“Mercer, time is different in their realm. A few hours with them could be days on earth. If you stay too long and the sun comes up, you’ll be stuck until nightfall. The longer you’re there, the easier it gets for their illusions and magic to draw you in,” she said.
Her silver bracelet twinkled as she rolled it off and handed it to him. Her intensity made him just as cautious. He gripped the metal hard enough to make the joints in his fingers pinch.
“I’ll be cautious,” he assured.
“Don’t speak your name,” she whispered. She looked over her shoulders at the path she wanted him to take. “It will be evoked against you and you will be enslaved.”
He had no intentions of giving the fey unnecessary information. “I won’t.”
She stepped out of his way, shaking her head. “I can’t express what a bad idea this is.”
“It’s going to be all right, Fallah,” he promised. She stood outside his reach so he couldn’t comfort her. He turned to Rider. “She stays on the farm.”
“Is that a dying wish?” Rider asked. There was no humor. Rider rarely teased.
“My life isn’t going to end in an orange grove,” he promised.
Rider remained pensive. Axel clasped his shoulder. Dax nodded.
He held his breath and took the first step. The moist earth settled under his weight. He started walking, slow and cautious, holding his breath and listening for a sign that something approached. The aroma of upturned earth, dust and wet, rotting flowers were among the citrus tint. An unnatural chill lingered among the line of trees, cold enough to make him shiver.
When the wind whistled through the leaves, it sounded like children whispering. Many small, white objects among the branches caught his attention. He stopped dead in his tracks; very much aware of what reflected the moonlight. The silence was now surpassed by the clicking of rubber baby shoes hanging like morbid ornaments. There had to be almost a hundred shoes in the trees, all varying sizes from knit booties to toddler tennis shoes.
A purple mist leeched from the ground and rolled thick, making visibility difficult. He glanced back, expecting his betas. He’d taken very few steps, but his people were no longer standing there. He circled. The black leaf orange grove was endless and to all sides.
His skin prickled when he became aware that he wasn’t alone. His werewolf spirit was responsive, fight first, protect self and pack. The fog rolled thick and then thinned over the moist earth. Glowing yellow eyes blinked low to the ground. They weren’t dogs or rabbits.
“I need to speak with your queen,” he ordered. They scurried at the sound of his voice. The silence stretched. There was no sign to direct his path and in a world so wintry and mirrored, he couldn’t determine where to go.
“This way,” a voice ordered behind him.
Mercer turned to the man, with a brogue so heavy; he was still repeating the words over in his head. The stranger was taller than Mercer by four inches, and lean. His black hair was long and straight. The warrior braids at his temple didn’t feminize him. He wore a sword at his waist and kept his hand on the hilt. He turned and Mercer followed.
oOo
Aire’Si ran his fingers down the arm of his sleeping companion. She was a lesser fey, nothing more than what the humans would call a bed warmer. He stopped on the thought, rolling it over in his mind. Why had he thought about the humans?
It’d been decades since he crossed into the realm of Wolffey’s origin. Wolffey journeyed through many lands on his assignments for Sayen-ael, but he never spoke about what he saw or who he consulted with. Of all the realms far more advanced and natural, earth was where he returned.
His female shifted, her hair falling away from her skin to show the marks he left on her neck. The skin was bruising around the punctures. Her blood was still raw on his tongue, sating the thirst that always whispered at the back of his half-blood mind.
A rapid tap on the door signaled the messenger a second before he opened the door. The Red Cap wasn’t a pleasant sight, though he fit perfectly among the melancholic company the queen kept. His skin had the same green, leathery consistency of a frog. The messenger stood knee high with a vibrant Red Cap. They were as common and self serving as rats and often found around deteriorating castles. They got their names from dying their caps in the blood of unsuspecting travelers.
He removed the hat from his head as his lips drew back over bulky, sharp teeth, “Pardon, Lord Aire’Si, the queen wishes your attendance at once in the grand hall. An intruder is coming through the passage.”
Aire’Si stood, grabbing his pants off the back of the chair. Exhaustion was nearly as constant as the hunger. Since Wolffey left, the Hill became a revolving door. There was a solution to the mess, but Gaia help him if the queen ever asked him to kill his protégé. It was the right thing to do, but the notion gave his steady hand a tremor.
"Where are the guards watching the doorway?" If it were his men on duty, the intruder would’ve been killed before the queen heard this news.
He was in the process of pulling the strings on his leather vest shut when he realized the Red Cap hadn’t spoken. The female in bed was still asleep and the fire crackled softly in the fireplace. It never took long to dress, but when there was an emergency, time often stood still. It hummed in his ears like an internal clock.
The Red Cap took a step towards the door. “Queen Sayen-ael has granted the visitor passage. The guards are leading him in as we speak.”
Aire’Si pulled on his leather boots that formed tightly to the curve of his foot. They weren’t the same as the soft leather boots he wore when working as an assassin. The strings didn’t take as long to tie and they had a hard sole so he could physically chase someone through the brush. “Why would she grant passage to an intruder?”
"He's a werewolf, my lord. She wants to hear his plea.”
He paused with his hand over the bow. A werewolf would move too quickly for an arrow and in such a tight space, a blade would be easier to manage. He pulled his sword from the wall hook. Inside the leather sheath was a silver blade. Many of the fey couldn’t handle precious metals. Though it irritated his skin, it didn’t blister like others. A werewolf couldn’t handle it either. He loaded his arm sheath with silver tipped throwing stars and met the waiting Red Cap in the hall.
Of course Sayen-ael would permit a werewolf to roam through her halls. Werewolves were like very, large pests. Once one came through, there would be others, though their problem started much sooner than this. It started the first day they brought Wolffey into the Hill to train.
“How crowded is the hall?” he asked.
“If you are asking about witnesses, there are none. Our gracious queen has made this a private audience with the howler.”
“There is never privacy in the Hill, not even for the queen,” he mumbled.
FIVE
Mercer kept his distance from the fey that lead the way through the underground tunnel. Citrus and wet earth perfumed the passageway. The walls were dirt with tree roots pushing through the ceiling and flat, polished wood lined the floor. The tunnel was spacious, yet he felt trapped.
The lanterns glowed, but not with fire. When he was close enough to inspect it, the light flew upward into the dirt wall and disappeared. There were hallways and numerous wood doors, some heavily etched and painted, while others were plain. They all had rounded tops, not squared like doors on houses.
The hallway stopped in front of etched catacomb doors that opened into a spacious room. The fey guard kept walking, but Mercer stopped in the doorway to take in the room. It was vast, which meant his sense of direction was off. It hadn’t felt like they were walking downward, yet this room was far too immense to be as close to the surface as the doorway in the orange grove lead him to believe.
There were seven gigantic, renaissance chandeliers hanging fifty feet from the ground. Each held nearly a hundred burning candles. The room was half the size of a stadium field, and a magnificent fold had been set out on the
tables lining the walls. It was setup for guests, yet it was currently empty. His werewolf rumbled at the forefront of his mind, smelling danger. He fought against his primal instincts, and stepped into the room.
His fey guide stopped at the stone dais, bowed to the creature in the bone chair and stepped to the side. A fey guard stood on the dais, wearing leather boots and silken Arabian breeches with fancy gold trim. An Arabian sword was strapped at his tapered waist. His straight, honey brown hair fell mid-chest, with one warrior braid. His skin was unnaturally pale and his long, pointed ears poked out from his hair like rocks under a waterfall. His chin and nose were sharp, and his almond shaped eyes were as dark as the midnight sky. He was muscular, but not like the wolves.
The creature in the chair of bone had skin as gray as the dead. Her porcupine hair bristled upward, giving her a Mohawk; the sides of her head were bare and smooth. Her eyes were black and endless. He shook his head, breaking the spell that threatened to enthrall him.
“What a brave werewolf, to come into the Hill,” the queen said. Her dark eyes roved over his body, stopping once at his chest and again, lower. “What business brings you to my domain?”
“I need to find a magi by the name of Chancellor,” he said.
The queen’s smile left him unsettled. “I misjudged you. You’re not brave, just stupid. You can’t walk into Chancellor’s territory. It isn’t done.”
Mercer fought the urge to lick his dry lips. “I’ll take my chances.”
The queen leaned forward in her chair and brushed sharp nails lightly over her willowy neck. “Tell me, alpha, where is your division?"
He played her question over in his mind, trying to pick out any part of it that was a trick. It sounded like a straight forward inquiry. One word, as long as it wasn’t his name, couldn’t hurt. “Texas.”
Her dark eyes brightened, reflecting the gleaming lights in the room. She sat straighter, a predator who caught the scent of prey. “We can be of service to each other. I have a task. You complete it and I will give you the means to get to Chancellor.”
Her guard shifted his weight, it was the tiniest movement, but one that spoke a great truth. The fey’s stony expression never changed, though he wasn’t happy with the queen’s statement.
Mercer honed his thoughts, forcing every ounce of his concentration on what was being said, per Fallah’s warning. “The details need to be laid out before I make an agreement.”
The queen purred in amusement. “You aren’t concerned about making a bargain, are you Mr…”
Mercer’s jaw tightened. The queen’s smile sharpened.
“Look Aire’Si, someone’s been telling our wolf friend about us,” she said.
“Lies, I’m sure,” Aire’Si, the guard beside her, answered. His eyes narrowed.
The queen moved from her chair like a spider, quick and with boneless ease. Her black dress hugged a skeleton thin body. “Get me the box.”
A little creature with leathery skin, long ears and a pug nose waddled into the room with a heavy, cherry oak box in its small hands. It stopped at the foot of the steps and though Mercer was tempted to put distance between them, he didn’t move. The queen’s heels were sharp on the stone floor as she moved down the stairs to retrieve the box.
She snapped the prongs on the box and flipped the lid open. Inside the black velvet box was a diamond studded, black, leather collar. “My pet has been very mischievous out on his own. If you can get this collar around his neck, I will see your safe delivery to Chancellor’s door.”
He stared hard at the box. It looked like a normal collar so he wasn’t going after something incredibly large or small. Still, there was a catch. Left unspoken, it vibrated the air. “I put this collar on him and that’s it? I don’t have to drag him back here?”
She closed the box and offered it to him. “That’s it. Once the collar is on, I take it from there.” Her eyes lost their twinkle when he hesitated taking the box. Her patience was dwindling fast. “Nothing else is expected of you, alpha. Wolffey is highly trained. If you manage to get the collar on him, you will have done a great service for me.”
The offer sounded legit, nothing should fall through the cracks. He took the box, surprised at its weight. The queen made it look light. “My time is limited, how can I find him?”
“Bring me the vial,” the queen ordered. The small creature waddled over to her as he pulled a pinkie sized vial from his pocket. “I knew I’d send the hounds after Wolffey, one day.”
She smirked at her own joke as her eyes glided over his shoulders and once again towards his hips. Her attention returned to his face with an impish sparkle in her black eyes. She offered the vial and he tried to take it without touching her fingers. It didn’t work. Her skin was surprisingly warm for someone who looked no better than a corpse.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” He held it upward towards the light. The vial looked empty.
“Swallow the essence. I can’t allow you to go Topside with it. There are many creatures out there who want to get their hands on my dear, beloved pet, dead or alive and I really need him back alive,” she said.
The room was far too quiet for the amount of noise that clattered in his head. Fallah’s advice echoed above all else, but it paled in comparison to Tristen’s dark warning about the Mission. Hota was in trouble and the faeries were a tangible connection to Chancellor.
Mercer gripped the vial, staring at the clear glass. There was little a hunting pack couldn’t bring down, but he drew the line at potential causalities. If he drank the essence, he was promising they’d do this. He still had no clue what they were hunting beyond the near smallish neck the collar was going around. It would fit around the neck of something human-ish. “Your pet sounds more manageable dead.”
“If it comes to that, no one within my kingdom will take you to Chancellor’s.” Her warning wasn’t lost on him.
Mercer popped the cork and tilted the vial to his lips, breathing in the essence he couldn’t see with his eyes. The cold filled is mouth and tickled his lungs with the earthly winter aroma of mint dark chocolate. It was a pleasant scent reminding him of the farm in the winter. He shook the strange thought. This was his undertaking. It shouldn’t remind him of the farm. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind.
He handed the empty vial back. “How is this going to help me find your pet?”
“His essence will guide you to him,” she said. She dropped the vial into the hands of the little creature beside her, then turned her back to him, climbed the steps and slid into her chair. The silence stretched. Expecting more of an explanation on how this was going to work, he was surprised when she waved her hand like shooing a fly. “Aire’Si will see you out.”
The stony guard was halfway across the room before he realized he was supposed to follow. The other two guards showed far more open interest and he eyed them one last time before walking out. His heart was thumping, adrenaline pumped in his veins, but the night was surprisingly dull, much like the hallway they walked through with its plain dirt walls and floating lights.
Aire’Si remained rigid, setting the pace. “Word to the wise, turn your back on this and leave Chancellor and Wolffey forgotten. People get hurt around them.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Mercer said. He left it clear in his tone that he wasn’t backing down.
The hallway came to an abrupt stop in front of a line of orange trees. The wind drew the citrus scent to where they stood, just within the cover of the doorway. He strained to hear voices from the outside world, but there was only silence.
Aire’Si’s midnight blue eyes narrowed. “I care very little for your kind, but I do have concern for Wolffey’s wellbeing. It’s in your best interest to keep that in mind when you meet him.”
“Your queen made it clear that he shouldn’t be killed,” he reinstated, in case the guard thought he was incapable of understanding.
The guard nodded. “Start your search at the Bird Nest. I believe y
ou’ll find it tucked away in Dallas.”
Mercer took the advice with him as he stepped out of the tunnel. The first rays of morning light loomed at the edge of the sky. Freedom swirled around him in the form of leaves. Even the muggy air was a blessing. When he glanced back, the doorway was gone.
oOo
Aire’Si returned to the throne. Sayen-ael was still sitting where he left her. Her fingernails scraped along the bone armrest; her jaw tightened. If Wolffey didn’t return soon, she would send the Wild Hunt and the assassin wouldn’t be coming back from that alive.
“I want the alpha followed,” she said.
That wasn’t a difficult request, considering the Mission maintained the werewolf population keeping their numbers manageable. There were only seventeen packs in the United States; and only one pack in Texas.
Anger drew heat along his skin. Centuries of discipline and his rage refused to sit under the seams of his carefully cultured mask.
Aire’Si jerked his chin at the two guards. He didn’t speak until they exited the room. “It’s a mistake sending werewolves after Wolffey. This isn’t going to end well.”
Sayen-ael stared at him with her large, bug like eyes. She looked like the innocent little girl he spent his childhood protecting, but it was an act. She had never been naive.
“It sounds as though you disapprove of my decision.” She was testing the water.
He chose his words carefully, “This matter with Wolffey is delicate. I don’t recommend that the werewolves become aware that we have raised one of their own.”
“What do you recommend?”
“I trained him. I understand his fighting style. I can bring him back to you alive and without anyone outside the Unseelie knowing he exists within your court,” he said. His hand tightened on the hilt, waiting for her answer.
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