There were a lot of things about Ambrose I made myself forget.
Skin colorless, hair a violent flame around his head, he glowed with otherworldly light. His lips were blue as frostbite, and his intelligent eyes teemed with living shadows so deep no earthly light could penetrate them. Mists swirled around his ankles, black tendrils that resembled a wraith’s tattered cloak, reminding me where Ambrose had borrowed his source material.
Chest stinging as he drew power from me, meshing it with his own, I gritted my teeth against the sizzling pressure along my nerve endings.
Behind us, Midas gasped, his pain a knife in my heart. As much as I wanted to comfort him, Ambrose needed me more. Until the portal was closed, we were all still in danger of Natisha following us out.
Bile soured my mouth as it hit me what that would mean, that Remy was…
No, no, no.
Not going there.
Metallic ringing filled the air, and pressure built around us in a physical wall, but the faegate held strong.
“We need more power,” Ambrose roared. “Natisha is feeding it from the archive—”
A hand bedecked in golden rings thrust through the opening and wrapped around Ambrose’s throat.
Oxygen whooshed from my lungs, and black spots began to dance in my vision, but I kept hold of him.
He had devoured all the magic he could stomach, and it made him as real as the rest of us.
The attack hurt him when he had forgotten the bite of physical pain. Worse, it shocked him into stillness as he grappled with reawakened sensations, like panic, that could get us both killed. As my shadow self, he was used to being invulnerable, but he was reacting with the same ruthless survival instincts that had kept him a shade until our paths crossed the night I doomed myself in Savannah.
Ambrose threw back his head and roared, but there was more magic here than even he could consume.
Crimson sparked on my periphery, Midas trading shapes to improve his mobility, and he loped to join us. He leaned his weight against my hip, and I sank the fingers of one hand into his coarse fur to anchor him.
Scalding heat boiled through our connection, his hairs stood on end, and the world flashed white, bright, and blinding.
The audible snap of bones realigning filled my ears, and I cringed as his muscles wrenched and torn flesh mended as the power Ambrose devoured spilled through me and into Midas’s battered form.
An agonized howl ripped from his throat, his body awash in tremors as magic filled him to the brim.
Baring his teeth in manic glee, Ambrose chewed on the gateway until the lights flickered and dulled.
The damage to Midas had been extensive. Healing him had carved a hollow in Ambrose’s belly.
“Almost there.” I dug my fingers into Ambrose’s shoulder. “You got this.”
Galvanized by the encouragement, he snapped his teeth as if chomping magic by the mouthful. The click as his jaws met broke some integral mechanism in the weakened portal. It flickered once and then went dark, leaving behind only the bent trees.
The hand around his throat hung there, the arm severed and bleeding, its owner left on the other side. He gripped it by the wrist and flung it away in distaste.
Stomach dropping into my toes, I gestured toward the grisly souvenir. “Whose is that?”
Please don’t say Natisha. Please don’t say Natisha. Please don’t say Natisha.
Midas inhaled then shifted back onto two legs to confirm. “Natisha’s.”
For Natisha to reach the portal, she had to go through Remy. That meant Remy was…
Ambrose faced us, smiled, wobbled once, then hit his knees.
A corresponding quake rippled through me, head to toe, and I lurched toward him.
“Ambrose?” I dropped beside him and slung my arm around his shoulders. “How can I help?”
“He’s ready to burst.” Midas stood watch over us. “Can’t you feel it?”
Water balloons must feel like this, seconds before they exploded in your face.
“I don’t…” Ambrose swallowed hard. “I’m not…”
“Can you channel the excess?” Midas kept his eyes on the horizon. “Can you create another faegate?”
“I have never had cause to try.” He fell forward onto his palms. “I must purge, or we will all perish.”
“How about the same faegate?” I asked. “Can you redirect it, or will it always open back to the archive?”
“The connection was too strong,” Ambrose groaned, shivering. “It will reconnect if given the chance.”
The pack on my back shifted as I leaned forward, clinking, and an idea struck me. “How about a circle?”
“Perhaps…” Ambrose wet his lips. “The gateway would last only as long as the circle held.”
Ink wasn’t meant to withstand the elements. Wind, rain, and time would erase all trace of our passage.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” I sat back on my heels. “Will a standard circle do?”
“No,” he gasped. “We must turn…their ward design…against them.”
“A ward would establish it as a permanent fixture,” Midas asked, “wouldn’t it?”
“It depends.” I chewed my bottom lip. “On the design, on the substance used to create it, and on the purpose it’s given.” I checked with Ambrose. “I can go old school, use a brush and ink.”
Given the terrain, we didn’t have many options. The modified pen wouldn’t hack it on the dirt and grass.
“I can draw the concentric ward, use maybe five or six rings.” I poked at my theory. “The layers of power will rebound off each other, building retaining walls to hold the magic and stabilize the portal. If we don’t anchor it to an object, the way you would with a standard ward, the ink alone will support the portal until it erodes.”
“You were listening to Linus’s lectures after all,” Ambrose rasped with approval. “I’m impressed.”
“Yes, well, I spent most lessons on magic daydreaming.” I flushed, embarrassed by his praise, which raised all kinds of uncomfortable questions about whether it was his pride that moved me or simply a Linus lookalike’s approval. “Be thankful osmosis kicked in.”
“Can you do it safely?” Midas kicked a clod of dirt with his boot. “Can we use this field?”
“Probably,” I allowed, giving it a second glance, “and sure.”
“I’ll shift and check the perimeter.” Midas filled his lungs. “The Faerie pack has been here.”
“Natisha.” I should have thought of it sooner. “They must have escorted her to the archive.”
“It’s fresh.” A steady rumble moved through his chest. “They haven’t been gone long.”
With Faerie’s time a winding river on uncertain currents, I hated to admit that didn’t mean much to us. We had no means of comparing their departure against Natisha’s arrival in the archive to estimate when they left the area. All we could do was hope they didn’t circle back.
Midas lingered, his eyes darting from high grass to thick foliage. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“Just this.” I stood, stepped around Ambrose, and pressed my lips to his. “Be safe.”
“You too.” He kissed me with a distracted air I forgave on the spot. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“You better be.” I jerked on his shirt to make sure he was paying attention. “Don’t take chances.”
“I won’t.” His lips curved, vision cleared, and he kissed me like he meant it. “Watch her back, Ambrose.”
“I will guard her with my life,” he replied, amusement thick in his voice, a reminder of our lifelong bond.
Embracing the change, Midas shifted, shook out his fur, then let off at a lope, taking my heart with him.
Sixteen
No sooner had Midas gotten out of sight of Hadley and Ambrose than a hard chuff raised his hackles.
Crimson magic flashed in the grass, and a man formed a dozen yards away.
The alpha who had s
old him to the goblin hadn’t aged a day, proof of his pure fae blood.
Blood Midas was all too eager to spill, if given half a chance.
“I thought you were dead.” His tormentor chuckled. “Perhaps Natisha bred true after all.”
Ferro strolled forward, his gold hair tangled around his shoulders, dressed in leather pants and a smile.
“Well?” Humor sparkled in his eyes. “Are you that afraid to face me as a man, halfling?”
Brimming with magic, Midas embraced the change and stood before Ferro in a wash of red power.
“You have grown up well.” He inhaled in short pants, scenting him. “You’re stronger than you look.”
Thanks to the power loaned to him from Ambrose, that was true.
“What are you doing here?” Midas kept his tone neutral. “These aren’t your lands.”
“All lands are my lands if I say so,” Ferro said merrily, “but I am here to await orders from Natisha.”
“Here I thought you were the alpha.” Midas shook his head. “Yet it is you who obeys her commands.”
“You should have stayed dead.” Ferro’s cheek twitched. “Though now I will have the pleasure of selling you to the goblin twice. His fights have been lackluster without you. He will pay handsomely for your return.” He glanced past Midas’s shoulder. “Where is your sister? She was a lovely thing when I saw her last. I imagine she has only ripened with age. Perhaps I will put a pup in her. You are all mutts. What is one more?”
“She’s an alpha now,” Midas informed him, “and she would rip out your throat as soon as look at you.”
“How you whet my appetite.” Ferro moistened his lips. “I have a mate, but I could always use another.” He gazed out over the field. “You smell of a woman, but she is not your kin. Have you brought your mate with you? Perhaps we could share her. If she can handle a real gwyllgi in her bed.”
A veil of red filled Midas’s vision, but he reined in the urge to lunge for Ferro’s throat. “No.”
“I don’t require your permission. You hold no power here.” He spread his hands. “I will see to you soon enough, but first I must fulfil my obligation to Natisha. She has promised me a city, and I must ready my pack for the hunt.” He grinned. “Mortal flesh is tender, sweet. It has been too long since we last tasted it.”
The city was already promised, to the coven, but Midas kept that tidbit to himself.
Natisha must plan on pitting them against each other and allowing the victor to claim what remained, if anything. He doubted she cared either way. She craved blood, not soil.
“I can’t let you pass.” Midas planted his feet. “You’ll have to go through me.”
“With pleasure.” Ferro called upon his magic. “Though you still won’t trick me into killing you.”
Midas had learned the hard way that Ferro was as good as his word on that score. No matter how Midas had struggled, how he had taunted him, Ferro had remained jovial in his efforts to break him. Ferro had mastered the art of torture, and he was indifferent enough not to allow a whelp of a boy to cost him the pleasure of his fun. Any debt incurred to his pride was taken from Midas’s hide.
Unsure how well it would work, Midas focused on his bond with Hadley and drew power into himself. He shifted in the blink of an eye, a fraction quicker than Ferro, which earned him a growl of approval from the alpha.
A short yip preceded several more figures who formed a loose circle around them.
The rest of the pack had come to watch their alpha dominate the boy he had already destroyed once.
With the others in place, Ferro instigated the spectacle, darting toward Midas with speed only another fae could match. The past flashed before Midas’s eyes, and it was all he could do to get out of the way.
Teeth ripped into his ruff, hauling him through the dirt. The alpha spat him at the feet of the goblin, who rubbed his hands together with glee. The goblin kicked him in the ribs, marking how he took the hit, then beamed with pleasure.
“He’ll do.” The goblin tossed a bag of coins to Ferro. “He’ll do indeed.”
Ferro barked laughter the others echoed in a cackle like a clan of hyenas.
Their language wasn’t the same as the one spoken by gwyllgi in Atlanta. His pack used a mishmash of warg and gwyllgi words, postures, and behaviors to convey their intent. But he had spent centuries with the goblin, and he had learned the gwyllgi tongue from taunts and jeers screamed down into the arena. He comprehended the language of the goblins, the orcs, and the trolls too.
So, when the pack yelped and barked at Midas, he heard the snipes for what they meant.
And he didn’t care.
Not this time.
Not with his mate vulnerable while lost in concentration as she fought to get them home.
The petty threats and insults that cowed him as a child no longer bothered him. He had outgrown them. They, truly immortal beings, had not changed since he saw them last. They were bullies, cowards who followed a cruel alpha with relish out of boredom.
Any pack who would harm a child wasn’t worth a second thought to Midas, and the beast within him agreed with a flex of its claws.
Tuning out the pack, Midas focused on Ferro, who wasted time playing to the crowd. The alpha was older, stronger, and faster, but he wasn’t used to fighting for his life. His pack was too content, had grown too used to his sloppy leadership that depended not on his teeth and claws but his cunning.
Wheeling away from the cheering bays and stomped paws, Ferro charged Midas again. He must have expected Midas to flee, as he had when he was a boy. As he had moments ago when reminded of what he stood to lose if he failed this time. But Midas feinted left, allowing Ferro a growl of amusement, before he surged right, slamming his shoulder into the alpha’s hip and knocking him sideways.
A stunned hush fell before the pack erupted into a chorus of howls calling for Midas’s death.
Ferro required no encouragement to leap onto Midas’s back and dig in with his claws. His breath hit the back of Midas’s neck, but Midas rolled to dislodge Ferro before his teeth found purchase. They regained their feet in unison, both of them panting, each of them studying the other for weaknesses.
As Ferro bunched his muscles for a leap, a reddish-white blur smacked him in the face, and he skidded to a stunned halt with a shocked cry.
Adrenaline blurred Midas’s surroundings, drummed in his ears, and saliva dripped down his chin. The fight raged within him, but his opponent had frozen on the field with a crimson smear across his cheek.
It cost him several precious seconds to understand what had hit Ferro.
Natisha’s severed arm.
Searching the field for the culprit, he already knew who was behind the act.
“Fight somebody your own size,” Hadley called from far too close for Midas’s comfort. “Or do you only pick on little boys?” Her gaze touched Midas’s. “Not that I’m implying you’re little or a boy, but you were—” She exhaled. “You know what I mean.”
Crimson magic churned, revealing Ferro’s two-legged form as he pointed a damning finger. “You.”
“You’re looking a bit flush.” She leaned forward. “Do you feel okay?”
“Where is Natisha?” Ferro’s snarl was echoed by his surrounding pack. “What have you done?”
Ferro paced toward her, his fists tightening until his knuckles popped white against sun-kissed skin. Scars from the beatings he had delivered, to Midas and others too weak to defend against him, stood out in stark relief.
“Stand down,” Midas ordered him. “I will not let you harm her.”
A derisive snort escaped the alpha, who didn’t bother turning. “You cannot stop me.”
Midas found he was eager to prove his old tormenter wrong.
Leaping onto Ferro’s back, Midas latched his teeth into the base of his neck. Blood poured into his mouth, metallic and sweet, brimming with old power.
With a curse, Ferro morphed his fingertips into razor-sharp claws he sank
into Midas’s throat.
“Midas,” Hadley screamed. “No.”
“Your mate will be mine,” Ferro vowed to him. “She will pay for what you have done to my mother.”
The wind left Midas’s lungs as Ferro’s words sank in. Natisha was his mother. That explained…a lot. Healthy packs deferred to their healers, in some instances, above their alphas. They were granted the next best thing to immunity from prosecution when their opinions ran counter to the alpha’s decisions.
With her son a puppet alpha, his strings hers to pull, Natisha controlled the pack with full impunity.
Jaw gone slack with surprise, Midas lost his grip, and Ferro flung him to the ground.
The hypocrisy of Natisha holding a grudge against Archimedes for founding a pack using their daughters as breeding stock while she birthed a son to act as figurehead of a pack beneath her rule astounded him.
And it confused him.
Had Ferro been a steppingstone on her path to this moment? A loyal protector to watch her back in the present while she turned her eyes toward the future? Or was a son unable to activate her curse?
How many children had she birthed over centuries to refine the stock she used for her vengeance? What had become of the ones who failed her? Had the goblin done more business with Ferro? Did Natisha care?
“What about your sisters?” Hadley yelled, far too close. “Don’t you care about them?”
“Sisters? They are dead and gone. The mutts Natisha escorted into the archive are but a means to an end. They are not the first, and they will not be the last, but they are not my kin.”
“Oh snap.” Hadley’s eyes widened. “She was pregnant with you when her man ditched her?”
“Yes,” he growled, advancing on Hadley. “I am all she has left in this world or any other.”
Which explained why he was exempt from her wrath. She might even think, in some far corner of her mind, she was doing this for him too. For the son who never knew his father, only what his mother told him.
No wonder she left him in Faerie rather than bring him along to witness her glory.
The curse would kill him too.
A few laughed at Hadley, the noise rough in their canine throats, as they watched the drama unfold with the relish of starving men sitting down to a banquet.
Moment of Truth Page 17
