Embrace the Mystery

by Caris Roane

  “Something tells me some of the women around here have been love-starved for a long time.”

  A cheering sounded from the window. Batya crossed and glanced down. In the distance, she saw the troll brigade and what was probably Seth’s force celebrating. When drums started up, and lights went on all over the town, she was pretty sure this occasion would be celebrated in two realms and one kingdom for a long time to come.

  Quinlan joined her by the window, sliding his arms around her from behind, holding her tight. “Wish we didn’t have to leave.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’d love a repeat performance of last night.”

  The thought of all that they’d done together, especially the thrilling climax with his vibrations flooding her body, made her body grow weak as she leaned into him. He kissed her neck several times then sucked on the vein. She bloomed beneath his touch, his words, his lips.

  “We have to go. The queen said we did. But when we get to Lebanon, you can share my bed.”

  “We’d break that bed.”

  She had to work to catch her breath. “We probably would.”

  “We could go to my stronghold.”

  She turned in his arms and he kissed her hard, his tongue pummeling her mouth in the best way. We should do that, at least once more before you take me back to the States.

  Okay.

  She pushed him away and shook her head. “Really, we’d better stop. The queen said we needed to get going.”

  “You’re right.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  With Batya held tight against him with one arm, and her satchel held in his free hand, Quinlan took off, rising high above the city. He didn’t want to delay their return by traveling through the town. No doubt Henry and his cohorts were already lost in song, dance, and the company of women so that nothing could be gained by saying a second good-bye.

  Once at the entrance to the city, the Guards rolled back both the gate and the mist. He flew through and began the long ascent that would lead them to the snowfields and back to Grochaire Realm.

  He’d made his apologies to Seth and had taken a few minutes to share his blood rose experience with him. Given the current trend making its way through the mastyrs of the Nine Realms, Seth would do well to be forewarned.

  Seth had in turn expressed his own remorse for having taken advantage of Batya but was bemused that she’d come to him so readily.

  Quinlan released a sigh. “We’re not bonded. Right now, she would feel driven to serve any mastyr vampire.” From what he understood, the bonding process had many avenues, sometimes occurring over a period of time, at others with a strong decision of the will, and even Gerrod had said that his bonding with Abigail had taken place during captivity and had involved a sharing of each other’s blood.

  Seth had frowned. “Everything I’ve heard from you or from Ethan and Gerrod sounds nightmarish. I lost control with Batya. That’s unforgiveable.”

  Quinlan tried to encourage him, but until Seth experienced a blood rose for himself, he wouldn’t really be able to relate.

  He’d left him with the promise to call soon in order to discuss the future of the Nine Realms.

  As Quinlan flew, he tried not to think about the hard truth that once he left Batya in Lebanon, she’d be fair game. He recalled what his own attraction to Samantha had been like just six months ago before Ethan had completed the bond with her. He and Ethan had done serious damage to the Guildhall when they’d fought over her. And now with Seth, he’d been on the receiving end of that hellish reality when he found his fellow mastyr ready to sink his fangs.

  He shuddered.

  What’s wrong?

  Just thinking about walking into the throne room and finding you in Seth’s arms. Sure enough, he shuddered again only this time rage erupted. Why did you do it?

  She stiffened in his arms. Why did I do it? You mean why did I go to him?

  By now, they flew over the snowfields, but he took little pleasure in the soft vibration of energy that worked through the land. Instead, he ground his teeth. You heard me. Why the hell did you go to him? Did our time together mean so little to you that you couldn’t restrain yourself?

  She fell silent, but not necessarily in a bad way. He was pretty sure she was thinking hard about the situation, a quality they shared in common.

  I don’t know why, she pathed at last. One minute I was standing by the doorway, and the next I was crossing to him like he had me enthralled, which wasn’t possible. I’m sure it’s the whole blood rose thing, but Quin, I’m pissed as hell about this. I don’t want to be a Goddamn blood rose.

  And I don’t want to be a mastyr vampire.

  But you can’t help being a mastyr vampire. You were born that way. You must have known early on that you’d rise to mastyr status.

  I did, but what’s the difference? Clearly, you were always meant to be a blood rose.

  Well, I didn’t exactly know that I’d one day have this lovely job description of satisfying your blood needs. Sweet Goddess!

  He huffed an impatient sigh. So what if you’re a blood rose? Suck it up.

  Well, fuck you very much. And exactly what do you think will happen if one of those wraith-pairs, you know the ones that Margetta created with mastyr vampires, decides to come after me in Lebanon? What am I supposed to do then?

  Well, you can call me, of course.

  But what good will that do? As I recall, it was my enthrallment shield that saved your ass.

  He had a strong desire suddenly to drop Batya and her satchel down on the snowfield and suggest she find her own ride back to Tennessee. Breathing hard through his nostrils, he pathed, Then I guess you’d better get really good at creating those special shields of yours.

  Fine.

  Fine.

  He didn’t like that she’d raised some solid points, especially since he didn’t have the answers, so her silence worked for him. It also gave him time to think.

  Two questions rose to the surface. Exactly what was she supposed to do as a blood rose? And how was he, or any of his Grochaire Guardsmen, supposed to battle these uber-wraith-pairs?

  Wanting an answer to that, he had Batya hold her satchel for a moment while he phoned Rafe. His second-in-command assured him that Grochaire was fairly quiet and no reports of the kinds of wraith-pairs Quinlan described to him had made an appearance.

  Reassured, he told Rafe he’d be back in Grochaire in a couple of hours and would talk to him then.

  Taking the satchel back, he headed west, using a different route back in order to avoid the Dead Forest. He thought it possible Margetta might have left scouts on the back trail waiting to strike.

  An hour later, of covering mile after mile, Batya pathed, Sorry, Quin. I’m a bit edgy and I didn’t need to speak to you that way.

  I’m sorry, too. We definitely need to talk about what happened and about the future, and hammer out some details.

  I just want you to know that I’d be happy, at the very least, to become your doneuse. I know it’s made a difference for you.

  I appreciate that. Oh, damn, his chest swelled up again with all that strange, bizarre sensation, like he had a cloud in his rib cage that kept expanding.

  He carefully kissed the top of her head as he flew west, hoping to hell that he wouldn’t encounter the wicked witch before getting Batya to safety.

  * * * * * * * * *

  The trip across the snowfields had given Batya plenty of time to think. She recalled what Rosamunde had said, and that she and Quinlan needed to work together. Quarreling had only served to reveal the problems they faced, but nothing more.

  And what was she supposed to do with her blood rose status?

  Quinlan had asked an important question: Had their time together meant so little to her?

  Of course not. If anything, the nature of their relationship overwhelmed her with its depth and the sheer excitement of being with him was like nothing she’d ever known before.

  Her thoughts turned to Lebanon and the life she�
�d built for herself there. She loved the ex-pat community. She could never give up her healing work there. The local realm-folk depended on her and her service made her happy.

  She shared this quality with Quinlan. His devotion to Grochaire, which had been his life’s work as well as his life’s sacrifice, matched her own love of her community. Her efforts might have been on a much smaller scale, but the desire to serve equaled Quinlan’s, so at least in that way, she understood him, she got him.

  But exactly how they were supposed to make all of this work escaped her.

  We’re not far from the border between the snowfields and Grochaire. I can feel the vibrations thinning.

  She could as well, but the thought of reentering their old lives caused her heart to lurch. Yes, she loved her life, but she didn’t exactly want to leave Quinlan behind and she definitely didn’t want another mastyr vampire chasing after her.

  Yep, they had a lot of issues to resolve.

  An odd vibration went through her as the snow disappeared and grasslands arrived. A forest of fir trees came next. They were still high in the eastern mountain range. At least now that Margetta wasn’t around, they could take a direct route up and over.

  But almost as soon as that thought went through her head, two things happened at once. She sensed that Margetta was near and something flashed near the edge of the forest, not a bright light, something duller.

  She started to ask Quinlan if he’d seen the flash as well, but something struck her and threw her out of Quinlan’s arms and into the air. She tumbled, bouncing against Quinlan then away, then back.

  She didn’t understand what was happening until she started falling to earth and nothing Quinlan did could stop their descent. At the last second, he pulled her on top of him as he landed with a thud on the hard, grass-covered ground.

  “Shit. Oh, shit.”

  She pushed off of him but got only so far as rolling on her back. When she looked up, she saw the dark night sky through a jute web, something laced with fierce preternatural power and the trap had a familiar scent of rotting garbage.

  “She caught us.”

  “She did.” His deep voice rumbled and she heard his despair.

  Margetta appeared surrounded by a much smaller entourage than before. She hadn’t brought along her regular force of Invictus wraith-pairs, just the two powerful couples who each radiated a strong desire to slay the enemy.

  She scooted closer to Quinlan and he slid an arm around her, holding her against him.

  “Now isn’t that sweet. Lovers to the end.” Margetta hovered just a few feet away. She lifted her gaze toward the east, in the direction of the snowfields and Ferrenden Peace. “I can’t see beyond the mist barrier. I can’t move beyond it either. But I know my daughter is there as well as that damn woman who calls herself a queen.”

  Margetta shifted her gaze back to Quinlan. “So tell me, has she finally taken a man into her bed? The Great Mastyr and I call her the virgin queen.” She laughed, a brittle sound that shattered the silence of the cool mountain air. “She’s my nemesis, but one day there will be a reckoning. One day.” She blinked several times then turned her attention back to her trap.

  She still bore a golden glow, which Batya thought must be a shield of some kind.

  “So, Mastyr Quinlan, here you are, exactly where I want you. There’s nothing either of you can do to break the spell I have over the net. You’re trapped and both of you will die here. I could send a single fire ball in your direction right now and consume you both, but that’s not good enough for what you’ve cost me, and all because you couldn’t resist a little fae tail.”

  Batya’s turn to blink. Was it possible Margetta didn’t know that she was a blood rose?

  “What is your intention?” Batya asked. “If you don’t intend to fry us, then what?”

  Margetta’s gaze settled on Batya and she felt the ancient fae’s power in a painful vibration over her skin. “That you both endure horrific deaths, of course. Mastyr Quinlan’s will be brief but excruciating and will occur within the first hour after dawn.”

  “No,” Batya whispered.

  “Oh, yes. But yours, my dear, for having saved him and for having helped get Lorelei to Ferrenden, will be far worse. I’ve left instructions to have a shelter built for you around the net. You’ll be stuck in this cage with your lover’s rotting corpse. You’ll die slowly and painfully from starvation with only the bones of your beloved for company.”

  She smiled, glancing from one to the other again. “I believe my work here is done.”

  As she turned away from them, Batya couldn’t restrain herself. “Go to hell.”

  The ancient fae whirled and within a heartbeat hovered above the netting. Her beautiful features twisted into an expression of fury as she began to shriek, sounding more wraith than fae. Louder her shrieking sounded until Batya’s ears thrummed with pain. Batya’s back arched and as the decibels rose, her vision faded until finally she blacked out.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Quinlan awoke slowly, first to the smell of meat cooking over an outdoor flame and then to the fact that his right arm had fallen asleep. He was very weak and had a hard time pulling his arm out from under Batya who was still unconscious.

  Margetta had caused them both to pass out.

  But how much time had passed?

  Thirty feet away, one of the mastyr vampire wraith-pairs lay on furs in the mountain grasses, naked and coupling, grunting like animals. The other talked in quiet tones, tending the fire and roasting what must have been a mountain goat over the flame. The woman turned a spit, then reached in a bucket and poured something savory over the flesh. A strangely homey and erotic scene combined.

  He slowly flexed his arm, not wanting to draw attention to the vampires. Sometime during his unconsciousness, they’d erected a day-shelter with a sun-blocking canvas. Clearly, Margetta had left them here to guard the prisoners until they both perished.

  Batya stirred beside him and moaned, the sound loud enough to draw the attention of the mastyr supervising the goat. He rose from his camp chair and made his way over to the net and dropped down on his haunches near Batya.

  “She’s pretty.” He reached through and fondled Batya’s breasts. “And built. Nice. Too bad you won’t be around to enjoy her, but once you’re gone, maybe I’ll release her for a few hours just for fun.”

  At his touch, Batya awoke completely, and pushed his hands away, scooting closer to Quinlan.

  The last of Quinlan’s confusion left as rage flooded his body. He launched across Batya to reach the bastard, but the mastyr just stepped back as the net did its work. Fire burned over his skin and he fell to the ground next to Batya.

  He lay trembling, old feelings returning of the powerlessness he’d felt as a child, watching his father, in his drunken rages, pounding on his mother, beating her senseless.

  “Mastyr Quinlan, let me give you a taste of what your woman will get when you die. I’ll take her out of this net for extended periods and fuck her till she screams, but it won’t be a gentle scream, because I like to use knives when I work a woman. So eat that, you fucking bastard.”

  The vampire walked away laughing.

  Quinlan turned his back to the fire and stared at Batya. She lay shivering, so he drew her into his arms, the only real comfort he could give her. When dawn arrived in two or three hours, she’d be left alive to endure torture for who knew how long.

  He would die soon, but he’d be leaving Batya behind to endure the whims of a sadist who intended to carve her up while he raped her.

  His whole life, all these centuries, he’d been battling evil, but what good was that if he couldn’t save the ones closest to him, the ones he loved?

  And there it was, his deepest truth, the one he’d shunned the entire time he’d pursued Batya, that he loved her, that he’d fallen hard maybe from the first time he’d caught that tropical flower scent of hers.

  As she shivered again and he pulled her closer still, he
thought about all that had happened over the past several weeks and he drew one conclusion. He didn’t care what had brought them together, only that he held her in his arms and he loved her.

  He loved her.

  She’d gone against the grain, risking realm-censure and disapproval, but she’d lived her own life, gone her own course, and performed an admirable service at the same time. He knew from his own experience that realm-folk needed compassion, something he gave freely in his duties as Mastyr of Grochaire.

  But so did Batya. In that way, they matched each other point-by-point.

  And he loved her.

  He loved her.

  But just as this revelation washed over him in a sublime wave of sensation, he glanced at the net that held them captive. How the hell could they escape this prison? The sun would rise in a few hours and he’d fry.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Batya trembled, but not from cold as she was sure Quinlan thought, but from a rage so pure she could hardly think.

  How dare that piece of shit vampire fondle her breasts.

  Yes, rage ruled her right now, but not a new rage, something very old that had lived in her for most of her life, from the day she’d seen that Invictus pair kill a whole family of elves.

  Those images had burned in her soul all her long-lived life, eventually driving her to live outside of Grochaire, to create a better life in Tennessee.

  Yet here she was, drawn back into the fray by the strange ability she possessed to serve a mastyr vampire with her blood. Even now, even with death on her heels, her heart labored because she sensed Quinlan’s need.

  She wished so much that she wasn’t a blood rose, but she couldn’t help that.

  Another chill swept through her that had nothing to do with how cold it was in this mountain forest meadow. Rage, yes, but something more.

  She focused within herself and recognized that her battle frequency had come alive, the one that Quinlan had tapped into, giving him enough power to escape Lebanon with a woman under each arm.

  Quinlan. He’d surprised her at every turn. She’d thought so little of him, that except for his dedication to serving Grochaire, he was little more than eye-candy.