He wanted to kill her, wanted to destroy her before she did any more damage to Trina, to her life, to his heart. His anger swelled until all he could see was this woman dead.
“Cease!” Solanum’s voice reverberated into his skull and cut through his rage.
Logan stopped shaking her, but retained his grip, his fingers digging into her age-spotted arm. She hung there cackling, spittle dripping from the corner of her mouth.
“There’s something off about her.” He couldn’t see past the greasy, black aura. “What is it? I’m too tired to read her, damn it!”
“Let me.” Stephan focused his Sight on her. “She’s been glamoured by someone powerful.” His smile was grim. “This, I can do.” He spread his arms out, opening his palms, and approached the woman who thrashed and kicked, struggling to free herself from Logan’s grip.
“Leave me alone! I’ll kill you all. She’ll kill you all!”
Light flared from Stephan’s palms, enveloping the old woman in a bright silver glow. The greasy ooze of her aura fought back, trying to swallow Stephan’s light. Stephan’s shoulders hunched. He fought, his hands pushing and shaping his light, encouraging it to grow. The black aura drew back and attacked again. There was a flash of silver and a steamy hiss as Stephan’s light overwhelmed the black and it shrank and disappeared.
Stephan stumbled back and leaned against the counter. “Fuck me.” He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “That was more than a normal glamour, much more. That was dark fae magic. And very strong.”
Logan blinked. He held an entirely different woman by the arm. This one was decades younger with smooth skin and a fierce expression in her dark eyes. The black greasy aura had been replaced by a brilliant, rich gold.
“Who are you? Who sent you? What did you do to Trina?”
She spat on the floor and he slammed her against the wall. “What did you do to her?” he growled. “Tell me!”
“Let me have her. I’ll get the truth from her.” Solanum extended his jaw, his lips pulled back from his fangs in a wolfish grin. “I barely got to play, anyway.”
Logan let the woman go, pushing her towards Solanum. “Take her.”
“Keep it away!” The woman shrank back, scrabbling to get behind Logan and away from the puca. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Mariella Boyd, the leader of the Seven Tribes.”
Logan stared at the woman who had betrayed Trina’s trust. “What have you done to her?”
“Killed her. Finally.” She smiled, her face glowing with triumph. “And you can't save her this time. This time, I made sure the poison would be inside, where you can't get to it. Right now, it’s twining through her veins and into her heart.”
Logan fought to control the urge to wipe the smile off her face and kill her. Trina needed him. Killing this woman now would accomplish nothing but his lover’s death.
“What did she ever do to you?”
Mariella stood tall, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s nothing, just another MacElvy in my way.” She spat on the floor.
“But the MacElvys are your people. Why are you not standing behind them?”
“My people are the Boyds, not those weak whiney MacElvys. But, as weak as they are, their territory is rich. They’ve never exploited it like they should have. If we helped them stand against the queen, they would keep it all, perhaps grow in power. This way, my tribe will take over, hers will perish, and I’ll grow rich and powerful, and so will the Boyds.”
“We should hand her over to the tribes’ council,” Stephen said.
“Go ahead! Do you think they'll believe you over me? I’m the leader of the Seven Tribes, and you are toadies of the queen.” She jutted her chin out at Logan. “Everyone knows he’s her lackey. I’ll tell the council you set me up to take the fall for you and your lover.”
Stephan shook his head. “They'll know that’s a lie.”
“Maybe, but they'll believe me when they see the fae magic that took me over and caused me to kill this girl.”
“Whose magic was it? Who sent you?” Stephan reached for her.
She pulled away standing straight and tall. “The Black Queen was more than happy to make an alliance with me in order to kill this one.” She prodded Trina’s head with her boot.
“Stay away from her!” Logan shoved Mariella out of the way, pushing between her and Trina. The Traveler queen stumbled and caught herself on a chair.
“Solanum.” Logan beckoned to the puca. Solanum padded forward, his wolfish jaws gaping wide as he reached for the shrinking woman.
“No! He’ll eat me!” She shrieked ran across the kitchen for the door.
Logan stepped in front of her blocking her escape. She tried to dart around, but Solanum was behind her.
His black eyes glowed red and his long tongue lolled out between his fangs. “I’ll think of something more creative than simply eating you, my dear.”
“Logan...” Stephan touched his arm. “Are you really going to let him have her?”
“Yes.” His voice was harsh. “She’s tried twice now to kill Trina, and she’s made it plain she won’t help us.” He turned away and knelt down next to Trina. “She’s made her own fate.”
Solanum stalked the cringing woman across the small kitchen, cornering her by the stove. He took her clothes hard in his teeth and swung her off her feet, carrying her out of the house.
“No!” Thunder rolled, drowning her scream. Stephan closed the door.
Logan stroked Trina’s icy brow. Her aura had weakened, a noxious green cloud stealing into its place.
“She's dying.” Logan’s heart seized up in his chest. He’d thought he’d have at least a few years with her. He’d thought he’d be the one leaving her. “We have to do something.”
“Neither of us is a healer.” Stephen looked down at them, his hands opening and closing on empty air. “The shamans here won’t touch fae magic, especially not dark magic. It’s time.” He shook his head. “We need your uncles.” He left the room.
Logan ignored Trina’s sopping wet clothes and cradled her in his lap. His mind spun as he tried to think of anything to save Trina from dying. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. This woman, this priceless, human woman, was dying on the floor. Why was it that he’d finally found love and it was about to be taken away?
LOGAN SAT IN A CHAIR staring at Trina’s body on the couch. She was dying.
Worse than dying.
None of them knew what kept her alive. She had no breath, no pulse, no movement, but her soul stayed in her cold, pale body. It was as if she’d been frozen in the moment between life and death’s decay.
“It’s bad, son.” Rinnal’s face crinkled up with concern as a gust of wind buffeted the house. “None of us can help the lass. And time is running out.”
Logan had lost all but the barest thread of control. The storm that Mariella Boyd had cast as a diversion was now a raging maelstrom from his emotions. If Trina were truly dead, he’d be out discovering what it meant to ride the lightning. But she wasn’t. And instead of a self-destructive cleansing of his life and soul, he was stuck in limbo by her side, his hardened exterior barely enough to prevent his raging emotions from bleeding out.
He was grateful for his uncles’ presence, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone there, or if he just wanted to be left alone to watch over her. Left alone his anger might ebb into that particular numbness that happened when you had simply felt too much, and couldn’t feel anymore.
But that wasn’t to be.
Rinnal pulled Angus aside and they spoke in the hushed tones reserved for deathbeds before coming back to speak to Logan.
“The only thing we can do is hold her as she is, in a form of stasis akin to our hibernieth.”
“Might give ye the time to find a cure, lad,” Angus patted his shoulder, the familiar touch awkward with grief.
Logan looked up at his uncles. They were warriors and lords turned farmers and craftsmen. They would stand by him, no matter wha
t, and he would do the same for them. He had no choice but to trust them with Trina’s life. Perhaps they could keep her alive long enough to keep the spell from stealing the last of her soul.
“Do it.”
“This spell t’isn’t an easy one.” Angus tapped the tip of his empty pipe against his teeth. “It needs something to hold it, to define its parameters. Some sort of box, large enough to hold her wee body, would be ideal.”
“What kind of a box? Where are we going to get a box big enough for a grown woman?”
“Logan, I think I have something that will work in the attic. I’m not sure you’ll want to use it.” Stephan averted his eyes and looked at the floor, the ceiling, and out the window at a piece of shed flying by.
The other two men shuffled uneasily.
“Well, what is it?” Logan asked.
“A coffin.”
“Why do you have a coffin in the attic?” Logan brushed Trina’s hair away from her paling face. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
The fae faded when they died. No burials, no boxes of death. He tried to picture Trina waking up in a coffin’s dark, close interior. The bewilderment, the panic, the feel of rough wood as her fists pounded on the boards.
A shudder traced up his spine and he gave a mirthless laugh. “She’ll think we’ve buried her alive.”
His uncles shifted uneasily.
“Is there any other choice, lad?” Angus splayed out his wide calloused hands in silent apology. “We need something.”
“I’m sorry.” Stephan rubbed his forehead. “I’ve nothing else large enough on hand.”
“Logan, we need to do something soon, or t’will be too late.” Rinnal laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “Her soul is still in the body, but the body will begin to decompose soon.”
“I can’t do that to her. She’ll be terrified.”
“What if we make the top glass, so she can see out?” Stephan, asked. “And we’ll keep vigil over her. If she wakes up, someone will be there to let her out.”
“I’ll watch her.” Logan leaned forward in his chair, focused again on Trina’s still form. He’d watch her for the next thousand years, if that was what it took.
“Nay, lad.” Rinnal shook his head. “Ye need to get help. Find someone with the ability to cure her or putting her under the stasis spell will be useless.”
“What healer will help us and not turn us over to the queen?” Everyone he could count on was here. No healers. Only a half-fae who could make beautiful music, and two outcast rebel warriors. No healers. No saviors. “My list of friends is shorter than it was before the queen threw me in the dungeon. Who would be willing to help me and risk the repercussions?”
Angus and Rinnal exchanged glances.
“Did ye find Aoife?” Rinnal asked.
“Yes. Lot of good that does me now.” Logan was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. His future was turning to dust and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Might do some good. Do ye think ye can trust her not to betray us to the queen?”
“I’m damned if I trust her.” He looked at his uncle and frowned. “Why?”
“When we were at war with the Tuatha De Danann, Aoife saved many of their warriors. She is reputed to be a gifted healer.”
Like lightning to his soul hope shot through Logan’s body. Nerves tingling, he got to his feet. He leaned over and gently kissed Trina on her cold cheek, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Don’t die.”
Leather coat on and made for the door. He turned, hand on the latch. “Keep her safe.” He looked at each of the men in turn, holding each one’s gaze until they nodded their commitment. He kept his gaze averted from Trina’s still form, dying on the couch. If he looked at her sweet, sweet face again, he might never leave.
He opened the door against the buffeting wind and raced out into the storm, calling for Solanum. He had raced time before, but now, he raced death.
Chapter Thirty
Now that Logan knew where Aoife lived, he had no time to waste. Hoping to confuse pursuit, he avoided the more trackable, permanent gates and drew recklessly on his dwindling stores of power, opening portal after portal into bizarre landscapes. He rode on nothing but willpower. He would have nothing left when this was through, but he had one job, one thing only—find Aoife and save Trina.
He wouldn’t let even the chance of failure enter his mind.
He and Solanum erupted out of the last portal, thundering into the center of Aoife’s carefully manicured courtyard, nearly hitting her front door in an explosion of screaming butterfly faeries. Solanum wheeled, narrowly avoiding the door as small fae scattered and Aoife’s wards burst into spectacular displays of light and flames.
Batting out the flames on his jacket, Logan jumped off of Solanum.
“Bugger it all, I’m on fire!” Solanum cantered to the fountain, shifted to human, and dove naked into the bevy of fae hiding in the water. Logan ignored the resulting cacophony and ran across the courtyard and up the front stairs. He tore open the front door and raced into the house, hitting a second set of wards hard. These held.
“Aoife!”
He gathered his power and pushed through the wards. Every movement slowed in the gelatinous resistance of Aoife’s magic. Sparks flew and his skin burned. Wailing alarms ripped his eardrums, drowning out the sound of the still screaming fae in the courtyard.
He broke through, and fell onto the tiled entryway. His jacket was on fire and he stood, slapping his hands all over his body, trying to put out the flames. A tall, slender Tuathan woman with long white hair and a lovely youthful face ran into the hall pulling a starry, midnight blue cloak on over a gossamer, thin white gown. The true Aoife, vibrant enough to be his age-mate, stood before him, her violet blue eyes blazing in her narrow face.
She waved a hand put out the fires singing his clothes. “Is it time?” Gone was the semblance of bland aged retirement. In its place was the sharp-faced elven lady he had expected the first time. “I knew it would be soon. We must hurry.”
Hot fury licked through him.
“You knew? Was this the price you would have me pay?” He grabbed her shoulders, barely restraining himself from tearing her to pieces. “When I said I would pay a forfeit, I meant my life, not hers!”
Her long white hair lifted with a crackling energy. “Stand back, Huntsman!” The sheer power of her voice reverberated through him, rocking him back and forcing him to let go.
“What have you done to her? Why would you have her dead? Why this price?”
“We don’t have time for this! Do not blame me. Whatever has happened is not of my doing. I’ve done the best I can to prepare.”
“You knew she was in danger and yet, you said nothing!” He took another step towards her, hitting a barrier stronger than he’d believed a single fae could create. “Did you arrange this so I would be forced to come to you for payment?”
“I believe it’s time for your forfeit, but I never knew what that forfeit would be. I still do not know. I have seen only that it has to do with the MacElvys, and I am to help you.” She pinned him with a pointed look. “We set things in motion, but we do not always have as much control as we would like.”
His gut burned in anger. Anger at her trickery, and at his own devious race. And deep underneath, a dark, shameful anger at himself for being just like her and callously using his knowledge to manipulate Trina.
She was far older and more powerful than he’d realized. She’d hid it well. He gazed into her dark, violet eyes and prayed she really was his ally. How many years had she seen? How long had she known this was coming? Could she have prevented Trina’s danger?
“I’ve known for many years that my help would be needed,” Aoife said. “The prophecy doesn’t say how the MacElvys will destroy the queen. Such destruction is not a thing done lightly. I will tell you something else, but it is to be our secret.”
“No.” Thunder cracked outside. “I will not make oath to you a
gain.” Fissures formed in the walls of the chateau as the reality of this part of Underhill shifted under the strain of his rage.
“Control yourself.” She fixed him with a hard glare. “You are young, but you must learn control if you are to confront the queen. We are at a major shift in the configuration of the Courts and, like it or not, you are a key player.”
“I have no time for this.” The wind swirled leaves and dirt through the open front door and grit stung his face. He struggled to keep his emotions from destroying the landscape. “She is dying.”
“Who is dying?” Aoife braced against the gale, her white hair lifting and billowing out over her cloak. She raised her voice, leaning in close. “Who is dying?”
“Trina MacElvy.” His voice cracked.
Aoife’s face blanched.
“What? Why didn’t you say so? We are wasting time. She is key to the prophecy. If she dies, the queen will survive.”
She whistled, a shrill sound that somehow carried over the storm. Logan spun and ran for Solanum, scattering the tiny fairies hovering in the courtyard.
“We’re leaving.”
Solanmum climbed out of the fountain, shaking drops of water from his nude body. “And Aoife?” He shifted back into the dark horse.
Logan mounted. “She’s coming with us.” He called a portal. It slammed open, cracking the bricks of the courtyard and throwing flower fairies to the side.
A gleaming white fae steed raced around the corner into the courtyard. Aoife leapt on the mare without saddle or bridle, her starry cloak flowing around her as they rode into the purple haze of the gate.
They burst out of the last portal into a maelstrom of wind and rain. Dark funnel clouds hovered over the ranch as tumbleweeds and pieces of wood flew by. Solanum braced his hooves, ducking an incoming chunk of wood. Logan sailed over his head, grinding face first into the ground. He stood, shook the mud off, and slogged through the muck and wind to the front door of the shuddering ranch house.
His time sense had gone to shit. “Solanum! How much time has passed here?”
Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 26
