Only one way to find answers. Bran had less than thirty minutes to clean up, eat and get to one of Paris’ busiest parks. A location he hoped would keep him safe long enough to discover what he needed to know.
Which was where the hades was Alex? And if she was hiding, from whom? And why?
Chapter Thirteen
The voices woke me, though I don’t think it was intentional. Two men arguing made a rumbling sound that was enough to wake the dead. Which is what I felt like.
I was still on the flat metal gurney, but the bright lights above warned me I was in a different place. My main focus, though, was on the pain exploding from within. I swear my neck was on fire, an acid-burning blaze running from neck to head and neck to body. This wasn’t a mass of bruises complaining, this was full-body screaming to shut down.
Then there was the other problem as I glanced to my left. The two men who were arguing looked back at me. One seemed familiar, as if I’d seen him somewhere before, but I wasn’t sure where. The other? He was the problem. Even woozy I knew what he was if not who he was. He was Were, through and through, and pissed off to boot. At me.
What had I done to him?
I slipped my fingers against the table I was on to raise myself to a sitting position. No way did I want to face an angry Were flat on my back, even if sitting meant I wanted to puke.
“Who are you?” I squawked. I was trying for forceful but my throat was too raw for that.
Were Guy didn’t seem to mind though, as he grinned, and not a nice one, more a nasty, see-my-sharp-incisors kind of grin. A lot like the Were who’d tried to kill my brother had done. The Were I’d killed in return and ended up in prison almost two years ago. Then I’d thought things couldn’t get worse. As if!
“Where’s Van? Where’s my brother?” I asked, hope forcing the question past desert-dry lips.
The doctor shook his head. “The wolf shifter? The other killed him.”
I’d known that. Known and avoided, hoping somehow I’d been wrong. But once the words confirmed what I thought I knew, I could no longer hide from the truth.
A scream welled up from within. Not Van. Please not Van. Who killed him? Even as I asked, my gut told me I wouldn’t like the answer.
“Who?”
The doctor chuckled, one of those break-your-heart sounds. “The warlock, of course.”
There was no course about it. I’d hoped I’d made up the nightmare. Bran. How could he? He’d come to help me save Van. Like flashbacks from a grainy, silent era movie, images roared against me. Fighting. Weres converging on me. Shouting at Bran to save my brother.
Instead, he’d killed him. Didn’t know why. Warlocks were enemies to witches. I knew that, and yet I had trusted him.
My fault. My fault and Bran’s that Van was dead.
When I got out of here, wherever here was, I’d make sure Bran paid. Tit for tat. I’d been involved in killing his cousin and now he’d killed my brother. But it wasn’t going to stop there. Bran wouldn’t know what hit him.
First things first. Angry Were eyeing me.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Paul,” the doctor-looking guy said. At last I recognized the voice. Frenchie. The one who wanted me dead last time I woke up. And he was the only one holding back an angry Were? So not my day.
Were Guy didn’t seem to be listening. Then he growled, “She killed my twin.”
Better and better. I had no idea who his twin was, but did remember fighting against a lot of Weres and my brother Van. And Bran. Weres died. So did my brother, but that was at Bran’s hands. So I guess I couldn’t call even-steven to this Were.
I slid my legs over the edge of the gurney until my toes touched the floor. Thank the Great Spirits, the gurney wasn’t the kind on wheels because that was the only thing holding me upright.
Until the Were attacked. He lunged in one swift, powerful burst of speed. Out of instinct, I dropped to the floor, so my body mass hit him at his thighs, his own momentum toppling him over me and the gurney.
First round to me, but tripping a raging Were wasn’t the same as winning a battle against one. At least he was still in his human form, which helped me a smidge. No telling what kind of beast he could morph into. That, and the fact his attack sent a burst of adrenaline rushing through me that gave me enough energy to scramble away. Closer to the doctor but he was human. My brothers had always taught me to keep the biggest threat front and center. That’d be the Were who was even now half-morphing into what looked like a bear.
Seriously? I had to fight a bear?
Defense or offence? It wasn’t like there was a lot of room to run and even less to hide. Attack it was.
Even before I’d thought through the logic of that decision, I had rocked to my feet and sailed through the air, hitting Were-bear in his broad chest with my shoulder. I don’t know who was more shocked, him or me when the blow sent him reeling backwards into the nearest wall.
Yeah, me!
Except I’d ended flat on my back on the hard floor. Not an easily defensible position.
The Were had barely dented the wall when he pivoted and shot himself forward. I tucked my knees to my chest and used my legs as a fulcrum, catching his stomach and arching him over my head and beyond me.
The shock of my bare feet hitting him ricocheted through me like an electrical jolt. I wanted to curl up and hide.
Maybe later. Now I wanted to live.
With a curse for idiots who— like myself,—had death wishes, I scrambled to my hands and knees before stumbling upright. I expected to be hit before I could catch my bearings as I twisted to see where the Were was.
The Mother Goddess or Great Spirits must have heard my pleas as the Were, half-human, half-bear, lay crumpled on the concrete floor, not moving. The doctor was at his side. I could have told him it probably wasn’t a smart idea because Weres, like my Shifter brothers, weren’t always aware of who they were lashing out at if they’d been knocked unconscious.
My hand rose to my neck where I could feel the bandage over what happened when my brother Van had attacked me while out of his mind in pain and on drugs. Man, I must have been out of things a lot longer than I thought to have healed as well as I did. Days? Weeks?
The doctor’s voice roused and focused me like cold water on heated skin. “He’s dead.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said, not really thinking. “I can’t kill a Were.” At least not without calling Echo demons or using dark magic.
The doctor rose to his feet, his eyes showing way too much white. Too much for my peace of mind. The man was afraid. Terrified. I could tell because I could hear the kabooming of his heart, sense his rapid pulse rate, and even smell the taint of his sweat.
Except I couldn’t do any of those things.
What was happening?
I stepped back, but the doctor was inching toward me, one hand gripping a syringe.
I had no idea what was in that thing but I didn’t care. This man had wanted me dead earlier and I had no doubts that hadn’t changed.
“It was an accident,” I said past dry lips. “You saw him. He attacked me.”
“You are too dangerous to live, Miss Noziak.” the doctor breathed, a sound so low and so intense goose bumps ran down my back. Why did he know my name when I’d never met him before?
That’s when I remembered where I’d seen him before. Next to the body of Philippe Cheverill, the head of the Preternatural Council. Who had been murdered.
My skin went cold as I shook my head. “Did you kill Cheverill?” I asked before I could catch the words. Not a smart move.
The doc must have thought I’d never survive as he answered, “No, but I didn’t stop who did.”
Then he jumped toward me, syringe extended.
I didn’t think, I acted and the next thing I knew my fingers were squeezed around the man’s throat, his head dangling at a crooked angle as I held him a good foot off the floor.
What the—dead?
He couldn’t be. I did
n’t have that kind of strength. And yet I held him upright, all his weight pulling at my arm, barely registering. His face blue, his neck at an impossible angle. I didn’t even know what his name was. I wasn’t even sure what had been in the syringe he’d held that was now rolling on the floor. Could I have killed a total stranger for no reason?
Sweet Mother Goddess, help me.
Someone screamed in the background. Followed by a barked order. All in French. A hand grabbed my free arm and before I could swivel my head to see who was tugging at me a sharp prick jabbed my arm.
What was—
“Sacre bleu,” another voice, male this time, called out, “Notify Byrne. Now. Now. Now!”
“Byrne?” I tried to ask but even to me the word sounded muffled. Warped.
“She’s going under.”
“Grab him.”
The weight I held eased. Shapes of people moving in and out … the pain dulled. Not a lot, but enough that I didn’t want to fight the tide tugging me under.
“Monsieur Byrne. He comes.”
Good news? The voice sounded relieved. Less frantic. I must have tottered backwards because I could feel the gurney against me. Holding me mostly upright.
Footsteps pounded against concrete. Far away but coming closer. Slap. Slap. Slap.
Nothing made sense. Not the smell. Antiseptic, but sharper. Or the scent of fear. My own. The sweat coating my skin, warmed by an elevated heart rate, sounding like a tympani drum booming in my ears.
Another cry broke in, “By the fourth virtue …”
Why did that voice ring a bell? Like a child’s rhyme once memorized.
“You two, take him away. Now.”
Irish. I recognized that accent. Colin Farrell. I cracked open one eye. That didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected. Another face hovered in front of me. Nice face. Boyish. Charming. Something familiar, but I was so tired I couldn’t put my finger on it. Besides, last guy who looked familiar I’d just killed.
“Miss Noziak,” he said. “Alex.” I expected anger, because I could hear the pounding of his heart. But instead, I scented excitement. Smelled it. Which didn’t track.
“Hmmmm.”
“Lovely to have you back with us.”
I’d just killed a man, two men if the accident with the Were counted, and Colin Farrell voice was happy to see me? How many levels of a nightmare was I in?
I found myself lying flat, squirming against a hard surface, the gurney, but now straps were holding me, binding me as my muscles fought, then eased.
Not what I needed. Time to fight.
Except I was too damn tired.“Hmmmm.” The only sound that I could manage. Wasn’t much but I guess it kept me from getting myself into too much more trouble.
“She killed Jean Claude,” cried one near-hysterical woman.
They were talking about me. But I didn’t know anyone named Jean Claude.
“Broke his neck.”
The snap? The weight? I didn’t kill people. Okay, maybe just a few. And all bad guys. As far as I knew.
The floaty feeling intensified.
“What should we do?” the female voice shouted.
If that woman didn’t shut up soon I was going to have to bitch-slap her.
“Get rid of the body,” came the reply. The Irish accent. I liked the way he thought. Hadn’t Jaylene told me once that you could tell your friends by the ones willing to help you hide the bodies? I wish she were here now. And the rest of the team. Even sharp-tongued Mandy.
But they weren’t. I was alone. And scared.
“But—”screaming woman protested.
“Now.” Irish Guy was pissed. But not at me. That was good. Usually everyone was upset with me.
Take that! And that!
Only no words would come. I was too tired.
“You rest now,” Irish Guy soothed. Someone else had soothed like that once. Bran. Yeah, right, probably laughing the whole time, waiting for his chance for revenge.
A hand smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “Shhh. No worries. We’ll talk soon. Very soon.”
Needed to talk. Needed to understand.
My eyelids drooped closed, though I could still hear the voices around me growing more and more muted.
“We’ll have to keep her restrained,” Irish Voice said. “So there will be no more accidents.”
He called killing a man an accident?
“She killed him,” Female Voice said. Not sure I liked agreeing with her.
“These things happen.” A pause. “Move her to the lower wing. Find Doctor Regore. Bring her here.”
Scurried steps. A door opening and closing. A car far away. Voices whispering. Most in French. One in English. “We should kill her as Jean Claude wished. Or she will murder us all.”
The woman speaking had that right. I could feel it coursing through my veins, mingling with the pain, with the fogginess. These were humans. That’s all. Meat.
And I was damn hungry.
Chapter Fourteen
With five minutes until Stone was to meet him Bran held his cell phone to his ear, glancing around the Café de Pomone from a distance, not trusting anyone. Except Willie, for now.
It was the Were who answered the phone. “Yup?”
“Can you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Scent anything else?”
“Older couple to your left.”
“Ones wearing wool?”
“Checkered?”
“Yes. Forty years out of date.”
“Figures, they’re harbingers, always one step behind.”
“Anything else?”
“A cat shifter near the metro. Might be a lynx or a caracal. Two Cambion demons having lattes at the café.”
Bran shook his head. That was the problem with a recovering Were, paranoid about everything. And in Paris, like most of the older cities of Europe, preternaturals tended to gather. That didn’t mean they were all a threat. Most were just going about their lives, remaining under the human radar. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Willie paused, as if scenting the air. But he needn’t have bothered as a waft of powerful magic pulsed over Bran.
He turned, slowly, trying not to arouse attention.
There. Near the Metro opening, where Stone should have been, four simin fae, the security guards for the Council. Simin fae might look benign but they possessed lightning fast speed and wicked tongues that could scourge a man in seconds. Before he could even think of taking flight, one simin fae could wrap and deliver him to the Council. The fact the last time Bran had run across three of their kind, Alex managed to have them killed, would not endear him to them.
Stone had sold him out.
But Bran wasn’t a master mage for nothing.
Sending a whip of magic toward the clueless Cambion demons, who jumped out of their chairs as if tazered was the first step. They knocked into the nearest tables, scattering humans who, mostly being French, were always up for a fracas. Within a minute, shouts and blows were whirling about, snapping the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Including the simin fae.
Bran waited until the fae pivoted toward the fighting, before cutting across the path and disappearing down the nearest Metro entrance.
He had seconds at most before the fae realized a diversion had been set up. That was the problem with the more warlike of the fae, smart and quick.
Which meant he had to be smarter and quicker.
And a whole lot luckier.
Chapter Fifteen
Bran didn’t emerge from the Metro until he reached Gare de La Défense. Simin fae preferred hunting in the sunlight, so the longer he remained underground the better chance he had to lose them. Since the stop was also the terminus of three converging lines, it was easier to blend among the humans surging up through the aluminum and neon lights of the nearest exit.
Once outside, he was surrounded by the city’s business district, with the Arc de Triomphe visible in the near distance down the ce
ntral esplanade. What now? He’d kept in touch with Willie by phone but didn’t tell the Were where he was. Willie was still a preternatural and thus beholden to the Council for his existence. It’d be a brave man who risked death for another he barely knew.
Earlier, Willie had shared that the scent of Alex had ceased in the parking lot at Versailles. Which made sense if someone dragged her away. But there was no telling if she was alive at the time.
There had been Stone’s eyewitness who’d point-blank said Alex lived, but that might have been a ploy to reel Bran in.
Should he check on Jeb and Van Noziak? See if Van had healed enough to become a reliable witness to Bran’s innocence?
On the other hand, Jeb was a Council member and not too pleased to be left underground.
Maybe it was time to go back to the beginning. Check out Versailles himself. Yes, the Council had met there but how likely was it the members would still be around? Especially with the dust up after the Were attacks. Even if they left some preternaturals in the area, it was a risk Bran was willing to take as the quickest way to find a link between him and Alex.
He might not get Alex’s scent trail, but he could cast a Seeking spell. How hard should it be to find one witch/shaman?
Given it was Alex, plenty hard.
Next woman he was attracted to was going to be full human. Compliant. Soft spoken, and tractable.
Only problem was, he feared it might be too late to find such a woman, especially if he remained wrapped in the spell of Alex Noziak.
Chapter Sixteen
The scream roused me. A girl’s scream, followed by babbling in French and English. Mostly English and curses.
I turned my head, but that was all. All I could manage.
Two big goons who smelled like Weres were dragging a girl from the cell opposite me. She was making them work at it though, kicking and biting and dragging her feet. Not that she stood a chance. They must have been told not to hurt her, though, as they hadn’t yet used their full strength against her.
INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) Page 7
