“How did you find out?” My mother’s question was a strained whisper that broke the tension-filled silence.
I couldn’t tell them the truth and have them worry. I was still clinging to the hope that Malific wasn’t my mother. And my father? Who was he? Was he human?
“You had no intention of ever telling me?” I asked, evading the question.
“No.” My mother’s response was terse. “How did you find out?”
I shrugged. “I guess I always knew. For the first time, I opened my eyes to it.” This wasn’t a lie. Mephisto reading off my list of peculiarities did open my eyes to something that on some level I had suspected. “If Grandma is Raven Cursed, she controls it better than I do.”
Both of my parents’ mouths were pressed into tight lines, like they were fighting the words threatening to come out.
Giving them a wry smile, I saved them the effort. “Grandma’s just human, too, right?”
Flushed cheeks provided the answer. The strain on their faces and their sorrow-filled eyes were heartbreaking. I’m sure they expected anger or frustration, but I didn’t feel either—just fear of who my real parents were.
My mother gave me a look that spoke volumes. It said: “We’ll talk about this when you’re ready.”
I answered with a weak smile.
The rest of the visit was a performance as we tried to pretend that a veil of deceit hadn’t been lifted and our lives irreparably changed.
I stayed for dinner. I needed to. Being with my parents that day was what I needed most.
CHAPTER 14
The royals’ French Provincial, being the official home for the king and queen, reflected their modern elegance, sophistication, and regality in its beautiful tan brick, large stately windows, and ornate balustrades. If Ian could convince them to abdicate, he’d never embody the home the way Neri and Adalia did. But if Ian had his way, they’d step down and this would be his residence.
In the past when I drove past the gates made of intricately woven iron flowers onto the estate, I found myself taken in by the elegant beauty of the home. Groves of oversized trees flanked the driveway. To most, the trees would have seemed there simply for the aesthetics, a beautiful landscape befitting of a stunning home. But they weren’t. The large trees allowed the guards to inconspicuously protect the home and its occupants.
Closer to the home, I got a glimpse of the exquisite statues that decorated the verdant lawn; I assumed magic was involved to get such vibrant color. The manicured bushes around the home had been trampled. Glass and splinters of wood littered the grass.
I jerked the car into park when a dingo stumbled in front of it and collapsed. Snatching my karambit off the passenger seat, I jumped out and approached the animal blocking my way. There was a cacophony of noise: arrows whooshing, knives and swords hissing, growls, roars, howls, and groans. Ignoring the sounds, I focused on the dingo lying on its side. Blood pooled around the arrow protruding from its flank. He struggled to lift his head. A whimper escaped him before he dropped back to the ground. He had the desire to move but not the ability. He made several attempts to roll to his feet, collapsing with each effort.
“I’ll have to remove the arrow,” I said, keeping my voice soft and reassuring. The arrow had to be silver. Bullets, arrows, knives all worked to weaken and prevent healing if they penetrated the skin. Anything else would hurt but wouldn’t weaken them like this.
“Count of three, okay?”
Another rough whimper escaped.
Counting aloud, I yanked hard and pulled it out. To my surprise, he made a soft noise of pain. Instead of reverting to human, he stayed in animal form, exhausted from trying to heal with silver imbedded in him.
When I came to my feet, so did he, aggressively growling at me. He snapped at me and I jumped back just in time to keep my arm from being chomped.
“Stop!” I growled, putting the same command into it that I heard in Asher, but it didn’t have the same effect. Not even a pause. He lunged. The blade of my karambit went into the dingo’s side. He howled in pain but stayed on his feet.
The dingo lunged again, knocking me to the ground. I hammered hard into his nose with my free hand, thrashing with full force until he retreated. I rolled into a crouch, adrenaline not enough to stave off the pain. I ached. Gripping my karambit tighter, I backed away, waiting for him to attack again.
This time he tackled me to the ground and sank his teeth into my arm. Pain shot through me. Trails of blood ran down my arm. Tears blurred my eyes. The dingo loosened his grip only to bite down with a better grip. Side-bending, I angled my body to get a better aim at my target, the Achilles, then slashed into his left side. The dingo collapsed lopsided and howled in pain. I delivered the same treatment to the right side, forcing him down on his hind legs. Only then did he release his hold on my arm. He’d be helpless for a few minutes until it healed.
I took that time to look for the arrow I had pulled out of him. My heart ached at what I had to do. The dingo was a victim too.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shoving the arrow back into him. He wouldn’t heal until the silver was no longer in contact. My simple apology wouldn’t absolve me of the guilt that ached just as much as my arm.
I’d learned it was better not to look at an injury during a job because everything always looked worse covered in fresh blood. Resisting the urge to peek, I pushed aside the long-held misconception that a shifter bite changed you into one during the full moon. The falsehood continued to exist despite being disproven. Even statements by the Wolf and Lion packs hadn’t worked to dispel it among certain groups of people who were determined to see shifters as more menacing than they were. During a press conference, a particularly cantankerous reporter with ties to anti-supernatural organizations asked about it again and Asher suggested biting him to let him find out for himself.
I opened the trunk of my car, slipped on my holster, grabbed my Ruger, and changed out the magazine, loading it with the more expensive silver bullets. I’d shoot to injure, not to kill, but the idea still left a dank taste in my mouth.
“You’ll pay for this,” I made a promise to Ian as I shrugged on a vest outfitted with places to stash four silver blades, push knives, three shuriken—made of silver, of course—and another magazine. I sheathed a knife to my right leg and an iron knife to my left and ran for the royal couple’s home.
I got quick glances of the uniformed guards: white prince–styled tunics with silver embroidery decorating the necks and edges of the quarter-length sleeves. Simple midnight slacks. The royals may be pretentious in their own dress and mannerisms, but their guards were functional.
I only saw twelve of the usual twenty. I had thought twenty was far more than was needed, but apparently I was wrong. Nine animals: three wolves, a panther, a lynx. Lying on the ground with arrows sticking out of them were another wolf, a coyote, and I couldn’t make out the others.
The royals had to be protected, and with Ian around there wasn’t anything I could do to help the shifters.
I scanned the sky for Ian and caught a glimpse of his midnight wings as bronze and copper spiraled together and crashed into its target in a tree. A body fell. I quickened my pace to get to them, arrows whizzing past me in Ian’s direction. They missed him. Ian retaliated by sending a hellstorm of magic toward the coppice of trees where the arrows came from. A fae guard fell from it.
The wolves changed direction, teeth bared, eyes thirsty for violence. Before the fae could lift his hand to evoke defensive magic, one wolf bit into his arm, dragging him forward. Another was about to pounce from behind. The fae likely wouldn’t survive. Quickening my pace, I shot the wolf mid-pounce. He dropped to the ground with a thud. A second shot grazed the other and he continued to bite and claw at the fae. It took two shots to stop him.
Advancing closer, I could see they were both still breathing.
The lynx and panther were waiting for an opening into the home, one I knew they would never get. They weren’t an immedi
ate threat and I was confident from scanning the surrounding area that there was a guard prepared with a silver arrow or magic to stop them if they did. I holstered my gun.
I needed to get to Ian. An unconscious man can’t do magic, and I wanted to beat him into that condition.
As I continued to search the sky for him, he spotted me. Soaring upward, he darted over the trees at a speed that made it difficult to track him. Whipping around at the sound of footfalls behind me, I slashed the karambit in his direction. Shock covered Ian’s face as he looked down at the knife that had missed him by a fraction of an inch. He flitted away, but not before I was able to get one shot off, into his leg. Rage hotter than any fire burned on his face. I waited for the opportunity to do it again.
“The emissary,” he ground out with contempt. His midnight wings drank up the light and would have been considered glorious, an image of beauty, if they weren’t attached to the likes of Ian.
A coil of magic twined around his fingers and I leapt out of the way just as he lobbed it at me. The next one came faster, throwing me off balance and crashing me to the ground. I kept rolling, missing each bolt as they slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and grass from the power of their impact.
I scrambled to my knees, grabbing my gun and shooting at him rapid fire. Pain blurred my vision. I squeezed off two more shots that missed him by a large margin.
He soared even higher, so high that I couldn’t make out his expression, but the tension in his body told me he was angry. His movements weren’t the relaxed winnowing of before. He stayed in my line of sight, probably seething with self-righteous anger. Good, because I had my own and I enjoyed the company.
While his attention was focused on me, a similar coil of magic flew at him from one of the fae on my right. It knocked him back several feet but not out of the air. I needed him grounded.
Ian was strategic and fast in flight, with the precision of an eagle. Like a bullet, he flew out of sight. Gun trained on the sky, I waited.
When I came to my feet, I was surrounded by ten guards, some holding bows and arrows, magic skating across the fingers of the others.
For several minutes we scanned the sky, looking for the menacing winged fae. Nothing. They retreated but I remained, waiting for one more chance to ground him.
Finally giving up, I took in the violence-wrecked area. Blood stained the grass, broken ceramics littered the ground, injured shifters and fae were trying to ease their wounds. Fae weren’t able to do healing spells, but they healed fast if they weren’t bound by iron.
“Can someone please call Asher and Sherrie?” I instructed, but no one moved until Neri came outside. He took in the damage, the injured shifters and guards, his face becoming flushed with barely contained rage.
“Her instructions are to be followed,” he said simply, frowning at something on the ground. It looked like a note. A card. A bloodstained card.
I began giving instructions. “Call Asher, tell him to bring their physician. There are two shifters who were shot with silver bullets that will have to be removed. Any shifters with arrows in them, remove them.”
Then I made my way to my car to help the dingo. Violence wasn’t a problem for me, and if a person was irreparably damaged or injured when attacking me, I had no sympathy to give. But I wouldn’t have been attacked if it weren’t for Ian. This felt worse.
After my third apology, the fourth probably sounded hollow to the dingo’s ears. My consolatory words were probably worse. I pulled out the arrow and positioned his feet to allow the Achilles to heal in the correct position. Moving out of his way, I sat back awestruck by the speed of the healing. Minutes later, a slender man stood before me. I covered him with a blanket from my car.
“Asher will be here soon,” I told him. Asher wasn’t his Alpha, but just the mention of his name seemed to relax the man.
The bloodstained card lay on the middle of the coffee table taunting us with its threat: Last Warning.
The blood on it was a reminder that more would be shed if Neri and Adalia didn’t abdicate. Their faces showed their restrained rage and dismay. Asher was right: A person like Ian wouldn’t just stop with his coup here. This would be just the beginning.
Asher scowled as he dragged his gaze from Neri to Adalia.
Ian’s approach to taking over the court would lead to more bloodshed. Each denizen had their own way of getting power. The Master of the vampires usually controlled the family. When they no longer wanted a public presence, they appointed a representative. Most recently that was Landon, who had been sired by the city’s Master, so it was only fitting that he would take on that role.
Shifter rule was based on dominance. It was to submission now rather than death, but the Alpha was always the strongest of the pack.
Witch covens and mage consortiums both had smaller units and were often headed by the strongest and most knowledgeable. The transition of power was often seamless. It was more of a communal relationship.
The fae were the most democratic of them all. They petitioned for their position and leadership was determined by the fae and chosen every half century. Adalia and Neri were strong, but they weren’t the strongest fae in the area.
“Have you found anything that can stop him?” Neri inquired. Telling him nothing had changed since we spoke yesterday would only make things worse and invoke hostility I didn’t need.
“No. I’ve exhausted my sources for finding the Xios and Conparco Shield.”
He didn’t hide his disinterest at the mention of the latter.
Asher’s dark expression mirrored Sherrie’s as they approached, their clothing bloodstained.
“It’s time for you to abdicate,” Asher announced. The galvanized edge to his voice didn’t invite a debate although Neri and Adalia were rearing up for one.
His steadfast demeanor didn’t falter even with both Neri and Adalia giving him varying looks of reproach. Neri’s throat bobbed as he swallowed his intended words. The tightened muscles of his face and neck made his narrow features look gaunt. Adalia eased her frown, making a valiant effort at a smile, but her eyes held displeasure at Asher’s proposal.
“You know very well you never reward behavior such as this with placation. If that’s your answer, then why don’t you submit to him so your wolves won’t be forced into compliance but do it willingly?” Neri said.
“Is that what you want, for me to align my pack with him to take your position? Right now, I don’t see too much of a difference. I’ve lost two people today in a fight that we didn’t ask to be part of—”
“We, too have sustained loss and—”
“We don’t care,” Sherrie pronounced, looking past them as if looking directly at them would prevent her controlling her emotions. “Step down, appease him, and give us a chance to find a way to either send him back, subdue him, or at the very least contain him.” Before either of the royals could speak, she added, “This isn’t up for debate. Do it or he won’t have to worry about you stepping down.”
She directed her withering scowl in my direction, turned on her heels, and left. I wasn’t sure if that was the way Asher felt too, but he left with her.
Negotiations between denizens was my least favorite thing to do. I didn’t have the temperament for it, and suggesting a time-out never went over as the lighthearted suggestion it was intended to be. Before Asher and Sherrie could make it to their cars, I called out to Asher. He didn’t immediately respond. The glower from earlier had eased but not by much. He advanced toward me and stopped, looking at my ripped sleeve and mangled arm.
“You’re injured.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
“Lie.”
Yeah, we both knew I was lying. A dingo chomped on my arm. Of course it hurt as bad as it looked. I wanted to ask if anyone had died from a bullet wound but I couldn’t. That extra burden wouldn’t help. Pressing my lips into a tight line, I suppressed the question.
“One died from injuries from an arrow, another from the
injuries sustained from a silver bullet,” he offered in an even voice, as if he knew what I wanted to ask.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I might have confessed then, because there wasn’t any way to hide my guilt and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Playing over and over in my mind was the moment when I shot. Could I have handled things differently?
The silence between us spoke volumes. Asher gave me a small, mirthless, forced smile and went to his car.
Thirty minutes with Neri and Adalia and I was sure even if I spent thirty hours it wouldn’t be enough to convince them to concede their position to Ian. I wasn’t one hundred percent confident that they should. I left, not answering their pressing question of whether I thought Sherrie would follow through.
I knew the answer and they did, too.
CHAPTER 15
I’d quickly accepted that the set expression on Cory’s face wasn’t going to ease. I widened my tight-lipped smile, hoping he’d mirror it. Or at least relax the rictus. His thumb ran absently over my magically healed arm. Cory’s touch was light enough not to be painful, but it was a reminder of the event.
“It can be done,” I said. “Asher has already confirmed it with Elizabeth. She was going to use a Conparco Shield to prevent the shifters from being changed by binding his pack to him, allowing them to benefit from the strength of the Alpha. Then she could bind a shifter to another shifter, making them immune to magic.”
The idea had come to me during my drive home. It wouldn’t solve the problem of getting Ian back to the Veil, but it would take away his ability to use shifters as his army. Beat a person from the Veil by using magic from the Veil. I was surprised when Asher answered my call. More surprising was how reluctant he was to me doing it. I had expected the hesitation and debate from Cory but not Asher.
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