He was a disgrace to his father’s legacy. Not only had their father died trying to save Rush from drowning in a ritual he’d yet to take, but his mother had followed his father into death not long after. Kyra had lasted as long as she could in Crescent Hollow. She’d cared for Thorne, but after he was the tribute to the Well, she’d had nothing left for her at the Hollow. Thaddeus was cruel to her, so she left.
He should have found a way to help Kyra more. He’d followed her around for a few months, making sure she settled into her job at Cornucopia. He’d found a way to drop coin to help her finances, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
But they were here. At Crescent Hollow. Rush had Clarke to speak for him. There was something he could do now. Maybe if he couldn’t get to Thorne, he’d get to Kyra. At least then he’d know what to say.
With Thorne… he was at a loss for words.
“I’m thirsty,” Clarke said.
“Yes, princess.”
The compound came into sight and they regrouped. Rush handed Clarke a last swig from the waterskin. She took a mouthful and then sprayed it out when her eyes caught on the walls of his old town, just across the field. “That’s where you grew up?”
He nodded. “Not much to look at, but it kept us safe.”
Clarke wiped her mouth. “Um. I’m pretty sure the word you’re looking for is castle. Or fortress. With a village inside the walls.”
He forced himself to look at it as though for the first time. It was no castle. Village, yes. A small community of about ten thousand.
“More like a fort,” he agreed.
“What’s on those banners flying over the gate?”
“The Nightstalk Crest.” He tapped his chest, where his own family crest had been tattooed on. “You’ve seen the emblem on my skin.”
“And you were the heir?” She returned the waterskin.
“Alpha heir apparent.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m strong enough take over the leadership of the pack from my father without being challenged. We wolves call him the alpha, but the king calls him a lord. Lord Nightstalk.”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “And you gave that up to join the Guardians?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I didn’t give it up. More so encouraged to do so after my father died.”
Her plump bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “That sucks.”
He shrugged, eyes stuck on those lips of hers.
“If you had the chance, would you want it back?”
He rubbed his chest. No one had asked him that before. Even if he did somehow break his curse, the Order would have to let him go. He’d have to be accepted back into the Nightstalk pack. Then he’d have to challenge Thaddeus.
“Even if I had a future there,” he replied. “I’m a Guardian.”
“But they cursed you.”
“They own me. Even if I get them to lift my curse.”
“That… well, that sucks.”
He shrugged. “Giving your life over to the service of the Well for enhanced abilities isn’t something you can take back. Come on. It’s getting dark.”
The dirt and grass they were on turned into a red gravel path that crunched when they walked. On either side of them stretched fields of dandelions and fox-tail weeds. They’d only walked half a mile when something lying in the middle of the path caught their attention. Little fee-lions hopped about, prancing and playing. The mischievous creatures were often a sign of irreverence.
“Are those cats?” Clarke asked, shielding her eyes from the sunset.
“They’re pests.”
“Oh, come on. They can’t be that bad. Look at how cute their faces are, all smooshy and those tails swishing about, all agitated. Wait. What are they doing?”
The little beasts lifted their heads. One sniff of his inner wolf and they scampered off with a chitter.
“Don’t.” He put a palm to her chest, holding her back. He caught a scent on the wind. Sour, rotting flesh. “It’s a body.”
Which in itself wasn’t that unusual. Between the different fae racial clans, a dead body frequently turned up. Guardians didn’t solve squabbles between clans or courts. They were better than that. The kings and queens that ruled Elphyne had their own military to keep their subjects in line, but there was often a gap. The poor and smaller races could be overlooked.
“I’ll check it out,” he warned. With a glance her way, he found her unworried, just curious. “Stay there.”
She nodded but tried to see around his body. “Something’s not right.”
Rush strode toward the dead fae and strained his senses. No heartbeat. Definitely putrefying flesh. It was a satyr. Part man, part goat, the fae’s horns had been shorn off. The puncture marks in its neck signaled a vampire’s bite, but the corpse wasn’t exsanguinated. Perhaps one of the Unseelie had gotten a little rough while eating, a little too far from their territory. But to dump the body here in full view of a Seelie compound. Something smelled off.
It wasn’t the first time on this journey something had smelled wrong. The White Woman was far from her usual northern haunt. And she had been cursed, perhaps forced into moving south. That made two Unseelie causing inexplicable harm in Seelie territory.
He went to wave Clarke onward, but she was already behind him.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Vamp got overzealous.”
“Why am I not surprised you have vampires?” She frowned down at the body. “Shouldn’t he look a little less, I don’t know, full of blood?”
“Vamps don’t drain to feed. They like to relish one meal over days and usually their meals walk away.” Rush took another look at the satyr. His tanned cheeks were rather plump. The hooves sticking out from beneath his nicely creased trousers were shoed with precious stone. So he was well-off, perhaps one of the Seelie gentry. Rush kneeled down and touched the face with the back of his hand. His curse didn’t work on dead things.
The satyr had warm skin.
“Recently dead,” he murmured. “And vamps rarely travel during the day.”
Not unless they had been conditioned, like those in the Order.
“Something about it just doesn’t feel right,” Clarke added.
Rush agreed. He met her eyes. “You seeing something?”
“No. But… maybe...” She patted her sternum and scanned the body. “Maybe check under his shirt.”
He lifted it. The lightly fuzzed torso had scorch marks consistent with a mana related attack. Except the pattern was wrong. Instead of a darker ring on the inside with an explosion of striations, the marking was uniform. Not a direct hit to the middle and the visual effect of the blow. This was more like a water stain. Or a mana stain. As though the magical life-force had been ripped from his body, not thrust into it or allowed to naturally escape upon death. He sniffed again and caught a slight metallic scent coming from the body, but when he checked the pockets, there was no metal to be found. Could someone have forcibly taken the mana while he was alive? Rush dropped the shirt and took Clarke’s elbow.
“Let’s keep moving.”
“Why?” She jogged along next to him, hurrying to keep his pace.
“Because someone used magic to kill that fae, and they tried to make it look like a vampire did it.” He flexed his jaw with the understanding. “Vampires are Unseelie, yet we are in Seelie territory. With the White Woman far out from her home, it looks like the precarious peace between the two kingdoms is about to break.”
“Shit, that’s not good.”
“Dead bodies are never good. But it’s not my business.” It was best they stay out of it and stay on course. The last thing he needed was for Clarke to get caught up in something like this. “We should get into the inn and be out tomorrow as early as we can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Clarke tugged the hair covering her ears. Coming up to the gate of the compound, it was clear the two sentinels standing beneath the
stone portcullis could only see her and not the big brooding fae stalking next to her. He wasn’t happy coming back to this place, and it had little to do with the two heavyset guards wearing dirty white uniforms, strapped with weapons. A longbow flashed over their broad shoulders and the scarred faces and broken noses gave her no reason to believe she’d ever be able to escape if they deemed her a threat. Not to mention the lethal wolven fangs pressing into their bottom lips.
No turning back now.
Still fifty feet away, she forced each step closer to remain steady and tried not to look at the strange vines hanging over the walls of the compound. She tried to ignore the way they swayed and shifted, or how tendrils unfurled with predatory focus when a butterfly got too close. But she couldn’t ignore the suspended wooden cage on each side of the gate. In one was a wolf. In the other, a petite female fae with prismatic dragonfly wings. Short disheveled, blue hair stuck to her face. Pearlescent tear tracks smeared down her dirty cheeks. She slept, or was passed out, on the base of the cage. A dainty hand dangled through the bars as though she’d tried to reach the wolf on the other side.
Clarke looked at Rush.
“Eyes forward,” he reminded.
“Sorry.” She did as was told and continued walking.
“They’re being punished,” Rush explained. “By raising a fae from the ground, it cuts them from the source of the Well. Not being able to replenish your spent mana is akin to a hangover you can’t escape from. It’s torture. And of course, it stops you from shifting as the shift expends a lot of mana. They have trapped the shifter in his animal form until they lower him to the ground.”
“You say that like you’ve experienced it.”
He lifted a shoulder. “They tried it on me once. That’s when they learned even metal bars can’t keep a Guardian from accessing the mana in the earth. It’s why they had to resort to a curse.” His gaze darted to the female. “My guess is the pix already belonged to a harem, and the lord in charge here has dispensed local reprimands to avoid starting political unrest with the pix clan.”
“Harem,” she mumbled under her breath. How horrible. “She’s being forced into being a sex slave?”
Rush laughed wryly. “So you don’t know everything.”
She clenched her fists and spoke through her teeth. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because, naïve little princess, for each pixie female, there are at least three male partners and protectors. I’ve seen some harems reach up to twelve males for one female. She’s not being forced into anything. They treat their females like queens.”
Clarke’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Three men weren’t enough for her?”
“Well, you know what they say.” He gave her a salacious, toothy grin. “Once you go pack, you never go back.”
She blanked. Then got it. “Oh, you’re real hilarious, Wolfie.”
Pure male smugness rolled off him. “It’s not a joke.”
“Whatever.” Her mood darkened. “It’s still wrong to dictate who you can and cannot fall in love with.”
She must have hit a sore spot because he gave her a dark sideways glance and compelled her. “Stop talking.”
Her lips clamped shut on their own accord. Irritation hit just before the two sentinels hailed her down.
“You. Female.” A brutish fae broke away from his friend and stepped toward her. His bruiser face accentuated a stocky body. Bushy eyebrows and hair gave him an unhinged vibe. “State your business.”
“Tell them you’re just here to get cleaned up after a lengthy journey and that you’ll be on your way in the morning.”
Before Clarke processed Rush’s words, they tumbled from her mouth. Alarm pricked through her. She couldn’t stop them. Rush’s demand was her compulsion.
The words of the deal came back to haunt her. You will be my voice where I cannot speak. You will be my hands, where I cannot touch.
Goddamn him. She had thought they were past this. Pain burned hotly from her nails digging into her palms.
The guard leered at her. “I knock off in five minutes. There’s plenty of room at my place. If you need a hand cleaning up… well, I’m real good at using my tongue.” He licked his lips.
Ew.
The other guard snickered. From the corner of Clarke’s eyes, Rush reddened with fury.
“No thanks,” she said of her own accord.
The guard looked her up and down. He lifted his nose and flared his nostrils. “You’re not a wolf. What manner of fae are you?”
“Say you’re Elven,” Rush ordered.
“I’m Elven.” She smiled weakly.
“Far away for an elf.” The guard still under the shadows of the gate stepped forward, eyes narrowing. He held a drumstick of some animal in one hand, complete with blue and purple feathers still sporadically attached.
Rush nodded to the cage. “The pix is far away too. Is that a crime?”
Clarke was compelled to repeat his words. The two guards looked at her, and then the stocky one laughed.
“The pix’s crime is that she fornicated outside her clan.”
“Nah,” said the other with a chortle. “She’s there because she denied Lord Nightstalk.”
“If Thaddeus hears you talking like that, you’ll be next.”
Clarke’s blood turned to ice. Thaddeus?
Rush grumbled something under his breath. Unwilling to look at him, Clarke had to assume he knew well that Thaddeus was here. And from memory, Rush said something about an alpha running this place. Which meant only one thing. Clarke was about to step into the territory ruled by the fae who’d tried to assault her.
The guard sniffed and wiped his nose, then motioned for Clarke to enter the compound.
Still fuming at herself for failing to see Thaddeus’s connection to this place, and Rush’s inability to tell her the truth, she stormed inside a good few feet before taking in the place.
She stopped and gaped. Cobblestone roads. Townhouses with terracotta tiled roofs. Ivy over archways. Moss and lichen painted a patina across the limestone steps and walls. It was quaint, inviting, and it smelled like mouthwatering cooked onions, garlic, and something else she couldn’t place. But it was delicious.
Many fae bustled down the streets. From those who looked virtually human, to others with wings or horns. There were no modern amenities... at least none that she saw. From her point of view, it looked like she’d stepped through a looking glass and into the Middle Ages. No cars. No electric lights.
The wonder must have shown on her face because Rush leaned toward her to say, “Wait until you see Cornucopia. That place has fae from all over Elphyne. Or even better, wait until you see the Summer or Winter Court. One castle is made from glass, the other from obsidian. The Spring and Autumn Courts aren’t bad either. The summer solstice festival is one you won’t want to miss, at any of the Courts.”
His words stole her breath, and then she remembered she was furious with him. Her brows slammed down, and she strode forward into the unknown. Following the scent of cooked onions seemed a marvelous idea.
Rush jogged to catch up. “I should have told you Thaddeus was the lord here.”
“You think that’s the only reason I’m angry?” she replied, then smiled at a gray-haired woman with jaw tusks who looked at her strange for speaking to the air.
“Why else?”
Typical. Males of any species were all the same. “You forced me to speak for you. Again.”
He put his hands in his pockets. His expression turned distant, then he nodded up ahead. “Next right. The Laughing Den is where we can stay.”
He put something cold in her hand. She looked down and opened her fingers to see two coins made from red glass. Light hit an embellished letter M suspended in the middle of each coin. She lifted it to the sky and turned to marvel at the intricate refractions inside.
“M,” she murmured.
“For King Mithras. Good in the Seelie Kingdom and the neutral ground of Cornucopia. That will p
ay for a room, food and a meal,” said Rush. “It’s also enough that they’ll look the other way.”
She desperately needed to bathe, so strode onward until she came to the small narrow street he motioned to turn down. It wasn’t so much as a street, but a set of higgledy piggledy stone steps leading upward to a mezzanine with a wooden door and a sign dangling overhead. A laughing wolf carved into the wood meant she was at the right place. Stomping up the steps, she considered asking whether he would force her to speak for him again, or if she was safe to do so herself.
The door burst open and a bodybuilder type came barreling out. Stag horns protruding from his head knocked on a support beam and he jimmied his head a few times to get loose.
Clarke tugged on her hair to hide her face. The stag was from Thaddeus’s hunting party. And he was drunk. Rush bared his teeth and pulled Clarke to his side. She narrowly missed the stag as he tumbled down the steps, belching disgustingly. She stood frozen until he made it to the bottom and tracked out of sight.
Rush stared after him. Clarke had to tug him back to attention. Fiery eyes clashed with hers. He’d been close to chasing after the stag.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered.
He bared lethal fangs. “The wolf in me wants out.”
Christ. That’s just what she needed. “Keep it in your pants. You can’t chase him. You’ll get sick, and I don’t have time to wait on you. I need a bath, a meal, and a nap.”
The primal fire in his eyes turned soft when he dragged his gaze down to her. He gave a curt nod.
She tugged open the door and went in.
The foyer filtered into a raucous tavern. The smell of onion was stronger. Her stomach rumbled.
“I’m going to order everything on the menu,” she joked.
“Make that two.”
“Done.”
His lip curved, and he waved toward the back of the tavern. “Take the coin to the bar.”
The Longing of Lone Wolves Page 11
