And we’ve run out of time to adjust. The cards have been dealt, and we’re in a life-and-death tournament from which there’s no exit.
Menolly sat back, staring at Luke. “We’ll do everything we can to find her. And if her fucking jerk of a husband is after her, we’ll make certain he doesn’t try it again.” Abusive men didn’t last long around her, often becoming her dinner. She fed on the lowlifes and violent criminals of the world.
Luke gave her a thin smile. “Thanks, boss. I don’t want to seem like an overprotective brother, but the fact is that Amber’s never been in a big city before, and I can’t help but be worried.”
Menolly leaned forward, the ivory beads in her cornrows clicking. Her hair was the color of burnished copper, and she was as petite as I was tall.
“Luke, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what?”
“Why didn’t the Pack do something about her husband, if he was abusing her?” Menolly frowned, tapping her nails on the arm of the chair.
He sighed. “That was one of the reasons I left. Well, actually, I was excommunicated. I don’t talk about it much. The males of the Zone Red Pack are extreme alphas—in a bad way. I couldn’t take it.”
“What happened?” I asked, suddenly thinking that there was a whole lot more depth to Luke than I’d assumed.
“I was in love with a girl—Marla. We wanted to get married, but the Packmaster gave her to someone who beat the crap out of her and passed her around to his buddies. I tried to sneak out, take her with me, and they caught us. There was a big fight . . . it was a bad scene. She’s dead now, and I’m a pariah. I can never go back. I defied the law of the Packmaster.”
Neither Menolly nor I said a word, just waited. His eyes echoed the pain in his voice, and I felt like I’d overstepped my boundaries.
He pushed himself to his feet. “I gave Delilah all the information about Amber that I could think of. Tomorrow I’ll bring the skunk scent remover to the bar. Delilah, you can pick it up there.”
He nodded, again tapping his hat, and I flushed, looking at him. It had been over a month since I’d had sex, and he was lean, lanky, and all male. But he didn’t even blink an eye my way, and truthfully, I was relieved. I was so confused over Chase. And Zach, the werepuma I’d slept with twice and who had saved Chase’s life, was taking far longer to heal up from his injuries than anybody had first thought. Last time I’d gone to visit him at the rehabilitation center where he was staying, he’d refused to see me, and we hadn’t spoken in over a month, even though I’d tried calling every week.
Menolly saw Luke out while I sorted through the notes. When she came back, I looked up, and she smiled softly at me. Her eyes had once been a gorgeous blue, but the further she sank into her new life as a vampire, the grayer they became and now—now they were almost silver.
“You’re horny, aren’t you?” She let out a sigh. “That’s the trouble with getting involved with somebody. You begin to need them . . . and then . . .” With a glance over at Nerissa, she shrugged. “And then you can’t imagine them not being in your life.”
It was then I noticed a gold band on her right index finger. I pointed to it. “That’s new. Just when and where did you get it?” I held her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes and gave a little huff. If she was voluntarily breathing, I knew I’d gotten under her skin. Go, me!
“Oh, all right. Nerissa gave it to me. It’s . . . a promise ring. It symbolizes that we’re off the market, at least as far as other women go. Guys—eh, they come and go, but . . . with women? We’re exclusive. I bought her one to match.” She gently reached over and lifted the werepuma’s hand, and I saw a duplicate band. Both were engraved with Celtic knot work. I caught my breath and looked into my sister’s eyes.
Menolly had come so far from the torture and rape she’d undergone before being killed and thrust into life as a vampire. She was happy now, for the most part, and she’d actually opened herself up to love—of whatever sort she could handle at this point.
I reached out and took her other hand and brought it to my cheek, and for the first time I didn’t flinch at the coldness. As I pressed my lips to her fingers, I glanced up and saw bloody tears sliding down Menolly’s cheeks. She silently opened her arms, and I slid inside them as she enfolded me to her chest.
“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. I tried for so long to just accept you like Camille did without reservations, but I was afraid . . . And now . . .”
“And now you’re not,” she whispered.
“And now . . . I’m not,” I said, realizing it was true. The fear of her death and rebirth had fallen away like a shroud, leaving only Menolly standing in front of me. My sister, unveiled in her new life, happy and radiant and no longer the monster Dredge had turned her into—the monster I still remembered when she was sent home to kill us, when Camille chased me out the window to protect me.
As she slowly released me and I sat back, Menolly grimaced. “I’m so happy. But Kitten, you have to promise to do something for me.”
“What?” I asked, breathless, wondering if she wanted a better apology for my hesitance all those years.
“Do something about that mop.” She pointed to my hair.
Iris meandered in, clad in a silk kimono. Her hair was tousled, loose and falling to her ankles in a golden rain of silk strands. And her cheeks were rosy, with an afterglow impossible to hide.
Milkmaids gone wild, I thought impulsively. Grinning, I waggled my finger at her. “You and Bruce been busy?”
“Hush you,” she said, scolding me. “None of your business, girl. But I will tell you that I did some checking. I’m not comfortable using hair dye, at least not right now. After the peroxide, it would fry your hair and probably muck it up worse than it is.”
“Well, I don’t want that.” I frowned, not at all happy. “Hell.” I glanced over at Menolly. “You’re right, I need to do something—I can’t just leave it like this. Maybe it’s time for a change.” I motioned to Iris. “Get your scissors.”
“What? You’re kidding.” She stared at me like I was crazy.
“Just do it. I want it short and edgy. If I’m going to have punk hair, I’m going all the way. And this way it will grow out my normal color, and I can just trim the ends a little bit till all the mismatched patches are gone.”
Menolly giggled. “You’re really going to do it, Kitten? I bet you won’t go through with it.”
I snorted. “Watch me. Fire up Jerry Springer, haul out the Cheetos; we’re having a party.”
Menolly obligingly brought me a bowl of the orange crispy puffs I loved so much, along with a glass of milk, and then, after cajoling Nerissa to sprawl out on the sofa where the gorgeous golden-haired Amazon promptly passed out, she folded her legs and hovered up toward the ceiling, tossing me the remote.
As I channel-surfed, Iris brought out her kit and bade me sit on the hassock in front of her. She still had to stand on a stepstool since I was so tall.
“Can you make it stylish?”
“I know what you want, girl. Just hold still.”
The first cut was torture—I heard the clip of the scissors and shuddered as Iris handed me a fistful of blotched hair. But as I stared at it, it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t a bad idea at all. I would have looked hideous; the hair was frizzed from the peroxide and baking soda.
As she snipped her way across my head, razoring in some parts, I began to look forward to the difference. Hell, I felt different—something about losing my fear of Menolly’s vampirism had opened the desire to make big changes, to sacrifice the parts of myself that made me uncertain and frightened. I was tired of being timid, of being hesitant.
“Almost done,” Iris said, whisking off my neck.
My head felt so much lighter, and my neck felt oddly exposed, now that I had nothing to cover it up. “Can I see?”
“Give me a moment.” She vanished for a moment, hurrying back with a tube of hair gel, a spritzer bottle, and a blow dryer. She misted my
hair and rubbed a little of the gel on her hands, then began teasing it, then brought the blow dryer to bear for a few moments, after which she stood back. “Okay, take a look.”
I stood up slowly and approached the mirror over the fireplace. As I stared at my reflection, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I was six one, and the new haircut made me look even taller. It was so different—still a patchwork of color, but now it was cute, sassy, bitchy—even a little badass.
“I like it,” I said, tilting my head this way and that. The tattoo in the middle of my forehead glimmered from beneath the bangs sweeping to the side. The black crescent-sickle marked me as belonging to the Autumn Lord. I slowly reached up and felt it. The pulsing energy never left me, and over the past few months it had begun to grow stronger. I had the feeling something was coming my way, something big and scary, but strangely, I felt comforted.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I began to phase out—my face flashing between myself and my panther self. I steeled myself, knowing what was coming.
And then, Hi’ran was there. The Autumn Lord stood behind me. Menolly and Iris couldn’t see him, but he was there for me, smiling with those pale full lips, his long dark hair cascading down his shoulders in a trail of frost and silver.
He put his hands on my shoulders, and I leaned back against him. The energy running through his fingers made me want to fall into his arms.
“I was thinking about you tonight. I sensed you needed me.”
Hi’ran leaned down—he was so very, very tall, and his cloak was black, covered with a wash of fiery autumn leaves that continually fell from the wreath around his head. As his face neared mine, I stared at my reflection in his unblinking eyes, surrounded by the sparkle of stars echoed through the abyss.
I inhaled his scent. Bonfires and graveyard dust, old musty books, ink long dried and yellowed paper, the scent of mold and decay and toadstools and moss . . . it all swirled around me, an intoxicating blend that set my heart to racing.
“I’m sad,” I whispered. “I’m losing my love. So much is happening, and I don’t think he and I can make it through the approaching storms.”
“You aren’t losing your love,” Hi’ran whispered, his breath a gust of chilly autumn air on my skin. “You’re making room. Keep your eyes open, my sweet. Keep your mind open. Remember the curve of my lips, the scent of old leather and autumn carnivals, the frost that lingers on my breath. Listen for the song your mark sings when I’m near.”
And with that, he leaned down and blew on the shining black crescent, and a vibration ran through me that played me like a harp, string by string. I let out a long gasp, wanting him, wanting to give up my breath to him, and he turned me around and slowly lowered his lips onto mine, enfolding me in his arms.
The world began to spin, a vortex of life and death and blood and bones, of leaves in a whirlwind, and all I could taste on his tongue were cognac and juniper and smoked venison stew. As I sank into the kiss, an ice-filled fire raced through me, filling every crevice, every niche, and my breasts began to tingle, igniting every point along my body.
As I pressed against him, he slid one leg between my knees, and I opened to him, but he did not reach for me, just let me rub gently against him as he sucked my life out with a single gasp and then—as I fought for breath—he pressed his lips to mine again and blew me gently back into my body and I came, moaning softly.
Spinning, the orgasm spread through me like melted butter, warm and vibrant, as smooth as glowing lava, crackling like a hearth fire. I gasped as he nuzzled my neck, his tongue playing each and every nerve in my body.
“My living bride, my living bride,” he whispered, his hands carefully holding me by the waist. “I can’t take you. Not yet—if I did, you’d die. But I want you. There will be a way . . . and then, one day, you’ll join me in my world.”
“You said you wanted me to bear your heir—how can I if you can’t . . . if we can’t . . .” I stared into his eyes, caught in the power of his spell.
“Oh, trust me, it will happen but not quite the way you expect. Until then, cry no more, my lovely panther. Cry no more.” And then Hi’ran backed away, and I reached for him. It seemed so simple in his world—it was life or death. He was one of the Harvestmen, an avatar of Death, and it would be easier just to walk into his world.
He shook his head. “No, it’s not your time. You have so much to do before I can think of claiming you to sit at my side. But I’ll always be with you, always feel you, always know what you’re thinking.” And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
“Delilah? Delilah? Are you okay?”
Menolly’s voice echoed through me, bringing me back to myself. I turned, and she gasped and jumped back, her fangs lowering. Catching hold of herself, she closed her mouth.
“I’m . . .” I blushed, wondering if I’d put on a show in front of them, but Iris saw my fear and shook her head.
“Don’t try to explain,” Iris said, stepping in. “We can feel it on you. You’ve been with him? You were in a trance.”
I nodded. “Yes.” Slowly, I brought my hand to my neck where my skin still tingled from the touch of his tongue.
Menolly leaned closer to me and gave me a long look. “That was some message, by the look of your neck.”
I glanced back in the mirror and saw the massive hickey spreading across where he’d kissed me. “Uh, yeah . . . I guess it was.” I smiled then, blushing.
And then it all fell away, and I dropped to the floor, done in by the night, still smelling of skunk, with punked hair, and awaiting the arrival of . . . well, wherever it was the Autumn Lord was planning.
“Things are such a mess. Chase has changed so much since he took the Nectar of Life—”
“You and Camille saved his life. He would have died without it.” Iris bustled around, cleaning up the scattered strands of hair.
“Well, he’s not thanking me now. I think the reality of what it means is starting to hit him. And the lack of preparation—let me tell you, that ain’t helping matters any. I feel like something’s looming over me. The Autumn Lord has plans . . .” I couldn’t speak Hi’ran’s name aloud to anyone but him—it was a secret forged between us and kept solely for my use.
“What did Chase say?”
I shook my head. “Honestly, I blocked it out. He was so stiff, so aloof. Right now I can’t deal with his angst. That makes me a bad girlfriend, right?”
“No, that makes you half-human. If you were full-Fae, he’d be long gone by now.” Iris sat on the ottoman next to me. “Honey, Chase needs more help than you can give him. Let Sharah work her magic. She has the training to deal with matters like this.”
“I guess he’s in better hands with her. I’ll back off.” The thought still stung, but I couldn’t waste any more energy. I was exhausted by trying to help when my help wasn’t welcome.
As we sat there, a tableau illuminated by the Tiffany-style lamps that Morio had found in a thrift shop, the door opened, and Camille’s laughter echoed through the hall. I slowly picked myself off the floor and moved to one of the chairs, but still, when she darted into the room, she took one look at my face as she tossed her cloak over the back of the rocking chair and sat down beside me, grabbing my hand.
“What’s going on? Bad news? Was there news from home?”
That was her way of asking if our father had left a message through the Whispering Mirror. Reluctant to burst her bubble, I gave her a quick shake of the head. “No hon, no messages. Not that I know of.”
She stopped short, staring at me. “What the fuck happened to your hair?” And then she burst out laughing. “I love it—you’re so punk! You look great! But man, Iris was right.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she grimaced. “You got skunked bad, babe.”
“Yeah, but it was worse before.” As I stood up, Camille’s men came trooping in. At least they were polite enough to avoid commenting on my brand-new do and perfume, though I noticed Smoky’s lips curl into a smile, and Mor
io’s nose twitched. Trillian just offered to take the tray of debris from Iris and carry it into the kitchen for her.
“So . . . you going to keep it that way?” Camille walked around me, studying my hair. “I like it. Makes you seem more seasoned.”
I smiled softly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Everything’s changing, everything’s moving.”
As I looked in the mirror again, my image flashed. It was as if my panther self and my tabby self were superimposed over my face, and all sides of myself began to merge, blending together as the tattoo on my forehead glistened and flared brilliant red, then back to the shimmering black. A wave of heat rushed through me, and I grabbed the nearest chair to steady myself.
“Hell . . . what was that?” My entire body felt on fire, and I dropped my head back as I started to sweat. It was almost the same confusion I felt the first time I shifted into my black panther form, but this was less transformational energy and more . . . like I was a pillar of fire.
“Crap—what the . . . what’s happening?” And then everything went dark, and the last thing I felt was the floor coming up to meet me.
CHAPTER 3
Blinking, I sat up, looking around. I was standing in a forest full of wild, overgrown bushes and undergrowth. The trees were incredibly tall, rising far into the sky, towering beyond my sight. Cedar, fir, oak, alder, and birch—their trunks were thick with moss and toadstools, and lacework moss dripped from the boughs, swaying in the faint breeze that wafted past me. The deciduous trees were covered with a medley of red and orange leaves, burnished gold and yellow, and from every branch dripped the last vestiges of some autumn rainstorm.
I stood, examining myself, but I seemed to be okay. No bumps, bruises, or cuts. I glanced around, wondering if I was dreaming. I seemed to be standing on a path that led deep into the forest, and a compulsion drove me to take off jogging down it. Wherever I was, there was something ahead waiting for me.
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