Wrath: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 2

by Denise Tompkins

  “Oy! You there!” came a man’s voice.

  I looked up and saw a foot patrolman stepping it toward me. I waved and shouted, “Out for an evening run!” and I sprinted off, convinced this evening had been doomed since I took over planning and the men had walked out. The sound of galloping feet followed, and a stitch in my side began to grow as I pounded pavement. I hit the A4202 and dashed across amid the sounds of squealing brakes and blaring horns, praying all the way that Tyr would carry me into the park unharmed. Clutching my side, I made it through the northeastern main entrance, keeping my eyes peeled for any of the supernatural creatures I sought, and who sought me. Looking back, I realized the foot patrolman was gone. He was either calling in backup or backtracking to ensure his residential areas were secure. I stopped and bent at the waist, one hand on the ribs that felt as if they were being sawn open to allow more air directly into my lungs.

  If you survive this, Niteclif, you will start exercising again.

  I took the path toward the Serpentine. There were more lights along the path, lending a sense of false security to the park. There were still quite a few people out and about despite the rash of killings. I shook my head at the risks people took in the name of It Won’t Happen to Me and kept going. I heard familiar voices coming from behind me, and I darted off the path, diving into the underbrush where I went as still and quiet as the animals around me.

  “Damned woman,” Efein growled, several of his compatriots echoing the sentiment in much more colorful, less flattering ways. I tried to memorize faces so I knew whom to bitch at. Again, it was all contingent on my survival. They passed by on the path, never slowing down.

  I crawled out from under the brush after several minutes and took an alternate path, still heading toward the Serpentine.

  It took me another half an hour and one final dive under the bushes to make it to the lake. There were fewer people this deep in the park, and I looked around, wondering what I’d expected. This wasn’t it. The entire area, even the landing at the marina, was landscaped and perfectly maintained. There was no trash, and the water reflecting the light of the moon promised rare clarity in the sunshine.

  I walked down to the edge of the water and looked around, but there were no signs of any of the men. I sighed, frustrated. I must have lost them.

  A scream tore the air. It was a high, panicked noise cut off far too quickly for my comfort. I sprinted toward the noise, kicking hard to get to the—

  Body. I rounded the corner and tripped, sprawling in the dirt. What took me down? The body. The head lay ten feet away, the eyes closed and the mouth open, as if the scream had followed her into death. It took me only a moment to process that her hair, though matted with blood, was far from my dark brown/black color. Hers was the color of straw spun to silk. Oh shit. It was Praen.

  Scrambling to my feet, I spun around, looking at all the shadows as potential hiding places for the mist Kelten assumed. There were too damn many for me to cover all my bases. Blood seeped across the ground, and I stepped farther away from the body to keep her blood off my shoes.

  Every shadow held menace as I bent over and found in her hands strands of blond hair braided together and bound by a blue ribbon.

  “She was guilty, Niteclif, and I had no choice but to kill her.”

  I spun around to face my manifested fear.

  Kelten stepped out from the murky shadows. He was carrying a long knife, his hands gloved to protect them from the metal that, as fae, would burn him. Praen’s blood decorated the wickedly sharp weapon, and threads of blond hair hung from it in matted clumps.

  I reached back under the guise of scratching my back and felt for the cold-forged iron dagger strapped to my lower back. I had practiced with this particular knife on several occasions and could draw it relatively quickly. Of course, “relatively” was the operative word when up against supernatural creatures.

  He cocked his head to one side like a curious dog and said, “You don’t believe me.”

  “Kelten, I have to ask you—did you kill the other women?” My voice was low and steady. Point to me. He started to walk toward me, and I backed up a step. “Stop, Kelten.”

  He kept coming, his hand tightening on the handle of the knife.

  “Kelten, I’m asking you one last time. Stop and discuss this with me.”

  His eyes shifted, literally changing color from dark blue to what—in the dark—appeared to be a steely gray, and the insanity peeked out from the depths. “You killed my only son, you traitorous bitch. You toyed with him, making him believe he stood a chance with you while you were whoring around with the dragon. You drove him to madness, forcing him to go to extreme lengths to gain your affections!” He sliced through the air, flinging blood and hair toward me.

  “Are you nuts?” Why the hell was I even asking? He was as crazed as the devil at an all-you-can-eat soul buffet.

  “Do not insinuate I didn’t know what was going on!” he screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. He moved quickly and slashed out, his blade laying open my sweatshirt and leaving a thin, horizontal gash on my stomach.

  I gasped, my hand automatically going to the cut, and he flashed in to nick my shoulder next. Ignoring the cuts, I dropped my hand and in one motion drew the iron dagger. Compared to his knife it looked a little pathetic, but it was what I had. Besides, the cavalry was supposed to come storming in at any moment.

  “Tell me,” I said conversationally, “what’s the blond hair for?”

  “It’s Gaitha’s. One of her gifts is mist dissipation. One of mine is borrowing others’ magic if I can take one of the creature’s elements. With her hair, I can dematerialize as mist. All it takes is a pairing of elements. For this? Fire.”

  Ah, the singed hair smell. The thought that he’d been so close every time I’d smelled it creeped me out a little.

  We continued to circle each other slowly. “What’s with the blue thread?”

  “It’s symbolic of the other element: air. The blue thread represents air, since you can’t exactly harness air.” He darted and cut me again, and I grunted in pain. The cut to my thigh was deeper than the others. Shit, that hurt.

  “What was with the deep gouges in the dirt at the park?” I moved more slowly now, working to keep him facing me as he circled the clearing.

  He paused. “What gouges?”

  “Must’ve been nothing.” Keeping him talking gave me extra time to get the backup in place, because without them I was doomed. Playing to his ego, I said, “The gold coins were a brilliant calling card. Where’d you get Bahlin’s coins?”

  He snorted. “They weren’t Bahlin’s, you prat. They were his sister’s. She’d left a number of things at Tarrek’s residence. After you killed my son…” He began to breathe hard, distracted. He darted in and cut me across the other thigh, and I hissed.

  Shit. I hadn’t even seen him move. Where the hell were Darius and Hellion?

  “When Tarrek died, I went through his home, and she’d left a handful of things there, among them a small cache of gold coins. I took them.” He shrugged. “It seemed appropriate to leave a calling card that would haunt the dragon who’d killed his sister, and would remind you of what you’d lost when he left you.”

  “Smart move,” I acknowledged, unsure what to say. We were fast winding down. “How did you get to me to cut my hair?”

  “You were at Bahlin’s and he’d left the wards down. I’d seen him come and go, and I knew you wouldn’t be far from wherever he was. I took a chance and dissipated, coming back together in his flat. You were asleep—”

  “Why not just kill me then?” I asked, stunned to immobility that he’d been so close to me, and I’d been so incredibly vulnerable.

  He dashed in and sliced me again, this time just above my dagger wrist, and said, “Don’t interrupt me, you treacherous bitch. I will cut your damnable tongue out of your mouth when this is through,” he hissed, seeming to draw great pleasure from the threat. I shuddered involuntarily and he laughed.
“Coward. You should at the very least die well, like I know Tarrek did.” His eyes misted at the thought of his son, and that seemed to be the end of the games.

  Kelten shifted the knife in his grip and began to stalk straight toward me. I backed up, one hand out behind me as I felt my way along, too intent on Kelten’s advance to take my eyes off him for even a moment.

  “I wish you’d let your hair grow like a proper woman. Beheading is harder when you have to hold the head by the ears or the jaw.” His teeth flashed as he grinned.

  “Hellion!” I screamed. “Darius! Efein!”

  “Don’t pretend to call for help, whore. I saw you sneak out of the house, saw you hide from the vampires who chased you, so I know no one knows where you’re off to.” He leapt forward and I swung out, out blades clashing. I pushed at the same time with my free hand and hit his shoulder, spinning him off balance so my blade was able to gain additional purchase. I pushed the blade and pricked him with it. I was shocked at the ease with which the blade slid through his tunic and straight into his skin.

  Taking advantage of my shock, he backhanded me, splitting my lip and inner cheek against my teeth, filling my mouth with blood.

  I stumbled backward, my head ringing. I spit at his feet and he grinned. That look, man, that look. It made my stomach clench and my bowels feel loose. For the first time, I began to genuinely doubt I’d get out of this alive.

  “Why Praen?” I said, my torn up mouth making my words slightly distorted.

  “She’s my wife’s niece, and she began to suspect something was amiss. She followed me”—he darted in, and I swung too late to defend myself from the second slice across my abdomen—“and I had to kill her. She left me no choice.” His voice was calm, as if he were discussing a bakery order and not a beheading.

  A flutter of movement behind him caught my eye, but the slight hesitation gave him another opening, and he stepped in quickly and pierced my side.

  I cried out, holding the bleeding wound, the others suddenly lighting up as if on fire. It wasn’t magic, just my body acknowledging that there was little left it could do, even with an endorphin dump, to mask the pain I was in. It’s what he had counted on, toying with me. I didn’t expect to die easily, but I’d do what I could to take him with me. My vision swam, and I fought to stay on my feet, clutching my dagger.

  How poorly I misjudged her. It took a moment for me to understand what I was seeing when a blade erupted out of Kelten’s chest. He looked down, confused.

  “Addoed wedi d yn galw pryd ‘ch bacia chorddir, anwylyd g.” Death has come calling while your back was turned, dear husband.

  Gaitha wrenched the blade, turning it one hundred eighty degrees and effectively shredding his heart. He went to his knees and she went with him. Blood bubbled from his mouth and ran down his chin as his lungs rejected the air, and he gasped, blood and spit decorating the ground in front of him. Gaitha shoved once more, and Kelten fell face-first into the dirt. She pulled the sword from his chest and turned her attention to me, and her eyes were as cold as a starless night sky.

  I sank to my knees, unable to stand any longer. My head was alternately heavy and light, and I wondered how long it would be before I blacked out.

  “I never thought myself to be in a position to thank you, Niteclif, but your wounding of him allowed me to break free of his cursed chains and come to claim my vengeance. I’ll never forgive you the death of Tarrek, so I’ll leave you wounded, whereas I could heal you were I so inclined. But I will owe you a debt of gratitude for helping me see to his death.” She dispassionately toed Kelten’s body with her slipper-clad foot.

  “How did wounding him help?” I slurred around my torn mouth.

  Her smile was glacial and I shivered. She chuckled. “Wise girl. I cursed him, that I’d be drawn to the first battle in which his blood was shed, and it just happened to be here.”

  “Lucky me,” I whispered.

  “Indeed. I’ll leave you to either make it home or not. If you survive, let Bahlin or Hellion know I’ll be taking over rule of the fae. It may take me a while to weed out the traitorous fae who enabled my husband, but I will find them all. Your services for dispensing justice won’t be needed.” She faded away to a mist and was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I lay on the ground, breathing hard. Where the hell was my backup? I held my side where his knife had pierced me, the blood seeping through my fingers.

  A sound drew my attention, and I turned my head to face whatever emerged from the shadows and greenery. If it was bigger than a squirrel, I was fucked. If it was a rabid squirrel, I was fucked.

  Stunned, I was slow to find my voice but when I did, it was harsh. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Bahlin stepped fully from behind the tree where he’d been hiding. “I followed you from Hellion’s home. Sneaking out with all this going on wasn’t your best idea. I was just about to step in when Gaitha showed up and spit Kelten like a fatted pig.” He moved closer to me. “You clearly had this figured out, if not under control. You’re getting better. The only clue you sincerely misinterpreted was my fault.”

  I couldn’t do more than grunt my curiosity as I shifted and looked for a more comfortable position. On the ground. As I bled. Clearly, delusion was setting in.

  “The gouged earth was my fault. I went to the crime scene at the park and was forced to leave in a hurry. I shifted and pushed off, and I must have drug my talons through the dirt with the force of the launch.” He ran his hands through his hair and pulled it back in a familiar gesture.

  “Makes sense. I’m glad you looked in on the scenes.” I took a deep breath and his smell, that of the sweet night, blew through me, a memory not distant enough to give me perspective. My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed hard, closing my eyes.

  “Maddy?” His voice was threaded through with longing. The close rustling of fabric and the movement of air were accompanied by a soft thump as he went to his knees at my side.

  A single finger traced down my cheek.

  “Maddy?” he asked again.

  I shook my head and tried to scoot backwards, but I was too weak. “Son of a bitch,” I gasped, grabbing again for the wound in my side. “I feel like the heroine in a horror movie who finds herself fallen on the ground at the feet of the bad guy and all she does is lay there and scream like a damn ninny. I’m not screaming.” Was I making sense?

  Bahlin froze. “So I’m the bad guy?”

  “How about the questionable dragon?” I asked, twisting to look at the wound on my side. It burned horribly to twist far enough to the side to see it, but I’d have done anything to keep from looking at him.

  “I suppose I’ve earned that.”

  “‘Suppose’? Bahlin, you absolutely shattered my heart.” My voice was choked with emotion, and I had to close my eyes and pretend he wasn’t looking at me with passionate regret. “You promised me a fairytale I’d never believed in, and I finally bought the whole thing. Then you…” I gasped, rubbing my heart. “You used me, knowing the prophecy. If you’d waited to pursue me, even if I’d been with Tarrek for some unfathomable reason, you would have known there was a good possibility that I’d end up with you forever.” And suddenly there it was, the reason I couldn’t get over him. If he’d just waited, waited a few measly weeks, maybe things would have been different. I was getting tired, and my vision was going gray at the edges.

  Bahlin sat all the way down in front of me. “If you believe in destiny, Maddy, you would have ended up with Hellion anyway, and I would have missed out on the opportunity for even the brief time we had together,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to miss one minute.”

  “And if I believe in free will?”

  “Then you’ve chosen Hellion.”

  “Too right, mate.” Hellion stepped out of the darkness, his eyes entirely black.

  Fuck.

  Bahlin surged to his feet and backed away from me, giving himself room to maneuver if necessary.

/>   Hellion didn’t come any closer to us. He trembled with rage, his heartache visible in the depth of his eyes. I’d hurt him with this indecision of mine, and to hear the regret I’d been unable to mask with Bahlin…

  “Hellion,” I said softly, holding out a hand to him.

  He shook his head, turning to stare out over the lake. Praen’s body lay forgotten mere yards away, the drama of the shattered dreams of the living more relevant than the dead who held no hope of resurrection.

  I couldn’t contain the sob that broke from my chest. Looking from man to man, dragon to warlock, I made a decision that would haunt me for a lifetime. It hurt me in every way possible, but I had to put an end to this indecision, this constant, unbearable heartache. These two men had been set against each other in a fight for my love, and there could only be one winner. I turned myself to the west and, with my toes pushing and my fingers ripping at the grass, I dragged myself across the ground toward my salvation.

  He watched me, his face riddled with pain and doubt as his eyes slid from me to the man behind me. It was clear he thought I’d come to say goodbye. Shaking, he bent and helped me stand. I was hurt enough that I couldn’t do it without his support as the stab wound in my side throbbed and the slices and cuts all over my body burned, pulling apart as I moved. My skin twitched. Endorphins from the fight could kick back in any time now. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to hold it together, but this had to be done before I lost it—both my nerve and consciousness—because the man behind me was suffering, and I knew it.

  Standing on legs as shaky as a newborn foal’s, I clung desperately to my hope. He was aloof, reserved, as if by keeping himself distanced he could stop the momentum of the moment. But he was wrong. I stroked his face and pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled tentatively, tears coursing down my cheeks. There would be no wavering any longer, no going back and forth between the two, and I knew it.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “But is it enough?” he whispered in a rough, emotion-choked voice.