Kiril’s next two words broke Christabel’s heart. She’d felt her chest tearing when he said, “She’s mine.”
Then he’d dragged Christabel away with a hand to her arm, like she was a child to be toted around.
Back in their spacious flat he’d turned to her, his tilted eyes narrowed, so pale they’d looked like ice chips. “Do you want to ask me about that encounter?” he’d asked, daring her to comment on the bizarre exchange.
She’d shook her head, able to feel the rage burning through him. Energy had sapped from the room and into him, making her feel faint. Even in his most unreasonable moments, when she could swear he felt nothing for her, he was a beauty to behold. Almost translucent eyes and ice-white hair accented tanned skin. He was perfection, and he was hers.
The only woman meant to belong to him was Christabel—and she’d never intended to leave that choice up to Kiril.
Sometimes it scared her, the way she’d been swept into such deep love so quickly, like a spell she couldn’t defend herself against. Before Kiril, she hadn’t been a romantic.
Before Kiril, the only living beings she cared about nearly as much as herself were two friends she’d known for almost a millennium. She’d never before thought she needed another half, and now that she found the man who fulfilled her heart, a small ginger woman could up and take him away.
Sophia had to die, and in a manner that couldn’t be traced back to Christabel. It was the only way she could keep her mate. She couldn’t bear it if he forsook her, choosing someone else despite nature Herself declaring each of them to be the only ones meant for one another.
Yet, she knew he thought about Sophia, knew his furiously hungry expression was for her. This whole move was for her, the irresistible dog.
This dog would be put down, and Kiril would never know why.
What a tragedy.
“Someone took her.” Enzo’s voice was pleading. “We were taking a break a block away, literally for twenty minutes, and when we came back she was gone. The whole thing is recorded—a man came in, made a couple of calls, and then another guy took Sophia and the first man away. That’s everything we know.”
“How can I access this video?”
Kajetan handed her an iPad. Christabel smiled, her teeth turning into solid steel spikes before the men’s eyes.
Within a minute she ripped out their throats, no hands needed. She wiped the device clean of blood and scrolled through the video, pleased to see Sophia’s ruined body. There was no way Kiril would find her beautiful now. She couldn’t even pass for cute.
She stopped when she saw the first man’s face, zooming in and taking a screenshot. She did the same for the second one, who came and left out of thin air, taking them with him.
She would find these men, and they would lead her to Sophia. With any luck she would already be dead somewhere, visibly killed by another faery. The Fey would have to kill her because Christabel had marked her as a threat.
All the Fey had a marker, and could use it only three times in their immortal lifetimes. This had been Christabel’s last chance.
Using her marker was worth it—there was no one on Earth Christabel wanted dead more than Sophia Anderson, because there was no one she wanted more than Kiril.
She’d take that bitch out even if it killed her.
Chapter 6
HEATH reached the set of stairs he was looking for, which seemingly took them down to the raised basement—the only way a house in the city could be built to have a basement unless the owners wanted it filled with water.
Sophia was tense behind him. He could smell her anxiety over the stench of the decrepit house, sharpening her normally cedar and honeysuckle scent. She had to be thinking the stairs couldn’t possibly hold them up.
She would be right, but Heath expected her to trust him. It was…important that she do so, for a reason he couldn’t explain, even to himself. All he knew was when she finally relaxed into him on the way here, he’d been more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. Luckily, her face had been pressed against his back, and she’d had no way to see how she affected him.
Now he stepped forward, her taste lingering on his lips, and let himself fall through the wood on the sixth stair.
He expected to wait several minutes for Sophia to follow, but not a second later she landed on her feet next to him, swaying to the side until he caught and steadied her. He felt his lips curl; he was pleased with her. If she continued to trust him like this, their trip to le marché noir should go smoothly.
He could tell she wanted to speak, so he shot her a dark look and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes but complied, scoping out the scene before them with the eyes of a soldier. Good. She needed to be aware.
A tattered cloth sign above them read, VOULEZ-VOUS AVOIR UNE PEUR BLEUE? Translation: Do you want to be terrified?
It was the only warning any unwitting visitors would receive before their worst fears just might come true, unfairly marked in a language the majority of the city didn’t know despite its heritage.
It was only because he’d been here so long that he knew the Fey preferred New Orleans under French rule. Considering they didn’t particularly like the French, Heath suspected the ancient creatures simply didn’t appreciate change.
That much was apparent at le marché noir. Here there was no inflation, and rarely any changes at all. He could buy the same wine he’d preferred for over two hundred years from the same merchant, paying the same price as always: all of his nails.
Today, he wasn’t looking for booze. He needed information from someone who wouldn’t stab him in the back, which was like a bleeding man asking for protection from a shark.
Heath walked to the far side of the room and bent over to draw the curling symbol for the Fey in the dust. Depending on the faeries’ moods at the time, and whether they had an excess of humans to play with, they might invite in any human who landed in this dank room.
But only werewolves who knew the symbol could venture inside, the strength of their race having been deemed too much of a risk for it to be general knowledge. Only those who’d earned the trust of the Fey were allowed to view the cherished mark.
The room vanished around them, the mildewed smell replaced with that of fresh water. The illusion had been dropped; now Sophia knew they stood at the bank of a canal, one of many that ran beneath the city, interlinked to form the notorious market. Even the first time he’d dared enter le marché noir, Heath had realized he was surrounded by water, though he couldn’t see it.
His powers were bound, but they were still a part of him. He wanted to reach out and turn droplets of water to ice so badly it hurt, just like it did each time he so much as took a shower. As always, nothing happened.
By now, he should be used to feeling powerless, but instead of being numb to it, the pain of his loss ate away at him like acid until someday there would be nothing left of him.
He curled his hand into a fist. He had something much more dire to think about. A faery was coming for them on a boat, a Haitian man named Zarenyen.
Sophia stood strong next to him, her only reaction to the change of scenery a slight widening of her eyes and a subtle cringe from seeing the water. Fire elementals generally disliked being in the vicinity of water with no access to their own element; although, Heath knew she’d found his prized Zippo in the pocket of the jacket he’d given her.
She was gripping it tightly at this moment
It was a calculated move on his part. He wanted her at her strongest, and for that to happen something in her vicinity had to be on fire. His Zippo wouldn’t let her down—and neither would he.
If the Fey acted predictably, which they chose to about half the time, they would be scrambling to get their hands on Sophia. Now that Heath had her blood in him, the faeries would want them both.
Zarenyen slowly pulled his small rowboat up to them, recognition lighting his eyes. “Heath, man, how are you?” exclaimed,
reaching out to shake Heath’s hand.
Heath protruded his claws and pulled them down the faery’s palm firmly enough to press against skin without drawing blood. The action caused something so small he couldn’t see to fall from the faery’s outstretched hand to the bottom of the boat. Heath only knew it was there from the slight sound it made when it hit the wood.
He didn’t know what the small piece was, but he was certain it could have incapacitated him had he let it.
Zarenyen shrugged good-naturedly. “It was worth a try.” He wiggled one eyebrow, then the other.
Sophia growled low in her throat, causing the man’s smile to widen. “Feisty, are you sweetheart?” He nodded to Heath. “I bet she is in bed, if you know what I mean—”
Heath automatically punched the smaller man out cold, and then slapped his face to wake him. He wasn’t gentle. Zarenyen was a sorry son of a bitch, but he was a good source of information and there was no navigating the canals of the market without him.
He was one of two faeries that knew every nook and cranny of the canals underneath New Orleans. If Heath pissed him off too much, Zarenyen could send them off to get their organs harvested, and Heath would be able to do nothing about it.
“Damn, Heath, next time warn me not to say shit about your girl,” Zarenyen moaned, standing upright in the boat. He looked at Sophia appraisingly; Heath felt a growl of his own rising, but he controlled himself. “Sorry, sugar, it can get boring down here, and I’ve got to amuse myself somehow.”
Sophia nodded shortly, seeming to satisfy the man, and stepped into the boat.
“So, what do you need?” Zarenyen asked, flicking his fingers. Underneath them, the water moved, waves pushing the boat in the direction the faery commanded. Even if Heath still had his powers, this water wouldn’t respond to him; an ancient spell had been used on it, allowing faeries to control it more forcefully than they normally could, and breaking any other creatures’ control over the element.
It would also kill him if he submerged himself in it, pulling him down and drowning him. No one simply sneaked into le marché noir.
“Do you know of a faery, a woman, who recently mated with a werewolf?”
Zarenyen contemplated the question for a moment, pretending to study an alligator skeleton embedded in the salt dome cavern around them. When they passed the dead animal, he said, “So it’s information that you need?”
From past mistakes he didn’t wish to repeat, Heath knew he had to be direct with the man. “I need to know about that one particular faery, the woman who’s mated to a man named Kiril. I also need a weapon; she tried to kill my woman, and I intend to kill her if she tries again.”
Sophia tensed next to him, but she didn’t protest his words, likely under the impression that what he said was carefully worded to get them where they wanted. It was exactly what he’d done.
What he didn’t want her to know was the truth behind his use of the term my woman. He was rapidly starting to think of her as his, a dangerous rabbit hole to leap into, yet the proprietary feeling was only clawing deeper, no chance of it fading away. A seed had been planted those months ago when she’d been kidnapped, and now it was blooming, encompassing a part of Heath that he didn’t want to think on for too long.
He had no need for a mate, especially not Sophia, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t his.
“You wish for us to give you a weapon in order to kill one of our own?” Zarenyen murmured solemnly. “There’s a high price for what you ask.”
Sophia nudged him, gaining his attention. Her eyes were wide, darker than usual because of the dim lighting in the cave. Her lips pursed. She was dying to tell him something.
Heath leaned down and whispered in her ear, using a tone so low the faery couldn’t hear him. “You can whisper to me like this,” he told her. “The Fey aren’t as strong as us, and their senses are weaker.”
“Thank goodness,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice as low as his. “This woman is ruthless. I’m positive she’s killed fellow faeries before.”
Heath said nothing to her, but allowed her a glimpse at the satisfied expression on his face. This was the leverage they needed. Moving a hand to hold the back of Sophia’s neck, he relayed what Sophia had just told him.
“I meet so many people,” Zarenyen said, causing the boat to turn a corner so narrow, its sides scraped the cavern walls, “I’ve learned to smell deceit. It’s not a power, but a gift from experience.”
He pinned Sophia with a hard look, his dark eyes glinting despite the lack of light. In that moment he showed his true self, a soldier tasked with guarding his brethren and the market they were so proud of. He was the man who’d earned so much trust that he was allowed to live with knowledge people would kill to possess, as well as kill to have hidden away, tucked where it would be impossible to find.
“I know whom you speak of,” Zarenyen said, fury in his voice. “She is a force unto herself, and has been for hundreds of years. If she lived here, we would have executed her for her crimes, but she has never stayed in one place for too long. “It is not our place to have her killed, Frazier. But if Éloy agrees with me, we will give you a fighting chance against her.”
Heath nodded. That was the best he could hope for from Zarenyen. Their last few minutes on the boat were spent in silence, with Sophia obviously straining to gauge what was ahead of them. They would only see endless oily black ahead until they reached their destination, when it would appear around them, but Sophia didn’t know that.
She jumped slightly the moment their surroundings changed, turning from a dark cave to a location deep within the Mississippi River. The walls were formed of solid, opaque water, hard to the touch because it was moving so quickly, circling the room. The water above their heads was still, allowing them a glimpse at the fish that swam in the river, an upcoming shadow indicating a barge was about to cross above their heads.
Torches glowing with fire lit up the space, visibly causing Sophia to brighten. She was more in her element here in the light, her spine straightening. Her confidence added steel to her expression, which darkened the moment the boat stopped.
“Who’ve you brought me today?” The faery who must be Éloy closed his laptop and set it next to the gaming console Sebastian had pre-ordered for the pack a week ago. It wouldn’t come out for another month and a half, at Christmas.
Heath tried to find where Éloy’s weapons were hidden, but all he saw was smooth dirt beneath their feet and the surrounding water. On the surface, this wasn’t a place to buy weapons; the only threat in Éloy’s clever man cave was the images on the covers of video games facing out from their glass case beside the widescreen TV.
The other sparse furnishings in the room were a wraparound couch with built-in recliners pulled out and a refrigerator Heath was confident the faery had filled with beer.
The façade made him wary. He kept himself between Sophia and Éloy, no longer judging Zarenyen to be a threat. His eye agreed; it was watching Éloy in cautious confusion, but kept flitting up above their heads as well, warning Heath of danger looming overhead.
Perfect.
“This is Heath Frazier and his woman, who rudely refuses to speak. Didn’t even introduce herself.” Zarenyen winked at Sophia, who offered him an innocent smile. Heath held back a grin—these men had no idea who this woman was, what she was capable of.
Her strength was sexy as hell, he decided.
“Sell them what they need.” It was an order, delivered with a salute and a wave to Sophia. Then Zarenyen disappeared. Somehow Heath didn’t buy that Éloy took orders from anyone, but the other faery’s vote of confidence would go far with the man unless he was a rogue.
Dealing with the Fey was always perilous, but experience had taught Heath that they didn’t mess with those they respected, no matter what type of creature they were. It was just as well that he’d been trading with le marché noir for hundreds of years. They didn’t like newcomers u
nless accompanied by someone the Fey knew and trusted.
They didn’t trust Heath per se, but in the rare instances when they needed were brawn, he’d come with the rest of his pack, guns blazing. Despite the loss of their powers, Heath and his fellow exiles were dangerous; the creatures of New Orleans had wisely never considered them to be easy targets.
It had been the Fey who loaned Sebastian the start-up money for Full Moon about fifteen years ago, a month after his pack helped drive off a group of vampires hell-bent on taking over the market for themselves.
Sebastian had paid off the debt, considering the cases of beer he sent them as interest. Surprisingly, the Fey voiced no complaints.
“Please, sit.” Éloy gestured to the couch. Heath did as he was asked, a blunt gesture of trust. Sophia sat next to him, so close he could feel the fear reverberating in her, something Éloy couldn’t possibly see. On the outside, she appeared determined, her expression not at all meek, despite her size falsely denoting vulnerability.
Éloy took the other end of the L-shaped couch and tossed each of them controllers. No one spoke while they played as a team on a first-person shooter game, beating the opposing team in less than ten minutes. Heath didn’t ask what the purpose of the exercise was, but kept his senses on high alert, given his eye was now focusing solely above them.
“Not many are taken here,” Éloy muttered pensively, tugging at a lock of his long black beard. His hair was equally long, covering his pointed ears. He looked more like a twenty-something hipster on Tulane’s campus than a faery. Everything about this is a lie. Typical for the Fey, Éloy layered illusion over illusion in an attempt to appear harmless.
“We aren’t like most creatures who come to the market.” Heath crossed his arms. He wanted his hand within his direct line of sight in case something changed. “But you know that.”
Éloy nodded. “I’ve heard about you for a long time. You aren’t an enemy to us.”
Heath stopped him there. “I don’t intend to be, but I will kill a faery.” He told Éloy everything they’d said to Zarenyen. “I don’t have a choice,” he finished. “No one can hurt her like that again.”
Hunted Page 7
