“I mean I am one of the Tuil Erdannan.”
She paused significantly, as though waiting for Jaycee to gasp and clutch her chest in awe.
Jaycee shook her head. “Means nothing to me.”
Lady Aisling sighed. “I ought to have known. What do they teach young people these days?” She stepped to the middle of the room and cleared her throat as though beginning a lecture to uninformed pupils.
“The Tuil Erdannan are the descendants of unions with gods and the Fae,” she said. “That is the legend, anyway. But we are feared the length and breadth of Faerie. I have no idea why—I have no interest in the petty wars between Fae clans—but it’s convenient when I want to be left alone.” Aisling’s smile grew, crinkling her green eyes at the corners. “How do you think I learned your languages so quickly? And resist iron as well as I do? Most Fae are hopeless at both. No, the clan leaders will not bother me here.”
She raised her hand, her long fingers splaying, and instantly the room was engulfed in flame.
Not true flame, Jaycee realized after she’d dropped to the floor. The stone crackled with fire, the windows glowed, and glass ran like water, but nothing in the room truly burned, and Jaycee felt no heat. An illusion?
“I assure you, it is real,” Aisling said as though reading her thoughts. “I can make it destroy or not, as I choose.”
She closed her hand and the flames died instantly. A few papers from the table fluttered to the floor in the breeze created by the sudden vacuum, and the room returned to its innocuous appearance.
Aisling no longer seemed as harmless, though. Jaycee sucked in a breath as she rose to her feet, and knew she’d never look at the woman the same way again.
“Enough showing off for the day,” Aisling said with a faint smile, as though admonishing herself. “Your friends are here. Shall we go down and greet them?”
* * *
Dimitri peeled open his eyes and wished he hadn’t. He’d been in the middle of a wonderful dream about Jaycee—he was licking her bare skin all over—but for some reason someone was trying to strangle him at the same time.
Metal bit into his throat, stinging Dimitri’s skin and choking off his breath. He coughed and woke. The image and taste of Jaycee dissolved, but the choking remained.
With awareness came pain, deep biting pain that clung and didn’t let go. Every one of his nerves was on fire, his bones couldn’t move, and white heat flared behind his eyes.
Close on the pain came memories of more pain—Brice locking the Collar around Dimitri’s throat, Simeon touching his sword to the Celtic knot, and Dimitri’s screams piercing the air until his throat was raw and the screams turned to hoarse rasps. Simeon had closed the circuit between his sword and the Collar until Dimitri’s limbs were jerking on the floor, and blood and tears flowed from his eyes.
No wonder Shifters went feral. That flooding pain had forced Dimitri’s body into that of his half beast, but the shift had only made the pain worse. The Collar, new, had to learn Dimitri’s change in shape, and it had dug into his neck until he could no longer breathe.
Somewhere after he’d instinctively shifted to human again, Dimitri had passed out.
Now only a groan came from between his lips as the Collar sparked, reminding him of its presence.
As he became more awake, he realized he lay on a stone floor with a grate about five feet above him. In the movies, people thrown into dungeons at least had dirty straw to lie on, or a high window to look out of and be reminded of the sky.
This was a real dungeon, which meant uneven stones, a low ceiling, and a bad stench. A very faint light showed through the grating, probably from some window far, far away down a twisting hall. No handy torches, which always seemed to be burning in subterranean passages in movies. Who tended the torches? he’d always wondered. Kept them lit, stocked with fuel, took them down, cleaned them and re-lit them when they died out?
Frivolous thoughts to distract him from pain, thirst, more pain, and pure rage. When Dimitri got out of here, Brice was one dead bear.
Where were Brice’s followers? Dimitri wondered. The poor, messed-up Shifters who’d decided Brice was a dynamic leader? Were they in similar dungeons? Elsewhere in the fortress? Kept in some kind of barracks or kennels until they were needed?
Some of them would have followed Brice willingly. Others had probably gone to him out of curiosity and had been dragged here by their fellows. Dimitri knew, even as he tried to catch his breath, that he couldn’t leave them behind for the Fae to use. Yes, they were here by their own stupidity; yes, they’d let Brice throw Ben off a balcony; but that didn’t mean Dimitri would let Shifters suffer and die as Fae slaves. He was a tracker—rescuing Shifters was part of his job.
Right now, it was all Dimitri could do to breathe.
He heard a stirring on the cobbles to his right. Dimitri stiffened, which rippled pain down his spine again, causing another groan.
A voice said in guttural English, “You okay?”
Dimitri blinked the haze from his eyes and slowly turned his head. The dokk alfar sat not far away, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. His long limbs were folded up, his clothes rags, his smell unfortunate. Not that Dimitri smelled any better.
“You understand me?” Dimitri asked.
The man only stared with eyes darker than night. Dimitri realized that the dokk alfar had probably picked up that phrase and nothing more.
“No,” Dimitri said. “Not okay. What’s your name?”
More staring. He understood No, and that was about it.
“All right, let’s do this the basic way.” Dimitri pressed his hand to his chest. “Dimitri.” He pointed to the dokk alfar and gave him a questioning look.
The man didn’t change expression—probably cursing his luck that in all the dungeons in all the lands of all the Fae, he’d been stuck in this one with a complete moron.
“Cian Tadhg Cailean an Mac Diarmud,” he said.
“Oh.” Dimitri drew a breath, flinched as every muscle pulled in different directions, and let it out again. “Assuming something in there is your name, how about I call you Cian?”
The dokk alfar again had that Goddess-help-me-I’m-stuck-with-an-idiot look, but he gave a nod. “Cian.” He pressed his hands to his chest in imitation of what Dimitri had done, then pointed at Dimitri. “Dimitri.”
“Yes.” Dimitri let out his breath, which didn’t hurt as much. As long as he didn’t breathe in, he’d be fine. “At least we have that sorted out. Now what do we do?”
Cian only looked at him in silence a few moments. He unfolded his legs after a time and closed the distance between them, then carefully touched Dimitri’s chest. The slim hand pressed down, as though feeling Dimitri’s heartbeat, then moved along his ribs, touching with the impersonal prodding of a doctor.
It hurt, but Cian seemed to know exactly where to press on every one of Dimitri’s internal organs. Not hard but competently, as though checking Dimitri for injuries. Had Dimitri lucked out and been locked up with a healer? Would it do either of them any good?
Cian found a rib that hurt like hell. Dimitri let out a shout of pain, and Cian withdrew his hand. It was back a second later, his palm warm on Dimitri’s side as he found the injury. He probed gently with his fingers, then announced something, shaking his head.
What? Broken? Only cracked? Who knew?
Cian stripped off what was left of his shirt and tore it in half. He put a strong hand under Dimitri’s side and lifted him enough to slip the cloth underneath, then he looped it around Dimitri’s ribs and tied it tightly. Dimitri growled and swore in Russian but once Cian was done yanking him around, the rib stayed in place and felt better.
“Shifters heal fast,” Dimitri said, his voice faint. “I’ll be all right.”
Cian rested his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder again, then withdrew. The touch was com
forting, something Shifters needed for healing. Did Cian know that? Or was he just doing what dokk alfar did when tending their wounded?
Dimitri tried to remember the words Reid had taught him. He knew Shifters—which was Horkalan—also hoch alfar czul—high Fae bastards—and several words for alcohol.
“I s-say we blow this joint, kick some hoch alfar czul asses, and then get drunk on gularain.”
Cian gave him a dark-eyed stare and then burst into a gravelly laugh. He nodded and said something in agreement, ending with Horkalan.
Dimitri laughed with him, which hurt like holy hell, so he calmed himself. After that, he and Cian watched each other again, out of conversation.
Cian crawled back to the other side of the dungeon, lost in the shadows. When he returned after a time, he had something in his hand. He put it into Dimitri’s, hiding the movement with his body, in case a Fae czul guard was watching them from overhead.
Dimitri felt the cold hilt of a knife, the blade honed but heavy. Iron, he realized. Cian was a cunning shithead. He’d either hidden it from their captors, or the Fae had been too afraid to take it away from him.
He grinned at Cian. “Nice one.”
Cian pointed upward, then backed away a little until he reached the edge of the grating. He reached up to rest his hands on the brick, closed his eyes, and drew in a breath, as though gathering strength or resolve. He opened his eyes again and curled his fingers.
Damned if he didn’t dig right into the brick. Pieces of brick and mortar started falling around Cian to the floor. Dimitri gaped at him until Cian scowled and made the motion upward again.
Ah, got it. Watch for guards.
Dimitri tried to lace his fingers behind his head in his usual lounging position but gave up when his ribs pulled. He settled for simply lying very still.
He saw nothing above them beyond the grating, which must be made of some non-iron metal. Fae had become experts at smithing and forging in silver, gold, bronze, copper, and tin, manipulating these in amazing ways, or so Dimitri had been told.
No one came, though a shadow would flit past the light occasionally—a guard, perhaps, or someone simply passing through that hall, but no one stopped, and no one looked in.
Cian continued to claw at the bricks, which came out easily. Dimitri wondered if this was some latent dokk alfar ability, or whether the stone had simply rotted enough to be pulled away.
The falling debris made noise when it hit the floor, so Dimitri began to whistle, then to sing. He chose a wavering country song, full of all the clichés anyone could think of. The songwriter had known it was cliché-ridden and had had fun with it.
Jaycee would laugh. Dimitri was filled with a sudden and gripping longing for her, a heat in his heart that began to cut through the agony.
He stopped singing for a moment as knowledge filled him like cool, soothing water.
The mate bond. The image of Jaycee rose before him, her smile that made her eyes glow, the sassy way she cocked her head while she told him exactly what she thought of him. Dimitri needed a woman who could stand up to him, go toe-to-toe with him, and he had it in Jaycee.
Plus, she was simply beautiful. Her human form with her breasts that fit well into his large hands, hips he loved to nibble, legs that were strong from running and fighting. Her leopard was gorgeous too, a golden body with mottled black and dark gold markings and dark spots in pleasing patterns on her face. Jaycee could leap like nothing he’d ever seen and fight like a wild thing.
The mate bond wrapped around Dimitri, settling in his chest, shimmering down into his cracked rib and making it whole. The Collar seemed suddenly to choke him less, and his pain began to ease.
“I love you, Jase,” Dimitri whispered. “And I swear by the Goddess, I will come back to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jaycee leapt down the stairs as the terrified gardener rushed in through the back door, leaving a trail of mud from his boots. Behind him strode three Shifters Jaycee knew—Dylan, Zander, and Tiger.
Immense relief flooded her along with renewed energy. If anyone could help her find Dimitri it was three of the most powerful Shifters around, most especially . . .
“Tiger!” Jaycee sailed off the last five steps, landed lightly on her feet, bounded to the large, quiet Shifter, and threw her arms around his waist. “Am I glad to see you!”
“Hey,” Zander said behind her, mock hurt in his voice. “What about the rest of us? Liver? Chopped?”
“Glad to see you too, Zander,” Jaycee said.
She kept her arms around Tiger, who gazed down at her with his strange and enigmatic eyes. While male Shifters were wary of Tiger and wouldn’t dream of flying to him and grabbing him in an embrace, females and cubs had no problem with it. Tiger would never hurt them, and they knew it.
Tiger put one strong arm around Jaycee’s waist and gave her a firm hug in return. “We came to take you home. And Dimitri. Where is he?”
Jaycee pulled back. “I was hoping you could tell me that. I don’t know.”
“Hmm,” Zander said. “That’s not good.” He swung around to sit on the stairs, his black duster coat swinging. The Fae of the house encircled them, some fearful, others angry, but Zander only swept his gaze across them and turned back to Jaycee. “Where did you lose him?”
Dylan had said nothing, only took in his surroundings and the Fae without comment. Wherever his gaze landed, the retainers suddenly found something else to look at.
Jaycee began to explain what had happened at Brice’s house in New Orleans, but Lady Aisling’s imperious voice interrupted.
“And who might you be?” She stood on the landing above them, straight and unyielding. Her clothes were fairly plain and dotted with soil from gardening, but Jaycee had a feeling Aisling would be intimidating whether she wore rags or the finest couture.
The same went for Dylan. In a dusty T-shirt and oil-stained jeans, he dominated the space. Angus and even Zander conceded to him. Only Tiger was oblivious to who was dominant, but Tiger was always like that. He’d been raised in a cage, isolated in a basement, never seeing the sunlight until he’d been released forty years later. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about dominance.
Zander, leaning back to look up at Aisling, said, “We might be Shifters. Might not. Who knows?”
Aisling let out an impatient sigh. “Do not be impertinent, young man. And I’ll thank you to get off the stairs. They were just scrubbed.”
Zander raised his hands in an apologetic gesture and heaved himself up. With his white braids and duster, he looked the oddest of the three, beating Tiger’s mottled hair, topaz eyes, and immense stillness.
Dylan, by contrast, looked almost harmless. He spoke to Aisling in a respectful voice, his expression calm. “I am Dylan Morrissey of clan Morrissey, former leader of the Austin Shiftertown. Am I addressing one of the Tuil Erdannan?”
Aisling’s frown smoothed. “You impress me, Shifter. Difficult to do. I was coming to realize that young Shifters know nothing about the Tuil Erdannan. But never mind about that.” She lifted her chin. “I have decided to help you locate this missing Shifter, Dimitri Kashnikov. Yes,” she said to Jaycee’s surprised look. “I made the decision as I descended the stairs. Not because your friends came to find you, but because I like you, Jaycee. And because devilish clan lords like Simeon and Orag should not prevail. I ought to have moved against them long ago, but I tend to forget about petty things. When you live a thousand years, people who annoy you tend to die off.”
She spoke matter-of-factly, but Jaycee saw something raw flicker in her eyes. The other side of her statement was that people she cared for also died. Jaycee had seen a similar look on Ben’s face a few times.
“We still don’t know where Dimitri is,” Jaycee said, her voice less sharp than it had been. “Which is why I’m so happy to see Tiger. He’s like a tracker extraordinair
e. Can you tell where Dimitri is?” she asked Tiger.
“I cannot,” Tiger said without worry. “Not yet.”
“But you will.” Jaycee spoke with conviction, more to reassure herself than anything else. “Come upstairs and look at the map.”
“I don’t need a map,” Tiger said. “I need to look.”
He closed his mouth, pivoted to the right, and walked out to the garden the way he had come. The gardener sidled out of his path, holding his fork in a defensive stance. Tiger strode by him without a glance.
Zander started after Tiger with a growl. “Damn it, he can’t run around Faerie by himself.”
“Who’s going to stop him?” Jaycee asked.
Zander turned back at the open door. “Good point, but even Tiger can’t fight the next Shifter-Fae war singlehandedly. But he might try. I’ll see if I can rein him in.” Zander turned in a swirl of his coat and headed after Tiger.
That left Dylan, who turned his blue gaze on Jaycee. “I asked Kendrick to put you on this mission because you broke the rules,” he said. He sounded resigned, even apologetic. “I suppose I have only myself to blame. We tried to tell you to stand down when it grew too dangerous.”
Jaycee folded her arms and looked Dylan in the eye, not an easy thing to do. “Kendrick can’t give me an order that will keep me from protecting my mate. Neither can you.”
Dylan, to her surprise, gave her a conceding nod. “I know. But when we discussed the mission a few days ago, you weren’t calling Dimitri mate.”
“That changed,” Jaycee said. “I accepted his claim.”
She lifted her chin, ready to defend herself. She’d always denied out loud that she and Dimitri were anything but friends—not because she’d been ashamed of her feelings, but because it wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs.
They’d always been more than friends though. She’d known it in her heart. Not many Shifters accepted female trackers, but Dimitri had always believed in her, had from the day they’d met. That must have been when Jaycee had started loving him, but she hadn’t noticed the love blossoming until it had grown too big to ignore.
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