Dare’s face rises above her, and unshed tears make his eyes shine. Jenni has the presence of mind to feel embarrassed for her nudity and helplessness before he covers her with something soft and warm.
Then Quillon does something while his hands are buried in the guts of Albino, and it severs his torso.
The pieces of the body fly in opposite directions from the force of the maneuver, falling to the ground to twitch as it dies. Slowly.
Heal that, fucker. Jenni blinks her good eye, and Sebastian is there above her with Dare, his face so covered with blood, only his deep-brown eyes are revealed.
Something is important here, Jenni thinks. I have to remember.
But the vision in her right eye dims, and she knows injury and blood loss are claiming her.
Suddenly, she hears Quillon arguing with the other Were. “She is mine, I will heal her.” Then he’s above her.
Wolfen.
Something warm and wet lands on her face and she realizes something new.
Werewolves can cry.
And apparently, she’s in such sad shape, Quillon can’t hold back.
But she has to warn him. With supreme effort and urgency, Jenni says, “Bray.”
“Shhh, baby, don’t talk,” his growling voice comes out as his silver eyes spin and leak on her face like spring rain.
His large hand slides underneath her nape, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “Fucker is shit through a goose.”
Got away. Her eye moves to Dare and Sebastian as they anxiously look over Quillon’s shoulder.
“He used me,” she whispers. “To get Ella.”
“Shit!” Dare says.
Quillon doesn’t turn. “Protect the females.”
“Is Slash around? What about Brady?”
He turns, speaking harshly. “I don’t know, but my female is hurt, and I cannot leave her!” His voice is a roar at the last, and Jenni doesn’t flinch or react.
A numbness is spreading.
But she’ll take his words with her into the black hole of unconsciousness.
My female.
Quill
Quill has never felt so helpless in all his natural life. He looks over his female’s injuries, and he’s not sure... he doesn’t know if he can heal this.
And if he does, he must claim her.
Quill is not physically capable of healing a female who is not his. And Jenni has not given consent to such a thing.
Of course, if she dies, it’s a moot point.
Carefully, he lifts Jenni, the tears coming freely now. He only cried one other time in his life, and that was when he was left with the reins to this pack without sufficient age or experience to run it.
He had himself a nicely packaged little pity party then got on with it.
Even if he didn’t have the chops to back it, he was still in charge. His nature demanded he fill the role. So he did.
Now he’s found his mate.
And she’s dying
One of Jenni’s beautiful velvet-brown eyes is crushed in its socket. There’s not a spot on her free of bruises, broken bones, or teeth marks.
Moon. The Bastards.
Quill snaps his head back and forth, releasing tears and straightening his spine.
His grief and guilt won’t heal Jenni.
Only his essence will. Searching her body for a shred of skin free of injury, he finds one.
Carrying Jenni quickly, hoping not to jar her too much, he must get her to a place to heal her and protect himself while he does.
Quill will be weak for minutes while he injects his essence into Jenni, repairing what he can.
But during that time, his system is weakened because he’s shared what makes him Were, with another.
And in turn, the pack is wide open for attack. But his beast demands it, and the part of Quill that is human does, as well.
What he wouldn’t do to warn Slash or secure his help.
But his female’s life is leaking out as he moves swiftly toward the large barn where the livestock is held, trying like hell not to jostle her.
Quill’s panicked.
When he gets to the barn door, he tears it open, races inside, and carefully lays Jenni on a pile of hay.
“Quillon,” she mutters.
Gulping back his guilt, he looks outside for a second before sliding the door shut and latching it.
He turns, and her good eyes is fluttering closed.
Quill strides to Jenni then kneels beside her, pushing her matted and bloody hair from her face. He almost dissolves into tears again at the sight of her eye.
“That bad?” she chokes, and fine droplets of blood spray come from her mouth, covering her lips.
He nods. No use lying.
“I have to,” Quill says roughly then pushes forward, “bite you, injecting you with my essence.”
“I can’t...” She swallows then grimaces with a soft moan of pain. “Heal this.”
An older Were might have a chance. Hell, Slash or a Lanarre, but a freshly turned Were, this badly injured... He shakes his head and answers simply, “No.”
“Bite away,” she whispers with a slight smile on lips rapidly losing color.
She doesn’t know what she’s asking. That this will bind them.
This isn’t the bite she received from Adi, making her Were in the first place.
This will be a bite to heal her with Were essence produced by a male whose beast knows she is his mate.
But it’s all he can do.
Leaning forward, he sweeps the mess of her hair from her collarbone.
“This will hurt—at first.”
Then his arms are bringing her close while the soft hay cradles her lower body.
He strikes. Teeth that are long in wolfen form sink deep.
Jenni’s body arches involuntarily.
Quill knows the essence is hot, flashing through her veins, and he watches the reaction of her body as it races through her veins like mercury-laced silver lightning.
Her eye opens wide, frantically staring at him.
“It’s okay. Orgasm is normal.”
Jenni screams. Not a sound of fright, but intense pleasure. Quill brought her with what makes him Were, binding her to him as tightly as anything could.
Her fingers clutch at the air, and he captures her hands, pulling her against him as her sex pulses and her body knits the damage caused by a male who is doing moon knows what to his pack right now.
Quill prays to the moon his essence is enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Scott
“That’s Rank!” Scott says, waving a palm in front of his nose. “I guess hell won’t smell like a bed of roses, but a ton of demons farting up a storm is hard to get past.” He wrinkles his nose, drawing Julia next to his body.
Scott thinks this sucks ass. He doesn’t want to take his Singer bride into that hole that Lachlan opened up.
It stinks like an open, festering wound. And they’ll be inside a realm they’re not meant to be in.
Victor makes a pained face. “It seems as though each realm has its offenses. And this is no different.” But instead of backing away like everyone else, Victor seems way less freaked about the disgusting odor than the rest of them.
“Perhaps one will become accustomed.”
“Fuck that,” Scott says in a flat voice, and Julia says, “Scott.”
All right, being profane in the middle of everyone volunteering for an evil duty is probably not in his best interests and definitely not helpful.
He’s just got a bad feeling about all of this.
Placing his palm on Julia’s stomach, he can feel the heat of the spore. Like a warm leech, drawing the goodness out of Julia.
Scott is just going to have to deal.
“Scott,” Julia repeats. But instead of getting him to stop cursing and calm down, there’s a question in her voice.
“Yeah, babe—let’s go.”
He moves first, towing Julia behind him.
&nb
sp; “Please, sire. Let me go first,” Victor says with a light hand on his shoulder.
“Just Scott, Vic—you know that.”
Victor nods and steps to the hole. Inhaling deeply, he mutters to himself, “I do believe one could become accustomed.”
Lachlan steps behind Victor, and with not so much as a step, Victor hops inside the hole.
“Oh no!” Julia cries. “It looks like he’s been eaten.”
She rushes forward, but Scott holds her back. Looking into the foul, steaming hole, he sees Victor about eight feet down.
He waves at them, giving the universal signal for everything’s okay with his thumb and index fingers. The tension in Scott’s shoulders eases. Frowning, he’s not sure he is sure-footed enough to jump that cold.
Eight feet or so is quite a distance to just plunge through a hole.
Victor made it look easy, and he’s been remarkably unaffected.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Lachlan says, seemingly intuiting Scott’s concern. That’s all they’d need—him having to heal up a busted ankle or some other bullshit like that.
Gripping the other male’s arm, he allows himself to be partially lowered into the hole. With just his neck and head free of the stinking sinkhole, Lachlan nods.
He drops Scott, and he prepares to land.
The distance is more than eight feet and deceptive as hell. Scott lands hard, bending his knees deeply and throws a hand out for balance.
Victor captures it, hauling him to standing.
Scott turns to say thanks and puzzles at how weird Vic looks in Hades.
“What is it?” Victor asks, his face screwing into a frown .
Scott shakes his head, and the dual image is gone.
For just a sec, he thought he saw the vague outline of horns and a sick-looking tail superimposed over Vic’s vestige.
And glowing red eyes.
Maybe hell is already getting to me.
“Nothing,” Scott says with a touch of unease. “Seeing shit is all.”
“I am certain for ones such as us, there will be many things which appear amiss.”
He’s got that right. Scott turns, sighting Julia’s hair. Cupping his mouth, he calls up, “Jump, baby!”
Feeling a thrill of fear through their meld, Scott could do a hell of a lot to put her mind at ease, but there’s simply no time for that anymore.
Julia senses his thoughts of urgency, and appearing to hold her breath, she hops through the hole.
She lands in his arms and even as slight as she is, the force of her fall still jars him.
Scott staggers backward, Victor's strong hands grasping Scott’s shoulders, steadying him.
“Thanks, man.”
“My pleasure,” Victor replies.
Lachlan drops, but grabs the side of the hole, halting the fall. Dangling, he looks down, gauging the distance, then lets himself go. Lachlan is probably graceful, but he misses that mark. Any other time, Scott would laugh his ass off as Lachlan lands in a graceless heap, ass first, legs splayed.
“I’ve accomplished things with more smoothness than this,” he admits in a mutter, standing and brushing off his backside.
“There’s no shame in balancing oneself from a ten-foot drop,” Victor says, smoothing the arrogant and ruffled feathers of the Sidhe.
Lachlan raises his stark white brows, so noticeable as one of the few things light enough for them to see well. “You managed.”
They turn to Victor as Scott sets Julia gently on her feet.
He gives an elegant shrug, and Scott notices his clothes are wrecked.
Scott frowns then opens his mouth to ask a question, but Victor says, “Onward.” Pivoting sharply, he marches forward, easily navigating the dark, muggy environment of what appears to be a labyrinth.
“Whoa, Vic—hang on.”
Victor turns, and Scott swears he sees a surly scowl for a fleeting second, but it vanishes so fast that in the hot murk, Scott’s not sure what he really saw.
“Let’s get a game plan,” Scot says. “How do we know where the center of this screwed up place is at?”
Victor walks back to him and knots his hands behind him. “You can’t tell where the darkest part of Hades is?”
Scott can’t.
Julia speaks up, “I know exactly where it is.”
Victor gives her a sharp look, edged by pride. “As well you should, Rare One. It should pull a pure such as yourself as surely as the magnetic pulls of our earth.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s got a pull all right.” She places her palm on her flat belly, and Scott thinks she looks a little green.
The instant Scott dropped into that hole, he started to feel like shit. Now, moment by moment, it’s becoming infinitesimally worse.
The fey were right.
Singers don’t last that long here.
“Victor’s right,” Scott reluctantly agrees. “Onward.”
They walk toward the most evil center of all three realms. The very place they should never go.
The place that they must go.
Dark Master
Always refraining.
That is the role Dark Master must play. When all he wishes is to cackle in delight.
Already the Singer “king” has begun to sicken.
It is not apparent to the casual observer. However, since Dark Master has never masqueraded as casual since his being was brought into existence, he notices even the most subtle of nuances.
The Singer presses his hand against the curved walls of stone, instantly uttering a low curse and jerking the palm back.
It would be too hot here in Below for one from Between.
The Rare One sweeps the back of her hand over her brow. “Not to complain, but it feels like we’ll never get there.”
“I hear you,” Scott says, eyeing Dark Master with a weary gaze.
Dark Master is pleased. Scott is weakening as they move toward the ebony heart of Hades.
It is where Dark Master resides when he wishes to replenish his evil.
There is no place in all of Hades more pure in the darkness than the boiling cauldron at its center.
This is where his legion of low and the high demons await his word.
The Unseelie warrior claps Scott on the back. “It is nothing but a curse to have the blood of the angelic coursing through your veins when standing amongst the natural enemy’s environment.”
Lachlan turns to Dark Master, a slight frown marring the inky perfection of his brow as the mercury of his eyes travel slowly over the costume he wears. “But you seem very well.”
Dark Master inclines the strong square jaw of Victor’s head. “It is only because I am not as pure as our royal pair. I will have the same conclusion, but perhaps, more delayed.” He spreads the strong arms away from this body, attempting to be unoffensive.
The Sidhe studies him while the “royal pair” lean against each other in support.
It is all that Dark Master can manage not to rush them right then. Sitting on his impulses while being inside his native Realm is an agony beyond description.
The Rare One bends over Scott’s hand and presses a gentle kiss to the flesh burned by the sulfuric stones lining the labyrinth that makes up Hades.
Taking a deep inhale to calm himself, Dark Master closes his eyes against the vision of their affection.
Dark have mercy!
“I can sense the dread of this place growing stronger, Scott. I just don’t know how much farther.”
Dark Master opens his eyes and sees the Sidhe still looking at him with a speculation that gives him pause.
He does not need the fey’s curiosity. Or worse—suspicion. In a few short minutes, they will be in the dark center of Below.
And there, he will hurl the Rare One into the abyss of fire.
Where she will fall and never land. While burning ceaselessly.
True death by way of eternal perishing. An expression Dark Master is quite fond of.
“Lead on,”
Lachlan says to Victor, and with a smile of benevolence, he does.
The royal singers follow him to their imminent doom.
Julia
Julia won’t delude herself—they’ve put themselves in a really bad position.
Not that there was any other way to get it done. The possibility of her salvation from the spore—this was the only way.
And there was no clear path. The fey had been vague.
Go to the center of hell, and that will be enough.
Yeah right.
She glances at Scott. His skin is ashen, his lips a tight, grim line.
When they were pressed against each other, he’d told her through their meld that whatever they did, they had to do it fast.
Scott figures he has about a day before he’s more hindrance than help.
Biting her lip, Julia picks up the pace. They’ve already been walking at least four hours now, and though she wears a wristwatch, it no longer keeps time.
The second hand runs backward, for starters.
She hasn’t told Scott, but the spore has quieted since they arrived. As though that piece of evil recognizes that it’s come home.
But the very thing that threatens her life also allowed her to enter hell.
If she didn’t have this thing inside her, she would be even sicker than Scott.
She is the Rare One. No one ever lets her forget it. But if it’s not in name only, and she can really help her people, maybe the identifier won’t be so awkward to carry around all the time once the spore is gone and she can be what she was meant to without the handicap of evil.
“There!” Lachlan says in a whispered hiss.
The thought occurs to Julia that she has not seen proof of demonkind here. Their total lack of presence should have been understood as the sign it was.
She looks to where Lachlan points, and Victor moves to the side.
A large circle of well-worn but jagged protrusions line a vaguely rounded mound. Inside, the mound is bright-orange-and-gold molten liquid.
The spore pulses once, reminding Julia of its presence.
Her palm flattens against her stomach.
Fuck you, she thinks with an unusual burst of curse words, I win.
Scott is directly behind her, and she turns to him. Sicker than before, he sways.
Are you going to be okay?
Blood Crown Page 24
