Crave The Night by Michele Hauf, Sharon Ashwood, Lori Devoti & Patti O'Shea

by Michele Hauf

  Magic rushed through her like bubbles through champagne. Borrowed magic, sacrificed by her two sisters for a year and a day because Lila had forfeited her own long before.

  The bubbles in the water began to multiply and seethe, taking on new colors and forming into hills and trees. The scene grew larger as more and more of the water drained into the image. The trees stretched and grew, rising high above Lila as the vision filled the pool to the very edges, floating above the rim. The deep glow of spellcraft shimmered around it, like a nimbus of starlight. Lila leaned closer to the scene, her throat aching when she recognized the familiar landscape of home. Like a camera coming into focus, every blade of grass grew clear as she watched.

  People began to emerge from the shady grottoes, clad in the dark, rich shades of bark and loam. They had the same slender height, the same pale hair as Lila. Each was a face she knew and held dear. These were the light fey, going about their nightly rounds before settling down to sleep.

  Two little boys chased a moth, tripping over their feet and each other in the game. She could hear their piping voices in her mind. Her sister Arabelle’s sons, the eldest only four. The sight of them filled her with longing and amusement.

  Lila waved a hand, turning the scene to see different parts of the forest. The fey dwellings were vibrantly painted, every surface a rainbow of colors. It was happiness that gave their magic-built houses their brilliant hues, and none were white like Lila’s hilltop prison. There was the great meeting hall, a few young people dancing on the lawn before it, one of them playing a flute made of bone. Wherever there were fey, there was always music. Silence was a rare thing when there was someone to play, and someone to listen.

  She turned the vision again. Ah, there was her father, standing outside his home and watching the stars. He did that for a few moments every night, with two or three of his students waiting patiently nearby. Though the king, her father was also a teacher of history and fey lore. He hadn’t understood why Lila wanted to wander the bustling cities. For him, everything one could ever want was in their private forest home. And yet, he had made it possible because he loved her, even if she walked a different path.

  So Lila had given up her magic for twelve years so that she could explore the human world. That had got her an education, an apartment, and everything else a young woman could desire. Most of all, it gave her a chance to find out who she was without spells and enchantments.

  It also meant she was powerless when she needed her fey heritage the most. The twelve years weren’t up when Masterson came on the scene ready to destroy their tribe. Lila knew the ways of human cunning and was the best equipped do battle, but she had no magic. Her sisters had come to her rescue, giving her their strength for the year and a day of the vow—and their battle for survival.

  Lila wasn’t sure she would have had their courage. Arabelle had left her little sons behind so that Lila could fight for their future.

  They are all counting on me. Lila pressed her face into her hands. That is why I must do this. If I don’t, they will be destroyed. There will be no forest, no fey, no family.

  But it was so difficult. It wasn’t as if she could zap Masterson with a spell. Magic couldn’t change a person’s essential nature. Change an evil man into a bug, and he would strip the leaves from every tree in the forest. Change him into a leaf, and he would carry the blight that poisons the land. Kill him, and his evil would simply be free to find another host.

  But she had come up with a plan. A perfect one.

  One that now depended on her wits and one stubborn werewolf. It suddenly seemed too fragile.

  Lila stared at the image of her home, wishing she could walk into it, back to the secure happiness of her childhood.

  The only thing missing from the conjured vision was the shadow that would end it all.

  “Who’s there?” Rafe demanded of the darkness.

  A low, chittering laugh was the only response, followed by footsteps that sounded like claws on stone. Rafe backed away from the bars, sitting on the end of his narrow bed. It had been like that since Lila left, hours ago. Rustling wings. Whispers in a tongue he’d never heard before. Scents he’d never encountered anywhere. No doubt Lila’s invisible servants were standing guard, and the two gargoyles were only part of the crew.

  So what was with the creepy-assed help, anyway?

  Lila was one scary babe, even though she was beautiful beyond any woman he’d ever seen. Still, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was in trouble. He’d seen her tears, smelled the subtle change in her body chemistry that said she was afraid. When he’d touched her, she’d jerked away like a frightened bird. Her tough exterior was about as sturdy as an eggshell. For all her powers, she was terrified of Masterson. Why?

  He was certain that answer was key to everything, and he had to discover it. If he could solve her problem, maybe she’d stop being his.

  Something walked by his cell, footsteps shuffling like a giant sloth in mule slippers. A few seconds after that, he heard the buzz of dragonfly wings. What the hell are those things?

  Rafe lay back on the bed, but every muscle was tensed into a hard knot. The strangeness of the situation reminded him of the desert patrols, never sure what creatures the enemy had stalking the night. The Wolves hadn’t been the only non-humans who’d joined the war.

  As the Alpha heir, he’d gone into the army because he knew sooner or later he’d have to look after the Pack. It was the best way to see the world and sow a few wild oats before bowing to the weight of a leader’s responsibility. It also eased the inevitable tension between the Alpha and the Alpha-in-waiting. He loved his dad, but Wolf Creek was a little small for the both of them.

  Rafe rubbed fatigue from his eyes, pain dragging at his limbs as he moved. Werewolves healed fast, but the gargoyle-inflicted bruises still hurt.

  The Desert Wolves had been an eye-opener for Rafe. There hadn’t been as much carefree oat-sowing as he’d planned. He’d led a lot of patrols and learned what being in charge—an Alpha—meant. He was responsible for every life in his care.

  Those lessons had stuck. Now the Pack’s future was on the line. He had to step up.

  And that came back to Lila. He and Darak had already established they couldn’t outmaneuver her with brute force, but maybe he could beat her through subtler means. Time to take his own advice and slather on the honey.

  He’d have to keep it real. There was no way he could out-trick a fey—and to be honest, that wasn’t a game he wanted to play. If Lila was backed into a corner, and he was pretty sure that was the case, the smartest thing he could do was to give her a safe exit.

  Rafe surprised himself by actually falling asleep for an hour or two. When he awakened, his clothes were washed, mended, and folded neatly at the end of the bed. Creepy. He hadn’t heard a thing.

  A breakfast tray sat on the floor, still piping hot. When he lifted the domed lid, he found coffee, eggs, ham, and biscuits dripping with butter. Taking a gamble that it wasn’t poisoned or enchanted, he ate hungrily.

  When he had drunk the last of the coffee, the door to his cell swung open, and he smelled gargoyle. “Come,” said a voice like stones grating together. “You have questions to answer.”

  After a long march through the mansion, the invisible creatures shoved him through the door of a large room with a view from the cliff top. Rafe stared a moment, distracted by the broad expanse of blue sky, before his guards dropped him into one of the side chairs. The touch of scaly claws withdrew. Rafe barely resisted the urge to scrub at the places where those talons had been.

  Lila was sitting at a large, pale gray desk that would have looked more at home in an office building. Today she was wearing a sleeveless black dress that made her hair and skin look nearly white. The surface was clean but for a laptop computer, a lamp, and a telephone. He searched in vain for a picture or a plant, but there was nothing personal anywhere in the room. If Lila vanished, there would be no clue that she had ever existed. Maybe
that was the point.

  After a moment of typing, she closed the laptop and folded her hands on the dull surface of the desk. He noticed a thin, jagged scar on the inside of one bare arm, pink against the subtle blue of her veins. A knife wound. It made him curious.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  “You sound like my old girlfriend.”

  That earned him a slight lift of her brows. “I need to understand why the Pack won’t bend, even to save their most respected members.”

  “I answered that.”

  “Your answer was insufficient.”

  Rafe let the silence stretch a beat, weighing how much he should say. How much might she use against them? “Do you have children?”

  She balked, as if reluctant to give away anything about herself. “No. My sisters do.”

  Rafe thought he heard stirring from one of the invisible gargoyles, but then silence resumed. He hated talking when he had no idea who—or what—was in the room. “Then you know there’s nothing a family won’t do for the future of their kids.”

  The lids slowly lowered over her intense green gaze, shutting him out. One hand travelled to the scar on her arm. “I understand.”

  “And if you touch one of our pups I will personally end you.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his face. “Touch one of the . . . ?” There was anger, even offence, in her expression, but it slowly faded to her usual impassive expression. “Then I need to know how to win, because I don’t dare lose.”

  The harsh statement didn’t measure up to her shock of the moment before. She was talking tough, but she was no threat to a child. Good to know. “Losing well is no dishonor.”

  “It’s not about honor anymore.”

  “Then what is this about?”

  The conversation stalled until Rafe itched to leap up and pace the room. He could sense her struggle, but if he was going to figure her out, he had to let things unfold at her pace.

  At last she sighed, leaning forward until the lush fall of pale hair hid her face. “I made a bargain. A vow. That’s all you need to know.”

  “A blood oath.”

  She looked up sharply. “How did you know that?”

  “Your scar. I wouldn’t think the blood necessary for a magic user. Vows spoken in the presence of a fey, and all that.”

  “A blood oath is stronger.” She put her hand over the scar, hiding it. “It’s only used for the most important promises. I wanted to make a point.”

  Rafe watched her, wondering what it was she wanted to conceal. “That takes guts. Shedding your own blood takes more courage than people think.”

  “That depends on what’s at stake.” Her voice was low and husky, almost a dare.

  “How much are you going to lose? Because you will lose. Wolves are stubborn.”

  She gave a low laugh that was surprisingly frank. “This negotiation is more complicated than you may think.”

  “I think the kidnapping and brainwashing is a pretty good clue how far you’re willing to go.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Is that how you see my little parlor tricks?”

  “Parlor tricks.” He swore under his breath, and she flinched. “You meant it as far more than that. You intend coercion.”

  “You use teeth and claws. My powers serve the same function. Survival.”

  “It’s not the same. Not at all.”

  “Glamor is a standard fey tactic. We have to show our strength, and if we do it right, it’s no worse than a hypnotist making a person do the chicken dance. Embarrassing, but harmless.”

  “I doubt your victims would consider it harmless.”

  “Do you apologize to your prey?”

  Rafe stewed a moment. “Are we your prey? Is that why you’re tearing an entire town up by its roots?”

  “Don’t cry to me about that,” she shot back. “At least your people will survive.”

  “And yours won’t? Is that what’s at stake?”

  She gave him a hard look, but said nothing. Apparently, he’d hit the truth. She’d taken a blood oath to protect her people. He felt a sneaking respect for her, predator to predator. Under the right circumstances, he would do the same thing to protect his Pack.

  Enlightening, but now he could almost see her retreating behind the thick walls of her reserve. This wasn’t getting him answers.

  “Why are your gargoyles invisible now?” he asked, deliberately changing directions.

  “Huh?” She blinked, and then looked uncomfortably around the room. “Um. They prefer it that way.”

  “I’ve never heard of sensitive gargoyles.”

  Rafe heard rustling again. He’d posed the question to unsettle her, but he was truly curious. He leaned in from his side of the desk, closing the distance between them. “They usually revel in their ability to frighten the enemy. Why are these so different?”

  “Don’t.” To Rafe’s surprise, she put a hand over his. “Please, don’t. I can’t answer that question.”

  Adrenaline jolted through him at her touch. Her fingers were cold, slight tremors coursing through them. She was afraid? Disturbed? Certainly shaken enough to break with her tough-girl stance.

  Unexpectedly, it moved him. “Why not?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Of course not. Fey don’t give straight answers. Playing to the moment, he put his other hand over hers, warming it. “What about the other servants? Are they also invisible because they’re shy?”

  “Yes. No. You’re holding my hand, Mr. Devries.”

  “So I noticed.”

  She closed her eyes, as if refusing to look at him. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Is it pleasant?”

  “That’s immaterial.”

  He released her, sitting back in the chair. She suddenly felt too far away. Get serious. She’s a psycho fairy. “So what’s the deal with the staff?”

  “They came with me. They built this house.”

  “They’re your people? All of them?” Rafe glanced around the deceptively empty room. “Wherever they are.”

  “They are light fey, like me, but we are a confederation of many sub-species. Not that it’s any concern of yours.” She leaned back in her turn, folding her arms. “Given the option, we’ll hide ourselves rather than interact with others.”

  “Why so unsociable?”

  For a moment, her face softened, as if she were dropping her guard a fraction. “Maybe it would be easier if you understood.”

  “Probably,” he said dryly.

  She gave him an annoyed look. “We don’t use magic, we are magic. Just like your friend said, if a vow is spoken in our presence, it becomes true. That’s a dangerous state of affairs unless one takes precautions. Humans never could follow the rules. Just read their so-called fairy tales. Promises, vows, enchantments, gold pieces turning into dried leaves, princes turning into frogs—it was pure chaos, and we always took the blame. So we hid for safety in the wild places. If we have to be near other species, invisibility acts like a dampening field. Far fewer accidental spells take hold.”

  Rafe felt like he’d been handed a puzzle piece, but wasn’t sure if it was from the right jigsaw. “Must be getting harder, with so few uninhabited places to run to.”

  “These mountains are one of our last refuges.”

  Did that mean Lila was from these parts? “But you seem perfectly comfortable as a corporate type. How does that work?” “A few of the younger generation pursued an education. I admit that even with precautions there is risk involved, but we’re not as eager to hide away. We find the modern world exciting.” It was the first substantial thing she’d said about herself.

  She rested her hands again on the desk, near his but not touching. His fingers itched to brush against her fine, smooth skin, but knew it would be a mistake just when she’d decided to start talking. As with coaxing a wild animal, haste was his enemy.

  He adopted his shooting-the-breeze voice. “Yeah, well, the wolves went through the same thing.
The rural Packs like ours were the last to resist human contact. We gave in.”

  “Did it cause a rift among your people? Those that wanted to keep to themselves, others who did not?” It sounded like she really wanted to know.

  “Oh, sure,” Rafe answered, realizing that they’d found tenuous common ground. “But once we got cable TV, the naysayers shut up. There’s no such thing as a werewolf who can resist the World Series.”

  To his utter surprise, she laughed. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and it changed everything. He’d found a way to win her confidence.

  Chapter Five

  “What kind of place did you grow up in?” he asked her hours later.

  They had done nothing but sit there and talk, at first about the wolves. It was all inconsequential things. Grandma Reed’s wild berry pie and rose hip cordial. The old drive-in movie theater down in Blainesville. The calf that got its head stuck through the gate. His young nephew Ben’s antics. He had spread himself out like a photo album, leafing through the pages of his childhood and pointing out the events and characters at a leisurely pace. As he rambled on, he could almost smell the sun-washed earth of a Wolf Creek summer afternoon.

  Clearly fascinated, Lila listened to every word. She leaned forward on the desk, her chin cupped in her hands, her green eyes searching his face for every nuance of expression. This, then, was what fey liked, what they absorbed like meat and drink—stories. It didn’t seem to matter much what they were about.

  That suited Rafe fine. He’d always been able to spin a good tale, and if that was what moved Lila from fighting him to trusting him a little, he’d talk until he turned blue. But turnabout was fair play. Now it was her turn to share something.

  “I grew up in the forest.” She looked down, playing with a pen. It was the one small item on her bald, featureless desk. “We don’t form a village, exactly, but scatter—sometimes with big distances between our homes. We do that so we don’t have to cut down the trees. The only thing we ever built of stone was the great hall where we all meet at the quarters of the year. Those are times of celebration.”