Midnight Enchantment

by Anya Bast

  “I don’t want to kill you. Au contraire. I want you to tell me where the pieces are and I’ll let you go.”

  “Right, so you can gather all the pieces and the book, and do Danu knows what with the spells inside.”

  “Nonsense.” He gave her a wolfish smile. “It’s exactly as Liam says it is. I intend to use the spells in the book to destroy the book, itself. Once the book is destroyed, Piefferburg’s walls will hold forever. The Phaendir and the humans will be safe from the threat of the fae loose in the world. That’s all I want.”

  “Sure. I believe you,” she shot back, sarcasm thick in her tone. “And if Liam believes you, he’s dumber than he looks.”

  Liam’s gaze shot to her, his eyes narrowing.

  She looked past Liam, dismissing him, and focused on Gideon. Despite Liam’s size, Gideon was the real threat. “You’ll do whatever it is you think your precious god wants you to do. I have no doubt that’s genocide.”

  “You misunderstand me. I’m your keeper, not your killer. We want the same thing, Elizabeth. Just give in and we can all go home.” He motioned at the charmed iron band around her ankle. “That’s been on for three days. Things are about to get a whole lot rougher for you. That thing could even kill you.” Gideon spread his hands and tried to look innocent.

  Gideon was incapable of looking innocent. Evil, yes. Creepy, definitely. Every night the man took off his shirt and used a cat-o’-nine-tails on his own back and arms, ripping his flesh and letting his blood run down his buttocks and the backs of his legs. His skin was a mess of fresh and healing wounds and thick, mottled scar tissue from old ones. As he injured himself, he prayed.

  It was the only time she and Liam were ever in accord. Gideon was disturbed beyond all comprehension.

  She laughed, and it turned into a series of racking coughs. When it was over, she laid her head on the pillow and breathed shallowly, fighting the now familiar feeling of exhaustion from the iron sickness. It seemed to be progressing faster in real life. “I’ve already died once from a charmed iron cuff. You’re too late.”

  Gideon looked confused for a moment, then sneered at her and turned away, pointing at Liam. “If death doesn’t scare her, maybe pain will. She’s all yours.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, thinking of Gideon’s cat-o’-nine-tails.

  Great.

  NIALL pushed a branch aside and let it thunk back into place.

  He really hated all of this. He hated that he was now in the position of having to save the woman responsible for hiding the pieces of the bosca fadbh. He hated there were fucking Phaendir loose in Piefferburg—and there had to be more than one. No one single Phaendir was capable of wielding magick the way suit-guy had. He had to have a contingent of Phaendir secreted away close by who were sitting in meditation and powering this asshole, giving him a steady stream of juice.

  That meant suit-guy was a bigwig.

  The archdirector? Was this man Gideon Amberdoyal? It seemed likely.

  If suit-guy was Amberdoyal, why was Elizabeth fighting them? The Phaendir wanted the same thing she did, and the Phaendir could hide the pieces much better than she ever could.

  So why the resistance? Why the charmed iron? Why was she willing—yet again—to die to keep the pieces from someone else’s hand?

  Who was she was protecting now?

  He needed to contact the Black Tower and let them know the Phaendir were somehow loose in Piefferburg. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten in without their knowledge. The Phaendir had kidnapped Aislinn once, in the days leading up to her succession to the Unseelie throne. No one had known how they’d entered—but they’d all left in body bags.

  In pieces inside the body bags, since the goblins had gotten to them.

  That meant the weird Irish-accented redheaded hulk might be from the outside, too. It seemed likely he could be one of the free fae who’d been giving them so much trouble.

  Queen Aislinn needed to know all this, but he had no way to send word to the Black Tower right now. His first priority was getting Elizabeth out of there. Depending on when they’d captured her, she may have been wearing that iron against her skin for days. He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at her through the window to judge.

  Murmuring a series of words under his breath, he eased around the side of the cabin, popping a concealment spell in place. This one was different than the one used on a stationary item—like his SUV parked down the road, for example. This one cloaked him from locator magick as he moved around, but it wouldn’t last long, which is why he’d put it into place at the very last minute. He had a knife sheathed at his side in case he needed it. Aside from that, his only weapon was his magick.

  And a group of nature fae.

  The first thing he’d done after the redhead had abandoned the cargo van to the tangled mess he’d embedded it in was seek out a few of the nature fae around these woods. He knew they would be singularly pissed off that one of their own was being held against her will, especially by the Phaendir. Of course, he’d had to slightly modify the reason for her predicament.

  It hadn’t taken him long to find a clutch of Scots woods fae and a few of the birch ladies. Both groups, especially the birch ladies, who were sworn to protect women, had wanted to storm the cabin right then. He’d been forced to manage them into a small army and make them vow not to attack until he said so.

  The free fae and the Phaendir bastard wouldn’t know what hit them.

  Even better, Elizabeth would be in his arms shortly.

  Sneaking up to a window, he peered inside, this time confident that suit-guy—Gideon Amberdoyal, he was certain—wouldn’t see him. His eyes widened, taking in the scene. Elizabeth, shirtless, was slumped over a chair turned backward, hands tied in front and her bare back exposed. Her face looked haggard, ashen. Clearly she was deep in the throes of iron sickness, only this time it wasn’t just in her head.

  The massive redhead stood behind her, holding a cat-o’-nine-tails loose in one hand, his mouth snarling out words at Amberdoyal. It looked like they were arguing. Amberdoyal was gesturing toward Elizabeth. It appeared Amberdoyal was trying to get the redheaded fae to flay her open and he was resisting.

  Niall took all this in for one, short moment, and then leapt into action. He shouted the command, voice hoarse with shock and panic. A man as big and strong as that one could lay soft skin like Elizabeth’s open with only one lash, no matter how much he held back.

  The redheaded fae never got the chance to try.

  The nature fae stormed the house yelling out battle cries like Celtic warriors of old. As soon as the cabin was breached, Amberdoyal started exploding magick front, left, and center.

  Niall forced his way into the cabin to find it already filled with smoke, obscuring his vision. To Niall’s right, Gideon fought off a group of burly Scots fae and birch ladies with his magick while slowly inching back toward a window to escape. To Niall’s left, the redhead was in a fistfight with a woods fae who was of an equal size.

  Fire had erupted in at least three different places, thanks to Amberdoyal’s willy-nilly, panicked explosions, he guessed. Now he knew how Elizabeth’s house had caught fire. But none of that mattered to him. He had one priority and one only. He waved the smoke away, getting a bearing on where Elizabeth was located in the mess.

  There!

  He made his way toward her and came around her chair. She was out cold, slumped over the backrest and oblivious to the chaos around her. He worked the knots of the rope binding her wrists.

  Right before he got them undone, the sting of the cat-o’-nine-tails bit into his back. His spine snapped, arching in white-hot pain. His shirt ripped from collar to hem and hot blood gushed. He stood and whirled to face the redhead.

  Well, hell, apparently he didn’t have a problem hitting anyone with that thing but Elizabeth.

  The man held the cat in one hand and smiled maliciously. “Liam Connall Deaglan Mag Aoidh, free fae, at your service.”

  Ah. Th
at explained a lot.

  They circled each other warily. The rest of the nature fae were busy with Amberdoyal, leaving him alone with Liam. “So, a traitor free fae, then. I figured. Heard lots about you.”

  He shrugged. “A man does what he needs to do to protect those he loves.”

  “Including beat up on defenseless women? How noble.”

  Liam glanced at Elizabeth, looking almost regretful. He turned sad eyes back to Niall. “There’s nothing noble in any of this. She’s protecting someone, too.”

  The fire around them grew, snapping and crackling. The nature fae retreated, coughing. He couldn’t see where Amberdoyal had gone in the smoke and that made him nervous. “We need to get out of here soon, or we’ll both die.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Nah, just you.”

  The cat’-o-nine-tails came toward his head with whiplash fast speed, but Niall was ready for it. He reached up, his back screaming in skin-ripping agony, and grabbed the cat. Yanking it to the side, he pulled the man off balance and brought his fist up, giving him a solid punch to the face. It cracked Liam’s head to the side and made him stagger.

  Totally okay with hitting a man when he was down, Niall stepped forward and delivered a hard punch to the man’s kidney. Liam’s back snapped rigid as he arched with a bellow of pain. Taking advantage of his exposed chin, Niall gave him another fist to the face.

  Liam stumbled back a step, dropped the cat, then fell backward with a thump.

  Niall stood, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping. His back screamed with pain, on fire just like the house. All he wanted was to collapse, but he couldn’t nurse his hurts yet. He needed to get Elizabeth out of here—now.

  THIRTEEN

  COUGHING from the smoke, he turned and quickly finished undoing the knots at her wrists. She was still out cold, which was not helpful at all. He tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry…and nearly passed out from the pain of his back ripping even further. He stopped for a moment, breathing in smoke and forcing himself not to lose it.

  Coughing and staggering, he made his way out the front door and into the cold, fresh air. A little way from the house he gave her over to the hands of the Scots fae and sank to the ground. The cold, snow-dusted earth felt so good against his back.

  One of the birch ladies sat down beside him. “The Phaendir got away,” she said, her dark hair shifting over her shoulders.

  He nodded, watching the cabin go up in flames. “The free fae didn’t.” Liam was still in there, knocked out cold.

  “Is that what he was?”

  Niall nodded.

  “Sit up so I can see what he did to you.”

  Grimacing, Niall pushed up from the ground.

  The woman examined his back. “You need healing.”

  One of the men knelt beside him. “The woman’s breathing, but still out.”

  Niall looked up and saw they’d covered her with a blanket. “She’s iron sick.” His voice was rasping from the smoke. “I need to get that cuff off her.”

  He pushed to his feet and staggered over to the man who cradled her in his arms. Her face was dirty from soot, her hair was tangled, and her skin looked wan and pasty. She was pretty far gone.

  “Carpean mia dosic,” he murmured and touched the cuff. The side of the smooth metal split and it dropped onto the ground. That was the end of his magick. It was pretty much tapped. He probably only had enough left for a low-level locator spell, and he would need to work it to find them shelter.

  If Amberdoyal came calling now, they were in deep shit.

  The dark-haired birch Lady came up on his side. “Come with me. We can give you shelter and heal you both.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for your help, all of you.” He knew they’d lost a few in there to Amberdoyal’s magick. He’d seen the bodies. “But I need to take her where no one knows our location. And we need to leave now, no time for healing.”

  Her brow wrinkling, the woman looked from him to Elizabeth. “Are you sure? She looks—”

  “Bad. Yeah, she looks real bad. But, yes, I’m sure.” He couldn’t run the risk of them discovering what Elizabeth had done. They’d probably want to kill her themselves.

  A burly Scots wood fae placed Elizabeth into his arms. He grimaced in pain, feeling hot blood run down his back anew. No matter, they needed to get the hell out of here.

  Niall looked down at the woman in his arms. Here he was helping her again. Stupid. This woman wielded some magick over him that he didn’t understand—because what he did for her now had so much less to do with the bosca fadbh than he was comfortable admitting.

  He turned, thanked the nature fae again, and walked to his vehicle anyway.

  HE wanted to drive farther, but the weather conditions and the pain of his back made it impossible. Going as far toward civilization as he could do safely in the driving snow, he pulled off to the side and used the dregs of his magick to locate shelter somewhere nearby. Immediately he got a hit on an empty structure not far away.

  Guiding the SUV to it slowly, he saw that it was another cabin, not unlike the one he’d left burning down the road. Apparently this must be a Seelie fae vacation destination. Whatever. It was shelter from the storm. He just hoped there was food to scavenge.

  After kicking the front door in, he carried Elizabeth inside and set her on the couch.

  Breaking into one of the upstairs bedrooms, he found a stash of clothing and selected a cashmere sweater, then returned to Elizabeth and slipped it over her head.

  She roused, pushing at him, and he calmed her. “Where are we?” she murmured, looking down at the new sweater.

  “Seems like every time we meet, you’re naked,” he grumbled under his breath. “Let me worry about where we are. Relax. You’re safe.”

  She peered up into his face. “You look like hell.”

  “So do you, baby. Rest now.”

  A faint smile flickered over her lips. “You do know how to flatter a girl.” She fell back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Dark circles marked the flesh beneath them.

  He stood back and studied her. She looked close to gone. He’d figured that charmed iron against the skin of a nature fae would do its work faster and had built that into the illusion he’d woven for her, but he’d never expected the process to be this fast. By the looks of the weight she’d lost and the color of her skin, he’d gotten her out of there just in time.

  While she slept, he cleaned and dressed the wound on his back as best he could, hid the SUV, built a fire in every available fireplace in the cabin to heat the place, and figured out what they’d do for food while she recovered. Luckily the place was stocked with canned goods.

  He just hoped no one would find them before he had enough juice for a concealment spell. He wouldn’t be able to put one in place for at least twelve hours.

  Elizabeth slept way past that amount of time. He bundled her in blankets where she lay on the couch and checked every few hours to see if she was breathing.

  Other than that the brief flicker of life she’d shown when they first arrived, she did a really good impression of a dead person. Niall had never dealt with anyone who’d been so thoroughly dosed with charmed iron. To him it looked like a coma, or a really deep sleep that allowed her body to repair itself.

  He found himself sitting near her, studying her night and day, worried not only about the hidden pieces of the bosca fadbh, but about the woman, herself. She was a bright light in the world. Stubborn and misguided, to be sure, but also intelligent, incredibly strong, and very protective.

  She was like no one he’d ever met—and he’d lived a long time. Unique, complex, fascinating, she intrigued him on a level that went far past her physical allure. Niall had to admit he was attracted to her, but on a deeper level than he’d ever been attracted to a woman before.

  For the first time in his three hundred and eighty two years, Niall felt the bite of true fear.

  Finally, around forty-eight hours after he’d carried her int
o the cabin, she began to stir. He put down the book he’d been thumbing listlessly through and sat forward, watching her. She parted cracked, pale lips and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Elizabeth…Elizabeth,” he singsonged. “Are you in there?”

  She groaned and opened her eyes a crack. Taking one look at him, she grimaced, and closed her eyes again. He’d try not to take that personally.

  After fetching a glass of water, he set it to her mouth and dribbled a little between her lips. She groaned again, grabbed the glass with surprising strength, and tried to gulp it empty.

  “Hey, easy,” he said, wresting control from her. “A little at a time or it will all come back up.” He eased the glass away from her.

  She blinked and focused on his face. “What happened?”

  He set the glass on the table and slumped in the chair. “You mean other than you almost dying? This time for real?”

  Weakly, she pushed up and propped herself among the pillows. “I’m aware of that particular fact. I meant the rest of it. How did I get here, with you?” Her words came halting and raspy from an abused throat.

  He told her the whole story, then steepled his fingers and grinned. “I saved your cute butt.”

  She set the water glass onto the coffee table. She was looking better by the minute, but she wouldn’t be dancing around anytime soon…or dissolving into water self, probably. “Maybe, but you also let Gideon Amberdoyal get away.”

  “Way to be grateful, Elizabeth.”

  “I am grateful. Thank you for saving my butt, Niall. You’re my hero.”

  “Cute butt.”

  She closed her eyes. “If you say so.”

  “Am I your hero? Are you thinking about ways you can repay me?”

  She cracked one eyelid and glared at him. “You’re not getting the pieces.”

  He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking about the pieces.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t.” She swung her feet around to the floor and swayed a little. “I need a shower, and my stomach is trying to digest itself. I’m getting way too used to that sensation. After that, you and I have things to discuss.”