Wolffey went motionless. The moment was over. “You have no shame, howler, but your method was effective.”
“It wasn’t a method, Wolffey. I meant what I said. You distract me to no end.”
Wolffey held his breath. The assassin was again unreadable; though it was clear he wasn’t feeling well. “Don’t be a fool. My loyalty is with the fey and I will return to the Hill.”
Before he could oppose that statement, Wolffey was back on the prowl, his attention drawn to the world around them. The assassin brought his bow up and had the quivers pulled back and ready. The hairless, stone gray creatures crawled along the walls with large growths that covered their entire skull.
“Succubus?” Mercer stood dubious. The heat Wolffey put in his body went cold.
“A few,” Wolffey answered. His shoulders widened and he braced his legs. It was the stance of a warrior. “The others are incubus.”
Mercer attention drifted toward the creatures. They were a far cry from what media depicted. They had narrow shoulders and back that drifted to emaciated waists. The difference between male and female were clear. The demons were frozen along the walls, defying gravity with the way they clung to the rock upside down. Forked tongues flicked between their lips, scent tasting like a snake
Wolffey cursed under his breath, a word Mercer didn’t understand. “She’s nary here,” he said in English.
“What now?” Mercer asked. The demons made his skin crawl.
oOo
Wolffey released a long, slow breath. The air fogged from his inner heat. Thank Gaia, there was still heat within him. The cold ran bone deep like an animated corpse… something Bohu knew a bit about.
He let the string on the bow go slack before letting it go altogether and flexing his dominant hand. The joints in his fingers were stuck, the muscle was numb. He couldn’t feel the nerve endings at the tips of his fingers, which was dangerous. He had no desire to accidently release the string and cause harm to the demons as long as the creatures kept their distance. Causing pain to Lilith’s children would make it even more difficult getting out.
“Stay close, howler. I’m too tired to dig your tail out of trouble,” Wolffey hissed. There were too many demons to continue down the staircase, though he finally saw what he was searching for. There were etchings of flowers and vines carved in stone like he had read in a tomb in the Unseelie library.
Mercer gave a noncommittal grunt. The fun was over. The alpha remained cautious at his side.
He strained to stay focused on the demons. Instead, he was painfully aware of Mercer’s presence. If he didn’t redirect his thoughts soon, the entire incubi hive would be drawn out. It was time to leave the main hall and enter the tunnels.
He pressed through the membrane between the rocks; warm like skin and paper thin. The musk in the halls was thicker more earthly and human. It was hard to tell if the smell came from past victims or current. The fey said the succubus brought victims into their domain, but that night when he’d watched Dryer with the females; the succubus left him Topside.
Mercer whistled under his breath. “How deep do these tunnels go?”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Wolffey said. For the briefest of seconds, he thought he smelled Dryer who had been dead for nothing short of fifteen years. He had to stay sharp.
“How will you find Lilith? Every tunnel smells the same,” Mercer stated. He leaned into a tunnel whose alcove went straight up into the rock. Inquisitive and alert, the werewolf stood defiant, waiting for trouble.
From where Wolffey stood, he couldn’t get a good visual through the blackness overhead. “I don’t suggest you stay where your eyes can hardly see.”
“Noted, assassin,” Mercer said, the edge of his lips quirked in a smile.
Wolffey fought the desire to roll his eyes. The alpha brought out the willful child in him. “What you saw out there are fledglings. We don’t want to run into the adults. So stop flaunting your scent through the travel paths.”
Mercer drifted from the alcove and stood beside him with his arms crossed. He was the perfect specimen of testosterone and aggression. Despite the werewolf smell, no demon poked their nose into the tunnel. Wolffey glanced back at the opening they’d taken, expecting a few demons to have followed. There was nothing
The tunnel branched in several directions. The masculine scent was heavier here, stopping him dead in his tracks. He naturally wanted to follow the masculine smell as it took shape in the form of a certain mentor he’d been tailing since he was twelve. There was a faint, nagging tug in the back of his skull, whispering that he should’ve studied more about demons; that this was glamour in another form.
His shields were down. Mercer’s kiss kept replaying in his mind. Damn the alpha. He hadn’t wanted to be with the werewolves for fifteen years and now Mercer was here, confusing his train of thought.
His body was weak, and it made his mind weak. If something went wrong, he needed a strong advocate; not that a crash course in demonology was going to be beneficial to the Topsider. He took one of his quivers and poked at the dirt floor. Even that small movement pulled at stiff and sore muscle.
“You saw out there, that the demons crawl, but these foot prints,” he poked at the foot steps leading through the tunnel. The footprint was near human in shape, except instead of toes, there were three sharp dents where the claws made their mark. “Only Lilith can walk.”
The silence behind him stretched. He glanced over his shoulder to find that the hallway wasn’t empty, though it lacked the alpha werewolf. He quickly stood. “Shit! Damn, eejit. He never listens.”
What stood less than ten feet from him was the mirror image of Aire’Si. He found himself staring at leather boots and silken Arabian breeches with fancy gold trim. His skin was unnaturally pale and his ears long and pointed, poking from his hair like jagged rocks from under a waterfall. His chin and nose were sharp, and his exotic, almond shaped eyes were as dark as the midnight sky. He was muscular, but not like the werewolves.
Aire’Si never went anywhere without his swords, but today, his hips were bare. There was nothing to distract his eyes from wandering the valley of his mentor’s hips.
“Wolffey.” The tail end of those words came out as a hiss, but the brogue was right. It sounded just like Aire’Si, except Aire’Si never called him Wolffey, even though his mentor had named him the first night he brought him to the Hill.
Wolffey straightened, slipping the quiver between the bow string. “You’re not fey.
Aire’Si smiled. “You aren’t sure about that.”
The tenor grew stronger. His voice was luring, much like Aire’Si. The only thing he ever wanted and sometimes received were kudos from his mentor. It meant more than the briefest of touch. Even now, with the energy making him acutely aware of his clothes brushing against his hypersensitive skin, all he wanted was for Aire’Si to praise his ego.
He tightened his resolve. He wouldn’t give into this. The illusion was broken for mere seconds before orange blossoms plumed in the air, lulling him back into the nightmare.
“We can test your theory,” it offered. “Touch me, Wolffey. Do something you’ve been afraid to do all this time. I won’t tell a soul.”
The incubus’s words danced in his mind. The scent of arousal urged total abandon. Every sensory in his head was willing to short circuit despite his discipline. “You’re nary real; just a figment-”
“Of your desire,” it supplied. The fey captain would never be romantically invested in a werewolf.
“You admit then, you only exist in my mind. You can hardly lure me when you lack the captain’s strong regard,” Wolffey said.
It tilted its chin downward, like Aire’Si when sizing his quarry. This small aspect sent a shiver down Wolffey’s spine. He appreciated the predator in his mentor and nothing more. Their relationship was strictly based on undertakings the fey could not carry out due to territory agreements, or personal restrictions.
The demon st
arted to unbutton its shirt, showing the thick expanse of its muscular chest. “The only truth is that I exist here before you with an offering.”
Its unmarred skin was an instant reminder that this wasn’t real. Feeling the sudden lack of interest from its prey, the demon pulled the fabric back up long enough to redirect Wolffey’s wary stare. This time it exposed numerous scars, some of which weren’t real, like the long puckered gash over Aire’Si’s heart exactly where Wolffey’s own scar really stood.
The demon didn’t know Aire’Si, it was simply presenting Wolffey’s thoughts. He could have fun with this, take liberties that he never granted himself, but every second he was with the demon, Mercer was out there getting in trouble. He pulled his blade.
The demon’s face twisted into the younger face of Dugald, a fey warrior he trained with. He wore the same pajamas from the boys’ dorm, the night Dugald cornered him in the bathroom. “Everyone knows you like Aire’Si. Just close your eyes and pretend he’s the one kissing you.”
Fear and shame paralyzed him. In a blink, Aire’Si’s image was again in front of him, alluring, masculine and dangerous, though his smile was off. The few times Aire’Si smiled, it never stretched his entire face. He smiled like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders; sad and tight. It never lasted long. It was a wisp before darkness clouded his midnight blue eyes.
“I look like him. I smell like him. I can behave exactly like him, with modifications to please you,” it said. The brogue never wavered. “Look what else I can do.”
Wolffey opened his eyes when he realized he had squeezed them shut. The demon parted its lips exposing its sharp vampire canines. Wolffey’s heart started racing. “This is wrong. You aren’t Aire’Si.”
He felt the demon in his mind. Why else would he instantly relax into the embrace he didn’t recall his gross motor skills even walking him into? Those teeth would be in his neck if he didn’t break the spell.
A tiny, shy voice whispered in the back of his mind, you might like it.
NINETEEN
Mercer remained cautious determined not to let anything sneak up on him. Getting lost in a demon realm was the last thing he wanted. When he rounded the corner it was clear Wolffey was gone. The hall was dark, but light pressed through the red gauze archways; rooms. With the low ceiling and narrow walls, there wasn’t much room for a fight.
He circled. Wolffey’s scent was gone.
“Damn!” The assassin had a habit of disappearing.
He backtracked through the tunnel only catching his own scent. If he was with his pack, he would’ve howled, but he doubted Wolffey would answer. Still, the assassin couldn’t have gone far. He only turned away for a second.
The air vibrated with a presence. He was being stalked.
Think, Mercer, what would the assassin do? Fight with weapons, something he was currently limited on, given the number of demons roaming the walls out in the open. His strength was his greatest attribute, but his trail guide was gone and turning into a werewolf in a demon realm seemed like a bad idea.
The silence was broken by a scream that should’ve busted his eardrums. It echoed in his head long after the silence settled back in. His body was in motion before his mind could register the danger. He jogged through the tunnels, determined not to lose his sense of direction. There was no second guessing. Instinct and wolf hearing lead him foolhardy into an open cavern.
Wolffey kneeled on one leg over a demon sprawled out on the floor. With a dagger in both hands, he waited for the creature to move. Mercer approached from Wolffey’s back, giving a cough to forewarn of his approach.
“Wolffey?”
The assassin didn’t answer. Mercer stepped wide, coming to the other side so he could see the assassin’s face. He wasn’t sure what he expected; maybe a flick of emotion for having stabbed something to death. Wolffey’s face was blank. Impassive.
“Wolffey?” He tried again.
Wolffey swallowed so hard that he heard it from where he stood. There was a slight tremor in the bone pale fingers with their death grip on the bloody blade. A familiar metallic scent filled the air, but it wasn’t pure like the game his pack hunted and killed. The scent was tainted. It made his eyes water.
“What do you see?” Wolffey asked. The question wasn’t nearly as unemotional as the mask he wore.
“It doesn’t look like what we saw climbing the walls,” Mercer answered. Its face was more developed. It could pass as human. Male demon to be exact and the skilled assassin chose to erratically stab it numerous times. The action was far removed from Wolffey’s clean, punctual kills. “But it’s clearly a demon.”
His words eased the tension from Wolffey’s shoulders. He wanted to ask what the assassin saw. Instead, the silence lingered as the younger man stood wiping his blades on his pants.
“We don’t have a large window of opportunity now. The others will feel this and come to see what happened,” Wolffey said.
“Are you hurt?” Mercer asked.
A bleating cry screeched through the tunnel, shifting his concern. Wolffey braced himself. “Lilith is down this channel. She has the other half of the key. I can hold off the demons, but you won’t be able to face Lilith alone.”
“Get the key. Just make sure you come back and get me,” Mercer said.
Wolffey huffed. “These aren’t the things you saw in the larger cave.”
“I can handle it, Wolffey.” He was an alpha, but Wolffey made him feel like a beta. He had to control how he reacted to the personal challenge. This wasn’t the place to throw his weight around. “Besides, I’m physically more aggressive than you.”
“You’re unnecessarily violent, howler,” Wolffey corrected; coming from a person who just stabbed the demon excessively. “I wouldn’t deny the uncouth creature within, but you alone can’t hold them off.”
Mercer bit back what he wanted to say. “You know what you’re looking for. Go get it and come back as quickly as possible.”
He expected Wolffey to argue. Instead, the assassin backed off, dropping his hands to his side. It was an easy gesture, but he knew it wasn’t as carefree as it looked. Wolffey was studying him. Finally he got a curt nod. The assassin sheathed his daggers and pulled another gun, tossing it to him. “I’ll make this quick.”
The words were barely spoken before Wolffey was gone. The bleating was louder now, echoing through the tunnel. He kept the wall at his back and watched from the tunnel.
oOo
The tunnel was basic; stone floor and honeycomb walls with gold-red light shining through the paper thin walls. The path he walked didn’t lead in any other direction, and ended abruptly in an alcove. The air was frigid making his breath dense. There were no doorways into caverns. There was also no key.
If he turned back now, he’d only have energy to get them out. He couldn’t leave without the key and the symbols carved into the ceiling were proof that he was in the right place. He wasn’t going to return to the Hill with his tail between his legs, as the werewolves would say.
Wolffey rolled his shoulders, trying to keep the stiffness from setting in. His heart was thumping hard in response to the reverberation of the fight just down the hall. If he didn’t hurry, there wasn’t going to be much of the alpha to take back to the farm.
It looked like it was time to summon the demon. He pulled his coat off and tossed it to the side. It felt strange not having the weight of his coat on his shoulders. Inside and out, he was bone cold. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the expanse of his arm and flexed his fist. His skin tightened around the muscle, drawing his attention to the numerous scars he sustained, from training, enemies and the damage he’d done to himself testing his theories.
Wolffey carefully selected a blade that wouldn’t slice his skin clean through to the bone with the tremor in his hand. It was a summoning, not a sacrifice and blood loss would only speed up the deterioration of his body. He doubted a proper salt circle would protect him while summoning Lilith in her own territory.
He drew the blade over the thick of his arm, high enough that the cut wouldn’t affect his nerves or muscle. The blood rolled down his arm. Again, he was aware of the lack of feeling. He tossed the blood on the floor.
“Lilith I call you.” His words were strong. His grip on his blade was stronger. There was no logical way to bind her in her cavern so he had to remain alert. Nothing moved. He squeezed his arm to get more blood to drip. “Lilith, I demand your presence.”
“And who are you to demand my presence, Wolffey, predecessor of the Unseelie Captain, Aire’Si.” The voice was silk, coming through the wall directly over his shoulder. He twisted, expecting her to be present. She wasn’t. “Your name travels in the demon communal. I heard you traded your soul to have the same skills as the fey.”
“You wouldn’t be misinformed,” Wolffey answered. Some of the skills he needed no Topsider could learn despite his training.
“I accept your sacrifice, what do you want for him?” she stated.
Him? The snarls were distant, but no less aggressive and feral reminding him that he wasn’t the only invasive creature in the demon domain. “The alpha is not the sacrifice.”
The paper thin walls pulled back, soft as silk when bunched, revealing another cavern, filled with gorgeous gems, silver tear drop glass hanging off the walls and stridently carved wood boxes. His attention drifted to the Amazon that strolled into his space. Her black hair curled over her broad shoulders. Her face was heart shaped, beautiful with large dark, unblinking eyes. She looked nothing like her children.
“You?” Her voice rose with surprise. She was much taller than him. She looked human, and that wasn’t the glamour. The room smelled like a human woman. She purred, her dark eyes resting on his hips. “You’re not a lonely guy; sexually repressed, but not looking for sex. What would Wolffey want so badly that he would risk his precious virtue by coming to the succubus?”
He kept the dagger pressed at his side, not wanting to draw her attention to his unsheathed weapon. “You have a key to a door in Chancellor’s castle.”
Werewolf Forbidden Page 20
