Healing so they can come after them.
CHAPTER TEN
Scott
“I don’t think my mother has a clue that she’s going to be passed around Faerie to whoever.”
Scott’s fists are clenched as Julia paces their quarters.
That’s where they ended up after Scott walked out of the Unseelie court.
It was either that or kill them all.
And supposedly, the Fey are immortal. In that moment, Scott would have loved to test that theory. After all, Delilah made short fucking work of Queen Darcel.
He didn’t test it, though. For Julia’s sake. He didn’t like putting her in danger. They needed more information.
“I hear you,” Julia says, stopping her restless pacing and staring at him.
“I’m sorry, Scott—can’t help the leaking.”
She’s back in her jeans and T-shirt. That’s sort of her uniform. Simple.
Unadorned and perfect.
Scott strides across the room and gently takes ahold of her arms.
“What are we going to do?” The tears spill out of her eyes now. “I’m not whoring out our people.”
“Never,” Scotts says, pulling her to himself.
“I mean,” Julia says against his chest, “I made that promise to Tharell, and all the while, in my mind, I was thinking ʻmarriageʼ or something like that. I was never thinking ʻbreeder.ʼ”
Scott chuckles.
Julia leans back, wiping away tears. “I’m not getting what’s funny.”
This will piss her off. “Well, thing is, the guys probably wouldn’t mind being Singer studs.”
Julia groans, eyes narrowing. “Scott, you are how old?”
He’s over a hundred in human years but pretty much smack in the middle of his adolescence for a Singer. “Pretty young, for a Singer,” he admits, giving her ammunition.
She steps out of his embrace and puts her hands on her hips.
Uh-oh.
“Really young.” Julia huffs. “That’s not the point that the guys could survive it. The Fey are sounding like a pack of alley cats, screwing anyone who will stand still long enough.” She folds her arms.
Scott bursts out laughing.
Julia glowers. “Still not funny.”
“Right.” Scott shrugs. “But silver lining and that.”
“I’m not seeing much. I made a promise in good faith, when all our people were alive, when I thought it was one thing—and the Unseelie court has somehow twisted my oath into something that doesn’t honor the original intent of the promise.”
“I’m disgusted too,” Scott admits easily.
“And your little sister is part-Fey.”
Scott nods reluctantly. “Hashna.”
Julia’s eyes meet his. “Yeah. They just want to repopulate faerie in whatever way they can.”
“But they need Singers to do it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for something else too.”
Her caramel-colored eyes move to his, and Scott gulps back his desire, so always near the surface for him. It’s a natural default of a soul meld, but Scott’s still getting used to the constant emotion.
Julia drops her arms, walking forward, and they thread their hands.
“I didn’t get the spore thing addressed,” Scott says. “I was so fucking pissed off, I just had to leave.”
“Hothead,” she murmurs.
“I don’t want to be like Jason to you.” The minute he brings Caldwell up, he regrets it.
Though their hands stay tied, Julia shuts down a little. He can feel it through their meld.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sure saying that a lot,” she says, looking down at their laced fingers. “Listen”—her chin rises, and their eyes meet again—“you could never be like Jason. Everything he did was emotion-centric, based on reaction. Pure and simple. He had a great heart; Jason always meant well.” Julia removes her hand from his, placing her fist over her heart. “He was my husband. I loved him, even with his faults.”
“He died for you.”
Julia nods. “He did. And William did. That’s why it’s my duty to make this Singer queen-thing work. Because two good guys died so I could live. I won’t let their sacrifice be for nothing. And I won’t put you in Jason’s category, and I don’t want you to say something about Jason again that makes it sound like what he was is so bad.”
Scott runs his free hand over the top of his short hair. “I guess I didn’t... think.”
“Nope. But you don’t have to put Jason down to win me. You have me. And for the record”—her eyes sweep his face—“you’re more like him than you know. You’re not a refined guy like Marcus was. You clearly speak without thinking, and you’re pretty stupidly reactive too.”
Scott opens himself to their meld, and a rush of Julia’s emotions sink into him like teeth.
Right. Into. His. Ego.
Yup. “You feel defensive. You still love him.”
“Yeah, get over it, Scott. Stop competing with Jason’s ghost. He was a super-important part of my life. You took my virginity, for heaven’s sake!”
Scott feels dull heat rise at his neck, and he gives a vicious rub at his nape. “I know our importance. The soul-meld trumps everything.”
“Ultimately, with all the flaws Jason had”—her eyes lock with his—“at the end of the day, he was a perfect human being because he sacrificed his life for mine.” Julia lifts her chin. “I don’t have a hard time remembering that last moment. That’s how I’ll always see him.”
Scott wishes he could see that last shining, purely selfless moment in the same light as Julia. But it has to be enough that she sees it that way. He’s got to admit she’s right—Scott can’t compare himself to a dead man.
They’re more than married here. They’re soul-melded. That’s deeper than commitment. It’s part of the very fabric of their bodies.
“We okay?” she asks.
Scott doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s with his usual, brutal honesty. “No. You’re good. I need to grow up.”
A slight smile hovers over her full lips. “Maybe a little.” She moves her thumb and index finger to almost touching then lets her hand fall by her side.
“I’m a guy, so it’s something I’ll have to work through. I spent so long hating him for being the ʻother guyʼ that I haven’t made it to the fact that he’s gone. I need to focus on the present and how you’re alive and we’re melded.”
“And I need to get rid of this.” Slowly, Julia inches up her T-shirt so the black smear of evil that appears, a mar against the ivory paleness of her skin.
Scott clenches his eyes shut. “I’m such a bastard.”
“As far as I know, Marcus and Jacqueline were legit.”
He opens his eyes, and hers hold compassion. “I don’t deserve you.”
She slides her hands around his waist, and he holds her.
Scott silently commits to be less of an asshole and think more of his bride.
She’d doesn’t need his grow-a-uterus-athon.
“Manning up” has new meaning.
The knock at their door makes them break apart.
Scott feels his eyebrow hike. “Who the hell is that?”
“One way to find out.” Julia’s voice is dejected.
The Unseelie court thing went like ass, and nothing got solved. Scott had heard that the Fey were a political group. He’d had literally no idea. Fast education.
He moves to the door, a lesser replica of the one leading into Faerie and the deepest part of the sithen, which runs throughout Faerie. Metal-forged fasteners were applied vertically with metal cross members over old burnished wood.
Scott places the flat of his palm against the wood. Feeling.
Fey.
Of course. Jerking the door wide, he places his body in the center, blocking Julia from sight.
“What do you want?”
“To apologize,” Domi says.
Good fu
cking thing.
The males are eye-to-eye. Scott is six feet four, about average size for a male Singer Combatant.
The Sidhe males are strongly fashioned and taller, speaking to the physical needs that will challenge them.
“Let him come in, Scott,” Julia says from directly behind him.
Gritting his teeth, Scott steps aside, and Domi glides past. It’s the only way to describe it. The Unseelie Fey are a graceful group.
Obviously, that’s why they’re so good at killing.
Scott shuts the door, bolts it, and turns.
Domi is on his knees before Julia, who looks as startled as she can be.
“Ah...”
“I heartfully apologize, my Blooded Queen.”
“Uh-huh.” Scott lets all the disdain pour out in his non-verbal response.
Julia shakes her head at him, and he bites back a rough exhale.
“Please, Domi, stand. This whole thing is bad enough.”
He stands, towering a foot taller than Julia, and Scott moves closer.
Domi turns his head, exposing his profile to Scott. “I do not mean harm.”
“But you make me nervous as fuck anyways.”
The Sidhe dips his chin. “I know that the time at court was...” Domi seems at a loss on how to finish his thought.
Scott’s not. “Bullshit.”
“Miserable,” Julia adds.
“Yes. Agreed.” His mercury eyes move between them. “I’ve been unable to come to a resolution on how to tell them.”
Julia’s golden-red eyebrows pull together. “Tell them what?”
Scott comes to stand beside his soul-meld.
His silver eyes, like brightly polished sterling coins in his vibrant green face, land on them with a solid weight.
“That I am in love with your mother.”
“Holy crow.” Julia cups her hand over her mouth.
“I always thought you sort of liked her,” Scott says, scowling as he crosses his arms.
“I thought I could keep to the old ways, take a female, make her with child, and we could be together, or she could be with another, as mate or...”
“Brood mare,” Julia archly inserts.
Domi’s bright-green skin takes on an unflattering red across his cheekbones. “Yes,” he says in a quiet voice. “We must stay in Faerie to survive, but being here mandates we share our mates.”
“Why?” Scott says.
Domi shrugs. “Faerie is desperate. As all supernaturals face the same threat.”
“Extinction,” Julia supplies.
“Yes.”
“Except we weren’t doing too bad,” Scott mentions quietly.
Julia looks at Scott. “Until Tony.”
“Yeah. Until Tony,” Scott repeats quietly.
Julia frowns. “Well, forcing people to have sex for breeding purposes isn’t a long-term solution.”
Domi’s lips twist. “I do not believe the Unseelie Sidhe are concerned with anything but a short-term fix, as the humans would say.”
“Well, unless I get an assurance that Singers would have a say in their futures, I can’t push my people to come here. What do they gain from that alliance? A mate who loves them—or just a warm body to impregnate them?” Julia shivers in clear revulsion.
“I do not know how I can resolve this to our speciesʼ mutual satisfaction. However, I want to.” His eyes beseech them. “For Jacqueline—for Hashna. I do not want to share Jacqueline. I never thought...”
“What?” Julia asks.
“That I would find someone to love. There were plenty of females who would fuck a Sidhe warrior.”
Scott doesn’t flinch at his raw choice of words, but he watches Julia struggle with the brutally plain language.
“Having sex is not the same thing as sharing intimacy,” she finally manages.
Domi nods. “I would have argued that before Jacqueline. But now she is the sun, and I am the flower which turns toward her warmth.”
“Whoa, that’s poetic,” Julia says.
He inclines his head, silver eyes shining in the low light provided by the old-fashioned lights that illuminate the stone walls. “Sometimes, the right words come forth.”
A few silent moments pass then Julia says, “I have some conditions.”
Domi shakes his head. “I don’t know if they will hear them. I do not even know if we can get to the most important thing you’ve come for: the spore of the demonic.”
“I was afraid of that,” Julia says.
Scott takes her hand, noticing the fine tremble.
“But I have to try. I want to make good on my promise, but only if my people who come here have the option to be with one person if it works out. I mean”—Julia flips the braid she plaited her hair into earlier over her shoulder—“I am not the moral compass for my people. If one of us comes here and wants to date around...” Julia waves her palm, giving a nervous little laugh. “Then whatever. But handing them over and making that the only option—I couldn’t live with that. Essentially, I won’t prostitute the Singers.” Julia folds her arms. “Then there’s Delilah and Tharell. Why can’t she be released? And Tharell?”
“Tharell attempted to take my head.”
He did, actually.
“Okay, that was so bad.”
Scott snorts. More than bad. “But Tharell was under demonic compulsion because of Praile.”
“He was,” Domi agrees then shakes his head. “Yet, the court doesn’t see it like that. He’s automatically guilty of attempted murder, regardless of motivation.”
“Let me ask you something.” Julia keeps her eyes steady on Domi’s.
“Yes, Blooded Queen.”
“Julia,” she inserts, waving away the formal moniker, “do you forgive Tharell.”
Domi gives a careful nod. “I do. I know my childhood friend would never harm me of his own volition.”
“Isn’t that enough? After all, you’re the one who matters in this,” Scott says.
“Yes, I should matter. However, the court doesn’t like the fact Tharell came against a pure Sidhe—or that a part-death-bringer rescued him. Thus surfacing genetics not of our liking.”
“But Tharell is still him,” Julia emphasizes.
“I can but try,” Domi says. “And if you address the court a second time, I would be quick to discuss the spore first, then add your thoughts about other issues afterward. If you can get them to agree to Singers coming in—some who may or may not mind having sex with more than one—do so. Bring up Tharell and Delilah at the last.”
“What do I ask for?” Julia throws out her palms, clearly frustrated.
“What is the best outcome we can hope for?” Scott adds, and he and Julia exchange a glance.
“A death-bringer without blood of the Fey will be cast out. As Nirvana said, Tharell is very useful as a warrior.”
“But for nothing else?” Julia asks incredulously.
“Perhaps, at one time,” Domi quietly concedes, “but now that his mixed heritage has been discerned, he is less valuable in their eyes.”
Scott gives a decisive nod. “I think they should get the hell out of Faerie.”
“Tharell can’t,” Julia says.
“There is a way,” Domi admits with obvious reluctance.
Scott sharpens his gaze on the warrior. “What?”
“He becomes mate to Delilah.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lazarus
From some dim corner, through the fog of his agony, Lazarus hears the words he’d been hoping to hear uttered.
“Release him.”
Laz tries to blink the blood from his eyes, but more takes the place of what he manages to see through.
Whipping his head to clear the barrier to his vision, pain stabs at his temples, but his line of sight becomes somewhat clearer.
He sees Tessa, struggling under the hold of two Lanarre.
His inner demonic pulses to life, warming his skin as his exhausted body attempts to repair the ex
tensive lashes.
“I guess you’re off the hook, flame-boy. Literally.”
That would be the voice of Neil, the Lanarre who stayed closest to him during his torture, cinching the fasteners until the bindings bit into his already abused skin.
There is a special place in Below for one such as Neil.
The fantasy of torturing Neil in the way of the demonic kept Laz in semi-good spirits as the barbs bit him, flesh flew, and blood sprayed from the lashing and soaked the ground at his feet.
Neil cuts the bindings, and Laz cannot hold himself upright. Too much time in one position.
Blood loss and lack of circulation have crippled him as surely as an effective amputation.
Laz drops, face first in the blood-soaked ground. Groaning, he rolls out of his own bodily waste, spitting and finding his mouth is too dry to do so.
Neil kicks him in his side, breaking a rib.
Laz turns, snakelike, and bites Neil in the leg that kicked him. Jerking his face back, he relieves the fucking Lanarre of a chunk of flesh.
Howling, Neil tries to stagger back to Laz.
“Neil, step away from the demonic.”
Through the haze of blood and pain, he watches Drek move toward him, carrying a snow-white dove in his hands like a precious cargo.
Dizziness sweeps through Laz.
He bites the inside of his cheek and fresh pain crushes the blackness of unconsciousness in its inception.
Then Tessa is there, and using her werewolf strength, she scoops his bloodied body from the ground. With a gasping sob, she looks to Drek. “Satisfied?” she screams in his face.
“Stay back,” she says before the prince of the Lanarre can reply, and Laz moans at the movement of her trying to see everyone who might take him from her at once. “Or I will rip off your dicks.”
Laz hears the tearful tremble in her voice, and he loves his Redemptive even more, his very being swelling with the emotion. He may be bleeding, weak, and near true death—but he will perish a happy male, in the arms of his Redemptive.
“Don’t you die on me, Laz.”
His eyelids crack, and she grimaces at the apparent mess he is. “Never, my Redemptive.”
“I’m taking him far away from here,” Tessa announces.
Laz senses rather than sees Neil come at them and is too physically defeated to even tense.
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