“Why do ye ask?”
How would she say this without sounding paranoid or worse, offensive? The same way she always did. Straight to the point. It usually worked out. “Because if we’re at the cusp of another war, I want to know if the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
He paused a beat but she caught the tick of a smile and humor cross his expression. “Fair enough.”
“Well?” she pushed when his attention drifted to the brightening sky beyond the window. Shoulder braced against the wall, he scraped a hand down his face and she noticed the deep-set lines that marred the corners of his eyes as if the weight of the world rested on him alone. “I grew up in a family like any other. I had sisters and brothers. A mother and a father that loved me and taught me what a dragon shifter needed to know to survive in the seventeenth century.”
She knew he was old, but that put him in the times of the war. Sadness dulled the fire in his eyes when he spoke of his family.
“Family?”
“Aye, lassie. I grew up with a sword in my hand and a family at my back. It was a different time back then.”
As he spoke of the past his brogue grew deeper, more pronounced.
Obsidian entered the room, strode over to the desk opposite her and perched on an empty corner. Facing her, he continued, “Until greed and power became something to kill over fer two hundred years I never had a real use fer using a blade.”
“Is that what happened to your family?”
He nodded. “Aye. The war took ’em. Nearly took me.”
She mentally ran the numbers. That made him a little over four hundred years old. Did he have a family? Children? “Who was the other man with you last night?”
“My brother. He doesn’t...” Obsidian looked as though he was chewing on a few words that could fit before settling on one. “He prefers nae getting involved.”
She cocked a brow but kept silent with her observations. She still needed answers and didn’t want to scare off the guy who had them. “You knew my father.” A statement not a question. He’d already said as much.
Another nod. “I’m indebted to the man that saved my life. Without his healing magick I would have died alongside my family two hundred years ago. And now I am indebted to the family of that man.”
“Wait. Maybe you mean an ancestor. My father was older than most with a daughter my age, but he wasn’t hitting triple digits.”
“Marabelle, how much do ye know of yer father and family history?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Yer family line. Did you ever grow curious as to why yer father was kept close to the Royal court while not being a Royal?”
Now that he mentioned it, she thought he held favor as a powerful warlock and healer.
“Yer father was of the Draeonian blood line.” He drew out carefully as if measuring her reaction to the news.
“You mean it’s more than a language?”
“Where do ye think the language came from?”
“I don’t know, honestly.”
“The Draeonians were the first humans that learned the powers of the ley lines. Some warlocks learned to harness the powers of the magick. Others learned the powers of the animals.”
“Okay, so you’re saying we all had the same beginning?” Her brows pinched together as she digested what that meant. “I sense there’s a bigger story there than what you’re telling.”
Obsidian gave his tried and true single nod and flat stare.
“This room holds the true history of our beginnings as an otherworldly. True to man’s nature nae matter the skin or race, dominance over the other forced the species apart. The Draeonians carried on through the centuries unnoticed by most and thought to have died out. While not the most powerful of otherworldlies, they could foresee the future and telepathically communicate with any shifter in whatever form.”
She forced down a swallow. “So... Wait! My father, the man that I grew up with and zapped with more than a few ill-casted spells, was a Draeonian?” She couldn’t believe it. No way.
“Aye. There ye go. He was part Draeonian and part dragon, which gave him powers the High Council could not ignore.”
“How is it I never knew any of this?” She never shifted, turned scaly or sprouted wings. What. The. Fuck!
“Ye father swore me to secrecy and it’s the last secret ye’re High Council wanted to get out.” Obsidian drew his blade and twirled the handle over in his hand as though all of this was old news. Well, for him it was. Centuries old, in fact. With shaky fingers she knotted her hair up, letting the information percolate in her brain. Coffee. She needed coffee, or a stiff drink. Both would make all the bitterness go down.
“And, my dear, why we suspect ye’re father was killed.” An older gentleman joined them with Lucian and Zane bringing up the rear. Immediately their gazes zeroed in on her and all the crazy banging around inside her head calmed. Thank the goddesses, because she really needed them right now.
Marabelle stood as the man reached a hand out to clasp hers. Rough and callused, he reminded her of her father. He stood a good two inches taller than her father, shoulders straight with no other sign of his age beyond the softly creased skin around his eyes. He had the same bright green eyes and warm smile her father had, made for putting a person at ease. And also with a whiff of herbs surrounding him that spoke of hours spent with spell making. Interesting.
“And also, my dear, why we fear ye’re powers were taken. Hopefully we’re in time to put a stop to all the schemin’ and lies before it’s too late.”
If ever there were a loaded statement... She looked between all the men standing in a semicircle around her with her mates standing the closest.
Hades on fire. The world had just gotten a whole lot more complicated. With everything they’d gone through till now, at least she knew her men were there for her. That made it a little less scary.
“I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, am I?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Obsidian bowed his head and waited beside her. She could see the respect the man held for the older man. “I’m Marabelle.” Cautiously, she offered her hand in greeting. How did one go about meeting the Scottish elder of an extinct race of dragon shifters, anyway? She didn’t want to do anything that could land them in the dungeon, if this place even had one.
A warm hand engulfed hers. “Aye. Aye, lassie. I knew ye when ye were a babe just born. I’m Malevrick Langaurd. Winter Languard, actually. The Elder of the Order.” More royalty. Marabelle gulped and forced a nervous smile. “And ye’re uncle.”
What? She blinked several times and worked her mouth in a way that probably made her look a little off her broomstick. She had family beside her mother? Real family not just coven sisters? Did she have cousins and aunts?
Cherry drops, chocolate mints...
A soft chuckle in her head mellowed her rampant thoughts. “I see ye’re mother has had a heavy influence on ye. Calm yerself, Marabelle. We’ll have time to talk at length later.”
She looked at her men who appeared—amused. Yeah, okay. Not nervous at all.
A rich voice carried over the room. “Old man,” he drew out his words with an accent a shade heavier than his brother’s but not as deep as her uncle’s. Interesting. With long strides the man who had assisted Obsidian in her rescue last night stepped through the door and clapped Obsidian on the back. With one glance they exchanged some kind of information before he continued in a tone she found smooth yet rough around the edges. Any woman he picked to use it on would succumb to every cheesy pickup line he uttered. She’d bet her best cauldron on it. “The Order is a dead society and holds nae more power than a river rock does holdin’ back water.”
Her uncle gave a tired sigh as if this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the argument. Releasing her hand, he held her gaze a few seconds longer. “Yet here we stand, youngling.” he called over his shoulder. “Forgive Razer. He forgets his place as a warrior and nae the Elder.”<
br />
Lucian and Zane stood sentential at her side, quiet supporters as she took in the massive load of new information.
“Are you okay, baby girl?” Zane’s words came across like the dragons did inside her head. She gathered their hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Ask me in a few hours.”
Her uncle turned to Obsidian. “Now that we’re all gathered here, tell us what you found.”
Her ears perked up.
“Before finding ye in the state ye were, we visited ye’re sister, Harmony. The seer helped us gather some Intel and find out how our blood got in the hands of some humans recently.”
She wondered about that but lacked the time to investigate. The pieces were falling into place one by one. Obsidian and Razer pegged her with look that said BUSTED in big fat letters.
“As requested she tried to find the who behind the thievery. Her information was limited to a human girl and a Warlock with,” he threw up air quotes, “‘vile intents with dark magick.’ As far as the Order is concerned, this is an act of war.”
“A bit drastic, no?” Swords, armor, magickal warfare.
War was a real son-of-a-bitch.
“Nae after tonight.” Her eyes narrowed on her uncle, trying to read his body language, but the finality in his tone brooked no hesitation.
“Look, what happened tonight, or last night...” Her hours were all screwed up. “... was my fault. I stole something from them and they wanted it back.”
“Have ye ever wondered why they took ye’re magick, my girl?
Only a thousand times before noon, especially after what Obsidian told her.
“Ye threw a huge arse boulder in their way, Marabelle. Now they may nae stick to the shadows for their dirty work,” Obsidian continued. Hearing the crass word fall from an ancient dragon’s mouth gave her pause. Roll with the times, she guessed.
“You have an idea of their next move?” Lucian spoke up as Zane wrapped a warm, protective arm around her midriff.
Her uncle gave a disgusted grunt. “The night before ye’re father died, he contacted me with a warning of betrayal within our ranks.” Her uncle clasped his hands and gave a brief pause, the pain of his loss evident in the deeply etched creases that marred his weathered face. “He’d witnessed something within the palace of the Council that had him worried enough to break the laws of the government he’d sworn to protect in order to keep the peace fer his loved ones. We were to meet the next mornin’.”
“Instead, he was found dead of an apparent suicide,” Lucian added, the puzzle pieces clicking together for him as well. “Within the months of his funeral you were stripped of your powers under the pretense of breaking the law. I believe they were looking for a window and found it.” Lucian’s tone took on a lethal edge.
“What could I have possibly done to the Council that would make them fear me? I’m a healer like he was.”
Zane’s fingers wound tight into the loose material of her sweater. “It should have been us protecting you then and now.” He turned her to face him. “Please forgive us.” Jaw tense and his muscles strained, shame shadowed the depth of his gaze as it flowed between their new connection as mates.
“No.” She bit out the word with a healthy dose of force. “No, Zane. Neither you nor Lucian should feel sorry or remorse. I got myself into this. Besides, you both have a job and your pack depends on you. What kind of person would that make me if I took you away from women and children that count on you? So, no, don’t go there.”
“What did we ever do to earn such loyalty?” Lucian’s words dropped an octave and she felt the tug of humility in his words.
“Love me. That’s all I needed or want,” she whispered to them. No doubt all the preternatural beings in the room could overhear anyway. Too bad for them.
Razer stepped forward and leaned their way. “If I c’n break up the tender Hallmark moment, I’d like to get back to the inevitable apocalypse we’re plannin’ here.”
A chuckle caught in her throat and her heart doubled for her newfound friends. Even if they were a little doom and gloom.
All heads turned to Razer. “Back at ye’re home in the woods there was a stench surrounding the area, one of magick and of shifter. How is it that the werewolf had magick?”
About that. Lucian had said it wasn’t them running around her property. She stiffened with alarm, all humor dropped. “What do you mean a stench?”
“What we didn’t get around to talking about back in the room before you slipped away.” Lucian tipped his head up and nodded at Razer. “The scent he’s talking about belongs to a killer we thought dead for a year now. Either the High Council is dabbling in necromancy or the feral shifter we buried really wasn’t dead. You tell me which is more plausible.”
“I think a little of both,” Razer added as he produced a file to his elder. “There’s black magick at work here and I’m convinced our blood is being used to do the conjurin’. Somehow several vials are missing from our laboratories. This report is proof. If we c’n track down the person with the sticky fingers—”
“You’ll be closer to the answers we need,” Marabelle finished.
“Precisely, lassie.” She arched a brow and watched as her uncle flipped the jacket of the file over as Razer continued. “Those are possible suspects we’ve narrowed down on our recon missions.”
A man that looked as if he preferred the woods to four walls and a good shower stared back at them. Filthy clothes and shaggy matted hair couldn’t hide the dead look in his yellow eyes or the fact that she recognized the crooked nose and high cheekbones.
Lucian peered over her shoulder and grabbed the picture from her hands with a curse. “It just doesn’t seem fucking possible. Excuse the French, but we buried that shifter, warlock... whatever the hell he is.”
“We believe he is the one that was at ye’re home, Marabelle.”
She straightened. “You’re saying a murdering shifter is at the High Council’s beck and call? If we can identify the warlock’s identifying scent then we’ll know who is behind the murders.”
“Aye, that’s what we’re thinking, too, with only one problem.” Obsidian confirmed and pushed up from where he held down the large oak desk and crossed his arms over a broad chest.
Of course. How could she miss the obvious? “When a spell is performed by a gathering of witches or warlocks, the magick becomes untraceable.” She finished for him.
He nodded with a grim expression. “And he’s also the one we believe killed yer father.”
Her eyes widened. “What?” Her world zeroed in on his next words. Her men straightened and shifted slightly in front of her. Knowingly or not, they went into protective alpha mode at the mention of the killer hitting close to home. “How do you know?”
“When the DraegonStones found my brother, they discovered something else. A scent of feral wolf.”
“Something one doesn’t easily forget,” Lucian confirmed.
“The same scent we found outside the cabin hidden beneath a layer of magick. And we scented inside with you.”
Rolling with the gut punches, she sucked it up and forced her back ramrod straight. Chills flushed her skin and her heart dropped to the floor like a cement block. “Inside?” she repeated, trying to swallow the new dose of information.
Lucian eased her with a hand on hers. “We can confirm as much, babe. At the time we had a choice to make, you or hunt him down. For us the answer was simple.”
Zane narrowed his eyes on Razer who seemed to have the most answers. “Why didn’t he kill her?” Good question.
One of Obsidian’s brows climbed high. “We believe he thought she was already dead.”
“And how does the Council link to this? Why would they want to kill anyone?” That was the biggest question she struggled to connect. If they couldn’t prove the Council was behind this, then none of it mattered. Her father’s death would go unpunished and that sat heavier on her than the injustice delivered to her by the douche bags.
“A working theory. Two years ago was their trial run with the mass serial killings. Now they’re ready to play ball and get their real agenda on the game table. They slipped up tonight when they sent him after ye at the palace. On our trip back to the Hollow we retraced yer steps and they led us to an old servant’s passage. Guess whose scent we picked up?”
That’s explained the wet dog she smelled. Her uncle turned the folder around and pointed to an image of the same man in the exact spot she’d parked her getaway ride. He stood like a soldier waiting for orders. Completely mindless. “It’s him.” Her father’s killer wanted her dead last night and he would’ve succeeded too if not... Ice ran deep into her veins and the world drifted off to muffled voices as the men continued. If she hadn’t shot back her potion she’d be dead. Irony at its best. She could have died and it didn’t bother her.
The fact he got away made her see red. Marabelle’s heart hammered in anger. Eyes blurred and her fingers bunched into fists. Now she knew the direction she needed to go. Last night took a turn not even her psychic sister would have predicted, but going back wasn’t an option. She’d need help though.
“What do they want with me? I’ve never done anything to put me on their radar unless you count a love spell. I’d like to think even they like to get laid every once in a while.”
Everyone in the room grew still as she spoke over the men except her uncle. Boisterous laughing filled the space and cut the tension choking the room in half. “Maybe if they did, the past would be left where it belonged and everyone else could live in peace, my dear.” He spoke aloud so everyone could hear.
Okay, so maybe that sounded better in her head, and how many times did you get a chance at making an elder blush? Hades on fire, why couldn’t everyone just get along?
She raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Now that I have my powers and I can speak to dragons... what does that spell for me?”
“Their biggest fear, my niece, is what lies inside ye. What I suspect was dormant before ye drank our blood is now activating.”
Charming the Alphas (Hex My Heart, #5) Page 9
