by Leia Shaw
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
He traversed back to Aila. “Are you sure you have to – ”
“Yes.”
“It’s not pretty, Aila. I fear –”
“Take me or I’ll take myself.”
He sighed in resignation. “All right. Let’s go.”
She slipped her small hand in his and looked up at him with such innocent joy it almost stopped his heart.
“What?” he asked, humbled by her affection.
“Nothing.” She grinned. “I just love you.”
“And I love you.” He kissed her knuckles. “Ready?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “Shields down.”
He gripped her hand as the castle around them faded, the familiar chill rippling through him. Seconds later they appeared on the outskirts of the dusty tent camp.
“You did it,” Marcelo said.
She nodded but her eyes were fixed on the scene before her. Her gaze darted from dirt-covered faces to the gleaming weapons sharpened for combat.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the curious stares, and hurried them toward the biggest tent. The thought of her lingering among adrenaline pumped males on the edge of war filled him with dread. As they weaved in and out of the chaotic settlement, whispers echoed behind them, which did nothing for his growing apprehension. His arm tightened around her tiny body. He filched a sword from a stash of weapons leaned up against the side of the large tent.
Around the corner from the entrance he stopped and held Aila in front of him with hands on her shoulders. “Here is what’s going to happen. You will go in there and help Kieran work out a peace treaty. If I get the slightest indication of a threat to your safety, you will do as I tell you until I get you out of here. Do we have an agreement?”
She smiled. He had used his most grievous tone and she smiled as if he’d just told her an amusing story. “You worry too much.”
No such thing.
Standing on tiptoes she pressed a soft kiss on his lips. He ached for more. Maybe there was still a chance he could lure her back to bed and out of this mess. She pulled away then stepped toward the entrance of the tent, determination in her long strides. He sighed. There was no stopping a willful woman on a mission. He supposed he should be thankful the mission didn’t involve shoe shopping. Perhaps not as dangerous for Aila, but there were ways for vampires to kill themselves.
Marcelo and Aila entered the meeting place together. Anxiety made his muscles twitch. He had no control of what awaited them. If vampires could have heart attacks, he’d have been writhing on the ground.
“Aila!” Kieran’s voice sounded far too eager to Marcelo’s ears. She held out her arms to embrace him, glanced at Marcelo then quickly dropped them. Smart girl.
“Kieran.” She acknowledged him with a diplomatic head nod. “How can I help?”
Four fae men stood on opposites sides of a wooden table, casting watchful looks.
“You are Aila the Foretold?” a man with warm eyes, a soft smile, and an Irish accent asked from behind the table. “The one prophesized to unite the fae?”
Aila flashed a wary glance toward Kieran, who nodded. “Yes,” she answered.
A taller fae, dressed in a silver and black modern military uniform, with dark hair and sharp features stepped around the table. His advancing pace and clenched teeth made Marcelo pull Aila behind him.
“A vampire protector,” the man sneered, also with an Irish accent. “Is she your intended?” When Marcelo didn’t answer he looked at his companions. “And this is where we place our hope? A slip of a girl and her vampire pet?”
Marcelo tensed to spring but small hands grasped his arm. Aila’s sweet voice was at his ear. “Let me handle it.”
Aila stepped out from behind him, her head held high. “I have no proof, only my word. But why would I be here if I wasn’t her?”
In answer he snapped his fingers and a second man, dressed in the same colors, scurried from behind the table. Both men looked no older than thirty five though that didn’t fool Marcelo. To hold such high military positions, they must have been hundreds of years old at the very least. “Fetch the seer,” he ordered the smaller man, clearly lower in rank.
He obeyed and left through a second entrance in the back of the tent. He returned moments later escorting a slightly disheveled elderly black woman in handcuffs.
Aila gasped and rushed to her side. “What have you done to this poor woman?”
Ignoring her, the sneering man spoke to the oracle. “Well? Is this the prophesied one?”
She gave Aila a once over before nodding her head.
“There,” Aila snapped. “You have your proof. Now release her.”
“We have other needs for –”
“Release her,” Marcelo growled.
The fae captor laughed and addressed Marcelo. “Oy. Vampire, I have hundreds of Seelie fae warriors at my disposal. What do you think to –”
“General Byrne,” Kieran boldly interrupted. “Is she worth going to war over?”
The general looked at the oracle. Her chin jutted out though her hands shook. “Dunne,” the general said, addressing his second. “Take her back to the portal.”
“No.” Kieran put a finger on the handcuff lock and it popped open. He tucked the woman’s hand under his arm. “My men will return her safely home.”
Aila exhaled a sigh and thanked Kieran. The oracle finally came alive. With her eyes twinkling she leaned in and whispered, “Tell your sister, Ruby sends her best.”
Aila’s jaw dropped. Ruby was hustled out of the tent and into the care of one of Kieran’s men before Aila could respond. She looked at Marcelo.
“James’ friend,” he explained. He recognized her name. “She worked with him for years to defeat the Dark King.”
Kieran returned empty handed and smiled at Aila. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me introduce you to my second, O’Ryan.” He gestured toward the man with the warm eyes who then gave a salute. “Dunne is second to General Byrne from the Seelie fae court.” Both men gave a curt nod, more toward Marcelo than Aila. The fae hadn’t caught up to twenty first century views on feminism. Aila wouldn’t be pleased about that.
“Is it true then lass? That there be Seelie and Unseelie blood runnin’ through your veins?” O’Ryan asked, warmth flaring to curiosity.
She shrugged. “That’s what I was told.”
“It’s true,” Marcelo interjected. “I’ve seen gifts from both sides. And she has no alliance with either court.”
The general gestured to Kieran. “She is friends with the prince, is she no’?”
Aila stepped toward the general. Marcelo didn’t like her so close to the malicious man but showing a willing partnership was a wise move. “I’m a neutral party. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Sincerity rang true in her voice. The Seelie must have heard it too because they moved back to the table, nodding gravely at the papers that lay there.
“We are negotiatin’ our terms for peace between the courts,” the general told her. “As you ken, the Seelie were chosen by the gods to uphold the values of righteousness and expel all that is evil. The Unseelie practice the dark arts –”
“Some of the Unseelie,” Kieran asserted with a stiff spine.
“We demand for those who have practiced such atrocity to be executed, their souls damned to hell.”
“We will do no such thing.”
“Then this war is far from over.”
“Wait.” Aila placed herself between the two rising tempers. Marcelo fought the urge to draw her back. “If you engage in battle, you know you’ll have mass casualties. I’ve felt the power from both sides. There will be no winner. Only lives lost.”
The general shot her a sharp look. “‘Tis a risk we are willin’ to take for the good of the world.”
The general lied. The fae didn’t care for the world, only their own rising empires.
“Th
at’s not all,” she replied. “You’ve heard the sorcerers are rallying supernaturals to aid them in fighting the Underworld, right?” Everyone grunted in a shared displeasure. “Then you know they will take advantage of any weakness. With more than half your military injured or worse, you have no protection for your kingdom. Your king and queen would be in danger –”
The general’s face turned a strange shade of crimson. “We are more than capable of takin’ care of our –”
“From sorcerers, maybe, but what about from vampires? And werewolves? And even worse, demons? I hear they speak into your mind. Make you obey their command with a simple thought. Could you protect your royalty, your women and children, from all of these threats?”
Marcelo gaped. Where the hell did she hear about the demons? Kieran looked equally surprised. The general and his second exchanged a meaningful glance.
Kieran shifted then clasped his hands together. “Look. We can promise to arrange a fair trial for anyone caught using black magic. I cannot guarantee an execution for the guilty parties, but I do vow retribution. They will be punished.”
“I want a task force designated to flush these criminals out,” the general demanded.
Kieran nodded. “Done. And I want justice for the Seelie that seek their own means of retaliation on our people. You must stop hunting us.”
“Done.”
Aila beamed. The general looked down at her and one side of his mouth almost lifted into an unfamiliar smile.
A ruckus outside the tent caught their attention.
A voice boomed across the encampment. “Feck the Seelie!Lig an cat a itheann tú, agus ithe an diabhal an cat!”
Kieran let out a low curse. The Seelie leader’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
“I do no’ see this as an act of faith,” Byrne hissed.
Aila’s eyes widened. “What is it? What happened?”
Kieran and O’Ryan took up swords and stormed out of the tent without a word. The Seelie followed in a sweep of barely contained violence. Marcelo pulled Aila to his side as hoots and hollers grew louder. Scuffling feet told of a violent struggle. The sound of swords clashing wasn’t promising either.
He looked down at Aila’s worried expression. “Zealots, most likely.”
“Do you speak Irish?”
“Of course. I speak all Gaelic languages. And most Latin based too.”
She slapped his chest. “Now is not the time to boast! What did they say?”
“Literally, ‘let a cat eat you and the devil eat the cat.’”
She grimaced.
“It’s an old Irish curse.”
“Weird, bloody fae,” she murmured, repeating his earlier words. He had the ridiculous urge to laugh.
Another voice, this one closer, rang out above the rest. “Téigh go dtí an diabhal! Long live O’Leary!”
“Now what?”
“‘Go to the devil. Long live –’”
“I got that part,” she snapped. “Who’s O’Leary?”
He shrugged. “The zealot’s leader perhaps.”
She sighed impatiently. “Well, we can’t just hide out here. We have to help.”
He tightened his arm around her waist. “We most certainly can hide out here. In fact, I think it’s time for us to go. Before the battle begins.”
She pulled away but he kept hold of her wrist. “The battle?” Her face paled. “No! We were negotiating. We were doing so well!”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Querida, you can no more stop this war than you can stop a hurricane. Centuries of built up hate cannot be contained by one fae woman.”
Her fists clenched and she stomped a foot. “I do not accept that!”
His voice softened. He was willing to beg in order to avoid a battle between them. “Mi amor, please don’t force me to take you away against your will.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “You know my terms. As soon as I perceive a threat, you would do as I say.”
“Your terms, not mine. I never agreed.” Her brows descended. “I’m not giving up. The whole world is a threat, Marcelo. You can’t keep me on a shelf like a fragile doll forever.”
“The hell I can’t!” He tugged her arm and enclosed her within his sheltered body. He closed his eyes as he focused on his destination. But the familiar chill didn’t overcome him, and when he opened his eyes, they weren’t in Rheol Hearn. He looked down at Aila.
Her mouth was curled up in a small smirk, her voice quiet but proud. “Shields up.”
Before he could growl his indignation, Kieran stumbled into the tent, blood splashed over his clothes and face.
“Kieran!” she shrieked, trying to pull away. Marcelo kept a firm grip on her wrist.
“The battle has begun,” Kieran panted. “There’s nothing more you can do.” He looked at Marcelo. “Get her out of here.”
I’m trying! He was about to grab her about the waist and sling her over his shoulder but she spun toward him, whipping out the dagger he’d given her and slammed the hilt on his wrist. He dropped her arm in reflex and she took off out the tent door. He followed on her heels wondering where the hell she’d hidden the knife and why he hadn’t seen that coming.
“Kieran,” she called out amidst the carnage surrounding them. The air was heavy with blood and sweat. Eyes were black like night and filled with rage. Fangs glistened against dirty, bloodied faces.
She spotted Kieran. He dueled a red haired fae, matching swings with their long swords. “Stop, Kieran! If you order your people back we can still work this out!”
“It’s too late,” he answered, thrusting his sword deep into his enemy’s belly. Aila screamed. Marcelo wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her backward toward another tent. The whoosh of an arrow sliced through air then Aila’s body rocked with the force of something piercing it.
He looked down at the small body in his arms and his world collapsed. Blood gushed from her chest, soaking through the fabric of her shirt. She’d been hit with an arrow straight in her heart, the very place she was most vulnerable.
Her eyes fluttered but remained open, focused solely on him. It wasn’t pain that filled her eyes, it was acceptance. No!
He cradled her small body in his arms as he collapsed onto his knees. “Aila,” he said firmly, “listen to me. You will live.” He sounded so confident, so sure. But inside he was quaking. Very carefully he adjusted himself on the ground so her upper body rested in his lap.
He placed his hands on either side of the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Fuck! The arrow was deep. “You won’t die,” he told her. “I won’t let you.”
She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek but her hand dropped with the effort. He picked it up with slippery, bloodied hands and held it to his face. Seeing her so weak, it finally struck him.
“I love you,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion, “and you will not leave me.” It was a command, but a useless one. Her eyes were already fading. He tapped a hand on her cheek. “Aila! Live!”
A dribble of blood streamed from her parted lips. With shaky hands, he wiped it with his shirt. “Live, damn it!”
Her heart faltered. “No! You must live!” He searched the ground around them for something to stop the bleeding. “Fetch me a blanket. A doctor!” he yelled to no one in particular. “A bandage. Anything!” His voice cracked when her eyes closed. Kissing her eyelids he commanded her, “Wake up!”
You can’t take her, he raged to the gods. You can’t have her! She is mine!
He shook her limp body, though it was too late. He was angry with her. So angry. “How could you do this to me?” he yelled at the pale, lifeless form in his arms.
She gave up, she didn't even try to fight it. He kissed her face, running his lips along every inch of her skin. How could she do this to him? He sniffed her hair, her skin, branding the scent into his memory. For that’s all he would have of her. A memory.
He’d just found her after eight hundred years of loneliness. Eight hund
red years of miserable solitude and he hadn’t even gotten more than two weeks with her. Two weeks, he screamed to the gods again.
“Fucking two weeks!” he roared out loud.
His heart felt like it had been ripped out of his body then stabbed a million times with a silver blade. It hurt like nothing he’d ever experienced. He could scarcely breathe. His body crumpled under the weight of his grief. Resting his forehead on top of hers, he wept.
For seconds, minutes, hours – it didn’t matter – he held her tight against his body, unwilling to let her go. She was everything. His ray of sunshine in an endlessly dark world. She made him smile, made him hope. She gave him life. What would he do without her?
In eight hundred years, he’d never shed a single tear, now he was sobbing like a babe.
Kieran stepped into view and reached down to touch her. Marcelo’s growl was so menacing that he staggered back immediately.
Finally he raised his gaze to take in the scene around him. It was still and silent, not even a cough dared interrupt his grief. “Who did it?” It was a barely audible guttural sound.
Kieran gestured towards a fae male lying dead on the ground, shot with his own arrow. It was too quick a death for the bastard but Marcelo couldn’t bring himself to care.
He kissed her lips softly one last time then roared into the sky, pain and anguish slicing through his very bones. He could feel the moment her soul left her body, for it left him too. He flipped from raw, tortured agony to hollow. Stark and bare.
“Calm yourself, vampire,” came a heavenly feminine sound from beside him.
He looked up into beautiful glacial blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. Rosy cheeks and full red lips smiled down at him. A long mane of charcoal hair hung down over her shoulders. She wore a yellow-green dress that billowed loosely around her hips. Instinctively, he knew what she was.
“Goddess, please,” he begged softly. “Take me.”
She bent down to her knees and stroked Aila’s hair. “What would you give to have her back?”
“Anything. I would trade my life for hers.”
“Your love is deep and her courage is admirable. I have come to grant a favor.” She raised her voice and faced the fae, wide-eyed at her presence. Whispers of Artemis, goddess of the wilderness, erupted around them.
