No. He’d relive this moment a million times over from here on out. The words stuck in his throat, but he had negotiated in good faith and had no choice but to do his part. “I vow to not pursue Brina’s hand in marriage anymore and to do nothing to prevent her from marrying another.”
The muscles in his fingers tightened into balled fists inside his crossed arms. How could he stay in this world and allow another man to touch Brina?
Macha waved her hand in exasperation. “You make it sound like I’ve given you a death sentence. Are you so selfish as to make Brina wait forever for something that is impossible?”
He’d never hold Brina back from having a life with someone else if she wanted another man, but letting her go was ripping him apart inside. “Of course I want her to be happy. I told you I wouldn’t pursue her. Are we done here?”
“Not quite. You agreed not only to let this relationship go but also to convince Brina that she is free so she can move on without guilt. She was very upset after your last meeting and doesn’t know what to say without hurting your feelings.”
Hurt his feelings?
What a ridiculous description of losing the most important person in his world. “I’ll convince her.”
FORTY
Evalle strode along the last hallway to her underground apartment, bruised from head to toe, heart to soul. Sen had teleported her to where she’d left her motorcycle in Decatur.
He hadn’t said a word, but there’d been no way to mute the raw hatred in his eyes.
And no way he would have given her a straight answer about Storm, so she hadn’t wasted time asking. She didn’t need him to find answers. Tzader had said he’d let her know when anyone heard from Storm.
She opened the door of her apartment and stepped inside. “Feenix . . . I’m home.”
Where was he?
Thump, thump, thump . . . then the flap of wings.
Her heart caught in her throat when he came flying at her. She normally stepped aside so he could land in the beanbag and slide across the floor for his NASCAR finish.
She just stood there.
His orange eyes blazed in surprise. He angled away, circled the room and came back to her open arms, tucking his wings as he landed.
She pulled him in close, hugging him, hurting and happy at the same time.
Feenix patted her face and pressed his nose into the curve of her throat.
She shook with the effort of holding back a sob that she couldn’t let free. Her insides were shredding with hurt. Storm had to be alive.
If he was, where was he?
He’d found her in South America.
He’d found her near where she lived.
Feenix said, “Mine.”
Her heart was sandwiched between misery and joy. “You’re mine, too, baby.”
Her gargoyle lifted his head and chortled with delight. “Mith me?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” She gave him a kiss on his scaly forehead and lowered him to the floor. “Let me grab a shower and we’ll watch reruns.”
Anything that felt normal.
The shower helped, and so did fresh clothes. She put Storm’s windbreaker back on before climbing into bed with a bowl of popcorn for her and a handful of lug nuts for Feenix.
Feenix puttered around the room, flapping his wings every time he reached the count of ten. He even counted in order, ending with nine and then ten once she explained he could count either horn as nine or ten.
She opened her laptop and booted up her email. The minute she started tapping on keys, Feenix flapped his wings rapidly, lifting up in the air.
He flew over the end of the bed and settled next to her, where he’d left his pet alligator earlier. “Nathcar!” He gave her a toothy smile worth any deal she’d had to make with Macha.
She tweaked his toe and got the deepest giggling sound she’d ever heard. “We’ll watch the NASCAR rerun as soon as I finish a couple emails. Okay?”
He clapped his hands. “Ithe cream.”
That counted as yes from Feenix.
Turning back to her laptop, she scanned through the usual notices from VIPER before she found the ones that mattered. Her email service was protected by some uber-security operation run through www.Beladors.com, which meant no spam. She opened the first one from Quinn that had come in yesterday:
The morgue believes you are on a leave of
absence. You may return at your leisure.
She hated that her first thought was to question if he had done that out of his usual sincere concern for her . . . or out of guilt if he really did talk to Kizira about her. She could use a couple days to sort things out in her head.
She needed some Feenix time.
When Tzader had contacted her telepathically on her way home, he’d told her to check her email for a message from him, which they’d discuss tomorrow after she got some rest. She found Tzader’s email that said:
Quinn encountered a threat to Brina during
Conlan O’Meary’s mind probe so we took him
into temporary custody. Conlan disappeared
from the holding facility. Contact me immediately
if you hear from O’Meary. Don’t meet him
under any circumstances without me or Quinn
present. We need to talk first.
What had Quinn seen in O’Meary’s mind that would make Tzader think O’Meary would contact her?
Quinn had sent a more recent email:
I am exceptionally pleased you have returned
unharmed. We’ll speak soon.
How could something a crazy witch said change the way Evalle thought about one of her two closest friends?
It shouldn’t. It wouldn’t.
She refused to feel suspicious about Quinn. He’d earned her trust and had yet to give her reason to question it. She’d tell him what Kizira had said and he’d explain how there was no way possible for Kizira to have gotten that information from him.
She stared at her inbox, willing an email from Storm to be waiting for her.
None.
Feenix rubbed her arm.
She smiled over at him, but his eyes were sad. He put his head on her shoulder.
Did this little guy have empathic ability?
Or could he hear her heart cracking with a new fracture every minute she didn’t hear from Storm?
She patted his face. “We’ll watch NASCAR next.”
He grinned at her and plopped down on the pillow beside her, grabbing his stuffed alligator to hug.
Starting tomorrow, she had to take care of Alterant business. Macha had handed her the chance to prove Alterants should be a recognized race. Evalle would tell Tristan as soon as she found him. She doubted he’d make it out of this country, since the airport really was shut down after all. He should be more open to working with her once he found out she had Macha backing.
Life was good.
All she had to do was find Tristan and Storm.
She turned back to her computer to send Storm an email and a new one popped into her inbox—from Storm. She froze, staring at the blinking message, then clicked on it. The message had been sent from his cell phone several hours ago. She hadn’t seen any of his clothes when she’d gone back to search after being dropped at her bike, but now realized she hadn’t seen his cell phone when she’d unloaded her tank bag. Had Storm retrieved his things . . . or had someone else?
Her heart thumped like crazy. She opened the email and read:
Evalle
I’ll be in touch.
Storm.
Building a unique world with rich details often requires using unusual names and terms. These are sometimes fictional as well as being drawn from actual mythology.
Below is a list of pronunciations.
Asháninka
[ash – AH – neen – kah]
Batuk
[bah – TOOK]
Belador
[BELL – ah – door]
Birnn demon
[b
eern demon]
Cú Chulainn
[KOO-ku-lin]
Ekkbar
[ECK – bar]
Evalle
[EE - vahl]
Flaevynn
[FLAY – vin]
Gixxer
[JICKS – er]
Kizira
[kuh – ZEER – ah]
Kujoo
[KOO – joe]
Loch Ryve
[lock reeve]
Medb
[MAEVE or MAVE]
Nhivoli
[neh-VO – lee]
Nihar
[NEE – har]
Noirre
[nwar – EH or nwar – A]
Treoir
[TRAY – or]
Tzader
[ZA – der]
Vyan
[VIE – an . . . first part rhymes with BYE]
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
CATHBAD’S CURSE
SHERRILYN KENYON
AND DIANNA LOVE
Coming soon from Pocket Books
Evalle Kincaid looked up from her menu, expecting to see the tall waitress with blunt-cut purple hair and tattoos for sleeves . . . not a pissed-off Celtic goddess with the power to destroy everything in sight.
“Hello, Macha,” Evalle said in as even a voice as she could muster, considering how much trouble she might be in. She’d like to say she’d been working nonstop to deliver information that would earn her the right to live free forever, but her first duty—protecting humans from chaos and destruction—left her little time for saving her own kind: Alterants.
Macha arched a graceful but deadly eyebrow at her. The cool September breeze ruffled the goddess’s waist-length waves of auburn hair and her gown, which shimmered with colors stolen from an Aurora Borealis. “I have allowed you three weeks.”
Evalle had known this day was coming, but not so soon.
Something must have happened to cause this unwelcome visit.
She cast a quick glance around the upper deck of Six Feet Under, her favorite restaurant. None of tonight’s patrons noticed the gorgeous female deity.
Macha must be cloaking her appearance and voice.
But the humans would definitely notice if Macha turned Evalle into a ball of flames. Then they’d chalk it up as another unexplained incident of spontaneous combustion.
Evalle dug out a Bluetooth earpiece she’d found in a garbage can. Clipping on the inactive communication device provided her the perfect cover for conversing with an invisible person. “I know you’ve been patient—”
Macha’s glare returned with full force. “What gave you the ridiculous idea that I’m patient? I had you freed from the Tribunal prison based upon your agreement to investigate, and deliver, the origin of Alterants. Have you forgotten?”
Let me think about this. No, I generally remember deals made with deities. Sarcasm would only get her toasted. Evalle explained, “I’ve been trying to—”
“I know what you have not accomplished, such as bringing the Alterant, Tristan, in to swear loyalty to me and the Beladors. You said Tristan would provide significant details about your kind. Where is he?”
“I don’t know yet.” The night Evalle agreed to the deal with Macha, she’d been sure Tristan would jump at the chance to join a pantheon, be recognized and accepted, and no longer live on the run with his sister, who was yet another Alterant. But after three weeks of calling out to him telepathically Evalle hadn’t heard so much as a whisper in response. “You also ordered me to continue working as a member of the Belador teams with VIPER. We’ve all been running constantly because of this outbreak of gang wars.”
Macha waved a hand in dismissal at the mention of VIPER, the coalition that protected humans from supernatural predators. She said, “Gang wars are a human problem.”
“Not this one. We’ve found trolls involved with the gangs.” Evalle checked to see if anyone was watching her talk, but no one noticed and people flowed around them the way water avoided a rock in a stream.
“Your first priority is your warrior queen, when her safety is in question.”
That snapped Evalle’s attention back to Macha. “Has something happened to Brina?”
“The answer to that should be obvious, since you are still alive.”
Macha would never be known as the nurturing goddess.
Evalle asked, “But Brina’s not under an immediate threat, right?”
“You don’t think so? As of now, you are still the only Alterant who has sworn fealty to me and the Beladors even though I offered sanctuary to all who will. Tristan and his group of beasts remain at large, not to mention any other Alterants we haven’t located. With so many beasts and the traitor unaccounted for, of course Brina is under immediate threat.”
Brina should be safe in her warded castle on Treoir Isle, hidden above the Irish Sea, but Evalle caught the shift in demeanor as Macha’s tone chilled when she mentioned the Belador traitor. “How are Alterants connected to the traitor?”
Macha didn’t move, but her luminous blue eyes turned to flint. Furious energy suddenly whipped across Evalle’s skin, singeing fine hairs along her arms. “I’ll speak slowly so I don’t have to repeat myself. The traitor is working with the Medb coven. You claimed the Medb intend to use Alterants to invade Treoir Island and attack Brina. Even you should be able to connect those dots without paper and pen.”
Evalle wiped a damp palm on her jeans and bit back a retort. Three weeks ago she’d been locked in a prison with no hope. She owed Macha for her freedom and for giving her a chance to prove Alterants deserved to be a recognized race.
She also didn’t want to be turned into a charcoal briquette. “I see your point, and with a little more time—”
“Neither one of us has the luxury of time, especially you. An Alterant has killed one of Dakkar’s bounty hunters. He filed a grievance with the Tribunal, demanding justice and compensation.”
On a scale of bad news, that slammed the top. Macha had opened a charter for Alterants to be accepted as a recognized race, with Evalle as the spokesperson for Alterants. Before she could ask for more details, Macha said, “A hearing is scheduled for the day after tomorrow to decide who is responsible to Dakkar for compensation and what he should receive. Deliver me Tristan and his information by then or I will withdraw my support for Alterants to become a recognized race.”
The goddess disappeared in a flash of blue and pink light. Evalle hadn’t found Tristan in three weeks. What was the chance of finding him in less than two days? She lifted a hand to wave over the waitress and order something to go, when she felt Belador power blast into her mind.
Tzader yelled telepathically, Calling in Beladors! Gang war going down in Oakland Cemetery.
The upper deck of Six Feet Under overlooked Oakland Cemetery.
At Tzader’s call to arms, Evalle threw cash on the table for her drink and hurried down the stairs, then took off running across Memorial Drive. Any Belador in the area would rush to aid their Maistir, but she hurried to protect her best friend’s back.
She called to him, I’m coming from across the street. Where’re you, Z?
East end. Potter’s Field near Boulevard.
That narrowed down the forty-eight acre landmark. Oakland was the seventh cemetery in the metropolitan area to be turned into a battleground this week.
Gangs had little respect for the living or the dead, but this level of hostility among so many at one time was unprecedented in the metropolitan area.
And why were trolls all of a sudden infiltrating gangs?
She found a shadowy spot along the sidewalk with no humans nearby, and using her kinetics, vaulted over the shoulder-high brick wall into the original six acres that had been there since 1850. Now she could use her Belador speed to cover the half-mile run through a moonless black night.
Tzader added, This is bad. Must be seventy of them out here . . . something’s not right.
Like what?
There’s— His voice cu
t off and withdrew from her mind as if sucked out.
She ignored the thump of worry pounding her chest at the sudden loss of connection.
She told herself that something had taken Tzader’s attention, not his life.
Why was every gang in Atlanta itching for a throwdown right now, and in cemeteries? She darted between tall marble statues and elegant grave markers, navigating easily with her natural night vision, a rare perk of being an Alterant.
One of the few positives for a half-breed Belador like her.
That’s when she noticed no spirits glowed in the burial grounds. Not even an orb. That was just weird.
Her fingers curled, ready for a fight, but she couldn’t use her dagger that carried a death spell.
Not on humans.
Gunshots cracked the silence, sharp pops then the boom, boom, boom of a higher caliber weapon.
Evalle slowed as she neared the battle. Racing in blind would risk distracting another Belador. Especially if any of them had linked their powers, which doubled their strength.
But kill one Belador in a link and they all died. As an ancient race, Belador warriors were some of the most powerful among preternatural creatures. All had sworn an oath of honor to Macha to defend their tribe, and to protect humans, who didn’t know any of them existed.
She called out to Tzader, I’m here and opening up to link.
His voice shouted telepathically to all Beladors in the cemetery. Link now with Evalle. She has night vision.
Eleven hits of power bombarded her from every direction.
She staggered against the initial linking, then found her footing and stepped into the open space where Beladors fought hand-to-hand with humans. Looked more like a hundred fighting.
A twentyish male wearing blue and white colors of the Ice Blood Posse came out of nowhere, slicing a wicked knife in a quick horizontal arc at her throat.
She bent backward as the blade passed by her chin.
The lack of contact threw her attacker off balance.
Alterant Page 32
