I’d been wrong. She knew what I was, and I was screwed if I hung around much longer.
Darting for the window, I flung myself out through the glass as the sound of sirens split the air. My landing was not as graceful as I might have liked, and the impact of my boots on the ground sent a shockwave up through my body that tore into my arm once more.
I could feel the iron in my arm burning and eating its way through my flesh. If the bullet didn’t come out soon, I was going to have some major issues when my powers kicked in and tried to heal over the wound.
I raced for the street, narrowly avoiding the first cop car as it careened to a halt outside the apartment building. Gritting my teeth, I tried to appear as nonchalant as possible as I strode down the street and out of sight.
This was bad. Like, really bad. No one had ever tried framing me for a murder. While it had been a novelty for all of five seconds, that feeling had worn off the moment Nancy Archer shot me with an iron bullet. Lead, I could handle; copper jackets, not a problem. But cold iron… She knew what I was, and that was really bad.
If the Faerie Court got wind of the mess I’d managed to walk right into, they were going to be furious. The thought of facing them certainly wasn’t high on my agenda, especially after the last time…
If I was lucky, they wouldn’t find out.
Of course, luck belonged to the leprechauns. It really wasn’t my thing…
Chapter Seven
The office seemed like the best place to hide out and fish as much iron from my shoulder as I could. It didn’t have the comforts of home, but at least I wouldn’t spook Samira.
Slipping into the office, I flicked on the lights and then quickly changed my mind. Drawing attention to myself after everything that had happened was the worst possible idea. I moved stealthily through the office until I made it to the stairs leading down to the basement and then flicked on the lights. At least this way no one would even know I was here.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, my breathing was strained. My body was already beginning to heal, and the pain of the ruined muscle trying to knit back over the bullet, only to be ripped apart once more by the iron, was excruciating.
I grabbed the first-aid kit and made it to the desk before exhaustion washed over me hard enough that I stumbled. Being weak wasn’t a new concept to me. I’d lost the bulk of my powers a long time ago, which tended to leave me vulnerable to the other Fae. Naturally, that loss of power had forced me to up my ability to fight, and I could more than hold my own against nearly any type of Fae. Well, there was just the one exception… and he tended to come in the most delightful of packages.
Because Lunn was once worshiped as a god, he had become more powerful. He was also the best fighter I’d ever set eyes on. Most of the Fae relied on their magic to get through any fight, but not Lunn—he was both a skilled fighter and more powerful than many of the Fae could hope to be, and it made him twice as deadly.
The thought of Lunn coming to kick my ass was enough to cause me to break out in a fine sheen of sweaty fear even at the best of times. In my weakened state, with the iron still coursing in my veins, I dreaded to think what he could do to me…
Grabbing the surgical scissors from the first-aid kit, I widened the wound. My watering eyes blurred my vision enough that I was at a real risk of stabbing myself in places other than the half-healed bullet wound.
“Need some help?” Lunn’s voice cut through the silence, and I jerked around with the scissors still gripped in my hands.
Not exactly my weapon of choice, but it would have to do.
“What do you want?” I hated myself for the panic in my voice.
“Not quite the answer I was expecting,” he said, crossing the floor toward me.
I had an overwhelming urge to throw myself behind the desk and hide from him. He raised an eyebrow in my direction, as though he’d managed to read the panic that was flooding my system with adrenaline.
“Let me help,” he said softly, his hands closing over my fingers, where I held the scissors in a death grip.
My hand fell away as I stared up into his face. He wouldn’t need to use any of his fancy martial arts-style fighting techniques on me. Not with the bullet still embedded in my body, which was causing my mind to melt down. All he really needed to do was stare down at me like I was the only Fae in the world…
He worked quickly, but there was no glamouring away the pain. I bit down on my lip in an attempt to keep my pathetic whimpering to a minimum as he dug around in search of the bullet.
“Darcey, you need to tell me what happened,” he said.
“Stupidly got shot, what more is there to know?” I gritted my teeth as he dug past the bullet. “What are doing? You’ve gone past it.”
“It’s not an ordinary bullet. You must realise that?”
I glanced up at him as he spoke, and he chose that moment to do a particularly painful manoeuvre that left me clinging to him like a damp dish rag.
He fished deeper and tugged a small piece free, dumping it onto the desk before returning to the task. If I didn’t know better, I might have wondered if perhaps he was enjoying inflicting pain on me. But who was I kidding? Of course he was enjoying it. Once upon a time, Lunn had been all for war and bloodshed; in fact, he’d encouraged it whenever possible. This was right up his alley.
He dropped another small piece onto the desk. I stared down at the smoking shard.
“How many pieces are there?” I asked. I hadn’t been paying much attention to the gun, but even if I had I probably wouldn’t have been able to identify it anyway. Guns weren’t my thing. I could shoot one, and my aim was pretty perfect, but only because I was Fae and not through any of my own talent. Guns were just too unpredictable for me, even the newer ones. The thought of having to use one or carry it near me left me cold. I liked the certainty that a blade offered me.
“A few,” he said, and tugged another piece free.
“I think that’s all I can pull out. The rest of it seems to be some sort of iron filling powder. You’re going to be seriously sick until you work that shit out of your system…” He caught me as I slumped forward.
The world swam in sickening colours, my stomach rebelling. I wanted to upchuck, but the Fae don’t really vomit so the retching was a bit more than I was prepared to deal with.
“Just kill me now,” I moaned as Lunn propped me back up against the desk.
“Don’t tempt me. Now tell me—where in all darkness did you come in contact with a bullet like that?”
“I’m working a case,” I said, cringing against the pain that washed through me.
He’d been right when he’d said that the bullet contained iron fillings. I could feel them spreading out through my bloodstream; rooting out the bullet had just caused the iron to move faster.
“Don’t give me that bull.,” he said. “The last time I saw one of these, the Fae I fished it out of was dead. So who did you piss off now?”
“Other than you? No one.” I forced as much sarcasm into my voice as possible and made my way around the desk to the swivel chair.
Lunn’s face darkened, and for a moment the air in the basement prickled with his power. As far as I was concerned, he’d always been way more attractive when he was pissed off. There was something about his anger, the thrill of his magic as it beat against my skin. It was part of the reason I got such a kick out of really winding him up.
His gold-green eyes lit with his power, and the deep bronze tone of his skin seemed to glow from within as his magic pulsed in his veins.
“Do you take me for a fool? Tell me, or so help me I’ll…” I cocked my head to one side as he trailed off.
“You’ll what, Lunn? Because last time I checked, there’s nothing you can do. The human cases I take have nothing to do with you. The Faerie Court agreed to let me get my hands dirty and deal with the humans on my own terms, remember?”
“I have not forgotten,” he said, his voice strained with the ef
fort of keeping his power in check.
Part of me wanted to nettle him some more, just to see the fireworks that were sure to be released, but I bit my tongue. I was in no position to run, and if I pushed him too far then running would become a necessity.
“Why won’t you let me help you? It could be so much easier if you would just—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Don’t, there is nothing easy about this. Nothing that will ever make my slavery easier, so don’t insult my intelligence by pretending there is.”
Lunn stared at me and finally nodded. “You’re right. Nothing will ever make your sentence easier, except maybe the knowledge that you still have your head and your heart and that your blade was not used against you as you used it on others.”
A shiver of cold fear lanced through me at the thought of the Bone Blade ever turning against me, being used to steal my spirit and bend it to someone’s will. Well, it didn’t bear thinking about, and I was only too happy that the Faerie Court had agreed with my way of thinking.
I’d never worked out why they had decided to spare me. They certainly had plenty of enforcers. Willing enforcers, anyway.
“I know I’m a monster,” I whispered. The guilt I felt over the past, over the things I had done before I’d come back to myself, ate at me every single day.
“You’re not a monster, Darcey,” Lunn said, his voice oddly tender.
“Look, I’m not kidding. This really is just a case I’m working—” I cut myself off. Skirting too close to the edge of a lie only made that lie all the more obvious, and Lunn wouldn’t hesitate to sniff out any untruths I might dream of spilling to him.
He coughed awkwardly. “Well, whoever shot you is a threat to our kind, so I would rather you dealt with it sooner rather than later.”
“I noticed you failed to bring in MacNa,” he added. “I hope you won’t force the Court to believe their willingness to spare your life was a mistake?”
“He’s being a pain in my ass, but you’ll have him soon enough,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning back against the chair.
Lunn’s laughter wrapped around me before it cut off without warning and I was left in silence once more.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the place where he had been standing and sighed. He was a complication I really could have done without, and yet a part of me wished he would have stayed. Clearly, that was the stupid and masochistic part of myself, because only a lunatic would wish that Lunn would stay…
Perhaps it was the iron fillings in my blood? Satisfied I’d discovered the reason for my sudden stupidity, I closed my eyes, safe in the knowledge that lying to myself wouldn’t hurt me. Not really…
Chapter Eight
My cell phone buzzed and I searched my pocket for it, my eyes still closed as I tried to give my body time to expel the remnants of the iron. Lifting it free, I pressed it to my ear. The sound of MacNa’s laughter sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature I was running, and everything to do with my hatred for him.
“You would leave her alone?” he taunted, and my stomach tightened.
Hopping to my feet, I ran for the stairs as the phone line went dead and my ears filled with static.
She was safe. She had to be safe. I’d warded the place; there was no way he was getting inside without the magical equivalent of a nuclear bomb, and even then he couldn’t leave without taking the kind of damage only a truly powerful Fae could withstand.
Powerful was not a word I would use to associate with MacNa.
As I crashed out through the door to my office, my shoulder stung like all the demons in Hell were poking their taloned fingers into the wound. Racing along the street, I didn’t bother slowing my pace to something humans would find more palatable, I cared too much about Samira to risk taking my time. I was after all the reason she was alone.
When I reached the street with my apartment block, my cell phone started to buzz violently. I knew without needing to look at the screen that MacNa had attempted to fetch Samira.
The apartment building buzzed with power, so much power that my ears popped as soon as I crossed the threshold. Without waiting to see what was coming next, I took the tiled steps two at a time, the lime green walls doing nothing for the headache building behind my eyes.
I burst out into the hallway of my floor and came face to face with the ugliest blind dude I’d ever set eyes on. The hood covering his bald head had fallen back to reveal the black, vine-like tattoos that snaked across his head.
I’d assumed he was blind because of the way the whites of his eyes rolled back in his head, but when he swung his blade toward me, narrowly missing slicing through my chest as I hopped out of reach, I realised my assumption had been wrong.
Samira screamed, and the hairs on my neck stood on end. Power prickled along my skin, and I tilted my head to the side as I assessed my opponent.
“So you’re one of those Saga Venatione thingies,” I sneered.
I’d met more than my fair share of them in King City. There was just something about them that didn’t sit right with me. At least the ones I’d met in the past had been some serious eye candy. But this one… Well, he was different… Wrong. If that was even possible.
“Witch,” he snarled, and leaped toward me.
Without thinking about it, I sidestepped him, slamming my weight into his outstretched arm and forcing his body into the wall. He practically hummed with power, which danced along my skin like an irritating tapping of fingers.
“Not a witch,” I said, jerking my elbow up and into his face. Blood exploded from his nose and mouth as his head connected with the wall and my elbow in a veritable sandwich of pain.
Samira screamed again, and this time I heard more than terror in her voice. It echoed with pain—pain and sadness.
Power flared inside me, and I didn’t try to fight it. I could taste death on the air, and I knew I needed to celebrate and mourn the impending end.
A ragged scream ripped from my throat, the cry echoing around the hall and bouncing from the walls until it found its target. The witch hunter next to me collapsed to his knees, his prayers drowned out by the scream that tore from me again.
I strode forward, moving steadily toward my apartment and where I knew I would find Samira.
The front door was in pieces and Samira sat on the floor, blood smeared down one side of her face. She cradled the body of another young woman in her arms as the Saga Venatione standing above them raised his bloodied axe above his head and prepared to bring it down.
Clenching my hands into fists, I gave into my urge and released the full extent of my mourning keen on the room.
The axe slipped from the witch hunter’s fingers, and he fell to his knees. But from this one, there were no prayers. The blood that gushed from every available orifice rendered him incapable of making any movement but the twitches of the dying.
Samira clung to the girl in her arms, tears streaking through the blood on her face. When she looked up at me, there was no fear—only sorrow.
Throwing back my head, I screamed again as the life of the woman Samira held slipped away like the sands of time. The light slid from her eyes, and her body grew still as her ragged breathing ceased, leaving nothing but the mournful sound of silence in its wake.
Samira stared down at the girl as though able to sense the moment she ceased to exist. Her sobs grew louder, more frantic.
I swung around once more at the sound of footsteps in the hall. The other Saga Venatione stood in the doorway, his white eyes staring past me to where Samira sat on the floor.
“What you have done here cannot be forgiven,” he said, and for a moment I thought he was talking to me.
“I don’t want your forgiveness,” Samira said, choking through her sobs. “The only one who can forgive me is dead because of you.”
“We did not deal the killing blow,” he answered, his voice growing hollow.
“Why are you here?” I interrupted their str
ange back and forth.
“To take back what is ours,” he said, settling his gaze on me. “I know what you are now, and there won’t be another mistake…”
With a shake of my head, I reached down and scooped up the bloodied axe from the death grip of the other witch hunter. Swinging it up so it rested against my shoulder, I smiled… but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the one I wore right before I tore my opponent to shreds; it was the smile of an Unseelie, the smile of a monster.
“Where you’re concerned, there won’t be another mistake …”
He tried to move, but I was faster.
I swung my arm as if I were throwing blades. Pushing as much force into the throw as possible, I released the handle and watched the wickedly sharp blade slice through the witch hunter’s chest. He stumbled into the hall, staggering backwards until his body hit the wall behind him.
Eyes wide and staring, he made an odd choking noise before sliding down toward the floor.
I felt his life ebb away, his heart crushed beneath the sharp axe head, but I did not mourn for him. I couldn’t even if I had wanted to; he was an enemy, and it wasn’t my job to keen for his sort.
“Is he dead?” Samira asked, and I turned to face her.
“Yeah, they both are,” I said, gesturing to the other one lying at my feet. “Samira, how did they get in? You should have been safe. I’ve got enough wards set up on this place that it should have been impossible.” I couldn’t keep my voice level. Part of me blamed myself. I’d promised to keep her safe, and yet she’d been attacked while under my protection, and all because I’d been too busy getting shot. But there was no denying the accusation in my voice, and Samira heard it too.
Her chin jerked up, her dark eyes flaming with an anger I hadn’t thought in her.
Banshee Blues (Bones and Bounties Book 1) Page 5
