Pausing outside the front door, I peered in through the window as Samira pushed her key into the lock and turned it.
“Wait here,” I said, placing my hand on her arm before I pushed open the door with the toe of my boot and stepped inside.
Nothing moved, my books were still lined up perfectly on the shelf, and, from my vantage point at the door, I could make out my desk and Samira’s books still strewn across it. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Crossing the threshold, I made my way toward the back of the office and the locked and warded basement door. The moment I reached the centre of the room, I felt the energy levels spike, and I froze. Power prickled across my skin, but the attack I’d been expecting never came.
Taking another step forward, I felt my boot strike something solid a second before the glamour cloaking the room collapsed… and that something solid turned out to be the upper portion of a leg.
The remains of at least five bodies were strewn across the room.
“Crap,” I said, turning to Samira. “Close the blinds, we don’t need anyone seeing this.” I returned my attention to the mess, my stomach churning at the sight of so much carnage. The last time I’d witnessed a scene like this had been during the fae and vampire wars, but that had taken place on an open battlefield, not inside the tight confines of an office.
I spotted a small iron blade embedded in the back wall and picked my way through the gore to get a better look at it. The iron blade, along with the violet colour of the blood on the wall, led me to believe that I was looking at the remains of the pixies hired to kill me.
A second trail of violet blood soaking the carpet caught my eye. It had darkened so much that it looked almost black in the artificial light, smeared across the floor as though something or someone had tried to drag themselves away from the carnage.
I followed it to the basement door and then froze.
“Did you go into the basement when I wasn’t here yesterday?” I called over my shoulder to Samira, who was standing in the centre of the room. Her skin had turned an unpleasant greenish-grey, and far too much white was showing around the edges of her eyes. She was either going to run screaming from the place in hysterics or upchuck across the crime scene. For both our sakes, I was hoping she did neither.
“Samira, did you go into the basement when I wasn’t here yesterday?” I said again, but I already knew the answer. The room was heavily warded, and Samira knew not to go messing with the locks.
“No, I just hung out here for a bit, returning some phone calls and reading the books Noree sent.” She gestured to the desk.
I slowly descended the steps into the basement. My skin still prickled with energy, telling me that whoever had breached the wards was still here.
A pained moan from the back of the room had me grabbing the nearest practice blade from the wall. Crossing the space, I paused in front of the desk.
Idalina was propped up against the wall, her hands pressed over a ragged wound in her abdomen that was gushing violet blood over her hands and fingers. Her breaths were coming in short, shallow gasps, and her usually glowing skin was now ashy.
“What the fuck?” I said, taking a step toward her and running straight into the ward she’d set up around herself. It fizzed and prickled against my skin, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.
“Don’t!” she warned, her voice low and faint. “Cross it and die.” Her eyes flickered open, and her unfocused gaze struggled to lock onto my face.
“Idalina, what happened?” I asked calmly. I figured a softer, gentler approach would probably get me the answers I wanted. “Take down the ward. You need help.”
She shook her head and grimaced in pain.
“No,” she said. “I know what you are, and I’m not going to let you trick me again.”
“Trick you? It’s me, Darcey,” I said, crouching down to gaze into her eyes. “I swear, it’s me, and I’m not trying to trick you.”
A solitary tear leaked from her bloodshot eyes and slowly trickled down her bruised and swollen cheek. “No, stop saying that! It’s just like before.”
I stared at her as she struggled to move further away from me but was prevented by the wall behind her and the wound she was desperately trying to hold closed.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed back onto my feet and closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to like crossing the ward, and under normal circumstances would definitely have avoided it. But as I watched her struggle to breathe as she sat in a pool of her own blood, I knew I didn’t have much time.
“Samira,” I called out.
“Yes?” Her voice was low and timid.
“I need you to get towels and the first aid kit I’ve got in the bathroom,” I said.
“Why?” She appeared on the stairs, her eyes widening as she spotted Idalina and the spreading pool of blood.
“That’s why,” I said, gesturing to the injured fae.
Without another word, Samira disappeared up the stairs and I could hear her slamming around in the bathroom.
Drawing in another deep breath, I sought out the part of me that was connected to the Between. My kind might have kicked me out, but the Between was still a part of me.
“What are you doing?” Idalina asked in a weak voice.
“No ward can stand before a true harbinger,” I said, drawing on the power of those who had come before me. “I feel your death drawing near, and I can bring you comfort in your hour of need.”
I took a step forward, the press of Idalina’s magic against my skin growing in intensity. The more I pressed the ward, the more intense my own power grew.
“Stop,” she said, but I ignored her.
Drawing in a breath, I felt her power wash through me, stinging and burning against every nerve ending in my body. And then it was gone, and I was through the ward.
She stared up at me and shook her head. “No, I don’t want to die.”
“Shhh, be still.” I crouched next to her and pressed the back of my hand to her feverish brow. Her skin was cold and clammy, reminding me of the way Byron felt with the infection riding him.
“What happened, Ida?” I said. She shouldn’t still be bleeding; it just didn’t make any sense. She was a fae, not a werewolf or shifter, but her wounds weren’t healing the way the fae should.
“She bit me,” she gasped. “She gave me the infection, thought it would stop me…” Her voice gave out with a shudder and she slumped to her side.
“Is she…” Samira asked, and I jumped at the unexpected sound of her voice.
“No, just passed out.” I reached for the towels Samira had in her arms.
Idalina’s ward had collapsed now that she was unconscious, making it easy for Samira to approach. Sliding the unconscious fae to the ground, I lifted her hands away from her ragged wound and sucked in a deep breath as her violet blood trickled onto the floor. It looked as though some kind of animal had tried to eviscerate her completely.
“She should be healing,” I said, grabbing a towel and pressing it against the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.
The pressure drew Idalina around once more, and a low moan escaped her as she fought my grip.
“I need to keep the pressure, Ida. You’re losing too much blood.”
“It won’t heal,” she said softly.
“Tell me how to help,” I said.
“Lunn has the cure; he’s the only one who can help.”
I shook my head. “Why would Lunn have a cure for this?”
She drew in a shallow, shuddering breath. “He doesn’t have a cure, he is the cure.” She coughed hard enough that her entire body shook. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a long, ragged moan that tore at my soul.
“Samira, take over,” I said, grabbing her arm and dragging her closer. She hesitated for a moment but eventually moved with me. She pressed down on Idalina’s wound with the towel as I hopped to my feet and darted to the safe.
Her words didn’t make much sense. I’d never known Lunn to be a cure for anything, but Idalina would know the truth. They had been as close as two fae could be for centuries, and I’d often wondered if, despite her protests, their relationship was more than that of colleagues.
As I spun the wheel on the safe, the wards gave way easily. I tugged out the box carved from the cherry blossom tree in the Between.
“Oscailte agus nochtann,” I said beneath my breath, and the lid popped open in my hands. After lifting out a vial of Lunn’s blood, I crossed the floor back to Idalina.
“This better be right,” I muttered as I uncorked the vial and pressed the glass to her pale lips. Lunn’s violet blood smeared across the unconscious fae’s lips and teeth as I tried to feed it to her.
Nothing happened. Truthfully, though, I had no idea what was supposed to happen. Blood-sharing was more the vampires’ gig. Perhaps I’d done something wrong? Or perhaps she was simply delirious because she was so close to death.
I paused, my breath catching in the back of my throat as I realised I could no longer feel Death. I’d felt its lingering presence as I’d entered the basement, but now…
Closing my eyes, I allowed my senses to wander freely, searching outward in ever expanding circles for that which seemed to be eluding me. I could feel the deaths of those upstairs, their lives ripped away before their time.
“Darcey, look,” Samira said, her wet fingers digging into my arm, forcing me to open my eyes once more.
The colour was slowly returning to Idalina’s cheeks, and her skin was no longer quite so cold and clammy. Lifting the towel, I stared down at the wound. It was still ragged, but the bleeding had slowed dramatically.
“Pass me the gauze padding,” I said to Samira as I watched Idalina’s breaths grow deeper as she slipped into sleep.
Samira did as I asked, and I hastily bandaged up the fae’s wound as best I could.
Sliding my hands under Idalina, I lifted her from the floor and carried her to the couch so she could rest until she was able to tell me what happened.
Once I’d finished with her, I stared down at the vial of blood I’d replaced in the box. How had it healed her? I didn’t know the answer to that, but I wondered if Lunn’s blood could also be used to heal the wolves. They had the same symptoms as Idalina, after all.
“Did Byron ever give us a number to contact him on?” I asked.
Samira shook her head and slowly straightened the desk Idalina had obviously moved out of the way. Even gravely injured, she was still every inch the Faerie Court enforcer, removing obstacles that prevented a clear view of any potential enemies while still giving herself enough cover for protection.
“No, he kept meaning to do it, but he never got around to it.”
“Shit,” I muttered beneath my breath. “I’ve…” I trailed off as I stared at Idalina.
“Go,” Samira said. “I’ll call Mazik, and he can come and help me clean up.”
I wrinkled my nose at the thought of all the blood and body parts scattered around upstairs. “I’m getting pretty tired of clearing dead bodies out of there.”
“That makes two of us,” she said, and Havoc meowed in response. “Sorry, three of us.”
“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I said.
Samira shook her head and smiled. “Go. Who knows, maybe my good deed for the day will see me get this collar off sometime soon.”
Grabbing the box with the last vials, I headed for the stairs. “Just pray I find him before the moon rises.”
Samira gave me a solemn smile as I took the stairs two at a time and then headed for my bike. Lunn’s blood seemed like such a long shot for the cure, but I’d long ago discovered that most things concerning the fae were long shots. It only made sense that this time would be no different.
Chapter Thirty
The street where the safe house stood was much easier to find the second time around, especially when I spotted the thick plumes of black smoke still hanging in the air from two blocks away. The other houses seemed just as deserted as every other time I’d been here, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as I drew up in front of the house’s burnt shell.
I opened the saddlebag to reassure myself that the box with the last two vials was indeed still inside before grabbing one and slipping it inside my jacket. Then I made my way around the property.
Why I’d thought Byron would be here was beyond me, but I had nowhere else to go. And from what I’d seen last night, he’d been staying here with his daughter and the other sick wolves.
Crouching down next to the house, I pressed my hand against a couple of the bricks. Heat still remained in the cindered ash, but that wasn’t all I could feel. Tears tracked down my cheeks as I realised one of the more pungent aromas belonged to the infected rogues who had perished in the blaze. I’d been around enough burned bodies to know the smell anywhere.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I said, more to the air than anyone who might hear me.
“You shouldn’t have come, bitch,” a female voice snarled from somewhere behind me.
I balled my hands into fists and pushed slowly onto my feet. “I’m not here to fight. I just want to know where Byron is.” I fought to keep the edge from my voice as I turned around.
“Why would I tell you?” Heather said, sweat beading on her forehead. Her hair was plastered to her neck, and not just because of the sweat. She was covered in blood. Her dark clothes hid most of it, but I could see it smeared across her face, neck, and mouth. Her eyes were fever-bright as she stared at me, and my heart sank in response.
“Because I’m trying to help you,” I said.
She snorted unpleasantly, and I watched the wolf within her rise. “Help us? You’ve only made things worse.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said, raising one hand in an attempt to keep her calm.
“Don’t keep saying you’re sorry. You’re just another liar—it’s one lie after another, and I’m so sick of listening to them, sick and tired of hearing them over and over…” She was rambling, edging closer before beginning to pace up and down in front of me.
I didn’t want to kill her, but if it came down to a fight between her or me, I was going to choose me.
“The fae can’t lie,” I said.
“Another lie,” she yelled, beating her fist against her chest hard enough that I expected to hear ribs crack. “You lie all the time… especially that other one.”
Goose bumps ran across my skin, and I took a tiny step backward. “What one, Heather?” I said, repeating her name in an attempt to keep her focused on both the conversation and the fact that she was still human, that her wolf hadn’t yet taken control.
“The other fae,” she snarled. “Said she knew a cure, said you were keeping it to yourself. But when I went to find it, there was nothing but a trap.” Her eyes snapped up, and I could see they had changed to amber.
“Where did you go, Heather?” I said, but I already knew the answer.
“I went to find you, but all I could find were other fae who wanted me dead… I feasted on their flesh…” She stared down at her bloody hands. “I tried to follow the injured one, but she got down the stairs before I could snap her neck… Mother wasn’t happy.”
The last sentence caught my attention. “What did you say?”
“Beast Mother wasn’t happy, said I didn’t deserve the cure for letting her down…”
I’d heard the vampires call Auriella the Beast Mother. Was that also what others in the preternatural community knew her as?
“Do you mean Mother of the Hunt? Auriella?”
“I’m not allowed to call her that. I can only call her Mother… but she’s not my mother…” A low whine crept past Heather’s lips, and she tossed her head as though she was hearing something in her mind other than her own voice. “She said the sickness was punishment for allowing the abomination to live…”
It all clicked into place. Byron had sai
d a creature unlike any he’d ever seen had attacked his daughter, and if that was Auriella’s other form, her beast form, I could well imagine he’d never laid eyes on the likes of it. But could Auriella be the goddess from Noree’s stories, the one who had created the shifters? She’d certainly lived long enough to have once been considered a goddess, and she definitely had the power for it.
“Lucy is just a child,” I said. “She doesn’t deserve any of this… none of you do. Don’t you see that Auriella is trying to turn you all against one another? She wants to destroy you.”
Heather shook her head and whined again, the sound grating against my ears as I attempted to circle away from her and back toward the motorcycle. If she changed now, then there was no hope for me. And my presence seemed to be speeding the infection through her body.
“Auriella is not your mother, Heather. You said it yourself—she helped create the shifters but not the wolves.”
Heather glanced up at me, and I saw a flash of panic in her feverish eyes. “Help me,” she begged.
“I can, but you’ve got to fight this.”
“Don’t listen to her, Heather.” Auriella’s voice came from somewhere behind me.
I jerked my head around to search the wreckage of the house, and for a split second I could have sworn I saw her. But she was gone in the blink of an eye, and so I directed my attention back to Heather, who had drawn nearer.
“She’s screwing with your head. She made you sick; she caused this.” I was fighting to keep my voice calm but failing miserably. “Let me help you.”
“Don’t listen to her, child. I told you what she was. I showed you her truth. Now shift and finish this!” The air of authority in Auriella’s voice tingled across my skin. But by the time I realised what she’d done, it was already too late.
Heather’s skin rippled from within, her fingers flexing as claws appeared. She fell to the ground and screamed as the beast within her tore out through her human flesh until her black, glossy wolf coat shone in the afternoon sun. The wolf paused and shook herself off from head to foot, and when she looked up at me again I saw a flash of the human Heather in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed by the raging, blood-thirsty wolf that growled low in her throat and ducked her head toward the ground as she stalked toward me.
Huntress Moon (Bones and Bounties Book 2) Page 22