That was all they were to the triple-faceted god that ruled over all. Objects to use and manipulate in some celestial game of good versus evil where none of the players, besides the Triad, knew the rules. The only advice given to them was the words whispered into their heads as the mark of their damnation was seared into their skin.
“To negate the curse, you must heal yourself. Make your sacrifice. Save the world.”
And if they failed their challenge? They’d be tossed back into the prison they’d escaped. There, they’d suffer eternally with the knowledge that they’d not only damned themselves but the humans they were created to protect. Each Hunter who failed to meet their challenge would cause the fragile, damaged barrier separating the Underworld and the mortal realm to splinter, allowing all the things that made Hell nasty to spill into the humans’ happy little homes.
“I have looked at their marks.” Rhys curled his fingers, hiding his. “None of our siblings show any signs of being the next to be tested. That leaves you, and the glove you’re wearing covers the first half inch of your wrist. Take it off.”
She inspected her nails instead of complying. There was no reason not to expose her palm. She’d told Rhys the truth. The line hadn’t lengthened in the weeks since she’d been free. Annoying her brothers was one of her favorite hobbies, though. That and tormenting human scum, of course. Making the dredges of society face their sins while still on earth gave her a special thrill.
The bloodred color on her nails would have to go before she went prowling the streets tonight. Maybe pale pink to match the schoolgirl outfit she’d picked out. Or something glittery. She could put her hair in pigtails too or take a page out of Allie’s book and wear a headband.
“Stop ignoring me and answer my questions.”
She sighed. “Have you considered that it’s possible the Triad was satisfied with Tegan’s outcome and decided to give us a reprieve?”
“Or it has been waiting until its next set of players are ready to face their challenge.”
She turned her back on Rhys. Better she did that than continue with a conversation that would end with her attacking him. Annoying him was one thing. Ripping his throat out for pissing her off was another. Blood did not come out of polyester well, and she’d just bought the outfit she had on. If he thought to imply she was next, then bleeding him was exactly what would happen.
Everyone assumed the challenge involved overcoming some internal or external battle in order to claim their mate. Both Calan and Tegan were good indicators there was truth in the assumption. Rowan couldn’t mate anyone, not unless she wanted to tie herself to Lucas. He had the means to reverse her failed bond.
Not. Happening.
That meant she’d fail, and that wasn’t a pleasant thought. A millennium of mourning Kai was a drop in the bucket to an eternity of grieving his death.
Out of habit, she scanned her surroundings for Trevor. On the Huntsmen’s property, she didn’t worry that he’d get hurt, but the reassurance of seeing him alive and safe calmed her. Unfortunately, both he and Ian were gone. Maybe they went back inside. She’d have to check, just to make sure.
“Looking for Trevor?”
Caught. Then again, she wasn’t exactly being subtle. What was the point? Her motives concerning Trevor were founded on guilt. Nothing more. There was no reason to hide her concern for the human.
“Yes. Yesterday proved he has no regard for his safety. I want to make sure he doesn’t get it in his head that he can go hunting sluaghs just because some whack job human doctor has decided he’s recovered from his injuries.”
“Thank you for proving my point about the Triad waiting for its players to heal.” Rhys stepped in front of her. “Now take off your glove, or I will.”
“You can try.”
“And I’ll win. I’m stronger than you.”
“In our human forms you are. If I embrace my dark side—”
“Your physical body will gain mass, splitting those expensive gloves you have on.” Rhys smirked, a satisfied look she wanted to wipe off his face with her claws. “Your Huntsman’s hands aren’t quite as slender and delicate as your human ones.”
Her elder brother had always been stubborn. And often right, as much as it irritated her. She rolled her eyes and fisted her hands to stop herself from lashing out. Maybe she needed to wear rags around the estate. It wouldn’t matter if those got bloody. Then again, Trevor wouldn’t be hyperaware of her or subtly watch her when he thought no one was looking. Nope, her outfits stayed. Teasing Trevor had become another favorite pastime.
“Well, sister?”
“You’re annoying. You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told, but I’m merely fulfilling my role. As second in the Hunt, I act as the strategist. To succeed, I need to know the strengths and weaknesses of our Teulu.”
“Fine. I’m only giving in because I have better things to do than stand here and argue with you.” She unsnapped the clasp on the back of her glove.
“Of course. You need to check on Trevor.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m only stating the facts. Sundown is an hour away, and once we leave, there will be nobody to watch him. Calan has ordered all hounds onto the streets to hunt.”
“Ian will be here. Last I heard, Tegan is still babysitting our father.”
“And do you think Ian will actually stop Trevor? Those two did hunt the redcaps and sluaghs for years without us.”
The reminder of the danger Trevor had been exposed to didn’t help her peace of mind. She glared at Rhys. “I hate you sometimes.”
A small smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t respond. She turned her attention to peeling the tight glove off, then held her hand out, palm up.
Rhys grasped her forearm and studied the black mark, tilting her arm to inspect it from all angles. Finally, he released her. “I suppose I was wrong.”
Why did learning that send a twinge of sadness through her? She should be glad she wasn’t the next Hunter in the spotlight.
She patted Rhys’s back. “Happens to all of us at one point, brother. Don’t let it get you down.”
There were plenty of other things that accomplished a plunge into depression much easier. With the anniversary of Kai’s death rapidly approaching, she knew that better than anyone.
Chapter Four
The red ribbons tying off the pigtails were a hit. Or maybe it was the short plaid skirt and partially buttoned white top that exposed the edges of her lacy black bra. Whatever it was about her outfit, Rowan was glad she’d worn it. At just after midnight, she’d given a lesson in respecting women to two horny college kids and bestowed upon a murderer a vision of the hell awaiting him. The piece-of-shit male who’d tried to steal her purse at knifepoint was currently confessing his sins to the local police.
Yes, a good night indeed. She grinned at the small accomplishments. In the grand scheme of things, the little acts of intervention that filled the time when she wasn’t actively hunting didn’t change the course of mankind. If they prevented one person’s pain, however, they were worth it. In her opinion, at least.
She parked her sports car—some sleek black model that belonged to Trevor—in the secure lot. It would’ve been easier to grab a spot on the street, but she didn’t want the car to get stolen. Borrowing it from Trevor without asking was one thing. Treating it with disregard was another. A Teulu shared its possessions. That was how it had always been. They were one unit, all important but with different roles.
Trevor might not be a Huntsman yet, but he was living under the same roof as her Teulu. In her book, that gave her certain rights. Taking his car for the night was one of them. If it had the added benefit of soothing her wild nature, then all the better. The interior smelled of leather and man. It seemed a shame to have to get out, but her work for the night wasn’t done.
Over the past three weeks, seven women—all black-haired, tall Caucasians—had been attacked. The last victim had been found barely ali
ve. Rowan wanted to catch the guy before he succeeded in killing someone. She also wanted to confirm her suspicion that the human criminal wasn’t a man at all but a redcap, Craig specifically.
While all the victims had described different attackers, one feature remained consistent—a scar stretching from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Trevor had given a similar wound to Craig when he’d fought the redcap seven weeks ago. The dagger Trevor had used was the one Harley had made for him with her Seelie blood. Glamour wouldn’t have been able to cover up Craig’s scar since it had been made with an object already infused with fairy magic.
Luckily for them, Trevor had aimed for Craig’s eyes. The location of the scar made spotting the redcap easier. A surge of pride settled over her at the thought. For a human, Trevor was not only strong but smart. Eliminating Craig’s vision would’ve toppled the redcap. Had Trevor succeeded, he likely would’ve killed Craig, sending the redcap directly to the lowest level of the Underworld, to where the rest of the Unseelie Court were condemned.
Once Calan decided Trevor was ready to join their Teulu, he’d make an excellent Huntsman. If joining the Hunt had the added benefit of granting Trevor immortality, all the better. Then she would no longer have to worry about him.
With a smile on her face, she slipped from the car. The lock clicked, lights flashing. She trailed her fingertips over the hood, then made her way to the street.
Human males watched her, some openly perusing her, others stealing coveted glances. Their attention meant little. As beautiful as her human mother had been, Rowan had always been sought out by men. Even her long-dead mate had courted her.
She couldn’t say for certain what it was about Kai that had drawn her to him over the others. He’d been sexy and rugged, but so had many of the humans who’d showered her with attention. Maybe it had been the unique combination of traits. Funny, attentive, respectful, and kind—Kai had been the perfect man. He’d often told her it was his upbringing that had made him so.
His parents had been strict. They had upheld the teachings of the elders of their village who’d valued all its members, including their women. That had made him honorable in her eyes, but what had convinced her to mate him was the acceptance she’d felt in his presence. He never once feared her wildness or her rage. He’d harnessed it, taming her when she’d been at her darkest and redirecting her anger to where she could do good.
Quite simply, he’d made her feel worthy.
Rowan rubbed the single circle on her left palm and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Over a thousand years had passed since she’d seen his smile. Held him.
Loved him.
She stopped walking and coughed into her arm. A couple of deep inhales and exhales eased the tightness in her chest. Her shoulders drooped for a moment, but she rolled them and continued on.
The bar up ahead looked inviting, if the size of the crowd waiting to get in was any indicator. With her outfit and the allure that always drew men, she was sure to catch the wrong guy’s attentions, exactly what she wanted.
“Missing someone?”
The question, spoken in a low, feminine voice, drew Rowan’s gaze to the shadows. A human female in her late thirties, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with the bar’s logo on it, leaned against the wall. Her black hair was gathered in a high ponytail, and red lipstick stained a ring around the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers. She was pretty but had the worn-down look of a person who’d seen too much and lived too hard. If Rowan’s body could’ve aged as a human’s did, she likely would’ve looked the same way.
“Aren’t we all?”
The woman shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better to leave memories alone. The present doesn’t always live up to past happiness.”
There was truth in that statement. Rowan wouldn’t deny that. “Speaking from experience?”
A tired, bitter smirk spread over the female’s face. “Too many. I wish I could scrub every lifetime from my mind. Unfortunately, I gave up that privilege several millennia ago with the vow I took.”
Rowan froze and studied the female. The woman appeared human. She even felt human. Her words, however, suggested more. There was only one possibility.
Rowan took several steps into the alley. “Have we met?”
“No, but my goddess cried for you.”
The human’s words confirmed Rowan’s suspicions. With a wiggle of her fingers, she called the power of the Hunt to her, not for the purpose of summoning her horse or hounds but to erect a veil around the section of the street where she stood.
The shadows around her stretched and lengthened, mixing with the dark haze bleeding from the Underworld. The murky cloud was the same that obscured the Wild Hunt from the mortals while the Huntsman rode, blurring the humans’ vision and distorting their senses, both mortal and man-made.
The noises from the city and the voices from the people around her faded. With their privacy assured, she approached the human, who hadn’t even reacted to the show of supernatural power.
“Which maiden are you?” Minerva had chosen seventeen sisters to be her handmaidens many millennia ago. They lived and died as humans, acting as extensions of the goddess of love’s hands on the mortal realm, much the same way the Huntsmen did for Arawn.
“I’m Alana, lucky number seven.” The maiden swept her hand down her body. “My daddy in this lifetime turned me into a whore at eleven. Got knocked up by some loser. After I had the kid and dropped her off on some church’s doorstep, I ran. I did shit I regret. Spent time in rehab, and now I’m here, waiting to finish my last task so I can die and return to my goddess.”
No doubt Minerva had cried over her handmaiden’s pain too. Minerva couldn’t touch the mortal world any more than Arawn could. The gods and goddesses watched over it, fulfilling whatever task had been handed to them by the Triad. They couldn’t intervene in the fate of the humans without sacrifice. Minerva had chosen to do so when she’d placed her handmaidens in the world, making some deal with the Triad, just as Arawn had when he’d created his Teulu.
Rowan didn’t know much about the goddess’s handmaidens other than that they lived and died as humans, completing whatever goals Minerva gave them, even if it took multiple lifetimes to do so. When they succeeded, they returned to Minerva for further instructions. Except Minerva no longer acted as the goddess of love. Her deal to save her son, Ian, had demanded she give up the role. What did that mean for her maidens?
“Minerva is no longer the goddess of love. You won’t be returning to her.”
Surprise flashed across Alana’s face, followed by amusement. “The Triad spoke the truth.”
“About?”
Alana took a drag of her cigarette. “Minerva’s punishment. It promised she would lose everything for her sin.”
“What sin?”
Alana rolled the cigarette between her fingers and worked her jaw back and forth. “She’s the most powerful goddess. In fact, she ranks right below the Triad.” Alana held up her hand. “Or at least she did. I guess without her title, she’s nothing.”
“Her role? As the goddess of love?” Rowan couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. How exactly did the soft emotion warrant such power?
A huge grin took over Alana’s face, exposing a few missing teeth. “Surprised you, Hunter, didn’t I? Well, let me assure you, it’s true. Love is powerful, and in its truest form knows no bounds. Amazing feats can be accomplished because of it. Nations can topple. Wars can be started or ended in its name.”
Alana stepped forward, excitement glinting in her eyes. “Life, you see, can’t exist without it. Attempts to squelch it are temporary. It flourishes, no matter what happens or how horrendous the attempts to destroy it. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not easily. But it does. And it always returns stronger than ever.”
It was obvious that Alana’s hardships had not wiped out her passion for her role as a maiden of love. Then again, the hell the Huntsmen had endured for a millennium hadn’t destroyed their
spirit either.
“I agree the emotion is important, even necessary, but to make such a claim is foolish. Wars are won with strategy and strength. It’s about having the right weapon to use at the right time.”
“Not everything is about strength.” Alana tugged on the ribbon in Rowan’s hair, unraveling the bow, then flicked the end so the shiny material flopped against Rowan’s shoulder. “Nor is everything about beauty. That is the argument that started this whole fucking mess we’re in.”
Rowan resisted adjusting the tie and focused on the maiden’s face from inches away. Anger burned in the female’s dark blue eyes, the tragic and all-consuming kind that left its mark on a person’s soul. Minerva often wore the same look.
“Are you talking about Dagda?” The Seelie King had been corrupted by Chaos long before Rowan had been born. After the raw power altered his mind and body, he turned Unseelie and took the name Dar.
“He’s a player in the game the Triad put into motion, the same as you, nothing more.”
“Tell me about this game. Everything you know.”
Alana stepped back. She turned her head slightly to the side and took another drag of her cigarette. “I know little more than you, I’m sure.”
Rowan yanked off her glove and shoved her right hand at the maiden. “I know that if I fail to make the choice required of me, I lose. I will return to the hell I escaped, and the barrier between the Underworld and the mortal one will thin. If enough of my siblings fail, the horrors of my father’s realm will take over yours. Do you want that, maiden?”
“No.” Alana lifted her foot and rubbed the lit end of the cigarette against her shoe, then dropped the stub. With a gentle touch, she cradled Rowan’s hand and leaned close to examine the mark. Finally, she sighed. “I honestly know very little, Hunter. I only know what spurred the game, but that is because it was my goddess’s sin that did so.”
Rowan curled her fingers. “What did she do?”
“I can’t answer that question. You’ll have to ask my goddess.”
Reborn Page 3
