His injuries were … extensive.
“Merde,” I cursed, and then I sunk so deeply into him that I forgot I had a voice, a body. I became the magic, curling into my brother's body like mist rolling over the bayou. All the places he was injured burned like bright flames in the distance, beckoning me.
When I'd healed Ciarah that first night, I'd seen a lot.
There were twice as many now. Three times.
Starting in the worst place—Arlo's mutilated genitals—I healed him, funneling my magic into his body and realizing that I did so that I didn't have enough to save him. Not without giving something else up.
Damn it, Arlo, I snarled inside my own head, knowing what I was going to have to do.
The Veil Keeper had just returned, something my people had been waiting on for hundreds of years. At the tender age—at least for a fae—of thirty-five, I perhaps didn't understand all of their elation or what treasures waiting on the opposite side of the Veil, but I knew I was witnessing a monumental occasion, something that would live on in legend for centuries or even millennia to come.
And I wasn't going to get to see it.
Gathering up ever ounce of power I had, I thrust it into Arlo's body and heard him gasp ... just before my own heart seized violently in my chest and my breathing stopped.
“You fucking idiot!” Arlo was screaming as I tilted to one side, and he caught me just before I plunged off the edge of the crypt to the cemetery ground. “What have you done?!”
You'd have done the same for me, I thought as my eyes slid closed and I felt my spirit disconnecting from my body with a sharp rending, like I was tumbling over the edge of a cliff. As the Veil Keeper was literally the keeper of all faerie souls, I found myself drawn right to her.
As soon as Ciarah judged my soul, if she found me worthy, I'd be reborn into the body of another fae, all my memories wiped clean. There was some comfort in that, knowing that perhaps I'd get to see Ciarah's rise to power in another form.
But there was nothing I could do but accept my fate, my consciousness whipped through the air by forces much greater than my own power.
A sea of ghostly faces surrounded Le Gardien as she fought with Mebdh, a faerie queen I recognized from the stories of older fae. She was known as the False Queen, taking kingdoms without rulers and making them her own.
It seemed she'd also tried to take over the Veil Keeper's rule.
She was pisse-froid—literally piss-cold.
My spirit came to rest in a horde around the Veil Keeper's, blocked from reaching her by Medbh's magic.
“We need to help,” I said, and several of the other ghostly faces turned toward me.
I could talk.
I could move.
The others could see and hear me.
For all intents and purposes, I found myself in the form of a … ghost? A lost spirit?
Whatever I was, I wasn't corporal and I couldn't touch.
Ciarah and Medbh rolled right through me, as if I weren't there. Turning to follow their tussle, I saw blood, a knife sticking out of the Veil Keeper's shoulder as she locked her hand around the False Queen's throat and picked her to the cemetery ground.
“Killian!” she called out, lifting her hand up and becoming me forward. “Come to me!”
Moving forward, I reached out a hand … and found Ciarah's fingers curling around my own. She yanked me forward and inside of her. Not the way I'd enjoyed being inside of her before, but … my spirit melted with her body and ice crackled at her fingertips.
Medbh threw us off and into the side of a crypt, agonizing pain shooting through Ciarah's body. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to heal her. Instead, I felt her draw from me, pulling ice magic out to throw at the fae woman in her stolen witch body.
The other spirits surrounded us, putting their hand's on the Veil Keeper's body, sending power and magic surging through her.
The Veil Keeper rose to her feet with me as a passenger and took off at Medbh, channeling all of her borrowed magic into one blow. She hit the woman with a surprising amount of force, sending the witch's body tumbling into a sea of shadows and wolves as Raphael's pack fought for the upper hand.
I supposed he would have to tell Le Gardien about our strange history together.
Goddess knew I wasn't going to get a chance.
I relaxed into Ciarah's control, the magic that was a part of my very soul traveling from my spirit and into hers. She hit Medbh with one more burst of magic and froze her in place, shackling her to the ground amidst all the fighting. Ciarah then lunged forward and fell to her knees next to the struggling witch, pulling the knife from her shoulder and shoving it into the woman's throat.
A short, brutal time later and her head was separated from her shoulders.
A swirl of power came from the woman's neck, twisting in the air like a snake before it solidified into the shape of a woman.
“Veil Keeper, your time is past. New order reigns in Faerie. Accept that and stay here, rule with your remaining lords over humanity. You could be gods this side of the veil.”
“We are gods both sides of the Veil,” Ciarah yelled out, in a voice that was a mix of both mine and hers. With a wave of her hand, she sent the spirits around us away.
None of them came to her, so I knew they'd been sent for rebirth.
“I can restore your Lord of Winter if you enter into a fae's bargain with me,” the spirit of Medbh announced, but Ciarah was done and with another wave of her hand, the woman shimmered … and disappeared.
But where the other souls had been quickly judged and sent along, Medbh's 'spirit' was simply a trick of light and magic. The woman herself—body and soul—were safely locked on the other side of the Veil, beyond our reach.
As soon as she disappeared though, the shadows went with her.
“Your spear, Veil Keeper,” Rafe said, naked and dripping blood. He handed the weapon over and watched as Ciarah took it in shaking hands. She was so badly injured, it was killing me to know I had to leave her.
I could feel her holding me in place, using her body to keep my soul on earth.
But I couldn't stay here.
The longer I sat there, the less I seemed to remember. Memories leapt away from my fingers, as slippery as the frogs in the bayou that Reece used to catch as a child. It was time for me to go, whether or not Ciarah wanted to release me.
I need to go, Cher, I started, but she was shaking her head.
No, Killian, she growled, turning and bounding up the ice steps I'd left next to the crypt.
But even if she wanted me to stay, I didn't have much choice.
Once my spirit started to fade, she'd have no choice but to judge me and send me on my way.
Goodbye, le Gardien, I said, and then I forced myself out of her body … and away.
“Killian!” I screamed, reaching out for his spirit at the same moment I slammed my fist onto the chest of his comatose form, restarting his heart with a burst of power that seemed to travel from the Spear of Lug, into me, and then out of my fingertips.
My other hand literally grabbed his soul and jerked it back, shoving it into his body as he choked and gasped and struggled against my grip. I couldn't blame him—a spirit's natural desire was to move on. He was simply trying to follow the natural order of things.
But I was the Veil Keeper, and I was all about bending the natural order to my whim.
Mine.
The word echoed in my head as Killian rolled to his side and pushed up to his knees, chocking and coughing, his skin rippling as he dug his nails into the cement roof of the crypt.
“How?” he gasped out as I dug my fingers into his hair, leaning close to his the top of his head. I didn't care about the blood or whatever the rancid black goo was that covered him.
“I have the power to judge souls,” I said as he lifted his blue eyes to mine. “I also have the power to put them back where they belong. You gave all your magic to Arlo to save him—your body wasn't damaged, just
too empty of power to keep your soul tethered. All I had to do was give a little bit back.”
“A little bit,” Killian choked out, exhaling with a shudder. “I feel like I could move mountains, mon cher.”
“Thank da gods,” Reece said, moving over to kneel beside me and Killian. “We for sure knew you'd be able to fight your way outta dis one, you. But Kill? He's as much proof as your miracle magic as anything I ever need to see.”
Arlo, Rafe, Fionn, Dougall, and several of the other officers crowded around us.
“Those were your captors,” Arlo grumbled—it wasn't a question.
“They were,” I whispered, memories gnawing at the back of my mind, worse horrors that I hadn't yet uncovered on my own. But the Spear of Lug knew. It held some of the memories I needed in order to take control of the Veil again. “But they …”
My voice trailed off as I stood up and glanced down at all the bodies littering the ground. Some were mine, the fae of the Wild Hunt. The others were human, innocents dragged into this mess by the creatures of darkness, monsters I had no name for.
Heading down the steps, my Lords trailed behind me, Arlo supporting Killian's weak form. Raphael, Amelie, and Marcel followed after with my officers trailing behind. I made my way over to my mom's body and knelt down, fingers shaking as I reached out and brushed her hair from her forehead.
What an awful, awful trick, the type of cruelty that doesn't require knives or claws, blood or pain or bodies. Cruelty that kicks the heart, that rends the soul.
Leaning forward, I press a kiss to my mother's waxy forehead.
I don't know if she ever loved me, or if I even love her now … but … now I’ll never get a chance to figure her out or talk to her or see what became of her after I died.
“Their ultimate act of cruelty,” I said, closing her glassy eyes and glancing back at the sea of bodies behind me. We needed to clean this mess up and get out of here before any humans stumbled onto us. Not that we couldn't handle—just that I didn't want to.
I didn't want to hurt innocent people.
“We'll get da Veil Keeper back to da clubhouse,” Reece started as I exhaled and stood up. “And the boys'll take good care of your Mama for ya, no?”
“You're not the president yet, boy,” Fionn said, standing nearby with his officers surrounding him. I heard Reece growl something under this breath about bullshit club business, but I didn't get to see the rest of the argument because a sharp, hot pain exploded from my fingers up my arm.
Glancing down, I realized the Spear of Lug was glowing.
And it was white-fucking-hot.
I tried to drop it, but my fingers were locked, like an electrical impulse keeping my muscles clamped tight. I opened my mouth to ask for help, and then, when the pain ratcheted up, to scream.
The glow from the spear exploded outward, like a bomb going off, killing my vision and blinding me at the same time. Flames rushed across my skin, convincing my mind that I was, in fact, being burned alive.
I fell to my knees, thrashing with the spear still clutched in my hands, feeling my body melt away in the raging flames of magic. It tore through my mind, seared my flesh, invaded my muscles. It was the worst physical pain I'd ever felt in my life, far worse than anything the shadows had ever done to me.
It made me want to die.
That wasn't exactly a thought I was unfamiliar with. Many times over my years in torture I'd wanted to die. Many times I'd felt cheated that the previous death had done anything but give me peace. And I wanted that, a new life, no
memories ...
But now Ciarah O'Rourke was being given a second chance, a new life, an opportunity to make things better.
I wasn't about to lose that chance.
Flicking my eyes open, I use every ounce of strength and power I have left to drop the spear. As soon as I do, the pain stops and I'm left lying on the ground with my breath coming in frantic, wild bursts.
Pushing myself up, I glance around ...
And find that I'm not in the cemetery anymore.
No, based on the lavender color of the sky, the strange trees with vibrant striped fruit ... and the faerie with skin the color of shadows and neon pink irises ... I had a feeling I wasn't even in the same realm.
The man in front of me knelt down and flashed me a smile with two sharp canines.
“Welcome to Faerie, Veil Keeper.”
Pack Obsidian Gold - The Seven Mates of Zara Wolf by C.M. Stunich
The Tiger's Ambush - The Kit Davenport Series by Tate James
Allison's Adventures in Underland by C.M. Stunich
Flip the page for an excerpt of chapter one.
CHAPTER ONE
Down the Fucking Rabbit-Hole
A book.
That's what starts it all, the bloodshed and the violence, the romance and the sex.
A goddamn book.
“Are you seriously reading right now?” my younger sister, Lorna, asks as she stands next to me in a silver dress covered in sequins. Her hair is twisted into a bun and secured to the side of her head with about a hundred bobby pins. The design looks like a snail shell to me, but I decide not to say anything.
I close the book in my hands—some whimsical fantasy of a life I'll never lead—and watch her eyes latch onto the cover.
“You're reading for fun?” she asks, bending down and snatching the book from my hands before I get a chance to grab it back. I knew I should've brought my Kindle outside instead. At least then she wouldn't have seen the werewolves on the front cover. “This whole thing?”
“Sorry it doesn't have any pictures in it,” I joke as I rise to my feet and give her a smirking grin in response. “I know that's the only type of book you can read.”
Lorna rolls her eyes and swipes at her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Whatever, it's hot as hell out here and we have a party to get to. Come on.”
I roll my eyes right back as soon as she turns around, and take the daisy chain out of my own hair, tossing it onto Lorna's perfectly coiffed head without her noticing.
“This is a big deal tonight, so try not to screw it up for me,” she says as I cross my arms over my chest and follow her from the backyard, past the pond and my father's prized koi fish, and into the house.
“How could I possibly ruin a high school party? Isn't the whole point to screw up?”
“Seriously, Allison?” she says, yanking the sliding glass door open and stepping inside. She kicks her flats off near the door and heads for the stairs, probably to put on a pair of heels that would most certainly break my neck if I put them on. “And no tennis shoes!” she shouts down, just before slamming her bedroom door and making the whole house shake.
“Shit.” I run my fingers through the ratted, tangled strands of my hair, all mussed up from lying in the grass and reading all afternoon. “And you think this is gonna impress Brandon?” I whisper under my breath.
Grudgingly, I pound up the stairs and kick open the door to my room, digging around in the clean clothes pile on the floor (I'm not big on folding stuff and putting it away) until I find a fresh pair of jeans and a plain white tank.
“Is that what you plan on wearing?” Lorna asks, leaning against the edge of the doorframe and looking down at me from under a pair of false eyelashes. “Jeans and a t-shirt?”
“It's a tank top, Lor,” I say as I stand up and tear my grass stained tee over my head, trading it out for the new one. “It looks good on me,” I blurt, defending myself before she can say anything mean. With Lorna, it's always best to stay on the offensive.
“You're into Brandon, right?” she says coyly. I cross my arms over my chest and stare her down. The bitch sneaks into my room and reads my journal; I have no secrets. I don't even bother trying to hide them anymore. “That chess geek or whatever?”
“Fuck you,” I tell her, pushing past to get to the bathroom before she does.
Lorna chases after me and shoves her way in anyway.
“I've go
t a dress for you,” she tells me, sucking her lower lip under her teeth and smearing lipstick everywhere.
“I don't fit into your dresses, Lor,” I chastise, pulling out a box of tampons and waving them at her. “Can I please get some peace to put one of these in?”
“Not until you agree to try it on,” she says, heeling the bathroom door shut behind her.
As soon as she does, I see it hanging there on the back of the door.
Shit.
“What is that effing monstrosity?” I ask, pointing at the blue and white thing dangling from the hook. “I'm not wearing that.”
“Oh my God, Allison, give me a break. When's the last time you wore a dress?”
“Three years ago when Aunt Margaret passed away; Mom made me.”
“You're eighteen years old for crap's sake. Just try it on. If you hate it, I won't make you wear it.”
“I hate it now. How will putting it on change that?”
Lorna stares me down and then glances over at the mirror, adjusting the daisy chain so that it sits even prettier atop her perfect white-blonde hair. I have the same hair, but I always put a few colored steaks on the side. Today, I've got a miniature rainbow woven in.
“I bought this with my own, hard-earned money and …”
“Fine.”
I reach over and snatch the dress from the hook, giving it another once-over. To say it's not my style would be an understatement. The skirt is too short and the color …
“I hate blue,” I groan as I take my top off and drop the dress over my head. It slides into place like it was made for me. Crap.
“Turn around,” Lorna tells me, making me spin so she can zip it up and tie the white bow in the back. As soon as she knots it, I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I'm wearing this, aren't I?” I ask miserably, staring at the brightly colored fish on the shower curtain. I can feel my sister grinning maniacally behind me though.
“Oh, yes,” she tells me, purring in my ear as I swat her away, “yes, you are. Don't you want to get laid sometime, Sonny?” I wrinkle my nose because I hate the nickname Sonny, but Lorna knows it and if I reveal my cards … it'll only make her say it more.
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