Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series

by Veronica Singer

  A gleaming black vehicle rolled up silently. On the hood was a Roll-Royce emblem, and a Union Jack flag flew from a tiny pole on the fender.

  The car drifted past me and glided to a halt, its rear window directly in front of me. I didn’t know Rolls-Royce made a stretch limousine.

  The window—which was over three inches thick—rolled down halfway to reveal the passenger. She was a slim woman in her mid-thirties with piercing blue eyes, her elegant face framed by a silken hijab.

  “Princess Luna, I presume?” she asked, with the impeccable pronunciation of upper-class Brits. The slight emphasis on “Princess” indicated disbelief.

  “Sometimes they call me that.”

  “Her Majesty would like to offer you sanctuary,” she said.

  I leaned in, all slashing teeth in a wolf muzzle, pointed ears, and bad attitude. The lady seemed unconcerned at my nearness, which was a point in her favor.

  A deep sniff told me what I had suspected from the eyes. She was a magician, as was her driver.

  She waited with patience while I shifted my muzzle back to human shape to speak.

  “Was that a singular ‘you’ or a plural one?” I asked, matching her mode of speech.

  “I spoke in the singular.”

  “In that case”—I waved at the army and my friends— “please give Her Majesty my regrets. I’m in the middle of something with my mates. You know how it is with previous engagements.”

  Her mouth pursed in anger. I ignored her and crouched down beside the car.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m waiting for you to drive away. Then I’m going to use your bulletproof piece of junk as a shield until I can flank that army. Then I’m going to kill as many of them as possible before dying.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. If it would not impose, try not to drive away too swiftly. Thank you.”

  The window rolled up. I nodded my thanks and got down in a sprinter’s crouch, ready to unleash death and destruction.

  The Rolls stayed stubbornly in place. Then the window rolled down again.

  “Very well. Plural.”

  “Then we gratefully accept Her Majesty’s invitation. If you would be so kind as to back up to where my companions await, I would be forever in your debt.”

  The Rolls backed up slowly. A ripple of unrest stirred the troops as we arrived back at Manny’s SUV.

  “Hey, guys,” I called. “Hurry up. Our ride is here.”

  The forward rear door clicked and opened an inviting inch. I grabbed Logan in my arms and threw him over my left shoulder.

  “Alisha, you should come with us. It’s not safe here.”

  “Prince Abdul will take care of me.” She was fumbling with the zip ties that still bound her legs together.

  “He’s not here and these soldiers seem to be the ‘shoot first’ type. I really think you should come with us.”

  She shook her head violently and pushed away.

  I hesitated, but Logan would never forgive me if I left her here.

  “I should have never removed your hood,” I said. I reached in, grabbed a handful of her abaya, and carried her kicking and screaming like a toddler to the limo. At least her legs were still tied up.

  Logan and Alisha were an unwieldy bundle, but as I approached the limo, Mike took Logan from me. Manny held the door open. In a few seconds, we were all seated. Logan, Mike, and I took the rear-facing seat, and Manny sat to the right of our host. I dumped Alisha on the floorboards.

  The doors thunked shut and the locks clicked as the Rolls moved away from the would-be battleground.

  “Thanks for calling the Uber,” said Manny. “I thought we’d be stuck there forever.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said our host in the coldest voice imaginable.

  Manny—covered in dust, dirt, and sweat, stinking of explosives, and at least twenty years older than her—smiled and asked, “So, you’re some kind of princess?” as if he was chatting up a girl in a dive bar.

  Mike and I shared a look. Mike leaned in and said, “I told you he reminded me of Logan. He’s always like that after a mission.”

  “I’m not a princess,” our rescuer said. “I’m Lady Birdsong of Her Majesty’s government.”

  “Nice to meet you, Songbird. I’m Manny.” He leaned in close to her. “What do you do for fun when you’re not picking up handsome men in this Uber?”

  Her face grew cold and hard, her lips thinned, and the stink of ozone and magic gathered.

  “Manny,” I snapped.

  He instantly sat back but, almost too low to hear, he murmured to Lady Birdsong, “I’ll look you up later.”

  I spoke in Fae, using the mode reserved for strangers unfamiliar with each other’s status. “Birdsong is a Fae name. Do you speak Fae?”

  Her eyes brightened and she said, “A bit. Grandfather would have learnt me some phrases.”

  Wrong tense, wrong mode, and spoken with a terrible accent. Speaking like that in Fae would either cause laughter or a challenge.

  I shifted back to English. “Splendid! But I suppose we should speak English out of consideration for our fellow travelers.”

  “Certainly. I wouldn’t wish to exclude your companions.”

  I bit back a comment—she had just tried to get me to abandon them to an army—and gave her my most saccharine smile.

  The heavy car glided through morning traffic, taking us to our fate.

  22

  Surrounded by an injured werewolf, two SEALs still fragrant with explosive residue, a spitting mad teenager bound with flex-cuffs, and a werewolf warrior princess, Lady Birdsong chatted as if we were at a tea party.

  “I believe formal introductions are in order,” she said primly. “As I said, I am Lady Birdsong. Her Majesty has appointed me to welcome you.” At my stare, she added, “And to offer you sanctuary.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lady Bird,” said Manny. “You have any beer in here?” His eyes were bright with euphoria. I briefly wondered if this was a typical after-action rush or his pain-free personality reasserting itself.

  She gritted her teeth at Manny mangling her name, but said, “Beer? At this hour?”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere and I’ve had a hell of a night.”

  Another prim almost-smile. “If you open that console, you might find some refreshment.”

  Manny popped open the console and grimaced. “All you have is Guinness in a can?” He squinted at the label. “And it’s that crappy alcohol-free stuff.”

  “If you dig deeper, you will find some original Guinness.”

  “Ah, there it is! Thanks, Bird Lady.”

  More gritted teeth from the lady. “You’re quite welcome. Now if you would be so kind—”

  Manny popped the can and took a large drink, interrupting our host.

  “Ahhh, that hits the spot!” he said.

  Then at Lady Birdsong’s glare, he continued in a slightly abashed tone. “Pardon my manners. Would you like a sip, Birdie?” He proffered the open can to her.

  “No thank you.” The temperature in the car dropped quickly.

  “Anyone else want a beer? They have plenty in here.”

  What the hell—alcohol doesn’t really affect me, and it had been a hell of a night. “Sure, Manny, I’ll take one.”

  “Mike?”

  “Sure.”

  “Alice?”

  “It’s Alisha!” she replied through gritted teeth. She was trembling with anger, but took a deep breath and added, “Yes, please. I’m very thirsty.”

  Manny handed Alisha one of the zero-alcohol cans, then distributed real beer to the rest of us. “Cheers!” he said, finishing off his tall can of Guinness.

  I took a tentative sip, tasting the dark brew, which was thick as hot chocolate, redolent of yeast and hops, but chilled to slightly below room temperature. Good stuff, and it would help supply some of the calories I would need to recover.

  Lady Birdsong looked at the still-unconscious Logan.
“We have a physician who can attend to your friend when we reach the embassy compound. We’ll send him to the medical wing as soon as we arrive.”

  I had a premonition of doctors poking and prodding Logan, taking blood samples.

  I shook my head and stroked Logan’s arm, sending him more energy. “It looks worse than it is. A day or two of TLC will have him up and about.”

  “It will be no trouble.”

  “It won’t be necessary,” I insisted. “In fact, I must insist that we not be separated.”

  “As you wish.”

  I squeezed Logan’s hand and was rewarded with a return squeeze. His eyes fluttered and he took a deep sniff.

  “Buh… buh, buh…” he whispered through cracked lips.

  “Dad!” exclaimed Alisha. Then she remembered she was supposed to be mad and muttered, “You’re awake.”

  “It’s okay, Logan,” I said, ignoring everyone else. “We got you out of there and we’re far away.”

  I fed him some more of my stored moonlight energy.

  He took a deeper breath, opened his eyes, and said, “Buh-buh… beer.”

  Mike nodded at Manny, who immediately fished out another Guinness and handed it over.

  I popped the can and propped his head up with my left hand while guiding the beer to his mouth. The can touched his cracked lips and I gave him the tiniest sip possible.

  It took a minute, but he got a few good swallows in before regaining enough strength to take the can from my hands.

  Leaning forward, Logan blinked blurry eyes. He finished off the beer, smiled at Alisha—a smile which was pointedly not returned—then looked around the limo.

  “Luna, you didn’t have to come here. I had them right where I wanted them,” he whispered.

  “I know, Logan. But I always wanted to see this part of the world, and Mike wanted to look up an old Navy buddy.”

  Logan pulled the towel from around his throat, revealing the ravaged flesh beneath. No wonder he had a hard time speaking. He would have to do a full transformation to heal up from the silver-induced scars.

  I turned to Lady Birdsong. “You see? He’ll be up and about in no time. There’s no need for your doctors to care for Logan. He can stay with the rest of us.”

  “I want to be separated,” said Alisha. “These crazy people kidnapped me from Prince Abdul’s house, and I want to go back.”

  “Stockholm syndrome,” said Manny flatly. “Mike, you remember that woman in Colombia? She ran back to her captors.”

  “But you kidnapped me!”

  “Tough,” said Manny. “I wasn’t the first.”

  Lady Birdsong interceded. “Perhaps we should delay discussion of your status until after you’ve had a chance to rest and eat.” She wrinkled her nose at Alisha. “After all, there’s a lot of confusion out there now. Just agree to be my guest for a bit, then you can go on your way.”

  A magician’s non-promise promise. “A bit” could be an hour or a month.

  “Okay,” said Alisha, surprising me. If I had made that suggestion, she would have been all teenage petulance. Maybe she still held a grudge over the kidnapping, restraints, and hood? I’ll never understand human teenagers.

  We arrived at the British Embassy and drove through a fortified outer gate, which closed behind us. The limo stopped over a grave-shaped pit in the ground between the inner and outer gates, and we waited while a technician examined the underside of the vehicle for bombs.

  Invisible fingers of magical force played over our bodies, raising gooseflesh on the humans, but not affecting Logan and me.

  Lady Birdsong said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to turn over your explosives and weapons before you can be allowed entry.”

  Both Mike and Manny looked to me, ignoring Lady Birdsong. Those sneaky bastards had managed to keep some C-4 and detonators from our rescue attempt.

  “We’ll give up the explosives,” I said, “but my personal guards will maintain control of their weapons. I give you my assurance, they will not use them except to protect me or our team.”

  “I must insist,” she said primly. The smell of ozone and magic increased.

  “And I must refuse. You are in no danger from my team.”

  “I can force the issue.” She turned her eyes to Mike and said, “Give me your weapon.” Her voice was infused with magic and command.

  Mike’s face blanked and he pulled out his silver dagger. His forehead emitted a golden glow, as if a light had turned on underneath the skin.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “That ‘command voice’ crap might work on regular grunts, but SEALs are a bit harder.”

  “Give me your weapon!” she commanded more forcefully.

  Mike showed teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. “I’ve been told these runes make this an effective weapon against magicians,” he said as he stroked the blade.

  “Give me your—” Her voice cut off as Mike lunged across the intervening space and put the blade to her throat.

  I slid to my right, giving myself a clear shot at Lady Birdsong in case she used magic against Mike.

  “The only problem is that I haven’t had the chance to test it on a magician,” he said. “Until today.”

  The bulletproof glass barrier that separated the driver from the passenger compartment dropped swiftly. The magician-driver poked a wand through and aimed it at Mike’s back.

  A bolt of magical force blasted from the wand, but was stopped by the cupped palm I placed in front of the weapon. The energy dissipated harmlessly against my werewolf essence.

  I grabbed the wand from the man’s hand and cracked him across the knuckles with it. “Try that again and I’ll shove this up your ass.”

  I turned my attention to Lady Birdsong. The tip of Mike’s dagger touched her throat. Three of the seven glyphs glowed brightly, casting strange shadows around the interior of the limo.

  Lady Birdsong grabbed Manny’s hand, tugging on it as if she expected him to defend her. Her hopes were dashed when Manny peeled her hand from his like it was infected.

  “Ladybird, you’re on your own here. I’m not going to fight my boss for you.”

  Manny scooted back and took a sip of beer. “This reminds me of that time we got held up in Bangkok.”

  Then he pulled out his .45 and aimed it at Lady Birdsong’s head. “That got messy. Let’s not get messy, okay?” He tilted his head and added, “You seem like a nice girl, you got us a ride, and you gave me a drink. I would really hate to shoot you.”

  The scent of fear came off her in waves, and she raised both hands with fingers spread. A magician’s sign that they wouldn’t attack.

  At her nod, the driver pulled back. He gazed hungrily at the wand I still held. I shook my head and he raised the divider.

  “Mike, please let her go.”

  Mike moved back to our seat, now occupying the center position, but kept the knife in hand. He stared menacingly at Lady Birdsong, almost daring her to try to entrance him again.

  Manny waited for me to nod, then clicked on the safety and holstered his weapon.

  “Did you offer sanctuary or imprisonment?” I mused. “Not very welcoming. I won’t stand for my pack or guards to be disarmed. So we’ll just hop out here and be on our way.”

  I pulled the door handle, only to find it locked. I gave Lady Birdsong a reproving look and extruded a claw. I scored a circle in the glass, just as I had done to Zippy’s bulletproof window, only this circle was much larger.

  Lady Birdsong had a smug look on her face as glyphs appeared on the glass, glyphs that made it stronger than diamond. No wonder she hadn’t worried about driving between two armies.

  Her expression soured as the glyphs flashed brightly and then expired, leaving simple bulletproof glass behind. Still tough stuff, but no match for my claws.

  The groove was about half an inch deep when Mike tapped me on the shoulder. “Luna, why don’t you use this? No need to ruin your manicure on that.” He proffered his dagger, handle first.

&n
bsp; “Great idea, Mike,” I said. I took the dagger carefully. The silver tang would burn my hand, but the enchanted blade would make short work of this glass.

  “But that’s silver!” protested Lady Birdsong.

  “Enchanted silver,” I said. “This dagger has interesting properties.” I continued carving away at the glass. “It’s a lot tougher than it looks.”

  “Kinda like Luna,” said Logan.

  There was a long silence while I worked, then Lady Birdsong asked, “You trust this man at your back with a weapon deadly to werewolves?”

  “Of course.”

  Lady Birdsong was holding Manny’s hand again.

  I had the groove cut over two inches deep into the three-inch-deep glass. I handed the blade back to Mike, pulled my left fist back and punched with werewolf strength. With a satisfying pop! the disk of glass and plastic popped out of the window. It rolled around for a minute, like a tossed coin the size of a manhole cover, before finally dropping flat.

  Hot desert air flowed into the limo through the new porthole, dissipating the stench of magic.

  “Thanks for the ride from the embassy,” I said. “We’ll take it from here.”

  I reached through the portal and flipped the outer door handle to open the door.

  “Please don’t go,” she whispered as if it hurt to talk.

  I arched an eyebrow and shook my head. “We really can’t trust you. I think we’ll be better off on our own.”

  “Sanctuary, not imprisonment. I give you my word as a lady.”

  “Your word as a lady isn’t worth much,” I said.

  “What assurance can I give you?”

  I stared at her right hand, joined to Manny’s left, then flashed the sign magicians used to swear: first and second fingers together, third finger held down to the palm, and pinky extended. A cross between a Vulcan greeting and a Boy Scout salute.

  Lady Birdsong took a deep breath and frowned. A magician’s oath was more than a promise. Breaking one was possible, but the repercussions would be severe.

  She tried to raise her arm, but met resistance. She looked down at her right hand, seeming surprised to realize it had gone back to grip Manny’s hand. She pulled her hand away, looking at it as if it had betrayed her, then held it up in the correct gesture.