“Wait.” Solange opened her pack. “I have something that belonged to Montmartre. It was left at the property line in the woods. We found it on the way here.” She pulled out a slender, delicate silver crown, dripping with diamonds and rubies. She made a face. “He doesn’t go for the subtle metaphor, does he?”
“He gave you a tiara?” I grimaced. “Tacky.”
“I know, right?”
“It’s perfect,” Isabeau said, plucking it out of her hands. “Gwynn,” she called over one of the hounds. He was huge, taller than Charlemagne with a distinctly regal bearing. He padded over to her and she held out the crown. “Scent,” Isabeau demanded. Obediently, he sniffed the ornate filigrees, the egg-sized rubies and seed pearls. “Good boy. Now find Montmartre!”
He woofed once and fit his nose to the ground, smelling through the undergrowth. Isabeau made sure the other dogs received the same instructions, giving them a good thorough scent of the crown. “Find Montmartre!” she repeated.
“Your dogs have a ‘find Montmartre’ command?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered with a dark smile. “You forget how much we dislike him.”
We trailed after the dogs and it wasn’t long before Gwynn lifted a paw and then resumed his sniffing, more fiercely this time.
“He’s got the scent,” Isabeau murmured.
“Good. Let’s go kick some ass,” Quinn said, withdrawing a stake from the leather strap across his chest.
“Hey, give me one of those.” I took one from Connor as well and handed it to Isabeau. She’d tossed the broken lilac branch into the bushes earlier.
“Wait,” Isabeau said repressively as we jogged after the dogs. “We need a plan.”
“We find them, kill the bastards, rescue our parents,” Quinn explained.
“You can’t just run in there and hope Montmartre trips on his own stake,” Isabeau said. “He’s really good at this sort of thing. He’s been doing it for centuries and we … haven’t. And there’s only six of us, and most of us are newborn. Once the sun comes up, he can keep fighting. We can’t.”
“We only need to distract him,” Solange insisted. “Give Mom and Dad and the others a chance to fight back.”
“That’s something,” Isabeau agreed. “But it’s not enough. We’ve got the dogs,” she said as we picked up speed. “I’ll call the Hounds with directions once we know where they are and they might be able to get to us in time.”
“We can’t wait,” Quinn argued.
“I know that. We can’t just barge in either,” she insisted. “But maybe we can use one of their own tricks against them. How’s your balance?”
We looked at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Our balance? We’re not joining the circus here.”
“Just listen. We send the dogs in and then we follow, but from up high. If we can move from tree to tree, we’ll have an advantage and the element of surprise.”
“I haven’t swung from a trapeze lately,” Quinn said dryly, but he was grinning. “But I’ll damn well learn fast. You’re sneaky and vicious, Isabeau,” he added. “I think I like you.”
“I think they’re heading to the clearing off the fens.” Connor frowned down at the GPS on his phone. “I’m sending the coordinates to everyone we know right now.”
“Send them to Magda too.” Isabeau rattled off her number. Two soft short whistles had the dogs moving more silently, ears perked.
“Nearly there,” Connor said.
“Let’s climb,” she suggested. Quinn and Nicholas went wide, circling to the other side of the clearing. I could smell the Host and their victims now, the forest drenched in pheromones and bloodlust. Fangs extended all around. Isabeau’s hadn’t retracted since we’d been ambushed. She shimmied up an elm tree, startling a squirrel into a hole in the trunk. She moved lightly along a high branch, dropping down onto a nearby oak branch and hopping up to another elm.
We used a curtain of leaves to hide as we assessed the situation down below. An outer circle of Host guards in their brown leather patrolled with crossbows. We had managed to avoid their notice so far. There were more just inside the clearing and a clump of them in the center where Montmartre stood, an arrow pointed at Mom’s chest. Dad was snarling, on his knees, a sword tip grazing his jugular. Blood dripped from a gash on his temple. Sebastian and Marcus stood very still. Montmartre was smiling pleasantly. Greyhaven waited behind him impatiently. I wished I had a crossbow of my own.
But that would have to wait.
“Merde,” Isabeau snapped. “You’re not the only Drake with a martyr complex.”
Solange strolled into the meadow, muffled curses shivering in the treetops as Nicholas, Quinn, and Connor struggled not to give themselves away. Only Isabeau’s hand on my arm stopped me from launching out of the tree.
“Montmartre,” Solange called out, swinging the crown from her fingertips, the faint moonlight glimmering on the diamonds. “Let’s make a trade.”
CHAPTER 24
Isabeau
Montmartre looked up, smile widening. “Solange, darling. So glad to see you’ve recovered.”
Helena closed her eyes briefly. “Solange, no.”
“Stay the hell away from my daughter,” Liam added, seething. Montmartre flicked his hand dismissively. Solange took another step forward, out of the protection of the sheltering trees.
“Little idiot.” Logan seethed. “The last time she gave herself up for us, she nearly got killed.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses,” Montmartre told her pleasantly, his long hair hanging down his back.
“If you let my family go unharmed,” she said, fisting her hands to hide the trembling of her fingers, “I’ll stay with you.”
“The hell you will,” Logan yelled, finally swinging into the clearing. His brothers followed suit, like deranged monkeys. I barely had time to whistle the dogs into an attack.
Every single one of the Drake brothers was insane.
We had no idea if the Hounds were close enough to help us; we had barely enough weapons between us and a traitor below.
What was a lady to do?
I leaped into the fray, of course.
I staked a guard as I landed and she plumed into dust. I caught her sword before it fell in the grass with her empty clothes. I drove the bottle shard smeared with Montmartre’s blood into the ground. The Hel-Blar would follow its scent to us. They would make things worse, no doubt about that, but they’d attack Montmartre and the Host at least as much as they’d attack us.
The Host didn’t hesitate, didn’t even wait for orders. Helena didn’t hesitate either. The very second Montmartre glanced at her daughter, she kicked the crossbow out of his hand. She couldn’t do much more than that; there were too many of them. Liam roared to his feet, Sebastian and Marcus spun to fight their captors. The dogs growled and bit their way through the Host. Nicholas and Connor were fighting back-to-back and Quinn was flipping his way to Solange’s side. Greyhaven was in the middle of it all with wildflowers incongruously around his knees. I saw him open his cell phone and bark a terse command into it. There were too many battle sounds to hear him properly but I could read his lips. It’s time.
He was calling his men for the coup.
And then suddenly that was the least of our worries.
The smell of mushrooms hit us first, and one of the dogs let out a howl-growl that warned of the Hel-Blar.
And then they were everywhere, like blue beetles eating through everything in their path.
Calling them had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Well, not precisely a good idea, so much as the only one we had.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly.
I fought my way toward Logan, using sword and stake. Charlemagne stayed close, savaging the knee of a Host who got too close. He stayed down, clutching his leg. I jumped over him, staked another Host, and got stabbed in the left arm for my troubles.
“Logan,” I called.
>
His eyes narrowed on my wound. “You’re hurt, damn it.”
I shrugged, causing more blood to trickle down my forearm. He ducked a stake, grabbed me, and knocked me down as an arrow grazed over our heads.
“I need to dreamwalk,” I told him.
“What, now?”
“We can’t win, not like this.”
“Damn,” he said, but I knew he agreed with me. “There.” He pointed to a thick nest of ferns. I rolled into them, lying still until the fronds draped over me. I wasn’t completely hidden but it was the best we could reasonably expect. Charlemagne stood over my head. Logan stood at my feet.
“Hurry up,” he grunted, staking a Hel-Blar that snapped his jaws at us.
I closed my eyes, which was an act of will in itself; lying still and vulnerable like this while a battle raged around me was the hardest thing I’d done, nearly as difficult as abandoning my vengeance.
I took three deep breaths, counted them slowly, focused intently on the sensation of air my lungs didn’t need; it was the ritual of it that mattered. I chanted the ancient words, then sat up, leaving my body behind lying scarred and eerily still in the ferns.
Blood soaked silver over the grass, ashes gathered on wildflower petals and the exposed roots of knobbly oak trees. The Drakes had only brought three guards with them when they’d left the caves for home and two of them had already been turned to dust. The third was howling, her pale skin and hair practically glowing.
Montmartre stalked toward Solange. Connor tried to block him and was tossed into Nicholas. They both landed hard, nearly knocking Marcus down in the process. Solange, wild-eyed, threw her last stake. It went wide and only clipped Montmartre’s collar. She flung the crown at his head, it was all she had left.
“For the last time, I don’t want the damn crown,” she yelled.
“You can stop all this fighting,” he said. “If you come with me now.”
“Don’t you dare, Solange Rose,” Helena bellowed. “He can’t control the Hel-Blar and he sure as hell doesn’t keep his word.”
“And haven’t we been through this before?” Quinn grunted, punching his fist into a Host eyeball. “You couldn’t have her last week and you can’t have her now.”
We were running out of time.
I floated over the meadow and forced the energy of my glowing spirit out into the air, visualized it turning to mist and clinging to the Host and the Hel-Blar, choking Greyhaven with a glitter of sunlight. I visualized it so hard even my astral body dripped sweat. I was using my own energy, pushing and pushing until I was sick with exhaustion and fog snaked into the clearing. I sent it toward our enemies, gritting my astral teeth at the pain lancing through both my bodies. I’d never been able to sustain the mist for long periods of time before—it was too advanced, too draining. No help for it.
“What the hell is this?” Greyhaven batted at the mist as it clung to him. It wasn’t thick enough yet, he could still see the others. For this to work properly, soon we would see the Host but they wouldn’t see us.
At least Montmartre’s advance on Solange had been delayed, not just by the strange mist, but also by the Hel-Blar, maddened by his scent. Logan was tiring but he refused to give in. I knew he’d protect me until he was dust. I had no intention of letting that happen. I had to get back into my body, and soon.
But first I needed to create just a little more mist. The light cord linking my spirit to myself dimmed and I knew the longer I stayed incorporeal and using this much magical energy, the more I risked being stranded like this forever. I added just a little more mist and was talking myself into making a little more when I noticed the glitter of fireflies between the branches and all around us.
Not fireflies.
Hounds.
To my spirit-sight they came through the trees like sparks of light, like firecrackers exploding.
But it was too early to celebrate.
Because from the other direction, I could see the red-tinged sparks that were Greyhaven’s men’s auras, also closing in. I couldn’t separate magical vision from ordinary vision in this state. Auras shifted and glowed and sparked, like a watercolor wash over a charcoal sketch.
“Incoming!” Liam shouted grimly. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“Greyhaven’s trying a hostile takeover,” Logan shouted.
“What, now?”
The Host still loyal to Montmartre were stunned into pausing, seeing some of their brothers turn to help the newcomers against them. The unexpected coup rattled them.
It was just enough of an advantage for our side. We might not all die horribly after all.
I saw the exact moment when Greyhaven noticed Logan, when he saw my arm hanging limp out of the ferns.
He was faster than I was.
He flung a stake at Logan and caught him just next to his heart. Logan stumbled, pain twisting his pretty face. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his shirt. He’d be mad about the damage to his clothes later.
If he survived the night.
He’d damn well better survive, since he’d forced me to.
I flung myself at my body but I was so tired, it was like moving through honey. I didn’t realize I was screaming until Magda looked up.
Greyhaven had reached Logan, who was fumbling with wet fingers for a stake. The one in his chest was still there, stuck in bone and muscle. Charlemagne growled, lips quivering. Greyhaven bared his own fangs and reached out, quick as a wasp, to shove at the stake already piercing Logan. He drove it deeper. Logan screamed. Greyhaven backhanded him hard enough to knock him off his feet. Logan shook his head, groaning, and tried to crawl between Greyhaven and my defenseless body.
And I could only hover uselessly, too slow to stop Greyhaven from killing me again.
And Logan.
That thought alone was enough to galvanize me into action.
But it was too late. Greyhaven’s sword flashed as he kicked the ferns aside, exposing me completely. Charlemagne sprung but Greyhaven was a blur of tailored suit and sword.
If he hurt my dog I’d find a way to kill him twice.
Magda was faster than all of us.
Her sword blocked Greyhaven’s just as it cut through a lacy frond, skimming the chain mail over my heart.
“She’s my kill,” Greyhaven spat.
“Go to hell.”
Her eyes met mine as I floated above them. And then she drove her sword through Greyhaven’s heart, twisted, and stepped back.
Greyhaven had time to look surprised and then he broke apart into ashes. One of his men howled.
Logan crawled to my side, yanking the stake out of his flesh with a savage curse.
The Hounds descended at the same time and at some signal from Finn, they fell into formation, dispatching Host and Hel-Blar, and Greyhaven’s men, all stumbling blindly in the mist. The Host had the added difficulty of fighting their own turncoat brothers. I tried to pull some of the mist away from the Hounds and the Drakes but I was too weak.
“Retreat!” Liam shouted at his family. “That’s an order!”
Montmartre flung orders but his Host were too far away to help him. He bumped into Helena, mostly by chance, just as she was drawing her arm back to stake a Hel-Blar. He caught her hand and jerked his other arm around her throat, fangs descending. She was caught by surprise, twisted at a strange angle, half-obscured by mist. Everyone was too busy, too wounded, or too far to help her.
Except Solange.
She elbowed Montmartre in the ear, hard enough to snap his head to the side. He turned, snarling. But she was already scooping the discarded crown out of the ash-covered grass.
Solange drove the broken spokes through his back, right over his heart. It wasn’t enough to pierce his heart entirely, snapping off in his shoulder. Helena spun him around and finished the job, shoving a stake through his chest.
He howled and disintegrated, leaving mother and daughter staring at each other with dusty boots.
Quinn gave a bark o
f triumphant laughter and Magda spun like a mad fairy, flinging stakes from her hands. The Host, seeing their leader dispatched, stumbled, looking for escape.
And I still wasn’t inside my body.
I’d stayed too long.
The mist was thinning, the battle was breaking apart, and I hovered over myself as if a pane of glass barred my return. The veins under my skin looked too pronounced, my cheekbones too harsh. My scars were like satin. I was disoriented, dizzy.
I wasn’t strong enough to control the magic.
It was controlling me.
The sun rose, sending arrows of light between the trees. The Hel-Blar howled, seeking shelter. The Host dispersed. Logan scooped me up, running through the ferns. Birds began their morning song. The sky turned the color of opal. Liam pushed his family forward as Helena dove for a wooden door hidden under the brush. Sebastian was carrying Solange, who, being the youngest, had already passed out. My spirit followed behind them, too slow, watching my body get carried farther out of reach.
The Drakes dropped into the tunnel, one by one. Logan handed me down to one of his brothers as blood still seeped from his wound. I felt his mouth brush my ear.
“Isabeau.” He sounded frantic, furious. “Isabeau,” he said again. “Isabeau!”
He’d remembered what I’d told him about repeating a name to return a spirit to its body.
I’d have kissed him if I could have.
I landed so suddenly and so violently that I twitched uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in my head.
Epilogue
LOGAN
The next night I found Isabeau sitting on the roof of the farmhouse, watching the stars come out over the forest. She still wore her tunic dress, a little torn at the hem but wiped clean of mud. I couldn’t help but remember the vision of her running along the roofs of Paris in her stolen coat. I stretched out next to her on the shingles that still retained the heat of the day. She wouldn’t look at me, as if she didn’t quite know how to be around me. I was going to take that as a good sign.
Blood Feud Page 19
