by Celia Kyle
The urge to murder that person was strong and she clenched her fists. Stealing another person’s brownies! Unheard of.
It wasn’t until Sam’s fingers wrapped around her wrist that she realized she was already reaching for a blade.
“Caith?”
She frowned. “Sorry. Just pissy.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound like he believed her. Well, she didn’t believe her either, so they were even. “Let’s just knock before you draw blood. Compromise, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. She really hated that word. She wondered how hard it’d be for Uncle Luc to simply make it… disappear.
Then it didn’t matter as Sam pounded on the front door, fist colliding with the wood and making it rattle in its frame. It wasn’t like it was gonna be a surprise to the owner to discover she had brownies working for her. They were kinda hard to miss.
When no one answered, he pounded again and she heard the telltale crack that told her he’d knocked a teensy bit too hard.
“Who’s pissy, now?” she murmured and ignored his glare. He could spank her for being snarky later. If she was lucky.
The soft click-clack of high-heels on tile reached them a brief moment before the door swung open on silent hinges. The woman revealed was perfection from head to toe. Hair in a perfect twist, earnings that matched her dazzling necklace, a suit that had to be custom tailored and delicious shoes that had Caith drooling with envy.
She. Needed. Those. Shoes.
They looked like they might be her size. She could just kill the woman and be done with things. That sounded like a wonderful plan. This time, she consciously reached for a blade and Sam stopped her. Again.
Dammit.
“…speak with him. Now.”
Caith really needed to pay attention, but it sounded like Sam had things under control. She could go back to drooling.
“And who are you to demand anything?” The chick had that haughty tone thing down pat.
Too bad for her it’d get her killed.
“Can I do it now?” She ignored the fact she whined. This whole compromise thing sucked.
“No, you can’t.” He glared and turned his attention back to the woman—the woman who looked Sam up and down as if he were a steak.
Oh, hell no.
Caith stepped forward and planted herself between the woman and Sam. Facing off against the bitch, she didn’t hide her true nature. She let the fangs pop out, the fur slide free, the nails grow and curve into claws. And the best part… she was on fire. All of her just flaming red, blue, and white. She had some patriotism going on.
“So,” she gave the woman a wide smile. “He’s not gonna let me send you to my uncle, but he didn’t say I couldn’t burn you to a crisp and then ship you to the hospital.” Real fear filled the woman’s face and Caith’s smile widened.
“Wh-who’s your uncle?”
Really? Really. Her flaming furriness wasn’t enough for the bitch? She had to ask?
“I call him Uncle Luc, you call him Satan. Now,” she covered her mouth and cleared her throat. The quick exhale sent a tendril of fire shooting toward the woman and Sam growled.
“Caith.”
She turned and gave him the sweetest, most innocent stare she could. “What? I had something caught in my throat.”
She even fluttered her lashes for good measure.
His expression told her he wasn’t buying it. Yeah, she didn’t really expect him to.
Caith refocused on the woman. “Look, I’m the one who can end you and get away with it, so let’s stop with the posturing and pouting and get to the reason for my visit. I would like to talk to Dead Nettle.”
“I don’t know who you’re talk—”
She shoved her hellfire away with a single thought and rushed the chick, pressing her forearm against her throat while slamming her body against the wall in the entryway. “Lemme rephrase that. You will bring me Dead Nettle.”
The chick gasped and focused on Sam. “Are you going to—”
Caith pressed harder. No one let her do anything.
“Well, it’s me or her.”
“But you’re¬ a—” she wheezed.
“Oh,” Caith growled. “You didn’t know me but you know him?” She bared her wolf’s fangs.
“Everyone—”
She pressed harder, annoyed by the chick’s voice.
“She can’t speak if you choke her,” Sam drawled.
She was not seeing the downside to this.
Caith stared into the woman’s eyes, allowing hers to flash and flare with hellfire while her wolf inched forward. The bitch might not have known her when she opened the door, but she’d remember Caith now.
She remained focused on her captive, letting menace gather and swirl around her. It was that intent stare, the minute concentration that allowed her to see.
Swirling brown flashed to green. Only for a moment, a split-second of change, but the chick’s dark brown eyes flared bright green just long enough for Caith to catch the shift.
And that changed things. That had her suppressed grief and heartache destroying its mental bindings. The pain encircled her, blinded her with the agony and choking her with the anguish.
Without removing her arm, she reached behind her and snared the small blade she’d concealed within the strap that crisscrossed her back. Before Sam could stop her, she whipped it around and slammed the metal into the wall, catching some of the woman’s hair with the stab.
Her captive’s attention flicked to the knife, gaze remaining on the blackened metal.
“I forged that myself with my own hands. I held the metal and shaped it with my fingers, allowing my hellfire heat to melt it for me.” Caith leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I will do the same to your poor excuse of a body if you don’t tell me how you did it. I will keep you alive as I slice flesh from bone and create the most beautiful painting you’ve ever seen. You will watch as I bathe in your blood and then I’ll send you to my uncle. Alive.”
The woman’s panicked eyes left Caith’s and focused on Sam.
A Sam who surprised the hell out of her. “Don’t look at me for help. I saw that flicker too and right now I’d happily gut you, but we need information first. So… I’m sure you have a dungeon here. We’ll need it.” Sam looked to Caith. “At least I assume there’s one.”
“Of course. A place this old…” Caith pondered old architecture. “Beneath the ballroom.”
Caith lifted her pressure slightly—still keeping her captive—and the woman sputtered, “We don’t have a ballroom.”
“Oh, you do, you just don’t know it. Come along. Fighting will just make it hurt more.” That had her pausing. “Actually, do me a favor and fight.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes and Caith rolled hers. “That’s not gonna help your cause.” The chick jerked against her hold and Caith paused. “Look,” she forced the woman to look at her. “I saw it myself. That little green flicker? You somehow managed to control a few dozen zombies and sent them after me. I could have forgiven that because when I wasn’t close to dying, I enjoyed myself. And you know what? The vamps annoyed me, but I was really pissed because they were trying to kill my mate.” The woman whimpered but remained silent. “What I won’t stand for is going after Georges.” Caith yanked her closer. “For that, you’re gonna die.”
Another whimper and she shook her head. “I didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear. Zombies? Vamps? I can’t do anything to them even if I’d tried. I’m as good as neutral. I swear.”
Sam sighed which meant Caith did as well. “I actually believe her.”
She groaned. “Can’t I have this freebie? She has the green-eye thing.”
He shook his head. Bastard.
“No freebies,” Sam reached for the stranger and Caith released a rolling, rumbling growl that had him freezing in place. “I just need to get a sense of her. The others had this taint c
linging to them. I need to…” Sam didn’t touch the woman, which is what saved the chick’s life. Instead, his gently glowing hand hovered above her skin, almost making the sign of the cross as he did whatever angels did. “It coats her, but she’s not the source. I imagine it’s enough to keep her compliant and oblivious.”
That had the chick nodding. Well, nodding as much as she could with Caith’s forearm nearly choking her. Caith wanted the nearly to be totally, but it looked like Sam wasn’t gonna let her. Stupid mate.
“Why keep her compliant?” she murmured and tilted her head, staring at the woman who had the answers, even if she didn’t realize it. “So, tell me, made any new friends lately?”
Caith knew the answer to that question but wanted to hear the words. She couldn’t believe it, mind shying from the truth, but she knew the reply was inevitable.
“I-I-I—” The chick’s eyes flickered that eerie green once again, dancing between brown and neon in a desperate battle for control.
“C’mon,” she crooned, leaning close. “You can whisper it in my ear. I won’t tell.”
No, she’d only kill.
“I-I-I- He—”
“He…” Caith coaxed and she was thankful Sam remained a silent, fearsome presence at her side without interfering.
“Dea—” Flicker. Green. Brown. Green. Brown.
She needed to catch the woman when the magic was in the backseat. When… the woman was damn near dead. She kept her grip firm and met Sam’s gaze. “I’m gonna need you to trust me and not interfere.”
Sam’s nod was immediate.
Caith’s body slam shook the house, the thump of the woman’s back on the tile vibrating the foundation. She gasped, pain filling her brown eyes, and part of Caith winced at the agony she caused.
“Who?”
“Dea—” Brown then green.
Caith kneeled on the woman’s arm, giving the bones more and more of her weight. She didn’t want to snap the chick’s forearm, not really. “Who?”
“Dead—” Brown then green.
“I won’t let anyone kill you. I’ll protect you, but you have to tell me who.” She shoved the words past gritted teeth. Her conscience pricked her, poking her with unease, but that didn’t banish the grief that still rode her hard. This bitch knew something and Caith was gonna have it.
Caith squeezed the woman’s throat, tightening more and more, watching her captive’s face slide from red to purple as she battled for air. At the same time, she increased her pressure on her arm and reached for a finger. Maybe she’d break a tiny bone.
The wheezing was almost at an end. Any second now she’d lose consciousness and Caith still needed answers. A pop reached her ears and the woman screamed. Well, wheezed. At least she hadn’t broken the finger, just dislocated it a little bit.
She released the digit and brought her face closer to the dying woman’s. “Who?” The stranger had three seconds left. Maybe five on the outside. “Who?”
“Dead Nettle…” Brown… still brown… And lifeless. Well, lifeless-ish. She’d regain consciousness, now that she could breathe again.
Caith lifted her weight from the woman’s arm and focused on her hand. It took seconds to pop the finger back into place and even less to heal the hurt she’d caused. That accomplished, she pushed to her feet and faced off against Sam. What would he say? How would he react to her violence? Knowing his mate was Satan’s niece and seeing evidence of her cruelty were two very different things.
“And?” He raised a single brow.
“Dead Nettle.”
He nodded. “Where do we find him?”
She furrowed her brow. “That’s it? Where do we find him? No, what the fuck was that, Caith?’”
Sam shook his head. “No, you asked me to trust you and I do. You didn’t kill her. You actually healed the damage you caused, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“And you’ll probably have Manon stop by to clear her memory. I’d do it now, but we’re hunting.”
“Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “That was my plan.”
Sam reached for her, snagging her hand. “I trust you, Caith. You’re not as evil as you think.”
“I’m very evil.” She glared.
“Uh-huh,” he drawled. “Let’s be evil with Dead Nettle. Where do you think he is?”
“Close.” Caith let her gaze scan the entryway, hunting for evidence that’d direct her to her prey. She padded to the formal living area, noting the gleaming surfaces and stain-free white carpet.
“Caith?”
She held up a hand, still searching for evidence of the Nettles. She took a step into the room, ignoring the fact that her boots would leave grimy spots behind. She’d have her new brownies pop by to… She dropped her attention to the plush carpet. To the carpet that wasn’t marred in the least by her dirt-caked boots.
“They’re here.” She focused on Sam. “Here.”
“How do you know that?”
Caith grinned. “The Nettles were with me for a couple hundred years and Dead Nettle got tired of scrubbing blood from the carpets. He eventually found a little spell that causes objects to repel dirt.” She waved her hand at the pristine flooring. “This is his work. He’s here.”
“Okay, but where?”
She closed her eyes, rolling facts through her mind, pulling at her memories of these old houses. “The dungeon is as good a place as any to live and cast spells.”
“She didn’t even know there was a dungeon. What makes you think…” Sam’s voice trailed off and she knew he came to the same conclusion as her.
“The dungeon. They made her forget.” Caith reached behind her, hand itching for a blade, but Sam held out a hand to stop her.
“What are we gonna do with the woman.”
She groaned. “It’s too much to ask that we just leave her here, huh?”
“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Drag her into the living room. I’ll seal her in. No one in or out until we’re done.”
“And how are you gonna do that? Last I knew you handled fire, not magic, and brownies—”
“Brownies have doors all over the house and all houses have locks and knobs on those doors, don’t they? Brownies can’t go past a locked door. It’s a… thing. Even more, this house is connected, however distantly, to Momma R.” She jerked her head toward the woman. “Grab her and drag her over here.” Sam did as asked and Caith stepped into the center of the space. “Momma R would’ve made the doors metal, just like the locks.” She grinned at Sam. “The family employed loyal brownies, but there was a bit of pixie in ’em. When the Renard’s wanted quiet, they wanted quiet, and metal holds a spell better than wood.”
She padded around the room, plush carpet not giving way beneath her. Dead Nettle put a lot into keeping this place clean. Probably so they could keep the owner happy without rousing suspicion.
You didn’t want to get kicked out of this place, did you Nettle? Why?
“Lay her on the couch and then close the door. When you’re done, make sure you stand next to her. Don’t leave her side. I can keep one spot cool, not two.”
“Did you even think of having me stand outside?”
Caith’s snarling objection was fast and fierce. “Mine.”
Sam’s smile was blinding. “Noted.”
Bastard.
“Shaddup and stand still,” she growled and then focused, reached into herself. Hellfire was quick to respond and jump to her fingertips, aching to be of some use. Its rage roiled and boiled inside her, that part of her knowing Dead Nettle was responsible for Georges. The fire didn’t understand Caith’s preoccupation with the gator, but it did understand her unending rage.
It slid over her skin, caressing her with the warm blanket of flames. It continued to rise and consume her, twining around her like vines on a tree and she welcomed each addition, each rising degree.
It stretched
, aching for things to destroy, to find an outlet for her rage and hate. It hunted for flammable items, for things that could be turned to ash and bent beneath its power.
It licked at Sam and the woman, but she called it back with a soft murmur. “Not them.”
Closing her eyes, she let the flames continue to wander, sliding through the living room and it flicked from surface to surface. She allowed it to collide with the easy stuff, pillows and upholstery, but she gently eased toward the tougher materials.
“Metal, sweet flame. Find the metal…” she murmured low and then it vibrated with happiness, the flames dancing and trembling in air. “Seal it.”
It joyfully went to work, bending and melting and converting hinged panels into large, thick sheets. By the time she was done, she’d sealed three doors and four air vents as well as a peephole hidden behind a painting.
The heat swirled around her, brushing her hair, kissing her skin, and fluttering her clothing. It wanted to stay, wanted to hunt with her, but she needed her prey to speak before she turned them to ash.
Mainly, she wanted to know how Dead Nettle managed it all.
The hellfire pouted, whining with a rapid whip, but she wasn’t going to relent.
“Go back to Uncle Luc or I’ll ground you for a month.” She kept her voice low.
The hellfire had one snippet of retaliation before it vanished. The bastard flicked her ass, sending a burning spear of agony up her spine and she gritted her teeth against the pain.
The second cool air wafted over her skin, she sighed in relief and took a stumbling step forward. Sam’s hands were there, strong arms keeping her upright when she would have fallen.
“You okay?” Concern laced his tone and she clung to him as she fought for breath.
Caith dragged air into her lungs. “Yeah, it was being a little bitch, but I’m good.”
“Caith, should we call someone else…”
She snorted. There wasn’t anyone in town to call. It was Orlando tween business. If it happened near the mouse’s house, she had to deal with it. Not anyone else. Besides, the brownie would bleed for Georges.
“No, I’m fine.” She pushed away from Sam and reached for her swords, intent on her destination. “C’mon.”
