Truman paused for a heartbeat. “Pretty much all of it.”
Celesta opened her mouth at the same time a man whose flesh was such a deep shade of violet he looked black, jogged to her side. Every male in the room tensed in recognition, and Reagan, who had let her weapon hang loose, tightened her grip.
“Tharell,” Celesta said in greeting, keeping her eyes on the supernaturals.
Truman studied the newcomer and instinctively understood him to be the most dangerous of the three. More than the dragon, maybe more than everyone. He turned those azure eyes on their group, scanning each face before going to the next. He was quiet and unaffected, different from the other two fey. He bent down on one knee in front of Celesta, and Karl's brow knotted. What was this?
“Celesta,” he said softly, kissing the top of her bloodied hand. He stood. “What would you have of me?”
“They have come to take the Rare One.”
Tharell's expression did not change. “The Queen is holding court with her right now.”
Truman saw some emotion wash over Celesta's face; he wasn't sure what it was but his money was on only one.
Fear.
“Holding court” must mean something different to these guys, Truman thought.
“Wait a sec,” Scott began as Jason and William moved up beside him. “What does 'holding court' mean exactly?”
Truman guessed he wasn't the only one who could read faces.
Celesta looked down as Tharell, his skin so dark it appeared to blend with the surrounding walls, stared them down. No emotion. No reaction. Truman studied Celesta in the silence before she answered and noticed she was nearly as tall as the males, but fashioned delicately. The muscles that held those small bones together were lithe rather than bulky, her skin was a soft coffee color, arresting eyes, the same color as her skin, took up her heart-shaped face....
“Wake up, don't stare at her,” Reagan said.
“Why?” Truman asked in a voice that had become foggy.
“You'll be addicted.”
Truman dumped his chin to his chest and took several deep breaths. Finally, when he felt he was in control of himself, he looked back up.
She seemed to stare at him, only him. Cripes, he mentally hissed, looking away.
“Queen Darcel does not abide interruptions,” she stated simply. Then she looked at the dragon. “Kiel,” she called to him, “it is time.”
They watched as the crystal-like scales seemed to melt off the fey and sink into his skin like water in reverse, his deep scarlet skin becoming smooth again. He gave Celesta his hand.
Truman noticed it was the one without the sword. “There are no terms that can be negotiated with our Queen. It will be as she wishes, nothing more, and nothing less.” Kiel's words burned his hearing. Maybe it was because he was a werewolf now and more sensitive, or maybe this guy being a real live flame-breathing dragon did the trick.
“Unless you get the chomp,” Adi reminded and he frowned at her.
“I bring death to Unseelie,” Delilah stated, not bothering to hide the implication. Kiel studied her and nodded. “You are but one amongst many of the Sidhe. You are a small threat.”
“Insignificant,” Celesta agreed.
But Tharell said nothing. Truman thought his eyes held humor.
Humor at the other's expense.
*
Julia
Julia had seen some very bad things in the two years since she'd been taken. But nothing rivaled this slow, deliberate torture.
Tharell had left without her even noticing. The Queen had a vaguely empty smile on her face while Cormack carved up the hapless Rex underneath him. His wet pleas, out of a throat thickened with blood and other things, went unheeded.
Julia must have made some small sound of distress because Darcel turned to look at her, then gave a sharp command, “Enough, Cormack.”
And just like a light switch flipped, the warrior stood, his arm soaked to the elbow in the other man's blood. With a flick of his wrist, most of the blood fell away in a striking spatter pattern on the marbled floor.
Julia swallowed the bile down. Gone was any thought of being a smart ass, feeling confident. Escaping. Her only thoughts were those of survival in this funhouse of horrors.
Cormack left the fallen Rex where he lay, coming to his Queen's side as two people burst into the court and Julia yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Oh my God, Julia noticed, Jacqueline and Tony have come to play. Then, on the heels of that thought, Julia couldn't help the relief that swept her. Maybe the insane fey would pay attention to those two while she made herself scarce. Could she be so lucky?
“Do... come in,” Queen Darcel said to the party crashers. Julia watched a decidedly un-fresh Jacqueline take in the scene, smoothing down her rumpled skirts and giving Queen Darcel an assessing look, which Darcel returned.
“I am Jacqueline, Ruler of Region Two of the Singers,” Jacqueline announced, straightening her spine importantly. Tony let a soft growl break from his lips.
Time to go. Julia began to inch toward the door. Slowly, ever so slowly.
“I know who you are. I know what you are,” Queen Darcel replied, her gaze unwavering on Jacqueline.
Julia didn't have time to get off on the fact that Jacqueline had met her match, bit off more than she could chew, was choking on the entire tamale. Julia would use their ill-timed entrance to make her exit. Let crazy Jacqueline deal with the truly insane
Someone at the court watched her slink toward the door, their lips lifting cruelly. Please, Julia thought, don't say anything. And of course, they didn't, their hate of her was more than their desire to get on the crazy Queen's good side.
“Welcome home, Jacqueline of the Sidhe.”
Her words gave Julia pause. Oh great, like Jacqueline needed anything to make her head fatter. She wasn't just fey but that Sidhe that everyone seemed so concerned with. Julia moved again, reaching behind her, the brass knob warming the inside of her palm as she turned it behind her.
Cormack heard the latch disengage from the striker, his eyes flipping to her jackrabbit posture. Julia didn't wait, but fell backwards through the door at the same time she kicked it closed. She heard the dull thud of a body smacking into it and automatically shoved her telekinesis into holding the door secure, emptying all of her power, a void in her mind like someone had taken a spoon and scooped out her talent, leaving her bereft of it.
And she was happy.
Julia turned to flee and ran right into Jason's chest. His warm hazel eyes met hers, his strong hands on her upper arms. She took a shaky breath and did something she couldn't have done in the court, when every eye was on her and she didn't know the next minute of her future.
Julia burst into tears.
Jason wrapped his strong arms around her. “Jules, I'm here babe,” he rumbled against her wet cheek.
Julia gave a great, hitching sob that squeaked out from her very core and he pressed her head tightly against himself. He smelled like home. And she found she was so sick for it. So homesick for what had been and was no more.
The fey beat against the door while Julia's relief soaked Jason's shirt. Finally, she lifted her head and met the eyes of two fey she didn't know and one she did. The pounding grew louder, a thundering background.
Julia caught sight of Scott who stared back. She felt nothing... for him. What was going on?
Scott shook his head, obviously bewildered. “I don't feel it either,” he said, interpreting her expression.
Marcus looked between the two of them. “What has happened?”
“The soul-meld, it's like it never was,” Scott explained, confused. He could still feel his compulsion to protect Julia as Queen... but the meld. It felt... severed.
Tharell broke in, “Soul magic does not work in Faerie.”
All eyes turned to him.
“Why?” Julia asked from Jason's arms, that sense of the surreal returning with a vengeance.
His dark eye
s met hers, the whites like newly fallen snow in the purpled ebony of his face. “The fey have no souls.”
“Everyone has a soul,” Cyn said softly.
Tharell shook his head, eyes grave. “Immortals do not.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pursuit
Tom Harriet slipped his sunglasses on, though the day was gloomy. The door to the worn mom and pop convenience store rattled behind him as it shut inside its crooked jamb.
He turned back. Damn thing, he muttered to himself, lifting and pushing the corner so it closed properly.
Harriet liked things that worked. Closed. Finished.
That's why the loose string of Karl Truman's vanishing act had the FBI agent in a frothing lather.
Simon approached him, his suit jacket flapping back in the wind, revealing his piece, a sleek black outline revealed by the breeze. Simon saw Harriet's eyes shift and buttoned the jacket with the brisk efficiency most feds are known for. However, on this case, like when Harriet received the phone call from Detective Truman of the Homer Police Department, he felt like a loose cannon without a target. He had fed Truman to this very spot through Ford, but without knowing the why.
Harriet's superiors were stringing them along. As usual, Harriet wanted to know what the fuck was going on. And as usual, it was a need to know basis. Why was it that he never needed to know but he needed to see it though? Huh? Jag-ups.
Simon jerked a thumb at the Arletta Stop & Go! The sign was lackluster and withered, swinging on its rusty chain. “Did ya get what you needed?”
Harriet sniffed his coat jacket, the lingering smell of the chain-smoking nut job inside still clinging to his thousand dollar suit. “Yes.” He began walking away from the store.
He and his partner, Tai Simon, moved toward the unmarked black SUV. Which to Harriet, screamed fed. He sighed, hitting the lock and slipping into the driver's seat.
He turned on the air conditioning, letting the thing idle. Effing Seattle, he thought, so damp.
Simon tapped long fingers on his knee, waiting. Finally, he asked, “What?”
Harriet put the car into gear and began driving down Ray Nash Drive, a winding ribbon of asphalt that could eventually take them from Gig Harbor to Purdy, Washington. They weren't really in Seattle; they were to the southwest. The weather was somehow cool but damp at the same time. Shitty. But today, they'd only drive a couple miles to what he’d been told was Karl Truman’s last destination.
Of course, that much he already knew.
“It's not what, it's who,” Harriet said, flicking his eyes to Simon. “Something had that broad Irene spooked, and spooked solid.”
His eyes pegged Tom with a hard stare. “Did she say where Truman went?”
Harriet sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why am I pulling hen's teeth, ya pain in my ass.”
Harriet smiled, he liked Tai, funky name aside, pronounced like tie. “Because we're here already so stop whining, lame ass.”
Tai gave a rough exhale as they turned off Ray Nash and began to ascend a steep hill, the car crested, gravel crunching underneath their tires. The road continued on and on, taking a gradual descent. The trees of the forest narrowed on the shoulders of the soft dirt, the western red cedars weeping against the top of the vehicle, the branches whispering ominously against the roof.
“Creeping fucking place, I'll give it that,” Tai said.
Harriet said nothing, the trees continuing to thicken as the road narrowed. It was day, and gloomy as hell, but felt like soft twilight amongst the depths of the forest. Harriet unconsciously ducked his head, trying to see the way ahead as though through a tunnel. It had been awhile.
“It's too thick Tom.”
He nodded, putting the SUV in park and killing the engine. “Yeah, let's hike it.”
Tai groaned. “Swell, do you have our gear?”
“Of course,” Harriet said, exiting the vehicle and making his way to the double doors at the back of the rig. He popped them open, extracting a plastic Rubbermaid tote, balancing it against his hip and jerked the lid off. He pulled out tall camouflage boots that were waterproof with zippered fronts that climbed the shins. He took off one expensive loafer, pointing his toe into the long boot and repeated the process with the other. Simon did the same and they looked at each other. Two feds in expensive suits and hunting boots.
It was apropos, as the whole thing had the feel like a wild goose-fucking-chase, Harriet thought. “Ready?” Harriet asked and they left the car unlocked, trudging through the woods, following their noses, though one of their senses was a sight more dull than those who watched the men from the sanctuary of the trees.
*
Julia
Julia looked at the man who'd kidnapped her and had a hard time believing anything the fey said about soul magic being negated simply because they were now in faerie—or by his say so. After all, the fey had taken her, like everyone else had before them, there was no room for instant trust left in Julia. But feeling was believing. And her feelings for Scott were those of friendship in this place. Julia didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified.
She found her gaze moving to Jason. It didn't seem to matter where she was: inside a coven, region, pack or here in faerie:
Julia loved him.
She knew that she had no right. Julia forfeited their love when she became bound to Scott, though unintentionally, and had decided to go through with marrying the three. Julia understood that the fate of three species of supernaturals rested on her narrow shoulders.
But love was a strange thing, it struck hard, leaving scars of consequence and was also a thief; stealing reason, robbing a person of choice.
Julia felt that choice was presenting itself now, and without the soul meld riding her, could it be... maybe, that she could be with just him, her Jason?
She looked at Scott again, reaching out and finding... nothing. Julia found herself searching Jason's face. The better question: would he still want her? Would Scott and William help or would they press her to go through with the “marriage” of the three? Would her female warrior and vampire advisor remain?
And Jason, though he was her husband, he was a werewolf but also a Singer. Circumstances had changed so much since their Vegas wedding it wasn't quantifiable. She couldn't wrap her head around where they'd been with what and who they were now. But their love had been real. A perfect, clear-as-a-bell truth in her life then. Julia only hoped it could also be true now.
All these thoughts passed through her mind in a nanosecond, the emotions seen by the others looked like a kaleidoscope of sadness, guilt and restraint. Then Julia's expression began to morph into a cautious hope.
She looked at Scott and he gave a small nod and Julia looked back at Jason. He brushed the tears that trailed down her face with a tender stroke of his thumbs, his eyes never leaving hers. He'd seen the looks pass between her and Scott, he'd heard what Tharell said about the soul meld. “What is it, Jules? Tell me.” His gaze said so many things to her, asked so many things. The main one being that he dared not hope. She glanced at Scott again, who gave her a look of protective neutrality. He would let her think, choose. Scott was still her protector, still a part of the Combatant formed out of thin air, genetics, and fate. Finally, William locked his gaze with hers. And there, though she searched for it, Julia couldn't find the condemnation she was sure was hers to own. To bear.
Julia opened her mouth to respond to Jason, her bottom lip trembling with her emotional decision, when the door she'd so cleverly shut with her talent... swung wide. Suddenly she found herself behind Jason, his body covering hers in protection.
“There you are, Rare One,” Queen Darcel purred. “Look who's arrived to celebrate your coronation.”
Oh my God, Julia thought, facing the insanity that was Queen Darcel.
Darcel swept her palm at Jacqueline and Tony, the scars from the burns giving him an almost comic look of raw meat everywhere but his eyes. Those had been spared by whatever had b
een done to him and Julia couldn't help but flinch at the sight of his partially healed and melted flesh.
“Coronation?” Jason asked, puzzled, wrapping his arm tighter around Julia's shoulders and pressing her into the crook of his body.
Cormack came to flank Darcel. “Yes, our Queen is convinced that she,” his nostrils flared in apparent dislike of Julia, “and she alone, possess the purity of blood to revive the Unseelie.”
Marcus held up his hand and Darcel responded, “What say you, pure blood?” No one asked how she knew Marcus was a pure blood Singer.
Marcus did not falter. “I am Marcus, ruler of Region One of the Blood Singers.”
Queen Darcel inclined her head. “And I am Queen Darcel of the Unseelie Sidhe.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, her silver hair, streaked with white glinted in the low light of the torches piercing the stone walls. “How is it that you broke through the briar?”
“Jacqueline.” Marcus moved his eyes to rest on her then back to the level gaze of Darcel. “She is part fey. Jacqueline found the mound, breeched the briar and those who are descended from her moved past them as well.” He marveled at the healing of the fey warriors who stood by her side. The damage from the altercation earlier was tossed away as they spoke.
“Ah,” Darcel said slowly, knotting slim hands behind her back. She dipped her head and Marcus swore he saw the wheels of her mind turning with her scheming. Darcel looked back at him. “Who are these who accompany you?”
Marcus hesitated, then decided the longer they could keep the lines of communication open, then peace could be possible. Or so he dared to hope. He listed William and Delilah, the undead were obvious to the fey, who gave them eyes that held healthy respect. The vampire were the kryptonite of the fey. They, and they alone, could steal fey immortality with a bite. That was what legend told them. Further, it had been confirmed from the mouth of Celesta. It made Marcus feel better knowing it. However, it was not certain how loyal either William or Delilah would be to the Singers.
He listed his son and Cynthia, and the Were whom the Reader had insisted be present: Adrianna, Slash, Jason, Emmanuel, Reagan, and the former police detective, Karl Truman; the Packmaster had been left behind. Jacqueline and Tony were already known to Queen Darcel.
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