Threescore & Tequila (Toil & Trouble Book 4)

by Heather R. Blair

  When my eyes adjust, I’m not interested in him anymore. Under the circle of candles is a bed, one of those huge four-poster affairs.

  Jett is on it, each wrist bound so tightly to a pole that her fingers are turning purple. Something that looks like a dog collar is around her throat. Her shirt is torn straight down the front, red marks on her collarbone. Her eyes find mine, unusually bright. The rage that fills me is so enormous and sudden I stagger, barely able to keep my feet.

  There is a pounding in my ears. Jett opens her mouth, but I’m already turning back to the man who’s just getting to his feet. The man who’s about to die. He’s wriggling his jaw with one hand, looking at me with curiosity but no fear.

  That’ll change.

  “Who the hell are—”

  My bear bursts free with a roar that brings more screams from the girl in the other cell. Jett stares, her jaw slack. It occurs to me she’s never seen me shift.

  “Black bear, eh?” The man’s interest sharpens. “You must be Krueger. Lovely.” He glances at Jett with unmistakable smugness. “This will be fun.”

  An odd crackling fills the air, the sound of someone who doesn’t shift often. When it stops, another bear faces me, huge and white with flickering yellow eyes. A polar bear. And I know—even though it’s impossible—I know this isn’t the brother I was told about.

  This is Lev himself.

  Son of a bitch.

  I’m enormous for a black bear, seven hundred pounds and four and a half feet at the shoulder. As a grizzly, Georg had only about a hundred pounds and a half a foot on me in his shifted form. This creature dwarfs me. Easily half a ton, six feet tall even with all four paws on the floor, he takes up seemingly half the cavernous room.

  My eyes flick to Jett. She’s pale, but the blazing look she gives me is pure faith. She believes I can do this.

  And she’s right.

  I’m going to kill this son of a bitch. I could end his life for any number of reasons: betraying her trust all those years ago, kidnapping her now. Thinking he could rape her.

  But putting that fucking collar on the woman I love is all the reason I need.

  Without a sound, I leap.

  23

  I want to scream. I need to scream. But my throat is locked tight.

  When Stephen jumps, Lev is looking at me, smug even in his shifted form. Then they collide. Stephen’s heavy, dark head is lowered, slamming Lev into the dungeon wall broadside. The whole castle seems to groan at the impact. Lev snorts, in pain or embarrassment I can’t tell, but in the next instant they’re grappling for real.

  Gleaming black fur on yellowish-white.

  It’s brutal, two half-mad animals going for blood any way they can. Teeth and claws flash, snarls and growls echo off the walls. I know it can’t be more than a few minutes, but it seems like forever. And all I can do is watch.

  Stephen is wearing down too quickly. It can’t be the Ren in the walls, since Lev appears fine.

  Then I remember how Stephen looked ill the last few times I’ve seen him, his comments about the effect of the mating bond. My heart shrinks in my chest. But he’s here. I’m here, surely that counts for something. It won’t matter how much bigger Lev is, or how much older. Stephen is a goddamn king.

  And he’s never fought his bruin side, never despised it the way Lev does. More than that, Stephen is good.

  Lev is evil.

  It’s as simple as that. Some sappy part of me deep inside must still believe in fairy tales because I expect Stephen to win for that reason alone.

  I should know better.

  Icicle yellow teeth wrap around Stephen’s exposed throat, blood dripping as they sink deep. I am screaming now. Lev glances at the bed, those ochre eyes full of malicious triumph.

  Then one eyeball explodes in a burst of gelatinous gore. Lev’s roar this time sounds more like a sob. Stephen’s claws rake at his face again and again, not only wiping out the eye, but carving deep gouges in his long snout and tearing away part of his nose.

  Lev skitters away on his back paws, slamming into the wall. Stephen lumbers to his feet. Even in his weakened state, he’s faster than the larger bear, more maneuverable. He hits Lev while the polar bear is shaking his head in mindless agony, still trying to see out of that useless dangling eye.

  Lev goes down and stays down, but Stephen isn’t done. He drives his claws into the other bear’s chest, both those heavy front paws bearing down until the ribcage collapses in a series of snapping noises, like fireworks without the smoke or sparks.

  When Stephen’s done, he turns his head. Big, dark eyes find mine and hold. They’re cloudy, going dull and grey even as I watch. He’s hurt bad, blood matting his fur and splashing against the stone, drop by heavy drop.

  “Good job, bruin. But don’t quit now. Come on. Get me loose,” I coax, trying not to cry.

  He’s on the verge of passing out. I refuse to think it might be worse than that, that Stephen might lose more than consciousness while I’m trussed up like some Thanksgiving turkey.

  He shuffles off of Lev’s broken body, lumbering to the bed. Halfway there, he almost goes over, but with a snort and snuffle, he gets close enough to nose the table. The key is on it, along with those vile needles. But my hands are bound and right now he has none.

  “Shift, Stephen. Come on, furface.”

  But he’s weak. So fucking weak. I’m not sure he’s capable. I close my eyes, pleading with every god I know and hate.

  I should know this man doesn’t need divine help where I am concerned. A minute later, Stephen is kneeling next to the bed. His clothes are shredded; more blood than cloth covers him. But he manages to loosen the winch, to undo my collar and cuffs with one shaking hand before collapsing. His head is on my thigh as I sit up, my arms trembling and pinging. My strength is somewhat back. The gas has almost worn off. But how the hell do I get us out of here? Stephen must weigh damn near 250 pounds and I can’t cast. Then there’s Fiona . . .

  My mind is still racing frantically when a shadow covers the bed.

  I look up, my fingers tightening in Stephen’s hair. I scream as he’s torn from me.

  The polar bear bats him into the air like a fly. There is a sickening, wet crunch as Stephen’s body hits the stone wall. With a chuffing laugh, the white bear turns back to me, face streaked crimson, one eye dangling by a gruesome thread.

  I plunge both hands into Lev’s chest before he can pull away, pushing my way through fur and bone and blood, seeking something darker. His soul is sticky when it brushes my grasping fingers, heavy and crunchy, like a shattered stone wrapped in spider webs. His ruined eye socket pulses and his good one widens as I tear it from his body.

  “That’s right, you fucker. This is how it feels.”

  His jaw gapes wide, those yellow teeth reaching for me but unable to clamp down. Who’s helpless now, Lev?

  I crush the soul in my fist and get to my feet as he collapses.

  Tossing the dust over the polar bear’s inert form, I limp to the other side of the dungeon.

  Don’t be dead, furface.

  Please.

  24

  Sobs wake me up. Well, that and a slap. But it’s the crying that really brings me around.

  Soft, low and heartbreaking. Familiar. I’ve heard this before.

  Somehow I force my lips to move. “You’re not allowed to cry, witch.”

  “Well, you’re not allowed to die, stupid bruin.” She slaps me again.

  I can’t move my head from its awkward position and I don’t want to open my eyes yet anyway. It’s hard and cold. Why am I on the floor? I thought I remembered making it to the . . .

  Oh yeah. “Is he really dead this time?”

  “Yes. You finished off his body and I took care of the fucker’s soul.”

  “I knew we’d make a good team.”

  She laughs, then her breath starts to hitch again. “You really aren’t looking so good, furface.”

  I can imagine. I think this might b
e what ground hamburger feels like. “Is there a way out of this place?”

  She nods shortly. “But I can’t apparate until we get past the entrance and you’re too heavy for me to lift without magic.”

  “How far?”

  “Maybe three hundred yards.”

  A goddamn football field. Fucking castles. Even in the Middle Ages everyone thought bigger was better.

  “I can do it.”

  I crack my eyes to see her skeptical face. I’m getting tired of that look from her when it comes to me.

  “Just get the girl and let’s go.”

  She nods, jumping up to grab the key off the sideboard before stumbling into the other chamber.

  I hear the rattle of chains, close my eyes briefly and gather my strength. Despite what I told Jett, I’m not entirely sure I can do this. My guts are held in by a few strips of muscle and I’ve lost enough blood that the dark spots in front of my eyes won’t go away. Shifter healing can’t keep up with this kind of damage, at least not in this fucked-up place. I can feel the weight of the Ren slowing my body’s natural defenses down.

  Too slow.

  But I fucking promised.

  So when she gets back, I force myself to my feet, even though it hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. Well, except when I thought I’d lost her for good. With a grunt, I put one foot in front of the other.

  Three hundred yards and counting.

  Two hundred and ninety-nine . . .

  He’s going to die. Fucking bruin bastard.

  And I can’t bear it. No pun intended.

  Stephen made it to the entrance of the dungeon. I don’t know how, but he did.

  Then he fell flat on his face.

  I’m kneeling next to him, feeling helpless. Again. Fiona is beside me. I have one hand clamped around her wrist to make sure she doesn’t bolt. She’s still half feral, not looking at either of us, but at the sky, her eyes slitted. “I don’t know what to do, Stephen.”

  “Now you admit to needing help?” he says, his deep voice hollow and muffled, but I can still hear the trace of amusement.

  I shake my head, opening my mouth. Then his arm moves and strong fingers wrap tightly around mine. My eyes are blurring as he reaches into his pocket. Fiona makes a squeaking noise of fear as she’s dragged along.

  Then the castle disappears entirely.

  25

  Green hills rise above a majestic, dark river draped in heavy, silken fog. The cottage reminds me a bit of the Den. It’s three stories tall and peaked, but instead of all wood, it’s mostly made of stone. Not cold and grey and slick like Lev’s castle, but red and slate blue and cream.

  Fiona is gone. Carly came and got her yesterday.

  Risa comes outside, a mug of coffee in each hand. Stephen’s mother is tall, slender and blond. Very German in both appearance and manner.

  “Is he awake?” I ask after thanking her for the coffee.

  “Nein. Not yet.”

  “But he’ll be okay, right?” She says so every time I ask, but something in her eyes makes me fear otherwise. Which is why I keep asking.

  “He will recover from this fight, ja.” She leans against the porch railing with a sigh. “But I’m afraid my son is not well.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She doesn’t reply for a long time, and when she does it’s with a question of her own. “Who are you really, Jett? I know you said Stephen saved you and that you are friends, but there is more to it, ja?”

  We haven’t had a lot of time for chitchat. The first forty-eight hours went by in a blur. I was too weak to apparate and cell phone coverage here is spotty at best, even with a little help from magic. Merry and the gnomes broke through sometime that first night and Lev’s body was found, but with Stephen unconscious, the bruin mind link was offline. No one knew where we were. It was Ana who finally figured it out, but Tyr wouldn’t let her come. I know that has something to do with Viktor and what Lev said, but I haven’t been able to spare a lot of time for my sister’s problems. Not when I’ve got a bear-sized one of my own passed out in the other room.

  “Yes, there is. I am his mate. At least he said I was.”

  Her face tightens, but she nods grimly as if she expected nothing less. Her eyes, not a vibrant blue like Stephen’s but a soft russet brown, take in the river over my shoulder.

  “It’s not safe for my son to have a mate.”

  “Is it for anyone?” I wonder aloud.

  “This is different.” Risa looks at me, those dark eyes cool. “Stephen is cursed.”

  Cursed? My fingers curl around the warm mug until they ache.

  Everybody has secrets.

  “All the males in his line are. It goes back to his great-great-grandfather, the bastard.”

  “Tell me. Please.” It seems that me being reduced to pleading has become the new normal. I don’t like it, but for Stephen . . . “Please, Risa.”

  She sighs, but after a moment’s silence, she gives in.

  “Stephen’s father’s side has been pure bruin since anyone can remember. Some say their ancestry is older than the Russians.” She shrugs as if bloodlines matter little to her. “Who knows? In any case, Stephen had an ancestor. Johannes. A powerful shifter, king of his clan. It was all clans back in those days, of course. Theirs was the biggest in all of Austria-Hungary. Johannes was a sought-after mate, but instead of marrying one of his own, for a long time he was content with a woman in the local village, a witch by the name of Celeste. Eventually though, when it was time for him to marry properly, he left her. To marry one of his own.”

  She looks over at my indrawn hiss of breath.

  “It would’ve been almost unheard of back then for shifters to marry outside their own kind.” That much I knew, it was rare enough now, but that doesn’t make it less cruel. “Still, you could hardly blame the witch for feeling scorned. By all accounts, she loved him to the point of madness. But the revenge she took . . .” Risa shakes her head. “If he would forsake her, she swore, he would do so properly. The bond between him and his new wife would be an unbreakable one, a true mating bond the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the first shifters were called by the magic.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”

  Risa gives me a sidelong look. “Think so, do you? Do you know what a mating bond entails, a real one?”

  I shrug. “Something close to obsession, I gather.” And thinking of the way Stephen had acted while we were apart. “Sickness if there is a separation.”

  “It’s more than sickness. And far more than obsession.” She sighs. “The witch swore that every male of his line would also be destined to fall in love with women that they would not be able to keep, women that would betray them.”

  “That’s fucked up.” Too late it hits me I shouldn’t talk like that to Stephen’s mom and my cheeks heat, but she only presses her lips together in obvious agreement.

  I grind my teeth, staring at her before I finally get the guts to ask what I’m pretty sure I already know. “If a male tried to refuse this mating bond, what would happen?”

  Her incredulous look is clear enough, but her words cut me to the bone. “It’s courting death to refuse a true mating bond.”

  I swallow, trying to get the words out. “What happened to Johannes and his new wife?”

  “They died, both of them, when she died in childbirth with their third son. He couldn’t live without her, you see.”

  “And you and your husband?”

  She smiles sadly. “I want to believe that I’d have never betrayed Karl, but I never got the chance. He died very young. It was very hard on our sons, losing their dad.”

  Sons. As in more than one. She sees my confusion and sighs. “He didn’t tell you about Robert, I take it? Hardly surprising.” But she looks sad and suddenly very weary. She slips into the chair next to me. “Stephen isn’t our first born, Robert was.”

  “What happened to Robert, Risa?”

  “The curse,�
�� she says simply. “Her name was Mathilda. He called her Tilly. She was human, didn’t even know bruins existed until Robert brought her home. How he thought she’d settle in here was beyond me. That girl . . .” Risa presses her lips together. “She was wild and careless, a silly little thing. I don’t even know how Robert got her to the altar, and that’s the gods’ own truth. Oh, he was a handsome man, true enough. Just like Stephen. Just like Karl. And they’re a persuasive lot, Krueger men. As I’m sure you know.” She winks at me before the twinkle in her eyes fades to sadness. “But Tilly was not meant for settling down. Not a loyal bone in her body.” Her face hardens. “She ran off by the end of the first month.”

  “Was she scared?”

  “Scared?” she scoffs. “That one had not the brains to be scared. She thought it a right joke, ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ and all that. But the biggest joke of all was thinking she’d tie herself to one man for the rest of her life. Robert went after her, of course. The first time. And the fifth.” Risa closes her eyes. “Eventually he gave up. The curse began to take him. Nothing Stephen could do. His brother was everything to him, his hero, his mentor. A surrogate father. Stephen was just a boy, only nine years old, but he went to Tilly himself. Twice. Begged her to come back to his brother, to save him. But she wouldn’t. He couldn’t do anything except watch while his brother wasted away.” She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. They are dark, her lashes wet. “Robert was dead within a month.”

  I feel sick, lightheaded.

  “The curse shifted when Robert passed. The mark appeared on Stephen’s arm within a fortnight.”

  “Mark?” But I know what she means. That ugly crooked arrow. Like something shot from a demented Cupid’s bow.

  “He tried to hide it from me, but when I saw it, I knew. He was the oldest now, the curse was going after him, too. I became hysterical.” Her hands leave the cold mug of tea to curl in her lap, the knuckles white. “I made him promise he’d have nothing to do with women, that he’d never let himself take a mate. Then I sent him to the States. To my cousin Aggie. I thought maybe being so far away from the source . . .” Her shoulders lift helplessly. “He wrapped himself in duty and honor, pledged himself to the king of the Americas.” Georg’s uncle, that would’ve been. A hard man. I never knew the bears as well as my sisters, for obvious reasons, but I remember that much. Poor kid. My heart aches for both Stephen and his mom. Before I quite know what I’m doing, my hand is over hers, squeezing gently.