by Bekah Harris
Right. Laltogs had heightened senses, and only the royal rooms were protected with some soundproofing spell Felicity had just read about.
Quietly, they continued down the hall, stopping in front of an ornately carved door. Tristen let go of her hand to silently twist the knob. He cracked the door open and ushered Felicity inside before closing the door and locking it.
Was this?
Before she could process that she was standing in Tristen’s bedroom, her eyes zeroed-in on the still form lying on the bed.
Luca.
Eyes closed, he was sprawled across the bed, his bare chest covered in blood. King Fhaescratch was standing with his back to them at one of the large windows, and Queen Rowena sat beside the bed.
“What happened?” she mouthed to Tristen, unsure if she could be heard.
“We were attacked,” he said. “The royal rooms are part of the soundproofing wards you maintain, so we can talk in here.”
“Oh, my God, by what?”
“A vampire,” Fhaescratch said, without turning. “It appears that there is a traitor in our midst. One who has dared to turn a human without my permission. The fledgling attacked them.”
Felicity questioned Tristen with her eyes.
“We were investigating what Dante and Raven heard in the forest,” he answered. “The vampire came out of nowhere. There was no warning. She had daggers, and she stabbed him. He’s unconscious, but she missed his heart.”
“I thought Laltog blood healed wounds,” Felicity said. “I don’t understand what I can do.”
“The blade was iron,” Tristen said. “Like many of the other Fae, Laltogs are vulnerable to iron. It won’t kill us unless it penetrates the heart, but it makes us extremely sick and prevents us from healing.”
Felicity still didn’t understand what she was supposed to do. “Maybe Nan has something back at the cottage that could help.”
Rowena rose, then, stalking toward her. She was the most intimidating creature Felicity had ever encountered, and she found herself taking a backward step as the Queen approached. Her eyes zeroed in on the scars that crisscrossed her chest, left exposed by her low-cut gown.
“Seelie Fae have healing powers,” she snapped, grabbing Felicity’s hand. “We need you to heal Luca. No one can know about this, not even his family. Not until we know who is behind this and why.”
Dumbstruck, Felicity allowed Queen Rowena to tug her toward the bed. She had no clue how to heal anyone. Of course, she’d had no clue how to summon dead relatives, either, and she managed to do that just fine.
“I’ve seen this done only once before,” Rowena said. “When Queen Ivy was no older than you, I watched her heal a human girl mortally wounded by another Fae. Lyric instructed her to hold her hands over the wound and concentrate on healing it from the inside out.”
Okay. Hold my hands over the wound and focus on healing it. Easy peasy.
Felicity took a deep breath and peered down at Luca. His chest was barely rising with his shallow breath, and the golden hue to his skin had turned cadaverous. Laltogs were always pale, but they came in all skin tones, and Felicity had admired Luca’s olive complexion more than once. But now? Now he looked like a corpse.
King Fhaescratch finally turned from the window to stand at the end of the bed, and she realized why he had kept his back turned. He was terrifying. The longest set of fangs she had ever seen protruded from his gaping mouth, and his eyes were the color of blood. His face was distorted, his nose flatter than normal, and his index finger had elongated into what looked like the talon on the end of a bat wing.
“He’s still trying to keep from shifting,” Tristen said. “It happens when we’re…”
“Murderously angry?” Felicity offered.
“Yes,” Tristen said. “He will be able to control himself better once Luca is healed.”
Right. On it.
With a deep breath, Felicity crawled onto the bed beside Luca and sat back on her knees. She held her hands out toward the wound, overwhelmed by a sudden burst of pain. She clutched her chest as if a dagger had just pierced her own heart. The pain was bearable because somehow, she knew it was his and not her own, but unexpected tears pricked her eyes.
“God,” she whispered. “He feels everything, but he can’t move.”
Behind her, Tristen and Fhaescratch cursed, both of them pacing with worry. Only Rowena remained calm.
“Try to focus, Felicity,” she said.
Her eyes snapped toward the Queen, who was looking at her rather than through her. It was the first time she had ever used Felicity’s name. Usually, she just called her “The Mage” or “The Seelie.”
Nodding, Felicity reached out once again, ignoring Luca’s pain and covering his wound with her palms. Blood seeped through her fingers. She swallowed bile and tried not to think about the warm ooze that coated her hands.
Closing her eyes, she allowed his pain to wash over her and through her, as if his pain fueled her desire to heal him. Her chest stung right beside her heart, and she concentrated on her own pulse until it slowed to a steady rhythm in her ears. Then, she conjured up the image of the slice in Luca’s chest, the blood pouring from it. Her hands tingled, an electric sensation traveling up her arms, like scooting socked feet across carpet.
Encouraged by the feeling, Felicity pictured the knife slicing through him, just missing his heart. Then, in her mind’s eye, she reversed it. The dagger pulled back, taking the wound with it, closing the near fatal injury inch by inch. As Luca’s wound healed, the pain in her own chest lessened. Pressure lifted. Finally, as the dagger pulled from his chest, the blood that covered him and soaked the sheets rewound like an old movie, absorbing through his skin.
“You did it,” Tristen’s voice was close to her, his breath tickling her ear. “You really did it.”
“Shh,” Rowena hissed. “He’s not awake yet.”
Still concentrating, Felicity whispered the first words that came to her. “Rise up, Luca. Rise up.”
She felt a stirring beneath her hands. When she opened her eyes, Luca had covered her hands with his own. When she looked down, his dark eyes flickered to hers. Her gaze traveled down to where their hands tangled together on his chest. The wound—and all the blood that had gushed from the injury—was completely gone. His skin once again held the dark hue she admired.
Happiness rushed through her unbidden, and she could feel her lips widen into a goofy grin. She had just healed someone. With her fucking mind.
“Thank you,” Luca whispered. “I think you can let go now.”
Yeah. She was still touching his chest. And it was a nice chest and all, but...awkward.
“Sorry,” she said, and lifted her hands, scrambling from the bed.
Luca sat up.
“How do you feel?” Tristen asked.
“Fine,” he said. “Good.”
A sense of relief swept through the room, and as it did, Felicity couldn’t help but notice that Fhaescratch’s nose had sharpened once more, and his eyes had dulled to black. The strange little hook on his finger had retracted, and he looked normal again.
Well, as normal as Fhaescratch ever looked in his weird Dracula meets Henry the VIII sort of way.
“Sit,” Fhaescratch said, indicating the chair beside Rowena.
Felicity didn’t much care for his tone, but she really didn’t want Fhaescratch to go all half-bat again, so she crossed the room and sat down like a good little Mage. But if he had any social awareness whatsoever, Felicity knew her expression would tell him just how displeased she was with the order. He smirked at her and continued.
“I do not steal humans and turn them,” he said. “I have turned only one human in my immortal life, and I have been alive from the beginning. Queen Juliet was that human, and what I did was unintentional.”
“So if you aren’t turning humans, then why was a fledgling vampire trying to flay us in the middle of the forests we command?” Tristen’s sharp tone made Felicity’s brows dis
appear beneath her bangs.
“Your insinuation that I would do such a thing is quite flattering,” Fhaescratch said. “However, the more pressing matter we should be focusing on is who has done this, since it was not me.”
“Any Laltog can turn a human,” Rowena pointed out. “It could be any of our coven, but you have to admit, your enemies are the most likely culprits.”
“Elder Conlan?” Felicity suggested. She left Kyla’s name out of it because...well, she didn’t really want to accuse Tristen’s fiancé like some jealous psycho.
“Or Kyla,” Rowena said. “ Tristen reported that both of them accosted you earlier.”
Felicity nodded.
“Your Majesties, I hate to be the one to bring this up,” Luca said, “but being that I’m the one who nearly got stabbed in the heart with iron, I feel it’s my responsibility.”
“Speak freely, Luca,” Fhaescratch said. “You know you’re always welcome to do so.”
“If there was one fledgling vampire outside what we believe are protective wards, then it stands to reason that the vampire was guarding something. And whatever she was guarding probably involves more fledgling vampires.”
Felicity shivered. Laltogs could be creepy, and even though she thought Tristen was the sexiest thing on two legs, she had to admit that when he went all fangs out and red eyes, he was terrifying. But they had unparalleled self-control, judging by what she had observed. So, the only thing more terrifying than a regular Laltog was a horde of inexperienced baby Laltogs with zero impulse control.
Fhaescratch and Tristen started pacing again.
“What Laltog under my command would be stupid enough to turn humans under my own nose?”
“One that had nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Tristen answered, rubbing his chest.
Felicity zeroed-in on the motion, noting that the sweater vest of his uniform was ripped.
“It has to be one of Erroll’s faction,” Rowena said. “I doubt seriously that it’s Conlan or Kyla. If caught, they would lose their positions, and they’ve manipulated too many of us to ever risk it personally.”
“But that doesn’t mean they haven’t gotten someone else to do their evil bidding,” Felicity said.
Rowena gave her a surprised look. Felicity smirked. Clearly, Rowena didn’t have a very high opinion of her powers of deduction.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Fhaescratch said, his eyes falling on her. “Felicity will have to deactivate the wards to reveal the truth.”
Great. Who wouldn’t want to drop the invisible barrier that could unleashed an army of rabid baby vampires?
Chapter 14
“You’re hurt,” Felicity said.
She had been following Tristen for almost an hour, winding through the trees and climbing ridges. Since then, she’d been watching him, and every now and then, she detected a cringe, followed by him rubbing his chest.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I’m gonna have to call bullshit.” Felicity stilled behind him. “In fact, I’m not taking another step until you tell me what happened.”
Growling, Tristen turned on her. “We have work to do. Now is not the time to be concerning yourself with wild assumptions about my well-being.”
“Still not moving.”
“Felicity…” he said. “Come on, we don’t have time for this.”
Felicity raised her brows. “I have all the time in the world. You, on the other hand…”
Tristen threw his hands up. “You’re so…”
“Charming? Irresistible?” She smirked.
“I was going to say impossible.”
“I’m only impossible when hard-headed, stubborn Laltog princes are being ridiculous.” She stepped toward him. “Your shirt is torn, and you keep rubbing your chest. This leads me to believe that there is a wound—perhaps from an iron blade—right over your heart.”
He unleashed an irritable sigh. “It’s just a nick.”
“Take it off,” she said. “I’m not doing anything about any wards we find until you let me heal you. And what good do you think you’ll do against a swarm of Laltog minions if you’re already weakened by an injury?”
He glared at her, but Felicity just shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“If you wanted me to take off my shirt, there are more fun ways to go about it.”
Felicity’s cheeks flamed.
“I love it when you flush like that.”
Which heated her skin even more.
“Ass.”
His smirk transforming to a full grin, he tugged the sweater vest over his head, revealing the white button-up shirt beneath, which was stained with a thin sliver of crimson. When he brought his arms down, he winced.
Without thinking, Felicity rushed toward him, unbuttoning his shirt to get a better look at the wound. It wasn’t until she had slipped the material over his shoulders that she realized how still he was. Her heart tripped over itself like a bashful cartoon dog. She could feel his eyes on her, and her limbs felt all liquid, like her bones had been replaced with noodles. Gathering her courage, she met his gaze, which had brightened from black to red. Her pulse kicked it up a notch, and her mouth felt dry. He ran his tongue over his lips, revealing the point of a sharp fang. Then, his eyes moved from her gaze to the pulse in her throat.
Kyla’s words washed over her like a bucket of ice water.
It’s only the blood.
She stepped away from him, the heat that made her stomach curl overshadowed by a sense of...disappointment. Her ridiculous little heart plummeted to her feet.
Tristen cleared his throat. Felicity cleared her throat.
She focused on his chest.
Which so wasn’t helping.
If she thought Tristen was hot with a shirt, it was nothing compared to what he looked like without one. His pale skin was tight over a sculpted chest and broad shoulders. His abs were chiseled and dipped in beside his hips, his pants slung dangerously low. His arms were surprisingly muscular, she noted, because he appeared so lean in his clothes. But he wasn’t lean...he was… God, he was gorgeous.
“Felicity?” Tristen whispered.
“Yeah?”
“If you don’t stop staring at me like that, I’m going to be very distracted when we take down those wards.”
Her cheeks flamed again, but he’d caught her wondering what it would be like to run her tongue over his skin. She tore her eyes from him, shocked at how quickly she went from caregiver to brainless floozy. Taking a deep breath, she refocused her attention on Tristen’s wound.
It was just a shallow cut, but the fact that it hadn’t healed was cause for concern.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, examining the wound more closely.
“Fine,” he said. “Better than fine.”
“You don’t feel weakened or sick or anything? From the iron, I mean.”
He shook his head.
Then, she reached up with trembling hands, her fingers skimming the skin of his torso until she placed her palms over the wound near his heart.
Closing her eyes, she felt the sharp sting of the pain he felt, and she couldn’t help but feel thankful he wasn’t in agony like Luca had been. She concentrated on the wound, on his pain, feeling the magic hum through her limbs. Then, she focused on reversing the wound. In her mind, she saw it closing up, the skin melting back together as if nothing had ever severed it. When his pain disappeared, Felicity opened her eyes to find him staring down at her in a way that made her entire body feel clumsy and fluttery.
“Now, I will happily take the wards down,” she said.
“Just let me put my shirt back on,” he said, “unless you’d prefer I leave it off.”
Felicity slapped him with a scathing look and charged ahead of him. But she so wanted him to never wear a shirt again, and the fact that he knew this made her want to slap him—and herself—into next week. Then, maybe they would both wise up to the fact that the King of the Lost Cove Darklings wo
uld never allow them to be together unless he saw some personal benefit in it.
When they reached the scene of last night’s attack, Felicity felt the electric ripple of the wards. She reached out, walking forward until her hands collided with something rubbery—almost like a wobbly blob of gelatin.
“There’s something here,” she said. “But it’s not like the other wards or glamours.”
“What do you mean?” Tristen asked, standing close behind her.
Felicity shook her head, trying to find the words. “It’s weird. It’s like the last Mage left a signature behind that kind of identifies her magic. This is nothing like her work. This is...something more. Something stronger.”
“Can you get through it or remove them?”
“Honestly? I can try, but I still only sort of know what I’m doing, and this is like nothing I’ve worked with over the last couple of weeks. Considering what happened to you and Luca, we probably shouldn’t even be out here alone.”
“Luca needs his rest, and my father can’t risk being seen here or sending any of his guard. We have no choice but to be out here alone.”
Felicity gave him a scathing look, but there was nothing to do but try to break the wards.
Tristen shrugged. “What can I do to help?”
Felicity took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Just make sure no rabid Laltogs get ahold of me while I’m trying to work.”
“Anything that tries to touch you will die,” he said.
Felicity raised her brows. She wanted to go all feminist and tell him to pump the breaks on the possessiveness, but if she was being honest with herself, the whole protective vibe was totally hot coming from Tristen. Anyone else could take their machismo and shove it.
Testing the wards against her touch once more, she backed up a couple of steps and dropped to her knees so that she could concentrate without having to worry about losing her balance and falling on her ass. Then, she reached out, placing her palms against the strange invisible barrier.
When she closed her eyes, she pushed everything out of her mind, inviting in only what she needed to break the wards. Time passed, and she wasn’t sure how long, before she felt warmth stirring in her chest. Words formed in her mind, and as if obeying a command, she whispered them over and over.