Iron Master

by Jennifer Ashley

  Peigi didn’t gasp or clap her hand to her head in shock. She nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about that. He was very careful not to show any weakness. He made sure he was in charge at all times.”

  “Conclusion—you might be able to have cubs after all.”

  Peigi’s eyes clouded with tears. “I want to have hope. I’m afraid of hope, though.”

  “I understand that, believe me.” Stuart brushed back a lock of her hair. “All the years I tried to get home, when hope after hope was dashed … Hope can be a cruel thing.”

  “I don’t want to hope then.” Peigi let out a breath. “All right?”

  “Fine by me.” Reid propped himself on his elbow again, the better to see Peigi’s beautiful face and her plump breast exposed by the sheet. “We have six wonderful cubs to take care of already. If more cubs come along, that’s fine too. And you know, we can keep trying. Day and night, indoors, outdoors, wherever, whenever. Keep doing what it takes. Forget about hope—let’s just put in the effort.”

  Peigi was laughing by the end of the speech. “I think I can agree.”

  “Good. How about we start now?”

  More laughter. Peigi drew him down to her, the longing in her eyes flaring. Stuart pushed aside worries and his renewed rage at Michael and lost himself in Peigi’s warmth once more.

  Peigi woke with a start. The room was pitch dark, and cold.

  Stuart slept next to her, curled in a nest they’d made in the small bed, one leg snaking out from under the blanket.

  As awareness returned, Peigi started to sit up, panicked. Where were the cubs?

  She heard them, six voices raised in happy contentment with their outing. Ben’s gravelly voice answered, and Peigi relaxed in relief.

  She should get up, dress, go out and be with them, thank Ben, and send him home. Let Stuart sleep while Peigi prepared the cubs for bed. She’d tuck them in, kiss them good night, and thank the Goddess she could be with them.

  Wind blew past the window, swirling the mist. A branch of a nearby tree tapped on the pane, its scratching bringing her even more fully awake.

  The mist swirled again, precise patches drawing away until it resembled a face peering in through the window—two voids of eyes and a gaping mouth.

  Peigi sat up, the bear in her snarling. She leapt from the bed, shifting to her between beast as she went. The face drew back, then stretched into a hideous form, the maw of mouth widening.

  Sucking her in. She must be dreaming—the face was a trick of wind, light, her half-sleeping state, nothing more.

  But she felt the cold, barely warmed by fur that sprouted on her body. Ben’s voice faded, and then the cubs’ did too, as though a muffling curtain had been lowered between the bedroom and the rest of the house.

  Behind her, Stuart jumped awake. He stared at the widening blackness at the window before he rose, backwards, off the bed. As though someone had plucked him up, he was lifted into the air and flew toward the window, which started to dissolve into thicker mist.

  At the last minute, Stuart reached to the foot of the bed and grabbed his jeans. Then Peigi was jerked off her feet and slammed sideways into the thick fog where the window had been. She grabbed Stuart’s hand as he passed her, and hung on.

  Cold clamped her, and then blackness. Peigi felt only Stuart’s grip, a lifeline in the freezing darkness, and then nothing.

  Chapter Twenty

  Peigi landed on prickly ground, in the darkness, her eyes stinging. This was no dream. Icy chill swirled around her, far colder than a Las Vegas January night.

  Where the hell was she? She inhaled, but there were too many confusing scents. Wood smoke, animals, snow, the acrid smell of burning debris, and … Shifters.

  Before she could register what Shifters and where, Stuart, whose hand she’d lost hold of, slammed into her. His presence sent relief through her, though she remained alert, wary.

  “What the fuck?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “Where are we?”

  “Faerie, I’m guessing.” Stuart climbed laboriously to his feet. He pulled on the jeans he’d been able to grab and hastily buckled them. He was barefoot and bare-chested, the cold prickling his flesh. “Where, I have no clue.”

  The scent of Shifter increased, and then Peigi heard them, growls and roars that grew louder until they melded into a single din. Shifters attacking. Peigi instinctively put Stuart behind her as she crouched in a defensive stance.

  They poured from the mists that rolled back to reveal the black trunks of trees, like dark cutouts in the white.

  Lupines, bears, Felines, not attacking at random but in coordinated columns, divided into where each Shifter could give others the most cover. They ran with determination and with enough wildness to strike fear into their enemies.

  All this for her and Stuart?

  The moment the thought formed, Stuart grabbed her and forced her down. Over their heads flew bolts, fired from crossbows by a line of warriors in leather and metal.

  Iron and steel, not silver, Peigi realized immediately. They were dokk alfar.

  One of the dokk alfar shouted and a second line of crossbows fired. Shifters went down, screaming. Others raced aside, sprinting to flank the crossbowmen and get behind them.

  Peigi roared and dropped to all fours as bear. Shifters attacking dokk alfar? For the Fae, or on their own—and why?

  Stuart’s voice sounded in her ear, “We need to get out of here.”

  No kidding. Peigi slammed her shoulder into Stuart, who caught on quickly and climbed onto her back.

  She ran. Choosing a path perpendicular to the action, Peigi charged away, Stuart clinging to her back, head down. He hung on with ease, as though riding a fleeing bear was no big deal to him.

  Peigi ran until the sound of battle receded, then she slowed her steps. As Stuart slid off to his feet, she morphed into her half-beast, her heart pounding, breath coming hard.

  “What the hell is going on?” she gasped.

  “A very good question. We need to find Cian.”

  Peigi glanced around wildly. “How did we even get here? A gate came to find us?”

  Stuart rubbed his short hair, flinging droplets of mist from it. “Again, I’m thinking Cian. He half-pulled me into Faerie once before. Maybe he figured out how to do it all the way.”

  “I hope not. For his sake.” Peigi snarled, her blood pumping high. Screw hiding in the shadows waiting to feel better—she wanted to thump heads, lots of them. “How do we find him? Every direction looks the same to me.”

  As when they’d first entered Faerie, the trees that surrounded them, marching into mists, appeared identical—each view mirrored the other.

  “We retreat to the dokk alfar side,” Stuart said. “Even if these aren’t Cian’s men, dokk alfar lands will be in that direction.”

  “What if those Shifters are ours?” she asked. “I mean, sent by Dylan. And the dokk alfar want them dead for some reason?”

  “Accidentally being shot with a crossbow bolt won’t answer that.”

  He had a point. “All right,” Peigi said. “We find Cian and slam him against a wall until he explains everything.”

  Stuart laughed, a startling sound in the dank air. “My mate is kick-ass. Don’t mess with her.”

  “Damn straight.” Peigi sent Stuart a smile, probably alarming in her half-bear, half-human face. “Want to ride again?”

  “It would be faster.” Stuart bumped himself into her. “Besides, your fur is soft.”

  “Sweet talker.” Peigi dropped down to become full bear. Stuart climbed aboard, and they were off.

  Behind them, the battle raged on. Shifters shrieked, dying, and dokk alfar screamed as they went down under the Shifters who’d broken through their lines.

  Peigi tried not to listen, tried not to let her heart break. Shifters had fought so long and hard to free themselves from the Fae, and they were throwing it away rushing against dokk alfar in the world they’d wrested themselves from long ago. The cry
in her mind was why?

  She knew how to move unseen—she’d learned that while in Michael’s thrall. Peigi skirted through trees, using sound and scent to guide her. The misty woods made her a bit claustrophobic—she’d grown used to the vast Nevada desert where she could see fifty miles by standing on a slight rise of ground.

  The tumult of what must be a camp ahead came to her—the odors of horses, cooking fires, roasting meat, and the sounds of people moving about, shouting to each other, men running in from the line of battle to babble news, others running out again.

  Peigi stopped and rose, Stuart sliding from her as she shifted to human.

  “If I go any closer as bear or my between-beast, someone might shoot me,” she said, out of breath.

  Once her bear receded, the cold hit her with a slap, and Peigi shivered. She hadn’t had time to grab her clothes, and she’d been shifting once the gate had taken them.

  “Stay put.” Stuart put his hands on her shoulders, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and disappeared into the trees.

  Peigi morphed to her half beast simply to stay warm, but Stuart was back quickly, tossing a bundle at her.

  She reverted to human again as she shook out clothing—leggings and a long leather shirt. Stuart had taken a tunic for himself and boots for both of them. The boots didn’t fit Peigi well but at least kept her feet from the wet ground.

  “Who’s going to yell at us for stealing their clothes?”

  “Probably no one,” Stuart said as he settled his tunic. “These clothes are as generic for dokk alfar as jeans and T-shirts are for us, so maybe no one will miss them. I stole them from the laundry tent.”

  Peigi tied the shirt’s drawstrings with chilled fingers, the leather feeling odd against her bare skin. “Is Cian there?”

  “Didn’t see him, but I plan to ask.”

  He held out his hand. Peigi took it, and they walked together toward the camp, like a dokk alfar and his lady out for a stroll … In deep woods near a battle scene. Sure.

  The dokk alfar moving hurriedly about the camp didn’t notice two more people, dressed similarly to them, entering. They glanced at Stuart and then in puzzlement at the tall woman next to him, then went back to what they were doing.

  “Great security,” Peigi murmured.

  “Mm,” Stuart said in agreement. “That’s how I could steal the clothes. Let’s find someone in charge.”

  Not all sentries were lackadaisical. One man with a sword on his belt snapped around, saw them, and was in front of them faster than fast. He snarled something at Stuart, and Stuart answered. Stuart made his voice hard, refusing to wilt under the guard’s stare.

  The guard eyed them in suspicion, but gave Stuart a nod. He motioned for them to follow and started toward the tents, calling another guard to bring up the rear.

  The tent the first guard took them to was no larger than the others, and no fancier. Peigi wondered if it was a brig until she saw Cian standing outside it, listening hard to a dokk alfar with a bruised and cut face. Cian waited until the man finished speaking and then barked a few orders. The dokk alfar saluted and melted back under the trees, already running.

  Cian turned to Stuart and Peigi, unsurprised, as though expecting them at his party. The tent flaps parted, and out walked Michael, who took up a stance behind Cian.

  “Who let you off your leash?” Stuart demanded.

  “He did.” Michael, smug, jerked his thumb at Cian. “He wanted my help fighting Shifters. I know how to do it.”

  “You speak dokk alfar? That’s interesting.”

  “Don’t have to. Interpreter.”

  Another jerk of the thumb showed them a Shifter sitting inside the tent, this one bound to a chair. Crispin. He’d acquired clothes, the same dokk alfar leggings and tunic Stuart said were common.

  “I need him when you’re done,” Peigi said. She wasn’t certain Dylan would let Crispin live for betraying Shifters, but what Crispin knew about the high Fae could be invaluable to Dylan. She understood that perfectly—and Dylan didn’t want a member of his clan dying alone in Faerie.

  Michael gave her a puzzled look. “Whatever.”

  Cian cut him off and started talking to Stuart. He spoke with authority, no apology. For whatever reason he’d come out to attack Shifters, he’d made the decision and was sticking with it.

  Stuart scowled as he listened then turned to Peigi. “The hoch alfar were building up on his territory’s borders. They have a small Shifter army backed by hoch alfar archers. The leader is our Fae prince who was hunting in the woods. At least, he’s their leader nominally. Cian believes a general is using the prince’s money and influence to let the attack go through.”

  Peigi watched a dokk alfar set down a wooden crate, wrench off its lid, and start handing iron-tipped crossbow bolts to men who lined up to receive them. “Why are they attacking Cian?”

  Stuart shrugged. “Hoch alfar and dokk alfar have never needed an excuse to fight. Each of us existing is the excuse. Now that the karmsyern is gone, the warded borders are weak—still patrolled and guarded, but weak. This attack took out border guards along the river, which is that way.” Stuart gestured in an indeterminate direction toward the trees. “That’s why there’s so much mist. Slight warming trend near the river, and we’re stuck in a cloud. Cian responded with a thrown-together army. For him, it’s been about a week since we left.”

  Peigi digested the information. “Is he hopeful he’ll turn them back?” She hugged her arms to her chest, unable to get warm. “Those are Shifters dying out there. Even if they made the choice to join the hoch alfar, they’re still Shifters.”

  Michael growled. “You mean traitors. What kind of fucked-up Shifter joins the Fae?”

  “You’ve joined the dokk alfar,” Stuart pointed out.

  “Under coercion. But yeah, I’m happy to help this Cian guy take out the Shifter shits. If they get their asses kicked and turned into fur rugs, it’s their own fault.”

  Many Shifters would think so, Peigi knew. She thought of Graham, who never hid his opinion that Shifters who were betraying them were total bastards who deserved no mercy. On the other hand, Graham would work to save them, take them back to the human world so he could personally thump them on their heads. Michael was ready to let them be slaughtered.

  Stuart said something to Cian. Cian glanced at Peigi and let out his gravelly laugh.

  “What?” Peigi demanded.

  “I told him you were ready to slam whoever led this show up against the wall. He said he didn’t blame you.”

  “Good.” Peigi glared at Cian. “What do we do? Why are we here, anyway?”

  Stuart scanned the camp, the crossbowmen hurrying out to reinforce the line. As before when they’d entered Faerie, Stuart became stronger, steelier, reaching out to embrace the magic of this world. “An iron master can turn the tide, he says.”

  “In other words, he wants you to save his butt?” Peigi continued to glower at Cian, who looked amused in his hard-ass way.

  “He’s resourceful,” Stuart said. “Cian claims he didn’t bring us through personally. He knows there’s a ley line nearby and was trying to line up his spell-caster to summon me, but the hoch alfar attacked sooner than expected. He figures one of his underlings must have heard him and the spell-caster brought us across. How the ley line was moved to your house, he doesn’t know. He only knows what happens on this side.”

  “I see.” Many things to ponder. Cian had recruited Michael with a promise of—what? Cian had obviously decided Crispin would be useful, and now he had Peigi, another Shifter on his side. Resourceful indeed.

  Peigi wouldn’t kill other Shifters. She had to draw that line … Well, unless they were trying to kill her, or Stuart, and there was no other way to get away from them.

  But she also wouldn’t sacrifice herself to save Shifters who’d willingly put themselves under Fae power, becoming Battle Beasts in truth. She was done with sacrifice to Shifters who did nothing but abuse those who wanted t
o help them.

  The thought made her switch her gaze to Michael. What was he up to?

  Michael met her stare, as he’d used to when he was in charge of his fawning feral Shifters.

  Then his expression changed from self-satisfied to surprise, then shock, then outrage. He swung on Stuart. “You mate claimed her.” His snarl rang into the mists.

  Stuart gazed back at him calmly. “I did.”

  “I accepted,” Peigi said before Michael could start blustering. “I told you, I considered us broken up. That’s good enough under Shifter law, especially when we had no sun and moon ceremony, to accept another mate claim. So suck on it.”

  “You were always a feisty bitch,” Michael growled.

  Peigi lifted her chin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Michael continued to growl, then his smile abruptly returned, in a way Peigi didn’t like.

  “Yeah, I know Shifter law too.” He pinned Stuart with his gaze. “You mate claimed her, dokk alfar. Okay then … I Challenge.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stuart saw Crispin inside the tent jerk upright. Even Cian, who hadn’t understood the English words, stiffened.

  Stuart was familiar with a Challenge, with a capital C. When a Shifter mate claimed a female, another male could Challenge the first to a fight. Prize, the female, although only if she accepted the winner.

  Archaic, deadly, and perfectly reasonable according to Shifters. In the bad old days, the strongest males mated with the strongest females so that cubs had a better chance of surviving. These were far from the bad old days—more or less—but the tradition survived.

  “No,” Peigi said swiftly.

  “Not up to you,” Michael said. “Even if you’re a feisty bitch.”

  “Up to me if I cut your balls off.” Peigi lunged for him, claws sprouting, but Stuart locked his hands around her arms and held her back. It satisfied him, though, that Michael took a worried step away from her.

  “It’s all right,” Stuart said to her. “I accept the Challenge.”