by Reine, SM
“No! I’m going back to the Middle Worlds!”
“I think he’s got a point, Donovan. If Stark pins one of us with his Jedi mind powers and the valkyrie takes the other with that freaky-ass sword of hers—”
“Jean Claude, so help me God, I will end you.”
Deirdre tried not to laugh. In truth, the unseelie were right to be afraid of Stark and Vidya. The pair was practically an army unto themselves. Heck, Deirdre was afraid of them, and they were supposedly allies.
But where had they gone?
She weighed Melchior’s gun in her hand. The chamber had originally held six rounds; she was pretty sure that firing on Jacek had eliminated three of them. That meant she had one more shot.
The fireball it created was impressive, sure—but was it impressive enough to take down three sidhe?
Probably not.
The unseelie named Jean Claude gave a shout of surprise.
Deirdre looked up to see an angel of death descending on the courtyard. Her wings were spread wide to catch the air, Ethereal Blade lifted above her head.
Vidya swept the sword in an arc.
The first sidhe didn’t stand a chance at escaping. She cleaved him neatly in two. There was no blood this time—only the spraying of tree sap and the eruption of ivy from his severed veins. His hemispheres fell to the earth and were absorbed by it.
One of the sidhe flung his hand toward Vidya. He shouted a magical word that made Deirdre’s ears pop, and the valkyrie was flung backwards, smashing into the wall.
Deirdre leaped to her feet, raising Melchior’s gun.
But then Stark was there. Not in his human form, but as a beast that was too big to fit through a normal doorway.
He made his own doorway.
His massive furred body crashed through the windows, slamming into the nearest of the sidhe.
The sight of Stark in his animal form was no less shocking or awe-inspiring than the first time Deirdre had seen him. He so seldom shifted that it was frightening to see how much deadlier an already deadly man could become once he had fangs and claws.
He ripped through his sidhe victim effortlessly, ripping her head from her shoulders.
The severed head rolled across the ground and came to a stop at Deirdre’s feet, mouth gaping.
Stark shifted back as he approached Deirdre, shedding his animal skin easily. He was almost as hairy as a human as when he was shapeshifted. Curly reddish hair matted his chest and thighs.
Shapeshifters were casual about nudity. It was impossible to transition between their bodies and remain clothed, after all. Deirdre had grown up around naked men and women of all ages, so the bare human form didn’t bother her one bit.
At least, not usually.
But Stark had kissed her earlier, and now she was fighting hard to keep her eyes somewhere respectful. Somewhere that wouldn’t inspire him to pluck her eyeballs out when he was in the midst of his “do I have lust or loathing for Deirdre Tombs?” confusion.
“What the hell are you?” she asked, staring hard at his eyes, his chin, his shoulders. Everything above the waist.
“Amphicyonidae,” Stark said as soon as he had human lips again. “I’m a bear wolf.”
“A what now?”
“Bear wolf,” he repeated. “Prehistoric animal. It’s been extinct for millennia. You’ll only find others like me in museums.”
“Is that even possible?” Deirdre asked.
“Obviously,” Stark said dryly. “What happened inside?”
Deirdre hefted Melchior’s gun. “Jacek thought he’d use all the commotion to try to kill me. I brought the asylum down on his head.”
Stark’s eyes crinkled at the corners. It was a smile, no doubt about that.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
Deirdre shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a patient soul.” Stark turned to walk away, but she sidestepped to remain in his vision. “I saw the news while I was in my room. Rylie Gresham’s announced that she’s going to hold an election to replace her as Alpha.”
Stark stopped. His eyes widened. “What?”
With a grunt, Vidya cut the head from the final sidhe’s shoulders. The body fell with a wet splat and was consumed by fresh grass and white blossoms within seconds. Her fingers remained tangled in her victim’s hair, letting it dangle from her hand. Blood so thick that it was nearly black dribbled from the severed neck.
There was so much blood on her wings, but the Ethereal Blade still shone bright and pure.
Stark stared at Deirdre, oblivious to the death behind him.
“It’s a trick,” he said. “Nobody with power yields it willingly.”
“That’s exactly what she’s doing,” Deirdre said.
He shook his head. “No. This is some kind of trap. This isn’t even how shapeshifters work. You can’t elect an Alpha!”
Vidya sauntered over to their side. “I talked with one of the other sidhe in the asylum before killing him. He told me that the queen of the unseelie is in the medical bay.”
“We’ll have to talk about Rylie Gresham later. Let’s take the queen of the Winter Court down while we have the chance,” Deirdre said.
Grim resignation crossed Stark’s features. “This, Tombs. This is why I picked you to be my Beta.”
Because she could be just as horrible as he was.
They really were a matched set.
“Let’s do it, Vidya,” Stark said.
The valkyrie smiled warmly again at Deirdre, as though they were about to do something wild and silly. Maybe something like vandalizing a building. Breaking into a grocery store overnight. Going skateboarding around city hall. The kind of irresponsible shenanigans that Deirdre had done with her friends as teenagers.
Vidya’s metal wings sang out as she led them to the medical bay. It wasn’t far. They didn’t run into any opposition on the way.
The door was barricaded by dressers and shelves and broken cabinets piled in front of it. It looked like members of the pack had been trying to lock someone into the room. But they were all dead now, bodies scattered across the hall, blood seeping from their pores, flesh mangled and melted.
“Open the door,” Stark said.
Deirdre and Vidya set to work, hauling the furniture off the floor and tossing it aside. There were more bodies underneath the barricade.
It was hard for her to see people she knew thrown about like pieces of driftwood. They weren’t friends. Deirdre’s friends at the asylum were few and far between. But they were faces she recognized, shifters she had talked to at breakfast. She had trained for combat with them, used the shooting range shoulder-to-shoulder with them, and now threw them aside as garbage.
The door was freed with a few minutes’ work.
“You know, our comrades probably barricaded this door for a reason,” Deirdre said.
“Probably,” Stark said.
He kicked the door open and rushed inside.
The stainless steel tables had been tipped onto their sides. Glass jars had been shattered, leaving nothing but a fine dust behind. The fluorescent lights swung as though there had just been an earthquake.
A massive portal swirled on the far wall of the lab, opening into a dark, wintery world that smelled faintly of fish and seaweed and frozen places. The wind gusting from it was frosty. The floor in front of the portal was slicked with thick ice.
A woman stood on that ice in spiked heels, as steady as though she always walked through winter weather on five-inch stilettos. Red hair so dark that it was nearly black whipped around her pale shoulders. The layers of her dress were made of powdery cobwebs and harsh lace that looked like it should have scratched her fragile skin. Its back was open all the way down to the swell of her shapely rump, exposing the dimples at the small of her back.
She held Colette’s throat in one hand. The feline shifter kicked as the life went out of her.
“Freeze!” Deirdre shouted, leveling Melchior’s gun at her.
The woman let Colette
’s body fall to the floor and turned to face Deirdre.
Stark went pale at the sight of the unseelie queen. Deirdre had never seen him shocked before—not like this. Not like his world was falling apart around him.
He recognized the queen of the Winter Court, and apparently he didn’t expect to see her here.
“Stark?” Deirdre hissed. “Should I shoot?”
He wasn’t responding.
Screw it. She was going to fire. She wouldn’t give up her life because he had chosen the worst possible moment to go stupid.
She lifted her gun.
“No,” Stark said, shoving her arms back down again. “Don’t.”
“But why?”
The woman stepped down from the ice, sadness lingering around her eyes as she looked Stark over. “Hello, Ever,” she replied softly.
Deirdre had only seen that name in one other place before.
For Ever. That was what his watch said. And as soon as she heard the name come from this woman’s lips, Deirdre knew who she was.
The unseelie queen was Rhiannon Stark.
—XIX—
Rhiannon Stark wasn’t a beautiful woman. In another age, she might have been described as handsome. Her face was square, her lips eternally frowning. The adornments on her hair and dress looked like ceremonial additions meant to meet the requirements of her station rather than signs of vanity.
She wasn’t beautiful, but she was frightening. The sight of her gave Deirdre the same nauseated feeling that she experienced whenever she saw Stark, even to this day.
He took two steps toward her and stopped.
Deirdre wanted to shout at him, Draw your gun! Shoot her! This is a trap! But she couldn’t manage to speak. The wind from the portal was so cold. It sank into her bones and dimmed the heat that had been following her as soon as she entered the battle at the asylum.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Stark said. “I’ve been searching for years.”
“I know,” Rhiannon said.
It was a blow so powerful that it looked like it caused physical pain for Stark.
“The girls?” Stark asked.
“In good company. You sent them so many friends. I made sure they know that you’re the one who did that, and they’re grateful.”
She meant the students of St. Griffith’s.
Deirdre had been assuming that the unseelie sidhe had done something awful to the kids, like making them into slaves or eating them or gods only knew what else, but they had only been taken to be playmates for Everton Stark’s children.
“But I found signs of the girls in the system,” Stark said. “I tracked their birth dates, their medical records… I kept finding them, but they vanished any time I got close.”
Surprise flitted through Rhiannon’s eyes. “You were always a good tracker.”
“What have you done with them?” he asked.
“I’ve sent them to a few schools over the years. I wanted them to have a sense of normalcy while everything came together.”
Stark shook his head slowly. “But why?”
The rest of the question didn’t need to be spoken.
Why hide from me?
“You don’t fit my needs, Everton Stark,” Rhiannon said. “I need to lead the Winter Court. That means I need a powerful mate to act as my consort. And you…” Her eyes flitted down his body. “You’re too weak.”
A shape moved on the other side of the portal. Even without being able to distinguish details in the darkness, Deirdre could tell that it was Melchior from his immense build and swagger.
He was coming back for his gun.
Stark’s skin rippled. Claws slid from his fingernails. “I can compel shifters, and my Beta tells me that members of your court used to be werewolves. I could rule with you.”
For the first time, Rhiannon looked at Deirdre.
The unseelie queen didn’t look impressed.
“Yes, what your Beta said is true,” Rhiannon said. “Many of the unseelie used to be werewolves. And that means—”
“You can have an Alpha,” Deirdre said. “This is all about controlling the gaeans. Isn’t it? But Rylie Gresham just announced that she’s going to hold an election to peacefully concede her status as Alpha. You don’t have to kill for it.”
“If you truly think that the gaeans will take a new leader without loss of life, you’re naïve,” Rhiannon said. Her nostrils flared as she scented the air. “You don’t smell like pack. There’s too much magic in you. What are you, fire-blood?”
“Pissed off,” she said. “That’s what I am.”
Deirdre shot.
Rhiannon stepped to the left, twisting her shoulders so that her body wasn’t in the path of Deirdre’s bullet. It vanished through the portal.
Vidya took the gunshot as a cue to attack. She swept forward, wings flaring, sword raised.
“Stop!” Stark roared.
He backhanded Deirdre. She felt it before she even saw the movement. The eruption of pain in her cheekbone and jaw radiated down her spine.
And then she was on the floor, watching Vidya’s attack from upside down as the room spun.
The unseelie queen lifted her hand lazily.
Vidya froze in midair, moments before she could deliver a deathblow with the Ethereal Blade.
It was as though she were instantly encased in steel shackles that gripped her midsection and arms, holding her steady. Her feathers rubbed against each other in a chorus of nauseating screeches.
“Nice company you keep, Ever. Some strange thing with fire-blood and a valkyrie,” Rhiannon said. “Even you know that shifters are useless. And your vaunted ability to control them is equally useless.”
Another wave of her hand.
Vidya smashed to the floor and didn’t get up again.
“You are useless,” Rhiannon said. She bit out every word, flinging them at Stark in blows far crueler than gunshots.
Melchior emerged from the portal. Snow clung to his ankles. The tips of his hair were frosted with ice. Still, he wore no shirt, and the scales on his biceps steamed with heat.
“Queen,” he said, bowing to her. She smiled and stroked his melting hair.
Deirdre scrambled to her feet, keeping out of Stark’s reach.
“But I’m Alpha,” Stark said. “I’m among the most powerful of shifters.”
Rhiannon laughed dryly. “It’s not possible for shifters to be able to control other shifters. Did you think it’s because you’re an unusual animal? No. You’re not the strongest of shifters. You’re the weakest of the sidhe.” She continued to stroke Melchior as he sank to his knees by her side, resting his cheek against her belly. “All of the sidhe have special talents, and your talent is…not that special.”
Even as he kneeled beside his queen, Melchior was watching Deirdre.
More specifically, he was watching the gun in her hand.
“You’re lying,” Stark said.
“You know me,” Rhiannon said. “You know I wouldn’t lie to hurt you. If you were useful, you’d be with me.” She shrugged. “But you’re not.”
“Then what do you want?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“To be honest, I’d been hoping you would remove Rylie Gresham for me. Since that hasn’t happened, I’ll have to kill you. You’re disruptive, Ever. You split the sentiments of gaeans. But once I’ve killed you, Rylie Gresham, and everyone in the Summer Court, all shifters will fall at Melchior’s feet and acknowledge him as Alpha—and they will recognize me as queen. I don’t want you there for that.”
Stark glared at Melchior and Rhiannon. Energy shivered around him, as though he were waiting to shapeshift.
Why was he waiting? They were face to face with the woman responsible for the deaths of so many in their pack. It was time to do what Stark did best and commit a couple of murders. Deirdre wouldn’t even hesitate this time. She’d shoot Melchior and Rhiannon where they stood.
But Stark didn’t look confident that he’d be able to win against them.
He didn’t even look like he wanted to.
Deirdre couldn’t trust Stark to make any kind of decision. Not where things were this fraught.
If she wanted to survive, she was going to have to fix this herself.
She slipped her Sig Sauer out of her belt, still loaded with iron bullets, and kept it behind her back. She kept her motions slow in an attempt to avoid attracting attention. It didn’t seem to matter—Rhiannon and Stark only had eyes for each other.
The queen stepped closer to Stark. “Shapeshift,” she said softly. “Change your form, Ever. Try to kill me. Try to kill Melchior. You know you want to.”
“Rhiannon,” Stark said, as though her name was the only cogent thought remaining.
“I’ll make this easy on you.” She gripped his chin, forcing his head down so that he had to focus on her. Rhiannon’s eyes suddenly seemed enlarged to fill her skull. They were endless glittering pits of sapphire. “Shapeshift. Now.”
Her voice was resonant, just like Stark’s when he compelled another shifter.
He groaned and doubled over. His skin rippled.
Oh hell. Mrs. Stark shared a power with her husband.
Stark was transforming.
Melchior bared his sharp teeth in an expression that might have been a smile, and then he began to shift, too.
Deirdre didn’t need to see Melchior’s dragon form to know that it was going to be terrifying. Once he was covered with those scales on his arms, they would probably form an impenetrable armor. And how huge would a dragon shapeshifter become?
She didn’t want to find out.
Whipping the Sig high, Deirdre fired directly at Rhiannon Stark again, aiming for her temple.
The queen shifted her weight so that the bullet would pass by her. Magic blurred the space around her body.
An instant later, Deirdre fired Melchior’s revolver.
A fireball erupted from the muzzle of his gun, all three barrels instantly heating until it burned in Deirdre’s hand. The kickback knocked her on her butt.
Melchior was still shifting when she fired. The scales were spreading over his entire body, and his eyes were squeezed shut as he rode out the immense discomfort of his bones rearranging.
