Sometimes, though, her badge was a mixed blessing. This was one of them.
Knowing what was coming, Diana felt her stomach tie itself into a knot as she got out of the car. She’d barely managed to clip her badge onto her belt and slip on her shoulder holster before somebody in the crowd called her name.
Oh well. She really hadn’t thought she could get through this mob without being recognized anyway. She made the front page of the local weekly too often.
As one, the entire bunch surged in her direction, voices lifted in anger, fear, or distress. “Miss London, do they know—”
“Have they caught—”
“…need to see my brother!” That last was a howl from a sobbing young woman whose face was swollen with tears. She tore herself from the restraining hands of a young man and lunged to grab Diana’s wrist. “You’ve gotta tell me what happened! Is he dead? They said he’s dead. Please, please tell me what’s going on!”
Diana froze, battling half a dozen conflicting instincts. She’d never liked being grabbed, but this was a particularly bad time of year for a stranger to lay hands on her. Especially a woman.
It took her a moment to squelch her more lethal impulses enough to speak. “I probably know less than you do right now. If you’ll let me by, I’ll send the chief out to talk to you.” Her voice emerged at a rumbling register that didn’t sound quite human. Oh, hell.
The woman jerked away from her as if scalded. Fear blazed up on a score of faces as those near enough to hear shrank back. “You…you do that,” she managed finally, obviously trying to convince herself she’d imagined whatever she’d seen in the city manager’s face.
“I’ll send the chief out in a minute.” Diana nodded shortly, put her head down to hide her burning eyes, and strode toward the front door of the house. The crowd melted from her path. Humankind might be at the top of the food chain now, but they still knew a predator when they saw one.
Whether they could admit it or not.
Dammit, Diana thought. I’ve got to watch that. In old movies, pulling crap like that was what got the torch-carrying mob after the monster.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Jerry panted from behind her. “Had to park up the street. By the time I got back, they were all over you.” She looked around to see him wearing an apologetic smile. He’d evidently missed her near trans formation. “Maybe you should start keeping your uniform at City Hall so you can change. Public’s not as obnoxious when you’re in blues.”
She grinned, remembering some of her own recent adventures. “Unless they’re drunk. Then they’re worse.”
He grinned back. “There is that.”
Jerry led the way up the irregular cement steps and pushed open the screen door. As Diana crossed the narrow front porch behind him, she automatically sized up her surroundings. The white vinyl siding was relatively new, though she’d bet the house itself was pushing ninety. The shutters and wooden door were the same shade as the steps, though in the dark it was hard to tell the color. Even so, she could make out the wooden swing hanging at one end of the porch. A couple of lawn chairs stood across from it, looking out over a postage-stamp yard that had been recently cut. There was no trash or beer bottles in the yard. The owner might not have much money, but he’d cared about appearances.
Poor bastard.
Jerry paused in the act of reaching for the door to meet her eyes. At five-eleven, she was actually an inch taller than he was, a fact that had never stopped him from trying to protect her like the Southern gentleman he was. Diana wouldn’t dream of telling him just how little she needed his protection. “It’s pretty bad,” he warned her.
“I figured that out. Please tell me it’s not a kid.”
His white smile flashed in the dim light. “Grown man.”
“Good.” She grimaced. “I hate it when it’s kids.”
“Everybody hates it when it’s kids. But what the killer did to that guy—well, it’s sickening.”
He opened the door. Death spilled out with the ripe stench of blood and human waste. Even in this form, Diana’s sense of smell was so acute, she had to swallow hard. “What’d they do, gut him?”
“Pretty close.” Jerry lifted a brow at her as he led the way inside. “You could tell that from the smell?”
“I’ve got a good nose.”
“That ain’t exactly a blessing in here.” He jerked a thumb at a closed door to the right. “Chief’s in the bedroom. Unless you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“No, that’s fine.”
Jerry gave her an absent wave and headed across the little den for the even smaller kitchen, where male voices rumbled in conversation. The Sheriff’s Office must have sent men to help out, since the Verdaville PD couldn’t muster enough people for a crowd on its own.
Somebody laughed, but the sound held the strained note of a man trying very hard not to think about whatever he’d just seen.
Oh, yeah. This was going to be bad.
TWO
The Grand Palace of the Cachamwri Sidhe, Mageverse Earth
Llyr’s soft boots scuffed over dew-soaked grass as he walked into the courtyard garden carrying his sheathed great sword in one hand. Three of his personal bodyguards trailed behind him, silent as wolves, but he was scarcely aware of them.
The milky glory of the Mageverse spread overhead, and around him, the palace rose in curving elegant shapes of creamy marble. The extravagant beauty of the courtyard was normally a balm to his spirit, but not tonight. Tonight he craved the sweat and effort of a good fight, and he knew the captain of his guard would give it to him.
Llyr had dressed for their weekly practice session in leather leggings and boots, but he wore neither shirt nor armor. His magic would protect him against any blows gone awry.
Though in truth, he would welcome a few bruises. It was no more than he deserved.
Strange how guilt seemed to have a taste to it. Last night, Llyr had been so far under the dream woman’s spell, he’d not thought of Janieda even once, not even when he brought himself to climax. Yet by the time he had awakened this morning, guilt had filled his heart until he could taste it on his tongue, sour and cold.
Today he’d been able to think of nothing else. Janieda, his fairy sprite, who’d loved him enough to give up the essence of herself to save him from a demon.
They’d been lovers since his last wife fell to his brother’s assassins a century ago, and Llyr had loved Janieda as much as a king can afford to love anyone. She wanted to be his queen, but he thought she’d lacked the steadiness he needed in a wife. The lives of ten million people hung on his every decision, and he couldn’t afford to make a poor choice.
Llyr had already lost four wives to his brother’s assassins, which was why he’d been so determined to secure one of Arthur’s magic-using witches for a bride. Besides being more fertile than a Sidhe woman, a Maja would have had the power to handle Ansgar’s hired killers. Janieda, on the other hand, would have been easy prey.
Unfortunately, being his mistress proved equally hazardous.
Sixteen hundred years after Merlin imprisoned him, the Dark Ones’ demonic general, Geirolf, escaped from his Mageverse cage. The demon kidnaped Janieda to force Llyr to turn over a Magekind couple he was sheltering. Geirolf planned to sacrifice the two in a spell that would have wiped out Merlin’s race of guardians, giving the demon free rein on mortal Earth.
Llyr had been willing to do anything to get his lover back. He’d even linked his magic and his soul with Erin Grayson, the Maja Geirolf had demanded in trade.
Pretending to betray his allies, Llyr handed over Erin and her lover Reece Champion to the demon, who promised to release Janieda. To nobody’s surprise, Geirolf failed to follow through on his end of the deal.
At first, everything went as planned. When the demon tried to sacrifice Erin and her lover, the Maja blasted all her borrowed power into his face. The spell had ripped away Geirolf’s magic so Reece could finish him off.
But
then the demon’s vampire followers turned on Reece and Erin. Janieda had known if Erin died, the link between them would kill Llyr, too, so she’d fought to defend the drained and powerless witch. When Janieda fell to one of the vampires, her last act was to pour her magic into Erin so the Maja could defend herself.
Yet barely a week after her heroic death, Llyr had dreamed about another woman. He winced in guilt.
“My liege?”
Llyr looked up to see the captain of his guard waiting for him. Kerwyn Arberth was a big man, as dark as Llyr was blond, and a full head taller. Despite his hulking build, Kerwyn had an open, laughing face and a wicked wit as sharp as his considerable skills with a sword. He’d been Llyr’s closest friend for six centuries.
“Well met, Kerwyn.” Llyr swept his friend a salute with the sheathed sword. “I’m in desperate need of a good fight. I trust you’ll oblige me.”
The captain looked him over with a frown. “Are you sure, my liege? You look tired.”
Llyr shrugged. “Guilt and lack of sleep.”
Kerwyn’s mouth tightened. “Janieda.”
Llyr wasn’t surprised his captain could read him so well. “That, and the vision I had last night.” He drew his blade with the scrape of steel on leather, absently aware his guards had fanned out to watch for his brother’s assassins. “I dreamed of an exquisitely beautiful woman with dark hair and silver eyes. I believe we’re destined to meet. But she’s a Direkind shape-shifter, and I fear it will not end well.”
Kerwyn stiffened, but his tone was carefully controlled as he drew his own sword. “Janieda gave up her life for you but a week past.”
Llyr nodded. “How could I even think of anyone else?”
The captain shrugged and fell into guard, the thick ropy muscles of his chest rippling. “Well, it was not as if you truly loved her, my liege.”
Stung, Llyr lifted his head. “Of course I loved her. I wouldn’t have stayed with her a century if I hadn’t.” Detecting a fractional drop in Kerwyn’s guard, he lunged, but the bigger man brought his blade up in a ringing parry. Their blades met with a satisfying jolt the instant before Kerwyn launched his own attack. Llyr knocked it aside and retreated with the oiled smoothness his centuries had taught him.
“You know as well as I that you’d grown tired of her,” Kerwyn said as they circled. “Her taste for drama had begun to grate, and she was insanely jealous. If you even spoke to another woman, she’d rage at you for days.”
“She did have a passionate nature.” He brought his sword up and around in a swinging overhead attack, knowing Kerwyn’s magic would block the blow even if he missed the parry. Llyr usually had to be more careful with his practice partners, since he could attack faster than most could either parry or cast a shield spell. Kerwyn, however, was just as fast as he was. “She never held back. She always gave everything she had.”
As expected, the captain parried his blow. For a moment, they surged against one another, testing each other’s strength, nose to nose. Llyr had to work at it: Kerwyn’s greater size gave him the advantage.
Then his friend lost his easy expression in a snarl. “She was a fool.”
Pain pricked Llyr’s ribs. Startled, he disengaged and jumped back. Glancing down, he saw a narrow trail of blood snaking down his side. Confused, he looked up to see a dagger in Kerwyn’s left hand. “I didn’t think we were practicing with two blades tonight.” Automatically, he reached with his magic to conjure a second weapon for himself.
Nothing happened. His left hand remained stubbornly empty.
“You’re not.” Kerwyn’s mouth curved in an ugly grin.
Llyr reached out again, but the usual snap and crackle of Mageverse energies were beyond his reach.
And he knew.
The king stared at his oldest friend as the three bodyguards stepped from the garden to surround them. He had no delusions about whose side they were on. “How much is my brother paying you, Kerwyn?”
“A great deal, but this isn’t about money.” The big man began to stalk him. “I loved Janieda for decades, but she had eyes for no one except you. Yet all you cared about was putting a queen’s crown on one of your precious Majae and securing an alliance with Arthur.”
Llyr saw the flicker of motion from the corner of one eye. Acting on sheer instinct, he twisted and dropped to one knee, avoiding the sword swing that would have decapitated him. He thrust upward, his blade slicing into the underside of the guard’s jaw. The man fell, dead before he had time to deflect the blow with magic or sword.
Steel flashed. Llyr rolled, avoiding another traitor’s lunge. Surging to his feet, he rammed his blade into the gap between his opponent’s chest plate and armored hip. His victim screamed and toppled to the dewy grass to twitch out his life.
“A king is not so easy to kill, traitor,” Llyr sneered at the third guard, whose eyes flickered in alarm. He’d gone pale as milk in the moonlight.
“Watch yourself, fool,” Kerwyn barked. “The spell may have blocked Llyr’s magic, but he’s faster with steel than most are with magic.” He launched a blinding set of attacks, forcing his prey to retreat.
“Why didn’t you just poison that dagger instead of enchanting it, Kerwyn?” Llyr demanded over the clash of swords.
“I wanted the pleasure of killing you with my own hands.” The captain’s eyes glittered with hate as he sought an opening. “I would have made Janieda happy, but she refused me over and again. All she cared about was you. Now she’s cold in her grave and you’re already hot for another woman, you faithless whoreson.”
“So you’ll hand my people to Ansgar because a woman refused you?” And Llyr had considered this fool a brother! “He’ll make the Cachamwri Sidhe slaves, torture and rape them at his pleasure, drain away their magic. They’ll curse your name!”
Kerwyn’s face contorted until he was barely recognizable. “At least he won’t be you!” He lunged, swinging his sword in a viscous overhand blow.
As Llyr parried, the third traitor saw his opening and sprang. Llyr drove an elbow into his face, but not before the guard’s sword sliced into his side. Steel grated on bone as it punched out his back just over his hip.
Roaring in pain, Llyr spun, swinging his great sword. The traitor’s magical shield glittered up an instant too late.
As the guard’s head spun away, Llyr grabbed the blade buried in his side. The pain drove him to one knee with its chill savagery, but he forced himself to grip the bloody hilt. The weapon was lodged in the muscle of his waist, barely an inch into his side. If he could tear it free…
He looked up to see Kerwyn looming over him, sword lifted in both hands. “Heir to Heroes, eh?” the traitor sneered. “See if you can call the Dragon God now, you bastard. Beg him to save your worthless life!” He brought the blade slicing down like an executioner’s axe.
Llyr threw up his own sword, parrying one-handed as he levered the turncoat’s weapon from his flesh with the other. White-hot pain ripped a bellow from him. Blood flew.
He swung out with the guard’s sword, chopping into the side of Kerwyn’s chest. The sickening jolt told him it was a death blow. “It seems I don’t need the Dragon after all.”
For a moment, Kerwyn’s wide, shocked eyes met his. He could sense his former friend reaching desperately for the energy of the Mageverse, trying to heal the wound.
Nothing happened.
Llyr smiled bitterly. “I gather you bespelled the guards’ blades, too.”
He heaved himself to his feet as Kerwyn fell to his knees, fighting desperately to breathe around the blade sunk in his chest.
“I’m glad Janieda refused your suit, you bastard,” Llyr panted. The pain in his side burned like a white-hot poker. “She may have deserved more from me than she got, but she definitely deserved better than you.”
A single stroke of his sword cleaved Kerwyn’s head from his shoulders.
For a long moment, the king of the Cachamwri Sidhe stood under the Mageverse moon, blood pouring hot down
his side as the bodies of those he’d trusted cooled around him. Then, slowly, teeth gritted against the tearing agony, Llyr hobbled across the stone courtyard toward the nearest palace entrance.
He’d go directly to his grandmother’s quarters; at the moment, the Dowager Queen was the only healer he was willing to trust. She’d be able to take off the spell blocking his powers.
Then he’d see if his brother had suborned other traitors among those he loved.
Diana spotted the Grayson County Sheriff’s Office evidence tech down on one knee in front of a coffee table. He was carefully brushing fingerprint dust on a couple of wineglasses. One had a quarter inch of something pale pink in the bottom.
She moved to stand beside him. “White zin?” Bending, she sniffed the glass.
“Yep.” The tech pulled a strip of tape from his box of gear and carefully applied it over a print he’d found.
“He served white zinfandel to his killer?”
The tech shrugged. “Must have had a lady friend here, too. From the size, these are a woman’s prints.”
Diana lifted a brow. “Killer could have been his wife or girlfriend.”
The tech glanced up at her. “No woman could have done that kind of damage.”
“You might be surprised.”
He shrugged and pulled off the tape, lifting the print. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’ve known of women to do some serious overkill. But unless she brought a rottweiler, this one ain’t a woman’s work.”
The bedroom door opened, releasing a stench that made Diana choke. Even the tech gagged.
“There you are,” Chief William Gist said to her. “I want you to check this out.”
“What the hell for?” she heard the tech mutter, so softly Diana doubted the chief heard. The man plainly thought she couldn’t. “She’s a fucking reservist.”
Master of the Moon Page 3