The room was sparse; bed, dresser, no picture frames, no dirty clothes lying on the floor, no half read book on its side. Nothing changed since his earlier visit. He crossed over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer. The movement of the frame made something behind it, fall. He expected the key. His disappointment was instantly replaced by confusion. He knew what he was looking at even before he grasped Cerberus’s collar.
The leather was two inches wide and the studs made it heavy. Even in his gloved hands, he could feel the ebb of prevailing power it emitted. It wasn’t a coincidence that the faeries stopped searching for him. Mercer met with Queen Sayen-ael. That’s how he knew how to find him.
He clipped the collar to the back of his pants and removed a shirt from the drawer. He expected the smell of Topsider detergent to assail him; instead, it was far more natural and just as clean. Being fully dressed didn’t clear his mind. Being surrounded by the alpha’s scent tightened the muscle along his neck and shoulders.
He cursed, but it wasn’t mentally gratifying. How did Mercer find his queen? Why did Sayen-ael target Mercer specifically? She thought creatures outside the fey were inferior and he never discussed with anyone in the Hill about the alpha that kept showing up at his targets.
The raised voices vibrated through the walls. It was time to set it straight for both parties. He wasn’t in this to challenge the Mission. The Mission’s loyalty and law didn’t affect him. He wasn’t a werewolf; hadn’t been for a long time.
His stiff muscles protested his slow decline down the stairs. He made it from the edge of the staircase to the living room before Rider saw him first. The second in command started over, drawing attention.
Wolffey held his ground. Mercer caught Rider and pulled him back The Mission remained motionless. The room was still, waiting for the command to attack.
His eyes locked with Mercer’s. “I’ll take you to Chancellor’s. Meet me in the field by your lake and bring weapons. I hope your trained marksmen. Transcending into werewolves in a demon realm will get you killed.”
TWENTY-SIX
Chancellor’s mechanical bugs weren’t going to be deterred by weapons. Wolffey grabbed his bow and swung it over his shoulders. He added the vial of Beithir poison to his pouch, carefully cushioned so the glass didn’t break. He loaded two flash disks and choke wire. Nothing else could fit on his person, and though he usually carried numerous items into a fight, his body couldn’t handle the weight.
He had to go in without Roxy’s help, which didn’t make this any easier. He’d have a shorter time frame to get to the Rainbow Room before Chancellor was aware of his presence. The Mission and their traditional beliefs were just as big a threat; not exactly the people he wanted at his back while facing the fanatical magi.
Wolffey held his breath, listening to the steady quiet that wasn’t normal for the forest. Not even bug wings beat at the humid air. Dapple rays of light clung to the sky. Darkness was coming. He scooped the small sack from the ground and rifled through it. There were three items left; all from private sectors that didn’t depend on the Unseelie or Seelie for safety.
He carefully lifted the primordial amulet from the sack. The adornment gave an energy pulse that trailed painfully through the nerves in his arm. He hadn’t looked at it since he stuffed all the items into the bag. Now, under the fading red sunlight, he could make out the fierce etching in the gold. It had an Aztecan feel. He slid it onto his wrist and dropped the last two items back in the hole, using his foot to kick the dirt over it. It wasn’t thorough, but he was starting to lose strength.
It was time to throw caution to the wind and pray that the gods didn’t let him down. He whispered the words that were etched in the fiber of his being. The air lifted from the bottom of his lungs, pushing up. The first breath he drew was full of warmth and familiarity. He was in the field he’d first met Mercer. It wasn’t the farthest he had explored of the farmland as a verboden child, but it was against the rules to be out of the house.
His attention drew from the soft rolling grass to the person that emerged from the brush. The wind brought the gentle, clean scent of eucalyptus and mint. Mercer’s black hair was pulled tight in a low ponytail. He wore black, fitted jeans, short sleeve black shirt and a bullet proof vest. He was at ease with the two gun hostlers on either side of his hips and pouches for extra clips.
No one else was visible in the field and the wind didn’t carry lingering scents. It was just the two of them.
“If this is your plan, it’s a bad one,” Wolffey said. He couldn’t begin to lay out the details to Mercer who stood stoic and watchful. The alpha’s dark eyes stayed eye level with his. If Mercer was searching for the verboden within, it would be a long and fruitless examination. “There will be causalities if it’s just you going in.”
“Others are suiting up. I needed a minute alone with you,” Mercer said. He didn’t approach. His hands were casually at his side. There was no sign of alpha dominance in his stance, yet the tension building between them was thick. “I meant what I said. This doesn’t change how I feel.”
Wolffey steeled his heart. When he was a child, this would’ve fit into his romantic idealistic beliefs. He wasn’t a child and he wasn’t restricted to the farm. “It should. You have no idea who I became.”
The edge of Mercer’s lips twitched into the start of a smile. “Our mutual interest isn’t conventional by pack standards, but I know what I want.”
“Then you’re clearly not thinking straight. I’m an assassin. I’ve done things that you’d never want to witness, not even when you’ve rogue hunted. I know dangerous people, I’m one of them,” he said. His confession didn’t change the alpha’s determined look. “The only reason I’m taking you to Chancellor’s is because of the sacrifice you made to get Hota back.”
“Sacrifice?” Mercer repeated the word with caution.
“Did you think the Unseelie Queen was going to leave you alone after you brought me to her?”
Mercer’s lips pressed into a straight line. His eyes darkened. “Who told you?”
Wolffey turned to his side so the alpha could see the collar attached to the back of his pants. “I came to my own conclusion.”
Mercer folded his arms and winced. “I put Hota in this situation and now Chancellor is my problem. I went to the Unseelie for help. I didn’t know it was you the queen wanted.”
“That shouldn’t change things. You made a deal with her, you must uphold your end of the bargain,” Wolffey growled, angry.
Wolffey drew in a breath and held it, forcing his heart to slow. He didn’t belong to the werewolves. So why did it feel like betrayal?
Mercer took a cautious step forward. “She called you a pet. I didn’t think I was going after one of my own. Under the obligation of our connection, I would fight to the death before I handed you to her.”
Before he knew it, the alpha closed the distance between them. He swallowed when the alpha drew his warm fingers over his cheek and despite himself; he leaned into the sensation of the touch, surprised that there was another spot he could actually feel. When the storm of feelings became overwhelming, he stepped back, refusing to face the one thought that kept circling in his mind.
“The mating bite was an accident. You can’t align yourself with me. I’m not werewolf. I don’t know the customs.” And he never did, even when he lived with them. Verboden were treated as the forbidden. He might as well have been in quarantine for as much as anyone shared with him.
Mercer remained resolute, undeterred by his protest. “Stay on the farm with me.”
Before he could protest, noise preceded the approaching werewolves that broke from the heavy foliage. There were roughly thirty betas dressed in identical tactical vests and loaded with shoulder and hip holsters. He was unsure how effective the guns would be in Chancellor’s domain, but didn’t voice this.
Against his advice, the Mission Leaders were present and among the group, his brothers. He held his breath, calming his chaotic
thoughts, then turned to Mercer. As much as he hated the Mission, he didn’t want the leaders killed. Their structure was law. They kept the peace. “I advise against the Mission coming and refuse to let you bring your betas into the realm.”
“My betas are loyal.” The curt answer left no room for argument.
If there was time, there would be an argument. Rider and Axel carried a trunk between them. It was a backup arsenal, he assumed. The two were hardly breaking a sweat when they sat it down between them. The smell of the collective was strong, outweighing individual scents.
“Are we going to need you alive in order to get back?” Daichi asked. He wore navy blue hakama pants, secured by four straps known as the himo. The intricate outfit held the complex history of the samurai.
“Yes.” It was obvious he’d have to keep an eye on who was at his back.
“You’re ill. If you die there, are we stuck?” Daichi asked.
“If you question the outcome, don’t risk coming,” Wolffey warned.
The last of the light left the sky. The moon was full, which gave the werewolves until midnight before they succumbed to the pull of the lunar power. The air in front of his face sparked, and Rufus was present in array of bright yellows and oranges.
“Wolffey, I beg ye, come home,” Rufus pleaded.
Wolffey missed what the werewolves whispered to each other, his attention was drawn to the flamboyantly bright fey. “I have to finish this.”
A few voices rose in argument, catching Wolffey’s attention. Mercer lingered between the Mission and him. He wasn’t sure if the alpha thought he was protecting one from the other, but it left him disoriented with déjà vu.
Wolffey clenched his teeth, biting out the question. “What’s the verdict?”
Pembroke spoke for them. “We’re coming.”
“This is madness. Ye will get them killed,” Rufus argued. “Lad, don’t go against the magi.”
Ignoring the fey spirit, Wolffey pulled the two flash disks from his pocket and tossed them at Dax and Briley who were the closest to him. Both caught the palm sized disks. “When you get overwhelmed by Chancellor’s creatures, use the disks. Use them too soon and you’ll regret not having them.”
“You only brought two?” Tamerlane asked. He wore metal plates on his shoulders and torso; armor from an era long forgotten.
“I didn’t expect company,” Wolffey answered. The disks in question were expensive and he hadn’t planned on using them. It would be harder staying unobserved with a pack of werewolves whose auras glowed silver with the full moon’s energy.
“How are ye gon’na get them there lad? It’s clear ye are in no shape to take them,” Rufus said.
Wolffey pulled up his shirt sleeve exposing the Roswell amulet. Rufus hissed, flying higher as if the energy radiating off the precious metal physically affected him.
“Wolffey, ye must stop!” Rufus said, his accent grew heavy in his distress. The fey’s florescent color hurt his eyes. “Ye are nary fey. Ye can’na use it!”
“No choice,” he grumbled. This was either going to work or kill them. The morbid thought humored him.
“Ye can’na be serious! The Roswell Amulet is nary ye’rs to command!” Rufus hissed, handing on the amulet before flinging himself back into the air. “The power is too strong. It can’na be contained and controlled.”
“I’ve done a great deal of things that the fey would never attempt,” he answered under his breath. At this point, he didn’t care who heard his conversation. No one present would be able to follow the backward gibberish.
“Ye’ve gone daft! The venom in ye’r system rotted ye’r brain,” Rufus yelled.
“If this is unstable, you better fly higher, least I permanently fry you,” Wolffey warned.
The fey spirit fluttered higher, Wolffey steeled his mind for what was coming. When he pressed down on the emerald green rhinestone at the center of the amulet, it clicked, sending a needle piercing through his skin. The sheer, acute force of the penetration stole his breath. Blood rolled out from under the cuff and gravity sent it trickling down his arm. It was the last thing he witnessed before light slammed out around them with nuclear force.
His skin tightened under the pressure of the light. He gritted his teeth, expecting his flesh to be torn from his body, but the wave of power washed over them and was gone. He blinked at his unmarred fingers extending from his fingerless gloves. The fabric of his shirt remained in place despite the lingering ember of pain beneath his skin; yet, he was unhurt.
A shadow stretched over him. When his eyes focused, he realized it was Mercer and the alpha was talking to him. The quiet that surrounded him was definitely not welcomed. He watched the alpha’s lips. He was repeating himself. Wyatt leaned down beside him, pulling a pen sized flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on. The minute that light touched his eyes, he flinched back at the sheer pain that went straight into his brain.
The vibration in his ears grew louder as sounds started to individualize. Wyatt kept repeating the same question, waving fingers in front of him. Wolffey shoved his hand away and sat back on his knees. The ringing was uncomfortably loud, but he heard the others discussing the circumstance.
Mercer offered his hand, and though Wolffey thought hard against taking it, he finally slid his hand into alpha’s grasp and allowed the help to his feet. Wyatt remained close with his medical bag. In fact, all his brothers stood closer. Their concern left him uneasy as he distanced himself. He wouldn’t let them harbor the unconscious desire to protect him. He wasn’t their responsibility. He could fend for himself.
“Where do we go from here? Everything smells like dust,” a beta, closer to the stairwell, asked.
A tentative sniff had Wolffey agreeing. There was no smell for the werewolves to follow and less corridors to take. He frowned. “Where is the other half of the key?”
Mercer pulled the key from his pocket and held it out between his two fingers. “Thank you for bring us here.”
Wolffey took it with a heavy heart. “You should never thank the person that gets you killed.”
“Your absence from the pack makes you forget how difficult it is to kill one of us,” Mercer answered.
Wolffey cautiously touched his bandaged torso, feeling as though even his bones were starting to liquefy. It was difficult standing straight. The amulet slid off his arm with ease, leaving the blood smeared along his skin. He flexed his hand to find that the muscle in his arm was bruised and sore; the piercing had gone straight through to the other side of his wrist. Mercer would have the same experience in order to get home.
“Wyatt, I need water,” he ordered.
His brother was quick with a bottle of water from his bag. Wolffey used it to clean his blood off the amulet, though time didn’t allow it to be thorough. The werewolves were spreading out, cautiously exploring, but staying within sight of the group. He took the opportunity to hand Mercer the amulet.
“I’ll help you locate Hota and that’s the extent of my service.” He thrust the amulet into Mercer’s hands when the alpha didn’t immediately take it. “Use this to get back to the farm, and hide it. Bury it or sink it, but don’t let anyone know you have it and never come looking for me.”
Mercer caught his shirt, stopping him from stepping back. The alpha’s dark brown eyes with blown wide pupils bore into his. “I’ll protect this, but you can’t order me to not go looking for my true mate.”
“The true mate that you fancy will get you killed. After tonight, it’s best if you forget I exist.” He took a slow breath to drive force into his words, but all he gained was the dizzy effects of oxygen mixed with alpha under the influence of the moon.
“Never,” he answered.
Wolffey swallowed hard, and stepped out of Mercer’s grip. The werewolf was a distraction, one that could easily cause him his life. Helping them was a distraction, one that he couldn’t afford. He just had to survive that long.
“I can move quicker without the company,” Wol
ffey said. His words gained more attention than he was use to. Never in his life did he have so many people eagerly listening to him. The pack mentality left him edgy. He raised his hand to stop Mercer when the alpha opened his mouth to protest. “When I find your leader, I’ll bring you the directions on his location. Try not to get yourselves killed.”
Someone protested. Their words were quickly lost. The magic here was strong, making it easy to use the energy to move from the foyer and into individual rooms, but magic couldn’t make him strong, and the movement was exerting.
oOo
A salty, metallic scent lured Aire’Si awake. He was drenched in blood, but it wasn’t his. When he crawled back to the Hill, he’d been too drained to even sweat. He brought his hands in front of his face and clenched them, testing his muscle. The debilitating damage was healed; the blisters and sun rot were gone. The throbbing heat that pulsed under the surface of his skin no longer lingered.
He pressed his fingers against the female’s neck and located a weak pulse. She got lucky this time. He did too. A little longer in the daylight and there wouldn’t have been anything to save.
He swallowed the dry blood in his mouth, needing something to rinse the addictive taste. In a weakened state, blood was over powering. He wiped his arm over his mouth. His skin was healed, but his body stunk of Topside and sunlight.
Aire’Si drew the female onto her back and brushed her brunette locks from her pale, heart shaped face. She was part Seelie. The Unseelie didn’t have curly hair. She’d eventually wake, but he didn’t have time to guard her. He collected the weapons he dropped in pursuit of his victim and carefully holstered them, before picking the female up and carrying her down the hall.
The Hill was a maze, and though he knew every portion of it, there were numerous halls he had no use for; obviously his current location being one of them. Each hallway was marked with a plant signature etched into the arched wood doors. He was currently in the Palo Verde hall, which held very few servants. He found an empty room and deposited the young female.
Werewolf Forbidden Page 27
