Iron Master

by Jennifer Ashley

  Peigi faced him, eyes wide. He saw that she thought he’d lost his mind, feared that Michael would crush him into a stack of dokk alfar bones.

  Crispin rapidly translated for Cian, and Cian took on a frown of disapproval. “There’s no time for this shit.”

  Stuart didn’t answer. He knew he had to deal with Michael or the man would never leave Peigi alone. Killing him would solve a lot of problems, but Cian was right—having Michael’s information on Shifters and what rebel ones might do was valuable.

  “Good.” Michael’s nod to Stuart held a modicum of respect. “Since we’re obeying Shifter rules, the Challenged gets to choose the time and place.”

  “I know.” Stuart took a step away from Peigi. “I choose … Now.”

  He spun and grabbed the iron crowbar the dokk alfar had used to pry open the crate of bolts. He was back before the breeze of his passing had died, the crowbar already twisting in his hands.

  Michael shifted to grizzly, but as Michael’s bear formed, Stuart flung the iron at him.

  The iron bar wrapped itself around Michael and lifted him into the air, flinging him backward about fifty feet. He flew past the tents and slammed hard into a tree, halfway up its tall trunk. Immediately the iron slid away and sailed back to Stuart’s open hand.

  Michael hung suspended for a moment, his roars panicked, and then he fell down, down, down, bear limbs flailing all the way. He crashed into the ground, a bellow of pain exploding from him. He lay for a time as a groaning pile of fur, before he climbed resolutely to his feet and limped back toward Stuart.

  Stuart met him halfway, the iron bar in his hands forming into a sharp-pointed rapier. Stuart marched to Michael and thrust the rapier against Michael’s bear neck, letting the tip draw blood.

  With a crackle of bone, Michael became his between-beast. He bulked above Stuart—a huge grizzly-man, but Stuart kept the tip of the sword on Michael’s throat.

  “Not a fair fight,” Michael croaked.

  “You fight your way, I fight mine. Yield?”

  Michael growled at him. “No.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Michael went for him, claws, teeth, and roars. Stuart sidestepped his striking paw and whirled his iron sword in a competent slice. Michael barely missed having his stomach cut open, and only because Stuart pulled back at the last moment.

  Michael reared up, drawing on his strength. Stuart swung the sword again, the blade whistling in the air. Michael took another hit, but he raised his bear paws high, ready to crush Stuart.

  Peigi charged. Her clothes fell away as she shifted, then she slammed into Michael and tumbled over with him in a cloud of dust.

  Before Michael could right himself, Peigi was on him, roaring her rage, her paws smacking his face, his gut, his stupid face again.

  Every fear and hurt he’d ever caused her, every hurt and terror of the cubs and the women under her watch, welled up inside her. That anguish changed to pure rage and poured out through her giant paws. She smacked him and clawed him, over and over, bashing at his hated face.

  She felt hands on her fur, trying to pull her back. She recognized Stuart’s touch and then the wiry hands of Cian.

  They didn’t want her to kill Michael. They needed him. Peigi didn’t give a shit.

  Michael began to whimper. Blood gushed from his wounds, flowed from his mouth and nose. His belly was a mess of matted fur stained with red. He opened his mouth and let out a pathetic roar.

  Peigi blinked down at him, her bear realizing what had just happened. She’d defeated him, out-dominated him. In the Shifter world, this meant a change in the hierarchy, and now Peigi outranked him, Michael sliding further down in the order.

  Crispin, who’d watched avidly from inside the tent, and probably heard everything too, realized it. “He’s down,” he called out, voice filled with new respect, almost fear.

  Peigi rose on her back legs, roaring her triumph. Her voice stirred the mists, a Shifter defeating her enemy. Didn’t matter that the enemy was male and her former mate. Shifter instinct took over and rearranged things to where they should be.

  Peigi came down, sniffed at Michael with a derisive huff, then turned her back on him and walked away.

  Stuart started for her, but Peigi kept walking. If she didn’t keep up her dignified pace, she’d halt, shift, and do cartwheels around the camp.

  For you Donny, Noelle, Hannah, Lucinda, Patrick, Kevin. For you ladies and cubs who endured with me. For all of you.

  Peigi allowed herself a little sideways hop as she strolled back to her clothes. Michael was no longer a creature of terror, of control, of cruelty.

  He was a pile of limp bear fur, and would be forever after. Better than killing him, Peigi thought, tasting triumph. Far, far better.

  Stuart watched Peigi, knowing with his whole body that something had changed in her. He knew, because he felt a change within himself.

  Michael remained on the ground, breathing hard. Alive but winded, wounded, and defeated.

  Hey, don’t mess with my lady.

  Stuart would have to explore the ramifications of Peigi besting Michael at length, but at the moment they were in the middle of an army camp, and Shifters and hoch alfar were battling Cian’s men not a mile away.

  Stuart wiped the iron bar clean of Michael’s blood and returned to a bemused Cian. “What’s your plan?”

  Cian raised his brows. “You two done teaching him a lesson?”

  “It needed to be taught,” Stuart answered calmly. He gave Cian a shrug worthy of Eric. “It’s a Shifter thing.”

  “He did need an ass-kicking. I just thought you’d do it later.”

  “He’ll be easier to control this way. Your plans?”

  Cian shook his head and returned to the matter at hand. “Already in place. My men are leading the hoch alfar and their Battle Beasts into a warded pocket near the river where they will be defeated. But a temporary defeat, unfortunately. My scouts tell me more hoch alfar are amassing.”

  Stuart flipped the sword in his hand. “We’ll just have to get that damned hunk of iron back.”'

  “That would be ideal,” Cian said dryly. “Any thoughts on how?”

  “I have one or two, in fact.”

  Stuart turned from him and went to Michael. He prodded his groaning form. “Get up. She didn’t hurt you that much. Neither did I. Shifters heal quickly, and we didn’t damage you permanently.”

  “You don’t understand.” Michael shifted back to human, his body covered in scrapes and bruises. “You can’t. You’re not Shifter.”

  “I understand she kicked your ass. You deserved it.” Stuart gave him a steely look. “But we can’t afford to have you moping around. Shifters with the hoch alfar will die if they lose this battle, and I don’t want that. Dylan won’t want that—a lot of them have families in Shiftertowns. So I need you to keep them alive.”

  Michael jerked his head up, brown eyes narrowing. “You want me to help a bunch of traitor Shifters who went over to the hoch alfar? They want to be Battle Beasts so bad, they can die as Battle Beasts.”

  Stuart flipped his sword again, end over end. Iron didn’t frighten Shifters, but the sword was sharp, and Michael winced.

  “Not what I said. I need you to take those Shifters prisoner and keep the hoch alfar from killing them and cutting their losses. We’ll get the Shifters home and let Dylan deal with them.”

  Michael perked up. “That I can get my head around.” He got to his feet, something like his old arrogance entering his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll take those bastards prisoner. Won’t Cian and the dokk alfar just kill them, though?”

  “No, because they’re not complete dickheads. But I need you to keep the Shifters intact. They’ll have intel we need.”

  “True.” Michael rolled his shoulders as though trying to shake off his defeat. “Please say I get to do some interrogating. I’m good at interrogating.”

  He meant he was good at beating on people until they coughed up what
he wanted to hear. Stuart had worked with cops like that.

  “Just keep them alive.” Stuart turned his back on him, both to show he was finished with the conversation and also that he was not afraid of having Michael behind him. Shifters could strike fast, but Stuart was faster than Shifters and always had been.

  He strode to the tent where Crispin waited and went inside.

  Crispin, with the benefit of Shifter hearing, had followed the events outside. His face had a greenish tinge, no evidence of the ferocious black-maned lion about him anymore. He must be from a lesser branch of the Morrissey clan, low in the hierarchy. Dylan hadn’t said so outright, but he’d implied it. Crispin had probably decided to join the hoch alfar because he knew he wouldn’t gain power any other way.

  “I heard you talking about Dylan,” Crispin said before Stuart could speak. “That you’ll give the Shifters to him.” He shuddered. “You don’t know how cruel that is.”

  “I have a good idea,” Stuart said. “I’ve worked with Dylan a while. Let me guess, you want me to spare you that.”

  “You don’t understand.” Crispin swallowed. “He’s my clan leader. I won’t be just another rebel Shifter to him. It will be personal.”

  “No kidding. How about we cross that bridge later? Right now, I want you to tell me where the karmsyern is.”

  Crispin started. “The what?”

  Stuart leaned closer, but not close enough to get bitten or slashed if Crispin suddenly decided to shift and attack. Crispin was bound thoroughly with chains, but even fettered Shifters could be deadly.

  “You know. The funny iron talisman that keeps hoch alfar from overrunning the world. You know exactly where it is, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Crispin went ashen, his eyes widening in fear. “How do you figure that?”

  Stuart tested the weight of the sword he’d created. It wasn’t quite right—he’d been in a hurry. He willed the iron to rearrange itself slightly to make it perfect. Crispin watched the iron undulate, and swallowed.

  “You allied yourself with a Fae prince,” Stuart said. “Related to Walther le Madhug, who has his eye on becoming emperor. Interesting choice—one that would bring you a lot of power if you played it right. Did you steal the karmsyern for them?”

  “No!” The fast and adamant answer held a ring of truth. “All right, all right—the prince did take it for him. Wants to be Walther’s favorite toady. But I had nothing to do with it. He sent in Shifters I didn’t know, and they stole it. I guess he didn’t trust me.” Crispin sounded hurt.

  “Sucks, when the master you betrayed your own people for betrays you.” Stuart folded his arms, the sword pointing downward. “Where did he put it?”

  Crispin drew a breath. Stuart watched him calculate what to tell him—the man was cunning. “I can show you.”

  Stuart heard Peigi come in behind him, sensed her presence. She moved to stand next to him, dressed again in the form-fitting leggings and tunic that suited her tall body.

  “He’ll tell you anything to get out of his chains,” Peigi said to Stuart.

  “I caught that.” Stuart edged closer to her, absorbing her warmth. “But be doesn’t have to be loose to help.”

  Crispin looked disappointed. “You want your iron thingy back, right?”

  He was up to something—the signs were obvious. Stuart had been a soldier, a cop, and a security expert long enough to know when someone else’s ulterior motives smacked him in the face.

  Crispin played his own game, and working for the Fae prince had only been part of it. He must figure that aligning himself with Stuart and betraying the Fae was in his best interest. And he was probably right.

  “You’re going to take me to it—” Stuart began.

  “And lead you into a trap?” Peigi glared at him. “No way am I letting that happen.”

  “I won’t let it happen either.” Stuart turned back to Crispin. “You’ve seen what I can do. One wrong step, and those chains kill you.”

  Crispin gulped. “I know.”

  Peigi scowled. “If he lets a Fae kill you first, it won’t matter.”

  “I have the feeling Crispin won’t be the favorite of his Fae prince anymore, even if he brought me to him trussed up and gutted. Fae princes don’t tolerate failure. He’ll have installed another Battle Beast in his place by this time.”

  “I knew what I was getting into with him,” Crispin admitted. “It was nice to be top Shifter for a while.” He sighed, crestfallen. “I’m going with you, because I know it’s my best choice. And when we get out of Faerie, you’ll tell Dylan I assisted you.”

  “He’ll be briefed,” Stuart said. As this point, Crispin would promise anything to save his own ass.

  “One problem.” Crispin moved his bound arms so the chains rattled. “It will be hard to get into a Fae castle in these. The Fae can smell iron.”

  Stuart gazed down at him expressionlessly. “We’ll find a way. Not letting you out of those, or you out of my sight. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” Crispin glanced away. “You just signed my death warrant, but okay.”

  “We should be able to get in and out with no one the wiser,” Stuart said. “Even if you clink and stink.”

  Crispin shrugged. “We’ll have to be stealthy, but maybe if it’s just the two of us …”

  “The three of us.” Peigi gave them a level stare from her gorgeous eyes. “I’m not letting my mate run off alone to a Fae castle with a Shifter turncoat for company. Someone has to keep an eye out while you find the karmsyern.”

  Her defiance was beautiful. She expected Stuart to argue, to tell her to stay behind where she’d be safe-ish, to wait for him to return.

  Screw that. Peigi was resourceful, strong, and more powerful than she knew. Stuart would be a complete idiot to not want her fighting at his side.

  “No way am I doing this without you,” Stuart said. “When the danger is greatest, it’s best we split up? Don’t think so. We make a hell of a team.”

  He wanted Peigi safe from harm, yes, but she’d been born to be a fighter. Stuart recognized that in her. Keeping her enclosed, forbidden to do what she did best, would kill her. She’d been slowly dying under Michael’s rule, and the asshole hadn’t realized that.

  Stuart would do anything to let this woman be who she needed to be.

  “Awesome.” Peigi beamed a smile at him as big as Donny ever gave. “Let’s go rescue a hunk of iron.”

  Cian’s battle raged on as Peigi, Stuart, and Crispin slipped away through the woods, carrying the bare necessities of supplies. Peigi’s scent sense told her they moved away from the river as they skirted the area of the skirmish, the woods becoming dryer and less dank.

  Stuart led the way, holding Crispin by a chain, with Peigi bringing up the rear. The mist began to clear as they went, and she felt the path gain elevation, if ever so slightly.

  They were making for a ridge, Crispin explained. Presently the climbing became more obvious, tree roots forming stair steps in the earth as the hill grew steeper.

  The air dried as they climbed, though Peigi couldn’t see much better through the thickness of the trees and underbrush than she had in the mists. The cold also increased, the garments she wore barely staving off the chill.

  After a time, Stuart announced softly that they’d left dokk alfar territory, though how he knew, Peigi couldn’t say. The landscape didn’t change much, and the visibility was nil.

  “These are the borderlands,” Stuart said. “Disputed territory for centuries. A dangerous place to linger.”

  “How does the karmsyern keep the hoch alfar out?” Peigi asked, more to make conversation than anything. “Does it have a range?”

  “It’s made of spelled iron that strengthens the warded barriers—sort of spreads the effect of iron through the bones of the earth and the air itself. Hoch alfar can have only so much contact with iron before they’re weak and sick, or dead. It works on their metabolisms like heavy metal poisoning, but faster.
”

  “A magical iron barrier sounds like a good idea then,” Peigi said, her breath heavy from the climb.

  “The karmsyern was forged a thousand or so years ago,” Stuart said. “A long time after Shifters left Faerie forever. Funny how it was stolen just after Shifters started voluntarily coming back.” He gave Crispin a pointed glance.

  “Don’t look at me,” Crispin said quickly. “I didn’t touch the thing.”

  “It makes me wonder if the Fae plans to enslave Shifters again were part of this—to help them get rid of the karmsyern. To overrun the dokk alfar and kill them off, taking over all Faerie.”

  “I thought Dylan said it was to take over the human world,” Peigi said. “Using Shifters to fight humans and then get rid of the iron.”

  “Which would be one hell of a job. I don’t think the Fae understand how large the human population is and how much iron has taken over that world.” Stuart halted, hands on hips as he caught his breath. “The question is, was stealing the karmsyern part of the overall plan to dominate Faerie, or did a few hoch alfar simply seize the opportunity? Or is this Walther’s bid to rise in power?”

  “Again, don’t look at me.” Crispin took a rest by sitting down abruptly. “The Fae prince gave me a cushy suite and whatever I wanted, but he didn’t let me in on his secret plans, if he had any. Enthusiastic guy, but not gifted with brains.”

  “Then why did you want to work for him?” Peigi asked.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Cushy suite, anything I wanted, people to wait on me. Better than being treated like bottom-of-the-clan crap back home.”

  “I’ve been treated as bottom of the pile most of my life,” Peigi said serenely. “Never occurred to me to jump to the Fae side. I’d have missed out on a lot if I had.” She sent Stuart a warming glance.

  Crispin stood up again, brushing off his leggings. “Yeah, well, we all make our choices.”

  He didn’t sound regretful, or self-flagellating, or even self-pitying. He stated the fact and continued up the hill.

  The fortress was some distance from the battlefield—about thirty miles, Crispin said, if he figured correctly. They walked all the rest of the day, slept in shifts watching over Crispin that night, and continued early the next morning.