Miranda headed for a stack of rotting wooden crates and slipped behind them, pressing her back against the rough brick wall of the building. Closing her eyes, she centered herself and worked to control her breathing. Between the robbers, healing Hannah, and blasting the killer, she’d used a lot of magic. Casting this spell with enough power to punch through to Belle was going to drain what little was left. If it didn’t work, she was dead; she wouldn’t have enough left to defend herself.
Miranda remembered the moment she’d touched Belle’s mind. She called up the taste of the tea her werewolf hostess had served, the smooth, cool texture of the communication stone Belle had teleported into her hand. She recalled the moment when she’d met Belle’s blue-gray eyes and sensed the power burning in them.
Then she flung her will and her magic out into the night. And called.
Dice ran through the darkness, grinding his teeth in fury, his stomach a burning, anxious knot in his belly. The little bitch had disappeared. She must have shielded herself somehow. If he lost her and she got away, Warlock was going to kill him—literally. At the very least, his master would torture him again with that damned magical whip.
And Warlock was his master. He was no better than a slave—or a dog. He . . .
Magic.
It blazed across his consciousness like a comet, a shriek of power that dragged his head around. He stopped his headlong race and scanned the darkness, locking in on the pure, ringing note of the spell.
There.
Whirling, Dice ran back the way he’d come, shot across a side street, and hung a left down a stinking alleyway. At this range, the sheer power of the girl’s spell was almost deafening to his magical senses.
And all that energy was coming from behind a stack of rotting crates.
He padded around the barricade and found her crouched there, pressed against the wall, her eyes squeezed closed as she concentrated.
“Hello, you little bitch,” Dice snarled. “Daddy says hi.”
Her eyes flew open, terror flooding them.
He grinned. And shifted.
SEVENTEEN
That idiot Davon stared at them from the middle of a crowd of werewolves, his gaze so calm Belle wanted to scream. “If we don’t want them to believe we’re evil, we need to show them we’re just,” he said. “So I’m not leaving with you.”
“God, I hate rookies,” Tristan muttered in her ear.
At the moment, so did she. “Davon, don’t you see that you’re . . .”
BELLE! It was a magical scream that hit her like a hammer to the center of her forehead. She staggered, and felt Tristan steady her.
“What the fuck?” he demanded.
“Miranda,” she told him thickly. “It’s Miranda. The assassin has her cornered. We’ve got to go.”
“But what about Davon?” Tristan demanded.
The open mental link transmitted a flare of agony before winking out. Belle bent double, gasping. “He’s got her! Jesu!”
“Fuck it. Gate us.”
She dragged herself upright, opened the gate, and staggered through, Tristan’s hand steadying her elbow.
“Where the hell are you going?” Lance’s voice floated through the gate after them. Then he, too, stepped through. “I hate rookies,” he announced.
A menacing snarl rumbled out of the darkness. A female voice cried out, high and breathless with pain.
“And I’m not real fond of you either,” he told the massive shadow.
Belle conjured an illumination spell, its glow revealing a huge black creature crouched over Miranda. One big paw pinned her to the ground like a cat’s captured mouse. Blood shone black in the dim light, soaking the T-shirt and jeans the girl wore.
Tristan, Belle, and Lance started forward. The beast growled, the sound vibrating Belle’s breastbone. She swallowed, staring up at it. If it bit her—or, oh God, if it bit Tristan . . .
“Hey, fleabag,” Lancelot called, swinging his sword in a showy revolution that glittered in the light of her spell. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
The creature laughed, a startling bellow that made Belle’s ears hurt. “Not even on your best day.”
“No?” Lance looked at Tristan. “Think we can take him?”
“Big and slow as he is? We’ll turn him into dog chow.”
The beast charged. Belle spun aside as Tristan and Lancelot danced backward, leading it back up the alley, taking turns darting in close and slashing with their swords. The creature snarled and struck at them, too focused on the knights to realize Belle had slipped down the alley to his victim’s side.
“Miranda?” she whispered, conjuring another illumination spell. What she saw in its glow made her wince. The thing had damned near disemboweled the girl.
“Belle?” Miranda’s eyes opened and blinked at her hazily. “Ah! Hurts.”
“I know.” She cupped the young werewolf’s cheek and breathed magic into the girl’s mind. Instantly, the strained lines of pain slackened in Miranda’s face, and she sighed in relief.
“Thanks God, thanks.” She gritted her teeth. “If I could just . . . transform, I could . . .” She had to stop to pant. “. . . Heal this. But I’ve drained myself too far . . .”
Unfortunately, Belle wasn’t in terrific shape herself. Which sucked, considering that healing an injury this complex would take a lot of power she just didn’t have. She reached for her cell phone. “Petra?”
An instant later, the healer answered. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I got a distress call from a werewolf friend of mine. Warlock’s killer has hurt her badly, but I don’t have the power for a healing spell. Can you . . . ?”
“Of course. We aren’t getting anywhere with Davon and his werewolf friends anyway.”
A moment later, a dimensional gateway appeared, and Petra stepped through, followed by a parade of armored agents.
The beast roared, the sound bloodcurdling in its fury even a block away. Galahad grinned. “Sounds like Tristan’s making friends again.”
“Man’s a little ray of sunshine,” Reece Champion agreed, straight-faced. “Let’s go play.”
The agents broke into a run and raced off around the corner. Belle waved to catch Petra’s attention, and the healer hurried over.
“Oh, that thing did rip her up, didn’t it?” Petra spread both hands wide and began drifting them in a circle just above Miranda’s savaged abdomen. As her hands moved, she sang in musical Hindi, a prayer for healing and wisdom.
Belle had to admire her concentration. Out in the street, shouts and growls sounded as the men fought the creature, who roared back with all the volume of a sonic boom. She really should be with them, providing magical backup in case the killer decided to start breathing fire again. Unfortunately, in her current condition, there was very little she could do to help. Don’t get killed, Tristan. “There.” The glow faded from Petra’s hands as she nodded in satisfaction, studying her patient. There was no sign of the bloody wound at all. “That should do it.”
Belle eyed the girl’s belly, now smooth and whole. Even the blood had disappeared, cleaned away by Petra’s magic. “You’re a miracle worker.”
The healer gave her a pleased smile. “We all do our duty, do we not?” She sobered. “But we should get her back to Avalon before Warlock sends another killer. I’d better stay and help the boys with their playmate.”
Belle nodded. “If you can open a gate for me, I’ll carry her through.”
Petra grimaced as the beast roared. “I’d better cast a noise-suppression spell while I’m at it. I can’t imagine why nobody’s come to investigate.”
“People probably figure what they don’t know won’t eat them.”
“Which is wise of them.” The healer helped Belle lift Miranda into a fireman’s carry, since the girl was still out cold from the healing spell. Steadying the werewolf with a hand on her ass, Belle started for the gate. Though not as physically powerful as vampires, Majae were still stronger than
humans, so she was able to manage Miranda’s weight with little trouble. Just before she stepped through, she paused. “Petra, Tristan . . .”
“I’ll watch out for him for you.”
Belle gave her a smile for her understanding. “Thank you.”
Elena Rollings walked into her house on weary feet, exhausted and depressed.
A broad-shouldered shadow loomed over her in the kitchen doorway, but she didn’t jump. Her husband had stayed home with their young son, and she knew he’d be waiting up for her.
“I was getting worried,” Lucas said, his voice velvet in the dark.
“For once you had reason.” Elena dumped her purse on the marble counter and walked over to the stainless-steel refrigerator to retrieve the bottle of white Zinfandel she always chilled for the nights she had a council meeting. She usually needed a drink afterward. Or two. Or four. “Tonight that idiot Davon Fredericks decided to surrender himself to the Council of Clans.”
Lucas frowned, watching her pour the wine into a pair of glasses. He was still as dark-haired and ridiculously handsome as he’d been when she’d met him two years ago. “Why isn’t that a good thing?” He accepted the glass she handed him. “Doesn’t it mean you get to avoid declaring war?”
“They’ll just find another reason.” She drained her glass and poured herself another. Elena rarely drank but it had been that kind of night. “Too many people on the council have been bought off. Though they may find it harder to vote the way Warlock wants, considering the scrutiny they’ll be under.”
Carrying her glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, Elena led the way into the living room. They settled onto the rose and cream couch as she started telling him about the events of the night.
“Where is Fredericks now?” Lucas asked, as she cuddled into his side.
Elena sipped her wine, enjoying the warmth of the strong arm he’d thrown around her. “Linda Corley and her husband have him locked in their basement until tomorrow night.”
“Poor bastard.”
“Yeah.” Weary to the bone, she looked up at him. “Let’s go to bed.”
They headed upstairs to the master bedroom. Elena was getting undressed when she felt something hard and round in one pocket of her slacks. Digging the object out, she found a small moonstone wrapped in a slip of paper. Frowning, she smoothed out the note.
“If you need me, just hold this gem and call my name. —Belle Coeur”
“Well,” Lucas said, reading the note over her shoulder. “That’s an interesting wrinkle.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Especially since we’re holding Davon’s trial tomorrow night—right before the planned execution.”
Lucas winced. “Not real big on appeals, are they?”
“Nope. I think they’re trying to piss Arthur off.”
“That’ll do it.”
Tristan wasn’t back yet.
Belle paced, walking restlessly through her house. She was tempted to call out to his consciousness—she could do that easily enough, given that he was wearing her blood armor. But what if he were still fighting the Beast? If she distracted him at the wrong moment . . .
No.
Normally she’d gate there to help fight, but she’d be less than useless, drained as she was. She needed sleep and several hours of meditation in her spell circle to rebuild her magic.
So she had to wait. Assuming he’d come back to her . . .
Belle sighed and raised both arms over her head, trying to stretch the aches out of her back. She’d settled Miranda in a guest room, where the girl was still deeply asleep, probably soaking up magic to rebuild her body’s reserves. By morning the werewolf should be up and around, which meant Belle would need to haul ass out of bed to cook breakfast for her guests.
Justice occupied the third upstairs bedroom. She’d persuaded him to stay on the grounds that he was now just as much a target as Miranda. He’d agreed only because he was determined to help bring Warlock down; he hadn’t gone on the rescue mission only because his presence was more likely to set the council off than anything else. After all, they’d just fired him.
“Belle.” Tristan spoke out of the darkness, his beautiful voice sensual and deep.
Wheeling, she threw herself into Tristan’s arms with the solid thump of sheer relief. “Jesu, you had me scared. Are you all right?” Belle examined him anxiously. His armor was smeared with blood, but all the scales seemed to be in one piece. He hadn’t taken any more serious hits.
“I’m fine,” Tris told her. “I suspect there are some interesting bruises somewhere under all this steel, but I’m a hell of a lot better off than the beast.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, unfortunately. But apparently the way to handle the bastard is to surround him with knights and poke him with sharp objects. Kind of like baiting a bear. He finally had enough and gated the hell away.”
“Damn. I was hoping you’d killed him.” Belle brightened as an amorous thought crossed her mind. “Want a bath?”
“That depends. Will you share it with me?”
“I planned to.”
“Then hell yes.”
The master bathroom was located off her bedroom, and had obviously been designed with seduction in mind. The bath itself was an oval seven feet long and four feet wide. When Tristan followed Belle into the room, he was unsurprised to find it already filled and gently steaming.
Magic was a damned convenient skill to have.
When he stepped down into the tub and sat on the raised marble bench, he found it was ringed with jets that pounded his sore muscles just hard enough to make him groan in relief. The water was chest-deep and smelled faintly of sandalwood. Enhancing the romantic mood, candles ringed the tub, their dancing light casting soft shadows. Plants stood everywhere the candles didn’t, clusters of gleaming green leaves and fragrant flowers. A huge stained-glass window running the length of the tub depicted a woman bathing nude in a forest pool, smiling at a watching armored knight as if inviting him to join her.
“Mmmm.” Tristan let his head fall back against the cool marble tiles of the wall. “The advantages of loving a court seducer. You do know how to make a man feel like a prince.”
“That’s fair,” Belle said, slipping into the water beside him, her accent gone liquid and French. “Since you make me feel like a goddess.”
Which sounded like an opening to Tristan. He sat up and swallowed. So much rested on what he said next. He didn’t want to screw it up. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”
She straightened, her nipples peeking over the water at him. He had to drag his gaze back to her eyes. “That sounds serious.”
“Well, yes. But it’s not something you won’t like.” I hope. “I want us to Truebond.” Dammit, he hadn’t intended to blurt it out like that.
Belle’s big blue-gray eyes opened wide. “But—why? Not that I’m automatically against the idea, but you’ve never indicated that you even wanted to marry me, much less . . .”
“But I’ve been thinking about it. Especially after the fight with the Direkind yesterday. I . . .”
She frowned and hooked an arm over the side of the tub, absently stirring her fingers through the bubbling water as she studied him. “Wait, you decided you wanted to do this just yesterday? I don’t think it’s a good idea to enter into something like this on the spur of the minute. After all, what if something happened to me? You could die with me.”
“Which is why I’m thinking about it.” He traced a wet finger along the back of her hand. “Belle, we’re probably going to go to war in the next couple of days—”
“Which makes it exactly the wrong time to—”
“Let me finish,” Tristan interrupted, catching both her hands in his. “Yes, Truebonding would mean the death of one of us could kill the other. But look at Arthur and Guinevere, or Simon Marin and Kathryn, or Garret Montessor and Felecia. How many times has the Truebond saved them? Arthur’s told me he’s drawn on Gwen’s m
agical strength in a crisis. She’s done the same. Together, they have more power than either has separately.” He leaned close and met her gaze, his wet fingers gripping hers. “I want to know that if your strength ever runs out the way it did today, you can draw on my magic.”
Belle shook her head. “Tristan, I’m touched, but . . .”
“Think of the benefit to Arthur and the Magekind.” He let the passion he felt ring in his voice. He had to convince her. “Not only could the bond save us, it could save those we love. Arthur, Gwen, your boys . . .”
“But what about Isolde?”
He’d known that was coming. “You are not Isolde.”
“Obviously, but you did love her, and she hurt you so badly, you still haven’t healed.” Her gaze was earnest, doubtful. It was the doubt that stung the most. “What if we bond and that pain is exacerbated? You can’t break a Truebond, Tristan. You’d be trapped.”
“That won’t happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
Tristan raked a wet hand through his hair and groped for the words to make her understand. “I’m not a kid, Belle. I know what I can handle and what I can’t. I wouldn’t ask you to bond with me if I didn’t think I could hack it.” Searching her gaze, he found she still looked torn. “Or is it that you just don’t want a permanent connection?”
Belle gave him a cool look. “I’ve already shown you exactly how much you mean to me, Tristan.”
Yeah, creating the blood armor had been a pretty vivid demonstration. It was time he was as brave. Blowing out a breath, Tristan said the words he’d never expected to say again. “I love you.”
Joy lit her eyes so brilliantly they seemed to blaze with a pure, incandescent light. Only to fade into heartbreaking doubt again.
“I’m not lying,” Tristan said, working to control his frustration. “I wouldn’t lie to you. For one thing, you’d know the truth as soon as we bond. You’d feel my emotions as clearly as you feel your own.”
Belle sighed. “I’m not accusing you of lying, Tris. I just need to think. Let me have some time.”
Master of Shadows Page 25
