Blood Crown

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Heat rises to her face when she realizes Quillon might smell the attraction on her. Right?

  The thought is flat-out mortifying. Who knows what he smells? And Jenni’s still learning how to “catalog.” Jesus.

  Movement just outside the door startles Jenni from her thoughts, and she stands. Patting down her hair that’s still damp from a quick shower, she grips the door jamb and leans around the corner.

  Sebastian turns the knob, popping his head inside, and she jumps back, hand to heart.

  “Got a situation.”

  Jenni swallows hard, stomach doing a slow flip. She’s pretty done with situations. “What does that mean?”

  “You gotta go to the main building.”

  Frowning, Jenni walks to the door and scans the outside in the growing gloom. “Where’s that?”

  Sebastian taps his nose. “Follow the golden brick road.”

  Jenni crosses her arms, jutting out a hip. “Anyone ever say you’re an asshole?”

  He grins. “All the time, sweet thing.”

  Wonderful. Stepping out onto the porch, Jenni peers around the expansive property.

  The sun of a dying day pierces the thick canopy of trees that still hold their leaves, but in late September, they won’t hang on for much longer. A soft breeze lifts the emerald foliage, casting final particles of life in puzzle-piece patterns in the space between the grass and where the forest begins.

  “Hey,” Sebastian says, voice suddenly losing that teasing edge as he captures her eyes, “you’ll be fine. I’m right here. Besides...” His grin slips back into place. “Quill will have my head if anything happens to you in the half-mile walk between here and there.”

  Half mile.

  The smile doesn’t reach his dark-brown eyes, though they are lighter than the sudden memory Jenni has of Slash’s—Adi’s husband, mate, or whatever he is. In this, Sebastian seems to be dead serious.

  “Okay,” Jenni says, eyes restlessly moving to the dark woods again.

  “I’d be escorting you if I didn’t have two females here—one a whelp.”

  They glance back at the closed front door.

  Jenni agrees—a mother and child are more important than she is. Nodding, Jenni straightens her spine then begins to walk toward where the vague smell of her kind is.

  My kind...

  Maybe it’s some kind of litmus test? Send the new Were girl off in a “play the scent” game.

  Sebastian grips her upper arm before her foot has touched the first stair tread leading off the front porch, and she looks up at him, a little startled by the uncanny speed of the movement. His sheer size is intimidating, but they could have killed her a million different ways by now, so she’s chill. Kind of. “Are all werewolves as big as you?”

  “Were,” he corrects absently. “Yeah, we’re on the upper end of the largest of human males,” he answers as if by rote. “If you feel anything, smell anything strange, howl.”

  Unbelievable. “I don’t know how.” Jenni folds her arms again, and his hand drops.

  His exhale sounds irritated.

  “I wish whoever turned you hadn’t left you so unprepared.”

  Me too.

  Jenni doesn’t explain that Adi did what she could.

  She spins and, trotting down the wide porch steps, lets her nose guide her. Jenni doesn’t turn around to see if Sebastian is watching her.

  She senses his eyes boring into her back.

  Guided by scent alone, Jenni makes a quick beeline to a little copse of woods that separate Quillon’s small cottage from the larger structure she was told to watch for. Then she pauses.

  The woods are dark. The sky hangs on to tenuous light by its teeth.

  Nobody said that half-mile stretch would mainly be through trees so thick she can hardly weave between the giant trunks.

  Jenni continues to stare, getting a tingling sensation. Like a portent. Rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms, she clenches her jaw.

  God, I’m a werewolf.

  She thinks of Bray. Determined, Jenni takes a deep breath and plunges forward, smacking fragrant branches out of the way as she plows through the dense underbrush. Her eyes see better now than when she was human, easily making out the tramped but narrow path in front of her.

  Without conscious decision, Jenni inhales deeply through her nose. When a strange smell enters the radius of sensitivity, her head snaps to the right.

  Reflective eyes glow back, and her shoulders slump with relief.

  Cougar. Wildlife.

  Why am I not terrified? Because Jenni knows she can take it. Deep down in a primal area she never knew existed, Jenni innately understands what the cougar is to her now.

  Prey.

  Slowly, it retreats in the direction it came.

  Dismissing the cougar, she turns back to the path as another smell tweaks her nose, twitching in response. But like she’d been told would happen, Jenni can’t identify all the smells yet. It’s pretty frustrating.

  Giving a mental shrug, she moves on, eyes intent on the vague soft glow of lights she can just make out in the distance.

  The half mile seems to take a long time as she trudges on, crashing through the underbrush.

  She almost escapes the woods.

  Almost.

  It’s too late by the time steely arms wrap her, lifting Jenni off her feet. “Shut the fuck up, or I break your neck, Jenni.” Rancid breath bathes the side of her face, and she gags.

  Bray.

  How could she have ever thought she wouldn’t recognize his foul stench?

  In fact, all three of them had been as quiet as the wind. She never heard them, and to her shame, she didn’t smell them over the overwhelming scent of feline.

  She’s so pissed—at herself—and terrified.

  “Grab her arms. She uses them pretty good,” Bray says softly. “Move fast before they catch our scent. Wind’s died down for a sec. Get hopping, fucknuts!” he hisses in a voice so low, Jenni can barely hear him.

  His buddies move in, each grabbing one of her arms and dragging her to the nearest tree. They bend her arms back in opposite directions around a huge tree trunk.

  The bark digs into her back as they hold her fast. Even in the near-dark, Jenni can see Bray’s sneering face—a face she’s growing to loathe.

  “I love the smell of your fear. It’s fucking hot,” Bray whispers. “Listen up, bitch, and listen good.”

  Jenni doesn’t bother to struggle. She’s strong, and all her senses are sharpened beyond anything she’s ever known. But Bray’s eyes swirl amber, and his body has changed. He’s bigger—and taller. She doesn’t kid herself. Jenni knows he could hurt her, badly.

  Remaining quiet is better.

  “I want that bitch and my kid.”

  Jenni blinks. Devin and Ella. “I don’t know where they are,” she lies automatically.

  His fist slams into her stomach, and one of the other guys slaps a palm over her mouth, muffling her scream of pain.

  “Lying cunt.”

  Tears leak out of the side of her eyes as she sags against the tree, trying to catch her breath.

  Heat roars like an internal fire where he hit her, and she realizes that her body is healing damage caused by the strike. Jenni’s not accustomed to being beaten by men. Lance was King Dick, but there was never a time, not even a hint, that he would put his hands on her.

  “I smell my blood around these parts. We’re fucking werewolves, if you haven’t figured that part out yet. I can smell what you ate today.”

  Jenni can’t stand up straight and doesn’t think this is the best time to let Bray know that she can smell the same stuff. And that he reeks like day old trash and shit in a Tootsie Roll of make-her-barf. Probably not a good call to let him in on that small factoid.

  “Get her up, Billy.”

  Billy grabs her hair and jerks her head back, forcing her body upright, and Jenni grunts, holding in her pain.

  “You scream, and we tag team your twat.”<
br />
  Oh my God. Jenni can’t help the fine tremble that shivers through her body.

  Billy shoves his nose in the crook of her neck, and she tries to recoil but his grip is too powerful.

  “She smells so damn good,” the man she didn’t get a look at says from behind her as Billy’s jammed between her jaw and shoulder.

  “Yeah, the female werewolves—like goddamned bitches in heat. Love it.” Bray scowls. “But we gotta keep our eye on the prize.”

  He stabs a finger in her sternum, and Jenni can’t help the whimper as pain radiates from where he poked her. “There’s a fucking guard on them. I can smell his Alpha ass. Pack werewolves don’t fuck around with females.”

  “They let her run around alone, Bray,” the disembodied voice just behind her says.

  Bray’s face lights up like a demon’s. “Yeah, gives me hope. Must not have enough males to patrol. Otherwise, they’d have males on her ass at all times.”

  Jenni hadn’t thought of that. That maybe it was a super-small pack of werewolves, and there’s no out of this little scenario she finds herself in.

  Fear thrills through her again.

  Billy’s nostrils flare. “I can’t take this, Bray. I gotta have some of this.” Billy’s hand on her hair tightens. “And payback too.” His teeth are very white in the dark. Very sharp.

  Jenni closes her eyes.

  “No,” Bray says, and her eyes snap open at the unexpected answer. “She will say nothing. But Jenni can lay a trap for the males, get them out of the fucking way of my spawn. We get the kid and Devin, and maybe Jenni can live.”

  Billy shakes her by the hair, and she gives a soft moan of agony, her scalp on fire.

  “I’m not helping you take Devin and Ella,” Jenni says in a low voice of conviction.

  Bray blurs to her, and he’s so much taller in this strange half-man, half-wolf form that she can’t quite meet his eyes.

  Long talons sprout and lengthen from his fingertips as he comes. He taps them together, and Jenni’s gulp is painfully dry in her throat.

  “You don’t owe them nothinʼ here. Just get the males out of the way.”

  “Or what?” Jenni manages.

  He slips one of his talons between her legs, and she can feel the hard boniness press against her sex.

  Jenni’s eyes move to his.

  “Me and my boys will fuck you dead, then I’ll kill Devin and take little Ella anyways.”

  He presses the talon deeper against her, and Jenni rises on her tiptoes in avoidance.

  “What do you say, Jenni?”

  His eyes begin to revolve faster, like spinning whiskey discs in a cruelly fashioned face.

  Shame swamps her as she nods. The talon is removed, and she half-collapses with relief.

  Bray nods at the men.

  Jenni falls forward as the suddenness of Bray’s fist meeting her stomach a second time drops her to her knees, stealing her breath.

  He crouches beside her as she gasps for air, the heat of healing flaring like a torch in her insides. “That’s for the little chase you gave me back in PT.” Wrapping his talons around her throat, he lifts her chin as she flails for air.

  “We’ll be watching.” He releases his fingers, and Jenni drops on the forest floor.

  She lies there, unable to breathe, as the men slide between trunks, their shadows becoming one with the night.

  When air finally comes, it’s just enough for her to cry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Julia

  Lachlan startles her so badly, she jumps, clutching a hand to her heart.

  “I am sorry, Blooded Queen.”

  Heart thumping, Julia tries to rein in her fear. It’s unfounded. The fey need them. But it’s pretty tough to remind herself of that when his skin is so black, he just seemed to appear out of nowhere inside the dark hallway.

  She can feel Scott coming; she telecasts her emotions strongly anyway. With their meld, it’s like an echoed shout in his head.

  At least, that’s what Scott has said.

  “Julia!” He rounds a corner, gets a load of Lachlan, and frowns, coming to her side swiftly. “What’s going on?” he asks, a growl to his voice, eyes bleeding from dark brown to a reddish hue.

  “I have come to escort Julia to court, as planned.”

  Right. It’s okay, Scott.

  He scared you.

  Only because I couldn’t see him. He blends in!

  “It is considered rude to speak mentally in front of one who cannot.”

  Their heads snap in his direction.

  “I’m sorry,” Julia says quickly before muttering, “Damage control.”

  “I am unfamiliar with that term.”

  “It means I was freaking out because Julia was frightened, and she just”—Scott plows fingers through his hair—“was trying to calm me down quickly.”

  He places his fist above his heart. “I am the guard you requested.” His shockingly white brows rise.

  Scott stares at him, taking in his outfit. It’s something to stare at. His snow-white hair is pulled straight back and plaited to his waist. His white eyes, ringed with silver, stare with haughty patience at them as they survey him.

  Tharell would probably think his expression meant, taking Scott's measure. But Tharell isn’t here. He’s in a jail cell.

  Julia’s eyes run over a sword so long, it’s an ankle duster.

  “You take things seriously,” Julia comments quietly.

  His eyes tighten on her. “There are serious things afoot, Blooded Queen.”

  Julia supposes that’s true, but the weapon, his stern disposition, his odd coloring—which she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to—and all the other underlying stress she’s under make it impossible to force herself to be calm, which she needs to be.

  “We should depart for court,” Lachlan announces, nodding to Scott. “I will lead, and you keep the rear, Scott.”

  It’s not lost on Julia that the fey consider Scott to be her lesser.

  Scott’s got enough ego for the universe, she thinks with a smirk, He doesn’t need accolades.

  He slides a speculative glance her way, and she winks at him.

  Julia doesn’t need attagirls, either. But for once in her life, she’s so thrilled to be able to make her own choices and see cause and effect finally play out.

  It’s not just the other three fey with whom she’s familiar. Many other have joined Starr, Nirvana, and Domi. They glitter and murmur, while Julia feels isolated, dressed up, and foolish.

  She wants the spore gone and Tharell and especially Delilah freed. And lastly, she’s not so sure she wants her people in Faerie. Julia’s not especially impressed with the beauty of the mound—the sithen’s been polluted, and they’re not even sure what caused it.

  The eyes that regard her aren’t hostile—but they aren’t friendly, either. They all literally look down on Julia and Scott because they’re sitting on top of a dais.

  Scott takes her hand, and Julia understands through their meld that time is growing short. Deals need to be made, assurances uttered.

  “I...” Julia begins then clears her throat as the murmurings die out.

  With all eyes on her, Scott squeezes her hand gently.

  “I am willing to send ten Singers to Faerie. Of various temperaments.”

  Julia thinks that’s a classy way of saying some would want just one fey mate and others might be into that harem thing.

  Nirvana leans forward, steepling her fingers, her elbows resting on the gilded velvet-clad armrests.

  “That is good.” Her plain brown eyes, framed by luscious locks of Easter-egg pink, narrow. “And what will you require in return?”

  “I did promise Tharell, and by default, Faerie, but I know that an exchange is warranted.”

  Starr gives Nirvana a subtle shake of her head. Her wavy shoulder-length navy hair brushes her shoulders as she does.

  “We have spoken at length about this topic and will hear what you wish in
exchange.”

  They’re good with ten.

  Julia doesn’t look at Scott as his words slide through her head. Lachlan knew when they were using their telepathy, and she doesn’t want to let the other sidhe know she and Scott are communicating silently.

  But Julia could “hear” the relief in Scott’s mental voice.

  Scott replies to the Unseelie court instead of Julia. “You are aware of the demonic spore the”—Scott sort of staggers over their name for Julia—“Blooded Queen acquired in battle.”

  They nod.

  Scott goes on, “We were told that the Unseelie fey would have a solution to eradicate this piece of evil.”

  Julia squeezes his hand, and Scott squeezes back.

  Lachlan touches Julia’s shoulder, and sweeping the room with his icy gaze, he addresses the court. “We all know there is only one solution for the Blooded Queen.”

  Ominous silence fills the room.

  Starr leans back, demurely straightening her elaborate dress. It’s technically black, but with her deep-blue hair, Julia can see it’s actually the same shade as her unusual hair color.

  Or unusual to Julia.

  “Having a piece of Hades within allows you passage to the realm Below. You must leave something of yourself behind, making you proof against the demonic and weakening Below,” Starr says.

  “What?” Julia asks.

  “Are you genuinely confused, or is there another reason for your surprise?”

  Scott frowns. “Julia’s not dumb.” He stares them down, and Julia puts her hand on his arm.

  “I’m surprised.” She suppresses a strange urge to giggle, and Scott raises an eyebrow, looking at her after sensing her weird impulse. “I have to go to hell?”

  Nirvana’s perfect brow furrows. “Yes. Is it not obvious that with a piece of the demonic, an angelic can move to that realm? Without that within you, you could never cross to Below. Too pure.” Unruffled, Nirvana leans back, cupping her fingers loosely at the end of the armrests.

  This is surreal. “So where’s the door to hell?”

  Lachlan comes to stand before her. “It is called Hades, and there is no door, but a place of deep magick where the space between realms is thin. In that place, your contrary essence will leech through to Below.”