And that was a big if.
The man wasn’t a gargoyle. He didn’t move with the cunning grace of a predator. He was too big to be a Korrigan, although cornering someone in the dark definitely fit their MO.
Going up against the notorious slavers would be a welcome change actually. She did so love it when they were foolish enough to believe they could enslave her like a common mortal.
The giant didn’t betray a hint of magic, excluding him as a sorcerer. That left just Fae then. Interesting.
“Elena of House Lamorak.” The giant’s voice was even deeper than she anticipated.
She drew her magic close, the seductive tendrils whispering through her head. “Do we know each other well enough for such formality?”
“Daughter of Roan and Amelina,” the giant continued. “Granddaughter of Queen Titania.”
Elena winced. “I try to keep that last tidbit on the down low actually. Tends to bring out the crazies.”
The giant frowned.
“You’d be the crazy,” she confided in an exaggerated whisper.
Few knew her full heritage outside of the Fae Court and that’s how she preferred it. She’d barely begun to navigate the Fae world as more than an outsider, and while it was tempting to test the waters, the fragile relationship with her mother, never mind her grandmother the Queen, kept Elena from rocking the boat. Much.
“You need to come with me.”
She shook her head. “My dance card is already full tonight I’m afraid.”
“I’m under orders to—” The large man danced to the side to avoid the blue flame that smacked the pavement at his feet.
“Whose orders?” Had Mr. Red and White and his partner in black wrongly decided she wasn’t a serious threat and could be left for Andre the Giant to bring her in?
The man squared his mutant linebacker shoulders. “It would be best if you were not difficult.”
Difficult? He should have been there for her teenage years. “Have a good night—”
Arms as thick as tree stumps wrapped around her from behind, clamping down hard on her ribs.
The man in front of her had disappeared.
A glamour.
Her attacker had never been in front of her to begin with. She’d been so busy waiting for the moment someone would make a move, she had taken the man’s appearance at face value.
Was it any wonder she wasn’t ready to embrace the half of her DNA steeped in deceit and trickery? When she went after someone, she didn’t hide behind illusion and games. Okay, maybe she did a little, but it was better that way for everyone involved.
Elena twisted her hand down, the magic nearly boiling in her palm before she released it. The heat of it singed the back of her legs as the flame slammed into the giant’s foot. His grip loosened, but not enough to break free.
It did however manage to piss him off. He squeezed tighter, crushing her ribs and cutting off her air supply.
Something crinkled under the giant’s foot. The bastard was stepping on her dress.
Her magic rolled and spun within her. The giant jerked toward the sound of tearing metal as she used her magic to wrench the car door off its hinges.
She swung her legs as high as she could, out of the way of the car door that sailed toward them and nailed the giant in the knees.
He yelled, dropping her as he toppled over from the impact. Elena hit the pavement, the side of her cheek scraping the blacktop.
Son of a bitch.
She rolled to her side and then hopped to her feet, reaching out with her senses, searching for any of the giant’s friends. In the distance another couple crossed the lot, heading away from the Wolf’s Den. If they’d noticed the scuffle they were doing a good job pretending they hadn’t.
She dabbed at the blood on her face. On the ground the giant clutched at the leg nearly severed by the door. He raised his head to glare at her.
Not giving him time to pull another glamour out of his ass, she whipped the car door back up, pinning it against the giant with her magic.
“Who hired you?”
“Go alone she said,” Andre the Giant muttered under his breath. “It’ll be easier that way.”
“Who is she?”
The giant stared at her, equal parts defiant and utterly clueless.
Headlights speared across the darkness. A long sleek vehicle entered the lot and rolled toward them.
“Friends of yours?”
The giant didn’t so much as glance at the vehicle. Pumped up on magic, she threw a palm up at the limo. The gift in her blood strained to grind the wheels to a halt.
“Elena?”
She blinked through the glare of the lights, recognizing the voice.
The rear door opened and an impeccably dressed male stepped out, his honey blond hair perfectly groomed, his green eyes smoothly calculating.
She hadn’t met many Fae who didn’t have the same shrewd gleam. “Oren?” The threads of her magic strained hard, and snapped.
He beamed. “I thought it was you. I do hope you’re not planning on wearing that to the party.”
Leave it to Oren to ignore the seriousness of the situation to talk about fashion etiquette.
He nodded at something behind her. “Is your friend leaving already?”
She followed the trail of blood to the bobbing form of the giant bolting across the lot. Something that big and injured should not be able to move that quietly.
She sighed and picked up her crumpled garment bag. “I’m going to need a few extra minutes to get ready.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elena stopped at the sight of the blue lily lying on the carpet in front of her suite.
A present from the wolf?
She picked up the flower, running her finger over the soft blue petals as she let herself into her hotel room. This time she paused on the threshold, refusing to be caught unaware by him again.
It took only a moment to determine she was alone.
She closed the door, setting aside her bag in favor of tracing the delicate petals. She’d left Oren in the elevator, headed for the rooftop party, promising to have a drink waiting for her when she arrived.
She passed a small mirror on the wall by the door and winced at the sight of the bloody smudge on her cheek. Her side still ached from the giant dropping her, but she’d come out intact at least.
Elena 1. Giant 0.
Unfortunately she wasn’t any closer to figuring out who was after her. Not even keeping a low profile seemed to be keeping her out of trouble. Oh well.
Her phone rang, and cradling the lily in her palm, she used her other hand to fish her cell out of her purse. She read the screen. “You’re bailing on me, aren’t you?”
The sound of something smashing in the background preceded Nessa’s response, “Slave traders hit like pussies and don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Another sound, like a fist striking flesh, echoed in Elena’s ear. “Korrigans?”
The dark fairies were Nessa’s favorite immortals to track. She carried a particular grudge against the entire race after being entranced by one during the Gauntlet and turned against her friends.
“Manipulative little bastards. Sit,” Nessa growled at someone. “Thought they could get in on a little human trafficking on this side of the veil and no one would care. How long are you sticking around Vegas?”
“Another day or two.” She stroked the fragile center of the lily, smiling. “I haven’t really decided.”
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
Someone groaned in the background. “You sound funny. Did you get laid?”
“No.”
“Who was it?”
“I did not get laid.” There was no way Nessa had gotten that good at reading her voice over the phone.
They’d barely known each other before the Gauntlet, having crossed paths only a handful of times when Elena had gone to visit her twin. Nessa was best friends with ex-huntress Sorcha, Emma’s new sister-in-
law, for lack of a better term.
Nessa and Elena had spent more time together in recent weeks, most of it annoying Mac—Nessa’s favorite game—but sometimes it still stunned Elena that the wild huntress paid far more attention than she let on.
“I want all the details tomorrow. We’ll do Brunch.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she insisted.
One teeny tiny kiss on the forehead didn’t leave a lot to talk about. Except no one had ever kissed her like that. Her skin flushed in memory, and she caught herself touching the spot branded by a gargoyle’s relatively innocent kiss.
But if it was so innocent, why did it feel like another one would melt her into a molten puddle on the floor?
She shook her head at herself, tossing the flower on the table as she picked up her crushed garment bag and headed into her bedroom.
“Hey, do you know any active Shadows?”
There were other people who would know, but asking would mean inviting a scrutiny she preferred to avoid.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “As in the rebellion’s Shadows? Since when do you worry about bedtime stories?”
Elena rolled her eyes. “After the Gauntlet I’m pretty sure we both know most stories turn out to have more truth to them than anyone realizes.”
The whole world thought King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were nothing more than a myth, or at best an exaggerated retelling of a once infamous Britannia leader.
“Come on, Nessa. You’ve got to know something.” Rhiannon might not go after Morgana for reasons few immortals understood, but she had too much at stake in Morgana’s downfall not to pay attention to what the rebellion was up to.
“Tell me you didn’t sleep with a Shadow.” Nessa sounded like she was accusing the head cheerleader of sleeping with the president of the Chess Club.
“No.”
“I know you have a wild streak that can morph into a tantalizing death wish at any given moment, but they’re called Shadows for a reason. They’re a thousand shades of dark and twisted, not to mention smart and ruthless and prepared to die for their cause. Which means they’ll use anything and anyone if it will further their agenda and not even blink.”
Someone grunted in the background again.
“Stay down,” Nessa muttered, then spoke into her phone. “Damn it, Elena. A fucking Shadow? I said, sit down.”
Elena winced, holding the phone away from her ear for a moment until the commotion ceased on the other end. “I did not sleep with a Shadow.”
“I still want details. We’ll talk tomorrow. Stay away from whoever he is in the meantime. A Shadow? Seriously?” The huntress sighed. “Apologize to Mac for me. I hate missing his parties.”
Elena snorted. Nessa hadn’t exactly been invited, not that she ever let that stop her. Although Mac tolerated the huntresses hanging around the Wolf’s Den, he drew the line at private parties. Or tried to anyway.
No doubt he’d be crushed that Nessa wouldn’t be crashing the party.
“Well if you get your pussy slave traders squared away earlier than you expect, you know where to find me.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but we’re spread a little thin. Details,” Nessa reminded her before hanging up.
Okay. So brunch with Mac it was, whether he liked it or not. If the gargoyle was around, she wouldn’t have to worry about Nessa pressing her for information when there wasn’t much to tell.
What could she possibly share? That the wolf was as charming as he was clever? That she’d actually enjoyed trying clothes on when he was there to watch?
That, for one moment on that bench, she’d thought about him kissing a lot more than just her forehead?
Gods, why was she even still thinking about a silly would-be kiss anyway?
Setting her phone aside, she pulled the dress from the bag, wondering if she’d made a mistake.
To hell with it.
An hour later she stepped off the elevator and walked down the narrow corridor that led to the roof of the Wolf’s Den.
The hotel’s view wasn’t the most impressive in Vegas, the building intentionally set apart from some of the other crowded casinos in the area. Between that and the fifteen-foot privacy fence that encircled three sides of the roof, visiting gargoyles could go to stone at sunrise without fear of discovery.
The party didn’t interest Elena all that much without Nessa for company, but neither did sitting in her hotel room, wondering whether or not a certain gargoyle might put in another appearance.
Or worse thinking about the way Vaughn caught her arms, his fingers tightening in achingly sweet degrees as his mouth softened against her skin, the touch feather-light and at the same time intense enough he might as well have branded her.
Sweet Avalon.
Enough already. She hadn’t spent more than two minutes thinking about her first kiss—a sloppy exchange that dropped boys to the bottom of her priority list for years—or even losing her virginity, and here she was mooning over practically nothing.
Elena stepped through the tall gates draped in exotic plants and into a lush garden that transformed the roof from utilitarian to a breathtaking oasis. People laughed and talked next to splashing ponds and leafy trees so big they must have been brought across the veil.
Bright colored birds chatted on overhead branches and darted from shoulder to shoulder of unsuspecting passersby. She half expected to see the same exotic blooms she’d glimpsed on the trees in the courtyard during the Gauntlet, the ancient magic in them so potent the petals changed color and the vines snapped more than the plant in Little Shop of Horrors.
She snagged a glass of champagne from a tray by the bar, ignoring the flirtatious wink from Mac’s brother, Dillon. The gentle giant of Mac’s clan didn’t take offense, probably remembering the one and only time he’d tried to seduce her, and the smell of burning fur that followed.
She exchanged polite hellos with only a handful of people, including Mac who nodded at her from the other side of one of the ponds. She resisted the urge to say, “Boo,” and snap flames at the rest, especially those who openly glared at her.
She hadn’t given the guest list much thought when she’d been attending with Nessa, knowing she’d be too busy watching the huntress get a rise out of Mac to pay attention to anyone else.
She spotted a familiar canine at one of the high tables that faced the open end of the roof, and strolled over. “Hello, Scooby. How’s the honeymoon going?”
The brooding expression on the wolf that turned to face her brightened her mood instantly. “What did you do with it?”
“Ryker,” a small brunette admonished.
Elena smiled at Cori. The other immortal possessed a spirit that Elena admired even when she’d used Cori’s unfortunate situation to her advantage.
Cori smiled back, her expression genuine despite the frown on her mate’s face. “You disappeared so fast that night we never got to thank you.” When Ryker didn’t chime in, she elbowed him.
“Thank you,” Ryker managed. “What did you do with it?”
It being one of Constantine’s daggers. The same one she’d inadvertently used on Cian Callaghan, trapping him in stone over a century ago. Had she realized at the time that the Callaghan family would spend the next hundred years hunting her, she might have considered handing the dagger over to them the moment she’d accidentally channeled too much of the dagger’s explosive power.
Yeah, probably not.
While that brush with ancient magic hadn’t gone well, she’d been determined to hold on to the coveted blade. Rainy days and all that. Unfortunately, she hadn’t accounted for Cori’s father stealing the blade from her. She’d eventually gotten it back, with Cori and Ryker’s reluctant assistance and just in time to leave it behind for Tristan Callaghan, Cian’s older brother, to find.
She’d assumed the Callaghan family would abandon their crusade to find her if they had the dagger. Instead, they’d decided she was the only sorceress cap
able of using the mystical weapon and renewed their pursuit, dragging Emma into the whole mess when they’d confused her for Elena.
By the time Elena realized how out of control things had become and caught up with her twin, Emma had already fallen for Cian.
“It was put to good use.” Mentioning the dagger aloud while surrounded by dozens of immortals salivating for a taste of real power wasn’t wise.
Even if many of the immortals present didn’t believe that reuniting the lost daggers and finding Excalibur would lead to Arthur’s resurrection, every single one of them would go to extremes for a chance at possessing one of Constantine’s daggers.
And Elena couldn’t blame them. It had taken her years to give up the weapon and it had nearly cost her Emma.
“The weapon didn’t belong to you,” Ryker pressed.
If Vaughn was the sexy playboy-next-door type, then Ryker was the badass troublemaker you crossed the street to avoid.
“Water under the bridge.” The dagger was in Rhiannon’s care, or that of the huntresses since the goddess was out of commission. If any of the warrior women supposedly loyal to Rhiannon went rogue though, the huntresses would have much bigger problems than trying to leash the former knights.
“Who’s your friend?” Changing subjects, Cori nodded to someone behind Elena.
Wondering if Oren was close or if Nessa had made it after all, Elena turned, her gaze landing on the six foot plus gargoyle in a suit that turned him from playboy-next-door to millionaire playboy.
Well, shit.
***
Vaughn made it halfway to Elena and stopped.
Something that felt a little like nerves spiked his blood, as if he didn’t know what would happen when he reached her. And he knew—always knew—what to expect, what to account for, what variable could change the plan.
But there had never been any accounting for Elena.
He might have left the rebellion long ago if he’d run up against her, and that made even less sense than standing in the middle of the rooftop dance floor.
Elena wasn’t an obstacle he had to overcome or someone who needed to be dealt with in order for him to reach his goal. Hell, she wasn’t even something Morgana had thrown in his path.
Primal Bounty_Pendragon Gargoyles Page 9
