He gave the room a courtesy flip through, looking for the stolen artifacts, though he didn’t expect to find them. The assassin had the relics well hidden. He wanted some hint to Wolffey’s intentions, but the place was stark.
Aire walked back outside, finding the clotted night air easier to breath than the sour stench in the room. Within seconds, he traveled from the trashed motel to the outer skirts of the city. Here, the air was filled with earth. Earth magic poured from the ground in hues of green and brown light. That same magic was clouded closer to the fair where the human machines met with electricity.
Each ride had its own blinking lights; bright whites, dull yellows, rosy reds and ocean blues. The sweet smells in the air, he categorized as human food. The music collided with ruckus laughter and excited shouts. The humans were having fun.
He walked along the forest line, but with the humans’ noise so loud; he couldn’t hear the forest or the creatures within. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He was being watched. His fingers curled around the handle of his blade, but he didn’t pull it.
The motor homes were lined with their back to the forest. It was a façade for the humans. The vampires wouldn’t leave themselves open.
He waited. There was no sound indicating the vampires, but he felt them. His skin buzzed with their undead energy.
A flash sparked a pinpoint in the darkness. A moment later, Bohu stepped from the shadows shaking the match out. The tobacco smelled better than the human food. The humans often burnt tobacco in the graveyard. It was familiar and comforting, but he wouldn’t be lulled by it.
Bohu’s dark, brown hair was in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes had been human once, with an inner light. Now there was no spark. He wore brown breeches and a cream colored shirt, both out of date for the current era. The vampire master had a long lifetime, but clothes weren’t so resilient. Someone had tailored these for him. He wore rocks, beaded on fish wire, around his neck, and bright, tiny beaded earrings. His fingers were jeweled with heavy rings that drew attention to his hands every time he brought the pipe to his mouth.
“I thought you’d be here sooner.” Bohu chuckled with sentiment that Aire didn’t share.
Aire waited where he stood. There were others in the forest, but none were currently within attack distance. They were fast and they were strong. He remained alert for a change in their location. “My protégé, where is he?”
“Not here.” Bohu blew rings of smoke in the air. “He left right at dusk.”
“You let him walk away?” Aire asked. He gripped his blade with every intention of drawing it. The open air filled with human scents easily covered the smell of orange blossoms. If Wolffey was present, he was well hidden.
Bohu smirked. His teeth were elongated. “He came to make a trade and I accepted. Your face is a mask, yet I can still read it. You think I’m lying, but your protégé wasn’t my target.”
Aire’s stomach tightened. “And what services were rendered?”
“You’re going to have to cut the apron strings…” Bohu laughed. “It’s a Topsider term for letting baby go, though I doubt you consider Wolffey a baby.” The vampire made his relationship with his protégé sound suggestive. “You better not let your queen know, or she’ll do to him what she did to your companion.”
Fernilia, even in death, never strayed far from his thoughts. She wasn’t Sayen’s only victim. Sayen wanted the throne and took it from their brother with the same results. Sayen-ael didn’t do anything that didn’t personally benefit her. Memory lane was the last thing he wanted to discuss with Bohu.
It was time to reel the subject back on course. “Why were you looking for me?”
“Lotus came by a few days ago when he heard the queen’s assassin was in town. He’s been keeping tabs on your hired gun.” Bohu watched him closely, but Aire kept his thoughts contained. Bohu smiled. Lotus was dangerous; a hired gunman with high success and a sadistic mentality. “You’re still thinking about your protégé. He mumbled your name in his sleep.”
Aire’s eyes narrowed at this comment. He knew Wolffey harbored feelings for him. It was apparent in small ways, like when he leaned towards him; as if the fey captain wouldn’t notice the way the lycan smelled the air around him. He noticed it in the way Wolffey was sometimes unable to hold his eyes after a heavy sparring match.
And when Aire was tied in the golden net, something he invented for the Wild Hunt, Wolffey leaned in close enough for their noses to brush. His protégé pulled away, never finding the courage to finish his intentions. He knew better than to give in to his own intrigue at the sheer willfulness, intelligence and strength the lycan possessed. The werewolf didn’t belong in the Hill. He belonged with his own kind.
“What does Lotus want with Wolffey?” Aire asked. The wind shifted, bringing with it the clotting smell of tobacco and coal.
“I don’t concern myself with Lotus’s business, but he did say your protégé was the quickest way to get to you. The mercenary didn’t lie.”
Swirling laughter floated high from the carnival. It was a world removed from where he stood in the woods. Light filtered through the thick trees making the shadows stretch. The wind was thick with the heady smell of the vampire coven. Since the vampires didn’t have auras, he couldn’t tell how many were closing in. He needed to get moving.
A shape separated from the shadow and rushed straight for him. He lifted his sword and caught it across the vampire’s chest. Hundreds of black butterflies burst on impact and fluttered up into the trees, leaving the ground unmarred by blood or a body. The branches on the vast trees shuddered, but he couldn’t see the vampires above his head despite his acute vision.
Lotus was a bigger issue. Aire’Si bowed. “We’ll finish this on another day.”
Bohu chuckled, tipping his pipe and dumping its contents before tucking it into his shirt pocket. “You’re going to find that it’s not within your ability to do that,” he fluttered his fingers in the air, “thing you fey do.”
Aire’Si focused on the energy that radiated up from the cool, mossy ground and the moonlight that laced down from the parts in the tree branches. He could feel the essence of the earth, but not the familiar fabric that formed the tunnel he traveled through. His realm wasn’t connected here, though he used it moments ago to get to Bohu’s territory.
“No one can control earth magic.” Aire pulled a second blade. He was mentally centered by the weight of the weapons in his hands.
“You’re right, I don’t control what you fey perceive as earth magic, but I did lure you into a ring of iron,” Bohu said.
“Impossible.” His skin prickled at the notion.
The forest behind Bohu came to life as vampires stepped out from the shadow. They were all around now, circling them and they carried poles of iron. His skin itched, but he didn’t dare let go of the blades. With every step they took, the sensation under his flesh grew mind numbingly extreme.
“You have something I want and I’ve waited a long time for the opportunity to get it back,” Bohu said.
The wind cold pressed at his back a second before pressure hit his skull sending him into blackness.
oOo
Mercer took the steps down to the basement, feeling the stiffness in the back of his calves shoot up his thighs and straight into his spine. The wounds from the fight closed when he shifted, but the aches remained. The adrenaline was out of his system and the lack of sleep made it difficult to keep his thoughts straight, but he didn’t dare close his eyes.
In a few days, there would be no escaping the siren call of the moon. The North American Mission Leader was strong. He witnessed that firsthand, but even the strong could only ignore the call for so long. Fighting it would start off as an itch, but it would gain intensity.
“Wyatt?” He called midway down. There was no answer beyond the soft clicking of a keyboard.
With a roast beef sandwich in one hand and the other hand brushing along the polished banister for b
alance, he proceeded. The basement was setup to hold rogues, but Gio used it as a place to punish disobedient pack members. When he took over, the pack wouldn’t put extra boxes down into the basement. It was an illicit room that no one talked about. From the hushed whispers, one would think it was haunted.
Once Wyatt started medical school, he renovated the basement to provide their own medical space onsite. Rider helped finish the walls and paint them eggshell white. Dax helped set the floor with navy blue and white tiles. He allowed the younger members of the pack to paint the white tiles, which Briley took leadership over. Twenty of the squares had finger prints and drawings, but the one that he set at the front of the staircase was a simple house painted on the tile with the sun in the corner. Underneath was the word “home,” painted by their youngest member who was five.
Marble counters stretched on both sides of the sink stopping short of bamboo cabinets with see-through glass doors. There were C.M. Coolidge prints on the wall over Wyatt’s makeshift desk; Waterloo, Higher Education and Breach of Promise Suit. On the longer wall that now closed off the staircase, bright, neon pop art of different dog breeds lined the wall in three rows of six.
For the least trusting members in his pack, they viewed the room as a better functioning torture facility. It would take time for the pack to see it in a positive light, but for now, they had a room equipped for emergencies that couldn’t be taken to the hospital.
Wyatt sat at his desk intent on his computer. He didn’t look up to greet Mercer. His breathing and the movement of his hand never varied. Mercer wasn’t so sure Wyatt knew he had company.
Mercer knocked lightly on the banister, but Wyatt didn’t look up. “Rider said he left you with Wolffey. Did you find out what you wanted to know?”
Wyatt grunted, pushing his black, thin rimmed glasses up his nose, which meant he’d been at this for hours. Werewolves rarely needed glasses, but Wyatt said hours of studies made his head hurt.
“Yes. He said Kivah is dead.”
Mercer took the last two steps down into the basement. The lights were bright, giving even him a headache. “Do you believe him?”
“No.” Wyatt said, finally looking away from his computer.
“What are you researching?” Mercer asked. His stomach gurgled, urging him to eat the sandwich he walked around with.
Wyatt leaned back against his chair and his frown deepened. “When Wolffey talks to himself, he speaks gibberish. It threw me off, but in my research, I found a website that said the Unseelie can speak with the dead. I looked up sites that focused on the language of the dead. Some cultures use mirrors to contact the other side. When the dead speak, it’s backwards.”
“So you think he’s talking to someone?” Mercer asked.
Wyatt was studying him and he allowed it, waiting patiently for the beta’s answer. “You weren’t surprised by any of this, the Unseelie, the assassin. How well do you know him?”
“We had the displeasure of running into each other, almost continuously, and then he disappeared for,” he paused. There was a great deal to the story that he didn’t want to share, like all the violence that followed in Wolffey’s wake.
The door at the top of the staircase slammed open and footsteps hurried down the steps. Wyatt was at his side by the time Fallah made it to the foot of the staircase with Rider behind her. Rider caught her arm, and she stopped, but her eyes were on him.
“Sorry for the interruption. She overheard a few of us talking,” Rider said.
He could only guess what his betas were talking about upstairs. It was easy to lose sight of barriers with the pleasant food smells and pack laughing in the kitchen.
Mercer waved Rider back and his second immediately released her. “What’s going on, Fallah?”
She looked away when she realized he was staring. “Mercer, it’s not true, is it? You aren’t going back on the deal you made with the Unseelie Queen. It doesn’t work like that. She will send the wild hunt after you.”
He caught Rider’s gaze, wondering what Rider said. He was sure his personal interest in Wolffey wasn’t the topic.
“It’s complicated. I’ll deal with the queen when Hota’s safe,” he said.
She shook her head, chest fallen. “I hope letting him go is worth your life and pack. He was here yesterday.”
If it had been anyone else asking this question, he’d feel like they were fishing for answers. Fallah was loyal. He trusted her.
“He knows how to get to Chancellor’s,” he answered.
Rider tapped Fallah’s shoulder. She looked at all three of them, and then brought her attention back to him. “I hope you know what you’re doing. The fey can’t be trusted.”
When he didn’t answer, she took the stairs back up. They remained quiet until the door was shut behind her.
Rider was the first to break the silence. “Are you going to tell the Mission what you’re doing?”
He hadn’t made that decision yet. “If any of you are uncomfortable with what I’m doing, you don’t need to follow me. It might be best if you didn’t. The pack will need an alpha if anything goes wrong.”
The brothers snorted.
FIFTEEN
Mercer woke, pushing back the pillow he’d been cuddling. His dreams were a mixture of pleasantries and nightmares. He rarely had both, intertwined so tightly he couldn’t tell if he liked the dream or not. The one thing that lingered strongly at the forefront of his mind was the soft plum of oranges and white chocolate. Wolffey made him cardinally hungry.
He groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, taking in the familiar scent of the surrounding woods. The moon was drawing closer and with it, his skin was tight begging for relief. His ears buzzed with the change of his pulse. His nose itched with the sharper scents. He brought his arm to his nose and took in the clean smell of his wolf.
The bed dipped. His thoughts shifted to the expensive, floral perfume, light enough to add to the natural female pheromones; female, not in heat yet. He lifted the pillow high enough to take in his visitor.
Sadie’s dark hair framed her sharp face. Her astute eyes caught every detail of his face. He didn’t cover his naked body to her open administrations. She played her nails over his biceps in light, playful lines, tracing the curve of his muscle. Her fingers were soft, something that should’ve been welcomed, but they weren’t the hands he wanted touching him.
He caught her wrist and stilled the fingers lifting the rim of his boxers. “No.”
He didn’t need the light coming in through door left ajar to know that Sadie was naked. Her long, silky legs were wrapped around his body. A straight man would find her advances difficult to ignore. She was visually gorgeous and her body firm against his. She was a sturdy mate, but not for him.
Mercer scooted out from under her. “I meant what I said. I’m not interested in mating.”
“Your body says otherwise.” Her eyes punctuated her words with a dip towards his lower region.
He let her go and rolled out of bed, finding his abandoned jeans. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. “I’m a rich woman. I could bring a great deal to the farm. I could make this place worth living.”
He grabbed a fresh shirt and pulled it over his head. “It’s not the money. I wouldn’t change any of this.”
“No one wants to live this frugal. There are no animals here.” She was up blocking the door in seconds. “It’s him, isn’t it? The one Rider was talking about. This is ridiculous. You can’t mate with another male. There will be no pedigree heirs. It will be frowned upon by the Mission.”
He met her gaze. It wasn’t anger¸ as he expected, that surfaced, but anxiety. She was right about the Mission. Hota had already shown his disapproval.
“I’m not having this discussion with you.” He stared her down until she reluctantly moved away from the door. He had a feeling this conversation wasn’t over.
oOo
Wolffey lingered between
sleep and consciousness. The nightmares had a strong hold on him. They were inky and oppressive; pulling him down until he couldn’t breathe. When he finally woke, he pushed himself up with caution, finding that he’d rolled onto his stomach. Though the position brought comfort, it left him defenseless.
He was disconcerted by the dark. Nothing moved, but something woke him. He held his breath, waiting for that noise again, but it didn’t come. He didn’t expect it to now that he realized it was only his nightmare.
Wolffey stood with caution, expecting dizziness that never came. Bohu promised reprieve from the aches; he was glad the master vampire remembered his gypsy roots. There was still pain along his torso that went into his hips, but at the moment, it wasn’t stabbing. His stomach growled, twisting with hunger, a trifle annoyance at first, but quickly becoming impossible to ignore.
“Rufus?” he whispered.
“Aye, lad,” came a response beside the bed. It was a voice he’d come to trust and find comfort in.
Wolffey felt along the table to the lamp, switching on the light. There was definitely something wrong. He felt the weight of the moon. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt it. It tingled under his skin like an itch, but nothing more. The years had washed away the stronger memory of the changes and he hadn’t craved the turn in nearly as long. The earth itself, he couldn’t feel, not the way he’d come to recognize it with the faeries.
“Something is wrong with me. I can’t feel the earth magic,” Wolffey hissed.
Rufus sat on the top of the lampshade and watched him. “Ye should nary feel the earth magic, lad. Ye are hardly fey.”
Wolffey brushed his hand over his clothes; damp with sweat. He sat on the edge of the bed and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. Nothing about him was presentable and time wouldn’t permit a shower. “I need to drop the next artifact off to keep Sayen-ael occupied.”
“Wolffey, do ye find it odd that the fey have pulled back?” Rufus asked. His little legs swung in thought.
“It didn’t escape my notice,” he answered. He found a few clean items of clothing to change into and proceeded to undress while the spirit huffed with disapprove.
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