by Donna Grant
Isla sat in the chair to Devon’s right, with one leg crossed over the other. Her long, black hair fell over her left shoulder while she wore the look of a woman intent on battle.
“Let them try,” Isla stated.
Hayden nodded in agreement as he stood beside his wife. “Aye. Let them try.”
“You doona know what you’re getting into,” said a man with gray eyes and short, dark hair.
Kinsey leaned over and whispered, “That’s Banan.”
“We do,” Fallon stated. “We’ve discussed it as a family. The Kings were there for us when we needed you. Now, it’s time for us to return the favor.”
Con finished off his whisky and set the empty glass on the mantel. “We didna have children to worry about. You do.”
“The decision’s made,” said a man with very long, dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes.
Once more, Kinsey leaned over. “That’s Phelan. I just met him. Apparently, he’s half-Fae.”
“Broc has already found Anson,” Fallon announced.
Devon sat straighter as she looked to the giant of a man Fallon pointed to. Beside Broc stood a flame-haired Druid who looked ethereal.
Unable to help herself, Devon asked, “Found him how?”
Broc’s dark gaze slid to her. “My power is being able to find anyone, anywhere. Anson is being held deep within the Dark Palace as Con suspected.”
As much as Devon wanted to get to Anson, the real problem was the Druid causing so many complications. “And the Druid? Can you find her?”
“I need a name or face,” Broc said.
Isla said, “We’re working on a drawing.”
“That’s Kellan that just moved to stand beside Con,” Kinsey whispered to her. “On the other side of him is Thorn and then Asher.”
The names began to run together. Devon drank more of the whisky. There were so many people in the library that she was sure she only saw half of them.
“Until then, we go to Ireland and find Anson,” Phelan declared.
A woman of exceptional beauty moved from the crowd to walk toward Con. The two stared at each other for a long moment before she turned to face the room.
Her long, black hair was pulled away from her face in an intricate braid. She wore black leather pants, a beige sheer shirt that revealed her black bra, and black stilettos with a small silver skull at the base of each heel.
Silver eyes met Devon’s before the woman said, “Phelan, you can’t go to Ireland.”
Devon’s stomach dropped to her feet at the Irish accent. “You’re Fae.”
“Rhi,” the woman said with a smile and a small curtsy. “I’m a Light Fae and here to help. I’ve fought the Dark many times, and I’m always eager to do it again.”
Devon remembered Anson speaking of Rhi. A cursory glance at all the Dragon Kings had Devon wondering which one was the idiot who’d let the Fae go.
“I’m sorry your first encounter with the Fae was with the Dark,” Rhi said, her top lip curling in disgust. Then she gave Devon a wink. “Not everyone can be as fabulous as me.”
A smile formed without Devon even thinking about it. Rhi fairly sparkled. She drew a person’s gaze without even trying. It was her inner light, the one that signaled she was Fae—but also someone very special.
Rhi’s smile slipped as a serious expression came over her face. She looked Devon in the eyes and said, “We’ll get Anson out.”
“And I’ll be right there with you, sweet cheeks,” Phelan said.
There was a ripple of laughter throughout the room at Phelan’s words. Even Rhi’s smile was back in place.
The Fae turned to him and winked. “Nice try, stud. But you know only I can say things like that.”
“I need to finish my description of the Druid,” Isla said suddenly and stood before walking out of the library.
All of the Druids and most of the Warriors followed her. Devon watched them curiously. Her head swiveled to Fallon as she raised a brow.
“Isla and the others are determined to find this unnamed Druid,” he explained. “It’s driving her the hardest since the Ancients chose her.”
Devon looked at the remaining people in the library, and her gaze lingered on a King who stood toward the back, a frown on his face. He ran a hand through his auburn locks before pushing away from the bookshelf.
“I’m going to help Isla,” he replied.
After he’d left, Con told her, “That’s Nikolai. Every painting or tapestry you see in this manor was done by him.”
Asher retrieved the decanter of whisky and began refilling everyone’s drinks. “Nikolai’s gift is projected thermography. He sees something once and is able to paint it, draw it, or weave it.”
“Wow,” Devon said, impressed.
Now she looked at the paintings with new eyes. To be surrounded by so much magic seemed surreal, and yet there was no other place she wanted to be.
“How are we going to get into the palace?” Phelan asked.
Kellan shrugged. “What about the tunnels you used when you all came for Denae and me?”
Devon’s eyes widened. So this wasn’t the first time a King had been taken? Kellan’s rescue gave her more hope.
“No,” Rhi said. “I have another way in.”
Was it Devon’s imagination, or had Con’s jaw tightened?
“What way?” Thorn asked.
Rhi walked to the Chesterfield and sat on Devon’s other side. “Let me go in alone. I’ll find Anson and bring him back.”
“No,” Con and Phelan replied in unison.
Rhi rolled her eyes. “The more people I take, the more likely we’ll be seen.”
“If Rhys were here, he’d side with me,” Phelan said.
Devon was cognizant of how Henry slowly moved to be closer to Rhi. She wasn’t sure if the Fae was aware of it, but since nothing seemed to get past Rhi, Devon was sure she noticed.
“I want to help,” Devon said. When they all looked at her in silence, she added, “Please.”
Con was shaking his head. “She doesna have any magic.”
“But she’s immune to them,” Rhi said.
That had Devon frowning. “Immune to who?”
“The Dark,” Rhi replied with a knowing grin.
Everyone seemed to get it but Devon. She looked helplessly at Kinsey, who smiled and said, “Once a woman has been with a Dragon King, they’re not drawn to the Dark.”
“So that’s what he meant,” Devon said as she thought back to when the Dark had been holding her.
Rhi sat forward, turning toward her. “Who?”
“The Dark who hurt Anson. He had two others hold me. When I didn’t want him touching me, he said that I was impervious to them, but that he could make me feel pleasure anyway.”
Kellan let loose a string of curses. “They did that to Denae. No other should have to endure such an experience.”
“Did the Dark do anything to you?” Rhi asked.
Devon shook her head. “Before he could, Anson shifted and attacked.”
“Tell me of this Dark,” Rhi urged. “Every detail.”
She didn’t have to try very hard to conjure up an image of the Fae. His face was burned into her memory for what he’d done to Anson—and nearly to her. His face, his clothes, his hair, his voice, and even the way he talked came back to her in a flash.
Rhi’s face crinkled with revulsion. “Amdir.”
At first, Devon didn’t know why her gaze was drawn to Con. He didn’t utter a sound or move a muscle. The reason became clear when she looked at his face.
His eyes had gone cold and violent. Before her stood a Dragon King who was about to rain death down upon the Dark. Not with loud words or an offensive show of strength, but with cool detachment and lethal might.
Kinsey wore a frown as she said, “There’s something that’s been bothering me. Devon told us how Upton admitted that they’d been watching her.”
“He never said why,” Devon added.
Kinsey’s vio
let gaze held hers. “There’s a reason. With me, it was because I was seeing Ryder.”
“But I wasn’t dating a Dragon King.”
“Then there’s another motive,” Thorn said.
Devon gave a half-laugh. “There’s nothing. I’m not seeing anyone. I’m a workaholic.”
It unnerved her to have everyone in the room scrutinizing her, especially Rhi. Devon wished she knew what she’d done to make Kyvor take an interest in her, but without knowing, she couldn’t explain anything.
“I agree with Kinsey,” Rhi said. “There’s a reason Kyvor was surveilling Devon.”
Kellan said, “And we’ll figure that out later. Right now, our focus is Anson.”
“We leave in an hour,” Con stated.
Devon jumped to her feet. Words locked in her throat as Con’s obsidian eyes landed on her.
For long moments, he stared at her. Then he asked, “Why?”
Devon didn’t hesitate to answer. “I love him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dark Palace, Ireland
Mikkel leashed his anger as he stared at Taraeth from his seat on the red velvet sofa. The King of the Dark didn’t belong on his ostentatious throne. No one who had been bested by a mortal and had their arm cut off did.
It boggled Mikkel’s mind how another Dark hadn’t yet seen the opportunity to overthrow Taraeth. His gaze shifted to the left, to the Fae who was never far from the king’s side—Balladyn.
Then again, maybe someone was even now plotting to take over.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, Mikkel dismissed it. If Balladyn wanted the crown, he’d have taken it by now. The longer Taraeth was in power, the harder it was to wrestle the title from him. And Taraeth was the longest reigning monarch of the Dark.
“You have nothing to say?” Taraeth asked.
Mikkel had stopped listening the moment the king told him how one of his Dark had decided to change the plan and bring a Dragon King to the palace.
“We had a deal,” Mikkel said.
Taraeth’s gaze hardened. “Amdir saw an opportunity.”
It was a break for the Dark and no one else. They wanted the weapon hidden by the Dragon Kings and didn’t want to wait for him to deliver it. Had they learned that Ulrik had all of his magic returned? Is that why the Dark changed their arrangement?
Mikkel wasn’t a Dragon King yet. And unlike Ulrik, his magic was still bound—though that was about to change later that night.
“Can’t you see this serves you, as well?” Taraeth asked.
Damn how Mikkel hated the Irish accent. His abhorrence ran almost as deep as it did for the Scots’ brogue. It’s why he made sure to sound British when he spoke.
Mikkel wanted to show the Fae just what he thought of all of this by enveloping all of them in dragon fire. But he wouldn’t even if he could. Because right now, he needed them—as much as he hated to admit it.
As soon as that changed, Mikkel would relish killing every last one of the fuckers.
“Tell me,” he urged Taraeth.
The king motioned to Balladyn. Mikkel enjoyed watching how Taraeth’s lieutenant grudgingly accepted his task. There was growing discord between the two. It was too bad Balladyn wasn’t man enough to take the crown for himself.
Then again, perhaps it was a good thing, because Mikkel was certain the Dark would never align with him.
Balladyn bowed his head in deference to Taraeth before looking at Mikkel. “With the capture of Anson, Con will be forced to see that the Dark—and thereby, you—aren’t to be taken lightly.”
“The Dark have taken Kings recently,” Mikkel said. “That didn’t turn out in your favor.”
Balladyn’s red eyes blazed with fury.
“This is different,” Taraeth said. “This time, we will win.”
First Ulrik’s betrayal, and now this. The more Mikkel thought about it, the faster his control began to unravel. For centuries, he’d worked to set up this plan.
He’d watched Ulrik, never allowing his nephew knowledge of his existence until the time called for it. His reach extended all over the world in various businesses, political organizations, and crime syndicates.
Every move had been calculated and thought out. He’d anticipated Ulrik’s betrayal—just not in the way it had happened.
The Dark … well, that hadn’t been unexpected either. But it was what the Dark did.
What irritated Mikkel was that he hadn’t seen this coming. Or Ulrik’s move. Both needed to understand that he was in charge. It was time he proved that.
“I want Muriel,” he stated.
Taraeth’s brow furrowed. “Want?”
“I have the sister. I want her, as well.”
“Why?”
Mikkel held Taraeth’s gaze. “Consider them recompense for the change of plans.”
“They’re yours,” Taraeth said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Good. Take me to Muriel.”
Taraeth looked at Balladyn. “See it done.”
Balladyn didn’t say a word as he walked from the room. Mikkel followed him along the corridors, down two flights of stairs, and through a maze of hallways.
Finally, Balladyn stopped before a door and rapped on it twice. The door opened, and Muriel’s face appeared. The smile she wore faded when her gaze landed on him, but that didn’t bother Mikkel.
“Hello,” Mikkel said and pushed past her into the room.
Muriel looked between him and Balladyn. “Hello. How’s my sister.”
“She’s doing wonderfully.” Mikkel stopped in the middle of the room and clasped his hands behind his back. “You and Ulrik have kept in contact all these months. I want to know everything he’s told you.”
She closed the door behind Balladyn, who remained with them. “He’s not one to share in the way of words.”
Mikkel wanted specifics, and he couldn’t get them with Balladyn hanging around. He looked to the Dark. “You can go now.”
“I’ll remain,” Balladyn stated.
He ground his teeth together. The Fae was putting his nose in matters that didn’t concern him. Certainly, the Dark was moving himself up on the first-to-be-killed list.
Mikkel turned his gaze back to Muriel. “You have one chance to tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t know anything,” she protested.
It was a lie. He knew it. “Take off your dress.”
She hesitated at the order but proceeded to slip the slim straps from her shoulders and let the silver gown fall down her body to puddle at her feet.
“Come to me,” he said, pointing to the spot before him.
She walked with her head held high, never looking at Balladyn. When she stood in front of Mikkel, she held his gaze, waiting.
“Get on your knees,” Mikkel demanded.
There was a flare of anger in her red gaze before she went down on her knees. He then grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back so she looked up at him.
All the rage that he’d been holding in was now focused on a slip of a Fae who must know Ulrik’s secrets. And he was going to find out what they were.
He bent until his face was even with hers. “Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t make you suffer.”
“I’m a whore. It’s my body men want, not my mind,” she said calmly.
He tightened his grip on her hair, causing her to wince. “I will get the information from you.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Never.”
* * *
If it hadn’t been for the insistence of Muriel’s repeated call, Ulrik would’ve put off his visit to the Dark Palace. He didn’t want to chance running into Mikkel just yet.
Not when he was still digesting the information from his encounter with Eilish. The Druid intrigued him. Instead of their battle commencing after their exchange of words, she’d simply turned and walked away.
They’d both retreated to their corners after sizing each other up. Another meeting w
ould happen soon. And that one would begin the battle.
Ulrik turned the corner and saw Muriel’s door ahead. He lengthened his strides. If she’d asked him to come, it was because she had learned something. Hopefully, it was information he could use against his uncle.
His steps slowed when he saw the door slightly ajar. Thousands of years as a slave to Taraeth made Muriel obsessive about her private space. Her room was the one place where she could be alone. It was the only gift Taraeth had given her. There was no way she’d leave the door open.
When he lifted his hand toward the door, Ulrik spotted the edge of the silver bracelet on his wrist that she’d gifted him. He’d promised to help her kill Taraeth so she and her sister could be free. Not once had she complained that her revenge would have to wait until he’d had his.
Ulrik splayed his hand on the wood and pushed open the door. The blood was the first thing he saw. It was everywhere—the floor, the walls, the furniture, and even the ceiling.
It didn’t take him long to find her. Muriel lay naked in the middle of the room, half on her side with her arms stretched out. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.
Ulrik didn’t have to walk into the chamber to see the blade marks on her body. Someone had taken great pleasure in making her suffer before she finally died.
He was shocked at the rage—and grief—that swallowed him. There was no need to keep it in check. He wanted, needed to feel it. Muriel had trusted him. She wasn’t the first to do so, but she had been the first that he’d trusted in return. And he’d failed her.
If he’d gotten here sooner, she might still be alive. If only he hadn’t put off answering her. He briefly thought about retrieving her soul and returning life back to her, but that would resume her to an existence of continued slavery—and allow whoever had done this to do it again.
He felt someone watching him and looked over his shoulder to find Balladyn. The Fae made his way over and stopped beside him.
“It was Mikkel, was it no’?” Ulrik asked.
Balladyn nodded. “He was rather put off that his plans had been changed.”
“How?” Ulrik asked between clenched teeth.
“Amdir has a King chained below.”
