Olivia and Rhys took the love seat as his parents huddled on the couch, looking miserable.
June turned to her, her pretty face twisted in pain. “So you’re telling us our son is some kind of changeling.”
Olivia sat back, startled. “No, that’s not what we mean at all.”
Tom shot a confused look at his wife. “What’s a changeling?”
“There’s a legend that fairies kidnap human children and leave a fairy doppelgänger in their place,” Rhys explained.
“But we don’t think Rhys is Sidhe,” Olivia added. “His magic is far too strong, especially given that he’s here on earth.”
June frowned. “But I remember seeing that blond woman carry him into the delivery room.”
“What woman?” Rhys’s eyes flashed gold.
His mother stared at him. “Your eyes . . . your eyes just turned yellow. They never did that before.”
Olivia and Rhys exchanged a glance. “Yes, they’ve started doing that recently. What woman, Mom?”
“This strange woman walked into the delivery room just as the doctor took my . . . took the baby. She was carrying an infant in her arms. It was you, Rhys. The doctor asked her what she thought she was doing, but before he even got the question out of his mouth, she gave him this . . . look. And he shut up. Everyone . . . All the nurses, the doctor, they all just froze.” The pain was gone from her face now, replaced by remembered awe. “I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful in my life. She had honey blond hair and gold eyes.” June’s gaze fastened on his. “The same color yours were just now.”
Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He leaned toward his mother, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What did she do then?”
“She said, ‘I’m sorry about your child. My son’s life is in danger, too.’ And she gave you to me, wrapped up in that blanket. You already had a thick head of blond hair and you looked up at me with those incredible eyes. And you were beautiful. I had never seen a baby so beautiful.” Her voice cracked. “And the woman said, ‘My enemy means to kill my son. He’s already killed my husband. I need somewhere to hide him. I need you to hide him. Will you take him as your own? Because you’re the only one who can keep him safe. Without you, I have Seen he’ll be dead within the week.’”
“And you said yes.” Rhys’s voice broke.
A tear glittered in her eyes, spilled down one cheek. “I looked down at your little face, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying the way my child had died. And worse, by being murdered. Then I thought about having you, raising you as my own. The doctor had already told us I wouldn’t be able to have another baby—I’d suffered too much uterine damage. We were going to have to adopt, but that could take years. And I wanted you. God, how I wanted you. So I said yes.”
Tom frowned. “And the doctor and the nurses just went along with it?”
June wrapped her hands in his, tightened her fingers. “I asked about that. The blond woman said they would remember you being born. Then she looked into my eyes and said, ‘And so will you.’ She put you into my arms, and then she took my son from the doctor, who’d been holding him all that time. I saw a glowing point open in the air and expand outward into a kind of door. There was a cave on the other side. I asked her what she was going to do with my child. She said she would bury him as her own so that her enemy would believe that you were dead. She wrapped up the little body and walked through that hole in the air. And was gone. Then everyone was laughing and talking about what a miracle it was that you had survived.”
Tom studied his wife. “And you didn’t remember any of that?”
“No.” Her fingers tightened on his as she gazed anxiously into his face. “I should’ve asked you first. I made the choice for both of us, but I should’ve asked.”
He leaned in and kissed her gently, sweetly. When he pulled away, he asked, “Do you really believe I wouldn’t have agreed?”
Her smile trembled. “No, of course not.”
Olivia turned to Rhys. “Do you think this enemy of your birth mother’s is the one who sent the werewolves after you?”
“It’s certainly possible.” He looked at his folks. “Look, is there any way you can take a vacation, hide out for a week or so? If these guys have been following me around, they know about you.”
Tom and June shot each other alarmed looks. “I just finished a carpentry job, so I’m between projects right now,” his father said slowly. “I could probably take off for a week.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” June asked.
“I’m afraid so. These . . . people are pretty serious, and I do not want them to get their hands on you.”
“I’m more worried about you,” Tom told him, frowning in concern.
“I can handle them,” Rhys said, pulling his cell out of his pocket. “I’ll buy the plane tickets and get the hotel room. How does Hawaii sound?”
Tom shot his wife a grin. “Sounds good to me. But we can pay our own way, son.”
“Don’t you start,” Rhys growled. “You wouldn’t have to do this at all if it wasn’t for me. The least I can do is pay your way, and God knows I’ve got the money.” Turning his attention to his phone, he started booking the trip.
His parents chatted about arrangements they needed to make while he thumbed his phone. Finally, he looked up. “I’ve got you booked at the Ritz-Carlton on Waikiki tonight through next Sunday. Why don’t you two pack while I take care of the flight?”
His mother reached out and caught him by the hand. “Fine but . . . what are you going to do?”
Rhys looked grim. “Find out whose ass to kick.”
* * *
“Well, at least we have a better idea what’s going on,” Olivia said, as Rhys parked the BMW into the garage after they’d dropped his folks off at the airport.
He’d been right about needing the Beamer; the Porsche’s joke of a back seat and even smaller trunk wouldn’t have worked at all.
“Sounds like all of this goes back to my birth mother,” he said thoughtfully as they got out of the car. “It’s logical to suspect this enemy of hers—the one that made her seek out Mom—is the same one who’s targeting me now.”
“Maybe,” Olivia agreed slowly. “Makes about as much sense as anything. But that raises the question of where Gorin fits in. If he does.”
“And the problem of who my birth mother is—or for that matter, what she is.” Rhys turned to look over the car’s white roof at her. “You’re still convinced I’m not Sidhe?”
Before Olivia could answer, he stiffened, eyes flashing gold as his head snapped toward the open garage door. Frowning, he headed toward it.
“What’s wrong?” Then she sensed it, too: a whisper of magic.
“Somebody’s here who doesn’t belong.” He strode out into the yard, his big body tense and ready.
Olivia followed, frowning. There was something horribly familiar about that magic. Feels like Sidhe work . . .
Then it hit her. “Rhys, look out!”
Too late. He plummeted into the ground as if a hole had opened beneath his feet. He didn’t even have time to yell. She sensed the familiar boil of magic from an opening dimensional gate. Underground?
“Rhys!” Olivia raced toward the hole as a high-pitched shriek rose from the earth, too shrill and loud to be human.
She stopped short, staring downward at what seemed to be a solid expanse of lawn. It’s some kind of glamour. With a sweeping gesture, she shattered it.
A ten-foot wide pit lay at her feet, a dimensional gate open midway down.
Oh, sweet Goddess! Peering downward, she breathed a terrified curse.
Judging by the view, the gate’s other end opened over red sandstone cliffs. The ground was a good thousand feet below. Rhys might already be dead.
But there’s a chance he’s still alive. He could have levitated to safet
y.
If he knew how to levitate.
Fighting her fear, Olivia cast a spell on the gate, trying to determine where on Mageverse Earth it opened. She didn’t dare follow him directly into the gate; it would be too easy for the assassin to disrupt it when she was halfway through and cut her in half.
But she could jump there herself and levitate down to find him, maybe heal him if he was hurt. If the geas lets me cast a gate without knocking me on my ass again.
She sucked in a breath and gathered her magic . . .
BOOOM! The blast slammed into her chest, throwing her into a rolling tumble.
Sliding to a stop on the grass, she stared dazed and breathless at the sky. Her brain seemed to vibrate in her pounding skull. That wasn’t the geas. Who . . . ?
Before she could shake off the effects of the attack, a face appeared above her, surrounded by a fall of Day-Glo green hair. Malicious eyes the same sickly green blazed down at her. “Well, I never expected to see you again.”
“Gorin!”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked, dragging her to her feet, his handsome face twisted in a serial killer’s grin. “I just made a great deal of money killing your boyfriend.” He laughed, the sound mocking. “I’ve taken quite a toll on your loved ones.”
Olivia should have been terrified. Instead she was just pissed off. I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got to get to Rhys.
The assassin’s hand blazed as he gathered a magical attack. Even as Olivia threw up a shield, she knew Gorin had far more power than she did.
The shield blasted outward from her body so fast, it drove him backward, ripping his grip from her hair. Which hurt like a bitch, but she ignored the pain. Conjuring armor and a sword, she fell into a fighting crouch. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, you murdering bastard.”
Gorin stared at her in astonishment. “You have learned a few tricks, haven’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “What have you done to your magic? It’s green.”
He was right. The familiar emerald sparks of the geas lay in a thick shell over her own shield, reinforcing it. What the . . . ?
“Not that it’ll save you.” He flipped his wrist, flinging another spell at her face.
Which splashed off the shield like a water balloon. Gorin cursed.
“You were saying?” Olivia took a dancing step forward, swinging her sword. As she moved, the lingering effects of his ambush blast faded, overwhelmed by adrenaline.
Gorin curled a lip in contempt. “Oh, I’m terrified. You don’t even know how to use that.” He conjured his own weapons, then leaped back as she swung her blade in a blur of power.
Power that burned with emerald light.
Olivia advanced, her sword licking out, testing his guard. He blocked, steel clashing against steel. After so many years of practice and study, swordplay felt as familiar as walking—the advance and retreat, the beat of blade on blade.
To her amazement, she realized Gorin’s bladework was a fraction slower than hers, a bit more hesitant. She grinned at him. “Out of practice, assassin? Grown rusty after a decade in exile? No wonder you have to hire werewolves to do your dirty work.”
“Not too rusty to gut you, bitch.” He lunged into a vicious swing, but Olivia flicked her blade up, deflecting the attack as she spun aside. His pale green eyes narrowed behind his visor.
In the back of her skull, a low voice hissed, Finish him. Finish him. Finish him.
Growling, Olivia lunged, swinging the great blade in a murderous diagonal stroke.
Gorin threw up a shield. Her sword rebounded off it hard enough to jolt her teeth.
Finish him. Finishhimfinishhimfinish . . .
The Sidhe assassin spun like a dancer, putting the entire weight of his body behind the blow. Arrogant fuck probably expected to cut her in two.
She flicked up her own shield. His weapon struck it and rebounded so hard, he stumbled.
Olivia dropped her shield and lunged before he could recover. Eyes widening, he threw up a shield. Her blade blazed emerald as the big weapon’s point hit the barrier . . .
And drove deep as if the shield was made of toilet paper. Slamming into his chest, the sword skewered him like a cocktail olive on a toothpick.
“What?” His lips shaped the word soundlessly, pale eyes flaring wide in astonished terror.
Olivia’s lips curled in a savage snarl. “Die, you murderous shit.”
She blasted the killing spell right up her blade. Green light exploded from Gorin’s chest, and he convulsed as it stopped his heart.
Olivia tore her sword free as the assassin staggered and started to fall. Rage and triumph singing through her skull, she swung with every ounce of her strength. The weapon sheared through his neck. His head went flying, trailing a scarlet ribbon of blood.
Gorin’s decapitated body fell sideways as his head thumped to the ground.
It was over.
Chapter Nine
Olivia froze, staring at the two pieces of her most hated enemy. He’d been her nightmare for two hundred years. For two centuries, she’d believed she’d die at his hands—yet he’d fallen to her blade instead. Yes, he’d been overconfident, obviously expecting her to be the helpless little Sidhe matron whose life he’d destroyed so easily two centuries before.
But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d made herself into a warrior. And she’d killed him.
And I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got to go help Rhys.
Assuming he was still alive.
Olivia turned and conjured a gate, aiming for the same destination Gorin’s had led to. The point of magic dilated into a round doorway, and she blew out a relieved breath.
It worked. She’d been terrified she’d have another seizure and end up trapped on Mortal Earth, helpless while Rhys died in the Mageverse.
But before she crossed, her gaze fell on Gorin’s corpse. She couldn’t just leave a decapitated body lying around. She gestured, impatient to be gone. Green fire roared up, destroying the assassin’s body.
Ashes were still flying when she leaped through the gate. Magic burned and foamed over her skin. Then she was through the doorway . . .
And plummeting toward the ground a thousand feet below.
As a child, Olivia had learned to fly the way Mortal Earth kids learned to swim. It had been a favorite trick: hurling herself from the top of a tree, surrounded by a cocoon of magic. The spell reduced the pull of gravity even as the aerodynamic contours of the shell caught the wind, allowing her to glide like a bird.
It had been more than two centuries since she’d tried that trick, but she hadn’t forgotten it.
Now she spread herself out in the air, letting the wave of magic surge around her, slowing her fall, then stopping it completely.
Levitating, she scanned her surroundings. Sick panic twisted her stomach. Sweet Goddess, don’t let him be dead! The red walls of cliffs rose to either side, jagged and threatening. The ground lay a long way beneath, threaded by the glittering trail of a river.
Slowly, she let herself drift downward, studying the landscape. Looking for any splashes of blue that might be Rhys’s polo shirt and jeans.
Nothing. Dammit, where is he . . . ?Be alive, dammit! Despair made her eyes sting.
Something dark slid up her right arm, then over the rest of her body. A shadow. Automatically she looked up, trying to determine what had cast it.
Two hundred feet above her hung a huge winged silhouette. Ice rolled through her veins. Oh, fuck, a griffin!
It resembled a winged lion—if a lion could grow to the size of an African elephant, with the enormous beaked head, wings, and tail of an eagle. Its wingspan had to be a good hundred feet. Unlike mythological medieval griffins, the Mageverse version had long-toed leonine front paws, more like hands than eagle talons.
Even as far awa
y as it was, she could sense the magic that surrounded it—power enough to dwarf even Rhys’s.
I’m in deep, deep shit.
Griffins were scary bastards. Like dragons, they were intelligent, with their own language and incredibly powerful magic. They were also territorial as hell—and unlike dragons, they did not tolerate Sidhe in the Griffin Kingdom.
If that beast comes after me, I’m dead.
Had the griffin gotten Rhys? If so, there wasn’t a chance in hell he was still alive. She wanted to throw up.
No. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it, not until I find . . . She cut the thought off.
The griffin banked and began to spiral down toward her. As she stared upward in terror, she saw the beast appear to lurch in the air, great wings flapping as it tried to catch itself. For a moment, she thought it was going to fall right out of the sky. And with my luck, it’ll probably hit me on the way down.
The creature flung its wings out, beating them furiously. Olivia sensed a great blast of power. It’s using magic to fly. She stared up at it in confusion. Why levitate when it has wings?
Griffins were said to be skilled flyers, but judging by the way this one flailed, it was barely keeping aloft.
The beast descended toward her, reaching out a huge forepaw more like that of an ape than a cat. Each finger was tipped in a five-inch claw. Heart in her throat, Olivia shot a burst of force and swerved clear.
It roared in frustration, the sound shatteringly loud, edged with a high-pitched shriek that made her ears ache. She swore as it breathed out a great ball of magic that engulfed her like a carnivorous soap bubble. Olivia threw up a shield, but it did no good. The trap locked around her in a muffling blanket of energy that bound her arms and legs.
She lashed out with her magic as she’d done when she was fighting Gorin, but this time the geas’s green energy did not reinforce hers.
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