by Ciana Stone
“Okay.” She withdrew her hand. “Then shift and speak to me in your mind. If I can’t hear you, then you win.”
“Win what?”
“What do you want?”
“You. The way you are now.”
The way her eyes changed told him that she was willing; in fact, it turned her on. That in itself was incentive enough to try the transformation. He composed an image in his mind and then closed his eyes.
He’d grown accustomed to the pangs of shifting, but those sensations were nothing compared to the pain that now wracked his body. He clenched his teeth, stifling a groan. It felt like his body was enlarging, bones lengthening and thickening, and there was a sensation on his skin that he had no words to describe.
He could feel appendages form on his back, new bones and tendons taking shape out of the original. It was excruciating and exhilarating.
Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, all discomfort vanished. He opened his eyes and saw Ily watching him, looking up at him. “You are…magnificent.”
She ran both hands up over his chest and shoulders and then down his arms.
“Do I look like a Scythe?”
She smiled up at him. “There are no male Scythes.”
“None?”
“None.” Her hands moved back up his arms and then down his body with her eyes following the path of her hands. “This is…” She looked up at him. Sexy as hell.
He heard her in his mind and responded mentally. Aww, I bet you say that to all the guys who shift into dragons for you.
You lose.
That knocked him back into verbal mode. “Damn and I had my heart set on making love to a Scythe in full warrior mode.”
“Well, what’s stopping you?”
Just as he reached for her, she sensed it. “Umbra,” she growled as she executed a slow pivot, her body tensing for battle as her gaze scanned their surroundings.
“You sure?” John Luke asked from behind her.
That’s when she saw them. Half a dozen men stepped from the shadows of the trees, forming a circle around them. “I am.”
“Then what do we do?”
Ily turned to him with a grin on her face. “Kick some ass.”
The grin John Luke shot her was as cocky as she’d ever seen. A second later, the men rushed toward them. One reached John Luke ahead of the others, and she had time to see him pound the guy twice in the gut, then bend him in half with an elbow to the throat. One quick fist to the head and the guy was sprawled on the ground.
She didn’t wait for the others to reach them. Instead, she charged.
Maybe it was the sight of a Scythian warrior, wings outspread and eyes aglow with battle fever, or maybe it was the speed of her attack, but whatever it was, the two men closest looked very much as if they were facing down an actual dragon.
One raised a hand, displaying a pulsing ball of fire on his palm while the other hurled what looked like a bolt of light in her direction. But both were too slow. Ily used every ounce of her considerable frame and clotheslined the pair with her outstretched arms.
Both hit the ground, but one bounded to his feet, slinging a bolt of acid in her direction. She curved one wing around her, letting it act as a shield and then grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off his feet.
“Die, you bitch,” he gasped just before black, oily smoke boiled from him.
So, that’s what it looks like. She’d been told about the dark energy of the Umbra and how it sought to violate a victim and take over. She’d received instructions on how to deal with it, but this was the first time she’d actually faced it.
Her training kicked in, and she pounded the man down on the ground, her hand still locked around his throat. She held him pinned and opened her mouth. The smoke poured in, thick and cloying, but she took it, felt its malevolence, and swallowed the entirety of it.
Fire shot through her, every cell igniting with pain as the Darkness sought to overtake her. Ily roared, stood, and heaved the limp form of the man from her. She turned in a circle, bellowing her defiance.
John Luke dispatched another of the attackers. Now there were but two still standing, and they were backing away, watching Ily. So did John Luke. When he saw her take in that stream of black smoke, he started toward her but stopped when she rose and turned around.
Her eyes were a color of blue he’d never seen, so clear they appeared like blue ice lit from within. Her hands were clenched into fists and every muscle in her body was tensed.
She roared, and he’d never heard such a sound. It was a sound of anger and defiance and pain, all balled up into something that had nothing human within it. She suddenly fell silent and dropped to a crouch with her head lowered.
Her body shook, and her wings raised, trembling. John Luke didn’t know what to do except roar at the last of their attackers when it looked like he would make a move on Ily. The man turned and ran, and John Luke’s attention returned to Ily.
She suddenly bounded to her feet; her arms stretched out wide as her body bowed backward. Her mouth opened and light poured from it, a stream of blue light that was nearly blinding. Straight into the sky it shot, disappearing into the blue well of the firmament.
Ily sagged, and John Luke rushed to catch her. He held her, gently lowering to the ground with her in his arms. Light exploded above, and they both looked up to see what appeared to be millions of sparks of light that danced and swirled for nearly a minute before coalescing into a ball that then shot off across the sky and vanished.
A sound had them both bolting to their feet. The remaining attackers were helping one another, limping and hobbling as fast as they could to make their escape. “Should we go after them?” John Luke asked.
“No. I got what I needed.”
“You know who sent them?”
“I do. Someone named Payne.”
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“Nor have I, but I’m hoping Severin or one of the other leaders has.”
“Then I suppose we should get back so you can get in touch with them.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
He turned in the direction of the Jeep, but she reached out to stop him. “But an hour won’t make a difference.”
“No?”
“No, at least not in that. But it could make all the difference to us.”
“Oh?” He traced one finger along the side of her face. “How so?”
“I told you, there aren’t any male Scythes. But I’ve always fantasized about mating with one.”
“You mean, meeting?”
“No, I mean mating.”
His hand slid to her neck and tightened. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle in this form, Ily.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
John Luke felt something rise inside him, something primitive and untamed, something that didn’t operate on reason and logic. And something who, right now, could only focus on the one thought that dominated his mind.
Claiming his mate.
Chapter Twelve
Ily got out of the rental car and looked around. She couldn’t imagine King Michael actually living in this place.
The house was old and according to John Luke, constructed in a style used extensively in the forties in Florida. It was a flat-roofed affair, low and squat, the color of green chalk.
The yard was primarily sand with stiff tufts of dry grass, big prickly bushes, and squatted gnarled trees, heavy with moss.
“Are you sure this is the place?” She turned to look at Lucan.
“These are the GPS coordinates we were given, so, yes.” He walked to the front door and placed his hand on the knob. A moment later, he turned the handle and opened the door.
Ily looked over at John Luke, who gestured for her to precede him, so she followed Lucan inside.
There was little furniture in the front room—an old recliner with an equally old wooden table-lamp combo sitting beside it. Across the room, an old console television set ha
d a smaller television sitting on top of it.
But the greatest shock was the paintings. Stacks of them, three and four deep, lined the perimeter of the room. The walls were cluttered with them, many hung unevenly.
And every one was of the same subject, a magnificent white horse with a long, flowing mane and tail. There were more paintings in two of the small bedrooms. Only one of the bedrooms contained furniture, and the kitchen boasted a table with two rickety chairs and appliances that belonged in a time long past.
The only thing of interest was on the top of the small kitchen table and the moment her eyes fell upon the table, she called out for the others. “In here.”
John Luke and Lucan entered the room and she gestured toward the table. “Look.”
On it was a piece of paper, dusty and a bit discolored. It was held down by a small box that looked as if it had been carved from onyx or some other dark stone. Its top bore an intricate engraved design along with the letter W.
The paper was a letter. Lucan eased it from beneath the box and read it aloud.
Elena,
I don’t suppose you’re much interested in anything I have to say. I can’t say that I blame you. But if you’re reading this then I’m dead and it’s time you heard a few things from me.
First, I’m sorry. I was wrong to walk out on you. When I lost your mom, well I guess I lost the best part of myself. And I guess the person who got hurt the most is you. You didn’t have a daddy when you needed one. I know you had grannie and I know she loved you with all her heart.
But that doesn’t have anything to do with why you’re reading this letter. I bought this place in Florida and I know the land doesn’t look like much to people from other places, like the Carolinas with all those rolling hills and tall hardwoods, but it’s far more special that it looks. It’s one of a kind.
There is something special here, something important. I was the keeper and did all I could do to preserve what needed to be preserved and to protect what needed to be protected.
Now it belongs to you and I hope it brings you peace and happiness. I’m sorry I was a lousy dad. I hope this helps make up for it.
Yours truly,
Your father, Mike Whitehorse
“That sounds nothing like the King,” Ily commented.
“But might have sounded like this Elena’s dad,” John Luke said and then elaborated when Ily gave him a doubtful look. “Think about it. If he raised a child here, hid her here, he would have behaved like any other human—and that means speaking or writing like one.”
“He makes an excellent point,” Lucan agreed and placed the letter on the table. There was an addressed envelope on the table, along with a scroll that appeared to be quite old.
Lucan carefully unrolled the scroll and read what was on it. “Fac apel la magie, la competențele de lumină. Risipi întunericul care fura ochii noștri. Restabili magia, aduce înapoi dreptul nostru, astfel încât încă o datăthe fae poate dansa noaptea. Sub soarele, sub luna, în pădureși curent, da înapoi comuna. Te sun acum să auzi motiv meu. Așa cum am vrea, deci Mote fi.”
“I know that.” Ily exclaimed. “I heard it when King Michael made the crossing. Before I lost my memory. I remember thinking it made no sense.”
“What does it mean?” John Luke asked.
“’I call upon magic, upon the powers of light. Dispel the darkness that steals our sight. Restore the magic; bring back our might, so that once more the Fae may dance by night. Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, in forest and stream, give back commune. As daughter of king and the child of mage, I call you now to hear my plea. As I wish, so mote it be.’”
“Why doesn’t it make sense?”
Ily looked at Lucan before answering. “Because at the time I didn’t know about his daughter. Now I understand. This is an enchantment for her. So she can reopen a Portal.”
“Yes,” Lucan agreed. “And I suspect whatever is contained within this box and those paintings also have significance.”
“And the letter,” John Luke added. “If she doesn’t get that letter she’ll never come here.”
“Which leaves us where?” Ily asked.
“Perhaps the enchanted ink work on your arm can reveal a clue?” Lucan asked.
“Yes!” Ily agreed. “Can you decipher it?”
“I believe so. Severin gave me the charm to make it visible.” He took her by the wrist and turned it so the forearm was facing up. As he chanted the words to the charm, he ran his free hand over her skin.
The tattoo appeared and he quickly read it. “’A teardrop in water, housed in a stone, amplifying the energy to encourage her on. Bury it shallow, but bury it sure, let the shine and the glimmer act like a lure. And once it is opened, let the path then be shown, let the steps then taken help lead her home.’”
“A riddle?” John Luke asked. “I hate riddles.”
“I’m not a big fan either,” Ily agreed and looked at Lucan. “Any ideas?”
“I think—“
They all turned at the same time, a split second before the knock sounded on the door.
“Now what?” Ily asked.
“I think I can handle this.” John Luke said and headed for the front door.
She and Lucan remained in the kitchen and remained silent, listening to what was going on in the front room.
“Hey there,” John Luke said when he opened the door.
“Afternoon.” The tall man greeted him. “Name’s Cam Marsh. My sister-in law said she noticed a car turning in so I said I’d stop home on my way home and check it out. We’ve been keeping an eye on the place since Mr. Whitehorse left.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff?” John Luke had noticed the badge clipped to Cam’s belt. “John Luke Legacy. I’m here to check on the property for Mr. Whitehorse’s family.”
“I didn’t know he had a family. And hold on. Legacy? I’ve heard that name before.”
“Maybe my father? He’s a senator from Texas.”
Cam nodded. “Could be. So, Michael has kids?”
“A daughter,” John Luke said, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line.
“Everything okay then?”
“Far as I can tell. Thanks for keeping an eye on the place.”
“It’s what neighbors do. My brother and I own the spread next door. When do you think Mike will be coming home?”
“I couldn’t say. That’s why I’m here. To make sure everything’s buttoned down and secure.”
“Okay then, I’ll get outta your hair and let you get to it. Nice to meet you, Mr. Legacy.”
“And you,” John Luke replied. He waited, watching out of the front window until he saw Cam’s truck pull away and then called out, “Okay, coast is clear.”
Ily and Lucan entered the front room. “You don’t think he will call the police or anything, do you?” Ily asked.
“From the looks of it, he is the police. But I don’t think we should spend any more time here than necessary so…”
“So, I think I know what to do.” She smiled.
“Okay, what?”
“Well, the first thing is we need to arrange all of these paintings by the date they were painted.”
“Say what?”
“Just help me. I’ll explain as we go along.”
John Luke looked at Lucan. “You know what she has planned?”
“I have no clue. But King Michael trusted her, so I will as well.”
John Luke shrugged. “Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound, let’s get to work.”
Ily grinned and started with the front wall, trying to make note of the dates and rearranging them in order. “Oh, this isn’t going to work,” she said after only a minute. “We need a better system.”
“I believe I can help with that,” Lucan said. “Call out the date of each painting.”
She frowned, but called out the first date. To her and John Luke’s surprise, Lucan wiggled his fingers at the painting and glowing letters appeared on it with the date.
“Okay, now we’re cooking with gas.” John Luke commented. “I’ll bring in the paintings from the other rooms.”
“Thanks,” Ily said and then called out another date. She hoped this plan would work because, like Lucan, she believed that Michael had not only trusted her, but had entrusted her with this task.
It saddened her to think about it because to have put the enchanted ink on her arm meant that he’d had foreknowledge of what was to come. And that meant he might well have known about this own demise and wanted to ensure that his child found her way home.
She shoved aside the grief and focused on what she needed to do to make sure that his wish was carried out and Elena Whitehorse not only found this place, but found what her father had left to her and was able to use it to open the Portal.
It suddenly dawned on her that once the enchantment was lifted from the Portal, she would be able to phase. She would be able to return home.
At that moment, John Luke entered the room with an armload of paintings, and it occurred to her that she had no desire to go home. Her heart belonged here. With John Luke.
Chapter Thirteen
Asha hurled the cell phone with all her might. It narrowly missed Farouk’s head as he entered the room via the french doors that led from the patio.
“Peevish, my queen?”
“Careful, Daemon, or I’ll rip out your heart and feast on it.” She looked away, slumping in her chair like a petulant child who has not gotten her way.
Farouk shrugged as if her threat carried no weight, masking the trepidation her words carried. Asha was not a woman to be trifled with and definitely not when she was angry.
“What can I do?” He took a seat adjacent to hers.
“Kill that fucking Scythian bitch and every goddamn Legacy on this planet.”
“Today?”
She cut him a look that would have withered most men, but not Farouk. She might intimidate him at times, terrify him at others, but through it all, he realized one vital fact. She needed him.
Asha played a dangerous game. On the surface, she was the benevolent immortal, Queen of the Vampires, and illustrious leader of all the Clans of The Seven. She dined with dignitaries, discussed economic and cultural plans with heads of government, and made deals with industries around the world, all ostensibly for the purpose of bringing human and Fae together.
