Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2)

by Tameri Etherton

  She shifted from foot to foot and jammed her thumb between her teeth to gnaw on a nonexistent cuticle. When they’d been running from the scyvers, it seemed only natural they’d seek refuge in Cian’s apartment—she didn’t have a place to go, after all. But now that she was there, that plan seemed a bit shortsighted. What if they found them? Cian said they’d be safe, but could she fully trust him? He had a lot of secrets and that made her nervous.

  And there was Hunter’s call she’d have to deal with sooner or later. When she didn’t show up at his place, he’d send people searching for her. It was doubtful they’d track her to Cian’s, but after her day and night, she believed anything was possible.

  Cian blew out a breath and leaned against the table, his arms wide, head dipped low. “I need to do something, and please don’t ask me to explain it because I can’t.” His hazel eyes met hers and in them she saw a silent plea.

  “Is it dangerous?” Of all the hundreds of questions swirling in her mind, that was the one that popped out. She shook her head at the naivete of her question. What about their night hadn’t been dangerous?

  “Only to those who wish us harm.” Cian removed his coat and lay it over the back of a chair.

  Next, he stretched his arms wide and wiggled his fingertips. Nikala suppressed a giggle at the image of a magician about to perform a trick. She half expected to see a bunny appear in his hand. Instead of a bunny, sparks lit from his fingertips to form a blaze a foot high. Blue-black flames licked up his arms toward his serene face.

  She stared in horror as the flames danced closer. A moment later, they spread outward, toward her.

  “Stay calm. Don’t move.” Cian’s voice came from within the inferno.

  Nikala remained where she stood, her heart spinning as wildly as the fast-moving flames. If she couldn’t trust Cian, now was the time she’d fine out for sure. A voice whispered in the back of her mind that yes, she could trust him. With her life. With her heart. With everything. She told the voice to shut up, but not with much urgency.

  Cian clapped his hands and the fire became a solid wall of bluish light that covered the entire flat, from floor to ceiling, and everywhere in between.

  When the light touched her, she flinched, but there was no burning sensation or warmth or anything. Just a soft probing that settled into her skin and moved on. A sharp crackle came from Cian’s coat and something the size of her pinky fingernail fell to the table. The chip she’d stuck to his collar that morning. Another crack came from inside her jacket and she peered into the inner pocket to see a tiny disc smoking in the corner.

  She picked it out of the fabric and held it aloft. “Where did you come from?” It wasn’t one of hers. Most likely, it was one of Malcolm’s inventions. “You sneaky little bugger.”

  The bluish light continued its trek through the flat and Nikala’s attention was drawn to a cupboard to the right of the kitchen. A strong pull, one she knew well, came from somewhere inside. Her gaze shifted to Cian, who was watching her with bemused interest.

  “We’re safe now. Whoever was tracking us won’t get any further information.” He picked up the chip on the table and inspected it. With two steps, he closed the gap between them and took the disc from her fingertips. “Two separate trackers.”

  Nikala bit her lower lip and shrugged. “I might’ve put that one on your coat this morning. But this disc, I’m pretty sure is Malcolm’s. Which surprises me, but shouldn’t.”

  Cian tossed them into the fireplace. “I was curious how you found me this afternoon.”

  The lack of emotion in his voice unsettled her as much as the indifference his body language showed. Was he brooding, or just accepting? Either way, it unsettled her to see him so calm about the trackers. She was livid she hadn’t thought to check her clothing. But then, had there been time?

  “Sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust.” At the moment, she wasn’t sure anyone was trustworthy, not even herself. Hadn’t Malcolm ordered her to take out Cian a few hours earlier? And here she was, back in his flat, admitting she was following him.

  “It’s late. We’re both exhausted.” Cian turned toward the bedroom and paused a moment to run a fingertip along her jaw. “In the morning, we can talk.”

  That tiny connection of touch sent rivulets of desire through her ribs and down her spine. The man knew his way around seduction, she’d give him that.

  “You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  She’d been preparing herself mentally for sleeping with him and now to have the choice taken away made her long for it even more.

  “I’m not sure of anything at the moment.” A wistful grin lifted his lips and a tiny dimple formed in his right cheek. A day’s worth of stubble covered his chin and she nearly reached up to rub her hand along its roughness. To stroke that small scar hidden beneath the hair.

  He left her standing there and went to the bedroom. She watched him leave, studied the way his shoulders hunched and the slowed pace of his steps. He was right—they were both exhausted. When he returned a moment later with his arms full of linens, a sense of guilt washed over her.

  “It’s your flat. I’ll take the couch.” She reached for the bundle, but he shook her off.

  “There are towels in the shower if you need them. I laid out a T-shirt if you’d like something clean to sleep in.”

  Nikala mumbled a thanks and shuffled to the bedroom. This wasn’t at all how she’d expected the night to go. Then again, nothing about today had been as planned.

  After she slipped out of her clothing and into the T-shirt he’d left for her, she climbed onto his comfortable mattress and slid between the cool sheets. All around her, a pale-blue twinkling shimmered along the walls, ceiling, and floors. Cian would have her believe it was magic. She reached toward the ceiling and stifled a gasp at the shimmering beneath her skin. It was getting worse.

  When she’d killed the scyver, only a small patch had shown on her forearm, but now her entire arm from bicep to wrist sparkled. She could shrug it off as aftereffects from Hunter’s tests, but she knew that was a lie. From deep inside, the truth emerged like a lava flow, covering her thoughts and emotions with a searing realization.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the tiny flickers around her. It was magic. Faerie was a place and a people. Lycans roamed London. Scyvers hunted magic and were very real. As she lay gazing at the wonder surrounding her, her mind and heart shifted. Something had happened to her and nothing would ever be the same.

  22

  Snickertits. Rori had gotten herself lost, again. She scrunched her nose and peered in the direction from where she’d just come and then down the hall in the opposite direction. There were only the two options. Yet somehow, she’d managed to end up in the exact same spot where she’d been five minutes before.

  Someone had to be messing with her. Someone or something was leading her here, but why? And who? Acelyne came to mind, but the enchantress was dead and Rori doubted she could make illusions now that she was dust. Still, why direct her to this spot?

  She glanced at the furnishings and wall hangings. They were finer than elsewhere in the palace. Perhaps this wing was reserved for important guests, or—Rori’s heart beat in her throat and her adrenaline surged—a princess. Perhaps even the sister of the queen. She drew in a long breath—this was Mairead’s floor.

  As Rori turned toward the closed doors behind her, she heard a soft click come from her right. She crept toward the sound, keeping aware of her surroundings and any sudden movements or sounds.

  Why lead Rori to her chambers? A door opened on its own and Rori peeked inside. A sitting room, in pinks and greens, two colors Rori would never put together, sat empty. Despite the wild color scheme, the room was attractive in its welcoming arrangement of chairs and sofas.

  “Hello?” Rori called into the room, unsurprised when no one answered.

  She eased farther into the apartments, checkin
g first the drawing room, then the study before the intimate areas of the dressing room, bath, and bedroom. A floral, powdery scent followed Rori’s movements. She touched a dressing gown’s sleeve and an image of raven hair came to her, followed by searing pain. She snatched her fingers away and wiped them on the flimsy fabric of her gowns.

  The image had a masculine quality to it, but these rooms were clearly meant for a woman. Rori skipped past the hanging dressing gown to a vanity covered with ornate bottles, hairbrushes, and other womanly accoutrements. Most of the things Rori had little time or patience for.

  She touched the bristles of the nearest brush, letting the silky strands of strawberry-blonde curls twist around her fingers. Another image—this time of a young woman smiling gaily and dancing beneath the stars—came to her.

  Mairead.

  Midna’s missing sister.

  Rori gathered several of the curls and wrapped them in a piece of cloth she found in a drawer of the vanity. The ridiculous gowns Midna had provided her didn’t have pockets, nor did they have anywhere she could conveniently carry the tiny parcel. With a snarl for her hostess’s lack of propriety, Rori tucked the cloth between her breasts.

  She returned to the gown in the dressing room and stood before it for several seconds before reaching out. Being prepared for the image and sensation of pain didn’t lessen the impact of sensing Mairead’s emotions in the garment. They ripped through Rori as if they were her own.

  For a long minute, she breathed in and out, letting the feelings settle. Heat infused her as if she stood before a fire, warmth cocooning her from within as well as without. When the discordant buzzing in her ears became a gentle hum, she opened herself to what the dressing gown could tell her.

  A man, with raven hair and dark eyes, young, happy, yet tormented, had worn the gown on many occasions. Rori focused on his eyes. They were deep brown, with flecks of gold in them. He was fae. From the Unseelie Court, but not nobility.

  Anguish tore through Rori’s psyche and she released her hold of the fabric. Tears blurred her vision and she said to the unsettled air, “Please forgive me. I didn’t know.”

  Who or what she was apologizing to, and for what, she had no clue, but the words slipped past her lips before she could stop them.

  She stumbled backward, against a bookcase, and brushed her fingers along the spine of a leather-bound novel. She stood, stuck—unable to move, unable to blink.

  Rivulets of ice started at her crown and ran down her face to her torso, down her spine to the tops of her buttocks. A chill entered her marrow where only moments earlier she’d been basking in heat. The shift in temperature came not from her surroundings, but from a memory that bullied its way to the forefront of her mind.

  Acelyne spoke true—Rori knew where to find the dark spells to free the trapped fae.

  The day her father went missing, Rori had been practicing warping and weaving spells, but then her words twisted into dark magic and she’d chanted an incantation she scarcely remembered.

  Sweat dotted her brow and her mouth went dry. That spell wasn’t the only one she knew.

  Rori pressed her fists against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the dark words surrounding her thoughts. Someone had taught her dozens of forbidden spells when she was too young to comprehend their meaning. As Rori stood in the empty space, shivering with the memory, she fought to remember who. Nothing came to mind. No face, no voice, no touch—nothing. It was as if she’d learned by osmosis, but that wasn’t possible. Or was it? She didn’t know anymore.

  She shook out her fists and breathed in the musty air, taking it deep into her lungs. That was long ago. Whatever she’d learned as a child, she wouldn’t let it harm anyone now. If she had knowledge to release the fae, she’d use it, but not until she was certain she had the right words.

  If she got them wrong, Rori would be little more than a murderer.

  She bent to inspect the book and those sitting in perfect order on the shelf. It wasn’t a spell book, nor did it dredge anymore memories. Yet something about it caused a trigger. Books. Not these books. Where? She slammed her fist on the wood and swore at the ceiling.

  More confused than ever, and distraught over what she’d encountered in Mairead’s rooms, Rori hastened out of the chambers and sped down the hallway. She made a left, then a right, and jogged up a flight of stairs before stopping, out of breath and unable to outpace the demons that followed her. Images of the handsome young man and Mairead dancing beneath the moon. They’d been in love, the pair. Happy. What had driven them apart? For as long as Rori could remember, Mairead hadn’t had a lover, or at least not one spoken about at the Seelie Court. In the robe, she’d sensed unfathomable sadness. Whatever had happened to their love, it had been enough to drive a sane person to madness.

  A bitter aftertaste coated her tongue and she swallowed to rid herself of the sensations lingering like a gentleman’s aftershave in a lift. Cloying enough to make her gag.

  Two guards stood at attention outside an enormous, gilded door and Rori shook her head. Of course she’d find Midna’s rooms now, after the ordeal she suffered.

  “Is the queen in?” Rori stood and huffed a deep breath. “I need to see her.”

  Both guards scrutinized her, from the disheveled hair falling over her shoulders to the velvet court slippers that didn’t quite fit her feet. They were the only shoes in her wardrobe besides a pair of bath slippers that she didn’t think would be acceptable for walking through a palace. Even though they were, in truth, more comfortable.

  She shifted her gown that had slipped off one shoulder and surreptitiously checked to make sure the cloth was between her breasts. Faerie needed to rethink some of their “nothing modern” rules. Like bras. She could really use a bra right now—a good, supportive garment that she could hide shit in—but all Faerie had was a camisole-like blouse that wasn’t even close to what she needed.

  “Guys, come on. The sooner you let me in, the sooner I can leave the Unseelie Court, and we all know you’d prefer not to have a MacNair in residence, right?”

  One of the guards disappeared into Midna’s rooms and she was left waiting with a surly-looking chap. A few minutes later, the guard returned and held the door open for her. She floated into Midna’s domain with a sassy thanks to the men. Neither replied nor even glanced at her as she passed.

  The Unseelie queen beckoned Rori join her in the lavish sitting area. The gorgeous fae who Rori always saw by Midna’s side hovered in the background, his presence neither a comfort nor a distraction.

  “Why have you interrupted my morning? I’ve not yet breakfasted and yet here you are, demanding an audience.” Midna’s nasally whine was unlike the queen and Rori took care not to offend her more than she already had. Which meant she bit back her reply that she hadn’t demanded anything, just simply asked to see the queen.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty.” Rori’s quick curtsey was met with a nod and indication to sit. She did as told, then said in measured beats, “I’m grateful you allowed me to stay with you, but in light of recent events, I feel my services are needed elsewhere.”

  She kept her verbiage vague on purpose in case anyone was eavesdropping.

  Midna weighed Rori’s words, her nails scraping along a pleat of pale-green gossamer.

  “What events?” The queen’s head cocked to the side and a forest-colored tendril curled around her neck.

  Rori scrunched her nose. She wasn’t sure what to make of the revelation she’d had in Mairead’s room, and she couldn’t tell Midna she’d changed her mind about becoming an álainn obedience after just one night with Therron. But that was the truth. Would the queen laugh at her? Kick her out of her palace? Did it matter?

  She dragged in a long breath. “I thought this was where I needed to be—and maybe it still is; maybe I do need to learn to control my emotions—but there are faeries in danger and I can’t relax knowing there is something I can do to help. Even if I stayed, I wouldn’
t be fully committed and for that, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your generosity.”

  Midna’s smile warmed Rori from the middle outward to the tips of her toes.

  “I was wondering if you’d have a change of heart.” Midna beckoned Rori forward and she knelt before the queen. “Darling, this palace was never the place for you. Your emotions serve you well. Don’t let Cian or anyone else tell you otherwise. You needed to discover this on your own, however.” A flicker of regret crossed Midna’s features. “I’ll admit, I will grieve the lack of knowing you carnally.”

  An indelicate snort came from deep in Rori’s throat. Embarrassed, she covered it with a quick cough. “I, erm, thank you?” What was the proper response to a statement like that?

  A soft giggle, sort of like the sound of unicorn hiccups, eased the awkwardness. Midna stroked Rori’s cheek. “Where will you go?”

  “I was hoping you’d allow me to search Cian’s rooms here, in case he left any notes or letters that might help me continue the work he was doing.” It was a deflection from her actual mission. Midna might not approve of her chasing after a dead enchantress and send her somewhere else. The queen didn’t seem bothered about ordering Eirlys’s agents to do her bidding. Besides, although she sincerely doubted Cian would leave anything, and if he had, he would’ve told her, he might’ve forgotten something seemingly insignificant. Or possibly, he left a clue just for her.

  “You may search them, but I assure you, there is nothing to be found.” The grimace Midna wore told Rori she’d already had the rooms searched, several times, probably. From her tone, Rori guessed the queen hadn’t found anything.

  “Then, if your, erm…” Rori glanced at the handsome fae reclining several feet away and pretending he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. “If someone could direct me to Therron’s rooms, I’d like to see if he wants to join me.”

  Midna’s perfect brows dipped and her lips flatlined. “Therron’s gone.”