by Kristie Cook
Tristan's hands flew to the sides of his head, grabbing at his hair. He blew out a rumbling breath–a growl of anger or exasperation, I wasn't sure. I placed my hand on the small of his back and felt his muscles pulled taut under my touch.
"Why then?" he demanded of Bree. "Why would the faeries get involved? Why did they care?"
Bree tilted her head. "It wasn't the faeries. It was the Angels. Do you really think they'd let the Daemoni get away with creating a warrior … someone like you … without a plan? They played a part in it all along, planning how you would eventually come to their side. They came to the faeries, asking for our help. I've always favored the Angels, favored Heaven's ways, so I volunteered."
Martin shifted, the movement catching my eye. His eyes narrowed. "That would mean you'd have to give up the Otherworld and live in the physical realm for eternity. No faerie would do such a thing."
"I did," Bree said, turning toward him and the council. "I saw their need and if I didn't do it, if none of us did, the Daemoni would have created something much worse than Tristan. A beast with no goodness at all, no conscience, a killing machine."
"And they trusted you?" Julia demanded. "Knew you wouldn't turn on them?"
"Not at first, but they requested this favor, so they'd already devised a variety of challenges to test my goodness, to be certain I served them and God. When they were satisfied, they sent me into this world as a witch, someone who would meet the Daemoni's criteria for their warrior's biological mother. They planted me so I could give Tristan their goodness and my faerie blood." Bree took several steps toward the dais. "Don't you see? The Angels wanted Tristan to be here, serving you, not the Daemoni. They planned this all along."
"How can we trust you?" Martin demanded. His eyes had gone from pale blue to so dark, they almost looked purple. He leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table, his body tense as if he used every bit of control he had to keep himself from attacking Bree. His voice came out as a growl that rivaled Tristan's. "You're a faerie!"
Jessica, who'd been standing with Lisa in the shadows, stepped forward. "We'll just have to show ya'll."
She and Lisa went over to Bree and grasped her hands in theirs. Then they all lifted their hands together into a peak over their heads, which they leaned together. The light in the room darkened and colorful sparks rained down on them. Then I lost them as the whole room disappeared in darkness.
I found myself in a different place and time. I stood on the side of a mountain covered in green grass and gray boulders, reminding me of pictures I'd seen of Ireland. Bree floated in the air above me with a blinding light surrounding her. She appeared to be alone, but a clear voice with an unearthly quality spoke.
"Thank you, Bree, for aiding us," the voice said. "We understand this changes your existence, and we celebrate your commitment."
"I do it for you, my Angel. And for God," Bree said.
"And we, the Angels, will be with you forever. You may feel outcast, but know you are not. You will rejoin us all in the Otherworld when your time comes. Now go. Do your duty. Create the most powerful warrior for the Amadis."
The light disappeared, and Bree dropped to the ground. Then the scene changed. Bree sat in a hut made of sticks, looking quite different. The light glinted off a few golden streaks, but her hair was now a dull, dishwater blond, and her eyes were no longer shining, but a muddy yellowish-brown. She wasn't exactly ugly, but not as vibrant and striking as she was as a faerie. She sat on a wooden stool, drinking from a mug.
"Drink it all," croaked an old woman, obviously a witch, who stood by the fireplace, eyeing Bree. "Every day, morning and night. Jordan's potion might cause changes in you, but it is mostly for the baby."
"But I am not with child yet," Bree said.
"We are still preparing you," the witch said. "Just as we are preparing the chosen father. He is very handsome, with enough Amadis blood. Soon, you will meet."
The air around us wavered, and the scene wasn't much different, but time had passed. We were still in the hut, but Bree no longer sat on the stool. Her hand pressed against her swollen belly as she waddled toward the bed.
"I am certain it's time," she said, and her face tightened in pain.
"One more dose, then," the witch said, handing Bree a mug.
The scene changed again, and we were now outside what appeared to be the same hut. Bree chased after a small, tow-headed child, both of them laughing. When he turned to look at her, my breath caught. Dorian, I thought at first. But of course not … it was Tristan as a little tot, no more than two or three years old. She scooped him up in her arms and held him closely to her in a loving embrace. Then she gave him the stone, showing her viewpoint of what Tristan had shown me earlier, when my telepathy still worked.
The air wavered again, and Tristan now looked more like six or seven years old, again running around outside the hut. Bree apparently had been watching him from her perch on a fallen tree trunk, but now she glanced around, alarm all over her face. She stood, placed one hand over her enlarged belly and called out, panic lilting her voice. But Tristan never made it back to her. Two men–vampires–shot out of the nearby woods, grabbed Tristan and blurred away, too fast for a pregnant Bree to catch. She fell to the ground sobbing and screaming, "My son! My son!"
Our surroundings changed, and we appeared to be in modern day London. Bree, looking much older and more like the witch we'd found in the Everglades, sat at a small table at a sidewalk café. Based on the fashion people wore, I guessed the time to be the late 1970s or early '80s. When Mom joined her at the table, I knew I guessed right. They spoke briefly until the waiter brought them two mugs of tea. Bree dumped herbs into Mom's mug–the same herbs Blossom had given me last week.
"This will keep me strong so I can handle Lucas?" Mom asked, lifting the cup to her face. She grimaced as the steam rose into her nostrils.
"Yes. It is often used to foster pregnancy, but also fortifies the body."
"Well, I don't have to worry about getting pregnant," Mom said. Then she tipped the cup to her lips and downed the tea. Her eyes watered as she swallowed, which was probably how she missed the golden glint in Bree's eyes–a gleam that said, "let's hope you're wrong."
The scene disappeared, and it took me a moment to realize we were in the Council Hall. The room lightened and everyone looked around, blinking, somewhat disoriented, reminding me of when they showed films in school and the students fell asleep until the teacher flipped the light back on.
"How do we know it's not faerie tricks?" Robin finally asked.
"Of course it's faerie tricks!" Martin bellowed.
"It's not," Tristan said. He stared at Bree, who stood between Lisa and Jessica, but not with hard, glaring eyes sparking with anger. Grief filled them now. His voice came low, full of shock. "I remember now. I remember them taking me and brainwashing me. And … I remember Bree … my mother."
His voice cracked on the last word. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly.
"How do you explain the girl?" Martin asked, his voice heavy with a challenge.
"Yes," Julia said. "You looked to be pregnant again when they took Tristan, but that was two-hundred-sixty-years ago."
Bree nodded. "Yes, it was. Lilith is only six years younger than Tristan. The Daemoni were pleased with Tristan when he was young, and they wanted more just like him. However, they didn't get the same results with Lilith. She came into her powers like a boy does, but at seven years old. She stopped aging then, too. She is powerful, but they couldn't train her. She didn't have the same Angels' blessing as Tristan did. She doesn't have enough goodness in her, making her worse than even a vampire when it comes to self-control." Bree said this last statement with hard eyes on Julia and Armand.
"One of their experiments gone wrong," I muttered.
"Yes," Bree said. "And all of their experiments will continue to go wrong. Tristan is only right because of the Angels' involvement."
"So they allow
ed you to raise the girl?" Martin asked, his tone still accusing.
"Not exactly. They left her to me, but ordered me to kill her. I should have done it and not let her live so long in the body of a child. I understand it wasn't fair, and sometimes she hates me for it. But I couldn't kill her. She's my daughter. For over two hundred years, we lived our outcast lives together. And then we were found, captured and planted in the Everglades, waiting for Tristan and Alexis to find us."
Bree's eyes rested on Martin, and she went silent. He glared at her with measuring eyes.
"It's all faerie antics," Armand said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Tristan said it himself."
"Before she proved herself," Chandra said. "What more do you want? Tristan is obviously innocent."
"Tristan hasn't betrayed us," someone said from the audience.
"He's not the traitor," Minh agreed. "So who is? Who planted you?"
Adolph cut off any answer Bree might have given.
"You hold belief in her? A faerie?" he demanded as he and Armand looked down the table at Minh, their expressions incredulous.
"I do!" The gravelly voice came from the crowd, and this time I felt sure it belonged to Ferrer. Many chants of support followed his.
"Let's get this over with!" someone said. "We need to be out there fighting!"
"Yeah! Call this meeting to a close!" someone else yelled.
"The Normans need us!"
"Our children need us!"
But the same people up on that dais who had voted against Tristan earlier shook their heads, their faces set with determination. They weren't going to change their votes. Everything Bree had said and Tristan confirmed meant nothing to them. They didn't care about any evidence. They didn't care about witnesses or what anyone else believed. Their minds had been made up before the trial even started. They only had one goal: oust Tristan from the Amadis.
But I did see the evidence: This was all the traitor's doing. She controlled them.
Much of the crowd knew the truth, as well. Their cries for righteousness slammed into my chest with the force of a semi. These are my people. With no coronation ceremony, I had never sworn myself to anyone except Tristan, but my heart had been pledged to God, to the Angels and to the Amadis. This Amadis. Not the council, but the people–the people here, the Amadis in the villages, colonies, packs, covens and dens around the world, as well as the Normans. They deserved my allegiance and my devotion. If I gave up and walked away, I'd be no better than the council, than the traitor trying to destroy us all. These were the people I must sacrifice for. The people I served. My people.
But I had no idea what to do to help them. How to protect them against the traitor.
"You serve the least of these, you serve Me, and I will return it to you sevenfold," a voice whispered in my mind. I had no idea where it came from. A memory from Mom's teachings of the bible? Or, perhaps, God Himself had spoken. It wouldn't have been the first time He'd helped me when I needed Him. Then Tristan's words echoed in my mind, "You have the advantage."
Dear God, I thought, I know I haven't appreciated the gift You've given me, but I could really use it back. All of it. The way I'm supposed to use it. The way You intended.
If He answered, I didn't hear.
"Your vote stands?" Martin asked the council. Everyone nodded. Martin blew out a breath and his words came out heavy. "The council has decided. I must go with their decision."
What?
"No!" I shouted, striding to face the center of the table, between Tristan and the council. I stared at Martin–Owen's dad, Char's husband, our friend–with disbelief. "How can you do this?"
"Sit down, Alexis," Martin said, his voice full of warning.
"Not until you explain yourself. All of you! These people–" I swept my arm out at the crowd. "–they trust you to do the right thing. How can you betray them like this? You overstep your boundaries and make false accusations, trying to destroy us all instead of supporting and leading us!"
"Apprehend her," Armand ordered.
"Martin, you must deal the sentencing," Julia said, ignoring me. "Banishment or death?"
The guard tried to grab me again. I twisted and flipped out of his grasp, pulling my dagger at the same time. The crowd fell deathly silent except for a few gasps.
"You can't do this," I said. "You're tearing us apart, not building us up! You're destroying the entire Amadis."
"Tristan has torn us apart," Julia seethed. "It's all his doing. And this faerie's. And yours, too. Perhaps you'd like to go with your traitor husband?"
I'd had enough of her. I'd known the truth all along and had let her and her posse nearly convince me otherwise. I pointed the tip of my dagger at her. "You're the traitor, you lying bitch!"
Julia's eyes widened and her fangs slid below her upper lip. My left hand twitched as electricity sparked between my fingers. I slowly lifted my arm.
"Alexis, no!" Tristan's voice bellowed in my head. I froze.
I heard you, I told him.
"Then listen to me. Don't do this. You have to do what's right."
I am doing what's right! The Amadis deserve to be protected.
"But getting yourself banished or killed along with me won't do them any good. You need to calm down and do what they want. Do what they need you to do." His thoughts fell silent for a beat, and when they returned, they were quiet, somber. "They need a daughter, and I can't give you one without the stone. We've lost, Lex. You have to be with Owen. It's what's right for the Amadis."
And here we were again. Tristan telling me to do the right thing for the Amadis, even if it meant being with Owen. He'd said before it would break his heart … as in, I wouldn't have it anymore. He'd given his heart to me, and I had protected it from the Daemoni while they held him captive. If I did this to him–left him for Owen and the Amadis–and let Martin sentence him to banishment, he would be out there, vulnerable to the enemy. Possibly vulnerable to death. Tristan with the Daemoni or dead … what his creators wanted more than anything. Either way, they would win. It had been them all along.
Which meant they'd infiltrated the council.
I won't let them do this, Tristan. They're not going to win. Not this time.
"Your sentence, Martin?" Adolph asked.
"Banish him. We can't be certain we can kill him." The thought startled me. The voice certainly didn't belong to Tristan, but I knew it well enough. The traitor. "Banish the faerie and Alexis, too."
"Banish him," Martin said. "The faerie and Alexis, too."
My arm holding the dagger fell to my side with astonishment. How did Martin hear the traitor's thoughts? And why did he repeat them? I felt for the mind signatures, now finding hundreds of them floating around the room, and focused on the one straight ahead of me. It wasn't normal, but thick and heavy, as if weighed down. Because it wasn't only one signature. Two signatures floated where Martin sat, almost as if bound together. One much more powerful than the other. And that one belonged to the traitor. But how? How could she be doing this?
Only Rina would know, but the traitor blocked her. I had to make her hear. I had to figure out how to share this with her. But my shield would certainly hold strong now, with all these people around, protecting my own vulnerability.
But I have to do this! It's the only way.
"You can do this," Rina's thoughts echoed in my mind. Not her current ones. A memory from earlier.
The only way I knew how was to let go of my control and broadcast my thoughts to everyone. Let the entire crowd hear and feel it all. Expose myself to them completely, my innermost thoughts, everything. I had no choice. Too much was at stake.
I focused all my energy on my power and imagined blowing my shield away as I blew out the breath I'd been holding. I mentally returned to the last time I'd been able to broadcast–during a beautiful orgasm six months ago–and tried to recapture that feeling of a completely open mind, an open heart and soul. Let it go, I told myself. Relax. And somehow
I did. A feeling of peace overcame me as the shield, which had once felt solid as steel, simply disappeared. I visualized my own mind as an open door and followed the strange mind signature to the traitor's thoughts, letting them flow through me and out to everyone else.
"With Tristan and Alexis out of the way, Sophia and Rina will be easily disposed of," the traitor's voice said in my mind … and in the minds of everyone else. I knew it worked because shocked sounds filled the room, and Mom and Rina suddenly stood on each side of me. "And then I will rule."
Martin looked at the three Ames women standing united, and his brows furrowed. Did he not understand what just happened? Was he the only one who didn't hear the traitor's thoughts, although he'd heard them only a few moments ago? But his befuddled expression quickly disappeared, and he stood, lifting his arms as if wanting to embrace us all.
"Now," he said, his eyes bright and excited as he looked over the crowd, "we may discuss the future of the Amadis. It is time to end the reign of the Ames women and declare a new leader."
"And I'll lead them right into Hell."
Chapter 25
"Martin!" several people exclaimed, Rina and Charlotte the loudest.
"Yes, I would be honored," he said instantly. "It would be my pleasure to rule–"
Cries and yells from the crowd cut him off. Confusion clouded his face.
"They know," the traitor thought. "Katerina!"
Martin snarled as his hand flicked, and a blue light streaked through the air. My grandmother dropped to the floor next to me. Several people cried out as Mom fell to her knees, and Julia blurred to Rina's still form.
"Ignorant vamp tramp. The first of many to–" The traitor stopped, realizing her thoughts were still being broadcast although Rina lay unconscious on the floor. Then the voice changed, dropping several octaves from female to male, and went from a thought to spoken words. "The first of … many to die." Martin smirked. "Ah, Alexis. You broke my block."
"But how–?" I wondered as the crowd murmured with the realization of what I'd done–that I shared Rina's gift.