“Healing is painful, Kieran of the Shadow.”
He blinked. The same voice that had spoken to him when he’d been pulled into the Chaos Realm swelled in his head.
Who are you?
“You’ve asked before, and I give the same answer. No one and Everyone. She needs you.”
I’m not good for anyone.
“No, not anyone. But for her, maybe. When the pain is gone, you will know. Your soul will cry, your cells eating away at what went before to be replaced by one thought. Her.”
You speak of Fate Pairs.
Heath knew of it. Similar to the way wolves mated, Fae were Fated for the other. Their very souls stitched together to become one—each unable to harm the other physically—and they’d go to death as one.
Heath was not worthy of something so beautiful.
“I do.”
The only female Fae he knew of—at least that he could trust from his memories—was Silva with the Lombardi Pack. He’d felt nothing but hatred and anger for her, until the end when he’d felt guilt. Who else could there be?
I don’t understand, he thought at the voice.
“You will. And I will allow you to have help. Just two of the four who walked with you on the Side of Fragile.”
That was an old term. The Side of Fragile was what the Fae had called the land of the humans, separated from the world of the Fae. Despite his distrust, Heath wasn’t stupid enough to turn down help.
Cynes and Eiravel.
“So be it. Survive, Kieran of the Shadow, and your men shall be waiting.”
Yeah, like he had a fucking choice. The pain was red-hot, digging through his chest and scalding his nerve endings. But as much as it took his breath away and left him arching in the maelstrom, he could feel the strength returning to his limbs.
Each breath had less rattle.
He could clench his hands.
The weight on his chest lifted.
He was being reformed, remade, from the inside out, and he couldn’t run away from it. Everything he thought he knew was a lie. He attempted to focus on the memories to wash away the agony. To piece together what had happened. But try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything else but Sorlisalvalkeld—slave— branded into his neck. The burn. The gnaw of hunger. The rupture of his internal organs as Seelie Fae enjoyed beating him into the dust.
And the way they’d always given him enough time to heal so they could do it again.
The way they’d taken things from him, irreplaceable things he could never get back.
But … Silva. He believed her. Believed she hadn’t known. Hadn’t been aware. How could that be, though, when he’d seen her? When he watched her pour silver into a blade and cut down some of the only family he’d ever known? He’d witnessed her joy as their blood sprayed in wild patterns around them.
Could someone impersonate a Fae Queen?
He wasn’t so sure, but he’d have to find out the truth. He had to in order to ever have a chance of going home. Even if Romano wanted to kill him for the harm done to Kalinda, or if Dominic called for his head for attacking those under his protection, Heath had made a promise to Lorenzo that he’d make this right, no matter what it took. It was one he intended to keep.
He slumped, falling faster than ever through the inky darkness that rolled and shifted. Fell until he slammed into the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Heath lay there, gasping for breath and jerking.
“Hold, Kieran. Hold.”
A warrior trained through and through, Heath opened his eyes to assess the threat. Eiravel hovered over him, his pale, nearly white blond hair hanging over his shoulders. Heath looked to his lips, searching for the fangs that protruded anytime an Unseelie was ready for battle or threatened. The fact they were not visible signaled things were okay … for the moment.
“Where the fuck are we?”
Eiravel shrugged, blinking his dark, star-studded gaze. “In Between. Not sure where.”
The eyes were a mark of an Unseelie as much as the fangs. They all were dark-eyed but had varying shades of sparks around the pupils depending on their gift. Eiravel’s were red, a hint to his battle prowess.
“Somewhere between fucked and fucked harder would be my guess.” In contrast, his twin, Cynes, had golden sparks for his skill with metal work. He could use precious stones like rubies or diamonds to enchant his armor and blades. The fucker also thought he was a walking comedian.
Heath groaned and forced himself to sit up. He had no sense of immediate threat, but he didn’t want to tempt fate lying down.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised.
“Aye, I’d assume we must. Portals appeared under our feet while we were heading toward Encantado’s borders to escape and we ended up here. I’ve no doubt our brothers and those wolves we enlisted are somewhere here looking for us,” Eiravel offered.
Heath cursed. Another issue to contend with. He’d hired the Renegades, an elusive group that could be hired for the right price. But Heath had learned something very important about those wolves. The right price typically was the right cause to fight for. They’d been ostracized, bullied, and hunted by humans, and they had a more traditional view of the separation between humans and paranormals because of it.
Many feared and wanted to destroy what they didn’t understand, and the Renegades were no different.
But then, the illness of not knowing the truth seemed to infect everything around Heath.
Finally, his gaze rested on his surroundings, and he sucked in a breath.
“What the hell?”
Eiravel looked around too. “When was the last time you saw the In Between like this?”
It had been a very long time. The In Between, or Chaos Realm to the paranormals who lived among humans, hid a secret not known to everyone. Technically, the Chaos Realm was the borderland between the Fae world—the In Between—and the humans. The violent area where chaos could kill was meant to protect the Fae by keeping humans and other supernaturals from crossing into the In Between. As such, it was a mixture of both, washed over with a monochromatic filter. That filter had grown darker and darker the longer Heath spent time among humans, until it was nothing but violent darkness trying to kill him.
For the first time in a long time, Heath saw a piece of home.
In cool, washed-over shades of gray, white, and black, the In Between spread out before him. Large trees with weeping branches hung with fat leaves of black rimmed in white. Each tree grew from the sharp shards of black grass covering the ground. If he closed his eyes, he could just see the bright pink and green leaves of the Unseelie lands. The way the thin line of green would glow in the darkness throughout the night because there was no day in Unseelie lands—much safer for their pale skin.
He gripped the ground and played with the grass between his fingers. It looked deadly, sharp enough to split through muscle and bone, but for the Fae it was softer than cashmere. A welcoming, grounding substance that tied them to the land. Heath sucked in a pained breath. This was the closest he’d get to seeing home. There were no birds sitting among the branches, no rolling silver clouds heavy in the sky, and no lightning—full of magic and power—sparking and dancing across the sky.
In fact, the In Between was deadly silent.
If he hadn’t heard their breaths, Heath would fear he might be deaf. But it was always like that here, a dampened space between two living lands that could never be one.
Eiravel shifted. “We should get moving. The faster we find our men, the better.”
Heath nodded, getting to his feet. It took a moment before the world stopped spinning beneath him and he sucked in a deep breath.
At least he was in armor. Gleaming black and threaded with silver, it framed his body so he could move swiftly when he danced with his blade. The gear had been designed by his internal magic, along with an infusion of amethyst by Cynes to amplify the gift. Heath reached behind his head and between his shoulder blades to grip the smooth handle of his most t
rusted companion, Xaerelathimtorhil—Wraith.
Lastly, he closed his eyes, reaching for that internal string his men had pledged to him. Called Heart Tethers, they made an Unseelie the leader of a band. This link allowed them to speak telepathically in short spurts, know general locations of the others, and, if one were to betray the band, it could be used to stop their heart.
To give a Heart Tether to a brother-at-arms was an act of complete trust and love.
Heath was happy he’d been able to gain that with his men—Eiravel, his second, Cynes, Kallan, and Teague. He’d found them in Encantado, hiding in the slums and angered at Silva’s appearance as well. They remembered what she’d done—the pain she’d caused—and it seemed too simple to bond together and fight against her.
Things weren’t what they seemed, and none of them had talked about what had transpired. Eventually, they’d have to.
Heath spun in a slow circle, trying to connect with his other men. “We’ll need to decide on a direction. Nothing is coming through the Tether.”
Eiravel stepped up to his side, his hands hovering over the hilts of his blades on his hips. “Nothing?”
Heath shook his head. “I can feel you two, but even that is muted compared to normal. Maybe it’s the In Between.”
“Then maybe camp would be a better idea. It would give us time to plan what we want to do and then move out,” Cynes offered, checking the tautness of his bowstring against his thumb.
“I don’t want to stay here longer than—”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
“Kieran!”
“Shadow!”
Heath heard his men call out to him, but he couldn’t say a damn thing as his insides decided they wanted to explode all at the same fucking time. Rooted on his feet, his bones ached under tense muscles as his internal organs rearranged and shifted. Red-hot agony kicked his heart into overdrive as he fought to catch his breath.
“Her. Trapped. Help. She’s here.”
He stumbled a step forward, ripped in that direction. Called again by that voice.
“This way. Must find her. Save her!”
He groaned, his fangs extending until he had to part his lips to keep them from slicing through the bottom one. It was worse than battle rage or feeding. For an Unseelie, the need to consume blood was raw, striking only after serious injury. Their fangs were almost like sensors, coming out when danger was nearby. They picked up extra information and relayed feedback of terrain and powers of the enemy. Very skilled Unseelie could determine more information using their fangs.
This was not one of those times.
He needed blood. Craved it in a way he never had. His cock stiffened painfully beneath his armor, and he had an uncontrollable urge to fuck and drink directly from a vein at the same time.
“Talk to us,” Cynes demanded.
He couldn’t. Oh Norns, he couldn’t. Visions swam in front of him: golden skin sliding over his pale flesh, a tight, wet pussy gripping him so deep inside he’d never get out, and hot blood filling his mouth.
“Her. All you need is her. Save her, or she’ll die.”
“No!” His animalistic scream throbbed over his vocal cords until it was a dual sound of male and female.
“Shit, Kieran. Your fangs,” Eiravel whispered.
What the fuck is wrong with my fangs?
But there was nothing. No words he could force out. Nothing that mattered more than going in the direction his very soul pulled him. He took one leap forward, and then he was off, streaking as fast as his Fae power would take him.
Heath sensed Eiravel and Cynes move after him as one, each man flanking Heath’s sides in formation.
Until Heath slammed to a stop.
Eiravel and Cynes slid forward several feet, kicking black grass into the air and creating grooves in the ground. Heath didn’t care, didn’t give one fuck if they broke their legs at the moment.
All that mattered was what was right in front of him.
Who stood before him.
Blue-and-green hair swirled like it was trapped in water, a thick curtain falling down around her hips. She barely came up to his chest, but her large aquamarine eyes nearly brought him to his knees. Lush, pink lips slightly opened as she sucked in a breath. Her pointed chin was perfection, and the elongated ears of his kind peeked out through her hair. And her skin … Fuck. Her skin was golden, like buried treasure in the sea, and possessed a pearlescent quality over her shoulders and down her arms.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful and foreign.
“You’re here.” Her soft voice, like waves crashing to the shore, wrapped around his cock and caressed him until he groaned.
“Kieran, what are you doing? What are you looking at?”
The woman looked over her shoulder at Eiravel, and Heath growled, angry that she’d look at another male when she stood before him. When his mark wasn’t visible to warn any fucker who thought he could touch her to get the hell back.
He took one menacing step forward.
“Foraltin, they cannot see me.”
Foraltin. Fate male. She called me her Fate male.
“You … Who are you?”
She looked over her shoulder again, her face pinched in fear. Heath stepped forward, bringing her close enough to crush to his chest, but when he reached for her, his hand when through her.
“I must return, but I shall come back to you forthwith.”
She faded, even as he tried in vain to keep her at his side.
“No!”
She was gone, and Eiravel gripped Heath’s shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever wanted to pull his blade and cut through his second.
“Stop this, Kieran, and speak. Tell me what is going on.”
“Foraltae,” Heath forced out.
“Shit.” Cynes released a heavy sigh and looked at Eiravel. “He’s found his Fated female. We’re screwed if she’s here. He won’t stop looking until he finds her, and who knows what the hell we’ll be fighting against.”
He was right. Heath wouldn’t stop, even if he had to tear down the In Between with his fucking bare hands. He may have been a horrible friend to Lorenzo and Cyn. In his ignorance, he may have nearly destroyed Kalinda and Silva.
But he would not fail her.
Chapter Three
“Show me what I want to see.”
Asherah hovered in a bubble of raging sea water. For anyone else, the salt would have ripped off their skin, the water filling their lungs and choking them until they floated to eventually fade to nothing.
For her, it was life.
Here, in her whirlpool of power, she could breathe. She could think. This was where no one could touch her—not even Skuld’s harsh power.
Feigning sleep, Asherah ignored Skuld’s command, as she always did. She had been doing the same thing for a hundred and twenty-five years. Why? Because the world she lived in was full of misery and pain. All she had ever been able to do was watch through her water to see snippets of what life looked like outside. And even then, she’d only been able to connect in moments of dire distress, namely to her sister Niamh—or Silva as she was called now.
“I know you can hear me, Asherah. Remember, I know the future.”
Yes, Skuld did, but there was a trick to that—a small piece of information she likely thought Asherah would never realize. Skuld could only see actions, not read minds. Asherah had figured it out when she’d decided to run away from her hell and fade into nothing instead of becoming the instrument of death Skuld wanted her to be.
The instrument to kill Niamh and change the course of the future irrevocably.
Skuld had not been aware of Asherah’s decision until she raced in the moment Asherah put herself under in the water prison. Simply seeing the moment Asherah decided to fight back had not given Skuld a chance to stop it.
Knowing the future did not make her all-powerful.
Through the water and in her mind, Asherah could see Skuld’s tall, lithe frame standing next t
o the bed, her fingers outstretched and spread wide. For a being that had lived thousands of years, Skuld was tragically beautiful.
Coal-black hair fell around her waist, the dark color matching her eyes. She’d been blessed with porcelain skin, cherry-red lips, and angular features humans would kill to possess. She was magnificent, even with the white horns which grew from her temples and curled around her ears like the inside of a spire. Skuld used her horns to “hear” the future and translate it into visions through her scrying bowl.
Although she hated her, Asherah saw the beauty of the sea in her captor.
“Last chance, Asherah. I’m growing tired of this game. I know the hate in your heart for Niamh. She left you, turned her back. If it weren’t for her, you’d never be here. Don’t you want to punish her? See her fail?”
Familiar pain lanced through Asherah’s chest. Yes, she could hear every word Skuld uttered. Yes, she was still angry at her sister. How could she not be? She may have forgiven the woman who now was Silva in the human world, but that didn’t take away her feelings about what had happened.
She left me to this fate. Not by her hand, but by her ignorance.
No. Asherah couldn’t think of it. Not now. Not with Skuld ready to pounce, to turn her waters murky and drag the rage from Asherah that could create a storm.
A rage that would cause death.
Because she was even angrier at Skuld.
Asherah instead focused on the blinding darkness of her prison walls. Here, in the Forgotten Tower, she was kept within Skuld’s domain of the In Between. It was just as dark as her captor, a monstrosity of smoothed onyx wall, a mass built straight from the ground up by Skuld’s magic. The windows were crystalline fixtures fitted into the walls so they could not open.
Asherah knew—she’d tried to jump to her death many times before.
The high arches over her head were inscribed with ancient runes of power and holding. Without them being broken, Asherah would never be able to escape. They glowed red from Asherah’s blood, a reminder she’d never leave.
“So be it, fallen princess of the Seelie.”
Dark wisps of curling power came from Skuld’s fingertips like smoke. Cloying and thick like tar, the miasma covered Asherah’s bubble. While Skuld was the future-seeing Norn, she also had the gift of manifesting what may one day be.
Fated to the Traitor (Portal City Protectors Book 4) Page 2
