by Tabke, Karin
“What was that that separated us?” Lucien asked.
“Corbet magic.”
“Corbet magic? How?” Rafe asked, not liking the sound of that at all. How could that happen when there wasn’t a Corbet for miles?
“I don’t know—I just know what it was,” Falon said, stumbling over her words.
“Corbet knows what will happen if the three of us—unite,” Lucien said seriously. “I guess that’s his way of saying no fucking way.”
But Rafe caught the twinkle in his brother’s eyes. He knew exacly what generated it. Son of a bitch. Were they going to talk about what just happened before the disturbance? Rafe swiped his hand across his face. What did just happen? Damn it, he didn’t want to dissect it and analyze it. It happened. Period.
“Let’s just get the hell out of here,” Rafe said, feeling uncomfortable for a lot of reasons.
As they turned back toward the cabin, Falon took Rafael’s hand. His body immediately reacted. Heat, energy and I-want-to-fuck pheromones clashed.
He swallowed hard when he looked down into her bright eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He scowled. Thank you for not ripping his brother out of her?
Rafael looked ahead to Lucien, who looked over his shoulder and graced Rafe with a shit-eating grin. Bastard. Rafe wanted to be pissed, he wanted to kick his brother’s ass, but he didn’t. Because what happened between the three of them just now, changed everything. Rafe wasn’t exactly sure how, but they were beyond chest-beating pissing contests now.
The issue with Falon aside, Rafe had sixteen years to make up for and as he stood there looking at his brother, love swelled for him. He had missed Lucien. He was never going down that road again.
“For what?” he asked, knowing what she implied. Somehow, if he didn’t actually talk about it, he wouldn’t have to accept it.
“Trying.”
He shook his head and brought her in under his shoulder as they continued to walk. “If anyone would have told me I would stand by while my brother fu—made love to you, and that I would get excited by it, I would have burned them alive for talking such trash.” He looked down at her and smiled. His breath caught in his chest when she smiled happily up at him. “Just don’t push it.”
“Oh, I won’t.” She nipped his chest. “Unless I have to.”
Rafe shook his head. “Why did you go after Anja like that?”
She stiffened but kept her pace.
Lucien slowed so that he fell in step with them. “You nearly killed her, angel face. Not cool.”
The color drained from her cheeks. “I— Something dark and terrible came over me. I think it’s the Corbet blood.”
Rafe looked over Falon’s head to Lucien, who looked as concerned as he felt.
“Maybe you need an infusion of our blood?”
Her body shivered again. “I don’t think that’s going to help.”
“You were out of control, Falon. I didn’t want to hurt you,” Lucien said. “But you can’t go around attacking your own people.”
“I know that. It’s just— Is Anja okay?”
“Yes, and on her way back to the packs,” Rafe answered.
“She’ll inform the council,” Falon predicted.
“We’ll deal with that after the rising. Right now we have to get out of here. We have a plane to catch.”
Shockingly, for the first time in his life, Rafe didn’t give a rat’s ass what the council had to say on the matter. Everything had changed the night Falon stumbled bloody and bruised into his life. The game had changed and the rules were different. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? It was about surviving in the minute and to survive there could be no rules.
Twelve
FALON WOKE TO the pilot’s voice announcing they would be landing in thirty minutes. She had fallen asleep with her head on Rafael’s shoulder and her feet in Lucien’s lap. She had never felt more safe or loved.
She had taken a huge chance back at the stream. Though she had made a vow that until they agreed to be as one with her, she would withhold herself from them both, that went out the window when Lucien had kissed her and she’d sensed Rafael nearby. She’d hoped at the very least he would watch and not become enraged but become aroused. And it had worked. Not only had Rafael become aroused he had joined in, and just as amazing was the energy they’d created as they climaxed together. It had been off-the-charts incredible. She still got breathless thinking about it.
But then Corbet had ruined it. And it had been Thomas, she was certain! How had he snuck up on them without them detecting his scent? Or was his magic so powerful he sensed what was happening and sent his magic from wherever he was? How terrifying if that was the case. It meant he could see and hear her. It meant he could disrupt her when she least expected it. It meant—
How dare he intrude on such an intimate moment! Oh, she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into that monster! The need to kill him flared hot. With his death she was certain the darkness in her would die, too.
“Hey,” Rafe said, kissing the top of her head. “Relax, baby. We’ve got nothing but clear skies ahead.”
She looked up into Rafael’s sea green eyes and lost herself. His lips lowered to hers. Her body’s natural response was to arch into him as her arms snaked around his neck. When their lips met, warmth swept through her. “Oh, Rafa,” she whispered, molding herself into him. “I love you.”
Lucien’s fingers tightened around her feet.
I love you, too, Luca.
She smiled against Rafa’s lips. Juggling these two alphas’ egos was going to be a full-time job.
“Do I amuse you?” Rafa seriously asked against her lips.
Her smile widened and she giggled. “No,” she said. He tickled her. She squealed and tried to move away from him, but Rafa was relentless.
“You think it’s funny the way my brother and I growl at each other over you?”
“No!” she gasped when he tickled her again. “Rafa!” she cried and pounced on him, grasping his face and kissing him. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her onto his lap.
His erection poked her in the butt. But when he tickled her again, she squealed erupting into a fit of giggles and melted against him.
“Seat belts, children,” Lucien said sourly.
Falon stuck her tongue out at him but did as he requested.
Fifty minutes later they had their luggage, which included their swords, clothing, and electronics. They rented a small van and headed west.
“I trust you two have a plan?” Falon asked as she enjoyed the landscape.
“We’re headed to Westbury where we think Peter Corbet is buried. I’m going to guess he was buried with his sword.”
“We’re going to dig up a dead person?” she asked surprised.
Lucien glanced up at her from his iPad. “Really, Falon? You almost killed Rafe’s chosen one twleve hours ago and you’re worried about digging up the bastard that started it all?”
“It’s—it just seems sacrilegious.”
“The entire Corbet bloodline can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”
Falon swallowed hard and nodded. She was a Corbet, would he want her to go to hell, too?
The waxing moon showed them the way. She was sorry it grew dark. The English countryside was beautiful. But the closer they got to Westbury, the more uneasy Falon became. With each mile they drove west the stronger a new and foreboding scent became. She was plagued with the same feelings she’d had the morning Fenrir was released.
“I don’t like this,” she cautioned.
Lucien turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
“I can smell them everywhere.”
“Who?”
“Corbets. And they know we�
�re coming.”
“I don’t smell Slayers,” Rafe said from the driver’s seat.
“These aren’t Slayers, they’re witches.”
Fuck.
It was the eve of the full moon. And as they rolled into what Falon would have guessed was normally a sleepy English village, now it was alight with torches, bonfires in the streets and—
“Oh, my God! Are those fresh wolf heads hanging on the village gates?”
It was as if they had gone back eight hundred years. The village people that mulled the cobblestone streets were dressed in medieval garb. Dark magic swirled eerily around them and punctuating each shopfront and building were bloody pentagrams.
“Wolves have been extinct here for hundreds of years. Where did those fresh kills come from?” Falon asked. While she was not technically a wolf, her heart went out to the animals that were slain simply because they represented an age-old hate.
“Could be something as simple as a spell or they could have been brought in to hunt,” Rafe answered.
“Looks like some kind of Pagan gathering,” Lucien whistled.
“Wiccan,” Rafe said. “It’s a damn witchfest.”
As the van slowed to accommodate the throng of people in the streets, one by one they stopped and turned to stare. Pale faced and sullen, scores of intense eyes glared at them. Some from their sickly sweet scent she knew were Corbets, others smelled of sage and hemlock, a witch’s scent.
“We’re outted,” Lucien hissed. As he said the words, the crowd began to chant.
Falon grasped Rafe’s right hand in her left and Lucien’s left hand in her right. Their combined auras flared red, blue, and gold, infusing the inside of the van with spectacular color.
The demonic chanting escalated.
Slowly the crowds backed away as Rafe kept his steady speed, refusing to back down.
“The Abby is three kilometers north of the village,” Lucien said, looking at his iPad.
“Are you sure that’s where he’s buried?” Falon asked. Was it public knowledge?
“I’m not positive but there are some of his relatives buried there.”
As they exited the witch-infested village, Falon’s worry eased. Until they came upon the Chapel of Alberbury, or what was left of it.
“It’s nothing but ruins,” Falon said, disappointed, getting out of the van.
Malevolent scents assailed her as she walked toward the ruins. The howls of hunted wolves and the battle cries of their hunters filled the air. The pain of her ancestors cried out from the earth, the scent of their blood clogged her nostrils and the malicious triumph of her sire’s forefathers rose up before her, demanding she forsake her Lycan heritage and join them in their worldwide extermination of the scourge. It was here in 1281 that her father’s ancestor, Peter Corbet, was given the charter by Edward I to eradicate every wolf on the island. It was here they relentlessly called to her now, demanding she join with them on their never-ending quest to destroy the wolves.
No! Falon shouted. I will not join you!
But they would be heard, and more. The macabre specters of hundreds of dead Corbets rose from the earth around her, begging her for life, for the chance to avenge the deaths of all Slayers.
No!
Insistent they pressed upon her, raising their swords with the heads of dead wolves impaled on their tips.
“No!”
“Resurrect us!” they shrilled.
Falon clamped her hands over her ears, violently shaking her head. “No!”
They circled her, the blood of the wolves dripping from their swords to her hair, down her arms to her back and legs. She dropped to her knees shaking her head, refusing to answer the darkness.
Falon, Rafael called from far away. Yet his hand touched her shoulder. She shifted, snarled and snapped, sinking her fangs deep into his hand.
“Damn it, Falon!”
Panic choked her. Dear God what had she done? What was wrong with her? The same rage that possessed her when she attacked Anja exploded inside her now. But this time it was fueled by the blood of her ancestors.
She snarled again wanting more of Rafe’s blood, and with that hunger, terror she had never experienced gripped her by the throat. She snarled again.
If she stayed—she would kill him.
“Oh, Rafa,” she cried. “Please,” she sobbed, “stay away from me.” And then she leapt into the enveloping darkness where she could not harm either of the men she loved.
Blindly she ran from Rafe and Lucien. Any place they weren’t would be safe. For them. She didn’t care about her life. She cherished theirs above all others. Until she knew what was happening to her, and she could control it Luca and Rafa were in danger. First she had attacked Lucien, then Rafe, next? Would she kill one of them?
She could never live with herself. Moments later, gulping for breath, she found herself on the fringes of the village they had just passed through.
Falon! Lucien called.
Stay away from me! Please!
Tell me what’s wrong.
Just find the sword! she cried. Find the sword.
The low drone of the chanting witches permeated the air around her. Did they know she was here? Were they waiting for her? Why? Feeling a pull she could not explain or resist, Falon walked solemnly toward the village square.
Like Daniel had centuries ago, Falon walked into the lion’s den, but with no God, only her violent rage that linked her to these people and her untold power that could destroy any one of them or all of them if they provoked her.
Slowly she walked down the middle of the cobblestone main street. Completely focused on her, the witches kept a respectable distance between them. If any one of them had their sights on Rafe or Lucien they appeared to have lost it now. It was her shiny black pelt they salivated over now.
A wolf in hand was worth two in the ruins.
Oblivious to their taunting pitchforks and torches, Falon allowed them to cast a circle around her. Even as they cast spell after spell upon her, trying to force the wolf from her she ignored them.
With each incantation, her power withstood the ancient black arts. And with it, her rage escalated. Not for the taste of Slayer blood but for Lycan. Her Corbet blood was strong, and it wanted what it wanted.
For hours she paced the circumference of the widening circle. For hours, she howled her throat raw. For hours, the witches chanted, hummed, and droned their spells in their attempts to cleanse her of her wolf. For hours, she forced herself to stay within the circle while she continued to fight the black rage inside of her. It was the safest place for her alphas.
Into the wee hours of the next morning, Falon continued to force herself to stay within the confines of the magic circle, praying that Lucien and Rafa had unearthed the sword. For more hours after that she forced herself to focus her fury on her father and his people so that she didn’t lose what tenuous grip she had on her sanity and go after the two men that she loved.
But the darkness in her was too strong. Unable to stand the confines of the circle any longer, Falon broke free of it and ran toward the ruins.
As she moved into the shadow of the thousand-year-old wall, the scent of fresh earth caught her nostrils. Moving around to the back of the tallest remaining wall she saw it. A freshly unearthed grave. Tentatively she stepped closer to it, afraid and excited. Had they found the sword? The sword that could kill Fenrir?
Falon shifted and slipped on her clothing she had torn off the night before. In human form, dark whispers of long dead warriors called to her. Promising victory and greatness.
“The blood doesn’t lie,” a deep, oddly familiar voice whispered.
She snarled shaking her head.
My blood is Lycan!
“You are Corbet!”
Falon snarled a
nd approached the open grave. She had expected Rafa and Luca to have destroyed what was left of Peter Corbet. But what she saw when she looked down into the damp ground amazed and terrified her.
Thirteen
BLUE EYES SO much like her own stared back at Falon. Full sensuous lips parted into a genuine smile.
“Hello, daughter,” Thomas Corbet said softly, as his body rose like a specter from the empty casket.
Rage, longing, and an unexpected elation slammed through her, momentarily confusing her loyalties. She grasped the protective amulet she never took off. Her father’s, her mother had told her. This was her father? This was her enemy. The man who had killed Rafa and Luca’s parents, kidnapped her mother and no doubt raped her, at least in the beginning. He was the most abominable man on earth and he was her father!
“I am not your daughter,” she spat, stepping back from him. Looking expectantly behind him, Falon’s gaze swept the quiet cemetery and beyond. Where were Luca and Rafa? A different panicked anxiety swept through her. Suddenly she didn’t want them near. What if side by side they saw her likeness to this man? What would they do? She didn’t want to know. Ever.
Corbet landed lightly on his feet before her. Nervously Falon stood face to face with her father for the first time since she was a little girl. And for the first time she was glad there was no love lost between them.
He was imposingly tall, brilliantly blond with blazing blue eyes and if she didn’t hate him so much, she’d think he was handsome. He was dressed in the old way, his broadsword sheathed in a gold and silver scabbard around his trim waist.
“The blood doesn’t lie, Falon. My seed sprang you to life. My only regret is that I was not there to raise you.”
She shoved out her hands, the force of her action pushing him back a dozen yards. “My only regret is that your seed gave me life! If I did not carry a child, I would slit my throat rather than acknowledge you as my father.” She spat on the ground but continued to move toward him. “Why are you here, what do you want?”
He reached out a hand to her. “I am here because I love you. I want you to stand beside me during the rising, and fight for our cause.”
