by Laura Kaye
His eyes cold, the Walker stared back. “So you refuse to give her to us?”
“Yup.”
“You have a duty as head of the Order, to follow the Accords.”
Piers shrugged. “I was bored with the job anyway.”
“Is she worth risking another war for?”
“Probably not, but I promised Christian I would keep her safe and I’m going to do that. If it means killing you three and hiding the bodies, well…” He shrugged. “I can live with that.”
The Walker smiled. “You really don’t think it will be that easy, do you?”
The air thickened behind them, white haze forming. Dense patches of mist formed all around them, and groups of fae materialized from the mist. Hundreds of them drew their swords in unison.
“Oh, shit,” Carl said. He raised the gun onto his hip. “Better hope your dad comes soon.”
“Don’t call him that,” Tara snarled, but her heart pounded as her gaze darted around her small group. Her hand slipped to the pistol at her waist, her fingers tightening on the grip to stop their trembling.
Panic clawed at her—she had led them into this. They were all likely to die, and it was her fault. A hand clasped hers. It was Jamie, her friend all her life, and she might just as well be murdering him. She squeezed his fingers. He pulled away. A moment later, he vanished, and the hellhound stood in his place.
She wished she could tell him to run, save himself, but knew he wouldn’t go.
“Looks like we’re on,” Piers muttered, stepping back and pushing her behind him. “Stay there, don’t—” He broke off as one of the fae leapt toward them. The roar of gunfire filled the night, and the fae collapsed to the ground. Tara stared in horror, but the body faded into mist and was gone.
The whole seething mass of bodies shifted toward them as one. The fae moved faster than she could follow, their blades gleaming in the dim light, only to be mown down by gunfire. But, however many crashed to the ground, more replaced the ones who vanished into the fog.
Everything slowed, until Tara could see the fierce expressions on their hauntingly beautiful faces as they lunged, the bullets as they cut through the bodies. The noise faded until she was cocooned at the center of a world gone to chaos. Legs braced, Piers and Carl stood in front of her, their guns spraying a continuous burst.
Tara crouched behind them, her pistol out, but couldn’t find a target. To her right, Jamie leapt for an incoming fae, knocking the sword from his hand and sending them both sprawling to the ground. He clamped the fae’s throat between his wicked jaws and shook his head, so the blood sprayed, hitting her in the face, warm and wet. On her other side, Graham stood with his eyes closed, gun held in his outstretched hand. One of the fae leapt toward him. Tara squeezed her trigger, and he went down.
Still more came.
They couldn’t win, and despair threatened to swamp her.
Christian wasn’t going to make it, and if he did, it would be too late. The fae kept coming, their swords drawn. She searched the sea of faces and found the Walker standing off to the side, watching through narrowed eyes.
And she knew what she had to do.
She straightened and took a step forward.
“Stop.” She spoke quietly, but Piers swung in her direction, his lips curled back, his expression savage.
The Walker’s gaze locked with hers and some unspoken agreement passed between them. He raised his hand…and everything stopped.
Piers swung to face her, his eyes accusing.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. But I have to stop this. I never expected you all to die for me. I thought—”
What had she thought? That Christian would come along and save her? That her uncle would realize he didn’t want to murder her after all? That her father—well, what could she hope for from her father? Absolutely nothing.
She looked around at her friends. Carl bled from a wound in his arm; Jamie stood, head hanging down, his muzzle smeared with crimson. The others were untouched, but that wouldn’t last. She’d already lost Christian. She couldn’t lose more.
“It doesn’t matter what I thought, but it’s over.” She put a hand on Piers’s arm. “Stop this. I’ll go with him.” She heard a low growl from the hellhound. “Jamie, I can’t die knowing that I’ve caused your deaths as well.”
He whimpered, and Carl put a hand on the huge head. “I’ll look after him.”
“He’ll kill you,” Piers said.
Tara’s gaze took in the fae surrounding their small group. “Can you honestly say there’s any chance that I’ll live, anyway?”
Piers followed her gaze. “Maybe not, but it’s better to go down fighting.”
“Keep your fighting for when it can do some good. Tonight, save my friends instead.”
Fury raged across his face. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t agree, but then he nodded, once. “We’ll stay with you. Don’t worry, they’ll let us go once—”
“Once I’m dead,” she finished for him. “If Christian comes back, tell him… It doesn’t matter, he knows.”
She stepped past Piers and stood in front of the Walker. “So Uncle, how do we do this?”
He held out a long, slender hand. Tara took it and he drew her close, turning her so she faced her friends once more. She closed her eyes, as she couldn’t bear to see the pain in their faces. A fist grasped her hair and dragged her head back. She tried to think of Christian, tried to be brave, but she didn’t want to die and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She heard the rasp of a blade as it was drawn from its scabbard.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You can find her?” Christian stood in the courtyard of the fortress, Asmodai beside him, and all around them milled a hoard of lesser demons.
Asmodai nodded. “She has my blood.”
Christian drew his gun and gripped it in his right hand as he held his left out to Asmodai. “Hold on to my arm. I’m going to open the portal. Concentrate on where we need to be, and get us as close as you can.”
The Abyss faded as the portal opened. The temperature dropped as they left the Abyss behind and rematerialized in London. He recognized where they were–the rooftop of the Order’s building. His heart stopped once he made sense of the scene in front of him. Asmodai had indeed brought them close to Tara.
He swung up his gun and placed the barrel at the base of the Walker’s skull.
“That knife moves and I blow your head off,” Christian growled.
The Walker tensed, but his arm remained motionless and the knife in his hand rested against Tara’s throat. The Walker held her immobile, one hand clamped in her hair. Her head was pulled back, baring the long line of her throat, and her blood pulsed in the veins beneath the blade. Her eyes were closed, but her lids fluttered open as he spoke. She tried to turn to him but the knife cut into the tender flesh of her neck, leaving a crimson line. She gave a slight intake of breath then stilled.
Christian inhaled the scent of her blood, and his hand tightened on the trigger. He’d never wanted anything in his entire life more that he wanted to blow the Walker away, but Tara stood too close and might be hurt.
“Lower the knife,” he snarled.
“Christian Roth, oath breaker,” The Walker said. “I see you have returned from Hell and brought a new friend with you.”
“Lower the knife.” When the Walker didn’t move, he pressed the gun harder against him. “If you kill her now, Walker, I will shoot you down, then I will search the Faelands and kill everyone who has ever meant anything to you.”
“They will not allow you to do this.”
“You think I need their permission?” Christian held his breath. For a moment it seemed like the Walker would not comply, then he lowered the knife. “Let her go.”
The hand holding Tara fell away, and she turned to him. He saw the tracks of tears on her pale cheeks. Her enormous eyes locked on him as though she couldn’t believe what she saw.
Asmodai stood at his side, his gaze fixed on hi
s daughter. Christian handed him the gun. “Keep the Walker covered.”
Christian ran his finger over the small cut at her throat. He opened his arms, and she fell into them, trembling as he held her tight. He trembled too; he couldn’t believe how close he had come to losing her. A minute later and he would have arrived to find her butchered. His grip on her tightened.
Christian’s eyes narrowed on Piers. “What part of the plan didn’t you understand?”
Piers grinned. “If you shack up with a demon, don’t expect her to toe the line. She didn’t like your plan.”
His eyes searched out the others, Graham, looking pale, and Carl standing with his hand on the head of a huge hellhound he guessed to be Jamie. His eyes widened when he saw Jonas Callaghan behind the small group.
The fae, their swords drawn, surrounded them. Piers nodded his readiness to fight; they had guns, but the fae outnumbered them.
The air shimmered and a stream of lesser demons swarmed through the open portal, taking up positions around them.
The Walker remained impassive as he returned Christian’s stare. “We will have a reckoning for this, you and I.”
“Perhaps, but not tonight.”
“According to the Accords, she is ours.”
Christian sighed, every bone ached, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, but they were still alive, and Asmodai was off his back. The demon continued to stare hungrily at the girl in his arms, but he wasn’t getting her. She was Christian’s now. Only the small problem of the fae remained.
Tara couldn’t spend her life looking over her shoulder, expecting attack. He looked the Walker in the eyes, eyes so similar to Tara’s.
“You can’t have her,” he said softly, “She’s mine. We reach an agreement or we fight now.”
Piers strode over to stand next to him. “I vote we fight now. Let’s just kill them.”
Christian raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“What sort of agreement could we reach with a man who broke his oath only hours after making it?” The Walker asked.
“What sort of agreement would you want?”
“We need assurances that she will never enter Faelands.”
“That’s not a problem.”
Piers snorted. “I doubt she’s going to want to visit with her Uncle Walker anytime soon.”
The Walker ignored him. “I cannot take your word for this.”
“So what do you want?” Christian asked.
“You have proved untrustworthy, but the girl has honor. She offered herself tonight so her friends might live. We need a hostage to her good behavior. If she provides that and gives us a blood oath, we will consider it binding.”
…
Tara clung to Christian’s solid body. She burrowed her head against his hard chest and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, musky, he smelt of sweat, blood, and his own wild, masculine flavor.
She had been so sure she was about to die. She could still feel the hand gripping her hair, the icy coldness of the blade at her throat, and tremors ran through her body.
As though from a distance, she heard her name. She looked around, her eyes widening. All about them stood not only the fae, but figures from her nightmares. Some appeared human, others bore little resemblance to anything she had ever before seen, including creatures like Jamie—hellhounds. Their eyes glowed with hunger as they paced among the throng.
Her gaze was drawn to the tall figure standing next to Christian. Knowing who he must be, she looked away. She couldn’t cope right now.
“Are we going to fight?” she asked Christian, pleased that her voice sounded firm. She loosened her grip on him and tested her legs. They’d stopped trembling and she thought they would hold her up. Probably.
“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on you.”
She wasn’t up to making any more decisions tonight. Fighting would be easier than thinking, but who were they going to fight?
The fae? The demons? Everyone? Perhaps the fae and the demons would fight each other and their little group could slip away in the ensuing chaos.
“What does he want?” Her eyes skittered over the tall fae, the Walker and the knife he still clutched in his hand.
“If you give them a blood oath and swear you will never enter the Faelands, they’ll leave.”
She frowned. “It seems a little too easy.”
“Apparently you’ve impressed him.”
“He didn’t act like he was impressed. He acted like he wanted to kill me.” She thought for a minute. “What does a blood oath involve?”
“Blood, obviously,” Piers said.
“How much blood?”
“You’ll live.”
“Well that’s a novel idea, but what exactly do I have to do?”
“You swear on your blood, but they also want a hostage.”
How could she give them a hostage?
The Walker eyed up their small group. His eyes settled on the hellhound who growled softly. The Walker smiled.
“The shifter will come with us. She cares for him. He’ll stand for her good behavior.”
A flare of anger shot through her. “You’re not taking Jamie.”
The Walker shrugged. “Then the deal is off.”
“I guess we’re going to fight, after all.” Piers sounded positively cheerful. Tara cast him a dark look. She slipped her hand into Christian’s and held on. A hollow pit nestled where her stomach should be. If they fought, some of them would die, but she wouldn’t hand over Jamie.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, we fight.”
The night charged with tension. Demons shifted restlessly, eager to begin, and the fae raised their swords. Christian’s hand tightened in hers and he drew her closer into the protection of his body.
The hellhound vanished, and Jamie stood in its place. He blinked, shook off Carl’s restraining hand, and stepped toward her.
“I’ll go with the fae,” he said.
Tara frowned. “You can’t.”
“Why not? It’s not as though they’re planning on doing anything unpleasant to me. At least, I presume they’re not.”
“He’ll be well treated,” The Walker said.
“You don’t need me anymore,” Jamie said. “And Chloe’s gone. It will be good to get away, see something new. I’ve heard the Faelands are very beautiful.”
Tara bit back her tears, but she couldn’t argue with him. She stalked toward her uncle and pushed her finger into his chest.
“Swear to me that you’ll be good to him?”
A flicker of amusement crossed across his features. “It will be part of the oath. As long as you do not enter the Faelands, he will be safe and unharmed.”
“You won’t keep him locked up or anything?”
“No, he’ll be free.”
She returned to Jamie and hugged him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“I’ll never see you again,” she said.
“Never is a long time. Who knows what will happen in the future?”
She tried to hold on to that thought. “Can I see Smokey one last time?”
He smiled and vanished. She scooped up the huge gray cat, burrowing her nose in his soft fur, and listening to the deep, rumbling purr. She squeezed him hard to her, then let him go. He leapt to the ground and padded over to stand beside the Walker.
Tara bit her lip. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Come here.”
She eyed her uncle warily but took a step closer. He raised the knife. “Hold out your hand.”
Christian came to stand behind her and his warmth and strength flowed into her. She raised her hand and held it palm up, managing not to flinch as the razor-sharp blade sliced through her tender skin. Blood welled from the wound. The Walker raised his own hand and cut his palm. He held it out to Tara, and she took it so their blood mingled. A weird sensation ran through her from the point of contact. Her eyes rose to his face. A strange expression crossed his face.
“Promise, o
n your blood and the blood of your friend that you will never attempt to enter the Faelands.”
“I promise,” Tara said. The fae made to pull away but she held on. A flash of surprise crossed his features. “Now, you promise that you’ll keep Jamie safe. Keep him happy.”
The Walker glanced down at the cat at his feet. “I promise to try.”
Tara nodded and released his hand.
Christian took Tara’s hand in his, raised it to his lips, and ran his tongue along the cut. Immediately, the sharp pain subsided and she felt the healing begin. He kissed her palm and kept hold of her hand. “Go,” he said to the Walker. “If you ever try and touch her again, I’ll kill you.”
The Walker shrugged. “No hard feelings.”
“Piss off.”
The fog gathered around the fae, swirling swathes of white. They merged with the mist, their edges blurring. Smokey blinked at her one last time and vanished.
“He was my friend for so long, now he’s gone.”
“Despite what you’ve seen of them, the fae aren’t complete monsters, and the Faelands are beautiful.”
“Are there any mice? Smokey likes to hunt mice.”
“I’m sure they can magic him some.”
Piers snorted behind them. “Yeah, of course they can, and I’m sure they will. Because underneath it all, admittedly a long way underneath, the Walker’s a really great guy.”
“Shut up, Piers.”
Piers raised his hands. “Okay, maybe they will make him something to chase. Who knows?” He gestured around the rooftop. “Now, how are we going to persuade the rest of these guys to head home?”
The roof swarmed with demons. They kept their distance but circled like hungry sharks, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. Christian turned to the tall figure at his side. “Get rid of them.”
Asmodai flicked his hand and the demons vanished. Only he remained.
Tara studied him. This was her father. He could pass for human except for his height and the wings. His body was long and lean, his face held a harsh masculine beauty, hawk-like with sharp cheekbones and a large nose. His mouth was full and sensual, his dark hair glinted with hints of ruby, and his eyes gleamed golden. Tara could see nothing of herself in him, and she was glad. He was responsible for Chloe’s death; she would never forgive him for that.
