by M. D. Grimm
It was strength.
Poe flew a couple of feet into the air and landed hard, the wind knocked out of him. Blood gushed out of his nose as pain radiated through his face.
A roar sounded from behind him, and his eyes blurred with tears and pain as Nordik charged Sean and knocked him to the ground. The attack stunned Sean, but when Nordik picked him up to slug him, Sean kicked out. Nordik roared again and cupped his groin. Sean managed to free himself from Nordik’s grip and ran down the street. People began to fill the street and exit shops, curious about the noise.
Poe crawled to Nordik, the lower half of his face and front of his shirt covered in blood. He gripped Nordik’s shoulder and met his eyes.
“Coward,” Nordik said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill him. Cheap shot.”
“Yeah, and he can’t punch,” Poe said, fingering his nose even as the crowd descended. Someone called for an ambulance. “I don’t think it’s broken. Hurts like a bitch, though.”
“He’s a knight.”
Poe wanted to vomit, and it wasn’t because of the pain in his face. “He’s a knight.”
IT TOOK a couple of hours, but finally Nordik and Poe freed themselves from the hospital. They were given pain meds, and Bronach picked them up and brought them home. She demanded explanations, but Poe insisted his dad and Carol had to hear it as well. He only wanted to say this once.
He knew it was going to break Carol’s heart. It made him want to break Sean’s face in retribution.
Poe pressed an ice bag to his face as Nordik sat with obvious care, trying not to move too much. What a sorry sight they made. And all from an untrained boy. It was humiliating, and Poe yearned for a rematch to put Sean in his place.
Carol paced as Bronach and Thorgold sat across from Nordik and Poe in the former’s family room.
“Carol, please sit down,” Bronach said in a soothing voice. “You’re tiring me just watching you.”
“Sorry, sorry.” She sat. Impatience made her leg bounce.
Poe took a large swig of whiskey, and the burn jarred him. He half wished he was drunk for this.
“I talked to Sean, Carol. And it’s not good. No part of it is good, and I don’t have many options left.”
Carol stilled. “What do you mean?” She looked at Nordik. “What does he mean?”
Nordik only shook his head, letting Poe take the lead. As much as Poe didn’t want to tell her, he knew it had to be him.
“I learned the shifters in this town have been targeted for violence and their businesses vandalized. Also when I spoke to Sean last night, he expressed disgust at my mating with Nordik. Visceral disgust. Today he called shifters abominations and said the world needed to be cleansed of them.”
Utter silence fell, broken only by Carol’s ragged breathing.
“What he said, the rhetoric, has been said to me countless times by”—Poe pushed himself to finish—“the Knights of the Dawn. Arcas leads them. Many of his followers think he’s a god. Sean’s one of them.”
“You’re wrong!” Carol jumped to her feet, maternal rage on her face. “You have to be wrong!”
Poe sank back into the sofa. “I wish I were.”
“No, this is not…. No!” Carol bunched her fists. “You son of a bitch! How could you accuse my son of something so vile?”
“You think he wants to say such things?” Nordik said, growling. He must have realized Poe had lost his voice. Nordik pushed to his feet, wincing. “You think he wants to hurt you? Poe speaks the truth. How do you think we got these injuries? Your son has the ability of strength and punched Poe and then kicked me. Are those the actions of an innocent man?”
Growls continued to rumble from Nordik’s chest even as Carol turned away, crying. Bronach hopped up and drew Carol into her arms, rubbing and crooning in comfort. Thorgold observed them all with flat eyes, his thoughts hidden.
Poe still couldn’t speak. His grief deepened and sharpened with every sob from Carol. He gripped Nordik’s arm and tugged. Nordik sat down again, slowly, and linked their fingers. His growls lightened but didn’t fade completely.
Closing his eyes, Poe pressed his forehead to Nordik’s shoulder. He’d thought his bond with Nordik had personalized the war for him. He was wrong. There was nothing more personal than having a family member, a loved one, choose the side of madness and hate. Arcas was an infection, and no one was immune. His grip was insidious and worldwide. It was supernatural in nature, going beyond the lure of his voice. If Arcas were somehow really connected to the time of Merlin and the Beginning, then perhaps his grip was something far more ancient, something only a true fae could create.
“I want to kill him,” Poe whispered. He knew Nordik would understand whom he meant.
Nordik kissed the top of Poe’s head. “As do I.”
Sean was still in the wind hours later. No one could find him. They even tried the homes of his friends Carol knew of, but it seemed all the teens were missing. The five of them didn’t tell the rest of the family about Sean but only said he was missing. Night fell swiftly, and exhaustion claimed Poe despite his fight against it. Most missions, he could go days without sleep and minimal food provisions and stay alert. But with this unexpected mission, he was sapped. He knew why. Betrayal was exhausting.
This was worse than Anu, the former Agency chief. He’d been under Arcas’s thumb, and they only figured it out when Anu sent Poe to find Nordik. It had been almost a year since then. Jesus, a year. And what had he really accomplished? One of his cousins, one of his flesh and blood, was in league with Arcas. The betrayal cut deeper, would last longer. It would scar.
Poe lay in bed with Nordik spooned against his back. Poe had fallen asleep hard the moment his head hit the pillow, but now he was wide-awake. It was just after three, and he stared out the window at the dark, cloudy sky. He’d come to Ireland to reconnect with family, to introduce Nordik as his mate, to find some peace and healing. He’d gotten just the opposite. There truly was no rest during war.
Nordik stirred slightly, his breath fanning Poe’s cheek.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice sleep-roughened.
“Yeah.”
Nordik rubbed his knuckles over Poe’s healing arm. “You need to rest. Shut off your brain for a little while.”
“Can’t.”
Nordik tightened his grip as if by sheer strength he could heal the hurts inside him. Poe closed his eyes and fought against the tears. Without Nordik this revelation might have damaged him beyond repair. At that moment he finally realized Odin and Hera had been right. He was only holding on to his sanity by his fingertips.
The sound of sirens suddenly cut through his dark thoughts. They sat up and looked out the window.
“That’s the main part of town. The businesses, the church—” Poe’s eyes widened as a hundred thoughts raced through his mind. “Nordik, what type of shifter was Abby?”
“Bird,” Nordik said as he stood up and grabbed his pants.
Apparently his line of thought ran along the same as Poe’s. Nordik had to help him dress because of his cast. Then they were out of the house even as the light in Poe’s parents’ room turned on. They ran to the main city center, only blocks away. It seemed every other building was on fire, and there weren’t enough resources to stop them all. Containment was the main objective. Poe dodged past the people and chaos, heading straight toward the church. He knew he could be wrong, but his gut said he wasn’t. With all that had been happening, not just with the vandalism here, but the increase in activity across the States and Arcas’s call for lone hunters to take matters into their own hands, thereby stretching the Agency’s resources thin, distracting them, Poe knew this wasn’t a coincidence. In reuniting with family, he’d stumbled into another mission.
Nordik was right on his heels but once or twice nearly stopped. Shifters noticed him, called to him for help. Poe didn’t hear what he said to them, but Nordik never left Poe’s side for more than a breath during their run.
They reach
ed the church to find it, remarkably, untouched. But Poe’s worst fears came true: the convent was on fire. He gasped for breath, not because of the run but from fear, his heart pounding like an insane hammer against his ribs. He sped around the church and ignored the few firefighters yelling at him to stay back. Nordik was right behind him every step. Poe swung his head around, searching faces, and the longer it took to find Abby, the stronger the fear rooted in his heart.
“Do you see her?” he asked Nordik.
“No.”
Poe ran, belting past the firefighters, onlookers, and nuns in their dressing gowns who had made it out of the fire. He ran around the back, Nordik following with vicious curses.
“Poe! Byron!”
Poe reached the back of the convent and coughed as the smoke billowed toward him. The flames prevented him from getting closer. It didn’t take him long to know it was hopeless. He wouldn’t survive going in there.
Nordik halted beside him and gripped his arm, keeping him from moving forward. “Poe, I’m sorry, but—”
“Look!”
A side window shattered, and a lithe figure dressed in white jumped out and hit the ground hard. She was holding something clutched in her hand. Even as they raced toward her, Poe’s heart jumping in hope, three dark figures darted out from around the front of the convent and raced right toward her. Poe knew who they were even before the flames lit their faces.
Poe snarled, and Nordik growled as they charged together.
Sean and two of his friends, two of the four who were with Sean when Poe confronted him, fought with Abby. Two managed to grab her arms, and Sean yanked something from her hand. Then he kicked her in the stomach, and the other two slammed her ruthlessly to the ground before they all ran off. Poe reached Abby first where she lay in the fetal position and gripped her shoulder. She looked up, coughing, her face red and teary. She gasped when she recognized him.
“Get him, Poe!” she managed to choke out. “You have to get him!”
“Abby—?”
“The scroll. You have to get the scroll!”
There was an odd ringing in his ears as Poe stared at her, wishing his gut had been wrong about this one thing. Nordik was quicker. With harsh words spoken in his native tongue, he sprang up. The air shimmered and warmed, and suddenly there was a large white grizzly charging after Sean and his two friends.
“Nordik!” Poe couldn’t deal with any more shocks tonight. There were people here! Witnesses! How could he—
“Poe, please,” Abby cried as she clutched his arm, her other arm wrapped around her stomach. “It must be safe. The scroll. It’s my duty. It must be safe. You don’t know—”
“Yes, I do.” He hated to leave her, but he had to. He kissed the top of her head before running after Nordik.
Chapter Eleven
SEAN AND his friends didn’t get far. They shoved into the church, probably thinking they could hide in there. Sean had most likely been doing that all along. Poe saw a flash of white enter the church and barreled after it. He rolled his shoulders, his cast annoying him, but he would have to work around it. He didn’t see Nordik anywhere, which always impressed him considering his size. Poe crouched low and quietly searched any nook or cranny he could find.
It didn’t take him long to find the two friends, knocked unconscious and bleeding from the head. Probably Nordik’s work. Thank God he hadn’t killed them. Poe was glad he had enough forethought to grab more than one pair of cuffs before leaving. He quickly cuffed both wannabe knights to the old radiator, their hands behind their backs, the cuff looped through a bar. He doubted they would regain consciousness anytime soon, but he wasn’t taking chances.
A roar shook the church, and he scrambled into the nave. Nordik was there, shaking his big white head. Sean was in front of him, so pale he was nearly glowing in the darkness. Poe squinted, trying to see what he held in his hands. It was something big and long. Sean brought it down again and hit Nordik’s shoulder. The fact Nordik backed away told Poe that it was made of silver. A candlestick, perhaps?
Fucking asshole.
“He’s mine, Nordik.” Poe ran up and lightly jumped over Nordik’s girth, landing solidly in front of him. He pushed at Nordik’s head, using some of his strength to make a point. Nordik growled low and viciously but backed away, his wicked claws scraping the polished floor.
Poe spotted the scroll tucked into Sean’s waistband. It was encased in a long leather tube like the others were reported to be in.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, Sean. No idea whose side you’re fighting on. It’s going to get you killed.”
“I’m not the one who’s going to die today.” He swung the candlestick again, and Poe brought up his cast, blocking the blow. He returned with a punch to the gut that had Sean doubling over. Poe knocked the candlestick from his grasp and allowed Sean to back away.
“You’re out of your league, Junior. You got the strength but not the training.”
“I’m better than you, old man.”
Poe cocked his head. “Oh really? Show me.”
The air shimmered and warmed behind him. “Stop playing with him, Poe. Finish it.”
“Just making a point.” When he looked at Sean, now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, all he saw was another knight who needed a lesson in respect.
Instead of charging, Sean tried to escape. Poe easily blocked him time and again since the novice kept telegraphing his moves. Then Sean charged, and Poe easily blocked each blow despite the cast. He could see the frustration and rage growing in Sean. They both used their strength, but Poe kept deflecting Sean’s punches and kicks, showing just how much training counted.
Finally Poe kicked out and snapped Sean’s knee. He screeched and stumbled. Then Poe punched the heel of his hand against Sean’s chest, knocking the air out of him. Sean fell hard, cracking his head against the floor. His eyes fluttered and he moaned pitifully. Poe yanked the scroll out of Sean’s belt and tossed it behind him. He knew Nordik would catch it. He walked up to Sean and placed his boot on his chest. Then he leaned down and waited for Sean to focus on him.
Poe knew his entire expression was as cold as the arctic. “You aren’t ready for the major leagues, kid. And now you’re going to spend the rest of your sorry life in a cage. You just threw away your freedom for a monster who considers you a disposable pawn on a chessboard.”
Sean just stared at him before tears flooded his eyes. Poe curled his lip in disgust before shoving Sean over onto his stomach and yanking his arms behind his back. He used his last pair of cuffs to bind Sean’s wrists.
“Don’t even think of trying to break free,” Poe said, his mouth near Sean’s ear. “Or I will let Nordik finish you off. He likes to slice and dice before he chomps.”
Sean shuddered, and the smell of urine suddenly hit the air. Poe scowled and yanked out his phone.
“I’m calling the Agency. They can handle this scum from here on out.”
He didn’t look at Nordik. If he felt a low burn of despair and sorrow, he ignored it and did the job.
IT WAS a long night, and it was only after the sun rose that the three other hooligans who had started the fires were rounded up. The shifters managed to catch a scent this time around but held in their more primal reactions, much to Nordik’s surprise. He respected them for their control. He honestly couldn’t say that, if he’d been in their positions, he would have contained himself. Poe had contacted the Sister Islands Agency—the Agency that patrolled the UK and the Republic of Ireland, as well as the Isle of Man—before reporting to his own. He knew Poe’s thoughts were probably along the same line as his—Sean and the others hadn’t worked alone. It was highly unlikely any of them were more than foot soldiers. So who was in charge? None of them were talking, but Nordik wondered how long that would last.
Poe had held the six conspirators immobile as Nordik returned to Poe’s parents’ house and got their rental car. Now the knights sat uncomfortably in the back of the car. Sea
n had wept bitterly in the church, but as soon as he was placed with the others, his face went to stone, his eyes dry and rebellious. The scroll pulsed in Nordik’s hands, and he was still having trouble comprehending that he was holding something so powerful and ancient. Abby had been taken to the hospital by the time they tied up Sean. They promised to keep the scroll safe until she could be released. When Poe called the Agency, both the Sister Islands and the US, Nordik realized he never said one word about the scroll to either of them. As Nordik understood it, there was a standing order to hold any discovered scroll for Agency protection. Would Poe blatantly disobey such an order?
Bronach and Thorgold stepped out of the house as Poe parked the car. The exhaustion in their eyes told Nordik they had helped during the fires, and he had more reason to respect and admire them. Nordik stepped out fully clothed, as he was a shifter who knew how to shift with clothes on. Poe left the six prisoners in the car, including Sean, showing as much mercy as he would give any knight: none. But he knew Poe was in pain. Agony. Though it didn’t visibly show, Nordik sensed it.
“The Agency’s coming for them,” Poe said as his parents approached. “Could I bother you with watching them, Da? I have to write up my report.”
Thorgold met Poe’s eyes for an intense moment before nodding. “I got them.” Thorgold eyed the captives, and a flash of pity came and went in his eyes. Then he set his stubby legs and crossed his arms over his chest.
Bronach opened her mouth, but Poe threw her a look that silenced whatever she was about to say. She paled, and her eyes darkened, but she stepped aside as Poe stalked into the house. She looked at Nordik, silently begging for answers.
Nordik sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Sean is a knight. He was after—” Nordik paused and looked at the scroll still pulsing in his hand. Bronach looked at it as well and cringed away. “It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “The fact is that Sean and the others are knights. The Agency will take him. Carol needs to say goodbye.”
