by Bella Jacobs
She nods. “For real. And your sister hiding in some enchanted fairy castle. That’s wild. I mean, I knew fairies existed at one point, but no one’s seen or heard from them in so long. Millenia, you know? I kind of thought they were all dead.” She snorts. “And I was pretty sure they hated shifters.”
“Because everyone hates shifters?” Luke arches a wry brow.
Sierra laughs as she slaps his arm. “Right? Vamps, fairies, merfolk. Even shifters hate shifters. We’re the worst, dude. Why can’t we just get the fuck along?”
“We will,” I say, feeling the truth of it with everything in me. “What’s that they say? The fish rots from the head down?”
Sierra’s eyes narrow. “Yeah. So once you get rid of Atlas…”
I shrug. “Once there’s love on the shifter throne, I think we’ll see more love in the shifter world. The whole world in general.” I glance over to Luke before turning to meet Cree’s warm gaze. “At least, I hope so.”
“Know it.” Creedence rests a hand on my back that sends a fresh wave of goodness coursing across my skin. “I do.”
“Me, too,” Luke seconds.
Sierra nods. “One of the books I read while I was in training said something like that. It also said the Fata Morgana throne has so much power because that’s where all the other supernaturals came from. Once, a long-ass time ago, one of the first Fatas split into pieces when she died, forming all the others. Vampires, water folk, shifters…” She waves a hand. “Except fairies. They were around before anything else. Even the dinosaurs.” Her eyes narrow. “I should have known they were still around. Probably will be here after all the rest of us are dead, and the world is ruled by raccoons. Real raccoons, not shifters.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. “I’m betting on cockroaches, personally. Or ants. Some sort of insect. They’ve got serious staying power.”
“Nah.” Sierra pulls a face. “Raccoons, woman. Real raccoons are the fastest adaptors on the planet. They’re omnivore scavengers in charge of finding their own food, just like humans. Their brains are getting good nutrition and practice being clever enough to survive in a rapidly changing habitat. Someday they will be our mischievous overlords, mark my words.”
“Why not shifter raccoons, too?” Creedence asks, playing along. “Too human on the inside?”
“Yep,” Sierra confirms. “We can go kin, but we’ll never be kin. Not unless we give up the fight and go furry.” She winces, glancing my way. “Shit. Sorry, Wren. I didn’t mean that.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I know you weren’t talking about Carrie Ann.”
“Not even a little bit,” she confirms. “That girl went furry a hero. No doubt.”
The mention of Carrie Ann dulls the happy love buzz, making my eyes feel heavy. But I refuse to nap when there’s still so much left to be done.
“So, who’s coming shopping with me?” I slap my palms to my thighs, making my way off the floor. “Because nothing any of us are wearing right now is going to cut it at a fancy hotel.”
Creedence claps his hands, playing up his excitement as he leaps to his feet. “Oh, me! I love shopping. And I’m really good at picking pockets so we’ll be able to afford something other than the Goodwill.”
“Or we could shoplift,” Sierra says. “Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at it. Until the resistance gave me a reason to turn my life around, I was a full-time juvenile delinquent. And if we steal directly from our corporate overlords, we’ll know we’re lifting shit from a big bad company with insurance.” She points a finger my way, pulling the trigger. “Because you know Princess doesn’t like stealing from random, possibly innocent people.”
I press my lips together. “This is true. I’d rather not shoplift, either, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“But they might not be desperate for too much longer.” Luke stands, jabbing a thumb toward the other room. “Anyone mind if I grab a nap while the shopping is going down? Not to be a wimp, but that was weirdly draining.”
“Not at all, friend, you can trust me to pick you out something nice,” Creedence says. “In mustard yellow, I’m thinking.”
“Yellow makes me look like I have jaundice, man,” Luke says.
Creedence winks. “I know. Can’t have you looking too pretty, Wolf Boy.” He grins as he grabs an unfamiliar wallet from the bedside table. He was busy while I was gone claiming my final mate.
Which reminds me…
“We haven’t talked about what happens to Atlas’s mates if I have to kill him,” I say, casting a glance at the door, though I’m sure Dust and Kite won’t be back for a while. “Remind me to have a sit down about that as soon as we’re back together tonight. I want to set them free if we can. They were forced into the mate bond. They aren’t his allies or his wives in any real sense of the word. They’re his prisoners.”
“Totally,” Sierra agrees, shrugging into her jacket, a nod to the cool morning. “Those poor women have been through enough. The last thing they deserve is to become collateral damage in a war they never wanted to fight in the first place.”
“And how many mates does he have now?” Creedence asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Forty or fifty still living?”
Sierra nods. “Something like that.”
Creedence huffs. “No wonder. Even Fatas weren’t made to have that many bonds. That’s probably one of the things making Atlas crazier than a box of dildos.”
A laugh bursts from my lips unexpectedly. “Really?” I arch a brow. “I didn’t realize dildos were that crazy.”
Cree wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. “They aren’t. I just figured that would make you smile, gorgeous. Now come on, let’s get you something to wear other than this hideous T-shirt. I’m starting to forget how beautiful you really are.”
Sierra snorts as she starts toward the door ahead of us. “Yeah, right. That’s why you can’t keep your hands off her, kitty cat.”
“I resemble that remark,” Creedence says, copping a feel of my ass as we follow her.
I laugh as I wave goodbye to Luke, who’s watching from the doorway leading into the adjoining room. “You okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says indulgently.
“Lock the doors behind us,” I say. “I’ve got a key.”
“Will do,” he promises. “Love you.”
“I love you, too.” I slip out the door, that happy glow cozying to life inside of me again.
And it stays there, burning warm and constant, making it so easy to believe that everything is going to go as planned. Even as Creedence threads his fingers through mine and his kin gift sparks to life inside me, filling my head with a vision that threatens to shatter my heart into tiny pieces, I hold tight to the balloon of hope lifting me high into the air.
I glance up at Cree, but he doesn’t seem to see it, the dark story playing out on one side of the street as we walk down the other. But I do. I see, and I know now without a doubt that Dust was right.
Things are going to get worse before they get better.
They’re going to get so bad I might not survive to see the sun rise again. But there’s a chance I’ll win, too, and Atlas knows it. He’s running scared, which is right where I want him.
He thinks I don’t see him coming, but I do.
I do, Atlas, I whisper quietly inside my heart, where I have everything I need to face this monster. I see you. And I’m ready.
Chapter 43
Creedence
My hopes are up. Way up. For the first time since I found out I was chosen for this job, I feel like I might actually survive to witness the aftermath.
Though, of course, it doesn’t feel like a job now.
It’s a calling. A reason for living.
And she’s all I want to do.
Even with the scent of wolf clinging to her, it’s all I can do not to drag Wren into the first dark alcove we pass on the street and ravage her mouth with mine. I’m addicted to her, constantly starved
for a taste of her skin, the feel of her arms wrapped tight around me.
Even with Sierra bopping along in front of us, promising she knows a store that’s “super mob douchey and deserves to be robbed blind,” I consider it. A stolen kiss behind the newspaper stand at the end of the block, or even right in the middle of the damned sidewalk, where everyone walking by can stop, stare, and get properly jealous that they aren’t the one kissing this fine ass woman.
She’s glowing this morning, so beautiful I can’t keep my eyes off her.
It’s still hard to believe she’s mine. Even harder to believe that seeing how much her other mates love her doesn’t make me jealous.
It actually makes me feel…safe. If something happens to me, if I die in this fight, she has three other people there to pick up the slack. People to protect her, to adore her, and to make sure she never doubts that she can rise to this and any other challenge life throws in her path.
I’m so deep in sappy contemplation, I don’t realize we’ve arrived at our destination until Wren stops abruptly beside me, her brows furrowing. “This is it?”
Sierra nods toward Gio’s High Fashions, a hole-in-the-wall wedged between a cheap shoe store and a wholesale shop selling garishly bright purses, with a faded gold sign and a sagging rack of raincoats sitting on the walk outside the door.
“I know. It doesn’t look like much, but trust me—they’ve got tons of high dollar stolen shit in the back. I spotted it yesterday when I was scoping out the neighborhood.” She bobs her head back and forth. “They’ve got a big guy guarding the front door, too, but no cameras and only little old ladies manning the floor. Just signal what you want, and I’ll stuff it down my empty sleeve. But go for something slinky, Wren. It’ll look great on you and be small enough to fit a shirt or two for the boys in there while we’re at it. Then we can buy something small to throw them off the scent and head over to the department store near the conference center for more casual stuff.”
The back of my neck prickles, and I turn, surveying the sidewalk behind us.
But there’s no one there. The entire block is deserted, in fact, which is…strange.
The area around the hotel was crowded, and just two minutes ago I was dodging pedestrians in order to keep my arm around Wren’s waist. I glance at the other side of the busy street and at the block we left behind on the other side of the crosswalk. Both have a decent amount of foot traffic.
So why not here? Why are we suddenly all alone?
“I don’t like it,” I say beneath my breath, but loud enough for Sierra and Wren to hear. “Something smells off. Let’s go straight to the department store. I’ll buy a cheap jacket, and we can both get to sleeve stuffing.”
Wren steps toward me, but Sierra stops her with a hand on her arm. “Come on, guys. Seriously. This place is going to be a breeze. We’ll be in and out in five minutes. Trust me.”
Trust her…
Do I trust her? Earlier this morning, the answer would have been a fairly easy yes, but I spent too many years hustling with my parents not to sense when someone’s trying to play me.
Sierra wants this too much. There’s no reason this hole in the wall should be so important to her, no reason she should want us to follow her inside so badly her fingertips are going white as she grips Wren’s arm.
I open my mouth to tell Wren to run, but something happens to the words between my brain and my mouth. “Sure, let’s go,” I hear myself saying, my tongue flopping in my mouth like someone shoved a hand up inside me like a sock-puppet.
And then my feet are moving toward the door, ignoring my every cue to stop, drop, run, shout, throw Wren to the ground and hurl my body on top of her to protect her from whatever is waiting behind those mirrored doors.
I fight with everything in me, my voice screaming inside my head, but my body keeps plodding forward, zombie-style. I spot myself in the reflective entrance, a shell with a slack jaw and someone else calling the shots, and I panic.
I’m desperately trying to think of something I can do to warn Wren when she stops beside me, turning to study my profile.
“Cree, are you okay?” she asks.
“Just fine, baby.” My lips curve into a smile so hideous I silently beg Wren to look up. Look at the reflection! Get an eyeful of this fucking weird grimace on my face and run, Slim. Run!
But she only frowns and follows Sierra inside. I’m at the back of the line, the last to shuffle in and see…a room full of cheap clothes.
There are circular racks at the front, a few large bins overflowing with tennis shoes that smell like they’ve been dipped in oil, and a tower of suitcases in the far-left corner. In the right corner are racks spaced farther apart, holding goods of a much higher quality. Even from across the room, I can spot real leather, Egyptian cotton, and suits cut to flatter a man with the money to afford the very best.
It’s just like Sierra said, but I know better than to think everything is going to be okay. I’m someone’s goddamned puppet, and as Sierra guides Wren in front of her, headed for the good stuff, she looks way too pleased with herself.
And then her dark eyes shift to catch mine, and her face…ripples. Like water disturbed by a handful of stones.
For a moment, she’s not Sierra—she’s a hundred different things, zipping by at light speed in a kaleidoscope of horror—and I know that it’s over.
Wren isn’t going to live to face Atlas at his stronghold.
Wren is going to die.
Right now.
Right in front of me, while I’m being mentally held prisoner by a monster with the power to turn people into playthings and the patience to hide in plain sight until presented with the perfect moment to strike.
Sierra’s face reassembles itself, and she turns, trailing after Wren in slow motion.
My hope swirls down the drain, and a howl of despair echoes through my brain. If I had control of my arms and legs, I would throw myself at Atlas-Sierra’s back, try to hold him-her down long enough for Wren to get away, but my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.
I’m a pawn, shuffling into place by a row of dress shirts, my chin tipping down toward my chest. To the casual observer, I must seem to be checking out the selection of linen button-downs. But if they looked closer, they would see my eyes shifted sharply in their sockets, glued to Wren as she selects a white sundress with spaghetti straps that she holds up to the light, pretending to examine the fabric as she passes a sleek navy dress to Sierra behind her back.
“Yeah, that’s cute, but you should try it on, mama,” Sierra says, stuffing the other dress into her sleeve. “Make sure it’s not see-through, or you’ll have to buy a slip.”
Wren glances at the shorter woman over her shoulder, hesitating a beat before she nods. “Okay. Do they have changing rooms?”
“Yeah. They must.” Sierra lifts an arm, signaling to the older woman standing by the vat of shoes.
She starts toward them, a smile on her wrinkled face. “Can I help you girls?”
“My friend wants to try on the white dress,” Sierra says, an eager smile curving her lips.
“Of course.” The woman reaches for a key ring clipped to her belt loop. “That’s a pretty one. Might be a little short, though. You’re so tall, like a model. And so beautiful! What lovely skin.”
“Thank you,” Wren says, fidgeting with the strap of the dress.
“You should let me bring you a few other options,” the sales attendant continues, crossing to the line of dressing rooms on the back wall. “We got a new shipment last night. Lots of things in your size.”
“That would be great,” Sierra says, as the woman unlocks the room on the far right. “Something in black, maybe? We’ve got a fancy dinner coming up. A real special event.”
The woman nods excitedly. “Oh, yes. I have just the thing. I’ll be right back.” As she shuffles away, Wren moves toward the door Sierra is holding open, and my soul rips down the center, sending out a warning cry I already know Wren won’t hear.
But surprisingly, she glances over her shoulder, lifting her fingers to her lips and blowing me a kiss. As her hand drops to her side, I watch her eyes go dark with the same knowledge that’s been scalding through my nerve endings since we got to this fucking place.
My heart lurches as she drops the dress, spinning to grab Sierra around the shoulders, and tackling her to the floor of the dressing room.
They both vanish before they hit the floor.
Chapter 44
Wren
We fall for what feels like ages and no time at all, eternity and a single blinding second, tangled together and tied up with a scalding hot bow.
It’s boiling in this place, wherever this place is. Sweat rolls down my spine and my skin goes slick, but I don’t let Sierra go, no matter how hard she struggles.
Because she isn’t Sierra. She hasn’t been Sierra for a long time. I know that even before we hit bottom and the smell of death floods into my nose, making me gag.
My arms spasm—tight then loose—and the wriggling thing in my arms slithers free. A giant pool of what looks like liquid mercury oozes away across the hard earth as I fall to my hands and knees, coughing hard, fighting the urge to vomit as I see what’s causing the smell.
It’s Sierra, propped against the earthen wall beside a rough wooden door.
The corpse is rotted, sagging, and toothless, black with some kind of creeping growth, but I recognize the spiky hair and combat boots. Tears rush into my eyes as I press a hand to my mouth, but there isn’t time to cry.
Atlas is already finding another form, this one also upsettingly familiar.
“What’s wrong, Wren? Are you feeling okay, honey?” He’s wearing my adopted mother’s face and blond bob this time, reaching for me with those familiar arms.
I scramble backward until I hit another cold dirt wall and rise to my feet. “Stop it. I know who you are. You can’t trick me anymore.”
“It was never a trick, child,” he says, still in my mother’s voice, in her body. “It was a test. And you did so well.”