“Discipline Rex.”
Cormack's eyelids lowered halfway as he met her upturned face over the curving swell of her arched hand. “To what extent?” His words breathed over her skin, his gaze glittering in anticipation and Julia wanted to be sick.
They stayed like that, wrapped in a moment of deliberating violence, and finally, Darcel whispered, “He will heal, for he is Sidhe.”
Oh no, Julia thought. And the fey, his lovely sky blue skin raising in gooseflesh—turned and ran. Julia had an idea of what might happen next, but like a train wreck, she was helpless not to watch what came next. However, to see it unfold made her cry out. Julia hadn't seen Cormack move, he was that fast, almost vampiric in his speed. One moment he held the Queen's hand and the next he was straddling a squirming man as large as him, but soft.
So very soft.
Julia could only watch as Cormack took the small dagger from its sheath. With a whistling whine of leather and metal he sunk it hilt-deep into the belly of the offending Rex.
Julia jumped backward, then backed up until she ran into someone. She turned as blood leaked all over floors that were veined in black, their surface a swirled dove gray, now red. Tharell looked down at her and covered her open mouth with his finger, giving a very small shake of his head. Julia braced herself, turning around to face the destruction of someone who would stand up to the Queen.
Jacqueline had tried to kill Julia. But it would have been a gentle death compared to the violence that Queen Darcel offered in the Unseelie court. Being a Princess sounded worse by the moment. Julia watched Cormack twist and grind the knife while his victim gurgled underneath him and her gorge rose. She swallowed quickly, holding back being sick as the sound of meat being rendered reached her ears. The tang of metal rising in the air like copper fumes made Julia sway where she stood.
Suddenly, she felt the warmth of Tharell's breath on her face before he spoke. “He will heal,” he whispered.
Julia swallowed hard, feeling suddenly very alone.
The Queen stared at Julia while Darcel's guard gutted her subject and Julia could only stare back.
She had escaped one nightmare only to fall prey to another.
*
Jacqueline
Oh how the glorious chips may fall! Jacqueline chortled to herself, delighted by the turn of events. She led the group, the trail of fey dust easy for her to follow. It was like a melody in her blood. If only they understood how truly powerful it was to be of mixed lineage. She was happy to hide who she really was no longer. It had brought her many advantages while she pretended to be a pure blood Singer. Marcus was such a prude, prattling on about how their royal blood would die out because of her deceit. Really? She sniffed at that. It had not been a concern when he rutted above her in the hopes of a Combatant offspring. Which he now had, and one who was soul mate to the Rare One? He should stop his petulance before she thought of something distasteful to do to him.
Jacqueline glanced to her left and there Anthony was beside her. The brute trudged along without complaint. My he is a tough sort, Jacqueline thought, having been rendered twice immobile. Once by herself, this caused a smile to form on her hawkish face, then by his own offspring. Jacqueline would be able to keep him distracted enough with coming events that he might not assault other women while in her charge. We shall see, she thought to herself. It was very hard to retrain the demented.
She would know. Jacqueline's secret smile widened.
“Jacqueline, how much further?” Marcus inquired, wondering upon her strange expression. How she could find humor in a possible fey takeover and rescue attempt for their true Queen was beyond him. Her confidence in the unknown was unsettling.
She sighed in annoyance. Could they not see the mound? It was as her great-grandmother had told her it would be. In secret. For the farce of pure royal Singer blood would be maintained against everything.
“Just ahead,” she responded lightly.
Tony leaned beside her. “Is this a ruse, Singer?”
“Always, but they know nothing yet.”
“How can I stay safe?” he asked.
Good question, Jacqueline wondered. Then she remembered a fragment of a tale her grandmother had read to her at bedtime.
She spoke in a low voice but Anthony heard it easily. “There be a terrible thistle of thorns, which comes alive and tears at those who mean wrong doing, or who are not fey.”
“Swell news, Jacqueline. Tell me something useful.”
Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. “Dolt.” Insufferable fool. “Stay close to me and we shall pass them by.”
Tony nodded in understanding as they came before the mound. When Jacqueline stretched her hand out to touch the door, it appeared to the others and the symbol Julia had watched burn like a torch hours ago, came to life. It was so hot and bright it hurt to gaze upon it for those who were closest to the mound.
Slash turned to Adi. “Adi, stay by me.”
She rolled her eyes. “It'll be fine, Slash.”
“It most certainly will not be fine.” Slash allowed his wolf to come to the surface of his skin. It might be that when things went wrong, as they were bound to do, being in animal form might prove to be safest.
Slash turned, seeing the other faces, those of his den, two vampires, a handful of Singers and the hateful but necessary pairing of Tony and Jacqueline. If they hadn’t been as desperate as sin, there'd been no way that they would've used that viper of a royal.
One minute, Slash saw Jacqueline raise her arm to touch something he couldn't see in thin air. And the next, a small symbol of a dragon guarding an egg began to fill their sight, the brightness of it made the wolf inside him shy from the surface and he nudged it back deep inside himself.
Slash didn't need his wolf right now. His eyes flicked to Adi. Her false bravado had become a trembling thing. Good, she was too cavalier about the unknown.
Jacqueline looked behind her at Marcus. “Come, follow me.”
“Be of care,” Marcus said to Scott and he nodded once.
Jason, Truman, Manny, Adi, and Slash brought up the rear. Cyn came along unwillingly with Reagan at her side. She was sure it was a trap. It had that feel to it. Of course, her entire life felt like it now had the word trap tattooed on it. What a screwed up deal this is, Cyn thought as she passed through into the bowels of the mound, the door to the Unseelie territory shut behind her with an echoing clank. It was as dark as a tomb, she thought, gazing around at a dark interior tunnel, her eyes scanning with minimal light, her sense of sight dulled by the murky ambience. Then the screaming began and Cyn threw her arms up in a defensive posture.
The briar came alive and they began to fight for their lives. Reagan bellowed, “Swords!” Slow and thick with panic, Cyn fell to the ground, the hard stone unforgiving underneath her as the thorns grabbed at her clothing, seeking her flesh. She mewled in terror, making herself as low as she could while the sounds of metal met nature. Howls and the wet sucking tears of skin rent asunder was the horrible music that made Cyn cover her ears. She found herself laying on a damp bed of cobblestones as Manny fell over her body to protect her from the worse of it.
Scott tore the limbs of thorns away while his mother escaped them, Tony by her side, as the piercing barbs wrapped his arms and legs in a fierce vise, tripping him.
He struggled inside them and as he turned his face he saw Delilah. A look passed between them just as the thorns lifted from their bodies.
They were enough fey after all, he and his half-sister of the undead. She gave a fierce smile of sharp teeth and fangs, hissing her triumph into the still air of the passageway. The sister he'd just met turned back to help the others even as his treacherous mother and Tony raced headlong to find Julia.
Scott plunged through the razors wire that was the briar. He and Delilah only needed to touch each person and their touch alone allowed them to come free.
When the last person was rescued they flung themselves in a bleeding group outside the snare of the briar and made
their injured way toward Julia and the unknown.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Breeching the Mound
Karl felt the blood drip down from the tender nape of his neck to pool at the base of his spine, soaking the denim band of his jeans. Wasn't this a fine clusterfuck, Truman thought as he tore through the thorn bullshit. He stomped on the last stubborn branch while swiping at it with his scraped arms and swore under his breath. He couldn't believe this new little catastrophe he found himself in. That and the actual human cops were looking for him. Nevermind me guys, just lurking around in fairy mounds. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It was unbelievable even to him and he was living it.
Karl didn't have his wits about him or he would have seen the sword coming. Some tattered sixth sense, a holdover from a week ago when he was a cop, relying more on instinct than was pretty, made him duck at the precise moment his head was meant to be loped off.
“Cripes on a crutch!” Karl hollered, his fist driving into the hard gut of whoever was trying to decapitate him. It was instantaneous and instinctual. His new body obeyed Karl's subconscious commands perfectly. His resistance was met with a pummeling of fists in the kidney from behind. Fuck. “A little help!”
Scott swung his head to the Were and saw the male struggling between two warriors, and his step staggered on the way to assist. He'd never seen colored flesh outside human norms before. And these two were not only colored, they were so odd that Scott hesitated from sheer shock.
“Come on stud, stop gawking and get the ball rolling,” Cyn blurted beside him. Scott shook it off, moving forward. He thought to Deflect everything magical, and found his magic worked here just as well—when one of the warriors, his orange eyes blazing like flames in his face, plunged his hands into a hanging sack at his hip, throwing spiked dust at his face. Meant to be inhaled like whirling faceted razors. Scott pushed his own power back at the fey and the dust crystalized into ice, dropping harmlessly at his feet. Those fiery eyes widened and Scott dropped into a crouch, ready to spring on Flame-boy. Then Truman plugged his fist, now clawed, through the center of a body that was covered in red skin. There was a roar of rage and the fey turned into the damage taking his hands and lacing them together, he brought them down on Truman's head.
“Ah!” Truman said, slumping as Scott and Slash reached the other fey.
“Kill the Singers!” Flame boy yelled to his fey buddy and Scott kicked the wound in his side where Truman had churned the guy's guts. There was a satisfying thud when his foot found its mark.
Truman roused himself enough to mumble, “Got my bell rung...” he crawled on all fours, shaking his head back and forth, trying to clear it.
“Stay down, cop,” Jason said, moving into the mess of multi-colored limbs, a pissed off Singer and two Were. “Just... shit, overwhelm these assholes,” Jason persisted, using his fists on the wounded red fey.
The fey was adept at hand to hand, ignoring what would have been grievous wounds for a human, he used his laced hands as a ready weapon and sprung them apart, slapping them on either side of Jason's head. He shrieked from the cuffing, dropping to his knees.
Reagan looked down at Jason as she passed. “You were saying?” she murmured, moving behind the red one and using the bony talons of the Were, they tore through the flesh of her fingers, the pain at once burning and sharp, she ignored it and with a jerking shove, she pushed them through the fey like a shish kabob.
“Come on!” Reagan screamed behind the skewered fey, his arms finding their way to her head. She tried to jerk back but couldn't avoid him as he latched on, both of her hands buried in his back and used her hair like a rope, jerking her into the back of his skull. The impact had her seeing stars. Good Moon, the fey were strong.
“Let me, daughter,” Tony said with typical arrogant sarcasm and flung his hand out, delivering a ringing slap to the fey's cheek and tearing off the first layer of skin. It accomplished what he aimed- to surprise.
With a howl the fey released the female Were behind him and focused on the stink of the dog before him. Kiel opened his mouth and burned the flesh off the face of the one who stood in front of him. High, piteous shrieks came from Tony as his hands went to the melting horror of his face.
“Oh hell,” Adi yelled, “he's some kind of dragon!” Slash moved in front of her and she hit his back with her hand. “I'm fine, Slash!” He ignored her as the fire fey sprayed everything within a five-foot circle with the flames of his breath.
As if conjured from her statement, scales like slick glass began to flow over the fey's body, until he appeared to be a mass of undulating molten lava. His tale flicked, the damage inflicted by Truman and Reagan forgotten by his shift to dragon form, effectively healing the injuries.
It stopped the group in their tracks. William and Delilah dragged the Were to safety and Scott scuttled backward on all fours, standing when they were far enough away.
“You will die. You cannot win,” the dragon fey stated as certain fact.
Truman looked up at the dragon and should have been frightened. After all, the words came out of a mouth that breathed steam, they were on fire. But he figured, if it could breathe, it could die. Karl stood, his natural defiance lending him strength.
“Let's not put that to the test, fella,” Truman said and Cyn hid a nervous laugh behind her hand as the beast cocked his head, clearly puzzled. “What gibberish do you speak, son of the moon?”
Huh, Truman thought, not gonna be easy. Truman put his thick hands on his hips and stared, the other fey moved up beside his partner, the warrior dwarfed by the dragon. “Kiel, let them explain...,” the warrior said in a light tone.
Truman's eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he looked closer, rubbing the back of his neck and his hand coming away with blood. God almighty, it was a woman. Truman flushed, he didn't realize they'd just tried to beat up a woman. This just got better and better.
Reagan saw his face. “Don't go soft on me now, Truman.” She looked away, winking at Jason and he grimaced, coming to his feet as well.
They were at a stalemate. Two powerful fey warriors against their group could probably grapple indefinitely, but would anyone really win? Truman wondered.
The female fey frowned at them all, wiping sweat and blood off her brow. “Kiel...” she said again.
Truman noticed her bell-like voice as she pronounced his name like key-ale.
“He, we…,” she looked at him and the dragon gave an awkward nod.
“Gawd, this is Twilight Zone weird,” Cyn said.
“Shush,” Manny said, holding his arm in the other like a pseudo sling. Cyn thought he'd have to shift to heal it up.
“Protect the Unseelie. You have entered without invitation. Though there be two of you that have enough fey to get past the briar.” Her eyes touched on Scott and Delilah. “However, one that is undead cannot be abided, the other we consider neutral.”
Delilah moved forward and the female fey's gaze became slits of low-burning blue fire. “Do not come closer, lover of the dead.”
Delilah's head fell back and she laughed, deep from her belly, flicking a dismissive look at the dragon. “I think not. I am fey enough, dead as I may be, to enter here. You can claim I have no passage, but the truth is: I have the same rights as anyone with fey blood, or do the legends lie? Or is it your prejudice speaking?” Delilah's dark eyes widened in understanding. “Or could it be... fear? The Reader said there would be a Trojan among us. Someone who would be the foil of the fey. Could it be this mixed supernatural brings true death to the fey?”
That was it, Truman thought, watching the female fey's eyes flinch at the vampire's words.
“That's it!” Adi said, nearly clapping her hands. “You guys get chomped and it's,” she made a slashing gesture across her throat, “curtains.”
“Love that,” Cyn said and Adi high-fived her.
“You have no mercy,” the female fey stated.
“And you've shown us so much,” Scott replied with a curt laugh. He w
as tired of this crap. They could philosophize to death when Julia was safe. “Let us through, our cultural differences can wait. We're here to get a Singer that one of your kind took from our compound, pretending to be someone we knew.” Scott didn't mention how clever the kidnapper had been, disguising himself as the twin of Julia, knowing enough about her background to feign a knowledge he didn't have.
“Tharell.”
“I don't know and I don't give a good goddamn, just let us get her and go.”
“No.” Her eyes stayed on him like lead.
Scott hadn't even felt himself move forward when his father's hand lay on his forearm. “Do not, the fey will incinerate you.”
Scott's gaze shifted to the nostrils of the creature, where lazy spirals of steam rose.
Damn. “You can't burn us all. Those of us who can heal, will. Just the two of you—you and Flame boy?”
She screwed her face up in puzzlement and Adi laughed.
“I am a warrior of the Sidhe, I am named Celesta. I do not take orders from lessers.”
“Oh yeah?” Cyn said, keeping one eye on the dragon. “Who's lesser?”
Celesta smiled. “Everyone who is not Sidhe.”
Cyn rolled her eyes and asked slowly, “Oh really?”
“Yes.”
“Listen up, wench,” Adi said and Slash blanched. “Adi...”
“No, Slash. This stuck up witch...”
“I am not Wicca or a practitioner of any kind.”
“Right- gawd, these guys are so literal.”
“Clearly, they don't get out of the mound much,” Cyn decided.
“Enough!” Celesta roared into the echoing space. Her gaze took in the injured motley crew, hurt but not beaten. “Julia Caldwell seeks audience with Queen Darcel.”
“I doubt that,” Jason said.
Celesta raised a shoulder in dismissal. “I care not what you doubt. It is the truth. The fey do not break their word.”
“I have a feeling you guys bend the truth a lot,” Truman said and she gave him a sharp look.
“And what truth do you think I am not telling?”
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