Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “We’ll find out exactly what this ward’s supposed to do. Which reminds me.” He raised his voice slightly without looking away from that fascinating floor. “Cynna, go pace in the living room.”

  “If it’s too dangerous for me to stay here,” she began.

  “I don’t think it’s dangerous or I wouldn’t do it. I intend for our child to have a father. Even if the ward does trigger, I doubt it will do more than knock us out. Friar wouldn’t want a fireball going off in his kitchen. That’s why you need to be in the other room. Worst comes to worst, you can drag Lily and me away from the trapdoor before Friar comes to see who tampered with his ward.”

  Cynna bit her lip, frowning.

  Lily looked at her watch, considered her options, and nodded. “Okay. Cynna, having you in the other room makes sense.”

  “You’re going to do it, then?”

  She’d try. Whether she could do it or not remained to be seen. “It’s nearly eleven.”

  “Which means you’ll still have another hour to wait once you get that thing open.”

  “I’m not sure waiting is a good idea.”

  Cullen chuckled. “What will it be? You had your fingers crossed when you agreed to wait for midnight?”

  “That would be childish.” She paused. “We didn’t say midnight in this time zone, though, did we?”

  ARJENIE’S heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. She leaned against the rough stone beside the cell and thought about fear.

  Terror was the top of the fear scale. That’s what she’d felt when she saw everyone dropping around her even as a wave of vertigo swamped her, sending her to her knees. She’d fought off the dizziness by the time she heard people coming. The terror had taken longer to go away. It was probably the sheer passage of time—or exhaustion of her adrenal glands—that muted it to simple fear.

  She’d followed the elves here and watched as one of them opened the barred gate to the cell by pressing his palm to a silver plate where you’d expect to see a knob or handle. She’d watched as they laid her friends and her lover in the cell. Then she’d gone exploring, creeping around the walls of the cavern like a frightened mouse.

  Arjenie looked at the blue-haired elf standing guard fifteen feet away. He never moved, just stood there watching the cell, his thin, lovely face as still as a statue’s. She looked past him and to the right, at the dark mouths of the tunnels separated by about twenty feet of tumbled stone. Then she looked at the far end of the cavern. That’s where Dya was, curled up in a nest of exotic bedding. They’d put a collar on her with a long leather lead clipped to a ring in the wall. Tethered her there, like an animal.

  Working out how to talk to Dya without being noticed had taken longer than it should have. Fear might be great for helping someone run faster, but it sure fogged the brain. Fogged her brain, anyway. Finally she’d realized she could hunker down behind one of the trunks—the elves were messy, leaving their stuff all in a jumble—and let go of the pull on her Gift.

  Dya had not been glad to see her.

  Her lord—the black-haired Rethna—was punishing her. He knew about the call she’d made to Isen—Arjenie had guessed that much—and when it was time for Dya to take the tears, they’d given her only half what she needed. Enough to keep her from permanent damage. Too little to keep her from going into withdrawal.

  It had taken several minutes for Dya to calm down enough to tell Arjenie this. Then she wasted several more minutes trying to persuade Arjenie to leave, get out. When Arjenie finally persuaded her she wouldn’t, Dya had wept and asked Arjenie to get the tears for her. She knew where the rest of her dose was—in the blue vial sitting on another trunk. It was two feet beyond Dya’s reach with her tether stretched as far as it could go.

  That, too, was part of the punishment.

  Arjenie had given Dya the vial. She’d left her sister passed out in a pile of fur and silk and crept carefully back to the cell. An endless time later, Rule had woken. Then Lucas. Then Benedict. When Benedict opened his eyes and looked right at her, for a moment she’d known they would be okay. She’d been able to touch him, to reach through the bars and touch his fingers with hers.

  A few minutes ago, that black-haired elf had come up. Rethna, who’d tied her sister up like an animal and left her to suffer. Arjenie had discovered her adrenals had managed to restock all those shriek-and-flee hormones. Elves were more resistant to magic than humans, and he was an elf lord. She’d been sure he’d notice her sitting only a few feet away.

  He hadn’t. He’d spoken only to Rule. And then he’d hurt him.

  She’d thought about creeping up behind Rethna and hitting him over the head, but what if she didn’t knock him out? She’d never hit anyone over the head. She didn’t know how hard you had to hit. Besides, that wouldn’t get Benedict and the rest out of their cell, so she’d eased back in front of the bars so she could see if Rule was okay.

  He said he was. He was sitting up, talking about the bars with Benedict. Her heart hadn’t gotten back to normal yet. She watched as Benedict, Rule, and the one named Paul crowded up together. What were they—oh, they were testing the bars. After a minute Rule said, “We’ll break our hands before we bend these. You were right, Brian.” Then he did something with his fingers down low. Sign language. Why hadn’t she ever learned to sign?

  Benedict scooted over to where he’d sat before and put his hand where she could touch it, so she did. “If only I knew where my sweetheart was,” he said, looking right at her. “It would help to know she was safe.”

  What did he . . . oh. She pulled hard on her Gift and whispered, “You want me to go to Lily, tell her about Rethna.”

  He hummed a soft, approving sound.

  “There are too many tunnels.”

  He lifted both brows questioningly.

  “While you were unconscious, I snuck around and—and looked. There are three tunnels leading out of here. I know which one we came in from, but there are two more, and they’re close together. You can see one of them from in there, I think. The other’s about twenty feet away. One must go to Friar’s house. The other must be the one on the USGS map. But they’re too close to each other. I don’t know which is which. And they’re both warded.” She paused. “Really strong wards.”

  His fingers stroked hers, then he turned away and signed something to Rule. She couldn’t see it, but she supposed Rule signed back, because a moment later he looked at her and mouthed one word: wait.

  Wait? That was it? She had to bite her lip to keep from giggling hysterically. She was good at waiting, but this was not the time for that. Surely there was something she could do.

  He mouthed two more words. She couldn’t quite tell . . .

  “The bond,” he whispered very softly, hardly moving his lips at all. “Rule will know.”

  Oh. He meant that Rule would know which tunnel Lily was in, because of their mate bond. She nodded and . . . uh-oh. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered, and eased away from the comfort of Benedict’s touch so the dark-haired man in the long white dress—it was sort of like an Arab thobe only more loose and flowing—wouldn’t stumble over her.

  FORTY-SIX

  RULE was examining the way the bars had been fitted into the rock when their next visitor arrived. He was a husky man with black hair streaked dramatically with white near one temple. His long white robe looked striking next to his deeply tanned skin.

  He was most definitely not an elf.

  “I do hope this isn’t a bad time,” Friar said, smiling.

  Rule barely glanced at him. “That’s a new look for you, Robert. You’ve grown quite daring in your fashion choices.”

  “I would have dropped by sooner, but I’ve been preparing for the ceremony. They’re almost ready for me.” He bared his teeth in another smile. “If you crowd up to the bars, you’ll be able to watch.”

  “What ceremony is this?”

  “One in which I am consecrated to her.”

/>   Friar sounded suddenly different—fervent and sincere, like a bridegroom aching for his wedding night, or a jihadist yearning for martyrdom. Rule stopped pretending interest in the bars and looked at his enemy. “She’s converted you, hasn’t she? Or rather, messed with your mind so you have no choice but to serve her. You’re no longer your own man, Robert.”

  The barb slid off, unable to penetrate Friar’s zealotry. “Any man would change, faced with such purity. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? Neither her purity, not what it is to be a true man.” Abruptly the naked longing was gone, hidden behind the man’s usual sophisticated gloss. “You’re wasting your time with those bars, you know.”

  “Oh? You could just give me the key.”

  Friar chuckled. “There is no key. The bars are set with magic, not cement. And it takes magic to open the cell. You are well and truly trapped.”

  The words flicked Rule in the place where panic waited. He gave himself the space of a breath to be sure it didn’t show in his voice. “But alive. Were you disappointed when you learned you weren’t allowed to kill me?”

  “At first. I admit it. At first I didn’t care for that at all. She deserves full tribute. But I’m only human, sadly shortsighted compared to her. You will keep your life.” He smiled maliciously. “But you will lose everything else. Already you’ve lost your freedom. And your father.”

  Rule lifted one brow. “Sure about that, are you?”

  “My men went hunting out near Hole-in-the-Wall. If he survived his fight—you call it a Challenge, I believe—if that didn’t kill him, a bullet in the brain will have done the job by now. Tell me, is Lily waiting for you at your clanhome?”

  “I’m sure she told me her plans. Pity, but I can’t remember at the moment.”

  “I hope she’s gone to see her parents or one of her sisters. I doubt it, but I would prefer that she live awhile longer. I was quite disappointed she wasn’t with you, but the poor thing is injured, isn’t she?”

  Anger flowed into Rule—cold anger, settling like ice in his veins. He didn’t speak.

  Friar took a step closer. His eyes gleamed with malice and pleasure. “While you’re lying in some other cell in some other realm—no doubt in pain, for you won’t bend easily, will you? Though you won’t be able to hold on to your pride too long. Not with what Rethna can do. He’s got plenty of gado, and he’s learning how to tailor it to his needs. He doesn’t want you unable to Change, you see. He wants you to Change on his command. And fight at his command— dance, kill, fuck—he’ll control you utterly.” Friar paused, savoring the moment. “What, you’re silent? No witticisms?”

  “You were speaking of Lily,” he said softly.

  “So I was.” Friar smiled. “Such a pretty thing. If she isn’t at your clanhome, I’ll be bringing her here. Have you heard of a drug called Do Me? I have a nice supply. I’ll fuck her right there in that cell. And over on the furs the elves enjoy sleeping on. And anywhere else I want, and she won’t object. She’ll be quite desperately eager, in fact.”

  The icy anger built to a flood, washing away the last traces of claustrophobic panic, bringing clarity. He was sliding into certa. A battle state. What Friar said was data, no more and no less. “And if she’s at Clanhome?”

  “Ah, well, then, I won’t have the pleasure of getting to know her as intimately as I’d like.” Friar pulled something from the pocket of his loose, robelike dress. “This is a radio transmitter. It won’t transmit well from down here, of course. But after my consecration, I’ll return to my house to celebrate. I’ll push this little button.” He showed it to Rule. “And boom! No more Clanhome. No more Nokolai.”

  Toby. Toby was at Clanhome. That one thought loomed so large there was room for no other thought at all. Rule stared at his enemy in silence.

  Friar dropped his gaze. It was a quick, involuntary reaction, and he caught himself and looked at Rule again. “I’ll stop by to see you again after the ceremony. You may find me . . . powerfully changed.” He chuckled at his cleverness and walked away.

  As soon as the man was well out of earshot, Rule turned to Benedict to make sure he’d noticed that Friar, in his eagerness to cause maximum suffering, had said too much. First, he didn’t know where Lily was. That was excellent news. Second, if the bars couldn’t be bent or loosened and the lock required magic to open, that left one potential weak spot in their cage. They could concentrate on that.

  He subvocalized. “The hinges.”

  WHAT kind of a paranoid idiot puts wards at both ends of his secret tunnel?

  Lily leaned against the wall of the tunnel, frustrated beyond belief. Cullen had snaked ahead on his belly to examine the ward he’d seen . . . right at the well-lit exit from the tunnel.

  Beyond that, she saw a rocky cavern. And an elf.

  The elf had long, flowing hair the color of bluebells. He—or maybe she—wore loose trousers in buttercup yellow with a white sleeveless top. The sword he carried was pretty, too. The four feet of blade she saw was made of some shiny metal—did elves use steel?—and was held steady at his side. Lily couldn’t see his face because his back was to her. He was watching something out of her line of sight.

  Rule’s cell, according to Arjenie, who was pressed to the wall beside her. According to the mate bond, too. Lily could feel him there.

  Plan A was for Cullen to take down the ward. They’d sneak in, with Cullen and Lily using cover from a couple of boulders near the tunnel. Arjenie would use her Gift to approach the guard nearest the tunnel and knock him out, if she could. Lily would shoot—or shoot at—the blue-haired elf while Cullen raced to the cell, which had to be unlocked magically.

  If Cullen couldn’t take down the ward, they’d use Plan B—which looked a lot like Plan A, only without the sneaking in. Arjenie would have to go first. As soon as she knocked out the nearest guard, Cullen and Lily would rush in.

  Lily suspected that either way, their plan would fall apart pretty fast. But you go with what you’ve got.

  Lily and Arjenie were in deep shadow. Cullen was all too visible up at the tunnel’s mouth. The light in the cavern flashed brighter for a second, turning orange. It had been doing that for a while, changing colors, as if someone was setting off silent fireworks.

  There were seven elves in there and one human—Robert Friar. The good news was that none of them seemed to have projectile weapons, according to Arjenie—unless they were really good at throwing knives. More likely they were good at throwing spells. That wouldn’t affect Lily, but Cullen and Arjenie would be vulnerable.

  At the moment, Rethna and four of the elves were busy with a major ritual that was supposed to give Friar big magical mojo. That’s what the light show was about. One of the remaining two was the blue-haired guard Lily could see. The second was on guard, too—standing between the mouth of this tunnel and one about twenty feet away.

  Lily’s arm ached. Her head ached. Arjenie had been eager to tell her everything, both in whispers and directly. She’d gotten a little “loud” in places.

  The elf lord who held Rule and Benedict and the others was one of the ones Arjenie’s father had warned her about. One who dealt in slaves. That’s what he planned for his captives. That’s what he’d be only too happy to do with Arjenie, if he got his hands on her.

  Lily wanted to kill him.

  That desire was stark and clear in her mind. It wasn’t the muddy wish that some bastard would drop dead, or even the urge to violence, the impulse to strike back, to hurt. She wanted to kill Rethna.

  Part of her found this eminently logical. She’d expected to be dealing with Friar and his militia goons. Humans, in other words, who used human weapons and were susceptible to the same, and to human law. This Rethna was near the top of the elf food chain, power-wise. Even away from his territory—sidhe lords drew on their land, their territory, for power—Cullen couldn’t handle him. He’d said so. Not without gambling on mage fire.

  Since they didn’t know if any of that RN40 was stored
in the cavern, fire was a no-no.

  Rethna wasn’t human. As the law stood, Lily could deal with him as if he were one of the creatures that had been blown in by the power winds during the Turning. She could step out there and shoot every elf in the place.

  Except, of course, that she couldn’t. Even if she’d been willing to go down that road, she’d be shooting left-handed. Good luck with that.

  Did elves know what a gun was? Human perps would see her drawn weapon as a threat. Elves might not. Even if they knew intellectually what a gun did, they hadn’t been watching crime shows and the news all their lives. They wouldn’t react to her weapon viscerally. Made it hard to bluff.

  Cullen began wiggling back, staying flat on the ground. Lily waited. Her mouth was dry. Funny. She didn’t feel afraid, but her body thought she was.

  Endless seconds later, Cullen reached the shadows where they waited and stood. He whispered, “Looks like we’re going with Plan B.”

  Lily looked at Arjenie. It was too dark to see much but a pale blob where her face was. Very softly she whispered, “You okay to do this?”

  Arjenie might have nodded. The pale blob moved anyway. “I’m pretty sure I won’t set the ward off.”

  Lily leaned close to whisper, “Pretty sure?”

  “It’s a really strong ward and I’m a little tired.”

  Lily looked at Cullen, but couldn’t see his expression. What choice did they have, though? They had to act before Rethna finished his big ritual. Cullen said that sort of major working could not be put on pause while the elves dealt with intruders. Not quickly, anyway—they’d have to either finish it or ground the energy, which took time.

  And it was a lot of energy. They were working directly with the node. “Got your rock?” she whispered at Arjenie.

  Another movement of the pale blob.

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  Cullen wished Arjenie luck his own way, by planting a sudden kiss on her mouth. He whispered something in her ear that Lily couldn’t hear. Then Arjenie was walking toward the tunnel opening. The closer she got, the better Lily could see her. It was hard to believe no one would notice her. She clutched a good-size rock in one hand.