by Shayla Black
“Protecting isn’t the only thing you’re doing to her.” Ice’s piercing green eyes said he was ready to rip Shock’s head off. Which might improve both their moods.
Sighing, Duke ran a hand over his jaw, grimacing at the two days’ worth of growth beneath his fingertips. He needed to leave, shave, and get ready for this blasted wedding. God knew, this conversation was getting them nowhere. He’d almost rather perform his familial duty—calm his mother, greet guests, and dodge the paparazzi—than listen to this blah, blah, blah.
Or was it that he’d simply rather be near Felicia?
“Lift your magical protections around Bram’s house and let us in,” Duke demanded.
Shock raised a scathing glare to him. The expression slid off, morphing to something like astonishment, as the wizard stared at him. No, at his signature.
Had the witch last night failed to charge his power? He felt well enough, but …
“You.” He pointed to Duke, the surprise on his face replaced by a glower. “Come here and make me.”
Duke hesitated. Not that Shock scared him. Yes, the wizard did his best to intimidate, but what disturbed Duke was that Shock had singled him out. Usually, the leather-clad goon antagonized Bram, Ice, or Lucan. So why did Shock want to fight him now?
Exchanging a glance with Bram, who shrugged, Duke stepped forward. “You’re an annoying bastard.”
Shock sent him a dismissive glare. “You’re barely better than a human.”
“You rattle off your mouth unwisely,” Marrok, himself human, bit out as he tossed back his dark hair and readied for a fight.
With a dismissive wave, Shock addressed the warrior. “You’ve redeemed yourself by mating a very worthy witch and living among magickind. Mr. High-and-Mighty over there,”—Shock nodded rudely in Duke’s direction—“he’s got one foot in both camps. He’s a bloody duke. Who among magickind has use for such worthless human titles? He even smells human.”
“Better than smelling like a backstabbing arsehole,” Duke quipped.
Thunder crossed Shock’s face, and he raced forward and struck Duke, an open palm cracking against his cheek. Duke recoiled. Shock had slapped him, not punched him like a warrior. He felt the insult all the way to his bones.
With a lazy gait, Shock backed up a few paces and sent Duke a challenging glare. “I’d hit you with a spell … but your human blood would probably curdle.”
Gritting his teeth, Duke told himself to stay calm. Shock was baiting him. The question was, why?
Clenching his fists to keep a handle on his temper, Duke squared off with Shock. “As fascinating as your juvenile behavior isn’t, we’re simply here to take stock of the contents of Bram’s house. Kindly remove your … protections and let us in.”
“Fuck off.”
Clenching his fists, Duke repressed the urge to attack. Shock wanted something—not from Bram or Ice or Marrok. But from him. When Shock had made more of a pretense of fighting on their side and actually attended the Doomsday Brethren’s meetings, he’d barely spoken to him. To be singled out this way was confusing.
But Denzell wanted a fight. Fine. Duke would play along until he figured out this rubbish.
He drew his wand from his overcoat and whipped it in Shock’s direction.
Before he could conjure a spell, Shock shook his head. “I won’t fight you like a wizard; you barely are one.” He sneered and crooked his finger. “Come here and fight like the dirty humans you were raised with. Show me what you know.”
With a glare, Duke sheathed his wand again and approached Shock. He struck the other wizard with a lightning quick open-palmed slap, tit for tat. Shock’s head snapped to the side. The big wizard laughed.
The elder Denzell brother had long been regarded as crafty and violent. Today, he seemed flat insane.
“Is that the best you’ve got?”
Duke shook his head. If Shock was itching for a fight so badly …
Without another thought, Duke fired a right cross at the leather-clad wizard, who blocked the punch and shoved one of his own at Duke’s gut. As he leapt out of the way to avoid having his guts knocked into his spine, pandemonium erupted around him. Bram attacked another Anarki, tearing his robe away to reveal a greenish-black creature with a sunken face, rotting flesh, and the body temperature of an ice cube.
“Ugh!” Ice groused as he reached for the knife in his boot. “Dead fish floating in the Thames smell better.”
The wizard didn’t exaggerate. Anarki were nasty all the way around.
Marrok engaged two zombies, who circled him, hoping to take him down. Duke flashed a fist out and clipped Shock on the chin. As the other wizard grunted and stumbled, Marrok yanked his ever-constant sword from his scabbard and skewered one of his opponents. Bram kicked the knees out from under his. As the zombie crashed to the ground, his entire body disintegrated, the silky robe fluttering to the ground in his wake.
Shock’s younger brother emerged from the pack of Anarki with a snarl.
“Zain,” Bram called out. “It’s been far too long since you came for a … visit.”
At Bram’s sly reference to Zain’s prior captivity, the younger Denzell bristled. “You no longer have a filthy, cold dungeon in which to keep me chained.” Zain cast a dismissive glance at the ruins of Bram’s house. “Pity.”
Bram snarled a curse. He’d been short-tempered since Mathias had attacked him with some mysterious spell a few weeks back that had since faded but not broken. That Emma, his mysterious new mate, had abandoned him, only made matters worse. This could get ugly.
Zain whipped out his wand. Bram followed suit. Ice tackled an Anarki between them, a dagger in his meaty fist. Flying punches and kicks brought everyone nearby tumbling to the ground.
As the melee ensued, Shock pounced on Duke, grabbed him by the throat, and dragged him inside the circle of protection, against the crumbling walls of the house.
“Listen to me.” Shock squeezed Duke’s throat.
“Piss. Off,” he croaked.
“Take a swipe at me.” Denzell relaxed his hold.
Shock was inviting him to hit him in the face? With a mental shrug, Duke pounded a fist into the other man’s left cheekbone.
“Bugger!” Shock thundered. “Don’t knock my face off, you stupid fuck. I’m trying to help you. Mathias has a new plan.”
Was this a ruse … or the reason Shock had singled him out? “Go on.”
“At least pretend to struggle while you listen,” Shock muttered.
That wasn’t too hard, since he wasn’t fond of Shock’s palm pressing on his windpipe. He managed to shove a fist into Shock’s stomach.
“Barmy fuck!” he growled, then lowered his voice. “Mathias seeks to resurrect Morganna le Fay.”
The air and the fight left Duke. Resurrect one of the most evil witches in history? If this story was real … “Is he out of his bloody mind?”
“If Mathias succeeds, he believes he can control her power, perhaps even absorb it.”
Which would make him virtually unstoppable. “Bloody hell …”
“Exactly. Hit me again.”
Making full use of his free pass, Duke unleashed his frustration with another fist to Shock’s gut. The other wizard paid him back with a mean jab to the eye that sent him reeling.
Duke shook off the pain. “To resurrect Morganna, Mathias would have to get into her tomb. It’s supposedly guarded by impenetrable magic. No one would make it alive.”
“Except an Untouchable.” Shock took another jab at Duke’s jaw, connecting with a harsh blow.
An Untouchable, a human completely immune to magic? Were they mere folklore or actually real? Duke wiggled his jaw, grimacing. This was when growing up human hindered him.
He plowed a fist to Shock’s gut again. “Why tell me?”
The other wizard grunted. “Your signature indicates you’ve come into contact with one in the past day or two.”
Then Bram’s words tripped Duke’s memory. My signature
is faded and shiny.
“Bingo.”
Hell. Duke had forgotten that Shock could read minds. And how did Shock know of this signature anomaly when Bram didn’t? Because Bram didn’t use dark magic? And more important, who was the Untouchable?
Around them, the others fought. Zain and Bram rumbled close. Duke joined in with a square thrust right at the tall wizard’s nose.
Shock tackled him into the wall and hissed, “If Mathias manages to resurrect Morganna, life as we know it will be over. Zain has seen you. He won’t keep the fact you’ve had contact with the Untouchable to himself. You’ve got a few hours at most to figure out who it is before Mathias pounds on your door.”
Every human Duke’s mother had recently introduced him to had some association with Mason and Felicia’s wedding. Zain kept up with a bit of human news; he’d know about the event. That knowledge could threaten hundreds of family, friends, and the press—all of whom would be under his roof for the ceremony. Shit.
Shock got in his face, teeth clenched. “Find the Untouchable before Mathias does.”
How?
“And get him or her deep into hiding.” The older Denzell brother delivered another blow to his cheek.
Damn it, that throbbed like a thorn in a lion’s paw and made him roar as loudly. He stumbled, his ears ringing.
“The Anarki are dead, and your chums are chasing Zain,” Shock said. “Last chance. Hit me hard.”
“Gladly.” With a grimace, Duke reared back to deliver a punishing left hook.
At the second of impact, both Denzell brothers disappeared, teleporting out.
Damn it! That punch would have made him feel loads better.
Shoving his frustration aside, Duke realized Shock had left him inside the protections around Bram’s house. On purpose? Perhaps … one never knew with the elder Denzell. But now Duke could let the others past those protections so they could search for Merlin’s tomes.
As he mentally opened the barriers, Ice ran to Duke’s side. “Devious Denzell bastards.”
Bram nodded, fists clenched. “Shock won that round, I fear. Your face looks terrible. You all right?”
No. Duke was terrified for the Untouchable. Whoever the unlucky human was would be at his house tonight for the wedding, and Mathias would soon know that.
“According to Shock, Mathias has plans to resurrect Morganna.”
“He told you that?” Ice’s jaw dropped. “Is he barking mad?”
Duke frowned. “Shock or Mathias?”
“Mathias … but I suppose the question could apply to both,” Bram said.
“Think you there is any answer except aye?” Marrok stomped toward them, sweat dripping as he sheathed his sword.
Bram shook his head. “Impossible. He’d have to open her tomb. No one but my grandfather knew for certain how to do that, or whether the old tale about her essence remaining there had a shred of truth. He was responsible for Morganna’s demise, after all.”
“’Tis likely he would have written such down,” Marrok pointed out.
Cold dread slid through Duke. “And you kept Merlin’s writings here.”
A heartbeat later, Bram cursed. “That’s why Shock has been poking around here. He was looking for Merlin’s books.”
Duke nodded. “And for a way to help Mathias bring her back to this plane.”
“Horn-swined lout,” Marrok groused.
Bram shook his head. “Still, Mathias would need an Untouchable to open Morganna’s tomb. They only come once every thousand years. Mathias is looking for a proverbial needle in a haystack.”
Duke grimaced. “Apparently, without trying, I found that needle.”
Bram’s gaze zipped over to him. “That’s what’s wrong with your signature.”
“How does Shock know about the Untouchable’s effect on someone magical?” Duke asked, hoping the double agent was merely unhinged or yanking his chain.
“His great uncle. Utterly mental and violent. Rumor is, he killed the last Untouchable, then talked incessantly about the change in his signature after touching her.”
“Why would Shock admit any of this to me, unless …”
“He’s on our side?” Bram shook his head. “Wishful thinking, I fear. I’m sure being ‘forthright’ serves some purpose of his we’ll never know. Rather than puzzling him out now, we must focus on finding the Untouchable before Mathias does.”
“This must be someone involved with the wedding. I’ve met any number of people recently.” The photographer, the caterer, the florist … “Does this person have any characteristics?”
With Duke’s help, Bram tore into the house, picking through the ruins until he came to what remained of his office. They held their collective breath, hoping Merlin’s writings hadn’t been ransacked.
Bram quickly unsealed the protective spell he had previously placed. The ground opened up and a box emerged. The blond wizard tore open the lid and reached inside, grabbing a stack of ancient, yellowed tomes. They all heaved a sigh of relief.
Bram clutched them tight. “I’ll skim these, see if there’s any information.”
“No time,” Duke insisted. “We have to find the Untouchable now. Looks like you’re all invited to my brother’s wedding.”
Bram gestured to their ripped, mud-streaked attire. “Won’t we fit in.”
“Who bloody cares? If we don’t act now, there may be a slaughter.”
CHAPTER 2
FELICIA SAFFORD LOOKED UP to see her fiancé, Mason Daniels, stride into her changing room as she adjusted her veil. “Why are you here? Impatient as usual?”
A sly smile drew up the corner of his full mouth, reaching all the way to his dark eyes. “You know me …”
That she did. For six years now. Mason had never looked more dashing. His inky hair gleamed in the golden lamplight. They were roughly the same height when she wore heels, but Mason’s devotion to a workout regimen showed in the way he did a tuxedo proud. That little scar on his jaw gave him a rakish air. He turned heads wherever he went, but Felicia felt blessed to be one of the few who truly knew him from the inside out.
Over the years, they’d become best friends. His proposal a few months back had surprised her. They’d never so much as dated, but his persuasive arguments about a solid rapport being the foundation for a wonderful family someday made perfect sense and tapped into her longing for that kind of loving safety. They got on famously, respected each other, shared many values, even liked the same music. On top of that, he was a talented barrister.
So she’d said yes.
Felicia didn’t seek the roller-coaster ride of all-consuming romantic love, and Mason was well aware of that. They would remain friends, but become partners in life. They’d both agreed it was the perfect arrangement.
Mason gave her a long, low whistle. “You look beautiful. Lace suits you.”
It was probably the best she’d ever looked in her life, and given her adoptive mother’s penchant for dressing her like a doll, that said something. But Felicia knew Mason liked her not only for her exterior, but for her.
Everything was perfect, except her niggling anxiety. What if marriage changed everything between them?
“Uh oh. You’ve gone quiet on me. Thinking of Deirdre, darling? Wishing she could be here?”
That, too. Felicia clutched the locket she wore about her neck. For nearly an hour this morning, she’d stared at her sister’s picture tucked inside, barely able to hold hot tears at bay. She’d half-heartedly chosen an old school chum as her maid of honor, but Deirdre’s absence created a gaping hole in Felicia’s chest. She missed her sister every day, but today… Felicia felt as if she bled grief. If she admitted that, however, Mason would only worry.
“I’m fine. See?” She flashed her dimples at him, doing her best to shove her abyss of sadness aside.
He frowned. “That’s not genuine.”
Felicia sighed. Mason knew her too well. “I’m trying. It’s just that … not having her here makes everythin
g feel incomplete.”
“It’s natural to miss her.”
“Yes. But I’m angry. Her absence is a black spot. Deirdre should be here, and she chose not to be.”
“You feel abandoned. I know. You have good cause.” Cupping her cheek, he murmured, “Focus on us, on our future. We’re going to be happy.”
“Yessir.” She sent him a mock salute, trying to lighten the mood. “If I didn’t say so, you look stunning.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. I should go. If Mum knew I’d seen you before the wedding, she would prattle on about bad luck and all that.”
“Our friendship is much too thick for us to worry about such things.”
He’d supported her through uni after Deirdre’s shocking death. With her sister gone, Felicia had faltered, drowning in grief, and she’d lost her scholarship. Mason had arrived, a knight in a white sedan, brought Chinese takeout, and helped her pick up the pieces of her life. After that, they’d gone from close to inseparable.
Now all that stood between them and a comfortable tomorrow was a short jaunt up the aisle in the windowed chapel overlooking the Duke of Hurstgrove’s extensive garden, and an exchange of vows as the New Year rang in. In theory, a piece of cake.
But what if things weren’t that simple?
“We are very close.” Mason squeezed her hand, his gaze direct—disconcertingly so. “Full house, by the way.”
Felicia groaned, withdrawing her hand and pressing it to her stomach. “I’m so nervous.”
He tensed. “About marrying me?”
She shouldn’t be. Good looking, good family, good salary. Her parents, had they lived, would have approved of everything about tonight, even down to the Alita Graham gown. Its modest elegance and the satin ribbon about her waist hinted of a bygone era that fit the wedding’s historic location. The three-quarter sleeves suited the late December date. But she couldn’t stop wondering if committing herself, even to her best friend, was really a good idea. After what Deirdre had endured, what if she was making a mistake?
No. It was just nerves and sorrow. She had to put them behind her.
“About tripping!” She forced a grin. “This train will likely be the death of me. Why didn’t we elope?”
