The Worth Series: Complete Collection

by Lyra Evans

  And the good news just keeps coming.

  The little green bird disappeared into Oliver’s palm, and Oliver looked around the room, thinking of just what it was the Birches were putting on the line for the two of them.

  “A ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach doesn’t bode well for my long-term life plans,” Connor said glancing at the windows to the guest room. They’d pulled the blackout curtains back down, but the idea that a layer of brick and mortar, wood, and a simple protection enchantment were the only things between them and people who intended to kill them was rather unsettling.

  “I don’t understand,” Oliver said. “Why is Nimueh putting so much pressure on the NCPD? Maeve’s Court hasn’t responded the same way. Has it?”

  They left the room, Oliver plucking his pants from a dresser by the door on the way out, and found the television in the living room. The news dominated several channels, updating the masses minute by minute on the case. Logan’s murder was too major to ignore. Alerts indicating that regular scheduled programming would be delayed until the case was resolved passed across the screen every few minutes.

  The news agencies based in Nimueh’s Court and Logan’s Court broadcast images of Connor and Oliver as wanted fugitives, or sometimes ‘persons of interest,’ in the corner of the screen while the rest was taken up with views of the crime scene, timelines of Logan’s last day, images of Logan with Nimueh and Maeve, and any seedy images of Oliver and Connor they could dig up. Images of Oliver leaving various gay clubs in the middle of the night resurfaced, of course, as did images of Oliver and Connor together throughout Logan’s Court. They always seemed to be in extremely intimate physical positions. Connor gritted his teeth.

  But as they watched, not a single mention came up about how Maeve’s Court was responding. The Maeve’s Court news agencies reported more objectively on the crime scene and evidence collected thus far, probably in large part thanks to Rory, and Maeve herself released a statement indicating she and the Fae were shocked and appalled at the news. She extended her deepest condolences to Logan’s family and hoped for a quick and just resolution to the case. She also offered any help either of the other Courts may want or need during the course of the investigation. At no point did Maeve mention Connor or Oliver by name, nor did she indicate in any way that the police in her Court would be searching for Connor and Oliver.

  So what was making Nimueh react the way she was?

  “It happened in Nimueh’s Court,” Connor mused. “Perhaps she feels in some way responsible because it was on her land? Or perhaps she feels the pressure of being unable to keep a leader of the Three Courts safe while within her borders? It certainly doesn’t look good for her reign.”

  Oliver considered this. It was possible the reaction was a desperate means to appear in control and maintain public approval. It was also possible, Oliver supposed, that her attitude toward apprehending Connor was meant to protect the Treaty. The Wolves of Logan’s Court may not have turned on Connor yet, but they certainly would if they couldn’t prove another murderer soon. Killing him would seem like justice to Logan’s Court. But something felt off. Something didn’t quite fit.

  “It’s the sapphires,” he said. Sapphires were highly controlled gemstones. They were extremely difficult to procure for regular citizens, and even police didn’t have access to them. Only the elite members of the special response teams were allowed access to sapphires, and even then, only in dire circumstances. “They’re way out of proportion to this crime. I mean, murdering a leader of the Three Courts is treason, sure. But if they believe you did it, it’s more a family affair than a political one. You are one person. Even with me, that’s just two. They could easily take us both down with silver bullets and the usual gear the special response teams use. Rubies and diamonds are more than enough with the entire police force against us. We’d be cut to ribbons.” Oliver pressed his thumbnail to his lower lip, his arm crossed over his stomach, supporting his other elbow. “Setting the whole police force on the case was already enough to prove she’s taking this seriously. But the sapphires are overkill. If used by untrained Witches and Wizards, they have a habit of creating collateral damage. Splash damage, some call it. Makes it easy to take out innocent parties.”

  “It does seem a bit extreme,” Connor agreed. “Perhaps she’s getting pressure from the Court?”

  The realization hit Oliver hard, blinding. He had more friends out there than he thought. “We need to find a way to get to the border. There’s someone we’ve got to talk to.”

  Chapter 12

  Getting to the border to speak to a guard was much harder than Oliver really considered. The guard in question tended to work the border between Nimueh’s Court and Logan’s Court, which was, of course, the border furthest from them now. And it wasn’t as if Oliver and Connor could just waltz into Nimueh’s Court to find him, being wanted fugitives.

  Oliver sent off a message to Rory via one of her Tweeter candies, and he and Connor prepared themselves for a trek out through the centre of Maeve’s Court. There was a border crossing relatively near them, thankfully, but it still required them to pass through the busy city full of Fae and visiting Witches and Wizards to get there. They had little option but to don the disguises Rory had given them and try to tweak the rest of their appearance accordingly.

  Connor’s white-blond hair was, unfortunately, a problem. Given that he stood at least a foot above most of the rest of the population of Maeve’s Court, his blond hair was a dead giveaway of his identity, disguised or not. Oliver decided the only lasting solution was to magically dye his hair. It would be temporary, of course, as they had no idea what magical dye would do to Connor’s Wolf form, but as long as he kept the gemstones in his hair, the colour would hold.

  Occupied tying tiny aquamarine stones to Connor’s hair, Oliver was struggling with his magical ratios. It had been a long while since he’d taken magical mathematics in school, and the ratio of stones and their size to the area he desired affected was slightly more complicated to figure out when it was hair.

  “Oli, I’m not a Winter Solstice tree,” Connor said. “You don’t need to bedazzle my entire skull.”

  Oliver frowned. “Fine,” he said, dropping the lock of hair he was working on. “We’ll just head out with improper tethers and when your hair flickers from purple to white, we’ll just explain to the police that you aren’t a bloody decorative tree.”

  Connor rolled his shoulders back and settled back down. Oliver added one more stone, just to annoy Connor, and finally stepped back to admire the view. Pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line, Oliver did his best to swallow the laughter bubbling in his chest. Connor did look like a decorated tree. His soft hair was pulled into tiny tufts, held back with aquamarine stones, and the effect was something of a string of lights for the solstice celebrations.

  “I look ridiculous,” Connor said, not needing a mirror to read the expression in Oliver’s eyes.

  “No!” Oliver cried, then hesitated. “Not totally.”

  Connor rolled his eyes. “Well, at least it’ll fit with the rest of my absurd getup. Go ahead, then, cast the spell.”

  Oliver swallowed, trying to force his amusement away in order to focus. The spell he called to mind was one he hadn’t used much, never having had the inkling to dye his own hair. It felt strange in his mind, like a pair of pants he didn’t remember owning—they were his but didn’t feel it. Finally, he set it out, pinning it down over Connor’s head like a cap, the aquamarine serving to anchor it in place. When Oliver was done, Connor’s white-blond hair had vanished beneath a spill of inky purple paint, coating every single strand in perfect colour.

  “Well?” Connor asked. His bright blue eyes were more striking than ever, the purple of his hair so dark it nearly looked black. His pale skin shone like starlight, his eyes the lightning in a midnight storm. He almost looked Fae, if you squinted at his ears, and Oliver pulled him into a long, slow kiss. Connor responded eagerly, tastin
g Oliver with his tongue and dragging him closer. “Pretty good then,” he said, smiling against Oli’s mouth.

  Oliver smiled back and kissed him again. “All we’ve got to do is wait for Rory’s answer, then. And I’ve a few ideas in mind for what can fill the time.”

  Connor shook his head. “You’re terrible,” he husked, grinding his hips against Oliver’s. “Exactly my kind of terrible. But we’re not done.”

  Oliver cocked an eyebrow. “What did I forget?”

  “What about your hair?” Connor asked, nodding upward at Oliver. Oli’s hand flew to his head, playing amid the tousled locks.

  “What about it?”

  Connor made a face. “Your messy head of brown hair is just as recognizable as mine. With amber eyes like liquid gold? Yeah, you’re even more obvious.”

  Oliver glanced at himself in the mirror on the wall. He supposed there was a chance he could be recognized. He was famous enough in Nimueh’s Court, though he wasn’t sure how much of that translated to Maeve’s Court. Still, he figured that Connor was right. If they saw someone who fit his description wandering around with a man taller than the crowd and exuding a carnal, animal attraction, someone would eventually put it together.

  “Fine,” Oliver said. He plucked some more aquamarine from the table and offered them to Connor. “What colour should I dye it?”

  Connor hummed in thought as he tied the little beads into Oli’s hair. “Blue?” Connor offered. Oliver considered it.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not sure I can pass for Fae.”

  Connor added a few more beads. “You could try red. It’s hardly exclusive to Maeve’s Court.”

  Oliver tried to picture himself with red hair, flaming around his face as though he’d set fire to his head. Then the image of a man with red hair and bright green eyes surfaced in his brain, and Oliver shook out the picture.

  “No,” he said. “Definitely not.”

  Connor pressed his lips to Oliver’s ear. “Go blond,” he whispered.

  Oliver shivered, the cold travelling down his spine and lighting a fire in his belly. Connor had a way of turning him on with a single word, transforming Oliver’s organs to molten desire and casting all other thoughts aside.

  “I’ll look like an idiot,” he said, but still he called the spell to mind. Connor’s request was too intoxicating not to try. So after a moment, Oliver settled the spell on to his own aquamarine stones, tethering it to last. When he opened his eyes to study his appearance, he found a stranger staring back. Golden-blond locks fell in rumpled waves about his head. His amber eyes burned a brighter gold, the light reflecting off his hair.

  Oliver thought he looked somewhat awkward, but Connor pressed him roughly up against the counter in the bathroom and pulled his pants down.

  “Fuck,” Connor breathed, sliding his finger down Oliver’s ass and probing at his hole. He slipped it inside as Oliver cast the lubrication spell on himself. Oliver gasped. “Can’t wait,” Connor said, and Oliver slammed one hand down on the granite countertop to brace himself, the other hand on the mirror.

  Connor pushed his cock into Oliver fast and hard, but Oliver didn’t mind. He began to buck back at Connor, arching his back to thrust against Connor’s movements and pull him in deeper. His own erection pressing painfully against the edge of the counter, Oliver began to moan with every pump, with every thrust of Connor’s cock inside him. He had little endurance now, but it didn’t seem like Connor did either.

  One hand grasping Oliver’s waist to pull him into the gyrations, Connor wrapped the other hand around Oliver’s throbbing erection, stroking it in time with the movements. Oliver cried out a moment or two later, his body rocked by the force of the sudden orgasm. It blew through him like a hurricane, drawing everything out of him, and Oliver splattered white liquid all over the countertop. Panting hard, Oliver tried to hold himself aloft while Connor fucked him harder, faster, more erratically. Then, finally, Connor pushed in deep and trembled, pulsing over Oliver, his cock emptying itself into Oliver, filling him nearly beyond what he could take.

  They sagged for a few moments, holding each other up. Oliver pressed his forehead to the mirror, the counter’s edge digging awkwardly into his legs. Then Connor lifted himself slowly, sliding out of Oliver with a heavy breath. Oliver cast another spell on himself, to clean himself up, wishing he could just lie back with Connor, bodies entwined, until roused by their erections again. But they had a case to solve.

  “So, I take it the blond hair is good?” Oliver asked, and Connor laughed, pressing a kiss to Oliver’s shoulder.

  “You’re fucking edible in anything, at any time,” Connor husked. “Just be grateful I ever let you out of bed at all.”

  Oliver laughed and pulled up his pants. He turned into Connor, pulling him into another kiss. “I think I’d wear you out before you did me.” He nibbled at Connor’s lower lip.

  “Care to place a wager on it?” Connor asked, and Oliver laughed again.

  “I will,” he said, “but right now we’ve got other things to do.” A little green bird had just appeared next to Oliver’s ear, twittering at him.

  “Go to the north-eastern border crossing, stay in Maeve’s Court, and wait inside the small cave just by the shore. There is an opening behind a group of palm trees. Reveal yourselves only to him and no one else. Do not, under any circumstances, cross the border. He should be crossing over to you. If he asks you to cross to him, for any reason, run. I’ve made arrangements for him to think he’s meeting me for an interview, but just in case, be aware that he may be trying to bring you in. I told you this was a terrible idea, but I’m saying it again for posterity. It’s a terrible idea. Be there in an hour. And remember, do not cross the border.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes and recounted the information to Connor, who crossed his arms, an incredulous look on his face. “Does she think we’re completely brainless, or just partially there?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not like I’m a police officer or anything.” Connor laughed, but the shadow that had hovered over his eyes since the news of Logan’s death was back. It cast Connor in a greyer light than was normal. On a regular day, Connor shone like the sun. Or, perhaps more accurately, the Moon. He was brightness and lightness, and the events of the last twenty-four hours were like polluted clouds over the face of him.

  They gathered few supplies into a bag Connor tossed over his shoulder and made their way to the door. They kept the obsidian collars in their pockets, unwilling to be too far from them should they be unable to return to the Birches’ home for some reason, and Oliver had twisted up a set of small stones into wire rings to wear. He had rubies, jade, diamond, topaz, and alexandrite. He’d hoped for garnet and emerald as well, but he couldn’t find any large enough to be worth bringing.

  After a last calming breath, Oliver pushed open the front door and stepped out into the afternoon sun. He was immediately assaulted by the heat and humidity, as though he’d just belly-flopped into a pool of bathwater. Blinking away the brightness behind his useless sunglasses, Oliver turned to see Connor visibly bowed beneath the weight of the temperature. He looked like a sodden dog whose bulk was mainly fur.

  Mouth open as though trying to pant, Connor gave Oliver a look of alarm. “Is this normal or is the world ending?”

  Oliver tried to laugh, but it was too hot. “Let’s get to shade, it’ll be easier to walk there.” They trudged to the shaded side of the street and breathed a little easier there. Once the sun was not in direct contact with their skin, a faint wind became noticeable. Oliver exhaled into it, before deciding on their path forward. “The shortest possible route passes through the centre of town and the entertainment district. The safer route is a lot longer and still passes through a busy area, just not quite as busy. Thoughts?”

  Connor stared wide-eyed at him, plucking at the white skinny jeans covering his legs. “It’s like wrapping yourself in plastic wrap to go outside. And tin foil on top
of that. I’m basically a baked potato.” He shook his head. “Shortest route. We’ll die otherwise.” Oliver gave him a look. “Oh, you think I won’t take you with me?”

  Barking a laugh, Oliver nodded and led them forward toward the centre of town. The heat of the day didn’t seem to have much effect at all on the inhabitants of Maeve’s Court. The streets were as busy as they were the previous night, possibly more so. Businesses that had been closed at night were now open and thriving, full of milling patrons wearing shorts and crop-tops, flip-flops or thong sandals. The crowd was a mass of bug-eyed Fae, with dark-shaded glasses reflecting a million pinpricks of sun back at them. Cars buzzed by down the streets, exhaling clouds of hotter air in waves, and Connor and Oliver kept as close to the buildings as they could to avoid them.

  There was music coming from everywhere, and bright coloured signs and advertisements flashed at them from every direction. A cacophony of media was the hallmark of Maeve’s Court, and as Oliver and Connor pressed through the crush of tanned, sweaty bodies, they found people were wearing fewer and fewer clothes. The beach in the distance was nearly indistinguishable from the mass of people crowding it, umbrellas sprouting like sunflowers and lines of barely clothed bodies lying in the shade they created. The smell of coconut and vanilla was everywhere, along with the occasional spritz of papaya and pineapple.