by Aliya DalRae
Nox remained in his seat, seemingly unaware that they were safely on the ground given as how he had yet to ease up on that death grip he held.
Harrier opened the cabin door while the ground crew rolled up and secured a metal staircase.
“Good flight,” Mason said to Harrier as he headed down the metal steps.
“I’ve had better,” Raven grumbled on his way out. She glanced up to see Harrier grinning. Those two had developed an odd relationship, mostly for Jessica’s sake, but generally Rachel found it unnerving. They managed not to kill each other, though, so she tried not to dwell on it too much.
She passed her brother and patted him on the chest. “It was a lovely flight,” she said. His smile for her was much more genuine but quickly shifted to concern as he nodded back into the cabin.
Rachel turned to find Nox exactly where she’d left him. Harrier moved to walk past her, but Rachel shook her head. “I’ll go.”
She sat next to Nox, reached for him but withdrew her hand, afraid of startling him. “Nox, we’re here.”
He didn’t look at her, just nodded his head.
“It’s okay, we’re on the ground.”
Again, with the nodding.
“Nox, look at me.” When he did, she truly wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t the strain of tension threading his neck, or the way his jaws moved up and down as he ground his molars together. It wasn’t even the crack that sounded when he squeezed the armrest a bit too hard.
It was the moment she locked eyes with him that sent her heart to her throat, the instant that one good eye latched onto her two. In that beautiful eye she saw pure terror, and she finally understood.
It wasn’t the flight that had unnerved Nox, nor the near flawless landing. They were back in London, where he’d been held captive for the better part of five centuries, the city he’d escaped mere decades ago. A place she imagined he thought never to see again.
Nox was strong, with powers other Vampires could only dream about. But he was about to face his worst nightmare.
Chapter Seventeen
N ox.”
He jumped when she laid her hand on his shoulder, her gentle touch bringing him back to the here and now.
“We have to go.”
Nox blinked and forced himself to pry his fingers from the armrests. He stood and crouched a bit to avoid banging his head on the Citation’s cabin ceiling. The thing seemed to be pushing down on him, suffocating him, joining in with the walls and the floor to close in around him, confine him, imprison him.
He looked at Rachel, grabbed her gaze and stole the strength from her that he needed to force himself out of this flying prison. She gave a nod and headed toward the exit, but Nox had to work a few more breaths in-and-out before he could make his feet move.
Get over yourself, he thought. What’s the worst that could happen? Nox sighed, knowing exactly what the worst could be, had lived several lifetimes of it. He’d sworn he’d never return to this place, never give that bastard the opportunity to lay his vicious claws on him again.
But this was family, and not just Raven and Jessica, and little Izzie whom he had yet to meet. It was the Legion itself, Mason and the others who had embraced him as one of their own. He’d finally found a place in the world where people respected him, actually cared about him. This was more than one step forward, two back. This was a colossal slide into an abysmal past he wanted nothing to do with. Yet he knew he’d do anything for the people here with him, and for those they’d left behind.
He’d made a mistake pissing Rachel off so early in their trip. For hours he’d had nothing better to do than remember the horrors of his time with Primeval Magnus. Now that they were on British soil, it was all he could do not to beg Harrier to crank up this tin can and get him back over the ocean, take him home where he felt safe.
Safe. Never trust the pretty ones.
Nox shook the memory from his head. It was too late for safe.
When he finally managed to force himself out of the plane and down the metal staircase, he saw that a stretch limo waited for them in the hangar. It was big enough to carry them all at once along with their meager luggage. A male stood on the driver’s side, suited up in a black coat and pants with a fancy chauffer’s hat sitting straight on his head. Nox recognized him immediately.
“Fergus?”
The male broke into a wide grin and, protocol be damned, he walked right up, held out his hand and pulled Nox into a tight man hug.
“Good to see you,” Fergus said. “But sorry at the same time.”
“Yeah,” Nox said. “Leave it to me to land in the one place that would bring me back here. What’s the atmosphere?”
Fergus glanced at Mason and the others, who were sorting out their bags as Harrier emptied the Citation’s belly.
“Magnus is right pissed about something. New fella showed up, not one of us, mind, spouting some garbage about the Legion. Then a lady came in and she was one of us, and she confirmed all the crap the guy was spouting. Since then, Magnus has been on a right tear.”
“Still got your ear to the ground, I see,” Nox slapped the male on the back. He’d never have escaped without Fergus’ help.
“Yeah, well, I’d be careful if I was you. I don’t get around as much since they moved me to transportation. Not like when I worked the kitchens and brought your meals to ya, so I don’t know as much as I used to. These are just rumors, but I trust my source. Keep your head down, my friend.”
Nox agreed, and they shook hands again before Fergus moved off to help Rachel with her bag.
“My lady, allow me. You’re far to pretty to be carrying such a heavy load.”
Rachel smiled at the male, gracious as always, while Fergus chatted away, laying it on thicker than even Nox recalled. A low growl crawled up Nox’s throat, but he swallowed it when Rachel raised an eyebrow at him. Not in the mood to explain his relationship with their driver or his own reaction to their shameless flirting, Nox turned his back to them. What did he care if Fergus tried to score with “Lady Rachel.” None of his damn business. She could screw every male in the country for all he cared.
He found his bag at the back of the plane and slung it over his shoulder. On the way back to the car he caught a glimpse of his old friend with a hand on Rachel’s back as he held the car door for her. This time the growl was harder to suppress. Fortunately, the others had settled into the vehicle, hopefully out of hearing range.
“Ready then, mate?” Fergus, having apparently done all he could for Rachel, turned to take Nox’s bag. “I’ll throw that in the boot and we’ll be off.”
~~~~~
T he ride to the Primeval’s home was long and tedious. Things had changed a lot in the hundred years Nox had been gone. While most of what he’d seen had been at a glance on his way out of Dodge, he still couldn’t believe how much the city had grown. And yet, with all the modernizations, the Tower Bridge still stood tall and proud over the River Thames, and Big Ben still tolled out the hour as they journeyed on to their final destination. Nox’s, anyway, because he knew in his gut that he wouldn’t be leaving the Primeval’s grasp again.
Fergus eventually deposited them at the entrance to a large castle that sat at the back of a secluded lane on the south side of the city. Once he’d emptied the limo of passengers and luggage he kissed Rachel’s hand, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He threw one last warning glance at Nox before starting the vehicle and driving off.
The Legion party ascended the stone steps together, the gravity of the situation weighing down on them all. When they reached the landing, the giant oak door opened to them, giving them no choice but to enter. From nowhere two servants appeared to take their bags and jackets, disappearing as quickly as they’d come.
A gaunt butler, one Nox didn’t recognize, led them to a large receiving room. The space could easily have held several hundred, and yet Magnus sat alone on a gold-leaf throne placed prominently on a dais at the focal point of the room.
&nbs
p; Mason led the way, and the rest of them followed, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous chamber, as the butler melted into the background.
Nox forced himself to advance with the group, but his focus was on the figure at the head of the room. The Primeval was exactly as he remembered. Brown hair framed a deceptively handsome face, but if one looked closely they couldn’t miss the hardness in those flint grey eyes. He was a large male, bigger than Harrier, even, and he lounged in that oversized chair, his long legs stretched in front of him as he leaned an elbow on the throne’s arm. To anyone else he would appear relaxed, bored even, but Nox knew the evil that rested behind that contrived smile.
“My lord,” Mason said in greeting and with a slight—very slight—bow. “We have come as you commanded.
Magnus rose, his dark slacks perfectly creased, his dress shirt bleached and ironed. “Please Mason,” he said. “No need for such formalities.” He stepped off the dais to stand before them, as one of them. “It was but a request so that we can sort through these ugly rumors.”
“Of course, my lord.” Mason motioned to Rachel. “I believe you know of Rachel, daughter to the Seer Victoria, and sister to my Warrior Harrier.”
“Harrier,” Magnus offered his hand and Harrier hesitated before taking it, releasing it after one steady pump. “I thought you were a myth. Can you really fly as they say?”
Harrier growled, but Rachel placed a hand on his back, and he quieted, though Nox noticed he was still grinding his teeth. “Of course,” the Warrior half smiled at the Primeval. “I piloted the Cessna Citation that brought us here.”
Before Magnus could continue that line of questioning, Mason stepped in. “And as you requested, Nox and Raven, the prophesied twins, although if I recall, your Seer only predicted the one.”
Magnus ignored the Warlord’s comment, gave an offended sniff as he examined Raven from head to foot. His eyes slid past Nox without acknowledgment of his presence, thank the gods, and landed back on Mason. “You must be tired from your journey. Giles will see you to your quarters. I believe your bags have already been delivered, yes?”
The butler, Giles apparently, had reappeared and at his nod Magnus said, “Dinner is in an hour. I’ll have someone fetch you to bring you down. We have other guests this evening, so do dress appropriately.”
With that, the stick-up-his-ass butler herded them together and showed them to a curved staircase that led to the upper floors. They were each dropped unceremoniously at their own suite with instructions to be ready to dine at the appropriate time.
This left Nox for last, and Giles deposited him in his room with a look of utter disdain. He didn’t receive the speech about dinner and noticed his room lacked some of the niceties he’d observed in passing the other suites. Like the fruit basket he’d seen on a table in Rachel’s, or the flat screen television over the dresser in Raven’s. His room consisted of a bed with a spartan headboard and a thin blanket. A low chest of drawers that had seen better days stood along the wall at the foot of the bed.
Giles watched Nox as he checked his bag, which someone had deposited on the dresser, sneered at him as he looked around. Before leaving him alone, the butler said only, “Be ready,” and Nox could swear he saw a smile on that skeletal face as he followed his upturned nose through the door.
The room came with an en suite bathroom, if you could call it that. It was about the size of a coat closet, with a tub, toilet and sink all crammed in tight.
Without a TV to occupy his time, Nox decided to take a shower, hoping it would wash away some of the ill feelings he was working hard to overcome. He cranked on the water—at least it was hot—and made quick work of things. He dried off with a thin towel he found hanging on a rack over the john, then wrapped it around his waist—no fancy robe hanging on the back of his bathroom door, as he imagined the others were enjoying.
He returned to the main area, grabbed his bag and dumped it out on the bed. He was taking inventory of the clothes he brought, wondering which pair of jeans the Primeval would consider appropriate attire, when a soft knock distracted him from his task.
“Nox, it’s me.”
He opened the door to Rachel and nearly dropped his towel. She wore a beautiful green dress that brought out the gold highlights in her fiery hair and accentuated each and every curve of her luscious body. As he waved her in, Nox readjusted the handkerchief he was wearing to cover his reaction. She was absolutely stunning.
“Wow, they certainly rolled out the red carpet for us,” she said, giving a little twirl so he could get the full effect of her gown. “Makes me all the more suspicious of Magnus’ motives, of course, but the Cristal was a nice touch. What did you think of the…”
The female finally stopped talking. He watched as she scanned Nox’s barren room, her brows knitted as her green eyes sparked. “This isn’t right,” she spat.
Nox shrugged and returned to his search for dinner attire. If the others were wearing anything close to what Rachel had on, he was shit out of luck.
“Not even a TV? Come on!”
“Forget it,” Nox said, and he meant it. Truth be told, he’d had better digs when he was a prisoner here, but he supposed that was the Primeval’s point. No matter to Nox, though. He’d lived in worse.
“Trade rooms with me,” Rachel said. “They can’t get away with this.”
Nox exhaled and hitched his towel up on his hips again, his previous arousal deflating as the current situation hit home. “He’s the Primeval. Surely you don’t think this is the worst he’s done to me.”
“I—no, but…”
“Leave it,” Nox said. “But I’m glad you’re here. You can tell me which pair of jeans will go best with your dress.”
Chapter Eighteen
R achel was certain she’d heard wrong. She looked from Nox to the clothes he’d laid out on the mattress but saw nothing as elegant as the dress she’d found hanging in her closet. She’d been certain the Primeval had provided proper attire for all of them. No reason to single her out as being unprepared.
Nox said something, but she gave him the wait-a-minute finger and did an about face. She marched out the door, vaguely aware of Nox following her down the hall, fumbling with the damp towel he’d wrapped around his waist. If she wasn’t so angry she might have enjoyed the sight of him in nothing but that slip of cotton. She would have liked to admire him in the privacy of his room. No, not his room, damn it, but certainly her own. Surreptitiously, of course. She wouldn’t want him to get any ideas, but a girl should be able to ogle a handsome male on occasion without having to deal with this sort of bollocks.
Instead she found herself at her brother’s door, pounding her fist on solid English oak. Harrier opened the door wearing a scowl and a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. His attitude seemed more about the tie he was struggling with than her interruption. It took but a moment for that to change.
“Just as I suspected. They gave you clothes, too?”
Harrier’s frown deepened. “What are you bitching about? You look fine.”
Rachel huffed, turned on her heel and banged on the next door down. “Raven,” she called as she hammered her fist against the wood. “Get out here, now!”
Raven opened the door looking even more dapper than Harrier in his fancy duds. “Rachel? You all right?”
But Rachel was already marching down the hall to pound on another door. Mason stepped out before she reached it and stood in the frame, looking quite the picture in Ralph Lauren. “What’s going on?”
“That,” Rachel pointed to Mason. “And this,” she waved at herself and the two well clad Warriors behind her. “It’s bad enough they put him in the servant’s quarters, but they didn’t even give him a suit for dinner.”
“Who?” Mason asked as he scanned the hall.
“Nox.” Two male voices joined her own and then all eyes turned to the topic of their discussion. Standing in the hall with that little towel on his hips, his face fire red and his eye on the floor,
Nox looked the picture of defeat.
Mason’s eyes sparked silver and Rachel took some satisfaction in the Warlord’s reaction. “And what’s this about servant’s quarters?”
“See for yourself.”
Mason took two minutes to inspect Nox’s room before rejoining the group in the hall.
“What clothes do you have?” he asked Nox.
“Jeans, but don’t worry about it. I’ll just wait…”
“Get changed.” Mason met Rachel’s eyes. “All of you. Whatever you have that’s decent. No need to be rude, but we’re not wearing these. Go. We don’t want to be late.”
Everyone moved toward their doors except Nox, who stood in the hall looking for all the world as though someone had shot his best dog.
Rachel took a step toward him, to comfort, something, but Mason was there first.
“You’re one of us, now,” he told Nox. “I won’t have one of my own singled out like this.”
Nox raised his head to look Mason in the eye.
“Now go get changed,” Mason said, then turned to his door, probably to follow his own orders. Nox hadn’t moved.
Remembering his earlier request, Rachel said, “Give me a minute and I’ll be down to help you choose. Nox gave her a nod and returned to his room.
Rachel took a moment to admire the view—after all this she’d earned it—before returning to her room to get rid of the horrible garment she wore. If she didn’t think it would set off an alarm, she’d put the damn thing in a trash bin and set fire to it. Instead, she simply dropped it on the floor, slipped into a pair of slacks and her nicest blouse, then ran out the door to see what she could do for Nox.
Chapter Nineteen
I f Merlin thought things would be better after an orgasm, he’d been sadly mistaken. It had done nothing to chase away the dreams, let alone the nightmares, and the exhaustion was overwhelming. Unable to sleep as he’d hoped, and in no frame of mind to concentrate on work with Martin just down the hall, he’d returned to the Tech Room to finish out the night.
