by Caris Roane
As she turned in the direction of the window, the golden glow of light softened in increments and Batya could see Margetta. But the one she knew to be evil turned out to be very beautiful with a complexion as smooth as glass, a straight nose, wide-set eyes and the faintly pointed chin of the fae.
“Mother,” Lorelei whispered quietly. “No.”
Margetta shifted her violet eyes from Batya to Lorelei. Her gaze narrowed as though directing her thoughts, but Lorelei lifted her chin and looked away.
Cocking her head, Margetta turned her attention fully on Batya, and not just her gaze but the force of her will as well. Ambition ruled Margetta more than anything else, to where she planned to dominate the Nine Realms at all costs, including the subjugation of her daughter.
But like hell Batya would give in to Margetta without a fight.
On instinct, she drew the enthrallment away from the building perimeter and into a tight protective shield around the three of them. “Quinlan, we’re ready to go.” She picked up her satchel and threw her arm around his neck. Lorelei did the same overlapping Batya’s arm. Quinlan gripped both waists.
“I have you both,” he said. “But Lorelei, would you do better to shift into your wraith-form?”
“No, I’m at my weakest as a wraith, especially if I fly.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
Batya rarely flew with vampires, especially from the time she’d moved to Lebanon, so she wasn’t exactly used to this kind of flight. But Quinlan had muscles on muscles and held both women securely against his side, maneuvering them swiftly up the stairs to a side window.
Releasing them for a moment, he jerked the large double sash out of the molding, then dove into the air. He returned swiftly to pull Batya from the building, then Lorelei.
“Margetta!” Batya shouted. The woman’s gold light bloomed suddenly and her wind frequency struck hard, pressing them back against the brick just to the side of the window.
Batya pathed to Quinlan. We’ve got to get out of here.
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan closed his eyes. He focused on his essential physical prowess and battling vibration. Gathering his warrior strength, he shunted Margetta’s wind aside, but only for a few seconds. The wind returned stronger than ever, despite the fact that he pressed back with all his might. She’d created a formidable wind, something he’d never experienced before and it felt inexhaustible, the way Batya’s shield felt, as though the ancient fae could sustain the hurricane indefinitely.
Batya, I can’t hold against her. Can you add your own abilities? Your battle frequency? Most realm-folk carried all the known frequencies, to lesser or greater degrees.
I’m not sure. I’m not trained like you.
He met Batya’s gaze and saw her fear, the untried nature of her latent abilities. You can do this. I’ve felt your power. Just connect your battle frequency with mine. It’s there. You know it is.
She stared back, searching his gaze. His power shook now, barely holding against Margetta.
His voice rumbled once more through her mind. You can do this.
He felt her invitation to search her power and directed his frequency to dive within her.
She groaned as though his invasion hurt and maybe it did. She’d never opened her battle-frequency before. But when he found it, and tapped in, he felt a rush of energy flow out of her.
I don’t know if the shield will hold now.
We’ll soon find out.
Power flowed through him as never before. He let it engage his levitation abilities, and like a rocket he flew straight up, through the wind, angling to fly faster than ever toward Grochaire.
“Don’t let up,” He called to Batya. But she’d slumped against him, only half-conscious. Damn, he’d hurt her. He could feel it now, that she was in pain. But her battle-frequency flowed like a quick-running river.
Once at the access point, he called to the Guardsmen on duty, but nothing returned. Two seconds later, he saw why. Both men were dead, split apart, blood everywhere.
There was nothing to do but press on, knowing as he did that Margetta would follow after them.
The moment he crossed the plane-border to Grochaire, he turned in a northeasterly direction and added even more speed.
He felt Batya’s growing exhaustion yet at the same time, he sensed Lorelei’s excitement, like a dog kept in a kennel and suddenly allowed set free.
“Grochaire,” she murmured. He heard awe in her voice.
He felt the same way. Love for his homeland pulsed within him, maybe enhanced by the ferocity of Batya’s battle frequency, he didn’t know. But he loved his land, his realm, his world.
Can’t hold on, Batya’s voice sounded faint.
I have you.
My satchel.
Lift it to my hand.
She raised her arm and with just a little shuffling, he grabbed the handle, while still holding her tight against him.
I can’t sustain both frequencies, Quinlan. Which do you want me to keep going? Battle or enthrallment?
He thought for a moment, then decided it would better to have the increased flight speed so he chose to let her drop her shield. They were far enough into Grochaire that he knew their trail would have already grown cold to Margetta. It would be no simple thing for her to find them now.
When he told Batya that she could release her enthrallment, he felt her shield fade then vanish, but her battle frequency remained at full-bore which kept his power steady.
The immediate danger was now over and he finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He was damn proud of her. She’d come back to Grochaire, a place she’d never wanted to return, for reasons she had yet to tell him. He approved of her sacrifice, and her willingness to share her power to get them all safely to his stronghold in the Mountains of Ashur.
The last time he’d stayed at his heavily fortified dwelling had been three months ago.
Tonight and through the following daylight hours, he’d bed down with Batya, recoup his strength. His stomach had started cramping and he would need to feed. He wasn’t surprised. He’d been using up a phenomenal amount of energy during this flight.
Grochaire was one of the larger realms, five hundred miles across the middle. The flight would take some time.
An hour came and went, then another.
Finally, the Ashur Mountains appeared in the distance and he rose higher and higher into the air, which in turn grew frigid. Lorelei began to shake.
“Can’t be helped but we’ll be there in just a few minutes. Hang on.” Fortunately, Batya had passed out.
Three minutes later, he flew over a thick fir forest and saw the rooftops of the town of Ashland that bore at least a thousand realm families. His stronghold was only ten miles away.
He often brought his doneuses in from Ashland, though he hoped that tonight Batya would be willing to service him. His body heated up at the thought of taking from her neck. He drew in a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. “Not long now.”
Lorelei’s teeth chattered.
He pathed to his brigade leader, Henry. Incoming, you old goat.
Quinlan, you fuck of all fucks. You back? Where have you been? Rafe has been out of his mind because he couldn’t contact you. Rafe was his second-in-command, in charge of his Grochaire brigade made up of vampire Guardsmen.
I’ll contact him soon enough, but we’ve got a situation and we’ll probably see some action in the next twenty-four hours, so put your Guard on alert. He gave a brief explanation of events in Lebanon without going into issues that related to either Lorelei or Batya, only that the ancient fae had attacked the gallery and that she’d slaughtered the Guardsmen at the access point.
Shit.
You said it. Now get the front gates open. I’m in flight with two powerful women. Have the housekeeper light up her enthrallment shield.
On the double.
Henry signed off and had no doubt already begun issuing a string of orders.
The heavy, massive doors to his stronghold started to open as Quinlan made his descent. The thick, black wood, reinforced with iron, pushed piled-up snow out of the way.
He slowed down and entered the outer enclosed courtyard of his building. When he cleared the opening, he levitated above the stone pavers, pausing midair to turn and watch the gates close behind him. He knew he hadn’t been followed, but it never hurt to catch a visual. If he needed to escape, he wanted to be in motion.
But they were alone, no one had followed them.
He adjusted his vampire vision as he dropped to the stone pavers of the courtyard.
At the same time that he touched down, the space began to fill with his highly trained and experienced troll brigade, who’d fought the Invictus wraith-pairs for decades now, making use of long spears in addition to battle frequency streams. They wore the typical Guardsmen uniform of long, leather sleeveless coats, leather pants and boots, and woven shirts. A thick belt angled over the chest ended in something new, sheaths for daggers.
As the entire brigade assembled, Henry flew in to stand in front of Quinlan.
Lorelei stepped away from him and stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders. Batya was still unconscious, so he held her against him.
Henry frowned, however, his gaze moving from one woman to the next. He was as handsome as Davido was ugly. All realm-folk ranged on the full spectrum of beauty and Henry was known to bed a lot of women with very little effort. He also had a heavy dose of charisma, like Davido, a specialty among the more powerful trolls.
Slowly, Quinlan pulled out of Batya’s battle frequency, but immediately his own energy faded and he had to work to keep from dropping her.
Henry, understanding the dilemma, grabbed Batya. But the moment he made contact, something came over Quinlan, a fierce protective compulsion so that his voice filled the courtyard. “Release her or die!”
Sweet Goddess! Had he just yelled at his brigade commander?
Henry let go of her, the three ridges of his forehead raised in tight, surprised folds.
“Leave her to me,” he said quietly.
“Understood.” But Henry’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Batya. Finally, he said, “Your Guard is present mastyr, for your inspection.”
He glanced around at the highly trained brigade, one hundred strong. He nodded his approval. Henry had one of the most disciplined brigades in the Nine Realms. “I want an around-the-clock watch set up for all areas of the stronghold and Guards posted outside the ladies’ doors. Is that clear?”
“Yes, mastyr.” Henry nodded to his unit leader, a tall troll, at nearly five-seven, by the name of Vincent.
A strong shout hit the air as Vincent ordered the brigade to fall out. Four Guardsmen remained in the courtyard, one to take up a post on a short flight of stairs to the left of the gates. He opened a viewing window and peered outside. The other three took up opposing positions. Each Guardsman stood with feet far apart, spears with points up, and one hand behind his back.
The remainder of the brigade filed out and despite the distance, Quinlan heard the echoing shouts as various squads broke away to guard the more vulnerable points of the stronghold, any place with a window and any of the inner doorways.
The only simple way into the stronghold was by the front gates.
He nodded to his housekeeper who stood by the doorway, a formidable elven woman who wore her long dark brown hair in four braids that hung down her back. She stood taller than Batya. “Anthea, we have guests.”
“Of course, Mastyr.” She bowed slightly. Some of the older realm-folk held to ancient traditions. Anthea was very old.
She cast her gaze first over Batya then Lorelei. Her eyes flared at the latter. “And you’re very powerful.”
Lorelei nodded. “I suppose I am.”
Quinlan looked down at Batya, whose eyes were closed. He felt her weakness and his need to take care of her deepened to an almost painful level. He didn’t quite understand why he’d felt desperate to get Henry’s hands off her or why, even now, his sole concern was seeing her restored.
He’d hurt her by invading her battle frequency.
Now he needed to heal her.
To Anthea, he said, “I want soup brought to my chambers and bread. Some cheese and white wine. She’ll be with me through the daylight hours.”
If Anthea’s eyes widened once more, he drew a long breath ignoring the truth that for the first time ever a woman would share his stronghold bed.
“Please take Lorelei to the best guest suite and give her whatever she needs. She’s under my protection.” To Henry, he said, “I want you to have one of your men work to contact Mastyr Seth and as soon as you’re able to make contact, tell him I need to talk to him. After that, get Rafe on the line. We’ve got a disaster in the making.”
“Yes, Mastyr.” Henry inclined his head, and on swift troll feet disappeared into the arched stronghold doorway.
He slid an arm beneath Batya’s knees and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. Anthea preceded him, her arm hooked around Lorelei’s as the elf spoke in low tones, asking about her preferences for food, sleeping arrangements, bathing needs, everything. Her warm, confiding nature had already set Lorelei at ease.
With everything taken care of, Quinlan turned his full attention to Batya, who still hadn’t regained consciousness.
Chapter Four
Batya reclined against soft pillows in a fairly upright position, but her eyes remained closed.
She couldn’t seem to open them.
Something in the center of her realm-ness hurt like she’d been battered for hours. One of her frequencies cramped and seized, the one Quinlan had accessed earlier. Her battling frequency.
Something delectable, however, reached her nose and her brows rose. Her eyes almost opened, but another slice of pain gripped her and she gasped, breathing through, trying to get past the spasm.
“You must eat.” The words rumbled over her.
Quinlan.
A shiver went through her and a different frequency began vibrating.
“Eat,” the voice commanded.
She parted her lips and creamy soup slid into her mouth. She drew every drop off the spoon. She tasted potatoes, onion, celery, a bit of ham and the finest cream. “Oh-h-h-h. More.”
A bass chuckle floated over her.
The spoon tapped her lips again. She opened and the savory goodness slid once more into her mouth.
She kept parting her lips. More soup arrived.
Heaven.
And the more she ate, the less her frequency spasmed.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
A cool glass touched her lips. She drank cold, sweet white wine.
More heaven.
A bite of bread with the best butter ever created.
Soup, wine, bread.
Repeat.
Eventually, the pain in her frequency ceased altogether. Sometimes a good meal made the miracle.
Eventually her eyes opened and she met Quinlan’s concerned gaze, while his brows pulled together in a tight line. She lifted a hand and pressed her finger in the furrow between.
She felt so much better except for the heaviness in her chest that in the last few days kept turning into a thudding heart. She suspected she’d begun having serious feelings for the vampire at her bedside.
“Better?”
“Much. Did I pass out?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two, three
hours. No more.”
“Then you started feeding me. Wonderful soup, by the way.”
“Anthea has an excellent staff. She keeps the household running and the brigade well fed and content.”
She glanced around. The room had massive proportions, the ceiling rising at least thirty feet. “Great space. Is this your stronghold?”
He nodded. “My rooms.” He gestured with a flip of his wrist. “Right against the mountain.”
Her realm vision had taken over and everything looked lit as if in an early evening glow. She saw two long and very narrow windows, not even a foot wide but rising fifteen feet in height. A rocky hillside was right there, just a few feet beyond the glass. The windows were too narrow to allow anyone to enter.
She could see stars at the upper portion. “Doesn’t the snow pack against the windows?”
“No. This portion of the structure overhangs a warm spring.”
“I see a slight rising mist.”
“Exactly.”
“Well that’s just brilliant.”
“Thank you.”
She turned toward him. “Do you stay here often?”
“Not as much as I’d like.”
She wondered how many women had shared this room. But her faeness kicked in and she knew she was the first, the only.
Dear, sweet Goddess…
Panic set in and she closed her eyes once more, leaning against the pillows. What was she doing here?
She forced herself to breathe. She tried not to make too much of what was happening but even Davido had encouraged her to embrace the unknown, which in this case meant Quinlan.
She’d never been good at relationships. She was too opinionated, too self-determined to be of much use to a man. She wanted what she wanted and experience had taught her that most men needed their women more compliant than she could ever be.
“I’m feeling it, too.” Quinlan’s deep voice rolled over her, sending a shiver through her, striking her mating frequency with just the right note. She was so damn attracted to him, even his voice.
But she had to get hold of herself, of whatever this was, so she turned her head and met his gaze straight on. “Feeling what?”