The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Marian tightened her grip on her bow as if battling the urge to brain everyone she passed on her way around the couch. She relaxed a little when she finally sat opposite Dubheasa, a real smile spreading over her lips as she looked at the Unseelie queen.

  Never thought I’d see anyone who was actually comforted by Dubheasa’s presence.

  “I’m so pleased to finally have you both here—all here,” Adonis corrected himself quickly.” He poured a few glasses of whiskey and held them as carefully as he could in his left hand, with one in his right ready to hand out. Passing Kirill—who he knew wouldn’t take a drink because he’d want his hands free for weapons—he offered the one in his right hand to Etienne. The werewolf hadn’t moved from his spot directly in front of the fireplace, seemingly held in place by the new arrivals that now surrounded him. After spending that long that close to the fire, his back had to be burning, but beyond a slight flush in his neck, Etienne showed no signs the heat was getting to him. He nodded grudgingly to Adonis and took the glass, knocking it back in one pull.

  “I’ll get you another then, shall I?” Adonis offered.

  “Patricio, dear,” Dubheasa broke in. “You’re looking rather grim. Is it possible that you do not share Adonis’ happy view of Saamal as just one of the boys?”

  The innocence in the queen’s voice blatantly contradicted the needling nature of her comment. And unfortunately, she’d honed in on precisely the right person. Adonis bit back a curse. Patricio had all the social grace of an alligator with a toothache, and he wasn’t one to hold back when there was someone to be judged.

  “I’ve never made it a secret that I don’t think innocent people should be made to shed their blood.” Patricio met Saamal’s eyes, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.

  It wasn’t a threat. Touching his sword was a natural reaction for Patricio whenever there was talk of spilling blood. Still, it was an unfortunate peccadillo to have under the circumstances. Adonis tightened his grip on a fresh glass of whiskey and made a beeline for the winged harbinger of justice.

  The two men were not far from one another, Saamal’s chair only a few feet from the bookcase holding the angel up. Saamal barely had to turn his head to meet the cold blue stare being leveled at him.

  “You do not approve of my wife’s new terms, of taking a drop of blood from every man, woman, and child to feed our land?” Saamal leaned back, the picture of ease and comfort. “You would perhaps prefer that we go back to the old ways, when it was one man every year who gave up his life and every drop of blood in his veins to Chipactli?”

  A wave of blue light fell over Patricio’s blue eyes. “I think you could find someone who deserves such a fate. Someone for whom the punishment would be suited to his crimes.” His voice grew softer, almost a whisper. “I could find you such a person.”

  Saamal raised his glass of wine to his lips, spoke over the rim. “Not everyone finds sin as intoxicating as you, my friend. Chipactli has sacrificed a great deal. She deserves more than to be thrown a common criminal, to be relegated to little more than a living guillotine.”

  Adonis shoved a glass of whiskey at Patricio and the angel fumbled to take it before it sloshed all over his white robes. He didn’t dare say anything for fear Dubheasa’s excellent hearing would pick up on it, but he met Patricio’s eyes, held them. He glanced back at Dubheasa without moving his head, then back at Patricio. She’s baiting you, you idiot. Shut up.

  Patricio closed his mouth, stared at Adonis in silent acknowledgement. Some of the tension in Adonis’ spine slid away and he let out the breath he’d been holding to turn back to the room.

  Dubheasa was watching him, her expression intent, but unreadable. Smothering a brief flare of panic that somehow she might have read his mind, Adonis took a step toward her to offer her a drink. Before he could make it to her side, Dubheasa planted her hands on the arms of her chair and half-launched herself at him, plucking a glass from his hand without slowing down before coming to stand in front of Kirill. There was something in her eyes that said she was about to stir up more trouble, and Adonis quickly poured more whiskey.

  “Again, I find I must apologize for my terrible lack of manners,” Adonis said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention before Dubheasa could speak. He took two glasses of whiskey and walked over to the couch where Robin and Marian sat. “It’s only just occurred to me that I’ve completely failed to inquire after your health. Here this evening was supposed to be about you, and yet all we’ve done is talk about one another.”

  Robin took the hint, picked up the new conversation with practiced ease. “Think nothing of it, it’s been a pleasure getting to know all of you. Always interesting when so many strong personalities gather in one room.” He accepted the whiskey Adonis offered and waved the glass under his nose with an appreciative inhale. “As to my health, I’m feeling quite well. Everything is healing nicely.”

  Adonis offered the other glass to Marian. She glanced at the offered glass, but shook her head. Her red hair slid over her shoulders, the twists and turns of her thin braids catching the firelight. He smothered a swell of disappointment. He’d feel better if the woman with the itchy trigger finger would commit to holding a glass of whiskey.

  “It still itches,” Robin added. “Iron injuries are terrible for the skin. Honestly, I don’t know how humans can bear to heal so slowly. It must be maddening.” A deep frown darkened his face, chasing the light from his green eyes. “What’s really disturbing is that he managed to bury his claws so deep without gutting me. If he’d pierced any of my organs, he could have killed me.”

  “An impressive level of precision,” Kirill observed.

  “Makes you wonder how long he fantasized about it before it happened.” Robin shifted uneasily. “It could have been worse. Much worse. I almost lost Marian.”

  Adonis sat forward, eagerly pouncing upon the opening he needed to get this evening back on point. “And that’s what makes this invitation so perfect. You and Marian can stay here, away from Herne, away from the sheriff. You can have a new life.”

  Robin held Adonis’ gaze for the span of several heartbeats. There was something in his eyes, something like fear but not quite. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face the rest of the room. “Does the invitation still stand?”

  “Robin, don’t be rude,” Dubheasa said sharply. “They can’t possibly answer that question yet. We’re still waiting on the women.”

  Adonis’ stomach sank and he clutched his whiskey a little tighter. All around the room, the men had tensed, the mention of their wives snaring their complete and undivided attention. “I’m sorry? Your Majesty, if you’re referring to our wives, they aren’t coming. They’re—”

  Dubheasa pointed at him, cutting him off. “Then it is true.” Her nose curled in disgust, and a shiver of power washed over the room as the shadows of her dress stirred on an invisible wind. “Typical. This is what happens when you allow men to have power. Without those women, your little realm would not exist, and yet when you gather to discuss who should and shouldn’t be here, when you meet your new arrivals together for the first time, your wives are nowhere to be seen.” She shook her head, her eyes hardening. “It won’t stand.”

  “It is not up to you to decide what will and will not stand.” Etienne’s voice was tight with controlled anger, though his eyes remained human brown. He closed the distance between himself and the Unseelie queen, stood just far enough back that he didn’t have to tilt his head up to look at her over six foot frame from his own five foot ten. “You weren’t even invited here to begin with.”

  The remaining whiskey in Adonis’ glass sloshed against the sides as he tensed, as if the alcohol itself were throwing up its hands in despair. “Now, now, Etienne, let’s not be rude.”

  “It is not my rudeness that is at hand here. I have a right to be here.” He pointed at Dubheasa with the confidence of a man who had no idea just how badly things were about to go. “She doesn—”

 
; He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Dubheasa’s form grew still even as the shadows around her writhed like Medusa’s hair after a cold rain. Magic crackled in the air, and Etienne’s eyes widened. His hands flew up to claw at his throat, drawing angry red lines down the tanned flesh of his neck. His face flushed a deep shade of crimson and he opened his mouth, choking as he tried to draw in air.

  “Foster mother, please,” Robin said tensely. He rose to stand beside her but made no move to physically intercede. “We are guests here.”

  Dubheasa tilted her head, her beady eyes still focused on the suffocating werewolf. “Am I a guest? I didn’t realize.” Her gaze flicked to Kirill. “Is it true, vampire? Do you offer me the rights of a guest?”

  Kirill’s hands were inside his cloak, probably wrapped around some iron weapon or another. He watched the Unseelie queen with the intensity of a lion staring at the surface of a watering hole, searching for reptilian eyes that might warn of an impending strike. He ignored Etienne completely, didn’t rush to answer despite the alarming way the werewolf’s eyes were bulging from his skull, his lips turning white. Finally, he bowed, just a little, not taking his eyes off her. “We would be most honored to have you as our guest for this evening.”

  Etienne dropped to his knees, a ragged breath rasping from his chest as he tried to draw air into his tortured lungs. Adonis winced, his own throat aching in sympathy.

  Dubheasa fanned herself with one hand. “Oh, you must excuse my rudeness. Naturally I would never have dreamed of addressing your poor manners in such a way if I’d known you were a proper host. You can see where the confusion came from, what with you being such a poor host. Nevermind though, I’m sure the women will do much better. For now, you must let me summon my healer to see to your throat.”

  Etienne raised his head, and as Adonis had feared, his face was contorting, his wolf rising beneath his skin. His lip curled back into a snarl, flashing teeth too sharp to be human. “Unnecessary. But do feel free to call your healer anyway. She may be needed.”

  Robin choked on a nervous laugh and stepped between Etienne and his foster mother. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Etienne,” Robin said quickly. “We’ve just agreed to abide by guest-host laws of hospitality after all. We wouldn’t want to violate those terms with hasty threats of violence.”

  He had his back to Dubheasa, and she looked down into the quiver of arrows on his back. As Robin held out placating hands to Etienne, she plucked an arrow from the quiver and rapped him sharply on the head. Robin jumped, one hand flying to his head and the strands of white-blond hair still clinging to the sharp tip of the projectile.

  “I don’t need you to remind me of social protocol, young man,” she snapped. She popped him with the arrow again, this time rapping it against the knuckles of the hand currently covering his head. Robin yelped and jerked his hand away, then belatedly realized he’d left his scalp unguarded. Dubheasa whacked him again for good measure.

  “She attacked me first,” Etienne growled.

  “I wasn’t a guest then.” Dubheasa sniffed. She started to mold her face into a fair impression of an emotionally wounded female, but abruptly abandoned it a second later to narrow her eyes and jab the arrow in Etienne’s direction, almost piercing Robin’s ear in the process. “I didn’t feel nearly as wanted as a guest should be made to feel. This is just another failure that would not have happened if the women were here.” She brushed at her skirt, idly casting the arrow behind her into the fire where it exited the world with a brief sizzle and a puff of ashes. “I expect things will go much smoother after they arrive.”

  “They aren’t—” Etienne rasped.

  “I will get them,” Kirill interrupted.

  Adonis carefully kept the surprise from his face. Kirill wasn’t one to be ordered around. And he certainly wasn’t one to invite Irina into a dangerous situation, especially not after the whole fiasco with the demoness and the monster wolf. Which meant he was up to something. As usual.

  Dubheasa, Robin, and Marian all watched with unabashed interest as Kirill grabbed the nearest panel of drapes and peeled it back with a practiced flick of his wrist. The material billowed out briefly, then settled, revealing a single tall window pane. On the curtain rod above the window sat a gargoyle.

  The beast was the size of a small dog, and didn’t look any different from any other carved stone that one might see decorating any other castle. Its eyes held no spark of life, and nothing about its hunched figure suggested it was anything more than cold stone. But as Kirill stared up at it, the horned beast tilted its head down, the movement so scarce it may not have happened at all.

  Adonis waited for Kirill to tell the gargoyle where he wanted to go, but the vampire didn’t speak. He just waited, patiently, looking at the glass as if he were having a peek outside to check the weather. Magic crackled in the air, and the window hummed to life with a faint blue glow. Kirill leapt up onto the window sill with the smooth grace of a cat, and stepped through the portal without so much as a backward glance.

  “How did he do that?” Robin asked curiously.

  Adonis nodded toward the gargoyle. “The gargoyle is a guardian of gateways.”

  “And he serves the vampire?” Dubheasa’s voice held a slight hint of surprise. “They don’t usually follow a master. And Kirill didn’t give it any verbal orders either.” She strode forward, peering up at the stone beast. “Are you telepathic, ancient one?”

  “No,” Adonis answered for it. “He’s just a good listener.”

  “Eavesdropping.” Dubheasa nodded her approval. “An important skill. Well done.”

  A low growl trickled from Etienne’s throat, the sound scratchier than usual, every bulge of muscle taxing the restraint of his lovely blue jacket. Marian shot off the couch as if she’d been an arrow fired from her own bow, landing between Etienne and Dubheasa. Adonis half-rose from the couch, one hand out and lips parted to stop Marian before she drew an arrow, before her weapon made an appearance to further stir the promise of violence in the air. He froze as another growl shattered the tense silence—this time from Marian.

  Etienne’s brown eyes exploded into the orange-gold of his wolf form and he bared teeth that didn’t look altogether right in a human mouth. Marian answered by lowering her frame, leaning forward ever so slightly. Her green eyes melted under the heat of red flame as the burning eyes of her hellhound form looked out through her human face. Adonis’ mouth fell open.

  “I don’t want to be a wet blanket at my own party,” Robin said under his breath, coming to stand next to Adonis. “But this, my friend, is not a good sign.”

  “Don’t be discouraging, Robin,” Dubheasa scolded him. “This is a grand sign. I’ve been telling Marian for weeks it’s time to start getting more comfortable with her other form.” She slid her focus to Etienne, the smile on her face decidedly predatory. “Fair warning, Your Highness. A hellhound is rather different from most shapeshifters in more ways than one. If Marian has been practicing as I suggested, she will turn to shadow and then manifest as her hellhound form.” Her smile widened. “She’ll be on you before you can get out of those finely tailored pants of yours.”

  “Hellhounds turn to shadow?” Adonis whispered.

  Robin shrugged. “Not exactly, but that’s the easiest way to explain it.”

  Etienne grinned, a toothy smile that was unsettling in many ways. “If you think Kirill isn’t going to return with more weapons than he left with—which I assure you was a great deal many more than were required for this meeting—then you are a fool,” he breathed. “You’ve pushed your luck too far, Your Majesty. He’ll kill you if it suits him.”

  Marian snarled, and black shadows danced over her skin in a shivering promise of restrained violence. Robin tensed and Adonis took a breath, ready to say something, anything, to ease the tension. Dubheasa beat him to it. She laid a restraining hand on Marian’s shoulder, smiled, but shook her head. Marian relaxed instantly, her red eyes cooling to green as she straig
htened and stood for all the world as if she’d never so much as sneezed in Etienne’s direction.

  Dubheasa waved her hand in an airily dismissive gesture. “My dear boy, there is not a doubt in my mind that Kirill already had the means to kill me when he was here. He would have prepared for that possibility as soon as he found out Adonis was inviting a sidhe to your realm.” She paused, slanting a glance at Patricio. “While we’re on the subject, if you wouldn’t mind terribly stepping back? Your sword is giving me a headache.”

  Patricio blinked as if being addressed had caught him off guard. He looked from his sword to Dubheasa, then shrugged one shoulder, arching a wing in the process, and retreated a few steps to resume his original position leaning on the bookshelf. Adonis rolled his eyes. Not a civil word to say to me, but all too willing to cater to someone who tried to kill Etienne. Typical.

  “It is good that you do not take Kirill’s…caution, personally,” Saamal observed. He hadn’t moved from his chair, and if the recent kerfuffle bothered him at all, he didn’t show it. “It is rather a key point in getting along with him.”

  Etienne crossed his arms over his chest, and if Adonis were a braver man, he would have suggested the werewolf was sulking.

  Whatever response he might have had was interrupted by a sudden wash of magic as the glass Kirill had passed through hummed with life. The gargoyle hovering over the window frame glanced down as Kirill passed through the glowing surface, stepping lightly down from the window sill.

  He had a renewed calm that confirmed Etienne’s assertion that he would return with more weapons, and when he spoke, his voice held its characteristic cool. “The women will be here shortly.”

  Dubheasa straightened at his arrival. If Adonis hadn’t been watching her, he would have missed the brief glance she cast at Etienne before pasting a warm smile on her pale face.

  “Of course I’m not offended by Kirill’s precautions,” she said to Saamal. “It makes me feel quite included, really. After all, I would be the odd one out if I was the only person in this room the vampire hadn’t come up with a plan for killing.”