The Last Warrior: Shifters Unbound Book 13

by Ashley Jennifer

“Parles français?” Rhianne went off into a string of French, until Ben squeezed her hand.

  “English?” he suggested. “Or one of twenty Native American languages? Some don’t exist anymore. Up to you.”

  “I don’t know English as well as French.” Rhianne answered in English without a falter. “Mother goes to Paris so often that she likes to speak French.”

  “Well, it’s that or hoch alfar, and I’m not sullying my mouth with that.” Ben gummed at his tongue, reflecting he was seriously thirsty. He hadn’t been able to finish his beer. “Since I’m thinking you don’t know my language, English it will have to be.”

  “Agreed,” Rhianne said.

  Another flash rolled down from above, and the entire castle shuddered, dust showering them. Over the loud rumbles came the sound of maniacal laughter.

  “That’s Cian,” Ben explained. Cian could dig his fingers straight into walls, handy for carving niches for incendiaries. “I hope he leaves enough of the castle standing for us to escape.”

  “I hope the entire place explodes into dust,” Rhianne growled. “We should run.”

  “Word.” Ben leapt up the last step of the staircase from the dungeon, Rhianne directly behind him.

  Light filmed the corridor on the next level, courtesy of the holes Cian had blasted in the walls, plus the glowing stones the hoch alfar used so they wouldn’t stumble in the dark and bruise their little toesies.

  The place was a maze, but Ben had marked the walls as he’d made his way to the cells below. Of course, when they reached the door through which he’d entered the castle, rubble blocked it. Cian was having too much fun.

  “What’s he using?” Rhianne asked, sounding merely curious. “I didn’t think dokk alfar had that kind of magic.”

  “He doesn’t. He has explosives.” Ben scanned the corridor and chose a side hall, hoping it would take them to another exit. “How do you know he’s dokk alfar?”

  “You said his name is Cian. That’s a dokk alfar name.”

  “Fair enough.” Ben pulled Rhianne around another corner to an even darker corridor.

  “Do you know the way out?” Rhianne asked.

  “When I came in, yes I did. Now, no.”

  “I don’t know the way either. I wasn’t awake for most of the journey.”

  “Nice way to woo a girl.”

  Rhianne’s laughter was shaky but held a hint of richness. “That’s what I said.”

  “This way, I think. Or ... Okay, maybe not.”

  Three hoch alfar stopped abruptly in front of them.

  They obviously hadn’t expected to see Ben and Rhianne, because they hesitated a hair too long before they shouted and attacked. Ben was already engaged in the fight by the time they sorted themselves out.

  Hoch alfar were much harder to brawl with than drunk guys in a Louisiana roadhouse. Fae had nasty pointed weapons for one thing, usually loaded with spells, plus these guards were trained from childhood to do battle.

  Ben wasn’t any kind of alfar, which worked to his advantage. The hoch alfar were honed fighters who occasionally faced dokk alfar but mostly they battled other hoch alfar from rival clans. These guards didn’t know what to do with a pissed-off goblin who hated them on principle.

  Ben’s fight with the barflies had been a warmup. This was the real thing. He kicked and spun, punched and jabbed, dodging knives headed for his gut, breaking a hand that wielded one.

  The guards also didn’t know what to do with the yelling whirlwind of red hair who sprang at them instead of waiting on the sidelines like a good damsel in distress. Rhianne had found a piece of bronze pipe in the rubble, and now she whacked left and right.

  The wall next to Ben exploded. Shards of dust and metal sprayed into the corridor, and the guards began to scream.

  Rhianne stepped back in bewilderment, her bronze bar held like a sword as the guards writhed and clawed at their faces.

  Ben grabbed Rhianne’s hand and pulled her through the newly made hole. “Cian packs iron into the explosives.”

  “That’s mean.” Hoch alfar hated the touch of iron. It burned them, crippled them, killed them if they were hit with a big enough dose. Rhianne shuddered. “On the other hand, Walther let half a dozen of his guards grope me when he tracked me down, so they can eat it.”

  Ben’s body tightened. He debated wading back into the castle and breaking necks and crushing bones, but it was more important right now that he whisk Rhianne to safety.

  The hole led to a space between the castle’s inner and outer walls. Another opening had been blasted in the curtain wall, through which fresh wind blew. The outside world. Or, at least, Faerie.

  Ben climbed through, pulling Rhianne behind him. She scrambled over the broken stones, her hair snagging on the jagged opening. She impatiently jerked it free, never letting go of Ben’s hand.

  Ben slid a few feet down the steep hill the castle perched upon before he planted himself to help Rhianne to firmer ground. At least the hole in the wall hadn’t opened to a sheer part of the cliff.

  The only road to the castle was a precarious one from a river valley, the better for defense. All other ways involved clambering around densely packed trees and scrub on a near-vertical slope.

  Cian leapt out over the pile of rubble, landing with the grace of a cat. He wore close-fitting black clothes and soft shoes, which made him look much like the popular movie image of a ninja in the human world.

  Cian’s usually grim face split into a broad smile. “Head’s up,” he said in dokk alfar.

  Ben grabbed Rhianne and yanked her to the earth. Cian removed a small object from his pocket and tossed it through the hole he’d just emerged from then slammed himself facedown in the dirt.

  A final boom rang out and a cloud of dust burst from the opening. Screams, curses, and shouts rose over the rumble of falling stones. The hole that had been their escape route vanished as the wall became a pile of debris.

  “Time to go,” Ben said.

  He helped Rhianne to her feet. She clung to him and dragged her hair from a black-streaked face, her breath ragged.

  Cian sprang up. “This way, my friends.”

  Ben did not know if Rhianne understood dokk alfar, but she caught the gist and started off after him.

  Cian led the way down the hill, Rhianne and Ben behind him, Ben steadying her. Somehow, they’d never released hands.

  No one pursued the three fugitives. Hoch alfar were renowned archers, but the land behind this side of the castle was thick with trees. No arrow stood a chance.

  Cian led them with confidence, though the woods looked the same in all directions to Ben. He’d grown up in Faerie, but that had been a long time ago, nowhere near here, and everything he’d ever known had changed. A thousand years did that to a place.

  Rhianne kept pace easily, without hysterics or terror. She was outwardly composed, but her grip on Ben’s hand was tight, as though she remained calm only through the lifeline of their touch.

  The hill smoothed out the more they descended until they came out of the trees to a fairly flat space beside a rushing river. Cian turned and led them upstream.

  Rhianne hung back. “Not that way.”

  She spoke in English. Ben called softly to Cian, who glanced behind him with impatience.

  “We need to hurry,” Cian said in dokk alfar. “Once Madhug regroups, he’ll be on us.”

  Rhianne didn’t move. “We’re going the wrong direction. My mother’s house is downstream from here. That’s the safest place. We can seek refuge with her.”

  Ben cleared his throat, his face growing warm. “We’re not going to Lady Aisling’s.”

  Rhianne’s angry stare pinned him. Her eyes were dark brown, not the black that most Fae and Tuil Erdannan possessed, but a rich chocolate. If Ben had glanced quickly at her and away, he might have decided her eyes were black, but closer observation showed him that this was untrue.

  “No?” Rhianne pulled from Ben’s grasp. A chill touched his palm, his hand
emptier without hers in it. “I thought my mother sent you. Who are you?”

  Ben saw her fear rise as she assumed she’d gone from frying pan to fire. Cian, glaring, didn’t help.

  “Lady Aisling did send us,” Ben said quickly. “But her house isn’t safe for you, according to her.”

  Rhianne took a step back, fear changing to outrage. It was not a good idea to enrage a Tuil Erdannan, even a beautiful and vulnerable one in tattered clothing daringly rescued from a hoch alfar stronghold.

  “How could her house not be safe?” Rhianne demanded. “Where else could be better? No one would dare harm me there.”

  “Not even your father?” Ben asked gently.

  Ben hadn’t wanted to explain until he had her in the haunted house on the other side of the gate exactly why Lady Aisling had told Ben to take Rhianne to safety. The middle of hoch alfar territory, exposed to whoever decided to hunt them, was not the place for revelations or loud arguments.

  Rhianne’s mouth dropped open. “My—” Her arms went rigid, ending in tight fists. She clamped her lips shut, but the flash in her eyes bode no good. “Fine then,” she said tersely. “Let us go to wherever you think you can hide me from Walther le Madhug and my not so very dear father.”

  She pushed past Ben and marched after Cian, who’d already strode on. She did not reach again for Ben’s hand. Chin lifted, back straight, she followed Cian along the river path, the queenly Tuil Erdannan in her making her beautiful and untouchable, but Ben saw her back tremble.

  * * *

  My father. Rhianne fumed as she followed the dokk alfar. Her rescuer, Ben, whatever sort of creature he was, tramped heavily behind her.

  She had heard her mother mention Ben’s name, but she’d never met him. Rhianne hadn’t been home in a long, long time, pursuing her own life and trying to find peace far from here, on the coast, where the stars shone in abundance in clear skies.

  She hadn’t set eyes on her elusive father in many years. He and her mother had separated when Rhianne had been a child, both she and Lady Aisling happy to see the back of the evil man. Ivor de Erkkonen had made it clear he had no interest in his daughter.

  Until now, it seemed. If he’d convinced Walther to kidnap her, and even helped him do it, then Lady Aisling was right. Rhianne wasn’t safe. Ivor was a powerful Tuil Erdannan, even more so than Lady Aisling. If he wanted Rhianne, he’d find her.

  But where could she go to escape him? The dokk alfar and the … Ben … seemed to believe they had a place. The dokk alfar lands would be marginally safer, but not if Ivor truly wanted to find her. Even a fortress surrounded by iron and spells wouldn’t keep him out. Rhianne’s father was a dangerous man, not to be trusted.

  The dokk alfar moved quickly. He left the river instead of crossing it, winding his way down a narrow side gully until he halted before the sheer face of a cliff.

  He gestured to it, saying a word in dokk alfar. Rhianne did not know much of that language, but it wasn’t hard to understand what he meant. Here?

  Ben nodded. “Should be.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that flashed in the dim light. Silver? Metallic anyway.

  He tugged one side of the silver box, and it unfolded on a hinge. Inside, tiny buttons with markings on them filled one side, and a blank space filled the other.

  Ah. Cell phone. A communication device. Her mother had brought one home from the human world once. It didn’t do anything in Faerie, but Rhianne had enjoyed herself taking it apart. The tiny pieces had fascinated her.

  Ben pushed a few buttons. “You there? Let me in.”

  Cian watched him skeptically. He didn’t believe in this human magic either, Rhianne could see.

  No, not magic. Technology. Technology had driven magic out of the human world almost entirely. A few pockets of old magic existed there, her mother had said, along ley lines, but they were difficult to find.

  “I told you I was sorry,” Ben said into the cell phone. “I’ll be staying home a while this time, promise.”

  Nothing answered. Rhianne heard wind in the trees, a pebble moving under her boot, the cry of an eagle in the distance, which tugged at her heart.

  Ben rolled his eyes. “I mean, I’ll stay as long as you want.”

  The cliff face shimmered. Cian stepped quickly away from it, his soft shoes making no noise on the ground.

  Ben took Rhianne’s hand again. She’d liked the surety of his grip on hers as they’d escaped the fortress—strong and warm, an anchor that told her she’d be all right.

  “Do not let go of me, no matter what,” Ben said. “Understand?” He regarded her sternly until Rhianne gave him a quick nod.

  With a word of farewell and thanks to Cian, Ben braced himself and then sprinted directly at the cliff, pulling Rhianne behind him. She tried to resist at first, but she realized the tingle she felt was the forceful magic of a gate, and knew they’d not run into the sheer rock—at least, she hoped not.

  She gave Cian a wave, wishing she could reward him for his part in springing her from Walther’s dungeon, then she closed her eyes, holding tight to Ben’s hand as she raced behind him.

  Cold touched her, and then an emptiness that sucked at her soul. A void, horrible, clammy, and desperate, like fog with a determination to siphon off her life force.

  Rhianne wanted to gasp for breath, but feared to breathe at all, not wanting to draw the chill denseness into her body. Her chest burned, and she prayed to the Goddess it would be over soon.

  Her lungs were bursting. She had to breathe, had to, even though it might be her death.

  The cold abruptly vanished. Rhianne landed on something warm that smelled of wool, and light touched her eyelids. She opened her eyes to find herself on her side on a carpet, Ben sprawled next to her.

  The light—morning light—came from open windows, sunshine streaming into a large room with wooden panels and strange furniture. A small black chandelier hung from the white-painted ceiling, and it swayed slightly as she gazed up at it.

  Ben rolled over. They lay face to face for a moment, Ben’s eyes like the dark of an ancient night.

  His face was hard, but not unpleasant, handsome even. One side of his strong neck bore an inked drawing of a spider’s web, the ends of the web touching his cheeks. Rhianne had seen tattoos before—dokk alfar liked them. She’d never found them attractive, at least, not until now.

  After a few heartbeats, Ben pushed himself away from Rhianne and climbed to his feet. He reached down to help her rise, the strength in his grip welcome.

  “You all right?”

  Rhianne, on her feet, brushed off her shirt and trousers, which were beyond saving. Her hair was also grimy, clumped with ooze and stinking of the dungeon.

  “Where are we?” she asked. “Is this a dokk alfar house?”

  “No.” Ben wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s a human house. Kind of a weird one … no offense.” The last statement wasn’t spoken to Rhianne, but to the walls.

  “A human one.” Rhianne stated the words slowly. “I’m in the human world?”

  “Yep. Sorry.”

  Rhianne glanced around the room. It was a pleasant space if unfamiliar, the furnishings odd but comfortable-looking, the air warm. The breeze coming through the half-open window smelled humid, almost musty.

  Rhianne’s heart squeezed in fear and banged dully in her chest. She was alone, in the human world, far from anything she understood, at the mercy of this man. And she had to stay here because her own father presented so much danger that she couldn’t go home.

  “It’s all right.” Rhianne’s throat closed up. “I’m fine.”

  She took a step and her legs buckled. Rhianne fell, but Ben’s powerful arms caught her, holding her with his strength, his warmth the only comfort in this place.

  Chapter Three

  Ben didn’t mind that his arms were full of soft woman, even one that smelled like a sewer. Her own fragrance was there somewhere, but overlaid with filth from her cell, sweat from the run
through the woods, and fear.

  He should be terrified of a daughter of the all-powerful Lady Aisling and the equally petrifying Ivor de Erkkonen, but Rhianne was shivering against him, her head on Ben’s shoulder, her wrists bearing welts from the cuffs that had bound her. She’d been jerked out of her world and thrown to a place she didn’t know, and this after being captured and locked up in a dark, disgusting cell.

  “You’re okay now.” Ben tried to sound soothing as he stroked her back. “No one will harm you here.”

  The house would keep her safe—if it decided to. Ben glanced at the walls and ceiling, sending the house a silent admonition.

  Rhianne relaxed for a brief moment, then stiffened. Ben started to carefully release her, but she hung on to him for another few seconds. One of the Tuil Erdannan, the most powerful beings in Faerie, clung to him, Ben, for support.

  “How about you get cleaned up?” he suggested to Rhianne. “We have several nice bathrooms upstairs. Your choice. One has a whirlpool. Another a shower with four or five heads, so it’s like standing in a rainstorm.”

  Rhianne wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand as he released her “You think I need a bath?” Her mouth shook in a watery smile. “What gave you that idea?”

  The smile made Ben’s heart stop. This woman was stunningly beautiful. Ben’s breath had gone somewhere, and he choked as he tried to get it back.

  Her smile vanished, brow puckering. “Are you well?”

  Ben coughed. “Inhaled too much Faerie gunk. So, the bathrooms. Upstairs. I’ll see if I can find you something to wear.”

  Closing his mouth so he wouldn’t babble too much, Ben led the way out of the sitting room. The door to Faerie, which had been in the paneled wall behind them, had utterly vanished.

  Rhianne followed, her mud-caked boots squeaking on the polished wooden floor. The house rustled softly, the wind chimes on the porch emitting a silvery sound.

  “Is this your house?” Rhianne asked as they mounted the stairs. The crystals on the ponderous chandelier that hung between the turns of the staircase tinkled as the chandelier swayed ever so slightly.