The Fae woman, surprisingly fast, seized her by the arm. Kenzie shook her off, and the mists closed around them both.
Kenzie almost fell into the bog that opened at her feet. Only Brigid grabbing her again kept Kenzie from plunging straight into it.
Ryan was up to his neck in mud and goo, both hands wrapped around a low-hanging branch. His eyes were round, his face frozen with fear. When he saw Kenzie, tears trickled down his cheeks, cutting through black filth.
“Hold on to me,” Kenzie said swiftly to Brigid.
Not waiting for Brigid to answer, Kenzie threw herself on her belly and inched forward into the bog. Brigid’s strong fingers gripped her ankles, the Fae woman cursing in her Celtic-sounding language.
“Let go of the branch,” Kenzie commanded Ryan as she began to sink into softer ground. “Grab my hand.”
Ryan didn’t want to release his desperate hold of the overhanging limb. He was terrified, and the distance between it and Kenzie’s hands was a stretch.
“You can make it,” Kenzie told him. “It’s like jumping up and grabbing the zip line as it goes down. Don’t think I didn’t see you do that.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Ryan said, voice breaking. “They dared me, and I’m leader’s son. I had to.”
“I know. But I saw you succeed. You jumped up and grabbed that bar and rode it down. This is the same thing.”
It wasn’t at all the same, but Kenzie didn’t know what else to say to him. If she inched any farther, she’d be diving face-first into the bog. Then Brigid would have to find a way to haul them both out before they drowned.
“Come on, son,” Kenzie said, voice shaking. “Let’s get out of here, find your dad, and then kick some anthropology professor ass.”
Ryan sucked in a breath, coughing when mud came with it. He threw himself forward, let go of the branch, and scrabbled frantically for Kenzie’s hands.
He missed one; Kenzie caught him with the other. Her arm jarred with the impact, her aching fingers wanting to jerk open.
Kenzie made herself clamp down on Ryan’s wrist. She swung her other arm around and fixed her hold on the back of his neck, his scruff if he’d been wolf. She hauled him up, the bog releasing him slowly, slowly.
The mud sucked at him greedily, not wanting to let go of a life. Kenzie didn’t think a patch of mud could be sentient—then again, around here, who knew?
With a boiling, sucking sound, the bog abruptly released Ryan. The sudden lack of resistance sent Kenzie rolling backward, Ryan in her arms.
She sat up, clinging to him and bawling like a baby. Kenzie rocked him, her son, her precious cub, who was real, filthy, and stinking like rotting vegetation.
“It’s okay.” Ryan patted Kenzie, though he was sniffling back tears himself. “I’m all right, Mom. We’re all right. What took you so long?”
Brigid was down on one knee next to them. “She thought you were an illusion. This place is full of them.”
Ryan lifted his head and stared at Brigid with wet eyes. “Hey, did you know there was a Fae next to us? I’ve never seen one before.” He wrinkled his nose. “Do they all smell this bad?”
Brigid frowned, her long braids touching Ryan as she leaned to him. “You have no room to speak, young offspring.”
“You don’t, you know,” Kenzie said to Ryan, holding him close again. “You stink something terrible.”
Ryan looked offended, and Kenzie started crying again. This was her son; he was alive and with her. Hope broke through her despair, and her heart warmed anew. They’d get through this. And home. They had to.
* * *
Bowman kept moving because he knew that if he stopped, he’d die. Having both Kenzie and his son ripped from him had made the world grow surreal, outlines flowing and blurring into unimportant shapes.
Voices around him were hollow as his Shifters continued to search for a way into the mists.
Gil, horrified: “I couldn’t hold on to him. Something yanked him from me. I’m so sorry.”
Cade: “Eric called. His trackers are en route.”
Bowman had heard his phone ring but hadn’t had the strength to answer it. Eric would know to call Bowman’s second if Bowman didn’t respond.
Jamie: “What do you want us to do with all this stuff?”
There was a pile of Turner’s crap everywhere. “Keep going through it,” Bowman heard himself say. “There might be something to tell us how to get in to save Kenzie.”
He was running out of belief. All he knew was that Turner had somehow managed to trap his mate and cub, and he might never see them again. Bowman couldn’t face that—everything in him wanted to stop and howl, unceasing, until he died.
I’m here. I love you, her voice had called in his dreams.
I love you, Kenzie, came his answer, fierce and from his gut. I love you with everything I am, everything I have.
Why the hell didn’t I tell you that before?
Because he was dumb-ass stupid, that was why. Bowman had been so fixed on the fucking mate bond, and on proving that he and Kenzie could hold Shiftertown together without it, that he had never acknowledged what she truly was to him.
Everything.
“I think I know why Ryan so easily went in.” Cristian stood next to Bowman, his voice way too calm. “He picked up the sword and understood its connection to the mists. When he dropped the sword inside, it called to him, compelling Ryan to it.” He fixed Bowman with a steady gaze from his wolf-gold eyes. “Ryan is very special. It could be that he will be picked at the next Choosing.”
Bowman swung on him. “Screw that. No way is my son going to be a Guardian.”
“If the Goddess touches him, he will have no choice.”
Pierce gave a Feline growl. “Yeah, but Choosings only take place when the former Guardian dies. I’m not that old yet. You don’t have anything to worry about, Bowman.”
Cristian shrugged and didn’t argue. Bowman knew damn well that it wouldn’t matter what he wanted, or what Cristian wanted, or even what Ryan wanted at a Choosing. If the Goddess decided that Ryan should take up the sword and become the Guardian, there was nothing any of them could do about it.
Bowman hoped Cristian was wrong—Guardians were revered, but they were also, very politely, shunned. Pierce took it in his stride, but Ryan wasn’t cut out to be a loner.
“Besides,” Bowman said out loud, “he’s going to be leader, not Guardian.”
“If we can find him,” Cristian answered.
Bowman swung on him. “If you say that like it’s a question again, I’ll take you apart. We’re finding him. And Kenzie. Now stop standing around bleating like an old woman and get on with it.”
Bowman expected Cristian to respond with anger, maybe even issue a challenge, but the older man only looked at him with understanding.
“You are right,” Cristian said. “We must first find my niece and grandnephew and cease speculating on what might be. We will find them.” He didn’t touch Bowman, but his eyes held both strength and compassion. “This I promise you.”
* * *
Brigid looked pained when Kenzie used the Fae cloak to wipe the mud from Ryan’s face and hands. Ryan succumbed to the cleaning with poor grace.
“Why don’t you turn to wolf?” Brigid suggested as he fussed. “Then you could lick yourself clean.”
“Because, ew,” Ryan said, giving Brigid a disparaging look. “Anyway, what if the mud is poisonous? Could be, in a zombified place like this.”
“You still haven’t told me how you got here,” Kenzie said as she wiped.
Ryan looked embarrassed. “My own fault, I guess. I thought the Sword of the Guardian might have enough magic in it to open the way through the mists. So I grabbed it and tried. The stupid sword flew in here like it wanted to lance something. I let it go, and Pierce yelled at me. I thought I’d reach in and see if it was, you know, like lying on the ground right inside, and I got sucked in too. I mean, really fast, like the sword did. I don’t know why I ended up
falling into the mud, but I did.” He looked stricken. “Oh, man, I hope the sword isn’t at the bottom of that bog. Pierce would be seriously pissed off at me.”
“Sword?” Brigid asked with interest. She perked up at the mention of weapons of any kind.
“Of the Guardian,” Ryan said. “Magical. They were made seven hundred years ago by a Shifter sword smith and a Fae woman who put the spells in it. The Shifter and the Fae were mates, believe it or not, and created swords to make sure Shifter souls didn’t linger to be enslaved by the Fae. Fae were still trying to make Shifters their slaves, back then, alive or dead.” Ryan shrugged. “Still are.”
“So I have heard,” Brigid answered, disapproving. “Foolish endeavors. We no longer need Shifters.”
“Some Fae are fanatics about it,” Kenzie said. “And those are the ones Shifters have to deal with.”
“You have my sympathy.” Brigid folded her arms. “Not that any of this helps us depart this place.”
“That’s true.” Kenzie had never dreamed she’d a) meet a Fae; or b) agree with one so much. “Ryan, you said the sword came in here easily. From what I understand, it’s pretty self-preserving, so I’d be surprised if it ended up in the bog. Let’s look for it. Maybe it can help us get out.” She allowed her hope to rise. “Turner said he needed a talisman to come and go through the mists, and you know, the Sword of the Guardian is one big magical talisman.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, leaping to his feet. “You’re pretty smart, Mom. Sometimes.”
Brigid laughed, a surprisingly beautiful sound. “Offspring have much in common everywhere, do they not? My own daughters have said the same to me.” Her laughter died, sorrow entering her eyes. “Yes, let us search.”
Brigid helped Kenzie to her feet, and they started to look through the mud and reeds at the edge of the bog for the elusive sword.
A tingle of dread signaled Kenzie before the mists grew dense, wrapping clammy tendrils around her. Ryan shrank to her side as the mists thickened, then parted, revealing Turner standing not ten feet from them.
His outline was darker than before, and from this shadow, his blue eyes shone with cold light. He raised a tranquilizer rifle and shot first Ryan and then Kenzie, who leapt at him to keep him from her son.
Brigid’s hands automatically reached for weapons she no longer carried, but Turner invoked the binding spell. She froze in place, bracing herself for a third dart to come for her.
It never did. Turner lifted something that glinted in the half light and the mists became dense. When they thinned again, Turner, the Shifter woman, and the Shifter woman’s cub were gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Brigid checked the perimeter of the place of their captivity, but Kenzie and Ryan were nowhere to be found. Turner had taken them.
The darkness was nearly complete by the time Brigid returned to the place she considered base camp—the large, flat boulder she used as a seat, the soft pile of leaves that was her makeshift bed. Kenzie still had the cloak, which meant Brigid would have no cover tonight. But this place, wherever it was, was far warmer than her home in Tuil Narath—what the Shifters called Faerie—so it scarcely mattered.
The emptiness that smote her as Brigid seated herself on the rock surprised her. She didn’t like sentimentality, and she didn’t like Shifters. Or so she’d thought before meeting Kenzie.
Kenzie had proved companionable. The Shifter woman understood, the same way Brigid did, about love and loss, hardship and happiness. Brigid didn’t like to think about what Turner would do to her, or to Ryan, the cub.
Turner was a madman. Brigid had assessed that as soon as she’d looked into his cold, emotionless eyes. He cared for nothing and no one. He’d coerced Brigid into her labors, not to help his people, but for his own glory. To show everyone he’d been right that Shifters existed, and that they’d been wrong to shun him. Being right was important to him, and he was willing to hurt others to prove it.
Turner needed to be eliminated. That was the most efficient way to restore Brigid’s life, as well as the lives of the Shifter woman and cub she’d decided to like.
The conviction rang like faint strains of music in her ears. It felt good to have a purpose. Brigid had always planned to kill Turner when the opportunity arose, but now she had to make it arise.
All very well, Brigid told herself, deflating a little. But she had to figure out how. She was stuck here, unable to leave but at his choosing. He had weapons, including the one that shocked, as well as spells and magical talismans. She would have to take away a weapon and turn it on him and hope she picked out the correct talisman to let her out of here.
After sitting some time in contemplation, Brigid realized that the music she’d begun to hear on the edge of her awareness was not in her head.
It was a humming sound, sweet and ringing, somewhere in the woods. Strangely, she thought she recognized the tune—a song her daughters liked to sing, perhaps? But that wasn’t quite right.
Brigid wasn’t one to sit still and wonder. She came to her feet and walked into the darkness, searching for the music’s source.
About twenty yards to the right of base camp, she spied a light. The night was starless—if this place even had stars—and the light was a harsh beacon in the darkness. Its source lay on the ground near a clump of small trees, light spangling branches that leaned over it.
Brigid approached with caution. The light didn’t move or change; it simply waited for her.
She brushed back a tendril from a fernlike tree and found herself staring down at a long-bladed sword with a thick silver hilt. The sword itself didn’t contain the light; the runes etched into it did, and Brigid knew the music came from them.
Deep magic had forged this weapon. Fae magic.
Brigid studied it before she reached for it. That she could touch the sword, she didn’t doubt. She was as Fae as the magic inside it. She hesitated only because of what Ryan had said, that a Shifter sword smith had forged it. Shifters could use iron, and iron was poison to her.
Another assessment told her that the entire thing was made of silver, no iron or steel involved. Brigid could smell the silver, taste it in the air.
She leaned down and closed her hand around the hilt.
The music crescendoed into a wild symphony. The sound grew so loud Brigid wanted to drop the sword and clap her hands over her ears, but she made herself stand fast.
“I will wield you, Fae weapon,” she told it. “I will use you to find the Shifters and slay their enemy. And my enemy,” she added. “In this instance, they are one and the same.”
The symphonic roar softened a little, becoming gentler, but also a little bit smug, as though the sword approved. Odd, but Brigid was not going to argue with her good fortune. A weapon was a weapon.
Thinking over Ryan’s story of how the sword had behaved in the mists, Brigid walked back to her camp. Had the sword been seeking Kenzie? Or Brigid, sensing a Fae? Or something else in this world?
No matter the cause, the weapon could penetrate the mists. What had Kenzie called it? One big magical talisman.
What had she to lose? If it didn’t work, Brigid would simply find herself back at her camp.
She concentrated on the nearest patch of mist, shimmering white in the darkness. She held the sword in front of her, point forward, and walked.
Damp air closed around her, and the fog thickened. Brigid took another step, and another. She expected to bump against the large trees she’d seen on the other side of the mists when she started, but she did not.
The air grew colder. Bone-cold, making her regret the loss of her cloak. But the darkness receded, showing her light.
It was the crisp light of natural sunrise. Brigid looked up through tall trees to a patch of sky flushed with pink, gold, and darker red, beautiful blue beginning to ease past all other colors. The trees surrounding her were massive, the air smelling of pine, the floor of the woods covered with a carpet of long brown needles and fallen pinecones.
She was out. Brigid lifted the sword and gave a shout of triumph.
In the next instant, a pair of strong arms wrapped her from behind, an equally strong hand closing on her wrist below the sword’s hilt. Brigid was pulled against a very tall man, who smelled of pine, musk, and a hint of wolf.
She looked up into a pair of deep golden eyes in a tanned face as the man said in thickly accented English, “And what are you, Fae, doing with the Sword of the Guardian?”
* * *
Bowman decided he couldn’t be surprised anymore by anything Cristian did when the man walked out of the woods into the clearing at Turner’s house, not only holding the Sword of the Guardian but towing a Fae woman by her bound hands.
Pierce came running. “What the hell?”
“I found her,” Cristian said. “Carrying the sword, if you please.”
The woman gave Cristian a cold look, betraying no fear. “I told you what happened, Shifter. What you believe is up to you.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Cristian said. “I am simply angry at you for not saving my niece.”
“I tried.” The haughty light in her gray eyes faded a little. The woman had long, white blond braids that hung past her waist, clothes of tattered brocade and fur, and thick boots for a cold climate. “He took them away.”
Bowman brushed past Cristian to put himself in front of her. “You know where Kenzie is?”
The woman looked up at him fearlessly. “Your mate, as you call each other? And your wee one?”
Bowman’s chest felt as though someone crushed it. “My son? You saw him?”
“I did. I—”
“Where?” Bowman leaned to her. Dimly he realized Cristian was trying to hold him back from her, a fact that might surprise him at any other time. “Where are they?”
“The man called Turner has them.” The Fae woman sounded sad. “He took them, I know not where.”
“How did you get the sword?” Pierce asked. He reached for it, and Cristian relinquished it to him.
“I found it. Or it called to me. The runes—”
Bowman straightened, and Cristian stepped in front of the woman as though protecting her. “Her name is Brigid. She is of a Fae clan called the Hunting Warriors, translated from her language.”
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