Rhapsody (Bound to the Fae Book 3)

by J. Kearston

  And as I focus my attention on Achlys, to see her not panicking despite the shouts outside, just a small bit of confusion, rage like I’ve never known courses through my veins. This hatred...it’s all mine. There isn’t a trace of Lucien’s power caressing my screaming nerve endings. I barely even hear the words coming out of his mouth. I simply rise to my feet and glare down at a queen, noting how small she suddenly seems.

  She sees it too, and there’s a flicker of panic in her dark eyes that she’s unable to conceal. The awareness that she’s grossly miscalculated, that she fucked up beyond repair. She gambled and lost, and all of the riches of the shadow court can’t buy her way out of whatever mess she’s created.

  “What did you do?” My words are cold, devoid of the emotions I can barely contain.

  Her guards flank her as she stands, but even her full height does little to expand her presence. And as soon as I feel that desperate brush of power against my mental shields, frantically searching for a way in, I curl my lips. The phantom tendrils go up in smoke and her eyes widen.

  “What. Did. You. Do?”

  As she swallows, one of her guards steps up behind us and I turn long enough to pin him with a warning glare. Fates help me, if he thinks putting a blade to either of our throats to ensure compliance will end well, I will suck every bit of his life force before he can so much as blink.

  He stills, gaze flicking to his queen for orders. Achlys turns to one of her guards with a silent command and a tilt of her head, tattoos shimmering as she draws on her unknown power. “What I had to in order to ensure the safety of my people.” The guard hastily departs, summoning others as she goes.

  More shouts, and soon, the sound of screams split the air. Another small flash of confusion overtakes the queen’s features, but there’s no mistaking it. She expected something to happen, but not this.

  “Deals with the fae are always a bitch, aren’t they?” I taunt, carefully scanning the room for the best chance of getting out of here without losing an arm. “Got to get that wording juuuuussst right.”

  Her face morphs into one of fury and the guards around her react, advancing on us. But they stop just before attacking, hesitating, because even Achlys’ compulsion can’t completely overrule their survival instincts.

  “You wanted me to protect you, and you thought it would be wise to, what?”

  More screams, more chaos, while we’re trapped in our little bubble. Them, unsure if making a move is the right choice, knowing what I’m capable of, and me, fucking pissed, but willing to wait in hopes of a damn good reason.

  “Make sure you would actually honor your word without a formal deal in place,” she hisses, jerking her chin at another one of the guards who rushes out the door to join the others.

  My gaze rakes over her, the magic churning over her skin in a clear display of power, showcasing her might to any who may lay eyes on her, and I just...shut down. Everything I hoped possible, the joy at finding a safe haven, of someone who respected me. It all shrivels up and dies a swift death as I give her my back, striding from the room.

  “What are you going to do?” Her voice is quiet, knowing full well she massively fucked up.

  I pause, but don’t turn around. “What’s right. Whatever the hell you did, it isn’t those people’s fault.” I walk right out of the room, Lucien on my heels, and not one person tries to stop us.

  Because they finally see that they can’t, and the only thing that’s been keeping me in any room, was my permission allowing it to happen.

  Chapter 9

  Cambria

  The scent of blood settles on my tongue until I can taste it, trying to slow my breathing to lessen its effect. Footsteps thunder around me; the silent footfalls of the fae are impossible to manage when fear and panic are riding them so heavily. A shoulder slams into mine as someone crashes into me, rushing past.

  Lucien’s hand darts out to grip my elbow and keep me upright. “What the hell did she do?” he seethes, eyes scanning everything, lingering too long on the luminescent river that’s steadily changing color.

  A familiar face catches in my peripherals and I turn, the pale pink hair a dead giveaway. My lips press into a thin line as the two of us press our backs against the building to get out of the way of a few more people.

  “Overestimated herself.” I don’t wait for Lucien to ask before grabbing his hand and running back towards the house. “She said light court fae were testing the borders, right?” At his confirmation, I press on. “Bet your ass she thought she could compel them the way that she does her own people. Whether she thought to use them to prove her abilities, to ensure she’d protect us from Elorie if we protected her from the changelings, or she wanted to use them to threaten me, who the fuck even knows. I don’t really care either way at this point, and anything out of her mouth is just going to be more bullshit anyway.”

  He grunts his agreement before suddenly shoving me out of the way. My shoulder slams into the stone building beside us hard enough to bruise. I turn in time for my blood to turn to ice in my veins.

  This...this is what Atlas tried to tell me. But the stories don’t even come close to doing him justice.

  I’m stuck, paralyzed, as Lucien steps to the side, narrowly avoiding the short sword that swings down where I was just standing. He uses the man’s own momentum against him, slamming his foot into the fae’s ankle hard enough there’s an audible crack, while simultaneously palming the back of the man’s head. His shoulder tenses as he grips a handful of golden hair, and for just a moment, he’s the only thing keeping this stranger upright.

  But that moment is over in a blink as he slams him down into the sidewalk, face first. He never once releases his grip, crouching beside him as he draws him back enough to do it again. And again. Blood steadily pools in the pit created from the impact, and each new blow has blood spraying up.

  I know there are still people screaming around us, but I hear none of it. Just a dull roar and a steady, wet thudding. Lucien stands, but he doesn’t look at me with horror at what he’s done, at losing control. He simply places his foot on the back of the dead man’s neck and stomps down hard enough that his spine snaps.

  Finally, Lucien looks at me, his amber eyes wild and blood spatter coating his face, his neck; just...everything. He brushes a lock of his dark hair out of his face, leaving a bloody streak behind, and just watches me, saying nothing. Waiting; for judgment, for me to make the first move, I’m not entirely sure.

  So I reach out a steady hand despite my shock, intertwining our fingers and gently tugging him into motion, attempting to ignore how slick his grip is. “We need to find the others.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, barely audible amidst the chaos happening around us. But right now, every bit of me is tuned into Lucien, hyperaware of his presence.

  “No, you’re a juggernaut.” A shaky breath escapes me. “A rare ability, but not unheard of. No wonder your dad wanted to hide you in the human realm. Things...don’t typically end well, and they get put down sooner or later. Usually sooner.”

  I swallow as we turn another corner. “That day, with Atlas’ father; somehow you managed to tap into your abilities, even after my parents severed your ties to Faerie, when it should have been impossible. And now that my abilities have blended with yours,” I trail off, shaking my head. “Fuck, Luce. You could inspire so much rage in someone that they emulate you.”

  He’s quiet, mulling it all over as we reach our street, fighting through the crowd. Another body slams into mine and I tense, anticipating a repeat performance as it sets Luce off, but I sag in relief when I see who it is.

  Quickly grabbing his arm to stop him before we get separated, I do a quick scan for my other mate. “Dorian, thank the fates. Where’s Atlas?”

  Luce’s relief ripples out around me, like setting eyes on the man helps to take the edge off of the fear driving his actions. But as Dorian turns to face me, I drop my hand like he burned me, taking a quick step backward.

>   “No.”

  Not Dorian; Azazel, wearing his skin.

  My hand covers my mouth to stifle a sob, looking into those pitch black eyes with horror. Lucien drives a fist into his cheek in the next instant, vibrating with fury. The changeling goes down with a cry and scrambles back, blinking up at us.

  “Motherfucker,” Atlas hisses, forcing his way through the crowd, shoving people out of the way and sliding to a stop between us. “Not what it looks like, I’ll explain later, but we need to go!” He grabs not-Dorian by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet, gripping his elbow and dragging him with him as he ushers us forward.

  Lucien and I exchange a look, but we follow behind Atlas. I trust the three of them implicitly, and Fates’ know if I had a dollar for every time things weren’t as they appeared, I’d be able to retire for the rest of my immortal life.

  We circle back halfway towards Achlys’ home, where they were on their way to find us when shit hit the fan. “Azazel freaked out as soon as the attacks started and when someone crashed into D, he went after them.” Atlas takes another corner, but the crowd has started to thin out; murdered or in hiding. “But we were able to haul him back before he did too much damage, and he latched onto Dorian like a fucking binky.”

  As if he can feel my spike of fear, he rushes to clarify. “No different than how he was already tapping into him, he’s not dead. But after living off of his blood and energy for this long, it looks like he’s absorbed enough to transform into him, even without devouring him. And with the stampede of people, being small was making his panic worse and he changed.”

  “Then what was he doing alone?” Azazel flinches as Lucien speaks and leans closer into Atlas’ hold.

  “He got lost in the crowd,” Atlas explains, “but we couldn’t very well have Dorian hunting for himself in case anyone saw the two of them together.”

  In the narrow, shadowy alley between two buildings, Dorian’s form appears and I nearly collapse with relief. Seeing is believing, and though Atlas had no reason to lie to us, I still needed to lay eyes on him to accept it. Azazel wrenches free of Atlas’ firm grip and tears down the alley, preternatural speed turning him into a golden-streaked blur. He tackles into Dorian who barely manages to remain upright, his back slamming into the side of the building.

  “He’s like a toddler.” I cock my head to the side, watching Dorian try to support himself, Azazel’s face pressed against his neck and legs wrapped around his waist.

  “He’s scared. We all are.” Atlas turns to face us now that we have a temporary reprieve, raking his gaze over the both of us. “What the hell happened?” We give them the abridged version and by the time we’re done, they’re gazes are both as murderous as Lucien’s.

  “Fuck this place,” Dorian seethes, forcing Azazel to his feet before he topples over. “Why should we defend her after pulling this shit?”

  I swallow, leaning against the stone wall. “Elorie knew about Achlys and decided to wipe the kingdom from her subject’s memories. She knew full well what Achlys was capable of. I highly doubt she’d have sent scouts to scope out Achlys’ court without assessing the risk. She’d have sent ones that couldn’t be compelled, have them fake it, and then they Trojan horse-d their way in to slaughter everyone the second they had an opportunity.”

  As if summoned by our words, four light court fae appear at the end of the alley. “Guys.” My word is a whisper, and they all look up with an assortment of nervousness, and pure loathing.

  “You guys get a head start,” Lucien offers, but I put a hand on his arm and stop him.

  “Fuck self-sacrifice. No one is playing the martyr and we’re not separating again. That clearly hasn’t ended well any of the times we’ve tried it.”

  “The littlest lark,” one of the men coos, and my stomach flips. “Your fathers’ have quite the bounty out on your head.” His eyes glint red in the darkness, light brown hair tipped in gold covered in patches of dried blood.

  He takes a step forward with two of his men, another staying behind to guard the entrance to the alley. I don’t automatically take a step backwards, let them see that fear.

  One trick ponies. Just need to know what they can do.

  “An unconventional way of offering up a dowry, but I’m flattered nonetheless. You went through all of this effort just for my hand?” I flutter said hand to my chest and grin. “I’m honored.”

  His eyes flash as his jaw tightens. And there, the smallest tendril of smoke rising from his clenched fist. “You think pretty highly of yourself for being the bane of the realm.”

  I trail a finger down Lucien’s arm coyly, subtly drawing the mens’ attention to the blood coating him head to toe and the cold look in his amber eyes, the grim set of his mouth. Death incarnate, hiding in what they think is a human form.

  It works, and I get to enjoy the way two of the men share a quick glance, one slightly lowering the bow he has drawn in hesitation. They’re soldiers; they recognize the blood pattern on his face for what would put it there. A scuff of feet far behind us and I know we’re caged in without having to look.

  “And why shouldn’t I?” I give him a wink to hide the way my pulse is hammering away. “All these men coming for me? I didn’t even need to lift so much as a finger to make it happen either. Makes a girl feel pretty.”

  “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, girl,” he growls.

  And a second later, he’s on the ground, staring unblinkingly at the night sky with a hole in his head as I whirl around in shock. Atlas doesn’t lower his gun, just turns it onto the man beside the first and fires a shot through his heart before anyone even fully registers what happened.

  “Where the hell did you get a gun?!” I step closer to him and Dorian, getting out of the way and preparing myself for however they're going to retaliate, not knowing what any of their abilities are besides the one that’s already dead, so the information is useless.

  “Dorian used up his ammo getting us out of the warehouse so I didn’t have to as I hauled Luce out.” His voice is hard as he lurches forward to grab my wrist and tug me out of the way as the men that were behind us fire an arrow.

  When it strikes the ground, electric sparks flair out and I cringe. I might be able to drain him, but I’ll have to get close to accomplish it. And if he can wield electricity well enough that it manifests in a projectile, it’s going to be a bitch to get my hands on him. Dorian has an iron grip on Azazel’s wrist, eyes flitting as he weighs the risk of someone seeing, or if we can get out of this by our own merit. Atlas fires another shot and I brace myself for the pain as I lunge for his gun, ripping it from his hands a split second before my body convulses, the metal acting as a conduit for the small lightning strike.

  It could have lasted a lifetime or only minutes, but when it finally stops, I nearly sob in relief, dropping the gun and glancing at the burns on my hands. Atlas is suddenly there, palming the side of my face and cursing.

  “Fuck were you thinking?” He kisses me quickly before hauling me to my feet, dragging me towards Dorian and his doppelganger.

  “Didn’t have time to warn you,” I stutter out, phantom shocks still lacing through my body.

  Dorian wraps an arm around my waist as a brutal tearing sound echoes down the narrow passageway. I glance up, struggling to catch my breath as my lungs scream, expecting to see Lucien ripping limbs from bodies. But instead, I see him standing there, mouth parted in muted shock as a fae finishes tearing the head from one of our attacker’s necks.

  Her hair is a silken curtain as deep of a red as the blood pumping out of her human fountain, dipping her head to lap up a drink. But those eyes...

  “Shit.”

  If I thought it was chaotic before, it’s nothing compared to now. My mates and I are completely forgotten as the few remaining soldiers turn their attention to the more pressing threat. A wave of water assaults her before that electricity is released in full force, screams splitting the air in full force.

  And thou
gh my muscles protest, I ignore the hissing shouts of my men as I sprint down the alley. Capitalizing on his distraction, I slap my palms on either side of wannabe Zeus’ face, using my momentum to jump onto his back and send him stumbling forward. My skin is on fire, and I get a more muted version of the shock from before as I inhale deeply, forcing my eyes to stay open, to stay on guard rather than lose myself in concentration.

  My knees drive into his kidneys as he crumples to the ground, my teeth jarring with the impact. When I glance up, I’m seeing double. My ears ring and I have to blink several times, but as I pry my fingers away from the dead man’s face, I see a sopping wet changeling eyeing me warily.

  Dorian gently murmurs in my ear, but with the roar of my heartbeat mingling with the ringing, I can’t make out a word. My breath hitches as the changeling crouches slightly, but before I can so much as twitch, she pounces, launching at us.

  The resounding crash as Azazel intercepts her is so loud that even I can hear it crack like thunder. He has her pinned on the ground in front of us, the two of them snarling like feral wolves and rolling to get the upper hand, snapping their teeth at each other.

  Dorian helps me to my feet and I press a hand to my still ringing ear, my fingers wet when I pull them away. But energy thrums through my veins and I focus on drawing it to the surface, to heal the cuts and burns. I exhale a long, slow breath, and though I’m starving by the end of it, I feel worlds better.

  Lucien and Atlas finish off the remaining soldiers as the two changelings claw at each other. Although Dorian clearly is struggling not to dive into the fray and pull them apart, he’s wise enough not to, knowing it would end in his death. Another figure passes by the end of the alley, swinging a bloody arm in his hand before bringing it to his mouth like an ice cream cone. My stomach roils, more so when he uses it as a club to trip up a shadow court fae, quickly devouring him and changing forms to match.

  Soulless eyes fall upon us, flicking towards the fighting changelings, the chips of stone as bodies are slammed into the sides of the buildings. A tilt of the head, and I know he’s gauged the distance between us, thinks he can make it past the other changelings before they notice him.