Silence fanned the air, and Vivienne tried to listen for voices further out. She could make out nothing but the wind, and even that had begun to fade as she went farther.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. It would have been a better idea to wait for Conall, to tell him what Maximilian Cronin had suggested. Even if she’d still run into the trap, Conall might be able to piece some of the information together. He’d be able to follow her. Now, he was probably going insane trying to figure out where she’d slipped off to. If he wasn’t too angry—
“So, after this whole business, how long do you think the grand wizard’s going to keep us here?”
“I don’t know how long your grand wizard will keep you here.”
“I hope we stay for a few more days. It’s England and I’ve never been here before. My Mom—”
“Silence!” It was a hiss, and it was followed by a thud, as if the female had grown tired of the incessant yapping and shoved him into something. “Be quiet or I’ll shut your mouth permanently.” There was another thud. “Understood?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the time but Vivienne had gotten a vital piece of information. She was somewhere in England which meant that Cronin had lured her to the airport in order to toss her on a plane and bring her here. But for what purpose? Something told her she would find out soon enough.
***
There was officially a disturbance in the New York Council. On the plane, Conall had placed a call to Agar to inform the Elder that he was going to kill Cronin, and possibly the other two grand wizards, and anyone else who stood between him and his mate. He’d briefed Agar on the situation, and the Elder, while he didn’t seem to approve, had not disapproved either. Approval or not, Conall meant what he’d said. If, when he returned with Vivienne, he left a trail of dead witches behind, so be it. If the Council dissolved, they would either find new grand wizards, or figure something else out.
“So, what do we do?” The question came from Santiago, who was perched on a leather chair, one black boot on the edge of a coffee table. Santiago had followed him to London while Dominic and Drako remained in New York. It would be foolish for all four of the New York alphas to leave the country. There were rogue packs who dreamed of such an opportunity. He’d even left Sloan to act in his stead, bringing Raoul and fifteen of his best hunters instead.
“We wait.”
This came from the six-foot-seven blond giant perched against the large desk in his study. Straightening to his full height, Eirik approached Santiago, and with a slight flick of his wrist, removed the other man’s foot from the lacquered coffee table.
Glares were exchanged, but instead of slewing profanity, Santiago growled, “How long?”
“Until one of his people messes up, which should be soon. We can sniff them out, but that would take longer.”
Even with the thirty-odd wolves gathered in Eirik Lieverson’s London townhouse, it would take days to pinpoint a scent, and have it lead them somewhere successful. There were witches from other covenants in London, and their scents, mingled with those of humans, vampires, and everything else in the city would lead to many false places.
“And how do you know someone from his covenant will mess up?” Raoul countered from his space behind Conall.
Eirik turned his attention to the Spaniard, and smiled, revealing gleaming canines. He’d just opened his mouth to answer when a firm, feminine voice chimed, “Because they always do when they first come to London. They think it’s like the cities in the States, where a scent can be lost almost instantly. Especially the amateurs. If we patrol tonight we’re bound to find one of them. With the right amount of persuasion, he’ll tell us everything he knows.”
“That’s leaving it up to chance. This is my mate’s life we’re talking about.” Conall growled. He didn’t like this plan. He didn’t like this plan one bit.
Astrid turned to face him. She was the only female pack alpha in the UK, one of three in total, and she was by far the most beautiful. The daughter of an Amazon and a Viking, Astrid looked otherworldly even among immortals. Although she had pale features, from her skin to her pale green eyes, her lips were thick, her cheeks high, traits from her mother’s people. Even her flaxen hair was curly, loose ringlets she usually kept bound and piled atop her head.
“We understand, Athelwulf. You are naturally afraid for your mate. But this is our territory, and we have seen it before. Before the day is over, we will know the location of your mate.” She approached him slowly, before dipping her head and placing a small but strong hand on his shoulder. “On my honor.”
He nodded once. There weren’t many options. He was in unfamiliar territory. He’d tried his bond with Vivienne to pinpoint a location, but it was as if she never existed. Had they completed the mating ceremony, he might have been able to pick up a faint trail. Conall couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive…. But she must be alive, if only because Cronin needed her and her sister to resurrect the druids.
Conall felt helpless. If Eirik and Astrid were both endorsing this plan, he’d go with it. Once they helped him find his mate and locate the bastard who’d taken her, he’d go along with anything.
***
“Learn it.”
Vivienne stared down at the spell book before glaring up at the man in distaste. Her mother had always told her to respect her elders, but if not for these chains, she would have kicked his ass somewhere far. Her druid might have retreated but her rage was still there.
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll kill your mother.”
She scoffed, and Cronin lifted a brow. “Learn it.”
“No.”
His lip curled slightly, and then he called for someone. Moments later, Evelyn was brought in by two trackers. An involuntary scream left Vivienne’s lips at her mother’s state. She was still dressed in the same clothes she’d been taken in, but they were ragged and bloodied, as if something or someone had attacked her. She wasn’t walking either, but being dragged. When the trackers finally stopped, Evelyn’s head continued to hang forward as if the effort required to lift it was simply too much. Black hair curtained her head, blocking her face from view.
“Learn. It.” Maximilian pummeled his cane against the page in the spell book.
Vivienne wasn’t listening to him. She stood, rattling the chains that held her, and whispered, “Mom?”
Evelyn’s only response was jerk of her head.
“What have you done to her?”
He smiled and replied, “Nothing she won’t survive.” The smile faded and he looked down to the book. “Pick it up.”
When Vivienne didn’t move quickly enough, he nodded to one of the trackers, who retrieved a shiny dagger. The other tracker dragged her mother up, exposing her dirtied and bloodied face, as well as her neck.
Evelyn barely opened her eyes, squinting against the light. Her gaze locked on Vivienne and her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Still, a little smile curled them up.
“What will it be, Vivienne? Learn the spell or lose your mother.”
Swallowing, Vivienne turned to him. Her body was shaking as she said, “You are an evil bastard.”
“Actually, according to my birth records, I’m quite legitimate,” he responded coolly. “What choice will you make?”
She reached down for the spell book, and quickly scanned the Latin words. It wasn’t a long spell, barely five lines, with the word, “reddo” at the end. Repeat.
“It won’t work while I wear these chains,” she said softly.
Cronin laughed. “And you would like me to remove them so that you can destroy me, and possibly my entire covenant? How stupid you think me.” The laughter disappeared. “I’ll return in a few hours, and you’ll repeat that spell to me verbatim. If not, your mother dies.”
He turned when Vivienne asked in a low voice, “Why?”
Motioning to the trackers, he waited until they’d removed
Evelyn from the room. As he approached Vivienne, she shrank back against the wall.
A bony hand caressed her cheek, making her skin crawl, and he answered, “Why else? It’s unfair that I wither like this while you and your kind remain flawless throughout your life.” He smiled even as his eyes grew colder. “You will never know aches, never fear human diseases, never need to work a spell that will prolong your life. And after tomorrow, neither will I.”
With that, he stepped back before walking to the door.
“Learn that spell, Vivienne.”
***
Ryan Delluci staggered as he left the pub, a human “blonde” on his arm, chatting up a storm in his ear. She wasn’t a true blonde, from the telltale dark roots of her hair, but what did he care? If it looked like a blonde, talked like a blonde—his thought pattern gave out somewhere in that saying and he chuckled. He’d lied to her, told her he was in London on business for his company, and she’d gobbled it up.
“So, where d’you live?” the blonde asked the moment they were out in the cold night air.
“Take me to your place,” he replied instead. He’d gone on break a few hours ago, and because everyone else was being a stick, choosing to stay in the boring countryside, he decided to go out alone. He’d never been to London, just as he’d told that lesbian tracker who’d kept riding his ass, and he wanted to enjoy it.
“I live over by King’s Cross. We’ll need a black car.”
“Black car?”
“Taxi? Cab?”
“Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”
“I don’t have any more money—”
“I’ll pay.”
She hugged him closer. “You are sweet.”
He kissed her, tasting the chick-drink he’d gotten her. It was coconut-based and sugary. Something with a stupid name that would not affect any immortal, or previous immortal. It had taken an entire bottle of Jack to get him to where he was, and he was sure if not for that stupid curse those druids had cast all those years ago, he could have taken in more. The blonde began moaning, and his cock jumped in anticipation, for tonight. His first British slut.
She pulled away, and moved to stand by the edge of the street. He looked down at the short and tight miniskirt she wore before moving forward and placing his hands under it. His fingers touched the material of her thong and he was about to push it aside when she squealed and slapped his hand away. He frowned.
Turning around, she gave him a look of horror, and then moved to the side, away from the street, and began backing up. Why the act of innocence after sucking his face off in the pub? Shit, he could have fucked her in the bathroom of the club from the way they’d been going.
“Look, are we going to fuck or not?” He decided bluntness was better than getting to this chick’s place and finding out she only wanted to make him tea. The blonde shook her head, screamed, and took off running in the opposite direction.
“The fuck?” He glared after her. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Fucking slut!”
Whatever. He looked at his watch. It was just after midnight. He had three more hours before he went back on duty. During that time, he’d find another one, and fuck her at the pub. Going back to chick’s places was overrated.
Ryan turned around and froze. Holy shit! She was hot. Tall, and blonde—his preference—and wearing a shitload of leather. She looked like something out of a comic book. And she was walking toward him.
He blinked and shook his head. He’d had a few shots too many, but water and coffee should cure that soon enough. The babe was still there. His tunnel vision had at first blanked out that fact she was surrounded by four hulking men. When that registered, he swallowed, wishing he wasn’t five sheets to the wind. Had he offended her or something? He tried to remember, but nothing came.
“Nice night?” Her voice was soft steel, velvet-covered handcuffs.
Ryan smiled and nodded, almost instantly forgetting her entourage. Hell, it wasn’t that hard when the chick looked like a cross between an angel and a sex-kitten.
“You from around here?” she asked, taking out a shiny cigarette case and popping one between her red lips. What he would do to exchange that cigarette for his cock. “Want one?”
“No. I mean, no I’m not from around here, and yeah, I’d like a cig.”
She removed the one from between her reddened lips and placed it between his. He grinned, already picturing how many positions he could bend her into.
“You are really fucking hot,” he said, positive he slurred the words but not really caring. She was hot.
“Thanks.”
“What’s your name, baby?”
She smiled and replied, “Astrid.”
“Sexy. You gotta light?”
She nodded.
In the next moment, he was on the ground, his nose on fire, before he was hauled up and shoved into something. His back throbbed. He groaned. An arm locked against his neck, cutting off his air. He blinked open his eyes and hers—pale blue—stared right back at him.
“Where’s Cronin?”
A fraction of the alcohol mysteriously disappeared from his system and he took a long whiff. Wolves! Shit!
He tried to reach for the gun at his hip, but she snapped his wrist.
“FUCK!” The pain was excruciating. Completely drunk and he was still able to feel the breaking of those bones. Ryan had broken his foot once during training, and he couldn’t remember it hurting this bad.
“We can do this easy way or the hard way,” Astrid said with a smile. Leaning forward, she licked at his lip, and her tongue came away red. He watched her swallow and sigh. “You tell me where Cronin is, and what he’s doing in my territory, or I take you back to my place, and carve you up for dinner.”
Ryan’s anger boiled over. He was being roughed up by a girl, and a pretty girl at that. What was with these fucking lesbians?
“Fuck you, you dyke! I’m not telling you shit—wait, not that!”
Her other hand cupped his cock and balls. She squeezed, applying enough pressure for him to wince.
“These will be the first to go,” she promised with a smile before releasing him. Ryan was about to put up a semblance of defense when a fist connected with his nose once more and sent his head banging into the concrete of the building. Pain erupted in his skull as he fell forward, face first, asphalt beating on his already bloodied nose. He groaned, and then coughed in pain. He would not cry!
“Put him in the car, and call Athelwulf. Tell him we found one of them.”
Consciousness left him soon after. His last thought was that he should have stayed with his covenant. At least there, this dyke werewolf wouldn’t have gotten him this easily. And he would have been sober, and able to put up a better fight. Beaten by a girl…. His father would be ashamed.
***
It didn’t take long for Ryan to begin talking. An hour alone with Astrid making true on her promise to remove his most precious bodily part had made him very forthcoming. He’d given them an address, a location in Salisbury, and had spoken of something planned for Stonehenge the next night. Conall had done his own version of the interrogation, and had gotten the tracker to say exactly where his mate was located in the house. He had spoken only of one druid, so it seemed possible Cassie was being held somewhere else.
When they left the soundproof room in which the tracker was being held, they headed to Astrid’s study, where Eirik, Santiago, and Raoul were waiting. Astrid explained to him the significance of that address. It was a part of Frederick Wentworth’s covenant. It was becoming clear that his mate’s kidnapping was an international, collaborative effort by a number of grand wizards. That thought only made him angrier.
“Wentworth controls Salisbury and most of the neighboring towns. His covenant is one of the largest here,” Eirik said from his stance by the window.
“How do we get in?” Santiago asked before Conall could.
Astrid shook her head once. “Even if we get in, we won’t get far. Wentworth has t
he largest number of trackers under his command. His fort is as protected as Buckingham Palace.”
“Look, I know I speak for Conall when I say we didn’t come here to sit and twiddle of our fucking thumbs. We came here to kick and kill some witch-ass, teach Cronin a lesson, and get his mate the fuck back—”
“I was not finished,” Astrid cut in smoothly, giving Santiago a long glare. She snapped her gaze away from him, and turned back to Conall. “The tracker mentioned something happening at Stonehenge tomorrow night. I propose we wait for them there. Stonehenge is windy, making it almost impossible for a tracker to pick up on the scent of a were, especially if we’re upwind.”
“Stonehenge? What’s happening at Stonehenge?” Raoul asked curiously.
“He doesn’t know, but he was willing to sacrifice a lot to protect the secret that something was.”
“He ended up telling you anyway, sweets, so it obviously wasn’t that much of a secret.” Despite the seemingly sexist endearment, Santiago’s eyes held grudging respect for the female.
Astrid gave him a wintery smile, which he returned.
“Men will give up even the most precious of secrets when you hold a pair of shears to their balls.”
Santiago’s smile faded, and he squirmed slightly in his chair. Astrid’s smile only grew larger.
“I find it curious they’re going to Stonehenge tomorrow night,” Eirik began slowly, turning to face Conall. “You told us you’re here for your mate, but you haven’t yet told us why she’s being held by two grand wizards.”
It had been subconscious, his reluctance to tell them exactly what his mate was, but he’d kept the secret anyway.
“My mate is one of the last two druids in the world,” Conall began, careful to read the expressions on the faces of Eirik and Astrid. They both wore looks of curiosity. “The other is her twin sister. Only a druid can resurrect the banished druids, and Cronin wants to use them to do that.”
Eirik arched a brow while Astrid stared at him as if he’d grown another head.
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