come off.”
I can’t agree. I don’t think they make cleansers that remove liver stains. And if they did, it was probably invented by a werebeast with plenty of samples.
“Let me help you,” I offer, frowning at the scrutiny the weres peg her with. I pause when I catch the two wolves in front watching her with interest. I wish I can say that’s a good thing. Except I’m not sure another beast is what Emme needs in her life.
Gemini shuts her door, turning to look at me. I touch his hand when I sense his lingering frustration. “We’ll talk about us later, okay?”
“Fine. There’s definitely more to say.”