by SM Reine
Perhaps Konig and Jibril hadn’t been wrong to threaten Deirdre with assassination.
“We have to do something to protect Rylie,” Marion said.
“Yeah, we should warn her,” Seth said.
Marion’s thoughts had been so much more murderous that she would have laughed if anything about the situation had been humorous. Even when Seth was becoming a death god, he still wanted to resolve their problems more peacefully than anyone else.
“I heard you’re getting married,” Seth said.
Marion drew her shoulders in until they nearly touched her ears. “At the end of the week. The marriage only makes sense.” She needed him to know. She needed him to understand. “Once Konig and I are married, it’ll pull the entire Winter Court under Leliel’s peace treaty with the Autumn Court.”
He was silent.
“It’s my responsibility to protect everyone,” Marion said. “Did you know that Leliel attacked the Winter Court while we were in Sheol? She killed so many of my refugees. Half of the people I’d tried to relocate to Niflheimr…gone.” And those who weren’t gone, like Morrighan and Rhiannon and Ymir, were forced to live in a cemetery among the ghosts of those they’d lost.
“So you’re marrying Konig because she won’t be able to hurt the remaining half.”
“And because the wards on the Winter Court are failing without a sidhe in charge of them. The marriage will allow Konig to bolster the protections on the entire plane.”
“What about the part where you’re marrying because you love Konig?” Seth asked.
“I do love him,” she said. Seth was quiet for so long that Marion’s defensiveness choked her. “You don’t have a problem with Konig, do you?”
“He’s a great fighter,” Seth said. “I can see him being a great king, too.”
“You’ve been avoiding me because of my wedding, though,” Marion said. It wasn’t a question, but another accusation.
He rolled his eyes toward the domed skylight, staring fixedly at the shadowy pattern of branches cast upon the glass. “I’ve stayed away because I don’t want to hurt you, and when we were in Sheol, it was hard to think about anything else.”
“You don’t feel like that now, though. So it’s no longer a factor.”
“No, but I told you things about my feelings, about my thoughts—”
“The fact that we have chemistry.” Her memories of the Dead Forest were hazy, but she did remember the part where Seth admitted that some kind of feelings existed between them.
“You’re getting married.”
“I wasn’t then.”
“You already had a boyfriend. I shouldn’t have been saying things like that.”
“You’d have said anything to get me away from that door,” Marion said. “What’s a little bit of a lie between friends?”
Seth raked a hand over his hair, giving a shaky laugh. “Are we friends? Is that what you’d call us?”
“You and I will need to get along for the years to come, so a friendship would be in our best interests.” Marion thrust her hand toward him. “Friends?”
“Friends,” he agreed. But he still hesitated before shaking.
“In any case, we both understand that our chemistry is due to the fact that you’re a god and I’m the Voice of God. The air is clear.” Clear enough that she could go ahead and marry her sidhe prince boyfriend for reasons that seemed much less important now that she was with Seth again.
“Sure.” He sounded totally unconvincing.
She didn’t feel much more convinced than he was.
“Now that the air is clear, I have to be the one to bear bad news,” Marion said. “I didn’t just lose refugees when Leliel attacked the Winter Court. Charity died too.”
Seth’s eyes widened. “Charity isn’t dead.”
“I’m sorry. I know that you and Charity were very good friends, but—”
“No,” he said again, more firmly than before. “She’s not dead. I told you, I can see everyone’s deaths. Charity’s still out there somewhere. I can feel the threads of her life.”
“Konig told me that Leliel killed her,” Marion said. “He was there. He saw everything.”
“But she’s alive.” Seth sounded as sure of that as Konig had been.
“Then why would Konig have told me that Charity’s dead?”
Seth stood, snagging his t-shirt off of the altar. He tugged it over his head to conceal the gaping magical hole in his chest. “Good question.”
“He was fairly clear about the series of events,” Marion said. “Nori corroborated.”
Either Konig was confused about what had happened in the Winter Court, or Seth was very, very wrong.
The options seemed to disturb Seth, too. “That means Charity has been missing for a month. I thought she’d have stayed with you. I never would have thought… Jesus.”
“I could have told you what I knew—what I thought I knew—if you hadn’t avoided me for a month,” Marion said.
He looked properly ashamed for the first time. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The door to the ritual space opened. Rylie returned, a golden pendant dangling from one hand. “I have your glamour. Sinead’s confident it will conceal your wound.”
That was the whole reason that Seth had been waiting. Since they hadn’t been able to heal his physical wounds to the point that his body—his avatar—would be indistinguishable than that of any other mortal, he’d planned to hide it.
A man followed Rylie into the ritual space. He was a black man with sympathetic features offsetting the squareness of his jaw and scars plastering one side of his face. He looked like Seth’s father rather than brother.
But that was who he was: Abel Wilder, elder brother by a couple of years. A man whose scarring was the result of a pre-Genesis werewolf attack. He was hideous, a monster even in his human form.
He followed Rylie at a distance and didn’t approach his brother.
Decades of history hung over them so heavily that it was palpable, even to Marion—the only one in the room who hadn’t witnessed what had gone down between them.
From what little Marion knew of Abel, she expected the Alpha werewolf to start throwing punches at the sight of his brother. But Abel only inclined his head in a nod. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Seth echoed as dispassionately.
Their distant civility made Rylie sigh. “Try the charm on, please.”
Seth dropped down from the altar. He took the chain of the glamour from her and donned it.
The change wasn’t as severe as when Charity Ballard wore her glamour. Seth only needed to have a single wound healed and it knitted as Marion watched.
“Cool, huh?” asked Abel.
Marion hadn’t realized that she’d ended up standing next to the Alpha mate until he spoke. She’d have avoided him if she had. “I suppose.”
“The witches here know what they’re doing,” he said. “They’re the best.”
Only then did she realize he was trying to make her jealous.
She studied Seth’s brother. Abel was much taller—nearly six and a half feet, if Marion was any good at such estimations. At least seven inches her superior. Even with his face directed away from her, she made out a sliver of scarring along the bridge of his nose and his chin. If her journals were to be trusted, that scarring would extend all the way to his ear and then down half his chest, as she’d observed during communal swimming time at the lake.
Abel wore the scarring with confidence. He didn’t seem bothered by the idea that Marion would see it.
When she returned her attention to Seth, he showed no sign of injury—certainly no scarring near the scale of his brother’s. The hole in his chest had been replaced by smooth flesh and rippling abdominal muscle, exposed only because Seth lifted the hem of his shirt to look underneath it.
Every bite that the Hounds had left behind was invisible.
“Amazing,” she breathed.
Marion could only assume that Seth had
observations as equally non-verbal. Whatever he murmured to Rylie wasn’t audible at that distance.
Seth and Rylie embraced tightly. They held on to one another for a long time.
Much too long.
Marion stole another look at Abel. His arms were folded over his chest, but he didn’t intervene.
“Your wife seems very close to your brother,” she said.
“Mate, not wife. We’re not married,” Abel said. “And yeah, they used to be close.”
“I’m impressed by how copacetic you are about this.” Impressed, frustrated—whatever.
“Seth and Rylie have always belonged to each other,” Abel said. “I’ve just borrowed her for twenty years.”
“Cuckold,” she snarled under her breath.
“What’d you say?”
“Nothing,” Marion said louder—loudly enough that she finally caught Seth’s attention.
He released Rylie and stepped back. Seth let go of Rylie’s hand last, fingers remaining linked until he came to Marion’s side.
It appeared all things were forgiven between them.
Marion was almost disappointed when she and Seth left the altar room without so much as a single punch getting thrown.
As soon as they were alone, Seth said, “Time to get to work.”
“Work? On what?”
“We have to find Charity,” he said, “and your goat-woman. Wanna come?”
Marion checked the time on her phone. An hour. She had an hour before her dress fitting. “Yes, please.”
Teleportation remained the fastest method to reach Las Vegas from the shifter sanctuary, but it took Marion ten minutes to talk Seth into using it rather than borrowing Rylie’s private jet. She couldn’t waste hours on an airplane. He didn’t want to phase Marion and make her sick.
Marion won the argument.
They appeared on the roof of the Allure Tower after that.
When Marion regained awareness of her body, she was already done vomiting. Her skin burned as though she’d been struck by lightning and cooked from the inside out.
Seth was watching from a safe distance. “I told you we should have taken the jet.”
Marion swallowed wetly, wobbling on hands and knees as she tried to stand. Gods, it had even come out of her nose that time. She was so pretty. Amazing that men ever resisted her charms, with all of the projectile nose-vomiting. “I’ll be fine.”
“You weren’t this bad the first time I phased us to Vegas.”
“I think my sensitivity to passing through Sheol is increasing with exposure. But it’s fine. I’m fine.” She plucked a handkerchief out of her jacket’s inner pocket and dabbed at her face. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll let you search for Charity now.” She meant it to be dismissive—a goodbye.
Seth followed her to the rooftop door. “I’m not letting you face Dana McIntyre alone. She’s aligned with Elise and James.”
“That’s a problem?”
“They took your memories and ditched you in the forest,” he said. “Who knows what else they might do?”
“The last person to see me before I lost my memory was a goat.” That was why she was taking the OPA database information to Dana for analysis. If anyone could determine who the goat-woman was, it would be the well-connected mercenary triadist. “You and your glamour should go back to Rylie. You can frolic in some lovely, sunny fields together while your numerous nephews and nieces chew on your ankles.”
She stepped through the door and let it swing closed behind her so quickly that Seth had to reopen it to follow. “Are you mad at me?”
She wondered if he used that innocent tone while murmuring into his ex-fiancée’s ear. “I have no reason to be mad at you.”
Dana’s penthouse was at the top of the tower, so Marion reached it quickly from the roof. Seth caught her before she could knock on Dana’s door, turning her gently to face him. “If you want me to go away, just tell me and I’m gone. I promise I don’t have the urge to kill you though. Not right now.”
That was why he thought she was angry? Because she feared he’d drink her blood again?
“There’s nobody I trust with my safety more than you, and I have access to literal knights for protection these days.” Damn it, Marion had a hard time being angry when he looked so regretful. Her thoughts burst from her mouth before she could control herself. “Why have you forgiven Rylie, after everything she did to you?”
“In a few years, after you’ve been married to Konig for a while, you’ll get it.”
“You aren’t married to Rylie. In fact, Abel isn’t married to her either. The two of them never married. Doesn’t that seem strange?”
“They’re mated,” Seth said. “Getting married would be redundant.”
“Abel says that Rylie belongs to you.”
Seth grimaced. “Jesus Christ, Abel.”
“Are you guys going to bicker out here all gods-damned day, or are you going to knock?” Dana McIntyre peered through her cracked open door. The chain was still in place. She was holding a sculpted stone piece that was shaped like a flintlock pistol, except that it had no hole for a bullet to pass through. Magic shimmered over its surface.
Marion straightened her jacket as she turned from Seth. “May we enter?”
“He can,” Dana said. “You can’t.”
“I’m not talking to you without her,” Seth said.
Dana grumbled obscenities while unlocking her door. When she shut it, released the chain, and opened it wide again, she revealed herself to be wearing full enchanted body armor. Her hair was green on that particular day.
“Get in.”
The spellsword’s condominium was in disarray. Her weapons had been taken from their tidy mounts on the wall and scattered across every surface. Trash littered the floor.
Marion edged around a pile of laundry so rank it may as well have been circled by cartoon flies. “Where’s Penny?”
“Like you care,” Dana said. “Look, I have to get to the scene of a crime. The fourth I’ve had to handle in the last week alone. I don’t have time to clean when I’m constantly hunting down demons and performing exorcisms, so stop looking like I need to appear on a reality TV show about hoarders. It’s not that bad.”
“Demonic possessions gone up?” Seth asked.
“You should know. It’s your fault.” Dana thrust a gauntleted hand toward him. “Phase me to the Linq. Specifically, the tattoo parlor in the back hallway. We can talk while I look over the scene.” When Seth didn’t take her hand, she gripped his wrist, and then grabbed Marion by the jacket. “Linq. Tattoo parlor. Back hallway. Now.”
Reluctantly, Seth snapped his fingers.
Marion smelled brimstone.
She didn’t have the opportunity to hit the floor that time, because Dana instantly swept her off of her feet.
“Watch it,” Dana said.
She hadn’t caught Marion to be nice. She’d caught her because Seth had unintentionally phased them within inches of a massive puddle of blood, at the center of which rested several people who were very obviously dead.
The whole tattoo parlor was covered in blood and death.
Marion clapped a hand over her mouth as her abs tightened. She couldn’t tell what would make her vomit first: the teleportation, or the sight of all those bodies.
Dana shoved her toward the wall. “If you’re going to barf, do it down your shirt. Don’t contaminate the evidence.”
Marion managed to swallow the bile down—just barely. There wasn’t much left in her stomach.
They were on the far end of a tattoo parlor, which was covered in mirrors, black tile, and posters of an artist’s flash. Only some of the available tattoos were visible. The rest had been smeared with runes drawn in blood by hand—human hands. The dead on the floor looked to have carved into their own wrists and throats to produce the medium in which they’d scrawled jagged infernal spells.
Marion was surrounded by blood. Everything was unclean.
S
he tried to back away, but there was nowhere for her to go. The broken autoclave was dripping. The walls were stained. The chair, the floor—everything.
Police were walking around the scene with plastic covering their clothes to keep from getting messy. Marion had no such luxury.
Blank eyes were staring toward her.
“What the hell happened here?” Seth asked, and his voice sounded like it was coming from elsewhere in the casino, as if Marion could barely hear him through several walls. Her vision was swimming.
“Arawn happened,” Dana said. “You happened.”
“Hey! McIntyre!” A woman detective carefully stepped over bodies to approach. “Didn’t see you arrive. Glad you’re here.” She pulled one of her gloves off and shook Dana’s hand. “Who do you have consulting this time?”
“Seth Wilder and Marion Garin,” Dana said.
The detective had turned to shake hands with Seth and Marion as well, but once Marion’s pale blue eyes registered, she picked up on the name too. To her credit, her only sign of shock was going still.
At this point, Marion was becoming as recognizable as any celebutante with a sex tape. Her wedding to Konig was the event of the decade, easily.
“I hope your presence doesn’t mean this has to do with gods.” The detective finally shook Marion’s hand. “Detective Villanueva. Charmaine Villanueva. LVPD preternatural homicide department.” It was refreshing to meet law enforcement that wore khakis rather than all black, even if her untailored fashion was rather pedestrian.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Detective Villanueva.” Marion was unable to muster one of her charming smiles.
Seth shook hands with the detective as well. “So Detective Haskins isn’t leading preternatural homicide anymore?”
“Retired. You know him?”
“I’m a former colleague of Brianna Dimaria’s.”
Detective Villanueva’s shoulders relaxed. “Glad to have another of you on board. I don’t suppose any of you know what to make of the runes?”
When she gestured at the artist’s flash, Marion couldn’t help but look again. Her mouth was dry. She still felt nauseous. “These are channeling runes. Someone drew power from these deaths into the Nether Worlds.” A hand wrapped around hers. Seth’s hand.
