Fae Unchained (The Mage Shifter War Book 2)

by Ann Denton

  I heard Shelly let out a sympathetic gasp. I didn't dare glance over at her. I needed to stay in character.

  "Lies!" Citrine cut me off. "Get her in the elevator."

  She shoved me and went over and pressed the elevator button herself. But the light indicated that the elevator was on the top floor. I had nearly a minute before it arrived. Unless she wanted to waste more precious Portal Potions to get us out of here, and I honestly didn’t think she did.

  I shook my head and put on a hurt expression, which wasn't hard, since my chest felt like I'd swallowed abrasive pixie magic. "Eventually, the Lenny guy screwed up and I started to remember—"

  "You idiot girl," Citrine snapped. "The Council has been watching you." She gestured at the two fae holding me and they started to drag me to the elevator, away from her.

  I looked over my shoulder, moving my wings to one side so I could see her face. “You have? Why didn't you guys rescue me? Shouldn't MP officers get a rescue?"

  "You weren't kidnapped. You disobeyed orders and abandoned your post. Then you helped those rebels attack a bank and a university."

  Rage filled me then and I couldn't see past it. I just couldn’t act like an idiot any longer. "NOT FUCKING TRUE! You told me to get The Shadow and then when I was taken, you turned your backs like I didn't exist."

  I glanced past her to the officers frozen at their desks around the room. "Who the fuck got put on a rescue team here, huh?"

  No one answered.

  No one raised a hand.

  I shook my head and tears filled my eyes as I looked back at Citrine as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I was about to let my lip waver, but I pulled back, thinking that was overkill. "If their mage wasn't so incompetent, you would have left me to rot—"

  Citrine shoved me inside the elevator.

  I didn't even care when my face smashed into the back wall. I kept myself facing the plastic so that she couldn't see my smirk.

  She shouldn't have stopped to gloat and show me off to my peers. Now they'd all wonder, if they were ever in my shoes, would anyone try to rescue them? They'd start to question if the job was worth it.

  Good.

  They should.

  The doors closed with a thump and then the councilor spoke. "I'm going to enjoy torturing you." Citrine's voice was casual, as if she were discussing the weather.

  "Since when do kidnapping victims rate torture? You think I didn't get enough of it there? They ripped my wing!"

  That was the fucking truth. I even had the scar to prove it.

  Both the fae next to me tucked their wings in tight. Just the thought of wing injuries made most fae clench. Like getting your shin bones smashed with a sledgehammer, except times ten.

  "You know why," Citrine sneered.

  "Because I embarrassed you by calling out the council's failings in public?" I asked.

  Next to me, one of the winter fae stiffened and glanced down at me, a little bit of awed disbelief on his face. No one talked back to a council member like that. No one.

  Except me.

  "Shouldn't the council question me and decide on the appropriate torture first?" I asked in faux naivety. "Isn't that normal protocol?"

  "Normal protocol is execution for those who've been caught red-handed—"

  "Red-handed?" I exclaimed in shock. "What have I done?"

  "You fought against, and kidnapped, several Mage Police," Citrine snapped. She pulled a small Sleep Grenade from her pocket, no doubt ready to silence me.

  "I did?" I asked, making my expression as blank as our pixie secretary’s face normally was.

  "Do not act innocent, Princess. We have the enforcers’ bodycam feeds."

  I widened my eyes and pulled a Tee.

  "What's a bodycam? Oh, wait. Hold on. I’m trying…" I allowed my brows to furrow. "That’s a human thing, right?"

  I could clearly see that Citrine didn't believe me. But that didn't matter. I hadn't said it for her benefit. The other two fae in the elevator shared a look above my head. I wasn’t sure if they thought I was crazy, or if they were starting to believe my crazy story.

  I hoped it was the latter.

  Seconds later, the elevator dinged, and we exited onto the fifth floor, heading toward the same room I'd originally met with the council in just weeks before—back when I'd still held the title Chief Enforcer.

  One of the winter fae guards released my arm and strode ahead of us, opening the door for Citrine as she marched into the room.

  I decided to aim one last parting shot at that bitch’s plum-colored ass. "By the way, is the emergency notification system down? While I was being held captive, there was a massive fire near Skid Row. It destroyed four buildings. Not a single MP responded."

  More silence. This time, it wasn't the accusatory kind. It was the guilty kind.

  The two fae shared another look.

  "It was a mage fire," I added. "Because the human police couldn't put it out."

  Finally, the fae still holding me shoved me forward. "They've deluded you. They've wiped your memory."

  "Go see for yourself," I told him.

  But those were the last words I spoke, because seconds later I was inside the glowing, turquoise Movement Restriction Circle. Now, I was Citrine’s bitch. But I wasn’t about to roll over and show her my belly.

  Citrine silently proceeded through the room toward the council table, which held five chairs behind it, and slid into the center seat.

  My heart rate hit the gas, spun out, and crashed into the side of a building as four other Council members appeared in puffs of colored smoke. My father was no longer one of them.

  Holy fucking kittens on crack, I thought to myself as a bead of sweat formed on my brow. I hope I’m making the right move.

  Obadiah Jenson stepped out of his foggy cloud first. With his dark, deep set eyes, I felt like I was looking at a demon. His furious expression only reinforced that impression. His face was hard, but the smallest of curves at the edges of his lips showed that he was very much looking forward to this.

  "Ahh," he said as he sat, his South African accent painting his words in vibrant colors. "Excellent work. We'll braai this one in no time."

  "You can't barbecue a fireproof fae." Citrine rolled her eyes.

  John Daggler appeared next, dusting swirling bits of smoke off his shoulder as he pulled out a seat next to Obadiah. He looked as prim and proper as ever in a three-piece gray suit. His weak chin wobbled as he said, "Perhaps not, but you can certainly give her frostbite."

  Obadiah rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean literally."

  The council snarked among themselves casually.

  Did they only need to appear professional in front of those they expected to leave the room alive? I tried to smash that thought like a bug, but it was a cockroach. It skittered out from under my shoe, no worse for the wear, and taunted me, antennae twirling.

  You're about to die, Aubry.

  My inner turmoil was a contrast to the debate going on up at the table, as the councilors waited for everyone to arrive. Two seats were still left open.

  "It's not as if anyone here actually believed we'd take that route," Obadiah argued.

  I'd lost the thread of their topic during my panic, but Daggler was quick to make it blatantly obvious. "It's always bad form to hint at torture, chap. Decreases cooperation."

  "I'd say the opposite," Obadiah replied. "It increases it."

  Both men turned to me with amused expressions.

  "Care to weigh in, former Chief Enforcer?" Daggler asked. "Give your professional opinion?"

  "On the effectiveness of torture?" I asked with a bright, ditzy smile.

  Those assholes. No, those hemorrhoids. Jeff Bridges, and whoever wrote that movie Doorway he was in, were right about that. There were people in the world far more irritating than assholes.

  "Oh, I'd say it might get you some information," I added stupidly. "But, I'm pretty sure the information is going to be skewed by whatever it is the to
rturee thinks you want to hear. Remember the gnome, Jerome, two years back?"

  Daggler gave me a crooked toothed smile. "Ah, yes. The rhyming one. Wanted more council seats or some such, correct?"

  "That's what he said." I gave a casual shrug, "After you asked why he targeted the council."

  I watched the snakes up at the table slither in their seats as they remembered how they'd squeezed the life out of that gnome, Jerome Bennett. He'd been pro-shifter, caught making explosives and sending them to council member's homes. His death hadn’t been pretty.

  "So, you're saying it's all in the wording?" Daggler steepled his fingers. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

  A gong rang between my ears. I tensed, glancing at the empty seats. Even through my panicked haze, I thought, isn’t Triton coming?

  Daggler saw my look and read my mind as if it were encased in crystal. He clasped his hands in front of him. "Triton spoke for you, you know." He shook his head almost sympathetically, as if he felt bad for the deranged mage. "He said you'd last been seen with a suspicious shifter. He thought you'd been taken."

  My eyes widened and I tried to take a step forward, forgetting that I was locked in place by the Movement Restriction Spell. My feet refused to respond to my demands, and I had to shove down the trapped, panicked sensation that arose as I fought to keep my balance.

  I took a deep breath before I stared at Daggler. "Triton was right."

  Citrine scoffed. "The boy has always had a soft spot for you."

  I knew that. But where was he? I needed him here. Without him, all was fucking lost and this entire plan was pointless.

  A puff of smoke at the back of the room had my heart jumping, doing a giddy little heel tap.

  But Trite didn't appear.

  Lotus Mao came through the next puff of smoke and took the open seat at the right side, leaving a blank chair beside her—a chair that used to belong to my father. I was certain that was intentional.

  Citrine laced her fingers. "Aubry Summerset, you stand accused of treason. Unlike most, you're being offered the opportunity to verbally defend yourself—"

  I wanted so badly to snark, "You mean the opportunity to provide enough evidence that you can swoop in and destroy all the shifters at the college?"

  But I didn't. I didn't want to make whatever was coming worse. Because I knew this council. I'd been there when we'd questioned and executed at least thirty different war criminals. I could only hope I’d last long enough for them to take a break and allow Triton to confront me.

  But he had to show up in order for that to happen.

  Alarm bells started going off in my head. What if he didn't show? What if this was all for nothing?

  The overwhelming panic meant I hadn’t heard Obadiah’s opening question.

  I blinked. "I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?"

  Obadiah frowned, black eyes hard and unforgiving. "You expect us to believe that the night we stripped you of your title, you just so happened to be kidnapped by 'The Shadow'—the very fucking criminal we accused you of failing to retrieve during your op?"

  When he put it like that, it did sound a little coincidental.

  "Well, apparently 'The Shadow' isn't privy to these hearings and didn't know about my demotion. So... yeah." That was the truth.

  Obadiah made a game show buzzer noise. The incorrect "bzzzzzz" kind.

  Citrine glanced at one of the winter fae and said, "Martin, feel free to move wherever you please. Do what you must to ensure Ms. Summerset speaks the truth."

  The fae MP in question—Martin, apparently—stepped into the glowing turquoise circle with me. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to. We both knew what he was here to do.

  He opened his hand above my back, and water drenched my wings. I screeched in pain as he touched the tip of my delicate wings, and the black veins on the top ridge of my wing turned to ice.

  Automatically, my body tried to flame in response. But someone quickly threw a potion at my feet—a Mage Fire Counter Potion worked its magic immediately and dulled my flames.

  The ice stayed in place, burning my veins, sending spirals of pain through my back and spine, making it hard to think.

  "Try again." Obadiah said calmly. "When did you join forces with 'The Shadow?'"

  "I hate that damned lizard!" I screamed.

  That wasn't a lie. But it also wasn't the truth. Because that damn lizard was brave and selfless to a fault—the fault being that he allowed himself to be an asshole in order to reach his goals. He’d killed my father. But he’d saved me. And he would do anything—

  "Answer the question!" Lotus Mao stood and leaned forward, grabbing the far edge of the desk.

  The winter fae behind me touched farther down my wing, freezing a new section. Pain rippled through me like an electric shock. My eyelids started to flutter. My brain started to scramble.

  A little part of me started to whimper that I should just tell them everything.

  But then I bucked the fuck up and crushed that inner voice with my heel, like I was stamping out the nasty butt of a cigarette. I was not fucking weak. I would not let them break me down.

  The pain pulsed and I gritted my teeth, sawing them back and forth in the effort not to scream. Fuck. I hoped like hell that Larry's Movement Restriction Spell was working on the guys even half as well as this circle in here. I couldn't even fall to my knees in pain.

  Their faces flashed briefly through my mind and inspired what I said next.

  "I've been doing reconnaissance so I can take down 'The Shadow' like I promised! I used a spell to make his closest associates think we were mated."

  Everyone in the room froze.

  Citrine gave a snort. "Not possible. There's no such thing as a fake mate bond."

  I grinned. "Haven't kept very good tabs on your boy, Triton, have you? Pretty sure he set that Skid Row fire without permission. He's gone a bit rogue lately. Did you know he's very into experimental spells?"

  Obadiah shook his head. "Classic divide and conquer technique. She’s lying."

  But Citrine looked livid. Trite was her protege. She blinked rapidly before she reached into her suit jacket and pulled out her phone. Before tapping a single digit, she turned to the other fae—the one whose name wasn’t ‘Martin-the-Martian torturer extraordinaire’—and said, "Brendan, make sure our prisoner has enough to drink. I need to make a quick phone call."

  My heart raced, but I did my best to control my breathing. Hyperventilation wasn’t going to help me in the slightest—not when water was about to flood my system.

  As Citrine made her call—to Triton, I presumed—I was met face-first with Brendan’s palm.

  Apparently, this guy’s a torturer, too. Fucking lovely.

  "Sorry," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

  Water instantly poured into my mouth and nose, burning as the harsh liquid infiltrated my lungs and caused me to cough and sputter. I choked until I gagged, gasped until I was sure I’d fucking drown, over and over again before Citrine ended her phone call and—in turn—my torture.

  Brendan removed his hand and I immediately doubled over, choking, staring at the council room floor as I struggled for breath. Every inhale burned as if sandpaper scraped through my throat. Every exhale induced another fit of bone-rattling coughs.

  By the time I could breathe again, and my brain kicked back into functioning order, I realized I needed to keep my prior story going. I needed to hold the other council members’ interest before Citrine Pierce fucking killed me.

  "Trite tried to extract me," I rasped. "On his own. After the fire. He knew exactly where I was."

  Daggler shook his head. "No. That's a falsehood. Councilmen Vale had no such authority."

  "Yeah?" I scratched the question out. "How many Portal Potions has he requested in the past month? I'm guessing he's used a few more than his quota for tracking down these shifters."

  Everyone’s gaze flickered over to Mao, who controlled the Portal Potions for the council.
The Chinese councilwoman gave the smallest of nods.

  The fury in the room became palpable. Even Daggler’s fist clenched, and he could usually pull off his posh, rational, British bullshit even with bloodstains on his jacket.

  More. I needed to keep pushing. I had to keep talking because the momentum in the room had changed. The power dynamic had shifted. I was in control for the moment and I had to keep it, just a bit longer.

  "After that asshole dragon killed my father, I wanted to kill him myself. So badly. But, he’s an elusive little fucker. That’s why, even after I started to get my memory back, I waited to run… until I had enough info that you could bring him down."

  Obadiah gave a deep chuckle. "Right. What information could you possibly have if you were truly their prisoner and not an accomplice?"

  I swallowed back the retorts that naturally jumped up my throat. I didn’t need those arrogant asses killing me yet.

  "I was kept underground," I told them. "But they dragged me out on occasion. Every plan they make is kept in a filing cabinet. They don’t use digital at all. Ever. You want to catch ‘The Shadow?’ Then you need that cabinet."

  The council members leaned back in their chairs and exchanged narrow-eyed glances.

  Finally, Lotus Mao asked, "And where is this filing cabinet?"

  I swallowed a smile, because no matter what happened now, I’d just bought myself a few more minutes to live.

  23

  Aubry

  I gave the council members directions to the building in Skid Row and it felt like I was laying down the winning hand in a round of poker—a royal flush.

  I want to flush these fuckers—

  I didn’t let myself finish the thought, worried my disgust might show on my face. My wings still ached horribly, but my nerves had either died or grown used to the painful sensation. Or maybe it had just subsided to BDSM-level pain, a level I could tolerate.

  Citrine tilted her head and stared down at me, her silver bun glinting in the small, overhead light. "I propose we recess while I send a few MPs to go investigate this claim. We’ll reconvene in an hour?"