Blood Crown

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Scott lets go of her hand, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like this at all. I met Praile, and he wasn’t even the head honcho. What if Julia comes face-to-face with the hot guy?”

  Julia grins. Scott can sometimes be ridiculous at just the right moment. She treasures how quirky, to the point, and funny he is. And it doesn’t matter that they’re in front of a bunch of Unseelie warriors. He’s the same man no matter who’s around.

  Lachlan’s eyes move to Scott. “She will need protectors. The Blooded Queen will be in the dark one’s territory. Vulnerable to that realm’s toxicity.”

  “I wasn’t saying I was going to toss Julia into hell and walk off.”

  Lachlan continues to stare at Scott. “You cannot journey there.”

  Scott folds his arms, bracing his legs wide apart. “No fucking way. She”—he snaps a thumb in her direction—“goes nowhere without me.”

  Lachlan steps back.

  Sidhe warriors come away from their seemingly casual stance against walls.

  “Those of pure Unseelie blood can withstand Below.”

  “Bully for you.” Scott’s hands fist, and he takes a minute step forward.

  “Scott,” Julia pleads. “I will continue to get sick. I have to try. Even if the direction is terrible.”

  He turns away from her, showing Julia his broad back.

  When she touches him, he flinches. Dammit. They’ll work this out. Later.

  “There’s also the issue of Delilah and Tharell.”

  Domi says nothing, looking like a live wire as he sits on the dais.

  But Starr and Nirvana give matching shrugs. “The death-bringer and Tharell are not of sufficient consequence to warrant engaging in talks,” Starr comments in a bald voice.

  “I disagree,” Julia says, finding her backbone. “Delilah is Scott’s half-sister, and she saved Tharell.”

  “Who we now know has some recessive vampire genetics,” Lachlan says dryly.

  “So just let them go. Domi told me that if they get... mated, then Tharell can live outside Faerie.”

  “Perhaps, but what kind of life can he have away from our ancient magicks, alongside the mundane humans? It is akin to condemning a rainbow to live among a colorless sky.”

  Well, Julia’s been managing all this time without being in Faerie and is pretty happy. She’s not dumb enough to mention that fact.

  She pushes her hair back, but it shifts stiffly against her arm. She’s coiffed from head to toe again and would kill for her unicorn T-shirt and worn jeans. Instead of killing anyone, she shifts her weight so her feet, which are stuffed into sky-high heels, can scream their relief.

  Scott’s lips twitch.

  Jerk.

  Hey, I’ve got to wear this getup.

  Julia saw his “getup” and didn’t think it was too bad.

  “Just say, for the sake of argument, that Tharell would be good without living in this glorious place.” Julia whips out a palm, sweeping it around the opulent surroundings in silver and gold while keeping a straight face. “So that he could have a mate.”

  “He cannot breed. He is not full-blooded Unseelie.”

  Wow. They’re so prejudice and thick-headed.

  No shit. Scott thinks back at her.

  “But he could have someone to be with.”

  “If the mongrel vampire would have him,” Nirvana says pertly.

  Domi turns to her. “Be careful how you speak. Delilah is the blooded daughter to Jacqueline.”

  “And you do have a tiny, pure Unseelie daughter from your union.” Starr gets a nasty look on her face, and Julia just knows what she’ll say before she opens her mouth. “Tell me, Domiatri, does Jacqueline know that you must share her?”

  Scott tenses visibly.

  Wait, Julia thinks as the warriors watch them both.

  Things are escalating. Julia has to diffuse this.

  “Scott’s blooded relatives,” Julia says, “are connected to Faerie now. And I can’t say that Jacqueline should be forced to have sex with more Unseelie warriors just because you say so.”

  She looks at them full in the face, meeting each person’s eyes, warrior and court alike. “Freedom to choose is my last negotiation. Jacqueline should be allowed to be with just Domi, if she wants.”

  Julia walks slowly to the dais, close enough to touch the fey. She’s so near to them, she could pick up Nirvana’s hand.

  “My people must have that choice. And I know enough about Faerie politics that neither side, ours or yours, can welsh on any deal we make.”

  After a few heartbeats of leaden silence, Starr leans forward. “That is true.”

  “Then give Tharell and Delilah the option to leave Faerie. You don’t really want them. You’ve already admitted that. You seem to only want to make an example of them. Domi can vouch for Tharell. He’s served Faerie for what—a thousand years? Delilah protects him from the demonic influence, the distance of Faerie, and possibly getting sick. If they mate.”

  Waving a palm, Nirvana leans back, flicking a bubblegum-pink tendril of hair behind her shoulder. “We have the Singer negotiation resolved. They will be delivered before the next full moon, and you are right, Blooded Queen. We do not want Tharell. And if Domi wishes to lay with just one female, that is his problem.”

  Domi whips his face to hers, and their immortal faces with their perfect lines and features still manage to glare.

  “Pervert,” she whispers, and dull red climbs Domi’s cheeks.

  Julia fights not to mentally communicate with Scott after that interaction and is not entirely convinced they actually agreed to allow Domi and Jacqueline to be only with each other.

  Domi turns away from Nirvana and her lips curl. “Question Tharell and see if this Delilah is responsive enough to agree to the idea of the Blooded Queen’s.”

  “So you agree to my terms.” Held breath burns in Julia’s lungs, and Scott tenses beside her.

  After a few more stressful seconds, Starr, Domi, and Nirvana nod.

  Lachlan inclines his head. “We cannot force Delilah to mate Tharell.”

  Julia says, “I know that, but it’s a problem solver if everyone is willing.”

  He frowns, then his forehead smooths to flat ebony again. “I understand.”

  “That’s all we wanted, some kind of reasonable solution that didn’t include Tharell and Delilah in Fey prison.”

  The door to the court shoots open, hitting the side of the glittering walls of the sithen.

  And in strides... Victor.

  Julia frowns as Scott’s confusion flows through their meld.

  “Victor!” Julia calls out. Chaotic thoughts of what’s gone wrong in Two tear through her mind like a gathering storm, and she and Scott run to him.

  As she gets closer, the spore pulses once deeply, and the sensation staggers Julia, but she moves through it. Maybe something terrible has happened.

  “What’s wrong, Victor?”

  The Unseelie Sidhe have closed in around him.

  Victor looks from her to Scott. “Nothing, my Queen, my King.”

  Scott’s shoulders drop. “Thank God.” His relief deadens the beginnings of an adrenaline rush that were climbing up Julia’s throat.

  “But I have been made aware of your upcoming sojourn to Hades.”

  Scott’s smile is rueful. “We haven’t worked out the details on that, Vic.”

  Julia and Scott exchange a heated glance.

  “I have a solution,” he announces.

  When Victor tells them what he has in mind, it seems perfect. His idea settles Scott and gives Julia hope, which has been in very short supply lately.

  Dark Master

  Convincing them was easier than Dark Master thought.

  The Rare One is so eager to remove the spore, she ignores the instincts of her own body.

  He remains through the closing of the negotiations, which are trivial and inconsequential to Dark Master.

  Nevertheless, when they leave the court of t
he Unseelie, the vague smile Dark Master wears is the most genuine he’s felt during his time Between.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lazarus

  Their bellies are full after Tessa’s kill, and Lazarus’s seed is spent. Now they sleep. At least, his Redemptive does.

  Lazarus remains awake, though he’s painfully tired. His exhaustion sinks into his bones like a cold ache.

  His fingertips absently stroke Tessa’s shoulder while her breath warms his chest. She snuggles nearer, as though even in sleep, she seeks him.

  A terrible feeling of portent sweeps Laz, and he fights shivering.

  Deep down in the part of him that would have a soul if he were not demonic, is a granule of disbelief that he could have this moment, or any moment like it, forevermore. Experience has taught Laz that happiness is chased by agony.

  He cannot be sure if this is a reaction of habit or if it is truly a premonition.

  He will, for the first time, have to live this new existence day by day, expecting nothing. Laz will also need to anticipate the coming of the Dark Master, for he is a thorough creature by design.

  It is unlikely that Dark Master would journey to Between. The difficulty—the sacrifice of such a transition—would prove to be too much for him. But Laz cannot be one hundred percent certain of that. And that bit of uncertainty is a nagging remainder, niggling at the recesses of his mind.

  Kissing the top of Tessa’s head, he eases out of her hold and removes himself from the platform she calls a bed.

  Laz found it very comfortable, though he doesn’t need anything for physical comfort. However, his lips quirk. Laz believes he could become accustomed to the indulgence. His eyes take in his Redemptive, sunlight streaming along her skin. She is fair for one with such dark hair.

  Before they lay down for rest, Lazarus unplaited Tessa’s hair, combing through it with his fingers.

  Now the silken ebony of loose waves travel to just past her waist, wavy from the tight braid she habitually keeps her hair in. But when they lay together, Laz prefers the softness of her femininity to cloak him in warmth.

  As he watches, her eyes, a unique shade of amber, open.

  “Hey stud,” she says, sitting up and stretching like a sunbathing feline.

  Her naked body is a work of art, and Laz hardens as she stretches, putting her glorious breasts on full display.

  “Vixen.”

  Tessa laughs softly. The sound dies out when she notices the expression on his face.

  “Let me take a shower at least.”

  Lazarus smiles. “You read me well, Redemptive.” His eyes move around the rustic space. And that term is a generous one. Laz believes he can see the ground beneath the cracks in the floorboards. “Are there such advanced facilities within?” His voice must be as doubtful as his face, because she takes in his dubious expression and laughs again. “Definitely. Unless there’s been squatters or the fucking Lanarre dogs have used it as a flop house—we’re good.”

  Flop house? Squatters? Laz supposes that existing in Below has made his knowledge of Between limited. That fact is never more apparent than when their language differences present themselves. Laz often finds the terminology of Between confusing.

  Dark Master did not find the cultures of the other realms worth learning. There was far too much torture to see to.

  Tessa stands and walks to him, and his cock fills, blood flow making him achingly rigid.

  Though she is tall by Between female standards, at six and a half feet, Laz is well beyond the average height for a human male.

  He can nearly put the top of Tessa’s head underneath his chin.

  Laz places his hand at her lower back, pressing her forward as he tilts her face up.

  Tessa rises on tiptoe, and their lips meet.

  He smells them. The sex they had—what they dined on hours ago.

  Perhaps she has a very small point regarding the shower.

  “Let’s take it together,” she says.

  “Which?”

  Tessa’s grin is happiness to a heart that beats only for her. “A shower, silly.”

  He does not feel silly. Laz feels crazed with lust and love—heady emotions too new to feel familiar. He suspects they never will. “All right.”

  With a sly grin, Tessa pivots gracefully, tugging at his hand, and leads him to a surprisingly modern facility complete with a commode, small sink, and enigmatic shower.

  Turning on the water, she steps inside, avoiding the spray, then waits for a full minute before it is sufficiently hot.

  Moving backward into the steaming droplets, she lets the rivulets of water travel down her body, wetting her breasts, nipples, and the valley between her legs.

  Laz’s eyes rise.

  A knowing smile is affixed to her beautiful face.

  His Redemptive wishes to be clean, and Lazarus wishes to clean her.

  Adi

  The first thing she sees when she comes to is Slash’s worried face.

  Adi swears that his scar turns red with his emotions. Mostly, it’s this crazy-ass lightning strike that barely misses his eye and lands above perfectly shaped lips.

  She watches as he puts himself back together piece by piece. Reaching up, she touches his cheek. “Hey, big guy,” Adi whispers and swears she catches the glint of tears before he turns away.

  “She’s fine.” His voice is rough, his touch tender as he cradles her body against his chest.

  “I think you can set me down, Slash.”

  Embarrassed, Adi notices the entire group is staring at her.

  Susan reacts first. “She’s with whelp!” she harrumphs. “Let the girl sit and take her breath.”

  Oh that’s so helpful. It’s not bad enough that the males all treat her like a female all the time. She had to go and get pregnant, making the whole shitstorm worse.

  Moon. “Listen”—she holds up a palm—“I’m okay. There’s just been a lot of stupid shocks lately, and Slash and I haven’t had a sec to even breathe.” She takes a deep breath, then her exhale is shakier than she would like, but she rolls with it. “And ya know, I’ve never been pregnant before and feel all messed up.”

  “Of course you do, dear.” Susan pats her shoulder, causing her to miss her mom, who died when she gave birth to Adi.

  What Adi would give for her old room, a shower, and a lie down.

  But not right now.

  She meets Quill’s eyes. “So Jenni?”

  Slash sets her carefully in a chair at the dining room table, where she’s eaten thousands of meals.

  “Right. Brass tacks: we’re down to skeleton numbers here.”

  Her mate moves to stand beside her, folding his arms and standing with his legs wide apart. “What sort of numbers?”

  Quill lifts his chin. “Bad ones. Low. Every rogue pack has to be fought. We gain a new Were about every other month. Each Were needs to be vetted, of course. Which is time consuming as hell and doesn’t bolster our ranks.”

  Adi frowns. “You’re being evasive as hell, Quill.”

  He looks at her, sighing. “Eight,” he finally replies in a low voice.

  “And we thought to find refuge here,” Slash says harshly.

  “Hey,” Quill says, dark-green eyes narrowing, “doing the best I can here. Manny’s dead. So is our last pack leader.” His eyes flick to Adi’s then quickly away. “So that left a bunch of males barely past whelphood. I became the defunct leader because I’m Alpha.” He plugs his thumb between his muscular pecs and shrugs. “Frankly, if I can suck you into the pack, being a Red, and I didn’t have to get dead, fighting you for position, I’d relinquish pack leader status without a second’s thought.”

  Slash is quiet for so long, Adi doesn’t think he’ll reply. When he finally does, Adi releases the breath she’s been holding.

  “I accept. But your pack’s a mess.” Adi can feel Slash’s frown. “Females?”

  “None.”

  Susan clears her throat.

  Quill shifts slight
ly to the right and gives a small bow. “Apologies, elder female,” he says formally.

  “Accepted,” she says dryly, smoothing her hands over her long skirt and Adi wonders briefly what female he's referring to.

  Susan can no longer breed, so they don’t count her number, and that mindset pisses Adi off. Adi crosses her arms, indignant.

  I mean, we’re not just walking vaginas, are we?

  “No females,” Slash repeats quietly, giving a nod to Susan. “That is a disheartening position indeed.”

  “You know what it is, Slash.” Quill spreads his arms. “I feel like we should have a celebration because Adi’s with whelp. It’s joyous in the extreme.”

  Adi’s irritation subsides. Quill’s right. The Were face extinction. No one knows why exactly, but females across all supernatural markers are so low in number. The skirmish at the restaurant is proof of that.

  She decides to drop the bomb and confesses in a low voice, “I turned Jenni.”

  “No shit?” Dare says and whistles low. “That was ballsy.”

  “For a girl,” Adi says in a voice like a knife.

  Dare narrows his eyes. “No, for fucking anyone.”

  “Excuse you,” Susan says, her gaze throwing daggers at him.

  Slightly mollified, Dare goes on. “She’s got a male on her ass, some donkey name.” His eyes roll toward the ceiling, clearly trying to remember.

  “Bray,” Quill supplies with a short chuckle.

  Dare’s palm shoots up, and Quill gives him a high five. “Bray’s like a donkey. Get that, Ad?”

  Nice. “You’re so clever, Dare.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Nope,” he says, “just like the double-entendre angle. A lot.”

  “Your sense of humor is admirable.” Slash’s smile is slight.

  “Pfft, you old Were, everything is all about the race! The pack, the whatever.”

  Adi has to agree. There is hardly any lightness in spirit with Slash. Is that what’s going to happen to Adi? She’ll stop caring about unicorn backpacks and french fries? Fucking depressing.

  “Yes, it is,” Slash says, challenging Dare with his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t rise to the challenge.

  “So, let me tell you about our week,” Adi says.