A shriek from the other side of the lorry drew her attention and she jogged around the front of the van to see Yash bent over a table and Cian wielding a surgical blade close to her face. Yash’s nails scraped down Cian’s face, drawing blood. Not glitter, blood.
Yash twisted and rammed a sharpened pipe into Cian’s side. His animal-like cry filled Nikala with dread. She grasped Jude’s gun and held it with both hands, aimed at Yash’s head. If only Cian would stop struggling for a moment, she could take the shot. As if reading her mind, Cian glanced over to her and nodded.
The gun fired with a deafening bang and Nikala watched in slow motion as the bullet traveled from the muzzle to penetrate Yasheda’s temple, messily decorating the table with the contents of her head. The woman’s arms flopped to her side and her body went limp.
Cian staggered backward. The pipe stuck out of his side at an agonizing angle. He reached down as if to pull it free.
“Don’t.” Nikala ran toward him. “You’ll do more damage than good. Let me.”
She lay him on the hard concrete and sprinted to the van for one of the blankets. When she returned, Cian’s eyes were hazy and his face ashen.
“Oh, come now. You survived their beatings—surely you can overcome a simple little pipe stuck in your guts.” Nikala gingerly placed the blanket underneath his right side and sat back on her heels.
“That was a good shot, by the way.” Cian wheezed.
“Did I ever tell you how much I hate guns?”
He shook his head. “There’s a lot you haven’t told me. So much I wanted to discover.” His hand reached up to stroke her cheek and she bit her tongue to keep from crying.
“There’s still time. Just relax. Don’t talk.”
Nikala refused to believe this was the end. She grabbed a handful of rags from the table Yash and Jude had set up for their torture station. She scanned the tools for anything that might help. Most of the items were to cause pain and death. Not many of them were for saving a life. Yash wore a jacket that looked much cleaner than the rags and Nikala stripped the woman of the garment.
She returned to Cian’s side and gave him a wan smile. “This is beyond my medical skills. If I remove the pipe, you’ll bleed to death.”
“Fae are excellent healers, Nikala.”
“I don’t…I can’t…I don’t know what to do.”
“Heal me.”
“I can’t, Cian. I’m sorry.”
His palm cupped her cheek. “Take out the pipe. Do it.”
It would kill him if she did. His eyes bore into hers and she took a staggering breath. “This is going to hurt.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. With both hands, she gripped the pipe and eased it out with a pop. A horrid sucking sound followed and she shoved the jacket into the hole left from the pipe. Cian put his hand over hers and closed his eyes.
Warmth vibrated through her body and thousands of years of history flooded her psyche. All of it familiar, none of it known to her. Tears filled her eyes and through her blurred vision, she saw the shimmer beneath her skin.
Malcolm had left a glittery luster where he’d bled on her.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Breaking wards meant to keep you from your true potential.”
A force, insistent and powerful, twisted in her core, spiraling outward. Her hands shook as she pressed the fabric against Cian’s wound. A hurricane whirled through her veins, igniting every cell until she was aflame. A cool clamminess covered her brow and her palms were slick. She licked her lips, tasting salt from her own sweat.
“What’s happening to me?” Whatever this was, she didn’t like it.
“Kiss me.” Cian’s gorgeous brown/hazel/autumnal eyes bore into hers.
She leaned forward and put her lips to his.
Stars burst behind her closed lids and images played out against a backdrop of fields of wildflowers. People, places, names, buildings, creatures of myth, and there, standing in the center of it all, was a woman with strawberry-blonde hair and Nikala’s sky-blue eyes.
In a flash, it was gone. The meadow, the woman, all of it. Gone as if it had never been.
Yet Nikala knew and remembered. Serenity from that knowledge washed over her. She stayed hunched over Cian, their lips connected. Reluctantly, she drew apart. “Was that magic?”
“It is magic. Yours and mine combined.”
Cian guided and directed her power to the hole in his side. She removed the jacket and grimaced at the hole left by the pipe. At least the bleeding had stopped. Her feeble, too-new magic wasn’t enough to fully heal him, but it would keep him from dying.
“You need a doctor. A proper hospital.”
“I need to return to Faerie.” Cian struggled to sit and Nikala helped him. “Can you drive that thing?” He pointed to the lorry.
“Of course. Can’t you?”
He shook his head. “Never had a need.”
“What should we do about them?” Nikala meant Yash and Jude. “And Malcolm. Should he be returned to, erm, where he’s from?”
“He’s a traitor to Faerie. They’d never allow it.”
Again, Cian said “they” as if she knew who he meant.
Cian used a chair to help him stand. He shuffled to where Yasheda’s body draped over the table. With a heavy sigh, he placed his hands on her abdomen and mumbled beneath his breath. Yash’s body shriveled and turned to dust. The smell of sulphur lingered in the air. Next, Cian shuffled to where she’d left Jude’s body. He knelt and repeated his mumbling, his hands on Jude’s head. Like Yash, his corpse curled and shriveled, then became nothing but dust. Not a shimmering radiance like Malcolm’s blood, but ordinary ashes.
Nikala wavered at the back of the lorry. Despite everything, Malcolm deserved more than this. But what, exactly, he deserved, she wasn’t sure. Cian tugged on the blanket covering Malcolm’s body and Nikala helped him drag the corpse out of the lorry to lay beside Jude’s ashes.
“Do you mind if I say a few words?” Nikala put a hand on Cian’s forearm.
She knelt beside Malcolm and smoothed the blanket. She was grateful she couldn’t see his face, but also needed to look on him one last time. To know for certain he was dead, or to mourn, she wasn’t sure.
The blanket peeled away to reveal the visage of a man who could’ve been sleeping. His lashes were soft against the hard lines of his cheekbones. She stroked his forehead and brushed a few hairs into place. Everything she’d ever wanted to say to him left her mind. All the angst, the fury, the bitter resentments were gone. All she was left with was a deep regret.
Regret for all the time they’d squandered. All the memories they never made.
Finally, she said simply, “Be at peace.”
Cian knelt beside her and placed his hands on Malcolm’s chest. As he mumbled the words and the dead man’s body began to shift, Nikala let the tears flow over her cheeks to drip on the concrete floor. In a matter of seconds, it was over. Malcolm could never use her or hurt her again. It was the freedom she wanted, but not the ending she’d imagined.
27
Cian had Nikala stop off at the little park where they’d found the lycan the night before. He limped to the bushes where he’d last seen the beast and knelt low. The sun was setting across the Thames and darkness would soon blanket the city. Another long night alone in a strange place wouldn’t be the lycan’s fate.
The gaping wound in his side rebelled at every movement he made. Nikala had healed him as much as she could, but her magic was too untested. That his instincts about her had been correct did little to ease his anguish for what she suffered to learn of her fate. The death of Malcolm, his beating—he sensed her conflicting of emotions.
She’d need strength and perseverance in the coming days, but mostly she’d need understanding and compassion. In a perfect world, he’d take her to his mum’s, where she could grow and explore without restraint or judgment. Without the queen’s permission, Nikala’s fate in Faerie might be the same as Malcolm’s in the huma
n realm. Even though Cian trusted her, she was unknown, a possible traitor or spy, and he doubted very much if the queens of Faerie would welcome her without first interrogating her. He was certain at the very least, Nikala would be accused of being Acelyne’s courier.
For now, she was safer in the human realm. The best he could do was ask Donyatella to keep an eye on Nikala until he returned.
A rustling came from deep in the bushes and relief surprised Cian. He’d hoped the lycan was still there, but had feared he wouldn’t find him alive.
“What will you do with him?” Nikala knelt beside Cian, her gaze firmly set on the bushes. Her unease around the creature was palpable, but she would grow used to living with strange beings. In time.
“He won’t survive long in this world. I’m going to take him somewhere he can thrive and have a semblance of the life he was meant to live.” He still couldn’t ascertain how someone had stolen the beast’s magic so thoroughly he’d become more dog than lycanthrope.
“Will you come back once he’s settled and you’re healed?”
Cian took her hand in his. “Nothing could stop me. What will you do?”
Nikala glanced toward SIRE’s offices, two blocks away. “I have some unfinished work to see to.”
She meant Hunter, Cian was certain. The man who killed his father. He touched his wound and flinched. No human doctor could save him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure whether Meg could, but she was his best hope. Even now, he felt Nikala’s magic waning, the wound growing. He couldn’t linger long and yet he loathed leaving.
It was an impossible situation. She couldn’t go to his world, and he couldn’t stay in hers.
“I’d prefer you wait until I return.” Cian grinned at the tightening of her jaw. “But I doubt that’s likely. Be careful. Please.”
“I was about to say the same to you.”
Nikala squeezed his hand and rose. The lycan emerged from the bushes and sniffed the air. His muzzle turned toward Nikala and his mouth opened, his tongue flopped to the side.
“I think he’s smiling.” Cian stroked the creature’s ruff and stood beside Nikala with more effort than he cared to admit. “He senses the change in you.”
She held her hands out and turned them from one side to the other. Her Glamour was muted beneath the paleness of her skin.
“About that. I know some crazy stuff happened in the warehouse and at Hunter’s, and I’m not sure I fully understand what it all means.”
The lycan licked her fingers and nudged her hand to his head. Cian shifted his weight and breathed through a jag of pain.
“You’re not human, Nikala. Someone brought you to the human realm. I don’t believe you’re a changeling. I think both your parents are fae.” Cian scratched the beast behind his ears.
Nikala’s lips pursed, but she didn’t reply. After a long hesitation, she turned to him. “What does that mean for me? For us? Can I still live here?”
Cian cupped her cheek with his palm and kissed her softly. “It means you can live wherever you want. Don’t overthink it too much. When I return, we’ll sort it out together. I’ll be gone a few days at the most.”
“Then go, so you can return to me sooner.”
Their parting kiss was filled with enough emotion to fill a year’s worth of days. There was too much to tell her and not enough time. His wish was to take her with him to Faerie, but not until he’d had a chance to speak with the queens. When she returned, it would be without a stigma hanging over her head.
His lips lingered on hers, not wanting to lose the physical connection. Her hands wrapped around his back and he absorbed her strength. It was all that kept him standing. Reluctantly, he withdrew, inhaling her scent, imprinting it and everything about her to his memory. The few days he’d be gone would be an eternity.
They strolled hand-in-hand to the lorry, where she reached behind the passenger’s seat for the messenger bag. He slung it over his shoulder and placed a protective hand on the flap. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes narrowed.
“Hunter took the amulet I had, and there were two more missing when Malcolm gave the rest to Hunter. I’ll try to get them back.”
“Please.” Cian put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay away from that man. Or at least wait for my return.”
“I’ll wait.” Nikala patted his hand and walked around to the driver’s side. “Be safe on your journey. You know where to find me.” She tilted her chin toward the huge glass building that dominated the skyline.
Some of Malcolm’s Glamour shone on Nikala’s skin. It was another mystery he would have to solve—how Malcolm’s blood had remained pure fae despite his long stay in the human realm.
Cian held up a hand in farewell. He knew she would ignore him and seek out Hunter. He could only hope he’d return in time. First, he had to get the lycan to Faerie and himself to Meg. The way his heart was pounding, he wasn’t sure he’d make it that far. But then, it might’ve been beating for reasons other than being half dead. He glanced one last time at Nikala, then at the sky. Protect her, he begged the gods. Please.
“Come on, mutt.” Cian touched the beast’s fur and they stumbled across the street toward Donyatella’s pub.
The old Stone Guardian was sitting at her table when he approached with the lycan. Her gaze went from Cian to the beast and back.
“I need to use your cellar, if I may.” Cian placed two fingers over his heart, a silent signal that he would never betray her secret portal.
“And that? Are you taking it with you?”
“I am.”
Donyatella looked past him to the busy street. “Where’s Nikala?”
Cian’s heart rattled beneath his rib cage and his breath hitched. “She’s going to her office. You’ll keep watch over her?” It wasn’t so much a question as an order, one he wasn’t authorized to make, but did anyway.
The snort that came from the woman was comical in its absurdness. “You fae. Think you command the worlds. Of course I’ll keep watch over her, as I was instructed long ago, and not by you.”
Cian cocked his head. “You knew what she is and didn’t tell her. Why? And how could you let her be abused by that monster?”
“The guardians remain neutral.”
He clenched his fists and breathed several shallow breaths. “Your neutrality will get her killed.”
“We have seen civilizations come and go. It is not for us to choose sides.”
Cian sucked in a breath. “That wasn’t always the case.”
“To our immortal shame. But, who’s to say if we were right or wrong,” Donyatella replied, eyes downcast. “I’ll put someone I trust close to Nikala. She’ll be safe until your return. I give you my word.”
He knew he shouldn’t push his luck, that with one wrong move the gargoyle might refuse his request to use the doorway in the cellar, but he had to know.
“My sister, Rori. You said she’s known to the guardians. Can you tell me why?” His life force was ebbing away and time precious, but he had to know.
Donyatella shook her head and took a sip of water from an ornate goblet. “Nikala will know soon enough. War is coming. To this world and Faerie. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop it. Tell your queens they best be prepared.” She set the goblet down. “I’ve said too much. Now, go.” She waved a wrinkled hand in dismissal.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the warning about war, but something in the old woman’s tone uncovered a dread he’d buried deep in his past.
The lycan limped down the stairs beside Cian and stopped in front of the doorway that would take them to Faerie. As he placed his hand upon the old oak planks, he burned with the knowledge he was letting Nikala down. He’d left her to deal with the aftermath of Malcolm’s treachery on her own. How far the betrayal went, Cian could only guess. He pushed his free hand against the wound in his gut. He wouldn’t be much good to Nikala dead.
Once in Faerie, he’d track down Rori and together, they would uncover who Nikala’
s parents were. Then, he’d return to the human realm and help her claim her fae legacy.
28
Rori stood in the center of the Shoogly Dragon, having an out-of-body experience in the darkened pub. She left the present and returned to the night Acelyne had captured her. In her memories, she had been surrounded by friends and a dozen strangers. Her gaze roved from the bar to a corner table where she recalled an attractive man had sat the night Acelyne captured her. Her eyes narrowed and she focused her sight to a pinpoint.
Therron. That bloomin’ elf had been there that night. She put a hand to her head. Of course—he said he’d been following Acelyne. She pivoted and went to the bar where her friend Sal had brought her a drink.
The barkeep entered through a side door and jumped when he saw her. “We ain’t opened yet.”
“Have you seen Sal?”
The barkeep looked toward the street. “Sal’s dead. Got himself stuck on the pointy end of someone’s blade in the market.”
Sal dead. Acelyne dead. Coincidence? She didn’t think so. Why had she come back? She should’ve left the Shoogly Dragon alone and used other doorways to get to her mum’s. But the pull had been too great. Not just in the hopes of bumping into Therron, but to get answers about what happened that night.
As she turned, a flash of blonde hair caught her attention and she thought Acelyne had returned. A deep spasm of anxiety rocked her, but when she looked closer, it wasn’t the enchantress at all, but a ruggedly handsome elf who stared at her as if he’d seen a nightmare.
“What are you doing here?” His tone didn’t convey the same horror of his expression. In fact, it was riddled with relief.
“I, erm, I couldn’t stay at Midna’s knowing fae were in danger.” A half-truth was better than none.
He approached, cautiously, and the sounds of the barkeep yammering at them to come back when the pub was opened dimmed. Rori stayed rooted where she was, not trusting her legs to keep her aloft for all the trembling they were doing. When he was a foot from her, he stopped, his eyes searching.
Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 25
