by Rosalie Redd
Pat him on the head and send him on vacation? Yeah, right.
The scars on his chest flared to life. He scratched at the flesh through his shirt. The itch persisted, and he doubled his effort until the pain subsided.
His attention returned to Wynne. A momentary flicker of regret swept through him. Although he’d brought her to the Otherworld to please his god, he didn’t want any harm to come to her. He admired her spunk and fiery attitude. As a fae, he shouldn’t care, but as a man…
Wynne inhaled a loud breath. She lowered her hand and narrowed her gaze at him.
A fiery heat bloomed deep inside Zain. If he wasn’t careful, he could get lost in the depths of those beautiful baby blues.
He raised an eyebrow. “Care to explain what just happened?”
She crossed her arms and jutted her jaw. “None of your business.”
A rush of blood swept through him, piquing his interest in her. How he liked this spirited witch. He pointed to her bracelet and gave her his winning smile. “From here on out, like it or not, witch, everything about you is my business.”
Her eyes dilated ever so slightly, but then her nostrils flared. “I—”
“Hate you.” He smirked at her. “Yeah, I know.”
She clamped her lips together and glared at him.
He shrugged. “Tell me now. Tell me later. One way or another…”
The rhythmic click of expensive men’s dress shoes echoed down the hallway.
A moment later, Marco emerged into the light. His long overcoat flared around his knees, and he traced the handle of his cane nestled in the crook of his arm. His aura, dark gray with streaks of black, completed his sinister attire.
Thank the gods no one else but Zain could see the evilness surrounding the fae. If any human saw his sinister aura, nightmares would ensue, certainly.
“I thought I might find you here. I rarely come to this part of the Otherworld. Reminds me too much of my prior human home.” Marco glanced from Zain to Wynne and back again. “Seems you completed our assignment without me. Such a pity. I had so looked forward to the challenge.”
Zain curled his lip. “Looks like you’ve healed quite well. Now, that’s a pity.”
Marco’s eyelid twitched. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. The rolled parchment, sealed with black wax imprinted with Gwawl’s fingerprint, appeared as ominous as a snake ready to bite. Marco slapped the scroll into Zain’s hands.
“Gwawl wanted me to give you this note, personally.” A smug smile returned to his features.
The hair along Zain’s nape bristled. He handed the scroll to Marco. “Don’t test me.”
Marco maintained Zain’s gaze for several long seconds then grabbed the paper. “You want me to read the note out loud—”
Zain smiled. “Now you understand.”
“—because you can’t read it yourself.” Marco finished.
“You’re stupid. Can barely read a children’s book.” Zain’s long-deceased wife’s bitter comments slid through his mind.
Heat flared over his face and burned his ears. He didn’t need a reminder from this arrogant fae of his weakness. Agatha had pounded that into his thick skull quite enough, and the thought of attempting to read the paper raised gooseflesh along his arms.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Speaking of women, Wynne had heard every word, and he couldn’t look at her. What would she think of him? Why did he care? He shouldn’t, but that he did bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Zain cracked his knuckles. The urge to pound his fist into Marco’s face rippled through him as it had during his human years, right before a scheduled fight. Instead, he revealed his fangs and grasped Marco by his metal collar. As he pulled the fae close, his sickly-sweet cologne slipped into Zain’s senses. “I don’t think Gwawl would be impressed to know a gargoyle disabled you on such a critical mission. Read me the note.”
Zain shoved Marco against the stone wall. Bits of dirt and dust filtered from the ceiling.
“You don’t have to be so testy.” Marco adjusted his collar and wiped his palm over his jacket. He extended a fingernail and broke the seal. Bits of dark wax slipped to the stone floor and scattered at their feet.
Marco cleared his throat. “You have succeeded. Well done. Bring the witch and her mother to the Misery Room, along with your minion.” His lips tightened for a moment. “The guards will grant you access to the forbidden chamber. Don’t make me wait.”
The Misery Room. That’s where Gwawl hoarded his imprisoned gargoyles. Few fae had ventured beyond the six-inch thick doors and rumors abounded about the number of creatures confined within that chamber. The constant groans and tortured cries that seeped from behind the doors sent shivers down even the most hardened fae.
A bead of sweat trickled over Zain’s brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. What did Gwawl want from these witches?
He glanced at Wynne.
She shoved away from the bars and pursed her lips. “You’re not taking us to any so-called ‘Misery Room.’ No freaking way.”
Zain snatched a key from his pocket and handed it to Marco. “Grab the elder witch.”
Marco smiled, revealing his fangs. “With pleasure.”
“No! Leave her alone!” Wynne fought against the bars, yanking with all her strength.
Zain admired her fight, but he’d do what was necessary to please his god. His soul wasn’t worth much, but he wasn’t ready to die and disappear into the ether.
Even over Wynne’s loud protests, the click of the lock echoed down the corridor.
A moment later, Marco dragged Victoria from her cell. She stumbled over the exit, and Zain caught her before she tumbled to the stone floor.
“Watch your step.” He helped her stand and passed her off to Marco.
“Th…thank you,” she whispered.
A strange warmth hit him on the inside, and he blinked. No one had thanked him in decades. After all he’d done, as human or fae, he didn’t deserve any kind of gratitude. He shook his head and peered at Wynne.
“You’ll come with us, now. Won’t you?” He gave her his winning smile.
She fisted her hand. “I…”
“Hate me. We’ve already established that.” Zain retrieved the key from Marco and unlocked Wynne’s cell. As he swung open the door, the hinges creaked.
“This way.” He extended his arm.
Wynne’s attention focused on her mother. A pained expression crossed her features and reflected in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes. “Mom, how can you go so willingly?”
Victoria met Wynne’s gaze and shook her head. “Now is not the time to fight, honey bear.”
“But…” Wynne’s lips thinned, and a flash of determination flickered over her features. She raised her chin then stepped from the cell.
Zain grasped her wrist. The warmth of her bare, unadorned skin tingled his fingertips, teasing him with thoughts of pleasure and—
She jerked against his hold. “Let go. I won’t run.”
He almost did as she asked, and warning bells rang in his mind. Steeling himself, he slid his thumb along the sensitive skin on the underside of her arm.
“Nice try, sweetheart, but I don’t trust you. Not that you can escape, but we’re in a hurry. I don’t have time to chase after you.” He smiled. “That might be fun, though, given other circumstances.”
A blush tinged her cheeks a deep pink, and she renewed her struggles.
Zain tugged her close, and her curves fit against him in all the right places. Her lavender scent infiltrated his senses, teasing him with its sweet appeal. With slow ease, he slid his hand down her back and over the gentle curve of her hip.
“Your blush is very alluring. Tell me. Is it from anger or excitement?” he whispered.
She inhaled, and the force of the breath pressed her breasts against his chest. Even through their clothing, her nipples, taut and hard, teased him.
“You arrogant…” She strugg
led once more, but the intensity of her fight diminished with each heartbeat. At last, she relaxed.
Zain chuckled. “Are you willing to cooperate now?”
“Y…yes,” she breathed.
How he longed to hear her acquiescence under different circumstances. For now, he’d take what he could get.
He released her and held out his hand. “This way.”
“I do indeed hate you.” Wynne raised her chin and followed Marco and her mother down the corridor.
The bitter taste of regret bubbled up Zain’s throat and into his mouth, and for a brief moment, he wished he’d never laid eyes on Wynne much less brought her here. In the end, though, he’d had little choice. He still valued his own measly life.
What had he expected anyway? That she’d somehow care for him? What a laugh. She’d already told him several times she hated him and with good reason. The sooner he delivered the witches to Gwawl and stomped his crush for this witch into the ground, the sooner he could forget all about her.
Yet, as he trailed Wynne and her mother down the hall, his stomach hardened with the worry he’d sentenced one or both witches to death.
CHAPTER 7
Wynne narrowed her eyes at a pair of fae standing before a set of large double doors. Dressed in dark brown robes, they reminded her of the grim reaper, minus the scythe. Even still, the thin line of their mouths and the yellow glow around their eyes chilled her blood. Well, that, and the incessant moans emanating from underneath the door.
The Misery Room… What fresh hell lay on the other side?
The walls seemed to shrink, closing in around her, and her breaths rasped from her lungs.
She clutched her neck and glanced at her mother. The dirty gray dress she wore hung from her shoulders, revealing clavicle bones beneath gaunt skin, thin, bony arms, and a face ravaged by rough living conditions.
Wynne’s lip trembled, and a coldness crested over her nape. Time had not been kind to Victoria over the past thirteen years. Wynne reached for her mother, eager to hold her close and never let go, but Zain’s firm grip on her arm kept her in place at his side.
Dear Goddess, she wanted to claw out his eyes. Yet, his warm, spicy scent burrowed into her lungs with every breath, and with each greedy inhale, she betrayed her kind a little more. The bitter pill of self-hatred slid down her throat.
Fae were seductive, dangerous creatures. Maybe what was on the other side of the door would be better than this horrific torture.
A piercing shriek echoed from within the room.
Wynne gasped and stepped back. Then again, maybe not.
Marco dragged Victoria by the wrist and approached the guards. Wynne’s heart pounded, and she swallowed the fear creeping up her spine. What would happen to them?
She noted Marco’s short, blond hair, the line of his nose, and the angle of his jaw. Although she’d heard about this particular fae over the years, she’d never met him. Something about him seemed familiar, though, but she couldn’t quite place why.
Marco faced the guards and raised his chin. “Gwawl summoned us—”
One of the guards raised his palm.
A breathless rasp escaped Marco’s lips. He stiffened and tugged at the metal collar around his neck.
Zain tightened his grip around Wynne’s forearm and stepped forward. As he focused on the two guards, she got a good look at his features. Tightness rimmed his eyes and along his jaw, but then he smiled, and charm radiated from him like heat from the sun.
Oh, dearest Rhiannon, how could a fae be so handsome? Her stomach fluttered as if ladybugs had found their way in, and she hated herself for noticing him.
He bowed his head slightly then glanced between the two guards. “My servant speaks before he thinks and has terrible manners.”
With an air of nonchalance, Zain extracted two golden disks from his pocket and tossed one to each guard. Firelight emanating from the wall scones reflected off their surfaces in a golden arc.
The guards caught the disks and stepped aside.
Marco audibly inhaled. A wracking cough burst from his lungs.
The doors opened on a loud creak, and pained wails increased in volume.
Clamminess coated Wynne’s palms. She didn’t want to know what lay beyond the doors, but even if there were someplace to run, she wouldn’t leave her mother. For the past thirteen years, she’d thought her mother had abandoned her, but a fae had captured Victoria and brought her to the Otherworld. For what purpose?
“Come along.” Zain tugged Wynne forward.
One of the guards raised his arm and extended a finger at Marco. His nail, cracked and yellowed, seemed as sharp as a blade. “Not him.”
Marco stiffened. His lip curled far enough to reveal a long, pointy fang. “Gwawl summoned us. You will let me enter.”
The fae’s extended finger rotated to Zain. “Gwawl summoned him. You were to bring the elder witch this far and no further.”
Marco’s face reddened. “That’s just…not right.”
He flicked his gaze to Zain, and darkness flitted over his features. “Seems you’re the favored one at the moment. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
With a quick turn on his toes, Marco marched down the hall, his overcoat billowing in his wake.
“This way, both of you.” Zain gripped Victoria’s arm with one hand and placed his other along Wynne’s back.
Wynne trudged over the threshold and into the expansive room.
Just inside the dimly lit room, large steel crates hugged the walls. Cries and moans emanated from behind the locked doors. Rumors had floated through the witch community for years about missing warriors and Gwawl’s penchant for torture. Were gargoyles imprisoned in those crates? She prayed it was not so. A long, thick chain trailed from each box to the center of the room.
Wynne held her breath. Oh, dear, goddess, no.
In the middle of the chamber sat a large crystal the size of a small house surrounded by a reflective pool. Huge crystalline spires jutted from the core, the sharp, pointed ends as beautiful as they were deadly. A muted, green glow pulsed from within and along the chains, eerily similar to the beat of a heart.
Wynne locked her knees and held her ground, forcing Zain to stop. A scowl darkened his handsome features.
“What’s in the crates?” she demanded.
A minuscule flinch crossed his features. If she’d blinked, she would’ve missed it.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Zain tugged her arm and continued onward.
Yanked off balance, she stumbled after him.
“Tadea con acai!” Spittle flew from Wynne’s lips, but the curse emerged on a whisper.
Instead of the fireball she’d intended to create, a tiny flame spurted from her fingertip then extinguished in a puff of smoke.
The gold band around her arm burned. She wanted to scratch at the metal, rip it from her, and fling the hated jewelry at Zain, but he held her other arm in a tight grip. Not that her tirade would do any good. As she’d discovered, the bracelet was anchored onto her like a ball and chain. Only Zain could remove the damn thing, and that thought burned in her gut, a torment far worse than any pain on her skin.
“Wynne, my daughter. Save your energy.” Victoria’s gaze held the wisdom of time and experience.
“Mom, what’s going on? Tell me.”
“I see you’ve brought me my new ward. Well done, well done indeed.” A deep male chuckle echoed through the room.
The urge to bolt slipped through Wynne like lightning. Without access to her full magic abilities, she couldn’t defend herself or her mother.
Zain tightened his grip and drew her close. She flinched from the pain in her arm, and he eased his strong hold.
The strange sense to snuggle against him competed with her need to flee. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The old saying slid across her mind, and laughter, born of fear, threatened to escape. Instead, she pursed her lips. One way or another, god or not, she’d face this threat with everything she
had in her.
A swirl of dust and dirt formed a few feet away. The particles shifted from a dull gray to a myriad of blues, greens, yellows, and reds, creating a virtual rainbow of colors. A moment later the beautiful whirlwind ceased, and a large man stood in its place. She gaped at him.
At over eight feet tall and dressed in a long red robe tied at the waist with a golden chain, his imposing presence dwarfed the room. Ringlets of dark hair peppered with strands of gray graced his broad shoulders. A sharp jaw and thin lips accentuated his bulbous nose, but his black eyes seemed as dark and forlorn as the night sky without stars.
Gwawl…
A shiver tracked over every vertebra along Wynne’s spine.
“My lord.” Zain released his grip on Wynne’s arm, lowered himself to one knee, and bowed his head.
Gwawl’s gaze focused on Wynne. A smile curled his lip. “Ah, Wynne. What a pleasure to meet you at last. We’ll have a long, healthy working arrangement, I’m sure.”
Rhiannon hated him for a reason, and it looked like Wynne would discover firsthand why. Refusing to show fear in front of this evil god, she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Working arrangement?”
“Stand, minion.” Gwawl waved his hand and strode toward her. The ground shook with each of his steps.
Zain rose, and she glanced at him. His emotions remained hidden behind his stoic features.
Gwawl slid his cold, hard fingers under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.
The hair on her nape rose, and a shudder rippled down her arms to her fingertips.
Zain stiffened next to her.
Gwawl smiled, revealing a set of long, pointed fangs. “Seems magic runs strong in your family, and you are a special one indeed, born during a solar eclipse. You will serve me well, power the crystals, and keep my pets contained. Would you like a demonstration?”
Wynne swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the ramifications of his words.
“Gwawl, please, that’s not necessary,” Victoria pleaded.
His smile faded. The black in his eyes seemed to darken. How was that possible?
He released her and focused on her mother. “Power the crystals.”
