by Kresley Cole
“Since telephones were invented, Munro has never no’ returned my calls. I worry.” In a gruffer tone, he said, “Feels strange to be apart from him again.”
She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be separated from one’s twin, wondering if he was safe and well. “Let’s give it to the end of the day. If no one at the compound has seen him, then we’ll return to Louisiana.”
He lowered his sword. “You’d miss the fair with your family?”
“Munro’s my family too,” she said, making MacRieve’s brows draw tight with feeling. “Why don’t you go try him again? I’ll chill for a bit.”
He nodded. “Doona leave the immediate grounds, no?” After giving her a sweet kiss, he jogged off.
Alone, she strolled through the courtyard, treading upon cobblestones where countless MacRieves had walked, long before Will was born.
God, this place was so beautiful. Over these four days, he’d drilled into her head that this was her home. “Conall belongs to you as much as to me. You’re Chloe MacRieve, lady of this keep.” She could invite whomever she wanted, could decorate it however she chose.
She wouldn’t touch a thing, already found it perfect. Finally, she lived in a home with character. No McMansion here!
She and MacRieve had even talked about reviving the area, bringing in more sheep, inviting clan members to resettle in the old village of Conall.
As she walked, she ran her fingertips along the cool stone wall. She could feel the history here, and it grounded her. No longer did she feel like her world had been upended. She’d landed on her feet.
Here. With MacRieve.
Maybe the lads could come and stay for the summer? She missed them. But then, she might be seeing them directly. She’d meant what she’d said earlier: she and MacRieve would be on a plane tonight if he didn’t hear from his brother—
“Chlo . . .”
She whirled around at the strange voice. Standing not ten feet from her was the same towering, cloaked demon that had been in her father’s study.
“You!” She raised her sword. “What do you want from me?” She didn’t expect a real answer; last time, it’d barely been able to speak.
It surprised her by saying, “You don’t recognize me?” Its words were still rough, though much clearer than before. It stepped closer.
Recalling this creature’s strength, she choked up on her sword. “Should I?” Chloe was first and foremost a fighter. But she wasn’t above calling on her ally. She drew a breath to scream a heads-up for MacRieve—
The creature pulled its hood past its horns.
Her scream died on her lips. Her sword hand went limp, the blade clattering to the ground. “Dad?” It was him, but he’d been altered.
When she’d seen him before, he’d been obscured in shadow; now every feature was sharp in glaring daylight.
He had unnaturally pale and flawless skin, ageless. Tapered fangs had replaced his teeth. Matte-black horns rose from his head like an old-timey devil drawing. His irises were so dark, they brought to mind the bottom of an abyss.
Yet he was arresting, with the air all Loreans seemed to possess. “Dad? Wh-what happened to you?” She rushed up to him, tentatively touching his face. “You were the one in our house? Why didn’t you talk to me?”
With a claw-tipped hand, he brushed a curl of hair from her face. “I was trying to ask if you were still mortal, but I’d only recently been transformed. I’ve had to relearn how to speak, how to move, how to think.”
“Transformed into what? You need to explain this before I freak the hell out.” And before MacRieve scents you. She lowered her hand, reminded of what her dad had done to the male she loved. “Start spilling.”
A hint of Dad’s old smile rose. “I see you haven’t changed—even with your own transformation.”
She bit out, “Talk.”
He inclined his head. “I was being hunted by one of the most fearsome vampires in the Lore, Lothaire the Enemy of Old. I knew sooner or later he would find my hideout. But I was prepared. Just before he drained me to death, I popped a capsule full of blended immortal blood. Though he did kill me, I was resurrected.”
“As what?”
“The blood contained a mix of several creatures. My powers will be endless, once they’ve all manifested.”
She crossed to the courtyard’s low wall, sinking down on it. “Why didn’t you warn me about the Lore and what I might be? Why didn’t you tell me about the Order?”
“I thought I could keep you separate from all this. God, I wanted that! Your life was uncomplicated, so focused. I never wanted to take that away from you.”
“You could’ve told me what I was turning into before you left. You gave me zero explanation. Just left me an encyclopedia—of creatures you hated.”
“That night I was . . . dumbfounded.” He sat beside her. “Your blood had tested out as human, again and again for twenty-four years. Even our most advanced arrays picked up nothing.”
“I was so alone, and you just disappeared for weeks,” she said, hating how weak she sounded.
“I forced myself not to contact you, fearing that would put you in Lothaire’s crosshairs—a place you never want to be. Only after I’d turned did I come home for you, but you disappeared that night.”
“Yeah, the witches found me.”
Irritation flickered over his uncanny face. “I was betrayed by a former ally.”
“Wonder what that feels like.”
He reached for her, but she drew back.
“Chlo, please—”
“Did you do all the things I’ve heard? Torturing Loreans, killing them in front of their children?”
He let his hand drop. “I did what any general at war would do to his enemy. I did whatever it took.”
Admitting it so easily? Even . . . proudly? The fears about her dad that she’d barely allowed herself to entertain all came crashing down on her.
“I believed those creatures were subhuman, which meant they needed to be destroyed.”
Though she felt even more stunned, she forced herself to her feet. “And now what? You’ve switched teams? You’re a detrus now.”
“Precisely. We in the Order knew we would need stronger soldiers to defeat immortals. To fight the monsters, we would have to become them. So I headed a project designed to blend Lorean blood for human use. When my death was imminent, I decided to test it on myself.” He scrubbed a palm over one horn. “The transition has been . . . challenging.”
She could tell this. His fangs had cut his lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“With each day that I come into my powers, I’ve recognized that immortals will always prevail. You’ve felt the strength—you must understand that humans have no chance against us.”
“Who the hell is fighting against humans?”
“A war is inevitable, and I’ve been on the wrong side.”
She sensed a growing tension inside him, as if his veneer of calm was fracturing.
“After a lifetime of working to defend humanity, after all the sacrifices I made, I’ve finally comprehended that I was protecting the weak—when I should have been championing the strong!”
“Dad, no! Why does it have to be one or the other?”
He floated to his feet with an eerie fluidity. “It’s become so clear to me.” His abyss eyes gleamed with an unnerving light. “They have to be destroyed!”
“Listen to what you’re saying! Destroy mankind? Don’t be like this, just . . . don’t.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “There are only two people in the world that I love, and now you are both immortal. This is all meant to be!”
She was almost too afraid to ask: “Who’s the other one?”
“Declan Chase, the Blademan. He’s a son to me. I found him when he was just a scared teenager, knew he had Lorean blood in him.” In a fond tone, he said, “I raised him to hate immortals, to battle them, but he saw the light be
fore I did. Now he’s a champion of the Lore. I’ll take you to him. I want you to meet.”
“Why would I ever?”
“With you by my side, he might not kill me on sight.”
When she gazed blankly at him, Dad said, “Before my epiphany, I had his female . . . studied.” A bloody, sheepish grin. “He was violently displeased.”
“You think?” MacRieve too had been studied.
“But that was before I discovered the true path!” He was getting worked up again. He of the stiff upper lip was unraveling. “With your help, we can convince Declan to join us. To start a new Order! My daughter and my son will be my first generals.”
Who are you? “I don’t know what’s scarier—your insane plans or the fact that you think I’ll be on board with them.”
“I will convince you. I must.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, smearing blood all over his chin. “The three of us will lead the charge—to purge the earth of the weak!”
Insane. As she stared at his semi-familiar face, she realized her dad had ceased to be the last night she’d seen him as a man, the night he’d given her the book.
It had been his deathbed gift.
This being was not her father, not Dustin Todd, the devoted dad who’d cheered her pattering around the yard with a miniature soccer ball. Her eyes watered. This was Commander Preston Webb.
My dad’s dead.
“With these new powers, I can usher in a new era,” he said with maniacal fervor. “I’ll have a Lykae’s senses, a vemon’s strength, and a fey’s speed. I’ll be able to harvest nourishment from lightning like a Valkyrie. I already have a vampire’s strengths. I can reap power—and a being’s memories—from blood, but have no aversion to the sun. I can trace over the entire world.”
“You must be very proud,” she bit out, wondering how to get away from him. But first, she had to know one thing. “Did you kill my mother?”
His expression didn’t change, even as he nodded. “I loved Fiore, more than anything. Yet she filled me with doubt, made me question my mission.” In an absent tone, he murmured, “Guarding the monstrous ones was relatively easy. It was far more difficult to guard the innocent-faced ones, the beautiful ones. They called to our sympathy.” He shook his head. “And then she tried to take you from me.”
“Probably because you would’ve killed me if I’d tested out as a Lorean!”
“No! I wasn’t ready to accept the Lore for her—but I was for you. Part of the reason that I chose to take that capsule was because I knew you were going to transition.”
That hyped-up blood. Even with MacRieve’s new strength, he might not be able to match Webb’s. Which meant she needed to get this being out of here before MacRieve returned. “You have to go. Do you understand whose home this is?”
“It belongs to the Lykae from my prison. I drank someone with that knowledge—not to the death, of course; we’re going to need all our numbers.” He grinned with ravaged lips. “How do you think I found you?”
FIFTY-ONE
We vowed no’ to tell you anything.”
“What the hell?” Will snapped, wishing he could throttle Rónan over the phone. “My brother’s missing?”
The boy said, “Munro heard about these warlocks who were turning humans into Lykae and enslaving them.”
Will cursed. There was a reason Lykae never turned humans into their kind. Turned Lykae were violent, unthinking creatures. “The warlocks are called Those Best Forgotten, no?” He was familiar with that sect. Around each Accession, they created armies of Lykae on their home plane of Quondam.
“That’s them! Some real bad dudes. They sacrifice nymphs. Talk about a waste. I mean, what are they thinking—”
“Boy!”
“Right. Anyway, so Munro and Madadh and six others were going to raid the lair and free some new wolves. They had a nymph informant who knew of a limited-time weak spot in the Forgotten’s defenses. It was the night of the full moon, so it should’ve been a snap. Before he left, Munro told me and Ben that you already had more on your plate than you can handle. We were no’ to tell anyone of this—but especially no’ you—unless they didn’t return by today.”
Will had known something was wrong with Munro after there’d been no response to his last message: Munro, I need to speak with you. Where the hell are you? I went to the bluidy Ubus Realm! No shite, can you believe it? Chloe has relatives there. They’ve honor, and they’re strong. Ach, brother, you’ll no’ believe the things I’ve seen and learned. Call me back.
“Then this was a set-up.” To what end? Why risk an eight-Lykae raid?
Rónan said, “Lachlain, Garreth, and Bowen are all meeting here at midnight to organize a full-scale assault. No’ less than a hundred. Happy Accession, you know what I mean?”
“Tell Lachlain and the others that I’ll be there tonight.”
“You bringing Chloe?” Rónan asked.
“If I can help it, she’ll never leave my side.”
“Good man! See you later.”
Will hung up the phone and bellowed, “Lass, we need to leave. Now! Munro’s in a spot!”
No answer.
“Chloe?”
He inhaled for her scent, past the fragrance of the sera tree and the damp of the old stone—
Caught it. Wait, that canna be right. Will smelled myriad beings: Lykae, vampire, demon, even Valkyrie.
He took off in a sprint, barreling headlong for his mate.
Now, beast. Now we earn our keep.
Chloe gave a cry when the double doors to the courtyard blasted open, flying off their hinges.
MacRieve charged out, fangs bared, claws flared. An awing sight.
With a deafening roar, he lunged through the air at Webb. Impact! MacRieve tackled him so hard that the two males crashed over the cobblestones, plowing them like a tiller.
Stone rained in all directions.
Webb might be coming into his strength, but MacRieve was protecting his mate. He pinned Webb, one hand crushing his windpipe, his other hand raised.
Webb dug his claws into MacRieve’s arm, flailing, unable to budge a Lykae’s hold.
Just as MacRieve was about to swipe his glinting black claws through his prey, Chloe cried, “It’s him, MacRieve! It’s . . . Webb.”
MacRieve stayed his hand midstrike. With a hard shake of his head, he began caging his beast before her eyes. Voice rough, he said, “I doona understand this.”
She answered, “He’s turned himself into a mix of creatures.”
“Tell me what you want me to do. It’ll be done.”
He’d said he would give up his quest for retribution against Webb, but to see him shake off his hatred and ferocity like this for her . . .
Chloe’s eyes watered once more. MacRieve was giving her the choice.
Though she’d accepted her dad’s death and knew this wasn’t her father, she didn’t want MacRieve to ever regret killing her “sire.”
“Let him go.”
With a shove, MacRieve released him, then hastened to stand in front of her, shielding her.
Webb rose with that creepy grace, rubbing his throat.
“He’s leaving, for good,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Webb?”
He narrowed his eyes at MacRieve. “Mercy from a Lykae? And after everything I had done to you? I remember you were one of Dixon’s favorites. She loved to talk about your experiments over biscotti and coffee.”
Not my dad, not my dad.
MacRieve tensed even more, but his tone was steady when he said, “Aye. A small price to pay. If no’ for my time in prison, I would no’ have found Chloe.”
She moved beside MacRieve, taking his hand.
“You think you’re good enough for my daughter?” Webb asked.
“I think she’s chosen me. Now, get the fuck off our lands.”
Webb offered his hand to Chloe. “Come with me, daughter. We can start our own kingdom.”
With a growl, MacRieve clutched her closer, pressing h
er against his side.
“I’m staying here,” she said. “Where I belong. And if you ever cared about me at all, you’ll leave and never come back.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, Webb said, “I can trace, Lykae. Do you think you can stop me from snatching her away if I want to?”
“She can stop you, old man. You underestimate your daughter at your peril.”
At that, Webb told her, “I’ll go. But know that you’ll always have me, daughter. I’ll forever be in the shadows watching over you.” He smiled a macabre grin. “In time, you’ll change your mind. It might take a hundred years or two, but you will.”
“You keep to those shadows, Webb,” MacRieve grated. “Emerge from them, and I vow to the Lore I’ll take your goddamned head.”
“Good-bye for now, Chloe,” Webb murmured, just before he vanished into thin air.
Her knees gave out, but MacRieve caught her, pulling her to his chest.
“I’m so sorry, lass. I know how much this must hurt.”
She rubbed her watering eyes. “It does, but I don’t consider that man my dad. That was Webb. Dustin Todd died two months ago.”
“Ach, mo chridhe, please doona cry.”
MacRieve had told her how he’d felt to see her tears, so she tried to stem them. “It’s going to take a while for me to come to terms with this.”
He pressed a kiss against her hair. “I’ll help you. I’ll be there for you.”
“I know you will. But I can sort out my feelings later. Did I hear you yelling that Munro is in trouble?”
“Aye. Can I tell you while you pack a bag?”
When she nodded, he took her elbow to squire her inside.
As she stuffed clothes into her new carry-on, he explained everything Rónan had told him, a tale of warlocks, and raids, and sacrificial nymphs. . . .
He finished by telling her, “Munro was most likely captured.”
“How are you handling this?” she asked. His eyes were golden. No beast raging?
“I’d know if he’d died,” MacRieve said simply. “My beast would be in a howling frenzy for its brother wolf. Which means Munro’s likely in a warlock dungeon, spitting mad. Or . . .”
