by S A Archer
Cormac lay over her, pillowing his head to her breast. The beat of his heart pulsed into her side as his quickened breathing slowed. As her fingers played in his dark hair, she watched the sensual, unconscious little shifts in his beautiful body. Turning to gaze up at her with those alluring eyes, he said, “Still think you can’t handle this much magic?”
She laughed, “No.”
“I feel it, you know. Your darkness. Your magic. It calls to me, right to the very heart of my magic.” His fingertip caressed the cleft between her breasts. “All of the dark fey will be drawn to you, like they were to Crom and Rhiannon and Credne and all of the Sidhe of the Wild Hunt before you.”
She glanced down at him, seeing the truth and fascination in his eyes.
Within that hour, they rose and dressed. The spreading night thumped like a drumbeat in Trip’s soul. Her strides moved to the rhythm, long and sensual. The slick black leather leggings and halter danced against her flesh, making her feel sexy. Reaching out with her arms, her power flowed forth. Tendrils of darkness rushed from her like great serpents of shadows.
Cormac reached into one of the serpents, tangling his fist into the power like the mane of a wild steed. He flung his leg up and over the neck of the magical construct and rode it into the night sky. His howl of sheer joy echoed through the valley below. The other dark elves returned his cry like wolves, catching the tendrils of her power and following him into the sky. The sluagh darted out on their leathery wings into the winds of her will, tumbling as graceful and deadly as raptors.
The Wild Hunt.
Her Wild Hunt.
The shadows gathered her up and carried her up into the vast, beautiful dark sky like the mistress of the night.
7 days after the creation of the new fey realm
Chapter Forty
If Malcolm hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed that the white stone monstrosity of a building towering over the busy street was some kind of government building. It even had gothic spires stabbing up at the sky so it wasn’t just a formidable brick of a building. Malcolm counted nine floors up, not including the spires and towers, which were half again as high. It gave it the look of some kind of snobbish importance. Like the people inside wore business suits and couldn’t be bothered to notice the little people milling around outside those tinted windows.
Even though other limestone and glass beasts walled off the valley of the main street, no other glowed with the fragmented brilliance of magic. A snow globe of enchantment surrounded the entire building and the sidewalk around it. Even in the darkness of early morning, the frosted magic twinkled with reflected power. The magic wasn’t woven from strands, as the fey would have done, but from flakes and ground up shards. Of course no one on the street noticed this. Only Malcolm, with his bloodhound eyes, could see it.
The front side of the fortress offered no easy access for a bloke like Malcolm, dressed in scruffy jeans and hoodie. No way he’d blend in with the suit and tie crowd milling about the main entrance. Keeping his hood up and his head down, Malcolm just walked on by like he knew where he was going and this place wasn’t it. Turning down the side street, he kept scanning the building and surrounding area. If there were cameras or security, he didn’t spot them.
But maybe they didn’t need anything so obvious. He’d heard about the wickedness of wizards, and believed every bit of it. They’d had Kaitlin for so long they’d nearly drained her to death, sucking the magic out of her. Donovan and Tiernan had rescued her, saying it was too dangerous for Malcolm to go.
But Donovan was gone now and Tiernan would sooner lock up Malcolm in a silver cage before listening to him.
And there was a whole bunch of fey inside this place. Hurting. Dying. All caged up like a bunch of animals in some evil scientist’s research lab. Or, more accurately, like prey ready for the butcher. Helpless and innocent, like the kids in the goblin nest. Aching for someone to know their pain and free them. Someone had to get them out.
A narrow concrete alley way gave the backside of the building just enough breathing room from its neighbor that a truck could squeeze between. The crystalline curtain of magic covered it completely. As Malcolm drew near, the magic buzzed against his skin like static, making the hairs on his arms stand up and tingle. Cautiously, he reached out a hand to press to the surface, but his hand moved through it instead. Up close to it now, he could see the flakes and dust motes of magic floating in the air. Even though they moved like a structure, maintaining a uniform distance as they floated, none of the bits of enchantment actually linked, forming a cloud, rather than a curtain. Malcolm could catch a fringe, but it didn’t alter the rest of the structure. However the wizards constructed this, they hadn’t done it anything like the fey, who would have woven continuous strands of linking thread of magic.
And yet, this was fey magic, ground up into fragments smaller than confetti.
Malcolm glanced upward, studying the glow of magic within. The seventh and eighth floors glowed almost solid with living fey magic. That’s where he needed to go. If he could balance on the window ledge up there, he could probably see inside and teleport right to them.
Fixing his gaze on a window out of sight from the street, Malcolm leaned into the teleportation. The slip carried him less than two inches, halting him at the edge of the cloud of enchantment, which warded against teleportation, apparently.
Probably against Glamour, too. Not that Malcolm could have used that anyway.
Unconsciously, Malcolm touched the long knife inside the pocket of his hoodie. It barely fit long-ways across his stomach, but no one seemed to notice it yet. He’d not grabbed any other weapon. Just that, his training, and his magic.
Pressing into the enchantment, Malcolm felt the stillness and weight close around him like smothering humidity. The glittering fragments didn’t just form a shield, but a mist that filled all the spaces around him like fog. Even breathing shallow couldn’t keep the magic dust from going into his mouth and nose. The stench prickled the insides of his nostrils until his mouth watered with the need to spit. It even stank like a butcher shop. Malcolm knew that stink, growing up on a farm.
Driven by the smell to hurry, Malcolm jogged down the alleyway. A couple rolled down garage doors lined a section, but Malcolm by passed them for the doorway further into the shadows. His trainers made no noise as he hurried up the four steps hugged against the building. The heavy metal door didn’t have any markings, just a digital keypad on the wall at about waist high. A shimmer of magic glowed from within the device, but when he pressed his fingers against it he couldn’t catch any of it.
Malcolm’s hand hovered over the door knob. Probably, it was locked. Probably, he’d have to figure another way inside. Holding his breath, he twisted it.
Locked.
“Rubbish,” Malcolm grumbled. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy.
Flattening his palm to the key pad. Malcolm focused on the enchantment within. Maybe he could still get it to move, even without getting his fingers on it.
As he grit his teeth, preparing to give it a go, the door gave a heavy click.
Malcolm jumped back, expecting someone to come through.
Nothing.
Hesitantly, he reached for the knob again.
This time it turned.
He opened it just a fraction and listened for an alarm or voices or anything.
Silence.
Somehow, it had worked. Only, he’d been pretty sure he’d not actually done anything.
Best hurry, just in case.
Chapter Forty-One
London’s arms crossed hard over the nervousness fluttering in her stomach. Whispering to Peyton, she asked the question she knew she wouldn’t like the answer to, “Why did they let him in?”
The wall of monitors before them covered eve
ry entrance. The hallways inside the complex rotated on another set of screens, while street cams from various intersections around Liverpool flickered on others. She and Peyton had been waiting here, against the back wall and out of the way of the surveillance team, since the Sidhe lad had tripped the sensors on the dock.
Peyton murmured back, “Why wouldn’t they? Do you know how hard it is to catch a Sidhe? And this one wants to walk in the back door?” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Dumb ass fey.”
Already, the security teams hurried into positions on the various cameras. The team leaders reported in over the ear piece London wore.
“Gear up,” Peyton grumbled, opening a locker with taser guns, police batons, and canisters of tear gas. He handed her a black vinyl holster with a taser X-26, which looked like a 22mm until you pulled it. Armed with a double shot, it afforded her two chances to hit a target. Shooting either of them at Malcolm was the last thing London wanted to do. Two shots wouldn’t be enough to neutralize the security forces, and any attempt to protect the Sidhe would blow her cover.
Peyton didn’t wait for her moral dilemma. He slapped a gas mask against her gut, and then donned his own. The full face piece protected his eyes behind a layer of clear silicon. The low profile canister balanced in front of his mouth, muffling his voice. “Move it, recruit!”
Following him out of the surveillance room, London jerked on her own mask. They sprinted full out down the hallway, but already the first security team reached the garage. “Tac Team One on site.” The commanding officer whispered over the comm.
Peyton skidded on the slick linoleum, breaking right down the next hall. London caught the corner with her outstretched hand to pull the turn fast and catch up.
“Tac Team Two on the east dock.” The next voice crackled over the line.
Peyton pulled his wrist to his mouth, “Agents in route. Non-lethal take down only.”
“Subject’s heading east.”
“Wait until he crosses into the opening.”
“Tac One, ready to engage.”
“Changelings on site?” Someone whispered.
“We’re on our own,” Peyton replied.
More than one voice cursed over the line.
London reached the door to the garage at the same time Peyton did, but he braced his forearm against it. He signaled for her to wait.
“Deploying flash bang.”
Peyton counted off with his fingers for her. One. Two.
A desperate voice cried out, “He kicked it back towards us!”
Three.
The explosion hit with a concussive blast. Peyton shoved the door open and charged through, going immediately for cover behind a cargo van. London followed on his heels, taking up position by the front bumper. Screams and commotion echoed off the concrete all around them. London leaned around the bumper with her hand on the butt of the taser.
The three men of Tac Team One surrounded Malcolm, police batons in hand. Or what appeared to be police batons until one of them flicked the end and a bolt of lightning ripped through the air.
Malcolm dodged with a round off back layout, getting clear of the strike but putting him dangerously close to one of the team. Before he even landed completely, Malcolm leapt back into the air. Using a jumping rotation he tornado kicked the man in the jaw, knocking him down.
London stifled her cheer, trusting her mask to hide the grin. The young man hadn’t completely lost his rangy physique, but his strength and his skills had improved since she last faced off with him. When it came to a showdown between a Sidhe and the wizards, she knew which side her patron wanted her on. On that, they were in total agreement.
“Anesthetic gas deployed.” Tac Team Two’s commander advised as the canister bounced across the concrete, spewing a choking white cloud.
Twisting about, Malcolm jerked out a long knife and sliced across the body armor vest of one of the attackers. The man’s wrist blocked away the downward strike of the blade and his other arm punched with the power of his torso rotation to drive the heel of his hand into Malcolm’s sternum, propelling him back.
But Malcolm snatched away the man’s gas mask in the same instant. When the white smoke reached him the Unseelie had the mask on and his opponent crumpled under the fast acting chemicals.
“Take him down!” Tac Two Commander screamed over the comm.
Two streams of magic and half a dozen taser wires all whipped out towards Malcolm.
London wanted to scream at him to watch out, but the Unseelie was already in motion. He tumbled like a gymnast on a trampoline, catching air on each of his moves so he didn’t even have to use his hands nor drop his knife. Going so fast, Malcolm had to have perfect kinesthetic awareness of himself in space. He did an aerial into a back whip, then a layout with a double twist. Instead of just landing on his feet he rolled into a slide that shot him right under the van where London and Peyton took cover.
When the young man popped up between them Peyton snatched Malcolm’s knife wrist and banged it hard against the side of the van, sending the weapon tumbling. Punching around with his other arm, he struck Malcolm in the jaw with an elbow, and then smashed him again in the other side of the face when he jerked his elbow back.
London yanked out the taser and aimed it at Peyton. But if she fired, she’d completely blow her cover and probably get herself targeted for assassination. She twisted to aim at Malcolm. Everything within her, from her Touch addiction to the vow she’d made to serve Lugh, prevented her from hurting a Sidhe.
In her moment of indecision Malcolm gripped Peyton by the front of his shirt. He rolled back and kicked Peyton in the hips, flipping him over and out of the way.
When London didn’t fire, and didn’t get in his way, Malcolm just shoved past her and rabbited back towards the door he’d come in by.
Rubber bullets pinged off the vehicles all around him. One struck him in the arm and spun him around, but he didn’t drop.
Peyton shoved past London, chasing after the Sidhe, and she bolted after him.
Malcolm pumped his arms. In another second he’d slam into the outer door and escape.
The puff of a taser firing coincided with the wires flying out from Peyton’s gun.
Malcolm managed a half turn before the electrodes slammed into him. With the ticking of the electricity firing, his back arched and he dropped. His momentum sent him skidding another meter before he was down.
On his side with his elbows and knees curled into him, Malcolm didn’t move.
That didn’t stop Peyton, though, who ran up on him, pulling a hypodermic needle from his pocket. In a second he’d yanked off the cap. Dropping to a knee he stabbed the needle into Malcolm’s thigh and depressed the plunger with his thumb. Peyton snatched the gas mask off of Malcolm. Fisting his hand in Malcolm’s hair, he lifted his head for a second to check the effectiveness of the drug, and then he released it to fall back onto the ground. Peyton’s voice carried over the comm. and echoed through the garage. “Target neutralized.”
The Tac guys still approached with their weapons aiming at the Sidhe, and only lowered their aim when the young man didn’t pop back up again. The commander spoke into the comm, “Turn on the exhaust and clear out the gas.”
Peyton remained crouched beside Malcolm as he pulled out his phone. He snapped a picture of the Sidhe and then hit a few commands, which London suspected meant he was texting the image. With expert ease, he searched the unconscious body, coming up with nothing more than a set of keys and a couple wadded up Euros.
The sleeves of the hoodie had been pushed up to mid forearm, revealing the bandannas tied about Malcolm’s wrists. Peyton removed them as well.
“Nice ligature scars.” The commander of Tac Team Two commented sarcastically as he removed his gas mask and wiped at the sweat
on his face with the collar of his undershirt. “Have we had him before?”
The deep, nasty gouges completely circled both of Malcolm’s wrists. No wonder he wanted to keep them covered. And no wonder that these guys assumed that they’d done such a thing to him.
Peyton’s phone chimed and he checked it. “Reginald wants him.” He used one of the bandannas to bind together Malcolm’s wrists and the other he fashioned into a gag that he tied over his mouth. Then he lifted the unconscious Sidhe over his shoulder. “Tac Two comes with us. Someone get the van door for me.”
As Peyton started past, he glared down at London through the visor of his gas mask. The impact of it carried the weight of more than just his command. He’d witnessed her hesitation to shoot the Sidhe. Worse yet, Peyton had seen her debate about shooting him instead. “You come with me.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Within the span of a breath, Lugh teleported the vast distance back to Ireland. He appeared upon the ledge high on a mountain, overlooking the peninsula known as the Ring of Kerry. Dragon territory. Stepping one foot on the stony ridge, he gazed out into the green and broken valley, and then across the windswept sky. No sign of Jonathan Wyndracer, the dragon Champion.
Lugh turned back towards the mountain. Towards the entrance to the dragon’s cave. Somewhere, deep within the mountain, hid the entrance to the dragon realm. The wide cave yawned before him. The depths of the magically enhanced shadows kept even his sharp fey eyes from seeing into it. On light feet that revealed no sound of his approach, Lugh started towards it.
