by Rosalie Redd
The ancient text perched on the blanket he’d brought to her. An idea raised his blood pressure, sending his pulse racing. Before he questioned his motives, he sifted into her cell and wrapped his fingers around the leather-bound book.
The heavy tome seemed to sprout horns and a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, but that was all in his imagination. He tightened his grip on the book and sifted to his room, eager to dive in.
Zain leaned back in the chair, and the wood groaned under his heavy weight. A headache pounded and pulsed behind his eyes, taking potshots at him. He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes. Words swam in his vision, the letters slipping by on a slow, lazy current.
He pinched the bridge of his nose then opened his eyes. I can’t give up.
A freight train of conviction rumbled along his nerves. He leaned forward, grasped the book’s hard cover, and tugged it closer. Fingertip poised on the page, he traced over the ink.
“Cr…crystals…are u…used for…t…temp…” Irritation skittered under the skin on his arms like ants at a picnic.
He exhaled and passed over the word but was bound and determined to finish the page.
“…Add…g…gr…green to…m…make it…p…pro…prod…”
Sweat beaded on his brow. A drop slid down his cheek and landed on the paper, magnifying the letter “e” into a grotesque eye. He swiped the moisture away before it left a stain.
The rhythmic click of the clock on the wall caught his attention. He blinked and stared at the hands. Had he really spent an hour on this single page?
Frustration spiked his blood pressure. The muscles in his arms and legs tensed. Scowling, he shoved the book across the table and bolted from his seat.
The spine crashed into the wall, and pages fluttered.
The open book came to rest along the corner of the table.
A rush of energy propelled him across the room. He turned at the foot of his bed and retraced his steps. Why was learning to read so hard?
“You’re stupid. All you know how to do is fight.”
Agatha’s harsh comment slipped through his mind, and his anger deflated under the impact, leaving a cold, empty spot inside. He ran his hand through his hair and along his braid. His attention zipped to the bane of his existence.
The inanimate object rested on its back, a couple of pages sticking straight up as if he’d killed it.
“What? Not up for the challenge?”
This time, Wynne’s remarks echoed in his mind, chasing away those of his deceased wife. He inhaled through his nose then released the air on a long breath.
Wynne’s challenge, like so many he’d received from opponents before entering the ring, fueled a fire deep in his soul. One way or another, he’d learn to read.
He gripped the back of the chair, flipped it onto its feet, and sat. With conviction stirring in his soul, he dragged the book across the table, grasped the edge of the page, and prepared to flip to his earlier chapter. His gaze snagged on a familiar word. Crystal…
The section on the dark crystal and how to control it was near the front of the book. A tingle rippled over his skin.
His attention sped to the section heading. H…healing spells.
Could this page contain the spell for which Wynne searched? She would’ve seen this, wouldn’t she?
Only a few thin sheets remained before the end of the book. While keeping his finger on the paper, he flipped through some of the early pages. The section on healing spells lasted well over a quarter of the book. She could’ve easily missed it.
He shouldn’t care, shouldn’t bother, shouldn’t look, but “shouldn’t” never stopped him before. Although he didn’t see a way out of this that ended well for any of them, he couldn’t stop himself. His attraction to the feisty witch and his utter craving for her respect drove him onward.
He licked his lips, leaned forward, and returned to the page. Focused and attentive to every detail, he concentrated on the words and read.
Time slipped by, hour after hour, but he remained fixated on his task. The words didn’t come easy. Some he sounded out as best he could, others he skipped altogether. The long, complicated spell didn’t make a lot of sense, but he continued.
Wynne would be so pleased to learn that this spell existed. He couldn’t wait to share it with her, and a realization hit him. Therein lies the rub. What was the point in healing Victoria?
Gwawl wanted Wynne to take over the giant crystal, push it to a new level, and turn the gargoyles into indestructible killing machines. Victoria didn’t factor into that plan. Her impending death was as sure as nightfall. Yet, he imagined the grateful look in Wynne’s eyes.
She’d respect him.
The scar on his chest itched, and he rubbed the spot. He really didn’t deserve her respect, but dammit, he craved it anyway.
A cold draft swept across Zain’s shoulders. He turned toward the source.
Wisps of mist drifted from the hearth and curled into the air.
Zain’s scalp tingled.
A summons…
Rolled parchment emerged from the fireplace and floated toward him, carried on the mist’s cool draft.
He snatched the paper, gripped the ends and unrolled the note. The paper crinkled in his grasp. He studied the hand-written lines and swirls, forcing himself to read.
“G…wawl req…” Nope, he had to skip over that next word, “your pre…”
Blood pounded at his temple. “In the M…mis…ery Room.”
Zain crumpled the note in his palm. He didn’t need stellar intelligence to figure out the message. Gwawl wanted to see him.
Had Marco lied and sold Zain out to their boss?
Dread tightened his gut, and Zain tossed the paper into the fireplace. “On my way.”
The mist snaked back the way it had come and disappeared into the flue.
He rose from his seat, peered at the book one last time, then departed in a swirl for a meeting with his god.
CHAPTER 20
Wynne brushed her hair and studied herself in the mirror. Lines rimmed her mouth, and her eyes held a haunted gaze. Par for the course after a trip to the Otherworld and back again.
After rousing from her statue-like freeze, Wynne had been practically mugged by a relieved Neira, and she had bandaged Damian’s arm. Then, she’d called Sasha and had drowned her sorrows in a hot shower. The soap and water had cleaned away the grime, but the stain on her heart remained.
Memories of Damian’s passionate kiss flooded Wynne’s mind. He’d held her close after he’d risked his life to find her. She’d thought maybe he truly cared for her in the way she’d craved for so long. But that wasn’t the case.
Wynne closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Damian hadn’t opened up to her about his gloves and why he never removed them. Instead, he’d raised a wall between them ten feet high and impossible to breach. The disappointment had shattered her heart. She’d thought of him as her hero, but then he’d treated her like she wasn’t important to him. He had chosen another priority over her. She wanted to matter to someone.
Her thoughts drifted to Zain. He’d helped her mother, brought blankets for both of them, and had protected her from Gwawl’s wrath after the god had tortured the gargoyle. Zain was a fae, but his actions indicated his character. Fae weren’t all bad.
“I can’t deal with either of them.” She exhaled and tossed the brush onto the counter.
The wooden handle clattered against the countertop before settling against her Chanel Chance perfume bottle. She rubbed her hands over her sleeves, and the softness of the sweater Zain had given her tingled her fingertips. Although she’d rifled through her closet for a good ten minutes, she hadn’t been able to stop staring at the blue sweater.
“Everything all right up there?” Damian’s deep voice reverberated up the stairs.
“Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.” Wynne dabbed a bit more blush onto her cheeks then scooted into the hall.
Under normal circumstances at th
is time of day, Damian would reside atop his perch at the University of Chicago. However, Rhiannon believed gargoyles needed an opportunity to recharge their minds and relax their muscles to remain at peak performance, so she granted them a twenty-four-hour reprieve once every couple of weeks.
Today happened to be Damian’s day off. He’d agreed to stop by to see her, and he’d insisted on staying.
She wished he hadn’t. After his unwillingness to share his secret, she wanted to put distance between them. In addition, she needed to strategize about how to help her mother.
The front door opened and slammed against the doorstop.
“Wynne! Where are you?” Sasha’s shrill voice pierced the air.
Wynne hurried down the stairs, her flats clacking against each step. “Right here. How—”
Sasha wrapped her arms around Wynne’s shoulders. She squeezed so tight air whooshed from Wynne’s lips.
“I’m so glad you’re all right. I was worried about you.” Concern etched lines around Sasha’s eyes.
“I’m fine. See.” Wynne forced a smile.
Sasha exhaled a quick breath. “Good thing Damian found you. I don’t know what I’d do…”
“Yes, he was wonderful. It’s all right. I’m here now.” Wynne’s attention skimmed past Sasha’s shoulder and down the hall. “Where are Rachel and Marjorie?”
“At Aunt Erwina’s. I thought it best if I left them there.”
The tension in Wynne’s shoulders loosened. She didn’t want her nieces involved in this mess in any way. “That’s good. You made the right decision.”
The click of silverware and bowls from the kitchen emanated into the hallway. Damian must’ve found the Wheaties. “C’mon, sis. Let’s talk in the living room.”
Wynne grasped Sasha’s hand and led her into their favorite room. Neira, in cat form, lay curled on the couch. Wynne nudged her over then settled onto the seat with her sister.
Sasha gripped Wynne’s knee. “I can’t wrap my head around what you said over the phone about Mom and that she refused to return with you. Doesn’t she know we need her? Doesn’t she love us? I miss her.”
“I miss her, too, but she was determined to stay to try to protect me, again.” Wynne twisted her hands. “She’s aged quite a bit over the past thirteen years. Gray hair, thin frame. I’m not sure you’d recognize her. She’s like that because of me.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Yes, I can.”
Sasha pursed her lips and sighed. “Please, don’t.”
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.” Wynne rubbed her chin. “Marco Valentelli…”
Sasha scrunched her brow together. “The fae?”
Wynne nodded. “He’s my father.”
Sasha gasped and placed her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. “No, that can’t be.”
“Yeah. I won the genetic lottery.” Wynne’s shoulders sagged under the desolate, heavy weight of despair.
“At least I knew my father, deadbeat that he was, before he skipped town.” Sasha brushed her fingers down Wynne’s arm, reached her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you think Mom stayed behind because of Marco?”
“I sincerely doubt that. He was a rat bastard to her as well as to me. Mom stayed behind to stall Gwawl long enough to get past the eclipse.” Wynne rose and paced to the fireplace. Her gaze tracked to the picture of her mother, Sasha, and herself taken during happier times. She couldn’t bear to look at it, so she turned to face her sister.
“All those years, Mom kept your father a secret from the council. If they’d known, they never would’ve let her become Grand Mistress.” Sasha inhaled. “Wynne. You’re up for a position. You can’t tell anyone else.”
“That’s the least of my concerns.” Wynne pushed up her sleeves. “I need to figure out how to rescue Mom.”
Her sister’s eyes widened. She pointed to Wynne’s arm. “What’s that?”
Wynne trailed her fingers over the bracelet’s hard metal. A sense of helplessness squirmed under her skin with its icy claws. “Zain, the fae who captured me, slapped this on. I can’t remove the damn thing and it mutes my powers.”
“Let me try.” Damian stepped into the room, wearing a new gray shirt and a clean pair of jeans. He tightened his fingers on the hilt of his dagger and withdrew the blade from its sheath.
Sasha gasped. “You’re not going to cut that off her, are you?”
Damian’s handsome features hardened. “Of course not. I’ll pick the lock with the tip.”
Neira morphed into her human form. She wore a yellow T-shirt that read “I hit the gym so I won’t hit you” and placed her feet on the coffee table. “Don’t bother.”
Wynne scratched at the frustrating gold bracelet. “Why not?”
“It’s an old fae charm. I ran across one of those centuries ago.” Neira tugged a nail file from behind her ear and filed one of her fingertips. “If you try to remove it without the key, it will just reappear, and you can’t unlock it.”
“Let’s find out.” Damian held out his gloved hand.
Wynne placed her fingers in his palm. Warmth seeped through his gloves and into her skin, but the spark that had once tracked all the way to her heart didn’t materialize.
He inserted the tip of his blade into the keyhole. With a flick of his wrist, the bracelet unlocked, but an instant later the gold latch clicked shut once again.
“Damn.” He blinked and ran his fingers over his short-cropped hair.
Neira raised an eyebrow, then turned her attention to Wynne. “What else did the fae say about the bracelet?”
Wynne’s thoughts returned to the night Zain had captured her. His handsome smile had weaved past her defenses, and he’d slapped the bracelet on her wrist at a moment of weakness.
“This is my insurance that you won’t escape me.”
She wanted to hate him like she did then, but instead, she remembered how he’d brought her the blanket and the new sweater, and how he’d opened up to her about his illiteracy and worked so hard to learn to read.
Wynne shook her head to clear her errant thoughts. “I think he can track me with it.”
Damian’s low growl reverberated through the room.
“Bingo.” Neira tapped her finger to her nose.
Sasha exhaled. “What are we going to do?”
“Wait for him.” Neira smiled, and her eyes flashed yellow. “If the one who enslaved you dies, then you’ll be free.”
Wynne’s stomach coiled into a tight ball. As much as she wanted her freedom, she didn’t want anything to happen to Zain.
“Wynne, it’ll be all right.” Damian slid his hand down her arm and clasped her hand. “I’ll take him down at nightfall. That’s a promise. You’ll never have to worry about that fae again.”
The ball in Wynne’s stomach flipped. She stepped away and strode to the window. Out on the street, a young man dressed in a dark leather jacket leaned against the neighbor’s tree. He looked so much like Zain.
Wynne inhaled, and prickles raised the hair on her scalp.
A girl with long pigtails ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. His smile lit up his handsome features, and he kissed the girl as if she were his world.
With an intensity that burned all the way to her soul, Wynne longed to see Zain’s smile again. Dear goddess, had she fallen for a fae?
Zain stepped through the large, wooden doors and into the Misery Room. The dark crystal pulsed with its eerie glow, illuminating the crates along the walls in a sickly green radiance.
Low moans and an occasional high-pitched cry filtered through the long room. Not far from the crystal, the God of fire and pain sat in an elaborate chair, the high back made from a pair of leather wings. Unlike the one made of bones in his throne room, this one wasn’t as creepy. Gwawl wore his traditional robe with a long red belt, and nothing seemed unusual about the god’s stern expression.
Marco stood at Gwawl’s side. This unnerved Zain a bit, but he br
ushed his fears aside. The fae smiled and trailed his fingertips over the handle of his cane nestled in the crook of his elbow.
Desire to wipe that smirk right off the guy’s cover-model face rippled down Zain’s arms. He rubbed his fist into his palm and strode forward.
“My lord. What can I do for you?” He bowed, straightened his spine, and met the God’s glare.
Gwawl tugged on his chin and studied Zain through dark, soulless eyes. “I heard a rumor my little witch escaped. Tell me that isn’t true.”
Heat flared up the back of Zain’s neck, burning his ears. He sent Marco a hard stare.
The asshat smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say? Knowledge is power. Although you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”
Zain’s muscles jerked, his urge to throttle the guy so overpowering, he took an uncontrolled step forward. If not for the god’s proximity, Marco would be dead.
Gwawl chuckled, and the sound amplified the groans and cries of the trapped gargoyles. “Since you don’t deny the accusation, I assume the news is true. That is unfortunate.”
If Zain told Gwawl the truth that Wynne had escaped on Marco’s watch or that he’d let a gargoyle best him, it would only make Zain look weak. Besides, Wynne was his responsibility. In the end, he was to blame for her escape.
Zain lowered his head but maintained eye contact with the god. “My lord. Wynne cannot escape me. She wears my tracker. I will retrieve her at nightfall.”
Gwawl leaned forward and gripped the armrests. He rubbed one finger over the clawed tip, and the chair’s wings fluttered. “Well, that little tidbit just saved your life, and because you’ve been such a loyal subject, I will grant you one more chance. Return with her and make sure she’s learned the spells. Two nights remain before the eclipse. Do I need to remind you what will happen to your soul if you fail?”
Ice crystals couldn’t have raised the hair at Zain’s nape any higher than the god’s threat. He nodded once then straightened his spine. “Yes, my lord.”
Gwawl focused his attention on Marco. “You have done well, minion. Not enough to earn that valuable promotion you seek, but I will free you from your service to Zain.”
