The sithen walls darken as he passes, trailing his fingers behind him on the stone. Smoldering lines etch black into what was gold, silver, and ivory.
He has a goal. The mind of the one he inhabits still holds memories, and Dark Master seeks that which he found among those memories.
The sithen feels his need, and the hall shifts before him. A door of medieval architecture, also disturbingly similar to the type which survive the heat of Hades in the realm of Below, sprouts like a weed directly in front of him.
Jerking it open, Dark Master passes through. The hall splits into a Y-shaped yoke, and he takes a moment to observe the dual pathway of darkness, lit only by the softly glowing metallic stones as vapor escapes the cavities of his borrowed body. Doors line both the left and right of the straight run in front of him that he chooses.
The only door he’s interested in stands in his line of sight. Behind the closed door is the unscrupulous and merciless leader of the Singer stronghold of Region Two.
Jacqueline.
Perfection. Victor’s memory bank imbues Dark Master with the feelings for and remembrance of this one.
Dark Master feels a genuine smile overtake his face. Oh the joy.
He knocks at the door, his eyes flicking quickly in each direction to see there are no immediate witnesses, and uses his untapped internal fortitude to clamp down on the natural vapor of his kind.
After a moment, a woman of exceeding beauty answers the door. Dark eyes widening in clear surprise, she exclaims, “Victor!”
Dark Master gives a nod with his chin only. The host has memories of conduct, as well. Too bad he had not been a demonic. This one was very self-contained, based on his recall.
Victor would have made an enduring torturer within the bowels of Below.
No matter.
Dark Master shakes off the regret. A Singer of angelic blood could never exist in Below in any event.
The Rare One, who currently holds a piece of Below within her, is the only exception. That thought is enough to set him back on task.
“My queen.”
“No—Julia is the queen of us all,” she states quickly. “Do come in.” She steps to the side to allow him entry as a sharp cry pierces the silence of the moment.
Dark Master slips in behind her, searching intently for the disturbance. A newborn fey babe lies swaddled in a small bassinet.
Her eyes follow him, and she whimpers.
Oh my... Dark Master hesitates. This small one sees through the costume to what hides beneath. Affixing an oily smile upon his countenance, he looks past the babe at the mother.
This is the way. Jacqueline is the vehicle to see his plans come to fruition.
Besides, the babe is too small to communicate his deception. Dark Master’s face turns to the small one again.
In the unlikely event she were to reveal him, there are permanent options available to prevent further exposure.
She flails small fists, her eyes unblinking on him.
Whip your pathetic arms around all you wish, fey. There will be no saving the Rare One.
Jacqueline scoops up the babe, and as she turns, her face falters at his expression.
Dark Master schools his features into more agreeable and familiar lines.
Seeming to accept him, she brings the tiny babe closer.
Dark Master fights to remain where he is.
“This is Hashna.”
He and the babe stare at each other. She’s utterly still while she peruses him.
“Strange,” Jacqueline comments, tucking the blanket beneath the babe’s chin, “she’s usually more responsive than this.”
“I am happy that you are both well and safe.” Dark Master tries on a smile that feels like a pasted grimace. With a gulp, he leans over the babe sitting safely within her mother’s arms.
“It is good to meet you,” Dark Master says with as much sincerity as a banana peel, scraping the barrel of his host’s memories for an appropriate reply.
He must approximate fairly well because Jacqueline says, “You’re so sweet, Victor.”
Frowning, he dismisses the babe for the moment. “Sweet?” Has he done something wrong? Let his inner evil slip?
“You’ve always been compassionate. It was I who was not.”
With a great internal sigh of relief, Dark Master realizes he stumbled along the right behavior path.
Thank the Dark.
Running a nervous palm over the host’s perfectly coiffed hair, he rummages through his memory banks and says with improved confidence, “That’s all behind you now. We have started anew”—too bad—Feeling almost jovial, he adds, “It is a fresh beginning.”
It is unfortunate Tony Laurent could not have pulled off a twofer, Dark Master muses, liking the idea of the new language he’s acquiring by the moment. Dark Master might be able to assume this personality better than he first believed.
Jacqueline frowns, and the heart he borrows skips a beat. “I thought you only escorted Julia and Scott here?”
Yes, technically. His shoulders relax as she shifts the babe to her shoulder. “I returned to the vehicle and decided that perhaps it wasn’t good to leave our rulers without an extra guard.”
Jacqueline assumes a wry smile. “I don’t think Scott will favor that choice.”
Victor rifles through the memories again: Scott. Combatant, shrewd, illusionist, King. Dark Master executes a mental eye roll, continuing his mental rundown: devoted, instinctual.
Unfortunate. The Singer king possesses all the alarming traits of integrity that Dark Master personally takes exception to. No matter. He plasters on a winning smile for Jacqueline’s benefit. “That will not be a problem. There has been a disturbance in the sithen, and I believe Scott will welcome the extra fortification in arms.”
Jacqueline’s dark brows come together. “Domi hasn’t mentioned it.”
Domiatri. Unseelie warrior. Now that might be a pesky problem.
“Do not be alarmed. I must find the royal pair, and I will avail myself to the security detail.”
This is a bit fun.
“I’d be happy to help, but first, Hashna needs to feed.”
Dark Master finds himself dispatched to the rabid sound of suckling. The mongrel infant greedily gulps sweet milk from her mother’s teat while the highest demon of Below sits nearby, head in hand, sulking at his lot.
Another insult piled on a great number already.
Dark Master has a rather late epiphany, realizing that patience is definitely not a virtue.
He hides his chortle from the mother and child mere feet from his ruminations.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Slash
Slash has a case of nerves. He shouldn’t. He’s been in more battles than he can recall, but it was always just him.
Now it’s Adrianna, as well. And though she looks as she always has, he can smell the change on her. That she is with whelp. His whelp.
“Almost there,” Adrianna declares, moving aside the last of the branches.
Slash is aware they are near. He could smell the other males five miles ago.
They hesitate for a moment at the crest of a hill, gazing out at a cleared meadow where an outcropping of buildings are nestled. A large structure, which Slash is very familiar with, stands at its center. The other two are smaller structures mimicking the larger, while a great barn for livestock stands a good distance from the pair.
Adi breaks into a run, the ragged backpack popping up and down on her back.
“Adrianna!” Slash hisses, sprinting after her.
She is quarter-changed, so she’s almost too fast for Slash in his human form. But not quite.
Slash is sorely motivated.
He reaches, grabbing her arm and spinning Adrianna to face him. “Adrianna,” he cautions in a low voice.
“Stop!” She jerks out of his grasp. “Nobody’s gonna hurt me here. Tony’s gone, and everyone who was higher up than him has been killed. It’d be my whelpmates probably.�
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“Probably...” He leans close, ducking his chin low to capture her eyes as their noses nearly touch. “Probably isn’t enough.”
“Moon,” she huffs, crossing her arms.
Slash looks at her until her eyes drop reluctantly. “Fine,” she mutters. “Lead on, ya big—gah!”
Slash is already moving toward the largest structure. Everything looks very much like it did. He flares his nostrils. Alphas are here.
No Reds.
His shoulders ease.
But there’s a wildness he can’t place, a fragrance he can almost name. Slash is not sure exactly what, but the scent trail did not exist with the prior leader.
Adrianna doesn’t go directly to the main dwelling, where Susan would be, tending whoever remains—preparing food and basically mothering the pack.
She bypasses it, heading to where Jason Caldwell was kept while in his feral state.
“Where are you going?” Slash asks in a low voice.
“Making sure there isn’t some jerk keeping another Were against his will.”
Adrianna approaches the bright-red structure, and lifting a heavy bar, she flings open the door.
No feral is within reach.
But a male Were is.
He stands within a pool of shadow, eyes moving between wolfen and human.
Slash stands in front of Adi.
“Is that you, Ad?”
He moves from the murk, and Slash is staring at a Were who shares his mate’s unusual shade of hazel eyes run through with flecks of green.
“Dare!” she cries, running headlong toward him.
Slash blurs ahead, shoving the unsuspecting Were on his ass with a stiff arm to the chest.
The Were lands hard on the unforgiving floor. Hay and other debris stick to him as he rolls out of the strike.
The male crouches low, eyes narrowing on Slash. “Fuck you, Red.”
“Do not touch my mate.”
“Calm the righteous fuck down! She’s my cousin—fucking hothead.”
A pup, Slash has time to think before Adrianna punches him in the arm. She holds nothing back, and he does wince, unsuspecting of her violence.
“What was that?” she yells. “It’s Dare!”
Slash doesn’t give a shit. “I do not care,” he yells back, patience spent. “I am your mate. You carry my whelp and are so headstrong, I should tie you to my back!”
Adrianna retreats a step.
Slash felt himself slip to wolfen. His control has been sorely tested. When his beast perceives his mate is in danger, his inner wolf claws to escape.
“Moon, is this guy serious?”
“So serious,” Adrianna says through gritted teeth, giving him the full weight of her anger.
“You are mated to him?” Dare flicks a finger at him, and Slash fights to remain human.
“Listen, pup,” Slash says in a voice gone to a growl, “when you are mated and your mate holds your whelp within her body, we’ll talk about who is hotheaded. Right now, move slowly.”
Dare walks toward them, picking off debris left behind from his literal roll in the hay. “As if cleaning up after the livestock is so fun. Now I’m gonna have to take a shower.”
“I want to give my cousin a hug.” Adrianna says, sullen, “Dare was one of the few non-assholes in our pack.”
“Gee thanks, Ad.”
Slash steps aside, but not too far away. Now that the Were is closer, Slash can smell their relation, but it’s not as close as Adrianna had indicated.
“Not first cousins,” Slash states.
“Third,” Dare admits, a grin on his face. “Figures you’d hook up with a Red, of all things.”
Adrianna grins. “You don’t remember Slash...”
Dare’s eyes flick to Slash then back to her. “No. Maybe I was too young, or maybe when our den visited yours for the festival, we just missed him.”
“You’re so huge now,” Adrianna remarks, and the Were’s face turns beat red. No difficult thing considering his redhead’s complexion, though his hair could almost be brown. But Dare’s eyes are all-Adrianna’s.
“Yeah, matured a couple of years ago.”
“Right,” Adrianna says awkwardly then quickly recovers. “You found a female yet?”
He shakes his head then brightens, his entire face lighting up. “We did actually find one and kinda another one.”
“Kind of?” Slash interjects, brow cocked.
“Yeah, it was totally weird. We’re on patrol, see—”
“Wait,” Slash interjects, sensing a long tale. “I don’t want to break up old-home week,” he comments dryly, and a glare from Adrianna has him treading a bit more lightly, “but we must speak with the Alpha of the pack. There is much to tell and a warning to be conveyed, and... we’re starved.” Again.
“Oh...” Dare tears dirty fingers through his hair, notices they’re not pristine, and exhales in disgust. “Moon, I hate this detail.”
“I had to shovel shit too, ya know—and not just livestock shit but Alpha Were shit,” Adrianna says.
“Hmm, but not as much as the males,” Dare notes, smoothly evading the dig about the mostly male pack.
“As much.”
“Right, Alpha’s kid.”
Adrianna nods. “We got the shit detail with a lot of regularity.”
“Sorry about your dad, Ad.”
She looks down at her beat-up sneakers, and Slash feels a moment of shame that his mate doesn’t have new things.
There will be time enough for that if they can but rest for more than half a day.
Dare slings an arm around Adi’s shoulders, and Slash tenses. “So you’re already with whelp?” His brows wag up and down.
Adrianna shyly ducks her head. “Yeah, I know I’m young...” She falters, and Dare, thank Moon, is Were enough to say the perfect thing.
“Hey, it’s great news. A reason to celebrate. We are so slim on females that a whelp is a great joy,” he says, speaking maturely for the first time since Slash laid eyes on the pup.
Though pup is probably not the most accurate description. While young in manner and years, Dare is a huge male, standing near Slash’s height, with shoulders nearly as broad as Adi is tall.
“Your name is most unusual,” Slash remarks, trying for cordiality after his territorial faux pas.
Dare smirks. “My real name is Darian. I don’t know how it became Dare.”
“Because you have no sense of personal safety.” Adrianna rolls her expressive eyes.
Slash notices the small and large scars littering every surface of the visible real estate of the male’s body. It is a feat for a Were to acquire scars that cannot be healed.
He sees Slash note the marks and straightens out his heavily muscled arms, the healed wounds are like road rash. “Yeah, I’ll do anything once.”
“Until it’s the last time,” Slash finishes.
Dare wags a finger at him, lips twisting. “I think I might dig you, even if you were a colossal ass for tossing me into the muck.”
Slash allows a small smile as they make their way back to the main structure.
Buried deeply within the woods on a roughly one-hundred-acre parcel, the wooden building is vaguely circular, though that’s an illusion. In fact, it’s a hexagon, with the marbled ritual outdoor coliseum a short distance away, where it is hidden from view of the cloistered structures.
Adrianna shivers as she walks by the path that leads to the ancient coliseum.
Slash takes her hand, his eyes meeting Dare’s over her head.
He jerks a shoulder toward the beaten path they just passed. “Not using that much anymore. Not enough of us.”
Adrianna gives him a sharp look. “It wasn’t good anyway. All the male Were fighting over us like we were a choice bone.”
Dare shrugs. “It’s ancient ritual, Ad. There’s never been enough females.”
“That is true.” Slash exhales his frustration. Again, he is struck by his fortune with Adrianna and ho
w close he came to losing her. First, the Lanarre, then the witch and trolls, and finally, the rogue group.
Slash is reminded that he must find who is in charge. Now.
They might all need to prepare for the three who will surely come. With only a day’s hike between the eatery and the Northwestern, if the rogue Were wished to pursue them and try for Adrianna a second time, they could.
His mate must take sustenance. “Food first,” Slash says, breaking into the conversation, “then I meet with your pack leader.”
Dare stops, his arm slipping from Adrianna’s shoulders. “We don’t really have one. Just Quill.”
“Moon,” Adrianna whispers, understanding the problem instantly.
Slash slows then stops, as well. “Who’s Quill?”
“Quillon is a hothead transplant from Northern Cal, right?” Adrianna cocks her head, waiting for his answer.
Dare looks at Slash. “He’s my first cousin, but no relation of Ad. He came here when shit went sideways, Manny died, Ad’s dad died... and Tony got dead. Which was sick as shit.”
“You speak like a human,” Slash comments absently. This is not good; there is unrest. There must be a pack leader, or the Northwestern is vulnerable to being overtaken.
“I will speak with Quillon.”
Dare shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you two are a lot alike.”
Slash feels his frown.
“Yeah,” Dare says, hiking his finger. “See? You’re already gettinʼ all worked up.”
Yes, yes, I am. Because the stakes are high. He and Adrianna traveled all this way for sanctuary.
And perhaps that isn’t what they’ve found.
However, Slash must push forward.
Get food then speak to this Quillon.
The rest was not of prime importance. Slash has always been brutally pragmatic.
“That was so great, Susan.”
Adrianna flops back against the chair and Slash’s eyes leisurely take in his satiated mate.
The sight makes something tight in his chest loosen.
Susan, of the matronly persuasion, walks over to Adrianna and pats her head. “You have a whelp in the oven, do ya?”
Adrianna’s face burns bright pink with her embarrassment. Slash reminds himself this is her home pack and doesn’t interfere in the nosiness.
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