by Kiki Howell
He sees me.
He mouthed, “Save her.” Then he turned his head back to stare at the ceiling. With a shudder, he was still.
“No!” Betty fought to get to the count, but Jayden held her back. “Father!”
“He’s dead.”
“No!” Struggling, Betty slipped away, dropping to her knees beside the still figure. Reaching out both hands, she placed them over his chest, her face pale and drawn, tears snaking down her cheeks.
Jayden tried to grab her wrists, but she snatched them away.
“I have to heal him!”
Jayden shouted, “No!”
Pain slammed into Lori, taking her breath away. She arched her back, bit her lip until she tasted iron. The Transfer Spell. Her blood boiled, her limbs spasmed, and her skin burned like it was on fire. Through sheer will and practice, she bit back a scream: spending days as host to Conrad’s gift had helped. She thought the pain went on and on, but it must have only lasted seconds, because when she opened her eyes, Jayden and Betty hadn’t moved.
Jayden grabbed Betty’s shoulders, hauling her upright.
But Betty was shaking her head. “We have to find out who did this.” Then she seemed to take in Jayden’s clothing, his hands. Her eyes grew haunted.
“I did it for us.”
“Us?”
He nodded, and his grip loosed, his thumbs stroking her collar bone. Betty flinched.
Bile surged to the back of Lori’s throat. She’d known Jayden was fucked-up, but even he...no. He wouldn’t do that. Want that.
“He was the only thing keeping us apart. And he said he’d marry you off, to the White Death.”
Betty trembled.
“I know, the thought is repulsive.” Jayden cupped her cheek. “But I couldn’t let him do that to you. You’re pure, perfect. Meant for me.”
Oh gods. Lori fought back vomit. When she’d run away from the county, she’d left Betty alone to this? No wonder her sister had become withdrawn with her. How long had it been going on?
I didn’t protect her.
Lori stood on wobbly legs. She had to do something, had to free Betty. This must have been what Mrs. McKenzie had meant.
“No.” Betty’s voice was trembling, but loud.
“No?” Jayden let her go, surprised.
“No, I was not meant for you. I’ve told you that before.”
“Father made you say that.”
“No, he didn’t. I don’t want you...like that.”
“What? You want to fuck that white-haired freak?”
White-haired freak?
“I don’t want anyone!”
“I’ll make you love me!” Jayden forced Betty to the ground, pinning her. They slipped in their father’s pooling blood as Jayden reared up on his knees, leaving crimson handprints all over her body. “See? You like this.”
A small whimper.
Enraged, Lori climbed up the side of the podium from her hiding place, the dark liquid dripping down its side staining her clothes and hands. “Stop!”
Jayden spun, eyes going wide. “You!”
“Leave her alone!”
Jayden stopped to grab up his knife, and held it to Betty’s throat as he pulled her in to him. “Move, and I will kill her.”
“Then you will never have her.” Gods, the words burned, but Lori had to make him move the knife. Betty’s bewildered gaze swung to her.
“She will have no one but me!”
And he stabbed down.
“No!” Lori screamed. Power surged up within her, bursting free as she flung out a hand. Jayden was thrown across the room, slamming into a stone wall thirty feet away. Bones snapped from the force.
Telekinesis.
Lori ran to her sister, who lay panting, her teeth clenched. The knife hilt protruded obscenely from her collarbone. “Betty?”
“Thorne.” Her voice was soft, timid.
Across the chamber, Jayden stood, bones cracking back into place. “I will kill you, bitch!”
Betty grabbed Lori’s hand. “Take out the knife.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Do it!”
Nauseated, Lori grabbed the hilt. With a deep breath, she slid the blade out. Betty screamed, and Lori dropped the weapon like it was a serpent.
“I hope you like pain.” Jayden was storming back toward her, his hands balled into fists.
The magic surged within Lori, her newly transferred abilities clamoring for attention, clamoring to be used.
Telekinesis. Dream walking. Blood boiling.
She willed Jayden to halt. Her half-brother stopped dead, straining, the veins bulging on his forehead. It was no good; he was immobile.
Lori strode down the stairs, turning Jayden so his back was to Betty. He didn’t deserve to see her again, ever. “So. You want Bettina? You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”
What was wrong with him? How had their father let this go on?
The fae rules. Parents can’t kill their children.
But the count could have done something to stop Jayden’s twisted desire.
Lori reached into her mind again, grabbing the first power that leaped at her touch. Magic streamed toward her brother, and locked onto his mind with sharp claws.
He roared.
It felt...nice.
And then his thoughts connected to hers. She saw every bad impulse, every sick, twisted desire he’d ever had. They burned through her; all the nights fantasizing about Betty, all the servants Jayden had raped – male, female, young, old.
A scream built in her throat, just as a face flashed before her mind.
Conrad, his pale eyes furious as he broke Jayden’s bones.
Her half-brother’s lust, even as his limb was shattered.
A sharp burst of fresh pain snapped her free of the link. Iron flooded her mouth. She’d bitten through her lip.
Lori opened her eyes. Jayden was still frozen in place, and guards were hovering at the edges of the room, uncertain. None of them moved to help the count’s son.
Where’s Betty?
Jayden’s eyes went wide, and he coughed, once, twice as blood spurted from his mouth. Shocked, Lori released her hold on him.
He swayed, then toppled over, face down.
Behind him, Betty stood, wild-haired and eyes crazed, Jayden’s knife in her hand, dripping crimson. Dropping to her knees, she raised the blade in both hands, then slammed it down. “You sick” – stab – “fucking” – stab – “bastard!”
The last word was a raw scream.
Chapter Fifteen
“THINK OF YOUR WORST nightmare. Really picture it. Got it? Good. ‘Cos what’s about to happen isn’t even gonna come close.”
– Conrad Death
Waiting outside Walker’s room, Conrad shifted awkwardly. Something wasn’t right. The emotional atmosphere in the castle had deteriorated rapidly, and he wanted no part of it.
Gods, how long did it take to pack a few items into that doctor’s bag? Conrad’s backpack was on, jacket buttoned, and boots shiny – and ready to kick ass.
“I can feel your impatience.” Walker opened the door.
“I need to get back to New Vegas.”
“Find what you were looking for?”
“Does it matter if I did?”
The Tylwyth Teg didn’t reply. Not that Conrad had expected he would – in a job like Walker’s, staying largely ignorant was probably very wise.
“Do you feel it?” Walker asked as he shut the door, his voice quiet.
Conrad nodded. “This place is about to implode.”
The air crackled with awareness, the calm before the storm. The County of Tears was about to be awash in them.
A blaze of awareness shot through him, his power spiking, purring. He breathed deep, focused on the reaction. It was odd, like his ability had recognized someone that it...liked.
Thorne.
But she wouldn’t have come here. Would she?
“What is it?” Wa
lker asked.
Conrad held up a hand.
A scream, and suddenly emotions were shooting through the castle, right to him. Fear, terror, lust, pain, curiosity... His ability roared within him, aching to escape.
It was her.
Conrad sprinted down the halls, the Tylwyth Teg hot on his heels. Following the surge of emotions, the shouts and the yells, they emerged into the large hall where Conrad had first met the count.
He took stock of the situation – the count prone in a bloody puddle; guards lining the walls, but none moving; Thorne covered in blood, facing off against her brother. Conrad grabbed the nearest weapon: a large, blunt axe hanging on a wall. It was ceremonial and probably of little use, beyond beating people to death, but then he’d always thought that was a good option.
Walker eyed him. “Why not use your ability?”
“Better to be well-armed.”
Conrad strode toward Thorne. Her hands were outstretched, her fingers clawed, like she was holding something back. Jayden’s face was taut with strain, his jaw muscles bulging. Had she absorbed a new ability?
Who had she fucked?
Red hazed over his vision at the thought, and then he shook his head. It had been a day. Just a day. And she’d fed on him yesterday morning. Plus, she was a Succubus, she had to feed. They’d made no commitment, and she’d thought he was saying goodbye.
It was not fucking goodbye.
It would never be goodbye.
The thought had him almost tripping over his feet. You haven’t even known her a week.
It didn’t matter. Conrad didn’t do jealously, and here he was, all green-eyed over Thorne. She was funny, witty, and too damn nice.
Jayden suddenly coughed, blood bursting from his mouth. As if the strings were cut, he collapsed face-first on the ground. Behind him, a wild-eyed Bettina stood, knife clutched in a white-knuckled grip, blood soaking her hands, splattering her blue dress. She fell to her knees beside him.
“You sick” – stab – “fucking” – stab – “bastard!”
What. The. Fuck.
A trembling Thorne knelt next to her sister. “Betty?”
Stab. “Fucker!”
She laid a fluttering touch on Bettina’s shoulder. “Betty? Can I have the knife?”
Bettina turned empty eyes on Thorne. A sense of nothingness, just sheer hollowness reached Conrad. Her rage had burned out, leaving a void behind. “He will heal,” Thorne’s sister said. “I have to make sure he’s dead.”
“No one can heal from this.”
Betty shook her head. “Must kill him dead.”
She raised the knife again.
Conrad wasn’t one for sympathy, despite his magic. But this? No one should have to go through what this woman had. Ever.
Closing the distance to the siblings, he lifted the axe above his head.
“Conrad!” Thorne shouted, “No!” She threw herself in front of Betty as the woman stabbed out again.
He slammed the weapon down.
A sickening crunch.
The fucking axe was blunt, and had lodged in Jayden’s neck.
The fae’s eyes snapped open, rage in their depths, and without pausing, Conrad placed his foot on the man’s chest, ripped the blade free and then swung it a second time.
The force of the blow finished the job, and rolled the severed head a few inches away, blood spurting from the stump.
Conrad rested the axe-head on the stone floor, leaning on the weapon like a cane. “You thought I’d attack her?”
Wincing, Thorne pulled away from Betty, a knife handle protruding from her thigh.
Conrad dropped the axe, and hurried over to her. “She stabbed you?”
Betty’s face had lost all color. “No, no, I didn’t mean to.”
Thorne made soothing noises. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Conrad said.
“Shut up.”
“I’ll fix it.” Betty grabbed the hilt, tugging the weapon free. Blood pooled from the cut.
Thorne screamed, the sound ripping through Conrad, pain slicing his insides, as if he were the one who’d been stabbed.
“Thorne!”
She panted. “I’m okay. It hurt, but I’m okay.”
Betty dropped the knife on the floor, and held her hands over the wound. She chanted under her breath, and in a few seconds the blood flow had slowed, then stopped.
“You’re a healer?” Conrad asked.
Betty shrugged. “I can’t fix it entirely, because of the iron. But this should do for now.”
“Iron?” Thorne turned Betty’s hands over. She sucked in a breath at the sight of the raw, angry blisters and weeping skin. “How can I help?” she asked.
Betty tugged her arms away. “It will be fine.”
“You don’t heal yourself like Jayden, do you?”
She shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t matter.”
Conrad pointed at the guards. “Why haven’t they done anything?”
“Father is dead.” Betty’s voice was low. “Killed by his own son. They want nothing to do with it, because when the new Hunter is finally appointed, any who were perceived to be involved will be punished.”
Thorne helped her to stand, shooting Conrad a glare. “The county.”
Conrad quickly reviewed Borderlands protocols in his mind; he didn’t like the way the guards were lurking.
Right.
“The Count of Tears is dead,” he announced. “Jayden Paynters is dead, killed by my own hand. As is my right, I am now Count of Tears. Any who oppose me may leave.”
There were a few shuffled steps, then the guards bowed. One by one they slapped a closed fist over their hearts, and then filed out the door, to gods-knew-where.
Did that mean they accepted his rule?
“That’s it?” Walker asked. “Now you’re the count?”
“Might is right in the Borderlands,” Thorne said. “If...Father had died of old age, then it would have gone to an appointed successor. But murder is always rewarded.” She shot Conrad a look he couldn’t decipher, her emotions shut down.
Man, he’d sure as hell had made a mess of things. He and Thorne needed to have a long chat. But there was only one thing to do now: clean up.
Picking up the axe, he said, “You might want to turn away.”
He made quick – and sweaty – work of cutting up the rest of Jayden’s body. Dragging the torso over to the podium, he used the edge of the raised platform to prop the body up. He arranged the remaining limbs, like Jayden was seated, then grabbing the head, Conrad carried it by the hair back to the dais. He placed it in Jayden’s lap, facing inward, like he was blowing himself.
He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture, leaving bloody smears on the screen. “Damn it.” He was going to have to keep the phone in a plastic bag, or something. Cells were not cheap in the fae world, considering they had to be magicked up the wazoo for them to work.
Someone was vomiting. Turning around, he saw Thorne retching into a vase that Betty was holding. Finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Thank you.”
Betty nodded and lowered the stone vessel, leaving smears of blood and clear fluid on the surface.
“What now?” Walker asked.
Conrad sighed. “We need to go to the White Court.”
“The White Court?” Thorne’s gaze narrowed. “Are you crazy?”
“No. We can get Bettina’s hands seen to, your wound checked...and I can try to smooth this situation over.”
“The White Queen has no political power over the Borderlands.”
“Bullshit. If it wasn’t for her, the count would never have been awarded this seat.”
No one seemed to argue that point.
“Walker? Can you get us there?”
The Tylwyth Teg sighed. “Of course.” He waved a hand, and a mist-shrouded archway opened.
“We don’t need the, uh, mounts?”
“The White Court isn’t far from here.”
Conrad turned to Thorne. “You and Betty go in front.”
“Why?”
“So I can watch your backs?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.
She stared at him.
“What? I am not going to hurt you!”
“No, you were just hired to kill me.”
“For the love of—! I wasn’t going to do it.”
“Sure you weren’t. You’re the White Death. You said you were a cleaner!”
“Yes, that’s what I do. Clean up messes like this! But, I happen to have a solid appreciation for you and that body of yours, and since I’m not into necrophilia, I wasn’t about to murder you. So get onto the bloody faery road!”
That had her blinking.
“Thorne?” Bettina touched her shoulder. “You go.”
“I’m not going without you.”
“Please leave me.”
Intense self-loathing washed from Bettina, and Conrad caught the wave. Now was not a good time to be leaving the woman alone, surrounded by weapons. “You come, or none of us goes,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want to put your sister’s life at risk?”
Bettina’s spine straightened, and her self-hatred dialed down a notch. “No.”
“Then let’s move!”
.
Chapter Sixteen
“I LIKE A MAN IN A SWEATER-vest.”
– Lori Hardcastle
The Dawn Court, the Hills
Lori had never travelled on a faery road before. It was strange, like walking through a dense cloud. It didn’t take long, though, before they were through.
Large, ornately carved ivory double doors marked the entrance into the Dawn Court’s main castle, and a sun rising over a horizon dominated the carved expanse. The castle walls above the doorway were milky-white quartz, and glittered in the sunlight, and behind their party, a large formal garden spread out as far as the eye could see. The sky overhead was a bright violet, and even the air smelled different, like honey and apples. Gardeners were hard at work in the grounds below, and two guards in full court regalia eyed them from either side of a small door, set into the large entrance.
Lori breathed deep, magic sinking into her pores, her bones. She’d never been to the Hills before, and it left her giddy with power.
