Steal the salt. Bind the grimoire. Escape the male. Daughters of Askara, Book 3 When an exchange of stolen goods in the Feriana marketplace turns sour, Isabeau stumbles from the encounter bruised and laden with new orders to complete an even larger heist. With her child’s life at stake, there’s no room for error—or allies. Armed with a lethal book of spells, she strikes a dangerous bargain with Roland Bernhard. Steal a shipment of salt from the Feriana colony, and she’ll have her freedom—and her daughter. It’s all she’s ever wanted. At least it was…until she runs into Dillon Preston. Dillon is out of commission after a mine explosion, and itching for a distraction. He gets it when the female who saved his leg arrives at the colony with nothing but flimsy excuses and even flimsier attire. She’s after something, but is it him—or the salt? Trapped in a desperate bid to gain true freedom, Isabeau is willing to sacrifice her life for her daughter’s, but Dillon has other plans. He wants a package deal, and he’s not willing to lose either female, even if it means the future king of Sere’s head will roll. Warning: This title contains a heroine desperate to save her daughter and a hero determined to make them a family. It also includes wings, horns and other assorted appendages.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Eversworn Copyright © 2012 by Hailey Edwards ISBN: 978-1-61921-043-1 Edited by Sasha Knight Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2012 www.samhainpublishing.com
Eversworn Hailey Edwards
Dedication
To Michael and PayPay, who encourage me in the pursuit of my dreams. Also, to my editor, Sasha Knight, who has made so many of those dreams come true.
Chapter One
Realm of Askara, City of Feriana Runes burned hot across my wrists where slave bands were inked into my skin. Inhaling the rich mélange that was Feriana on market day, I wished I was anywhere other than here, anyone other than me. Shifting my bag, I patted the bulge weighting its bottom. Good. It was still there. As it had been the last five times I’d checked. Guilt flavored each swallow to wet my throat. Remain calm. Impossible when my tattoos stung persistent warning. You have what he wants. All will be well. I choked on a dry laugh. All was never well. Those who penned fairytales should be stabbed through the heart with their quill. Pretending interest in the fresh produce, I surveyed the crowd. He was here, but where? “Isabeau?” A firm hand tugged at my sleeve. “I asked what you thought of these dates.” I spared them half a glance, then continued skimming the crowd. “You’ve chosen well.” Lindsay’s smile lit the corner of my eye, and regret tugged at my conscience. She deserved more attention than I could afford to give her. I’d make it up to her later, assuming I had the chance. Procuring supplies wasn’t a priority for me, though I knew it should be. Right now, other worries occupied my mind. Such things as how willing I was to use defensive glamour if I must.
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As the telltale burn of building magic scalded my palms, I supposed I’d made my choice. Another tug at my arm swiveled my head toward Lindsay. “I’d like to search the scarves, if I may. I had hoped to purchase a mating gift for Emma.” Emma. What would she think if she knew my reason for being here? Tugging at my collar, I swallowed past the sensation of her strong fingers wrapped about my throat. As acting consul of Askara, she’d wring my neck for this betrayal, and I would deserve it. Living at the consulate with her, putting my healing craft to good use, helping ex-slaves begin new lives in either the city of Feriana or its colony…I loved that life. And it was all a lie. Glamour crackled over my skin, but the only things I concealed were the black spell-crafting runes inked from my forearms to my fingertips. Still, the static shock of power coating my skin led others to believe my concealment was more than cosmetic, a misconception I let flourish. Given my consulate position, most assumed I was a female Evanti hiding in plain sight. They were wrong. “Go.” I indicated my favorite stall. “Enjoy yourself.” “I will.” Swiping flaxen hair from her eyes, Lindsay cast me a broad grin. Despite being a halfling, she resembled the Askaran side of her parentage more than the human. “I promise I won’t touch anything I don’t intend to buy, and I won’t break anything.” She rushed to add, “If something happened, by accident, I’d pay the damages from my wages.” “You’re fine.” I shooed her. “I trust you.”
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Trust was a broad word. Lindsay wouldn’t break any of the wares on purpose, but she was a halfling mastering self-control late in life. Enslaved in an outland mining camp since birth, she’d had no need for learning social graces, only the art of survival. Relying on the brute strength that characterized her breed saved her from playing the role of camp whore. Now she wanted more, better, and as someone familiar with the other half of the equation, I wanted that for her as well. Hissing as my skin throbbed with renewed heat, I gasped as the impression of male lips and teeth left their damp sting on my bare neck. Roland. Sultry whispers caressed my ears, beckoned come unto your master, and I was helpless not to obey his summons. Pressure from his phantom fingers compelled me toward a figure coalescing in the shade of a billowing tent. Swirling tendrils of power cloaked him from passersby and elicited a shiver of recognition from me. Inclining his head, he acknowledged me, and his smile made my pulse race with the stirrings of genuine fear. Fighting the urge to check my bag, I dove into the crush of bodies, and they engulfed me. When I reached the spot where Roland had stood, he was gone. “You kept me waiting.” Hot breath hit my nape before he shoved me against a sandstone wall. My shoulder bounced as Roland pressed into me. His hand snaked around my waist, teased the underside of my breasts, squeezing before slipping under the flap of my bag. “Is this all?” “It’s what we agreed upon.” I winced. “Where is my proof?” “Are you so eager to be rid of me?” He pressed a string of kisses down my throat. “Well?” Yes. My voice was a husky rasp. “Is bedding you a requirement for obtaining my proof?”
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His chuckle caused my gut to clench. Nothing good came of his laughter. “I prefer my partners willing.” A lie wrapped in a pretty half-truth. He was accomplished in magic, as all those trained by Sereian priests were. Glamour, the root of his power, twisted minds to suit his whims. I knew, because mine bore the spiral imprint of his amusement. “Here is the proof I promised you.” He slid an envelope in my bag and waited. “Aren’t you going to open it?” I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of witnessing my reaction. “I trust you.” Trust was a broad word indeed. “This is exquisite,” Roland murmured. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see him hold his prize aloft. A fist-sized chunk of embolite sat heavy across his palm. “You did well, but this is no longer enough.” Stomach roiling, I pushed from the wall and said again, “It’s what we agreed upon.” “We agreed once I had control of the mine, your services would no longer be required.” His grip on the sample whitened his knuckles. “The entire point of freeing you to work for Emmaline was to monitor the Feriana colony’s mining operation and the Evanti controlling its distribution.” He struck before I saw him swing. Jagged rock hit my cheek and sliced it open. “Such an arrangement no longer benefits me since Emmaline has mated the Evanti in charge and is more protective of Harper than ever. Since he won’t negotiate for exclusive rights to the mine, alternate means of procurement are required.” His gaze met mine. “Wouldn’t you agree?” I swallowed past the pain. “What do you have in mind?” “We are eager today, aren’t we?” He pocketed the embolite. “Somewhere you’d rather be?” Anywhere other than here. “No.” “Good,” he said, smiling, “because you’re going on a trip.”
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“I am?” I glided a wary step back. “How is that Evanti you tended?” He appeared thoughtful. “I believe he’s called…Dillon.” My pulse spiked at the mention of his name. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in weeks.” He measured me for a moment longer, and I wondered why he had mentioned Dillon at all. The wounded Evanti demon had spent weeks under my care at the consulate before returning to the freemen colony on the outskirts of Feriana. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Roland dabbed my split cheek. “During those weeks, nothing happened between you?” I sensed a trap but was unable to locate its mechanism. I stilled myself against the urge to strike his hand. My blood allowed his glamour to work on me no matter what our proximity. A single drop, a murmured spell, and he could find me, taunt me, anywhere. His illusionary kiss was benign compared to the power blood sparked in our connection. But why ask if something happened between Dillon and me…? Mortification tightened my chest. “You’re a bastard.” Of course he would spy on me, and my behavior around Dillon made heat creep up my neck. “I assure you, I’m not. Bastards can’t become kings. You’re Sereian.” He stalked me until I backed into the wall. “You’d do well to remember Askara’s antislavery laws don’t apply to you.” As if he ever let me forget. When his gaze fixated on my mouth, I reminded him, “You cast me aside years ago.”
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“Still bitter are we? I’m in the market for a wife.” He cupped my cheek. “And you,” he said, so near his lips brushed mine, “are a whore.” His thumb swiped over the fresh wound he’d given me, and my wince resulted in a low growl of approval from him. “Albeit, you’re a talented one.” “You have what you came for.” I gritted my teeth as he pressed on the cut. “Leave me.” “Not quite and not yet.” He painted my lips with blood, its copper tang curling my tongue. “As I said, the terms of our agreement must be altered. As a token of appreciation for pleasure you once gave me, for the loyalties I still enjoy, I’m offering you a chance at earning freedom.” I gave the ringing in my ears a chance to subside. “What are your terms?” “I want a full shipment of salt delivered to my estate.” He patted the pocket where his core sample resided. “I don’t mean this. I have no use for embolite in the rough. I want the processed salt.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The silver portion of the shipment is unimportant. Keep it if you wish. Use it to finance your new life.” His sigh rang with displeasure. “It will mean showing restraint, but it will suffice. I must have the salt. Do you understand? It’s of critical importance.” I blinked. “Are you mad? I’d have to steal direct from the colony, and there’s an enormous difference between me pocketing core samples after they’ve been tested and hijacking an entire caravan.” I leaned into the wall for support. “The former goes unnoticed, the latter is…suicide.” One life exchanged for the good of many. It was Harper’s credo, and I was not of the many. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he murmured. “I heard Emma and Harper are visiting their siblings, on Earth.” I gave him no confirmation. He had no way of knowing where they had gone, and I wasn’t about to tell him.
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“They’re no doubt spreading their happy news.” His motive became clearer. “That leaves your patient in charge of the colony in Harper’s absence. I’m sure two such friends can find understanding. After all, he owes you for saving his leg, doesn’t he?” What he implied made my cheeks burn. Of course he would spend me so cheaply. Still, despair and hope warred within me. “And if I manage this feat…” He tapped my wrists, and fresh pain flared. “Then you will be freed.” I lifted my chin. “My freedom is not the only price I require.” “So I assumed.” His pause left me breathless. “Deliver the salt, and the girl is also yours.” A pent-up breath whistled between my lips. “Give me your word, and it’s done.” Words held power. Breaking his promise would weaken that power. Roland wouldn’t risk it. Not around me. “My word is given.” He turned and black mist shrouded him. Then he was gone. As the sting in my slave bands lessened to a dull throb, I sagged against the wall. The girl is yours. With trembling fingers, I reached into my bag and withdrew the envelope. Tucked into the crease was a lock of auburn hair with a slight curl at the end. Fishing into a different pocket, I withdrew a similar strand and compared the lengths. One hung slightly longer than the other. I held it to my nose and inhaled the violet-scented strands until hot, useless tears pricked my eyes. I knew this was a disaster in the making, but he’d baited his trap too well for me to resist.
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Footsteps warned me in time to hide my bribe. Past the wall, I spotted Lindsay barreling toward me, scanning the area where Roland had stood seconds earlier. She ducked past the tent. “Are you all right?” She grabbed my chin and tipped my head back. “What happened?” Her voice took on a dangerous edge. “Your poor face.” She noticed my bag. “Who did this? A thief?” “Yes.” In a manner of speaking, he was. I choked on the insane urge to laugh, to scream that freedom was within my reach, but I tamped it down. “The thief took something dear from me.” I wiped away my tears. “Don’t worry. I will get it back.” Taking her arm, I led her from the alley into the sun. I basked in its heat. Let it chase the chill of Roland’s presence. “Are you finished?” “I—” She frowned at my eager tone. “Yes. I suppose I am.” “Good.” I compensated for the slip with a wobbling smile. “Let’s go home.” I had plans to make.
Different worlds, different colonies, but still the same damn meetings. Responsibility weighted the air on this side of the desk. Each inhale settled heavily in Dillon’s lungs. He’d much rather occupy his usual spot by the tent flap, his gaze trained on the dunes beyond than wear the mantle of interim colony leader. Harper hadn’t done Dillon any favors by yoking him to the colony bandwagon, asking him to lead with fanfare in his absence. Rolling his shoulders, he cast aside the niggling suspicion Harper had made the appointment out of pity. Another time he might have gloated when Harper brought in two males a quarter of his age as his replacements. Instead, it made him feel every day of his ninety-eight years. No dancing around it. He was getting old, even by their race’s standards. He should be finding a female,
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settling down, doing his duty to pump fresh blood, pure blood, into their dwindling race. His leg twinged when he shifted in his seat, a reminder of how he ended up paper-pushing in the first place. Pinning his shoulders to the back of his chair kept him from leaning down and rubbing the dull ache in his calf, or where his calf used to be. His jaw tightened. No need to go there. Not now. Not while two fresh faces were staring him down, looking for signs of weakness. While drumming his fingers on his knee, he inspected the two newest transplants from Earth. Two young males eager to taste what Askara had to offer, curious to see if their memories of enslavement held up against the new reality of this being a kingdom of freemen. Their optimism made him cringe. Then again, he’d seen the files the freeborn legion had kept on them. They had both belonged to the sthudal slave caste, and slaves with that designation recalled their time spent in labor camps with fewer nightmares than those who wore the title of sthudai. Dillon knew which life he would have chosen. Better to break his back in a mine, die of hunger or thirst, than live on the end of a chain like a fucking animal, fed and watered only when his performance merited such a reward. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard and ground his heel into the packed sand floor. Ruined muscle screamed in protest, but the burst of agony was his reward, his reprieve from the memories always a stray thought away from choking him. Yeah, he would have loved to have been sthudal. Figuring he’d kept the pair waiting long enough, Dillon asked, “You two have any questions?” He lifted a cup and swallowed its tepid contents down to the grit in the bottom. His teeth crunched when he set his jaw. Damn, he’d be glad when the new aqueduct was completed.
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“Yeah.” Church eyed the tent flap warily. “Is there anything out here besides sand?” “Sure there is.” Dillon suppressed a grin when Church’s shoulders relaxed. “Didn’t you see all the tents? That’s why the colonists call this place tent city. The only buildings with walls are the clinic and the stable. You’ll get acquainted with those soon enough.” Harper would strangle him for adding, “You two arrived just in time for the winter sandstorm season. When they hit, all we can do is pack ourselves like sardines into those buildings and pray the spell crafting holds.” Church cast one more glance past the flap to the desert beyond. “Great.” He twisted in his seat and eyed the male beside him. “Russ, you got any last requests before we’re blown away?” Russ’s smile was faint. “What are our duties while Harper’s away?” Scratching his cheek, Dillon admitted he wasn’t sure what to do with the pair. Until his leg mended, he was on light duty, in theory. These two had prior experience, as most legionaries did, so they knew the basics of guard duty. The rest, training them as bodyguards, hinged on Harper and Emma’s return since Dillon was a big believer in learning in the field. Sink or swim. Until that happened… “You’ve got two choices. Our courier is swamped. One of you can train with Mason. He deserves the break.” He paused in consideration. “The other can train with Uriah, our silversmith. He oversees the extraction of silver and salt from the embolite we mine.” At their blank expressions, Dillon exhaled on a curse. Their files expounded the fieldwork each had done for the freeborn legion, and each had service records spotless enough he felt Harper would be safe with them, but his decision to skim their locational information had just jumped up and bit him on the ass. “Where were you two working when the legion found you?” “The outlands,” they replied in unison.
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Okay, so maybe he had read their information right. “Were you in the mines?” “No.” Church frowned. “I was a brickmaker by trade. I still am, or was, on Earth.” Ah. That explained why Harper had picked him. As the colony expanded, so did the need for structures beyond tents they used for, well, everything. Dillon sized up Russ. “How about you?” Russ held up ink-smudged fingers. “I was a scribe employed by an exiled noble.” A scribe was, well, less useful. Dillon asked, “Do either of you know what progesaline is?” “Females need it during pregnancy.” Church shrugged, signaling the end of his contribution. Russ appeared to consider his answer. “Progesaline is a supplement females of some demon breeds require during pregnancy. Without it, they become anemic. They might die before or during childbirth, as could the children, unless they consume enough to maintain healthy levels.” Dillon blinked. Maybe having a scribe around wasn’t such a bad idea. “It’s found in rare salt veins,” Russ continued. “While I’ve never heard of it being found in veins of embolite, it’s certainly possible. I’d think the problem would be extraction.” He paused at Church’s scowl. “Embolite is a mineral containing both salt and silver in their natural forms.” “Someone did his research.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have guessed embolite over chlorargyrite. Dillon gave Russ a slow second glance. There was something familiar about him. Russ frowned. “I’d hardly accept the position otherwise.”
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“So what gives?” Church twisted in his seat. “How did Harper get such a sweet deal?” “I’ll hazard a guess the queen’s advisors signed over this tract of land for two reasons.” Russ waited until Dillon nodded. “First, it shares a city with the vernal castle, which means it’s near enough for First Court to monitor and close enough for the queen’s troops to attack if necessary.” “Go on.” Dillon caught himself leaning forward. “Second, the mine had potential, enough First Court’s gift appealed to Harper and their offer wasn’t insulting. Though I bet they assumed even if he was foolhardy enough to work the mine, he wouldn’t figure out how to process the embolite and separate the silver and the salt from the core mineral. Yet he did, and he likely doubled his profits.” Russ smiled slowly. “Am I right?” “Damn.” Church whistled. “That explains the raiders, plus the bounty on Harper’s head.” “Right on both counts,” Dillon said, forcing his attention from Russ. He was right, though Dillon and Harper were just drawing the same conclusions. They had guessed the only reason the queen’s advisors had given consent for Harper to take over the mine was they were certain there was nothing here worth mining. Now that Harper had proven them wrong? Yeah, they were pissed and wanted a share. Damn if Dillon didn’t find that a little bit funny. “This colony pays its bills with the mine, and, as Russ said, we mine embolite.” No two ways about it, Harper must have told Russ. “It’s damn hard work and not worth much in the rough, if anything at all. Then Uriah works his magic and we get pure silver and pure salt. Six times more silver than salt, but silver has its uses and our salt, well, it’s almost pure progesaline.”
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Russ murmured something Dillon didn’t catch because Church stood with a grunt. “So do we pick now or what?” His back popped as he stretched. “Mason or Uriah, right?” Good to know Dillon wasn’t the only one bored by meetings. “Yeah, have at it.” Church didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll take Uriah.” Dillon almost felt sorry for him. While they were the obvious match, Uriah burned through apprentices faster than he could match faces to names. Not that he tried too hard. Mostly he called them all the same thing, dier hest eirdth or eirdth for short, which was the Demonish equivalent of dirt. Those under his tutelage chose to believe he meant they were clay and he was molding them into…whatever struck their fancy. Dillon suspected Uriah meant the more literal translation of ground beneath my feet. His attitude explained why even his exmasters had given him a wide berth. The male was a god at his forge, and he knew it. The fact a story was floating around about him flinging molten silver in the face of an Askaran noble had cemented his reputation as a bastard. Something Dillon could respect. So long as Uriah did his job, Dillon didn’t care. “That leaves me with Mason.” Russ slanted a look toward Church that punctured his mood. “If I’m playing courier, then I guess I’ll find out if there’s any life beyond those dunes after all.” “Now that we have that settled,” Dillon said, giving Church time to school his glower, “you’ll each pull border patrol and sentry duty. That won’t change even after Harper gets back.” Russ frowned. “We won’t alternate day and night shifts?” Church stilled. “Harper needs someone watching his back at night too.”
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“He has someone.” Dillon stood, Church’s restlessness feeding his own. “Her name’s Emma.” Before they earned enough rope to hang themselves, he silenced their protests. “One of you will remain on perimeter duty after dayshift ends. That means frequent passes by their tent. The trick is being close enough you can keep an eye on Harper—and Emma—while giving them the illusion of privacy.” He admitted grudgingly, “No one’s more invested in Harper’s wellbeing, and few are more capable of ensuring his safety. Plus few realize what she is before it’s too late.” Once they moved past the honeymoon period in their relationship, Harper might not need a guard beyond his mate. Emma was a halfling, stronger than most full demon males, and Harper had trained her to protect her sister, Askara’s Princess Ascendant Madelyn DeGray, since they were children. If it meant protecting Harper and Maddie, there was nothing Emma wouldn’t do. Dillon ignored the tightness in his chest and sharpened his scowl. He wasn’t jealous. “Fair enough.” Russ pushed from his seat. “Where do you want us?” “Head back to your tents for now. I’m handling border patrol tonight.” No reason not to while Harper wasn’t here to bench him. “I expect to see both of you here at six.” Russ’s gaze dipped toward Dillon’s leg, his brow furrowing, but he kept his mouth shut. Good. He just might make it here after all. “The faster you learn your way around, the better.” Dillon crossed the tent and brushed aside the flap. “I want you two broken in by the time Harper and Emma get back.” His first step outside blinded him. Hot air rushed into his lungs, baking them, and his tongue dried in the time it took for his mouth to open long enough to say, “Welcome to Askara, boys.”
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Chapter Two
Waning sun beat hot upon my shoulders. Squinting upward, I calculated the remaining hours until my departure. Flexing my spine, I loosened muscles coiled tight by nerves and stole a final glimpse of the consulate’s garden lit by sunset colors. Red clay stained my pants and shoes, casualties of my private war to coax life where there was none. Rubbing a succulent leaf between my fingers, I hoped one of the boarders took an interest and tended my plants after I was gone. Although, once I left and took my magic with me, they might die regardless. On that somber note, I unearthed my grimoire. Oiled leather rubbed softly beneath my fingertips. As I brushed aside dirt clods and revealed the wellinsulated tome, awareness sparked. “Sleep,” I soothed it. After allowing brief skin-to-page contact, the book’s flare of sentience snuffed out in a pulse of latent magic. Once I was sure it rested contentedly, I rewrapped it and tucked it under my arm. I hadn’t added to its contents during my time at the consulate, or much at all during my life. Instead, I’d focused on my healing craft both before and after Roland. To his dismay, I loathed borrowing knowledge from the grimoire. More precisely, I hated paying its price for information. I had no choice now. Brielle— No. I crushed the thought, not daring to even think her name. Exhaling through the guilt making it hard to breathe, I unclasped my locket and stared at the portrait inside, a dangerous concession to my shame. I’d
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braided a portion of the hair Roland had given me, and it coiled inside the opposite frame. I took one last look, one dangerous glimpse, then I closed it as a child’s laughter tickled my ears and echoes from the past crackled my heart. “Isabeau?” Lindsay jangled my nerves as she entered the yard. “Would you like a drink?” “No, thank you.” A mumbled incantation tripped over my lips and hid the grimoire from view. “You don’t have to come to me.” I smiled and sat back on my ankles. “I’m on my way.” “You’re fine where you are.” She waved away my words and stepped in my direction. “I was wondering what to prepare tonight. Do you have a taste for anything?” Another step and she would see the hole and wonder at its cause. “We have fresh vegetables. I thought a nice stew?” Magic built in my hands, too hot and too dangerous to be mine. I glanced at my side, where I’d tucked the invisible grimoire. Its anticipation made my spine tingle. Sensing Lindsay’s approach, it yawned into wakefulness, lending me its power, eager for me to make use of it, desperate to exact its price if I did. “No,” I whispered to it. “She is no danger to me, or to you.” She laughed. “Who are you talking to over there behind the bushes?” “No one, I just—” I pleaded with her, but she kept coming. “Wait there.” The book all but purred, urging my fingers to uncurl. I made a fist instead and quashed the power fizzling from my fingertips. Eyes closed, I took a deep breath and pitted my will against the grimoire’s. Our silent battle lasted only seconds. Thrumming with annoyance, the book conceded the point, leaving me sweaty and shaking. The sooner we left the consulate the better. “Oh. You could have said you were gardening.” Her brow creased as she inspected my work. “Are you sure you should be planting?” She eyed the hole then me. “You’re not sore?”
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“I am somewhat tender.” I wiped sweaty palms. “Would you brew some chamomile tea?” She brightened. “I will do my best.” In her eagerness to please, she left without a fuss. Pain from unspent spell craft crippled me. I hunched forward, bracing my palms on the dirt, creating a circuit to diffuse the magical static clinging to my hands. Nearby flowers plumped, blossoms unfurled and vines withered. Petals fell. Scorched earth filled my nose, and I sneezed. Dangerous to have awakened my grimoire before having the strength to control it, but my other choice was leaving it entombed until circumstance allowed for its retrieval or its discovery by someone else. I shivered. The book was all I had left from my mother, so it stayed with me. No matter how I wished it otherwise. A slight breeze ruffled my hair as movement teased the edge of my vision. Extending my senses, I detected no threat. Yet I couldn’t trust myself after Roland’s admission. He may be out there. Watching. Chills danced across my skin. With deliberation, I filled the hole so no turned ankles came from my carelessness. Then I gathered my supplies and clutched the eager book to my chest. Once I reached the door, I spun to face the garden. “I leave for the colony at nightfall.” No one answered. For a moment, I blamed my unease on an overactive imagination. “You have one week,” Roland’s voice sighed on the wind. “I’ll see you in Sere.” I nodded and entered the consulate for the last time. “The tea is steeping.” Lindsay met me at the door. “Care to join me in the kitchen?”
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“I’m not sure I should.” I touched my cheek for effect. “I think I’ve overexerted myself.” “Oh.” Her disappointment softened my resolve. This may well be our last evening together. I would miss her, worry for her, after I’d gone. She was such a gentle soul, trapped in stalwart wrapping. Trailing her into the kitchen, I sat at the table and balanced the grimoire across my lap, where it settled atop my thighs with eerie contentment. “Is there anything you need before I go?” I’d learned long ago to plant my lies with seeds of truth. I made no secret of my travel arrangements or who I intended to visit. My excuse for venturing into the colony was a long-overdue checkup on my patient, now my target, aided by the timely arrival of the colony courier. Mason was a regular fixture at the consulate as he carried messages between Emma and Harper. Now he carried a message of intent from me to Dillon. I hoped its arrival was well met. Several days should pass before Lindsay raised concerns about my absence, assuming my theft didn’t stir the colonists to raid the consulate first. As if I was foolish enough to return here. I would never endanger our boarders. “I don’t think so.” Lindsay served me tea without incident. My smile of encouragement made her beam. “You’ll only be gone for a couple of days. I can manage the house until you return.” She glowed with confidence I ached to witness. “I can do this. All will be as it should.” I patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Her tasks were simple. Feed the boarders and turn aside all but the most urgent business. Going to market was a simple matter if she had cause to venture into the city, and she had authorization for purchasing supplies on the
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consulate’s tab. Nothing pressing was left for her to manage. She only had to await Emma. I’d done all I could. I had to believe it would be enough. Lindsay appraised me. “Can I ask you something?” Dragged from my concerns, I murmured, “Of course.” She poured herself some tea and toyed with the cup in her hands, careful not to crush the porcelain. “Does this trip have anything to do with what happened at the market this morning?” Her perception surprised me. For all that I hated when others underestimated her, here I was guilty of it myself. Seeking refuge behind my cup, I sipped and considered my response. “In a way, it does.” More than she would ever learn, I hoped. “I’d like a couple of days away from the city to settle my nerves. City living is fine, but tiresome. I’d like fresh air I don’t have to share.” She gave a sympathetic nod, and I relaxed. “You can’t get much farther from the city than where you’re going.” She inclined her head. “But are you sure that’s not an excuse? Or is there another reason you’d like to visit the colony?” My cup slipped through damp fingers. “Why would you ask that?” “You haven’t so much as spoken Dillon’s name since he left, not until today.” Her smile faded as she leaned closer, and her tone turned confiding. “You had a good scare earlier and…” I laughed. “You think I’m running to him for comfort?” “He isn’t an agreeable male.” She said so often, yet my opinion of him remained unchanged. “His manners are lacking and his company is unpleasant, but he seems to like you well enough.” “He tolerates me,” I said softly, “and only because of his leg.”
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Emma had once asked me to do her a favor by distracting Dillon with my company for an afternoon, and I had leapt at the chance. Much to my dismay, he saw through my charade and, if not for his leg, would have likely never spoken to me again. As it was, we honored a tentative truce borne of necessity, and while he was here, under my care, impropriety had mattered to me. She frowned at my silence. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” “You’re fine,” I assured her. “The circumstances of our meetings are always…difficult. I don’t think we’ve seen him at his best.” Or perhaps I managed to always bring out his worst. I winced. As with Emma, his opinion couldn’t matter to me. He had no place in my life or I in his. Lindsay nodded, no doubt placating me. “Perhaps you’re right.” The topic of Dillon tired me, and I didn’t have to pretend my yawn. “You should rest,” she advised. “The journey to the colony is tiresome.” “Thank you for my tea, and your company, but I think you’re right.” I stood. “I should rest.” Careful of my awkward hold on the grimoire, I climbed the stairs to my room. Clutching the doorknob, I stopped mid-twist and glanced over my shoulder. Across from me, an empty room’s door stood open. My slow steps retraced the familiar path, and I hovered over the threshold as I had so many times before, when Dillon lay in bed and suffered at my hands in order to be healed. Drawn inside, I sat on a stool pulled next to the bed and stared at the pillow, seeing a tousled head of chestnut hair, remembering how I’d monitored the slow rising of his chest while he slept. “Don’t you ever sleep?” His voice was a thready whisper strung with pain. “I didn’t mean to disturb you…” Heat burned my cheeks at having been caught here, again.
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“I can’t sleep.” Dillon turned his head. Even that small movement made him grunt. “I try, but…it hurts too damn bad.” His chuckle strained. “Don’t give me that look. I hate popping pills, and the pain keeps me honest. If you’re hanging around, the least you could do is entertain me.” “How about we compromise? You drink one cup of medicinal tea and I’ll read you one story from the book of your choosing.” I waited for his agreement, but stubborn male that he was, he shook his head. “Dillon, please.” “I can’t.” He exhaled, sounding tired and hurt. “Go on. I won’t ask you to stay.” “Do you really think not seeing you suffer lessens the pain it causes me to know I did this to you?” I shoved unruly hairs from his forehead. “I never would have operated if I’d known you’d refuse pain medication. I don’t know how you bore it during…and after… Please, let me help.” “Okay.” He glanced at me. “Read me that story. Get my mind off things. That would help.” Biting my tongue because we’d had this argument daily for the past week, I went to the shelf and let him choose a title from among the books I’d brought from my room. Our shared interests delighted me. I hoped, one day, once he’d recovered, he might visit and we could discuss them. Reclaiming my seat on the stool, I settled the book across my lap and began reading. He interrupted to comment, “It has pictures, doesn’t it? Gobillard loves his illustrations.” “I—yes, it does—he does.” The book was heavy, awkward to lift, but I managed. “I can’t make out a thing at this angle.” He groaned, shifting closer to me. “That’s better.” I froze, the weight of the book making my hands tremble. When I glanced down, my cheek pressed against his forehead. Rather than the book, he faced me. His head rested on my shoulder and his nose pressed against my neck. His breath heated my throat, which constricted at that faint touch.
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“What are you doing?” Why had I whispered? “Shh.” His lips brushed my skin. “Just read.” And I had, until he fell into his first uneven sleep in days. Blinking the present into bleary focus, I rose on unsteady legs and returned to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I set the tome on a low table. Its displeasure at being parted from me was a stinging prickle across my nape. I would have to bind its magic, and soon. With that in mind, I crossed the room and slid a slim dagger I used for opening letters into one of my pockets. Surveying the rest of the space, I decided all was as it should be. Clothes hung in my closet and were folded in each of my drawers. I’d left no gaps in either, despite necessities I’d packed. Books were stacked on every level surface, and I balled my fists to keep from packing those I valued most, those with sentimental attachment, those that had come from Emma. Their loss stirred bone-deep remorse, but I’d absorbed their knowledge and would find comfort between the pages of new tomes once this bargain with Roland was met. If only friends were so replaceable. Blinking back hot tears I had no right to shed, I checked the one bag I had allowed myself. Herbs and my implements were of the utmost importance. The bag bulged with those. With a hand at my neck, I smoothed a thumb across the battered locket and my material woes vanished. This place held echoes of a life no longer mine. It was time for me to leave.
After hours of trudging through ankle-deep sand, Dillon’s first step onto the spell-crafted road leading into the Feriana colony was a relief. His right leg quivered from walking the property line. His left, well, he glanced down as wind blew his pant leg against the skeletal limb.
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The absence of familiar contours made his gut clench. It doesn’t matter. His head shot up so fast his eyes spun. I’ve got no one to impress. Glamour could make him appear whole, but even a tangible illusion wouldn’t cover his limp, grant him a respite or boost his compromised mobility. His gaze cut from left to right. With a grunt, he lowered himself onto the ground. Relief rolled his eyes shut, the absence of pain euphoric. Tremors caused his leg to spasm, but without his weight stretching the wasted muscle, the twitches slowed and a familiar dull throb took up residence behind his leg. He exhaled through the worst of the ebbing pain. This he could handle. Chill air rustled his hair and smudged his uneven footprints until his sense of direction blurred. Only the tents at his back anchored him in the vast darkness of nighttime in the desert. Dust swirled in a reminder he hadn’t been bluffing when he warned the new recruits about sandstorms. Askaran winters were harsh. The bite in the air and the stirring breeze were all signs of impending chaos, but he ignored them. Even knowing a storm was brewing, he was too damn tired to move out of its way. Guess Harper was right. Dillon wasn’t fit enough to handle patrol yet. More wind, stronger this time, made his eyes shut against the swirling debris. When he opened them, he blinked a couple of times as moonlight glinted across the dunes. Miles of cursed sand glittered like stardust. Lip curling, he growled at the sentiment. He didn’t like open desert. Even now, while he admitted this view was nice, like still wasn’t the right word. No one liked reminders of crossing those same dunes, hell-bent on reaching the gateway between realms, wishing like hell a sand trap would swallow them whole just so the pain stopped. But it never had. Memories from his enslavement scrubbed his thoughts raw. Drawing his glamour closer, Dillon
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exhaled through the tightness in his throat and unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt. No collar. No choke chain. No reason to panic. Breathe. He ran a hand through his hair, and it came back sweaty. His stroll down memory lane left his pulse racing. A darting glance, a ripe curse, and he pushed back onto his feet and limped toward the colony. Humiliating? Yeah, it was. The last thing he wanted was for the new guys to catch his shuffle-step toward the last checkpoint. Damn. He was lucky he wasn’t crawling now. Once he hit the main aisle between rows of residency tents, he nodded to the colonists lingering there, managed a terse greeting for a couple. Gritted his teeth and acted like everything was fine. He couldn’t afford for it not to be. Besides, routine kept his body, if not his mind, occupied. Every night before the explosion that started his stumble into rehab, he’d checked the perimeter before shift change then retreated into his tent to crash—alone and happy for the quiet. Since moving to this colony, he was fast becoming a ceiling connoisseur since demons his age required less sleep than their crossbred descendants. There were other considerations as well. He shut his eyes, held his breath. Seconds later, the same old memories sparked. Crimson furrows wept blood across his flank. “Only a pureblood will do…” Eliya stroked his thigh, licked his blood from her fingers, “…and yours is so potent.” She smiled in white-toothed invitation. “Think of it, the first child born of the two demon houses. Yours and mine…” His eyes popped open on a shiver. Sleep was definitely out. “Harper is going to kick my ass over this,” a resigned voice said from over his shoulder.
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Dillon turned. Without missing a beat, he shrugged. “Not if you don’t tell him.” “Yeah. Right. Lie to the colony leader.” Mason’s baby blues went dark with concern. “It’s not a lie so much as an omission,” he pointed out. Those same eyes narrowed. “You’ve been hanging out with Harper for too long.” Dillon saw no reason to enlighten Mason that most of Harper’s bad habits were the result of the trickle-down effect—his. Shifting his weight onto his good foot, Dillon stared him down. “How about this then—you keep this between us, or I’ll kick your ass and save him the trouble?” Mason grinned. “I could say something here about a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.” “That’s funny.” Dillon scowled, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” Mason stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Stop being a prick.” He was one of the few males who could get away with that quip, but Dillon couldn’t let the opportunity pass. “I’ve been told it’s one of my best features.” After all, he had been a sthudai. Backtracking like a pro, Mason said, “That’s not what I meant. What were you doing—?” Teasing him came too easy. “Your parents did a number on you.” Dillon’s sharp digs were fueled by the pain of standing still long enough to deliver them. He almost felt sorry for the guy. Dillon was a bastard when he was riled, but he wouldn’t stop now. It felt too good to vent for a change. Besides, Mason could handle it. He was one of the few who could, or did. Dillon was fuzzy on the distinction. Even though Mason had been raised as a
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human, on Earth, he’d hung around Dillon long before his voice even thought about cracking, and Mason knew how to handle Dillon’s moods. Maybe that was the trick. Go figure, but Dillon was good with kids. He even liked them, well, some of them, and Mason had tagged along after Dillon until Dillon liked him too. Mason had been a damn stubborn kid who’d grown into a damn fine legionnaire, even if the transformation had cost him. Guess that was why they were still friends. They were both too bullheaded to give up on one another. Though Dillon admitted, he worried about the cloud hanging over Mason’s head. Askara wasn’t agreeing with Mason. He was half human, but his father’s Evanti genes trumped his mother’s human ones. That was how it worked. It was the only reason their race had survived the near-extinction of its females. Whatever they bred to, their offspring came out winged. This one had also come out a prude. Shifting with a slight wince, Dillon asked, “Did they give you the talk about finding a good female and settling down before you came out here?” Mason coughed into his fist. “This is not about me.” Dillon snorted. “That’s a yes.” Hypocritical as it sounded, maybe Mason’s parents wanted a nice little demoness for their nice little demon son. His amusement vanished. He’d dealt with purists all his life, and the Butlers hadn’t struck him as such, but who knew what they did behind closed doors? Other than coddle their only son and cheer his every step as if it were his first. “I was out of line.” Mason veered right onto the high road. His momma would be proud. Clearly he thought that would end this, but Dillon was irked. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”
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“What?” Dillon’s leg trembled after bearing his weight for too long. “A prick?” Dark splotches appeared in Mason’s cheeks. “Yes, I should have—” “Asked for my preference?” Fuck the high road. Dillon was enjoying himself. “What do you call yours?” If he’d remembered how, he would have smiled as the tips of Mason’s ears glowed. Scratching his scalp, Mason said, “I didn’t mean—” Feeling supremely helpful, Dillon supplied, “Dick? Cock?” “Stop it,” Mason hissed. “Someone might hear you.” “So what if they do? This isn’t Earth. This is Askara. There’s no momma here waiting with milk and cookies after a hard day at the hardware store. No momma to check your sheets or under your bed for dirty magazines.” He bypassed another chance to stop when the red in Mason’s cheeks turned a furious purple. “There’s nothing here but sweat, sand and misery.” And then there was pain. He paused a moment, long enough he wondered. “Why did you come here?” Inhaling through his teeth, Mason said, “Drop it.” Maybe Dillon was still pissed about being replaced or jealous Harper was finding his place just as Dillon was losing his. Mason presented a safe target. No matter how badly Dillon fucked up, Mason would shrug it off and make like it never happened. Maybe this time Dillon didn’t want to be forgiven. Maybe he wanted someone else to hurt, but something made him cross a line he never should have skirted. “Why? Afraid someone will notice you’re still chugging milk from the tap?” Mason’s fingers balled at his side. His jaw set. He already looked sorry and he hadn’t even done anything yet.
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Dillon saw the punch launch, but he didn’t sidestep it. He’d pushed too hard and he deserved what he had coming, craved that edge of violence that had defined so much of his life. It wasn’t Mason’s fault Dillon was fucked up. Guys like him were the reason Harper did what he did and why Dillon helped where he could. Mason was healthy. He was normal, whatever that meant. Slavery had been an abstract concept for him until recently, and already exposure to Askara had consumed the easy smile he once wore, the thick drawl of a Southern gentleman he’d cultivated. Knuckles met nose and cartilage broke. Blood poured down Dillon’s chin, and the force of Mason’s right hook made Dillon’s bad leg wobble and give out. He grunted when his ass hit the sand. Flexing his fingers, Mason winced. “You’re my friend. Probably the best one I’ve got.” He pointed. “But if you ever talk about my momma like that again, you will regret it.” A sudden bark of laughter had Dillon searching for the source. For a minute, Mason only stared down at him. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.” With a shake of his head, he cracked a slight grin. “I should deck your ass more often.” “Try it.” Dillon still tasted that sound on his tongue. Strange how that ball of anger, resentment, pain diffused with one well-aimed punch and one line so corny he’d never let Mason live it down. “I shouldn’t have said…about Mrs. Butler.” He touched his crooked nose. “I am a prick.” Mason held up his hands, palms out. “No comment.” More chuckles buoyed Dillon’s mood. “Probably safer that way.” “Hey,” Church yelled from several tents down the line. “You’re going to want to see this.” Refusing Mason’s help, Dillon stood and started walking. “What is it?”
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“You’ve got to see it.” Church turned on his heel and waved. “Come on or you’ll miss her.” “Her?” Dillon echoed. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Mason jogged to catch up and passed over a scroll. Once he broke the seal, Dillon fumbled the paper as something caught his eye. “Oh hell.” “That is one crazy female.” Church grinned. “Anyone we know?” They’d circled back to the edge of the colony, where tents met desert and open sky. Now that Dillon was looking straight on, gawking more like it, he saw the spray of glinting sand was caused by a tiny, buck-ass-naked figure racing for the colony on horseback. His curse made heads turn. He crumpled the parchment in his fist. No need to read it now. He knew what it said. “I tried to warn you.” Mason returned his attention to the horse and its rider. Heart pounding, Dillon lifted his chin, sought the breeze and inhaled his confirmation. “Isabeau.” His voice sounded sandblasted. “Why is she…? What does she want?” Couldn’t be him. “You.” Mason’s hand landed on his shoulder. “I swung by the consulate this morning to check for messages and ran into her. We got to talking, and she asked about you. I told her—” Dillon could guess. “That I wasn’t following healer’s orders.” “Hey,” Mason defended. “It’s not my fault if she was worried enough to come all this way.” Dillon’s leg throbbed like a damned homing beacon. “You shouldn’t have let her come.” “I couldn’t stop her.” His tone said he didn’t think he should have anyway.
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Isabeau hadn’t contacted him in weeks, hadn’t seen him in nearly a month. There was no point. His leg was beyond her help. She’d saved what she could, removing part of his infected calf muscle rather than making the easy choice of amputation. For that, he was grateful. Now theirs was a waiting game to see if demon biology overcame the loss of so much muscle tissue. Hope had never been Dillon’s forte, and he wasn’t about to hold his breath hoping for a regenerative miracle now. He had reason to think it was possible, but it’d be a long time coming. Russ stepped from the shadows and joined the rapidly growing crowd. “Is that safe?” he asked. “Just because we didn’t see raiders doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” Church pointed between himself and Isabeau. “Should I go…?” Dillon vibrated as a growl worked through his chest. The female was insane. She knew raiders patrolled the colony’s borders. She knew they’d detonated an explosive and collapsed the rear of the mines several months ago. She knew, because shrapnel from the blast had caused the infection that landed him in her care. Though attacks on the caravans had stopped, and the raider’s presence had diminished, streaking across the dunes—even on horseback—was sheer stupidity. “Saddle Diani,” Dillon snarled. Mason bolted to fetch Harper’s mare. She’d appreciate the chance to stretch her legs. Dillon glared into the night as if his will could manifest her clothing. He was pacing by the time an eager trumpet announced Diani’s arrival. Fisting the reins, he lifted his bad leg and fit his boot into the stirrup. When he forced his foot to hold his weight while he swung onto her back, his vision tunneled. “Give me five minutes.” He panted. “If I’m not back by then, mount up and ride out.” Blinking his surroundings into focus, he caught his breath hard.
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“Will do.” Church continued staring at Isabeau, and didn’t that make Dillon want to separate the male’s head from his neck? Church’s rapt attention gnawed on his nerves. Not his problem. Dillon nudged Mason with his boot. “Didn’t your momma teach you it’s not polite to stare?” His shoulders tensed for a split second before relaxing. “What Momma don’t know…” Dillon figured he had two choices. Either he pretended a crowd of males ogling Isabeau didn’t bother him—hell yes it did—or he gouged their eyes out, which he’d regret later. Probably. “Turn around.” He raised his voice. “All of you.” “Excuse me?” Mason mimed cleaning out his ears. Church shook his head, breaking his trance. “Did you say something?” The glare Dillon shot Church shut him up fast. Too bad it didn’t work half as well on Mason. “Turn your asses around before I plant my boot in them.” Chuckling, Mason gave him his back. “Remember to mind your manners.” “What manners?” Church grunted. “If he’s got any, I haven’t seen them.” “Thanks,” Dillon said flatly. He reined in Diani as she danced in place. “Keep an eye out.” Mason quipped, “Soon as you get out of kicking distance.” With a final glare, Dillon urged the mare from the road and into the sand. She ran flat out until Isabeau was in hearing range. His questionable manners evaporated the same as the spit in his mouth when he got a good look at her. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sheer fabric bound Isabeau’s breasts and tied behind her nape. Her midriff was bare. More of the same gauzy material formed a long skirt she’d tucked
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beneath and around her thighs. Somehow she was more indecent half covered than she would have been if she had ridden nude. He shifted in the saddle and swallowed the appreciative sound in the back of his throat. Sand sprayed him as her mount skidded to a stop. “I came to see you.” He flicked his gaze down her body. “Dressed like that?” “It’s past midnight.” Her cheeks were rosy from windburn. “No one will notice.” “Several males noticed.” His voice lowered to a rumble. “I noticed.” “Well then, I apologize.” She grinned as her horse sidestepped then broke into a run. “Wait—you can’t just…” Dillon clamped his mouth shut. She left him staring after the smooth expanse of her back, wondering what the hell had gotten into her. “Females,” he muttered, urging his horse after hers. Her laughter floated to him, urged him on. She enjoyed running. Good. He liked to chase. Instinct made his wings twitch beneath their glamour. He struggled to keep them confined. From the first whiff of her, they had begun tingling as blood rushed to turn his carmine wings crimson. What would she think if she saw the effect she had on him? No glamour between them. If she had any sense, she’d run. Only this time, she would be wise not to let him catch her. Fragmented bits of nightmare drifted through his mind, a warning to protect her from him. Eliya straddled his hips, her cries of pleasure cut short by the noose he cinched around her neck. Her claws dug into her throat. Pale skin tore. Her gasps turned desperate, her gaze tagging the door. He tightened his hold, aroused for the first time
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since entering her rooms and terrified because of it. His hold slipped. Choking, she called for her guards. The rest…blurred. Five minutes. Isabeau had been at the colony for five minutes and he was grasping for control. When she veered toward the stable, he followed. So did the crowd. She had dismounted and passed her reins to the stable hand by the time Diani cleared the aisle. Her smile said I won. Was she oblivious to the chaos her arrival stoked among the colonists? She must be. Once his feet hit the ground, Dillon shoved aside her admirers and stalked her into a corner. He told himself what he was about to do was for her safety. An unattached female flaunting a figure built for sin in a colony full of males—she might as well have struck a match and tossed it onto a powder keg. Someone was going to blow. Spectacle over, the crowd’s easy camaraderie evaporated. A shove here, a sharp word there as they packed into the stable. Dillon reached her first. He hesitated for a split second when she stepped back slowly. Too late to walk away now. “Don’t run,” he warned. She wouldn’t get far. After backing her against a stall, he lowered his head and gave the crowd time to take notice. They did, and shouts rang out until she twined her tentative fingers through his hair. He waited for common sense to kick in or an alternative to present itself, but her chin shot up and her lips parted sweet as any dream. He should have backed off, but the race fired hot in his blood. Marking her as his was a bad idea, a very bad idea. One he would regret any minute now. “Thank you.” Isabeau stared up at him. Her scent wrapped him tight, choked oxygen from his brain. Cupping her jaw, he angled her head how he liked and took what he wanted.
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Chapter Three
Braced for a claiming to match the hard set of his jaw, I sighed into the gentle press of Dillon’s lips on mine. He made a hungry sound in his throat, and I answered. In response, he slipped his tongue into my mouth, and I shivered. Relaxing my grip, I slid my hands down his neck to his shoulders and fisted his collar, bending him to me. His pleased growl turned into a low snarl as he caught my hands and tucked them to his sides. His eyes were blind, unfocused. I flattened myself against the wood, hands pressed against him. “Dillon?” After glimpsing the crush of bodies packed in the stable, heat sparked in my palms. Remain calm. Regain control. “That was a mistake,” he said softly. I wasn’t sure if he meant my arrival or the kiss, but I could guess. He searched my face. Gone was any sign our kiss had affected him. I supposed I deserved that, but I had a limited time for causing effective distractions. “Why did you come?” I licked my lips. They were full and tasted of him. “I came to see you.” Bitterness suffused his tone. “My leg you mean.” Dangerous curiosity compelled me to ask, “Had you rather I said this was a social visit?” He rolled his shoulders. “It wouldn’t be the truth.” “You left the consulate, I didn’t release you.” I should have kept the reminder to myself. He wrapped his arm around my waist and trapped me by his side. “I was needed here.”
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“I’m sure you were.” As I was sure his reason for leaving was to escape me. After weaving through the thick of the crowd, his arm slid past my hip and fell to his side. His long strides ate up the ground, and I scurried to keep pace. I couldn’t afford to lose him now. When a gust of wind tangled my legs in my skirt, I cursed my foolishness. Any mistress could master seduction of a particular male after a relationship as longstanding as mine and Roland’s had been, but he’d forgotten I was no sthudai from his stable. I was a priestess whose vows of celibacy lay broken at his feet. He’d plucked me from my mother’s temple and taken me as his. He had chased me, seduced me. Dillon was all but running from me. Whatever sparks of interest I imagined he had felt for me were snuffed out the day I chose Emma’s friendship over Harper’s safety. Dillon thought my interest in him was the lie when it had been the only grain of truth in my fabrication. Too late I realized I’d cost myself something of value—Dillon’s good opinion of me. What pittance of tolerance I’d earned back during his convalescence depended on my playing the part of impartial healer. One lingering glance, one hint of my interest in him, and our truce would crumble. But after tasting him, how could I forget? “Are you on patrol tonight?” It explained why he’d been the one to come for me. “I am.” His strides were long and meant to deter my much shorter legs. Though I’d taken a tour of the colony once, it had been minimal, all the finer points glossed over in favor of keeping their secrets. I recalled where the mine’s entrance was located. It was rather obvious, being a gaping cavern offset by tents and sand. Was the salt kept there? Or would they have hidden their stores in plain sight? I measured the tents for clues, but they all resembled one another and all were the same size and shape. Alone, I stood a better chance of
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wandering across a sleeping family and rousing an alarm than discovering the supply’s location. I struggled to keep pace. “Would you like company?” His answer was sharp. “No.” “Then can I at least check your leg?” I padded my request. “It is the reason I came out here.” He stopped two steps from me, and I bounced off his back. “Is it?” I retreated a step. “Yes.” “If you were so concerned for me, for my leg, then why didn’t you come sooner?” “I—” I fumbled for a reason that might wipe the sneer from his face. “Don’t waste time thinking up an excuse. Mason told me he guilt-tripped you into coming.” “Mason?” I hoped he found my act convincing. “I asked about you, but I always do.” His glare said he didn’t believe me. “I’m training my replacements.” His words were clipped. “When my shift ends, you can check my leg. Until then…” “I’m stiff from the ride.” I also had a second phase to implement. “I wouldn’t mind a walk.” He grunted. “Suit yourself.” With little else to do until we reached the edge of the colony, I monitored his gait. His stride was stiff. His shoulders tensed each time before his foot hit the ground. Considering how smooth his steps had been before returning here, it was easy to pin the blame on overexertion. I would speak with Harper… The thought trailed into regret. I would never speak with him again. Not about Dillon or any other colony matter. This betrayal marked the end of that casual friendship.
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My fingers tangled in the cool metal of my necklace chain and crushed my rising guilt. We all made choices. What we could live with, and what we couldn’t live without. The uneasy feeling I was being watched made me lift my head. Hard stares from the colonists unnerved me. Part of their glares was my fault. I had dressed to entice, reasoning that if Dillon failed to succumb to my charms, then I would make my diversion another way. Which fed into the second reason such a simple ploy should work best. It was in the glitter of their eyes, the eager swipe of tongues over lips. They believed I was a female of their breed, a rarity worth spilling blood to possess. However, a brawl here and now served no purpose. Until I knew where the salt was, I couldn’t direct my would-be suitors in the opposite direction of my escape route. “And you thought no one would notice.” Dillon sounded disgusted. I straightened my shoulders. “It’s late. They should all be asleep.” He shook his head. “Evanti are nocturnal. Without Askarans to pin us to their schedules, our bodies are normalizing. Nights are running later and later, the days turning shorter and shorter.” We walked in silence for several minutes while I chewed on my thumbnail. I’d made a grave error, it seemed, by assuming the colony would sleep through my thievery and wake to what I’d done. I had discounted the fact I’d heard Evanti were once nocturnal. Not to mention several had endured the sort of horror that made sleep another form of torture. Dillon was a prime example. His screams had woken me on several nights. When I’d confronted him, he’d denied what I knew to be the truth, and the stubborn male had stopped sleeping, opting for catnaps during the day.
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I’d considered slipping soothing herbs in his tea at dinner and forcing him to rest, but it was a cruel risk if I trapped him in a nightmare and he couldn’t wake. I wasn’t willing to chance it. “Lady,” a low voice called, the tone apologetic. I turned. A male approached with his shoulders bunched and his head down as if to make himself appear smaller. His skin was ebony, as was his hair and eyes. His wings were dusky carmine. No glamour hummed across his dark skin. “Yes?” Perhaps he was a placement of mine. My hand had guided several exslaves boarding at the consulate into this life. Without glamour, I had little hope of recognizing him. Askarans had enslaved the exotic Evanti, and then demanded their appearance be altered to match that of their masters. Sthudai retained their natural state. Beauty was their purpose. Sthudal, laborers, were forced to conform. This male lacked the heart-stopping beauty Harper and Dillon shared. He must be sthudal. He scanned my face. “You’re Lady Emmaline’s healer?” I glanced at Dillon, who regarded the male cautiously. “I am.” “I’ve heard…” He lifted his hand, but Dillon’s glare made him lower it. “Are you Evanti?” I strained to be polite. “I’m afraid that’s none of your concern.” As if I’d given him confirmation, he grinned. “I never thought I’d see one such as you.” I lacked the heart to tell him he still hadn’t. Shivering, I noticed I held Dillon’s rapt attention as well. Would he covet me if I had said yes? I frowned. Perhaps I had been too quick in taking offense. Or was Dillon simply guarding his territory? And his kiss meant to deter other males? This one hadn’t even acknowledged him.
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“It was nice to meet you,” I said, “but it’s late for me.” The male leaned closer, too close. Heat tingled in my palms. Control, control, control. His whisper was meant to bypass Dillon I’m sure. “Would you…reveal yourself?” I laughed. “You can’t be serious.” My reveal wouldn’t be the one he had in mind. “Phineas,” Dillon interrupted. “You were at the stables earlier. You saw what happened when she arrived. If a female of our kind strutted around without glamour, it would cause a riot.” The smile fell from Phineas’s lips. “I may never see another female Evanti.” “I know.” Dillon cupped my shoulder, the gesture possessive. “But it’s not her problem.” Silver sparked in Phineas’s eyes, and I backed up until I was flush with Dillon’s chest. “She’s yours.” Phineas’s lip curled. “You have such wealth and refuse to share even a glimpse?” I risked a step forward. “I am not a possession, and I’m not his.” Dillon’s sigh brushed my ear. He’d followed me. “You’re not thinking straight, Phineas.” “Let me touch her.” Phineas’s gaze met mine. “Once, and I’ll leave in peace.” His arm outstretched, but Dillon captured his wrist. “It must have escaped your notice that there are no slaves in Askara. That means if you want something from someone, you damn well better ask them for it. I don’t own her. She’s her own person, the same as you.” He twisted Phineas’s arm, stepping into his body as he turned him from me. “You’re violating her rights and pissing me off by implying you can trade favors with me to get what you want from her.” He
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growled, “Don’t approach her again. If you so much as sniff in her direction and I hear about it, you’ll be expelled from this colony. Do you understand?” When Phineas nodded, Dillon shoved him stumbling forward. He found his balance and started turning. “Don’t even think about it.” The urge to have that last look was a twitch in Phineas’s neck. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets and began walking. “Take care, Isabeau.” He couldn’t see me, but I nodded while rubbing my hands up and down my arms. I consoled myself by saying my plan was working. Once I found the salt, if my plan failed—and it might even though I had consulted the grimoire—I had another that worked well without me even trying. Dillon leaned over and asked, “Are you scared?” For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. “Yes.” “Good.” He plucked the fabric of my top. “Remember how that feels the next time you’re tempted to show up half naked at a colony filled with males desperate for a mate to claim them.” Heat crawled up my neck. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Not until I was ready at least. He snorted. “Yeah, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Staring after Phineas, I asked a pointed question. “Do you think I’ll be safe alone tonight?” Dillon’s mouth opened, but he snapped it shut. His instinct was to reassure me this place was a safe haven, that I was protected here and in no immediate danger. Now he wasn’t so sure. My fault. I’d stirred these males’ imaginations, making him doubt his home and neighbors. He rubbed his face. “How long are you staying?” “Only for tonight.” A few hours, I hoped. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
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“It figures.” He began walking. “You can take my bed. I’ll take the floor.” I tripped over my feet. Blasted skirt. “What did you say?” “I said you’re bunking with me.” His brow creased. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.” “No, I…” I shivered as chills flushed my skin. Dillon was taking me to his home, to his bed, after all. Perhaps not the way I’d intended, but a guilty thrill coursed through me at his grudging invitation. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t get any ideas.” I almost swallowed my tongue. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Except I already had. “No offense, but I’m in charge of keeping the peace. You’re an accident waiting to happen.” “If I’m a danger to innocent males,” I asked dryly, “aren’t you concerned for yourself?” “I’m not innocent. Whatever your game is, I’m not playing.” My steps slowed. “Is that a warning of some kind?” “You could have dropped your glamour back there.” He stopped and turned. “Sure your little show would have attracted more attention, but it’s not wholly unwanted, is it? I mean, look how you’re dressed. Either you have something to hide, or you’re not what he thought you were.” I bit my lip to keep excuses from tumbling out. Too much was at stake for Dillon’s harsh words to matter. Yet my vision foolishly blurred and my eyes stung. I was not this female. She wasn’t me. I worried my locket for something to occupy my hands, to keep from wiping my face. He leaned as far away from me as he could without taking a step. “Are you crying?” “No.” I stared at the twin moons until my sight cleared.
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“Damn it.” Something hit my chest. He grunted. “There.” What was—his handkerchief? “Thank you.” Lifting it to my nose, I inhaled his scent. His brows drew together. “What are you doing?” Laughter stopped up my throat. “Are you always so suspicious?” Sobering, I hated to admit after tonight his worst suspicions about me would be confirmed. When I wiped my eyes, I noticed a tiny spot of blood stained one corner. I despised myself for asking, “May I keep this?” “It’s dirty.” He reached for it. “I cut my hand earlier. I shouldn’t have—” “Thank you.” I made a production of blowing my nose before offering it to him. “No.” He waved it aside. “Keep it. I’ll get you a clean one when we get home.” He tensed and rephrased. “I mean, from my tent.” He scratched his scalp. “Did you want to walk or what?” Considering how little I had accomplished, I said, “If you don’t mind.” He scanned me from head to toe, and then glanced toward the aisle cutting through the densest section of tents. “Here.” He pulled his shirt overhead and tossed it to me. “Put that on.” I did as I was told. The long sleeves hung past my fingertips. The tail of his shirt hit below my knees. The worn fabric smelled of mint and male, of Dillon, and I flushed with pleasure. I kept my tone light. “I did bring clothes better suited for travel.” Of course, my belongings were in my saddlebags, and I had no clue where they had gone. When he didn’t answer, I glanced up and found his mismatched eyes flickering over me. I loved how their colors contradicted one another. They befitted the male who owned them. One was bluer than any sky had the right to
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be. The other was the green of forests far north of Askara. Both stirred hotly as his slow perusal heated my skin. Crossing my arms over my chest hid my most obvious reaction to him. He swiped a hand down his face and swore before approaching me. Jerking my arms down, he rolled the cuffs of his shirt over my wrists. I held perfectly still and let him tend me. Even the simplest words failed me. How could he be so cruel, yet so kind? I stopped myself before adding so perfect, knowing the sum of his flaws had attracted me to him. And attracted to him I was. My mind blanked at the sight of his bare chest and sinewy arms. Even as his healer, I’d seen no more of him than from the knee down during his time in my care. He was very private, and I respected his wishes. His presence was enough to make guilt churn in my stomach. Desire had flirted with my ethics, but he was no longer my patient. He was a male I craved, and he had kissed me first and kissed me thoroughly. Perhaps seduction was the answer. As I thought it, the embers his touch stoked in my lower belly cooled. I was not the whore Roland had named me. I was once, but no more. I had already tarnished Dillon’s memory with deceit. This one moment, I wanted pure. Staring up into his wary eyes, I said, “Kiss me again.” Self-preservation rocked Dillon back on his heels. “What part of mistake didn’t you get?” After a hushed moment rife with disappointment, his, Isabeau bit her bottom lip and nodded. Damn if her teeth sinking into that soft mouth didn’t make his water. His hand lifted, fingers outstretched. He snapped his arm back to his side and made it stick. Comforting her kicked open a door best left shut and locked tight. One
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kiss he could forgive himself. Two kisses… He checked the perimeter, almost wishing Phineas was back so he had an excuse for taking up her invitation. “Are we going to walk, or should I find your tent on my own?” she asked his boots. He had been quick to offer his bed to her, another mistake. He grimaced. How long had it been since the sight of a female had stirred his blood? He couldn’t remember if anyone ever had. “Come on. I have one more stop to make.” When the silence stretched for too long, he said, “There’s a market run scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but I guess you knew that already.” Her head popped up as she stammered, “Why would I?” “You mean besides the fact Emma authorized our city passes weeks ago?” He was tempted to tap her mouth shut with his finger. “I thought you handled all her paperwork—my mistake.” “Oh.” Her tone held an odd note of relief. Turning with a sigh, he paused long enough to check for her muted footfalls behind him. “Yeah. Oh.” Her run-in with Phineas must have spooked her worse than he’d realized. Kiss me again. Her request began to make more sense. She was scared and he was here. She trusted him. She shouldn’t. He didn’t trust her. She wanted comfort. He didn’t. He wanted her. “Stupid.” “Excuse me?” She caught his arm. He obliged her by twisting until her palms braced on his chest. Her hands on his bare skin derailed all higher brain function. Her sharp nails bit into his pectorals, the sting a sweet counterpoint that flipped some internal switch. “What did you say?” His memory sputtered. His lips parted. Nothing intelligible passed through them. She shoved him for all the good it did her. “I asked you a question.”
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The best he could manage was a strangled, “What?” Her brow creased, all signs of anger draining. “Are you feeling all right? You’re limping. You weren’t when you left the consulate. How long has this been going on? Only today or longer?” Her tone said his answer better be not long. She tested his forehead with the inside of her wrist. “You don’t feel feverish.” Her lips pursed. “How’s your leg? Any signs of infection?” Blood rushed to stuff his ears as she snagged his belt. “What?” Had he said that already? With her finger, she led him from the beaten path into deeper shadows cast by the nearest tent. Gripping his hips firmly, she angled him toward her. “Hold still.” Then she knelt at his feet. “What are you doing?” Damn, he sounded breathless. “Stop wiggling.” She grabbed his knees and held him still. Dillon almost swallowed his tongue. Forget fever. Arousal left him lightheaded and weak on his feet. He fisted his hands to keep from sinking them into her hair. She wasn’t—she couldn’t be. He scrubbed his face while his imagination ran wild. His skin was tight. His head throbbed as images of her kneeling clashed with those of Eliya, turning his desire into horrified fascination. Isabeau frowned in concentration. Eliya smiled. Isabeau patted his thigh. Eliya’s claws sank deep. He couldn’t see or tell. “Isabeau.” Please let her be here. Let them be now. “Answer me.” “No signs of infection.” She began a slow massage of his calf. “Your leg looks fine.” Hypersensitive as his skin was, he hadn’t felt her roll up his pant leg. He hadn’t seen through the past to notice the present. Her thumbs rubbed deep. “Your muscle mass is returning.” She paused long enough to glance up at him. “It would help if you’d lower your glamour. I need to see skin.” “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” His voice cracked.
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A small smile. “You’ve taken good care of yourself.” “I did what you told me to.” He left out how Harper had forced him into physical therapy. “You did well.” Her approval twisted something in his chest. “I suppose you were right to leave when you did.” She readjusted his pant leg and stood. “You didn’t need my help after all.” Oh, he needed help all right. Two seconds longer and he’d have said damn the consequences and let her inspect every inch of him. He would have dropped his glamour, taken that kiss, let her see what lay beneath and discovered if she was an Evanti. Show her mine, he wanted to see hers. If she saw him free of illusion, what would she do? Claim him. From which there was no escape. Males might be allowed shows of possessive intent meant to deter competition, but females claimed their mates. Males were victims of feminine whims. They had no choice in the matter. Females saw, wanted and acquired. Being mated was another form of slavery. Choice ripped from his hands, freedom stolen from his grasp. He would be chained to her because of what he was, because of what she must be, because his biology demanded he cave to her desires. The brief glimpse he allowed her during his surgery wasn’t enough to rouse her suspicions of his true nature. He’d made sure to only lower his glamour over one leg. Yeah, it meant he’d been conscious during the procedure, but the alternative had terrified him. Turned out pain was a worthwhile exchange to have Isabeau play nurse. Even now the things he’d wanted to do to her made his gut knot. All that time spent asleep on her shoulder, soothed by the sound of her voice. Some nights he still heard her reading Gobillard and felt her cheek, smooth against his forehead.
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On some level, he’d assumed the reason he responded to Isabeau from that first time he saw her at the consulate was because she was what rumor hinted she must be—a female of his breed. If she had found herself alone with an unconscious, unmated prime, he could guess the outcome. When a species teetered on the brink of extinction, it was the duty of the remaining purebloods to help repopulate the race. Hadn’t Eliya told him as much? Only she was Askaran. What she had wanted… He shifted his weight onto his left leg and swallowed his grunt of pain. “Come on.” His voice was tight. “We should get going.” He resumed his clipped pace and made a beeline for the hush tent. Mason had given the tent its name, because its contents were secret. Lame, yes, but it stuck. So he’d check the sled and the shipment, tuck the female into bed, alone, and then call it a night. Isabeau was leaving tomorrow. By the time they met up again… The more he considered it, the more he knew he couldn’t risk it. Her touch clouded his brain. For an ex-sthudai, he’d been about to embarrass himself. He could just imagine explaining why he’d grabbed her by the hair and ground her face in his groin. Somehow he didn’t think “oops” would have covered it. If Mason were here, once he’d stopped laughing, he would have offered the same sage advice Dillon had spoon-fed him when he learned the guy was celibate and had no plans for a change in his status. You need to get laid. Granted, Dillon had been regurgitating the same crap well-meaning humans in the Dempsey colony had spewed whenever he got too pissy, but Mason had shrugged him off. Apparently his other friends had failed to sway him with the same argument. No wonder they’d stuck together so long. Who understood better that Saturday nights were always free than a guy with the same hole in his schedule?
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One taste of Isabeau had Dillon ready to pen her in, permanently, but he couldn’t risk it. He’d be all but stamping her name on his ass. “How can you tell all these tents apart?” Isabeau asked. “They all look the same.” Pulled from his thoughts, he forced his makeshift tour back on track. “I used to count the steps. It’s all about location.” When they reached the hush tent, he lifted the entrance flap. “Huh.” The bottom laces hung loose, the seams gaping from the increased tension. Worn or cut? Someone had helped the wear and tear along. He’d been here earlier and the tent was secure, the flap sealed shut. He remembered because he’d cut his hand on the sled and bled on the laces. “Is something wrong?” She leaned too close for comfort. “I can’t tell without something stronger than moonlight.” He fingered the rough fabric and grimaced. Not good. Wind had swept footprints from this side of the aisle, making their direction impossible to retrace. He glanced skyward. That sandstorm sure was taking its time getting here. Returning his attention to the ground, he skimmed, for what it was worth. Nothing struck him as unusual. The converted dune sled had been parked inside before sundown. The remaining tracks belonged to the miners who had shoved it through the larger exit flap on the opposite side of the tent in preparation for going to market. He inspected that and found no signs of tampering. “Stay here.” He left Isabeau waiting as he ducked inside the tent. Front and center, a bulky sled squatted beneath its load. He peeled back the tarp and inspected the cargo. Silver bars glinted dull beneath a spell-crafted light fixture overhead. In the center sat a chest filled with salt.
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Caravans had gotten slimmer since the raider problem cropped up. A single sled posed fewer problems than their earlier attempts at lengthier caravans. Single sleds were easier to guard too. “Interesting.” Isabeau’s voice made him whirl at the sound. “Who’s responsible for that?” Standing beside a sled full of the most valuable mineral in Askara, and she was asking about light fixtures? He liked her for that. “Aldrich made several of them for the mine. After the explosion, Harper wanted something safer than torchlight. The fumes were making miners sick.” Balanced on her tiptoes, Isabeau brushed her fingertips against the suspended light’s tip. “It’s cold.” “Want a closer look?” The words took him by surprise. Smart. His arms wrapped around her waist, face nestled between her breasts, her skimpy top the only barrier, easily nuzzled aside… Swaying off balance, she pushed hair from her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” If she kept smiling at him that way, he’d give her the damn thing. “It comes in handy.” “You say Aldrich created it?” Her face fell, and he wondered at the cause. “I forgot you’d met him.” Aldrich had been the one who delivered Dillon to the consulate’s doorstep and into the arms of its resident healer. His leg had been shredded by the blast at the mine, but he’d been infection-free until escorting Harper and Emma to Rihos, right into a trap. Their extended stay in the summer castle’s dungeon, courtesy of Roland Bernhard, had sealed it. She considered the light rather than him. “You trust his work?” He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “If you’re asking if I trust Sereians, I don’t.”
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Manipulating glamour was one thing. All demons and most crossbreeds did to some extent. Evanti used glamour to alter their appearances, to better hide among Askarans or humans, depending on the realm. Even spell crafters used the core of their glamour, their magic, to fuel their work fortifying cities and roads against the relentless sandstorms and even foreign invasion. Sereians, though, manipulated minds for sport and personal gain by robbing their victims of freewill. And there was no capping their power. Priests who were born with more ambition than power? No problem. Beg, borrow or steal a grimoire. Aldrich had escaped Rihos with seven. Of course, like all magic, there was a trade-off. Use the book and the book used you. Over time, the tomes became sentient. All living things required a food source, and they weren’t picky. The person holding the book would do as easily as the body bound on the floor, ready for sacrifice. The line between white magic and black magic was all gray to him, and he liked it that way. Sere was Askara’s neighbor to the east. Askara’s queen, Nesvia, had married the second son of Sere, Rideal Bernhard. Sere’s heir apparent, Roland Bernhard, had apparently been nursing a grudge since the queen made her preference for his brother known. His answer? Use Emma to lure Harper into a trap and blackmail him into granting Roland exclusive salt rights to the Feriana mine. When that failed, they discovered he’d used a trick learned from his family’s horse-breeding operation. By forcing Nesvia to consume progesaline, he managed to induce her heat cycle. Instead of waiting five years for her natural fertility cycle to roll around, Roland gave her the supplement, and she became fertile within days. If Aldrich hadn’t helped them escape, and if Harper and Emma hadn’t found where Roland had hidden the kidnapped queen—chained
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beneath their colony, in their mine—the Evanti’s brief taste of freedom would have died with her. Roland was pissed Harper had escaped before signing over those salt rights. The spike of raider-on-colonist violence confirmed as much before Nesvia intervened and Roland either called them off or revealed he was bankrolling the raiders. As it was, things were quieter around here. “You don’t care for Sereians, do you?” Isabeau peered up at him. The female had a gift for understatement. “I don’t care for abuses of power.” Her voice faltered. “Not all Sereians are abusive.” He studied her for a moment. “The ones who aren’t are rare as rain in the desert.” Her gaze lowered. “You sound as if you have personal experience.” “Any sthudai in Eliya’s menagerie did.” His tone hardened. “The second we showed signs of independent thought or, God forbid, we refused to perform, we were palmed off on one of her Sereian pets for reconditioning.” His gut churned. “Has a Sereian used glamour on you before?” She nodded, and he hated her affirmation. “Then you know how they make you think you want to do whatever depraved thing they’ve asked of you. Or worse, sometimes they let you remember why you don’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t stop you from following their orders. You’re trapped inside your body. Things I did then…” Eliya gasped when he cut off her oxygen. His cock stirred. “That’s not who I am.” God he hoped that wasn’t him. “Dillon—” Shame thickened his voice. “The old queen has fallen.” Too bad his memory hadn’t toppled with her. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He’d never spoken of his time with Eliya, not even to Harper. Knowing Dillon had been hand-picked
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to sire a child and sate the queen’s curiosity? To answer the question of what do you get when you cross a purebred Evanti and an Askaran royal? The answer was the Princess Madelyn DeGray. If not for Dillon’s attempt on Eliya’s life, he would have fathered her child, and her consort, Emma’s father, Archer, would have gutted him instead of Zehiel, the male who had taken his place in Eliya’s bed. Talk about family trees growing twisted as hell. Harper would have been his in-law since Harper’s brother, Clayton, had married Madelyn. Seeing her on Earth during the five years they’d both called the Dempsey colony home had caused the old sore to fester and rot. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Madelyn. He just couldn’t stomach being near her, or Emma. Isabeau touched his arm. “I’m glad you confided in me.” Pinpricks stung his cheeks. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to.” Her fingertips trailed the hottest part of his cheek. “You’re such a contradiction.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been called worse.” “With your temper, and your mouth, I can imagine.” Her thumb swiped across his bottom lip, pressed inside his mouth to wet the tip of her finger before she painted damp swirls on his skin. He nipped her thumb. “I didn’t hear any complaints about my mouth earlier.” Her smile twisted his insides. “That’s because you were putting it to good use.” That twinkle in her eyes was what did it. He warned her, “I’m going to kiss you.”
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Leaning into him, she was soft and willing, and for the moment, his. “All right.” His head lowered as her lips parted. Forcing her head back, he claimed her mouth until they both panted. Grasping her hips, he lifted her, carried her to the rear of the sled and set her on the edge. While their kiss heated, his hands slid beneath her skirt. Damn filmy thing had so many layers he couldn’t find skin to touch it. He cursed. She laughed. He groaned as his fingers made that contact, gliding past the apex of her thighs and finding her bare. His lungs froze. His hand dropped. He hadn’t expected that. Arching her hips, she closed the gap. His eyes closed. “Fuck.” Isabeau tensed beneath him. His chin brushed her cheek. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He shouldn’t have done that. Her response was to cup him through his pants, coaxing him to painful fullness. Fabric ripped, or maybe it was his sanity that tore. Mated. Claimed. Hers. Too dangerous. Isabeau’s exploration halted. “Did you hear that?” “No.” He rocked into her hand, but those talented fingers of hers weren’t moving. “It’s probably—” Then he saw the flicker of shadows creeping around the tent’s perimeter. “Damn.”
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Chapter Four
Dillon adjusted Isabeau’s skirt and eased his throbbing cock from her grip. “Stay still.” More shadows scurried to form a ring around the tent. A quick glance cast over his shoulder told him someone was making fast work of slicing the thick ties securing the rear flap, the sled exit. “Perfect timing.” His exhale was equal parts relief and frustration. “We’ve got company.” A familiar voice called, “Exit the tent and keep your hands where I can see them.” “That’s not going to happen,” Dillon answered gruffly. Isabeau had him so hard walking might break something. “Dillon?” Mason’s shaggy blond head popped in the tent. “What are you two doing here?” Isabeau slipped to her feet and stood behind Dillon with her face buried against his back. “I was making my rounds. I saw the tent had been tampered with, so I investigated.” After clearing his throat, Mason said, “Same here. Russ reported unusual activity, so I came to check it out.” His face glowed red. “I heard…well, I could tell someone was in here.” He tipped his chin toward Isabeau. “I’m sorry for the disturbance, ma’am. I was just doing my job.” “Wait—wasn’t Russ patrolling the perimeter of the mines? When did he report in?”
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“About ten minutes ago, I guess.” Mason frowned. “How long have you been here?” “Less than five,” Dillon said. “We must have just missed them.” Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Isabeau was covered, he stroked her arm in silent order to remain still. “We might have spooked them, but there’s a cut the width of my thumb opposite the flap. Big enough the seams bulged where the canvas pulled, but not big enough for a body to squeeze through to the inside.” Now that his head was clearing, his blood pressure rose. Trust had never been an issue. As far as he knew all the colonists were on the level. So who would try and enter the tent, and why? “That’s good news at least.” Mason glanced past Isabeau to the sled. “Nothing was taken?” “Nothing I noticed.” Ignoring how he kept shifting to keep himself between her and Mason, he forced himself to focus. “I still had to work the laces to get in. I doubt someone we interrupted would have stopped and tied it up on their way out. So they must have bailed when we arrived.” “Okay, next question.” Mason tapped the sled. “You want me to take care of this for you?” “I’ve got it.” He faced Isabeau, pretending this wasn’t an escape. “I’ve got to handle this.” “Of course.” Her swollen lips curved in a temping smile. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He grabbed her shirtfront as she passed and dragged her close. He didn’t have to, but he kissed her, hard, refreshing the memories of all the males present that she was his. “Be careful.” She nodded. “Does your invitation stand, or would my waiting in your tent be a mistake?”
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“It’s a mistake.” Resisting the urge to kiss away her frown, he played his part. “But if I get there and you’re not there, then you better hope like hell you can outrun me twice in one night.” Her eyes glittered. “Don’t tempt me.” Her hips swayed in sweet invitation as she passed. “And, Isabeau?” She hesitated before turning. “Yes?” “Lose the shirt.” His voice turned hoarse without even trying. “Leave the rest.” Laughter trailed her from the tent. Dillon followed two steps before Mason chuckled. “Emma will skin you alive if you hurt her.” He sounded amused. “You know that, right?” “Nothing is going to happen.” That he wanted it to was dangerous enough. “Famous last words.” Mason watched her go. “If you’re not going, can I go in your place?” He was joking. Dillon knew it. He gritted his teeth. “Try it.” Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Really? It wouldn’t bother you at all if I—?” Dillon’s hand closed around Mason’s neck before the move registered. “What do you think?” Gasping for breath, Mason pried from Dillon’s grip and stumbled back a step. “I was thinking after the way you acted earlier that something’s going on with you.” He rubbed his throat. “You’re running hot and cold, and it’s more than just your leg or your job. You’re wired.” “I’m not—” Dillon stopped himself. Mason was the one male he didn’t want to start lying to. “I’ll deal with it.” “Will you? You haven’t so far.” He stared in the direction Isabeau had gone.
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“It’s not her fault.” The defense was automatic. “Yeah, it is. You might not see it, but I do.” He patted Dillon’s shoulder. “All joking aside, something’s wrong. You’ve always been ornery, aggressive, but I figure after what you went through…” when Dillon growled at him, Mason amended, “…not that I know the details, but I figured you had the right to carry that chip on your shoulder. Since you met Isabeau, it’s worse.” Dillon’s throat tightened. “Get to the point.” “My dad believes every Evanti had a set number of years in him before…” Mason’s expression shuttered. “Before mating becomes an imperative.” His voice cracked, a kid convincing himself what he said next was the truth. “He loves my mother, he does, but he’s convinced that meeting her was a right-time, rightplace kind of deal. That he was ready to mate and she was…” He left the sentence hanging. “The point is, you’re getting older. Clayton settled down and now Harper has too.” He held his hands up to fend off Dillon’s response. “All I’m saying is being single is great.” He grimaced. “But there comes a time when you want more, no matter what you’ve been through or where you come from, you want one person who knows your worst and forgives it.” “You think I’m courting a mate.” Dillon’s mouth parched at the thought. “The signs are there.” Mason shrugged. “I take it you weren’t seeing them.” “I kissed Isabeau for her own good.” Dillon scowled when Mason coughed into his fist. “You saw how she showed up here. She was half naked, and every male in the colony was salivating at the border waiting on her to cross it.” His reasons had sounded logical in his head, yet rang hollow. “You saw that crowd.” He modulated his tone. “She would have been hurt if I hadn’t intervened. Then what would Emma have done? She would have strangled me for starters.” “And was making out here, in the tent, in the dark, after a suspected theft, all for her too?”
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The razor edge of sanity cut Dillon too late and not nearly deep enough. After Mason’s revelation, one thing was for damn sure. Dillon wasn’t going anywhere near that tent. Not tonight. Not until Isabeau left. “Drop what you’re doing and make sure Isabeau makes it to my tent. I don’t want her getting lost out here.” There were too many males eager for what she had to offer. “Post a trustworthy guard outside my tent. No one enters and she doesn’t leave. Got it?” Isabeau couldn’t be his, but damn if he’d let anyone else have her. I kept my back to the tent, giving the impression of awaiting my escort. Straining my ears, I listened to Mason and Dillon’s low murmurs behind me. One phrase stuck. I kissed Isabeau for her own good. I would have laughed if my chest weren’t so tight. His admission made my next move easier. I unbuttoned Dillon’s shirt and let it fall. Several males cut their eyes my way, but none of them approached me and none said anything untoward. I’d have to try harder. My fingers were trailing the fabric of my top when the flap rustled behind me. I jumped, arms snapping to my sides and heat rushing up the back of my neck. An apology balanced on the tip of my tongue before I noticed it was Mason and not Dillon who was staring at me quizzically. “Dillon said you’re staying with him tonight.” He made it sound like a bad move on my part. “He offered me his bed, yes.” My embarrassment was genuine. “We won’t be sharing it.” “Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you say so. You ready?” A glimpse at the tent flap showed me it was closed. “If you are.” Heeding Dillon’s advice, I began counting my steps so I could find my way back here.
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“I do have one question.” I let my fingers take over ticking off each stride so I could talk. “Where are my saddlebags?” The grimoire was invisible, for now, but it wasn’t intangible. Sweat beaded my lip from the strain of maintaining such a complex glamour from such a long distance. I couldn’t afford for someone to riffle through my bag and uncover the book while it was hungry. “Once the dust cleared, I had them taken to Dillon’s tent. I figured that’s where you’d end up one way or the other.” He tripped. “Not that I meant— I thought you’d want to check his leg.” “Ah.” I let him stutter. Let the back of his neck blush under my stare. He ducked his head and kept walking. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Isabeau.” “It’s no problem,” I murmured, smiling when his accent thickened. We passed a gap in the tents, and a blast of wind sent my skirt swirling. I swallowed my modesty and allowed it to flutter higher until bits of sand hit the insides of my thighs, my backside. I did smooth the front. I guess even I had limits. Besides, playing the part of temptress had lost its appeal the moment Phineas’s interest exposed Dillon’s curiosity. If he thought I was Evanti, he wouldn’t settle for having sex with me in glamour. He’d want to see me for what I was, and when I revealed myself, all he’d see was me…plus the black runes inking my forearms downward. Sereian slave bands were as distinctive as the Askaran preference for full-body ownership tattoos. A glimpse would tell him what I was. And if he realized my reason for being here first, well, I knew how Roland handled spies. “I drank a lot of tea before I left.” Fear lent me courage to expedite my plan. “It was a long ride here.” He shrugged. “You get used to it. Before long, you don’t even notice the miles.” “It was a lot of tea.” I fell behind once I found a likely spot. “The trip was quite long.”
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“Oh.” Mason glanced over his shoulder. “Gotcha.” He turned, frowning. “The thing is, we only have one, um, restroom is a stretch, but you know what I mean, that’s outfitted for females. There just aren’t enough females living here to warrant more than one facility. Can you hold it?” I was relieved to learn that was still the case. I smiled, embarrassed. “I don’t think I can.” “Give me a minute.” He glanced past my shoulder, no doubt considering whether or not Dillon should be bothered with what should be a simple request. I decided to give him a nudge. “It’s dark.” I pointed at a gap between tents. “Those don’t look like residency tents. They’re supply tents, aren’t they? Can you check to see if they’re occupied? If they aren’t…” I gestured toward the deep shadows behind them. “I can be finished in minutes if you’ll watch out for me.” His focus slid back over my shoulder. “I don’t know. The walk isn’t that far.” After a longing glance cast toward the tents, I said on a heavy sigh, “I can try to make it.” The ploy was a familiar one. Any parent would recognize it. Children were masters of manipulation, Sereian or not, and I’d learned from the best. All parents were given a similar education, but Mason lacked a tutor. Memories of an impish smile sliced open my heart. I fought the urge to crack open my locket and touch the worn mementos inside. Reminisce later. Act now. “Hold what you’ve got.” Mason darted inside the nearest tent then the two beside them. “It’s clear.” He passed me a few sheets of a papery material. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” “Thank you.” Stepping between the tents, I found a clear spot and squatted. A few tugs at my waistband and I slid the thin dagger I’d brought from the consulate from its hidden compartment. I scored a line across my hand and
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squeezed the cut until blood poured over my open palm into the sand. Once I’d made my offering to Zaniah, I used a dab of crimson on my fingertip and traced several runes into the sand. Before I finished the last side of the last one, the wind howled. I squinted as sand sprayed my face. The second phase of my plan had begun. Using the papers Mason had given me, I wiped my hands clean and tucked the sheets into the waistband of my skirt. I regretted leaving samples of my blood lying around in case Roland was closer than I realized, but he hardly needed stealth. He took what he wanted, and I let him have it. Pressing a hand to my stomach, I covered my jitters. My days of obeisance were numbered. “Isabeau?” Mason yelled over my storm. “I’m coming.” I kept my pace brisk, leading when I didn’t know the way to Dillon’s tent, desperate to put distance between the burgeoning spell and me. Mason jogged to catch up then herded me through the maze of tents in the right direction. Still I counted. When we reached the last tent at the end of a row, Mason said, “This is it. Casa de Preston.” He opened the flap and held it while I stepped inside. My saddlebags lay across a sturdy table strewn with notes. A modest cot flanked a pair of chests filled with clothes, I assumed, based on the shirtsleeve that had escaped the lid. A chair and a makeshift bookshelf rounded out the space. “Make yourself at home.” Mason gestured toward the shelves. “Dillon’s a reader, so I’m sure you’ll find something to keep you occupied until he returns.” He took a step, and something cracked under his heel. He scooped up whatever it had been. “Damn it. That’s twice this month.” Two spindly legs protruded from his fist. “What is it?” I leaned closer.
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He opened his hand. “A horse—or it used to be.” He fitted the sections together. “Not bad.” I stroked the rough mane. “It’s beautiful.” Wood shavings scattered around and beneath the table. Several knives were lined up beside a few blocks of wood unlike any I’d ever seen. One chunk was half block and half animal. “What’s that called?” “What is—? Oh, that’s a whale. They live in the oceans back home. I’m not sure if you have anything similar here.” He strolled over and tapped on the carving before setting down the horse. “I’ve never seen the Gray Sea or a…whale.” I wondered. “Did Dillon carve these?” “Yeah, it’s a hobby of his. I’m sure you noticed he doesn’t sleep much. My granddad, a human, taught him how to whittle. It grew into a hobby from there.” He shrugged. “The whale is his latest project. One of the colonists’ sons asked Dillon what the biggest animal was on Earth. They’re fascinated with the idea of life in other realms.” He laughed. “I guess it’s no different than when I wanted to be an astronaut.” I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded at the sentiment. “Dillon’s right. Whales are the largest ocean-dwelling animals, but I’m guessing he’ll get a kick out of letting Galvin think they walk around on flukes in the earthen colony for a while.” “I can’t picture him with children.” He was so coarse, and his language was enough to make any parent cringe. “Him talking to one or caring enough to spend hours on a project like this.” I picked up the horse carving—I couldn’t help it—and I fit the pieces together. I hoped he could repair it. Mason laughed at my expression. “It’s not so out of character for him. He’s a good guy.” The irony of my situation made me laugh. “He even likes children.”
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He hastened to correct me. “Like might be too strong a word. Tolerate is better, and then it’s on a case-by-case basis.” He frowned. “I don’t mean to build him up to tear him down, but if—” “I understand.” He had no reason to warn me away. I had been a mistress. I had born my master a child. I had entertained the ridiculous notion he would marry me. Being queen of Sere had not been my aspiration, more of a concession on my part. I hadn’t wanted a title or a crown. In loving Roland, I’d fallen into the trap so many other females had skirted before me. No male of power would cast aside his wife for his whore or his heir for his bastard. While I’d reflect upon Mason’s words and allow myself the occasional fantasy about Dillon and me, together, I’d never let those visions crack the veneer over my heart. “I think I’d better go.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Before I step in it again.” “Can I ask a favor before you do?” I waited for his nod. “I was thinking I should nap until Dillon arrives, but Emma mentioned something about a rash of scorpion bites a few months ago.” I rubbed at my arms. “I don’t think I can sleep until I know there aren’t any sharing the covers with me.” I smiled apologetically. “After living in the city…would you mind checking?” “No problem.” He stepped between me and the cot. “We did have a nasty problem a few months back. The infestation kept our healers on their toes for weeks.” He gave the covers a toss. “Aldrich’s spell crafting has them under control now, so I wouldn’t worry too much.” He reached for the pillow. I inhaled. “All clear.” Heat twisted down my arm. “Now, if you need—” Before he straightened, I flattened my hand against one shoulder blade, and magic seared my fingertips as it blasted into him. His muscles clenched beneath my touch. His gasps made my lungs seize. The stink of charred flesh filled my
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nose, churned my gut. For me, the moment stretched past infinity, but all it took was just one touch, one spark, one instant caught unaware. Mason collapsed halfway across the bed. I grabbed his legs and swung him the rest of the way. After checking his pulse—erratic but strong—I tilted his head so his face no longer mashed into the sheets. As an afterthought, I covered him. The healer in me hovered, wasted time I didn’t have to spare. The mother in me cut that cord with a quick snip and snapped my goals into focus. Grab the bags. Free the grimoire. Find the tent. Bring the storm. Don’t look back.
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Chapter Five
While peering through the tent flap, I reached for my necklace, but Dillon’s horse was crushed in my hand. I grasped my bags and tucked the halves inside. I should leave it, but I was reluctant to part with the carving. It was broken anyway. He wouldn’t want it. Clutching my locket, I tucked it into my top. That brief contact steadied my hands. With my saddlebags hung over one shoulder, I slipped from the tent. The aisle was clear and my path was straight. I set my shoulders back and made my stride sure. Counting beneath my breath, I covered half the distance before hairs rose on my nape. I spun around, but I was alone. “Roland?” I tried again. “Phineas?” All I heard was the howl of the wind and all I felt was sand pinging across my exposed skin. Rolling my shoulders, I dismissed my unease and resumed my counting. Three quarters of the way there, my skin crawled yet again. The grimoire had lent me its power, and its senses were keener than mine. My fingers tightened on the leather strap. This was a trick. The book wanted me to use what it offered. Magic pulsed in the air between us. The more I drew on it, the hungrier it got. If I used much more, I wouldn’t have blood enough to pay it if I wanted to live. Sacrifice. The whisper through my head belonged to me. It must. The book couldn’t—it wouldn’t dare. Sacrifice. My heart beat steady as my mind whirled with the horror of my choice. I would exchange my life for my daughter’s safety, but I wouldn’t ask others to sacrifice theirs.
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Focus. I walked faster now, counting steps, numbers tripping over my tongue. Then I saw my final obstacle. Three males milled around a single tent. From this angle, it was identical to its neighbors. I estimated my distance from them would cost the remaining footsteps I’d calculated. I searched their faces but recognized no one. I slipped behind the nearest tent before I was spotted. What did I do now? Was Dillon still inside? Did that matter? Of course it did. I could no more hurt him than… Wait. I heard something. Straining my ears, I tiptoed closer and leaned as far as I dared. “…gone to his tent,” a low voice said. A masculine chuckle drifted to me. “If I had a female waiting for me…” I swallowed. No, no, no. Things were moving too fast. I had to act. Dillon would find Mason, and I would be caught. I couldn’t risk this. Not when I, we, were so close to tasting true freedom. Scooping a handful of sand, I murmured part of the incantation the grimoire had given me. With a puff of air, I blew the grains toward the males surrounding the tent. My eyes widened as my breath turned solid, twisted, gulped sand and grew until a towering cyclone carved a path from my fingertips toward the men. Curses rang out. Then I heard the screams. Warmth tickled my cheeks. My tears turned solid as they mixed with sand and flaked from my face. When I risked a glimpse beyond my hiding place, two males were missing. I prayed they had escaped. The third lay facedown in the sand, his leg twisted. I ran to him, pressed two fingers beneath his jaw. I felt a strong pulse, an outcome better than I’d dared hope. Turning toward the cyclone, I gritted my teeth and raised a hand. I used all my strength to deter its carnage. More screams arose. These came from families, the pitches varied from masculine to feminine to youths. I bought them time to seek shelter. The stables were nearby. The clinic sat on the opposite end of the residency tents, that
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much I remembered from my tour. If the colonists reached those spell-crafted walls, they would be safe. I only needed a few minutes. Then I could turn the storm into the open desert. No one would get hurt. Someone is already hurt. I shook my head to clear it. No one would die. I bit my lip, hoping I kept that promise. My girl was worth this, any sacrifice. Panting, I had to release the storm or let it drag me under. It churned, a tower of grit and gloom swirling against the dark sky. I ran straight for it, ducked inside the tent and climbed into the sled. I dropped a single bar of silver into my bag. More and I would be too weighted down to run. I fumbled a modest-sized chest from the stacks of silver surrounding it. The lock was stuck tight. Cursing my weakness, I stretched my senses toward the grimoire, and it sighed in pure bliss as it siphoned power into my fingertips. A harsh command broke the lock. I flung back the lid and reached inside. Several small boxes fit inside the main one. Partitioned orders maybe? I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. I snatched them and shoved them in my saddlebags. When I ran out of room, I stuffed the remaining ones into my top. The sharp wooden edges cut into my breasts. I absorbed the pain and cupped my chest. Darting from the protection of the tent, I ran after the storm. I met no one. Everyone was hiding. Good. I jogged toward the stable, skittering to a stop as I realized the shelter would be packed. I couldn’t waltz in and steal a horse or hope to separate mine from the herd. Sand pelted me, and I gasped for air but swallowed desert. What could I do? “Lady?” a voice called to me on the wind. Deafened by the roar of the storm, I missed whatever else he said. My attention had drifted from him to his horse. Whether he was a legionnaire on duty before the storm hit or had volunteered to gather lost souls, he was my
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salvation. Once he neared me, I held out my hand. When he took it, I let power unfurl through that contact. His back bowed. His horse screamed. Once I withdrew, he slid from the saddle and hit the ground. Stepping over him, I mounted the frantic mare. She danced, eyes wild in the face of the storm. My arm felt hung with weights as I lifted it, palm out, and began a low chanting that made the wind break for a moment before its enraged roar redoubled. It was not pleased, but it did obey. Assured the storm would spin itself out well past the colony, I guided the mare in the opposite direction and dug my heels into her sides. She was as eager to escape as I was. Once the howling ceased and the air cleared, I glanced back at the damage I’d done. Several tents had blown away and supplies scattered the dunes. I saw no more bodies. I prayed there were none. Zaniah have mercy on those poor souls. I gave in to bitter tears. For you have never shown mercy to me.
Ten steps, turn, ten steps, turn. Dillon retraced his tracks as he paced across his tent. He reached up and shook sand from his hair before more drifted into his eyes. He was working up a sweat and a temper. He’d seen the signs, knew a storm was rolling in but hadn’t uttered the first word of warning to anyone. Assuming they all knew the signs the same as him didn’t excuse him from the responsibility for Riley’s broken leg or Osher’s concussion. Both wounds were typical of weather-related injuries, but Mason’s wasn’t. Unless someone had supplied the storm with a hand-shaped stencil and a lightning bolt, they were looking at something else. Dillon frowned. Someone else was more like it, whose hands were smaller than a male’s but larger than a child’s. Hands that had accumulated more mileage on his body than any other female, save one.
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“He’s coming around,” Christophe said. The healer stepped aside and gave Dillon room to stand at the foot of his cot, where Mason lay sprawled. “Hey.” He waited until both of Mason’s eyes had cracked open. “What happened?” “Isabeau…” He swallowed and tried talking again. “Checking for scorps. Touched my back.” He rolled onto his side and gave Dillon a clear view of the handprint burnt into his skin. “Didn’t see it coming.” Mason’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t hurt…she’s…female.” Then he fell silent. Dillon rubbed his face with his palms until his eyes stung where grit ground into them. You saw what she did to Osher. Five more yards and it would have been Dillon unconscious beneath a blanket of sand. Instead, Osher had shown up ready to give her a ride to one of the storm shelters. Dillon had been so relieved, he’d almost turned, almost missed what came next. Osher had reached for her. Isabeau had taken his hand. Then what? If not for the third-degree burns across Osher’s palm, Dillon would have thought Osher had had a seizure the way he shook in the saddle. Isabeau, Emma’s healer, his healer, waited for Osher’s body to hit the ground and stepped over him. She swung into the saddle and urged his horse into a dead run from the storm. She hadn’t looked back. Why had she run? Easy, she almost killed two males. Okay, how had she done it? Both had entry and exit burns. If they’d been anywhere other than Askara, he would have guessed lightning strike or figured some other form of electricity was to blame. But this was Askara, and neither scenario was likely or explained the hand-shaped burns. His new best guess left his gut cold. Glamour. Magic was the most obvious choice, and usually the simplest answer was the right one. For Isabeau to wield that kind of power, she was either a very
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proficient Evanti or something else entirely. Next question—where had she gone? To the consulate? He doubted it. Magic or not, even if he knew how she’d done it, it didn’t explain why she’d done it. “I’ve got some news.” Dillon turned to find Church standing outside his tent, staring in. “What?” He grimaced. “You’re not going to like it.” Dillon already didn’t like any of this. “Are you going to tell me sometime today?” “I went with the others, like you said, to help with cleanup.” Church glanced over his shoulder. Low man on the totem pole, sent to tell the boss something the boss really wouldn’t want to hear. Dillon’s temper sizzled. “Don’t make me ask you again.” “The worst of the damage was by the hush tent. We went there first. Uriah went with us to do inventory.” His throat worked in a hard swallow. “Three bars of silver were missing, but we managed to recover two.” Another glance cast over his shoulder. Dillon could have told him no one was coming to save him. “The salt chest was cracked open, maybe on impact, but the salt—” “The salt is gone.” He shut his eyes, rubbed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Uriah said the smaller boxes were light, that maybe the cyclone sucked them up once the chest was open.” Church’s voice was laced with doubt. “I’ve experienced tornadoes, but this wasn’t like that. All the debris was in one area. Like the storm was stuck in a rut and spun itself out. We found canvas, snapped poles, everything you’d expect, but no boxes. Not a single one.” Dillon headed for the exit, pausing with his hand on the flap. “Christophe, is Mason stable?”
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“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “He will recover in a day, perhaps two.” “Good. When he wakes up, I want you to give him a message for me.” Dillon paused, considering what he could say that wouldn’t result in Mason tailing after him. He came up blank. “Never mind.” The second Mason was mobile, he’d follow Dillon. “Delay him as long as you can.” “I’ll brew him some of your tea,” Christophe offered. “That should buy you an extra day.” “Thanks.” The herbal tea hadn’t put Dillon to sleep, but it seemed to work fine on everyone else. He supposed biology was at fault. It’d take more than a shot of chamomile to knock him out. Shoving past Church, Dillon strode toward the hush tent, or what was left of it. Uriah stood over the toppled remains of the sled, his arms crossed and lips drawn tight. Silver bars were stacked on the edge, leaving a gap one bar wide. He kicked the empty chest and sent it tumbling. “Was that necessary?” Dillon liked that chest. “No.” Uriah turned. “But it made me feel better.” He grunted and indicated the sled with his chin. “We have a thief among us, a coward who used the storm for cover. All of the salt is gone.” “So Church told me.” He debated on letting them in on his suspicions as to who was at fault. “What will you do?” Uriah drummed his fingers. “The next shipment is due out tomorrow.” “We’ll send the silver on, cash in where we can.” Dillon stared. “As for the salt…I have an idea of who took it. I’ll need to leave now to catch her.” He glanced at Church. “Saddle Diani.”
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Church looked to Uriah, who had resumed glaring at the silver. “She’s the white one, right?” Dillon caught himself about to rub his eyes and forced his hand down. “Yeah. She is.” If Church hurt that mare even by accident, Harper would fashion her new saddle from Dillon’s hide for letting Church near her. “Come on. You can watch me this time.” They set off for the stables. The quiet seemed to grate on Church. “So Mason’s going to be okay.” “That’s what Christophe said.” Another bout of power-walking made Dillon’s leg ache. “If he wakes up and asks where I’ve gone, tell him I’ve gone after the thief and I’ll be back before the healer clears him to get out of bed.” Thief or not, dangerous or not, Isabeau couldn’t have made it far. He’d track her, reclaim the salt, send off the shipment as scheduled and then figure out what to do with Isabeau until Emma and Harper got back. Talk about piss-poor timing. Dillon stared off in the direction he’d last seen Isabeau and muttered, “What are you up to?” Several possibilities occurred to him, and they ranged from bad to worse. She’d been with him at the hush tent earlier, when he’d suspected a break-in. Had she sauntered into the tent secure in the knowledge the only tampering had been her own? Or had she brought a partner? That would explain her jawdropping arrival. Scatter the guards, put on a show up front while her partner got what they’d come for and snuck out the back undetected. Only Dillon had interrupted them. Had the partner been in the tent when they arrived? Had Isabeau known, and that was why she entered the tent without fear? Was that why she let him…? No. She wasn’t that type of female. Then what type was she? Lying and scheming, manipulative, it looked like. Caving into the pain throbbing behind his eyes, Dillon rubbed until his eyeballs threatened to burst like grapes under the pressure. Harper wouldn’t let
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Isabeau walk away from this. Whatever her reason, it wasn’t a good enough excuse to endanger the livelihood of the colonists. Dillon dropped his hands and waited for anger to snap his composure. None came. Instead his calf twinged a reminder of her with every step. Isabeau’s actions had just marked her. By order of the queen, justice was the colony’s to claim—his to claim. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, knowing if Harper were here, Dillon would be the one he sent to retrieve her. It would be his hands restraining her during her trial and his hands tying the noose about her neck if she were found guilty. While there were no witnesses to the crime, if she had salt on her… Glamour tingled across his scalp, tickling down his spine to his wing joints and lower. “Head to the stables,” he said to Church, straining to hold his illusion. “I’ll meet you there.” Once Church had gone, Dillon scanned the area. Another shiver sent his glamour sliding free of his skin. He rubbed the back of his neck. Swearing, he pulled back bloody fingers. Gingerly this time, he stroked from his hairline as far down as his hand would go. Shock dropped his arm. He sank to his knees into the sand and waited, hoping he was wrong. He smoothed past his nape. Spines. His first thought, his only thought, was this wasn’t proof Mason was right. It couldn’t be.
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Chapter Six
A mouthful of mane was the first indication my tithe to the grimoire had come due. Unable to sit upright, I let the saddle horn dig into my gut and the smells of horse fill my nostrils. Secure in my bag, the tome shifted with the horse’s steps, bumping against the back of my thigh, nudging me, reminding me of what it was owed and that it was as parched as the ancient papers its spells were written upon. Steady pulses of energy washed over my skin in sharp, stinging waves. “Give me a moment to…” I gasped as its static annoyance burst into slaps of genuine pain. My desperation fueled the grimoire’s greed, but if I paid my debt now I would be left vulnerable to discovery. I couldn’t afford to honor our bargain. Already it siphoned my energy, luring me into a dreamless sleep as it consumed the dregs of my will. Either I paid my tab in full, willingly, with blood, or it would ensure I paid my tab in full and left a healthy tip in the form of my death. A grimoire would remain sated for years after such a feast. I doubted its treacherous spine would crack after having such a meal. A priestess drained dry, how quenching. Pages full, its covers would close and it would sleep. Until the cost of sentience, the price of containing such powerful glamour, corralling it and controlling it, forced the grimoire into ravenous cooperation. Another slap of pain, and I jolted, agitating the mare. She snorted as I braced on her back and pushed myself upright in the saddle. A quick glance around told
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me I was a safe distance from the colony. Inhaling sharply, I spoke, even though I’m not convinced the book understood. “Once we reach—” Agony spread from the back of my thigh, up my leg, into my hip and through my chest until I wheezed in the viselike grip of its furious power. I clawed at my neck. All I managed was to snap my locket’s chain. When it slid through my fingers and hit the sand, I leapt from the mare. Pressure increased as the grimoire registered the distance between itself and my horse and me. On my knees, I sifted until I grasped the locket’s familiar contours. Wrapping chain about my wrist, I knotted the ends and made a bracelet. Rising on shaking legs, I trotted after the horse. The farther the mare ran, the easier I breathed. I gulped air and savored my lungs burning. I was trapped. The colony lay behind me, and Sere lay days before me. My spike of relief eddied. Forget the grimoire. The mare carried the bulk of the salt. The pittance shoved into my top wouldn’t purchase my freedom. More importantly, it wouldn’t buy my daughter’s freedom. What was the point of this charade if both of us weren’t freed? I had to get the horse and the salt back. The book…well…it had realized my reluctance to pay. Perhaps the best idea was to trail the mare. As long as no one was around, I didn’t see the harm. I’d guard the book and the salt but from a safe distance so the book couldn’t touch me. I rubbed my neck. Yes. I liked that plan.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. For a moment, I considered whether or not it was worth the effort to lick my own sweat droplets. Then I
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realized I wasn’t sweating. I was past that. Once you were thirsty, you were already dehydrated. Out here, on foot, I was digging my grave. After hours of trudging through shifting sand, I acknowledged the plan of following the mare wasn’t my best idea. I blamed exhaustion or blind panic for making me think that allowing my sole transportation to run from me was anything less than suicidal. After securing my locket, the salt and the grimoire had been my priorities. Only now did I recall the water tins and meager rations legionaries carried on patrol were also strapped behind the saddle. And the horse? Gone. Her hoofprints were blown smooth before I reached the freshest set. Her bay hindquarters were all I saw now. If I’d had Dillon’s horse carving to hold to the horizon, I bet their size would match. Some thief I was. Perhaps I was the whore Roland had named me, except my skill in that area was untried and untested. My title of priestess had been voided the night I accepted Roland into my bed. What did that make me? I was a failed mother and friend, things that mattered most. “I am a healer.” My self-assurance fell short. What sort of healer uses her talents against the lives under her care? A desperate healer with a narrower goal than benefiting Harper’s many. My steps came heavier now. I was wearing down, ready to fall down if I were being honest. I took one step, and this time my leg snagged. With a jerk, I freed it and carried on another two steps before the opposite leg caught. I glanced down, and a low whimper passed through my lips. Desert swirled below me and suckled the toe of my boot. Grains abraded the leather, and in a panicked flash I imagined the same weary grind against my flesh, my bones. My voice failed as I mouthed the words sand trap. I caged my panic as the hum of spell crafting whirled beneath me. Don’t panic. One step forward and… I was stuck.
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Sand traps were magical remnants of failed roadways or forgotten buildings. Others were strong spells gone awry and gone to ground. Once their tethers were cut, the strongest sections broke free. With no spell crafter to rein them in, they scoured the desert, mindless predators in search of energy to consume. Now I hopped as my ankle mired in the hungry void churning ever closer to my other foot. The ground beneath me began shifting as the sand trap spun farther out. “Give me your hand,” a masculine voice growled from over my shoulder. I started, putting weight on my stuck foot and sinking lower. Stumbling, I pitched forward. “Isabeau,” he snapped. “Give me your damn hand.” With clumsy effort, I threw my arm behind me and let Dillon’s rough hand enclose mine. The soft assurance of Isabeau’s hand in his allowed Dillon his first easy breath since witnessing her attack on Osher. She’s safe. His jaw set. Safe was a relative term considering why he was here now. When she glanced over her shoulder, those dark eyes of hers met his. The skin beneath them was smudged with exhaustion. His chest wound tight. I shouldn’t give a damn. “It’s a sand trap.” Most city-dwellers hadn’t encountered them before and they panicked. That spike of energy was all the encouragement most traps needed to chomp on their next meal. Other than when he’d surprised her, she hadn’t moved. She appeared remarkably calm. Her chin upped a notch. “I know what it is.” Why wasn’t he surprised? “Do you know how to get out?” This time her answer came slower. “I’m not sure I can.”
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If she’d been any other thief, female or not, he would have left her there and called justice served, but this was Isabeau. If she was Evanti, their race couldn’t afford to lose her. Females were too rare, even the troublesome ones—as if they came in any other flavor. Besides the fact she had saved his leg, she’d hovered at his bedside for months during his recovery. He owed her the benefit of the doubt. Justice would not be meted by him jumping to a wrong conclusion. Damn those were lame excuses. The bottom line was, his skin itched with glamour now that he was touching her again. Even if he decided to leave, he wouldn’t get far. He was stuck as tight as she was. A single thought jostled past the others, something his father had said when Dillon caught his parents kissing and made the mistake of wrinkling his nose at them. Primes mate for life. Father had turned a heartbroken smile on Mother. It is too short a time. He must have known, even then, what the ancients had planned. Dillon’s parents both died days later, protecting their children from Askaran enslavement. Both had died for nothing. His brothers were lost to different masters. He thought he remembered a sister. Now he wasn’t sure. “Dillon?” Isabeau’s voice snapped him to attention. Her gaze drifted from him to his horse. He almost laughed. Stuck in magical quicksand and she was already planning her escape by stealing Diani. “Are you helping me out or holding me down until the sand trap finishes its job?” “As tempting as that is, I can see salt cubes in your top.” He cleared his throat when she arched her brows. “I’m going to get you out, and then you’re going to tell me where the rest is.” She nodded. “Fair enough.”
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He exhaled with relief that they were acting civil. “You’re too weak to do this the easy way, so the hard way it is.” His chest wound tight with undeniable anticipation. “Drop your glamour.” Her eyes rounded. “Excuse me?” “You know how these traps work. They’re attracted to energy. You’re wearing glamour, I can feel it. I bet the trap does too. Drop it, and it will be easier for me to get you out,” he coaxed. She began struggling in his grip and sinking deeper into the sand. “Stop fighting me. I’m here to help you.” “You’re here to retrieve your salt.” She didn’t sound too happy about the prospect. Noticing how far she’d sunk, she held still. “I’m not lowering my glamour. Help me get out another way.” Maybe he had sounded too eager to see beneath her illusion. “What if I don’t look?” “That’s a dirty trick.” She scoffed. “I’m trapped, and you’re forcing me to expose myself.” “I’m asking you to help me save your life.” Her lips formed a mulish line no words could squeeze past. The ground shifted beneath his feet. A glance down confirmed the trap was inching his way. “If we don’t start soon, the trap will be under me and I’ll have no choice but to leave you.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Don’t make me choose your life or mine. I’m selfish. You’ll lose.” Her indelicate snort said she didn’t believe him, probably because his voice had cracked under the stress and he wouldn’t have believed himself, either. “Isabeau,” he warned. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She tried releasing his hand. “I don’t want you to risk yourself. You can’t afford injury to your leg out here in case you encounter raiders on the way to the colony.”
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“Suit yourself.” His protective instincts screamed denial as he let her go. Stubborn fingers refused to pry loose and got tangled in her bracelet. With a quick jerk, he snatched free, chain in hand. Isabeau’s head snapped toward him. Her sharp glance from her wrist to his hand had him closing his fingers over his prize. She hopped on one foot and clawed at the air, reaching for him. Oh yes, she wanted this back bad enough to fight him and the trap for it. As if realizing her mistake, she stood tall as her one leg allowed and ordered, “Give it back.” “What, this?” He dangled the locket between them. Isabeau swiped at him. He danced back a step. She scowled. He grinned. Now we’re talking. “Dillon, please.” Her gaze hadn’t left his hand. “It’s mine and I want it back.” He laughed, startling them both. “So says the thief. I should take this, and you, as my due.” He bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant to add that last part. Glamour rippled on his skin. Her eyes widened. “Are you—?” “I’m fine.” He grunted under the strain of repairing his illusion. Once it snapped into place, he didn’t waste time worrying over how she stared at the sand at his feet instead of his eyes. Had she seen…? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Sorry about this.” He kicked the bend of her knee and watched it buckle, heard her panicked gasp as she dropped backwards and hit the sand. “What are you—?” She tilted her head back, and the betrayal in her eyes made him pause. “You wanted to do this the hard way.” He tucked her necklace into his pocket and reached down. “Hold my hands.” She grasped his wrists. “Now that
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your weight is off that foot, I want you to work it in a slow circle. Make some room so the energy flows down and dilutes the sand.” A raspy chuckle made him stare. “You sound like you’ve done this before.” “This is standard legionnaire training.” Talking seemed to take her mind off her predicament, so he kept going. “The recruits from Earth are grass-green and have no idea what they’re facing here. Back home, magic doesn’t exist. Yeah, there’s glamour, but it’s like wearing clothes. All the earthborn Evanti begin learning concealment from birth.” To live among humans, they had to. “But that’s the thing, by making it everyday ordinary, it loses that spark.” She grunted. “You show them there’s more to glamour than using it as a disguise.” “Someone has to. It’s dangerous here.” He frowned at her. “Glamour is different here. It’s more because there are different demon breeds and different means of manipulation. Sand traps are perfect teaching tools. They’re more scavenger than predator and easy enough to escape if you keep a level head.” He noticed her foot was free except for her toes and began walking backwards slow and steady. “It’s a good lesson in how magic corrupts its containers, becomes sentient, and how remaining aware means we avoid falling prey to it or more malicious breeds.” “You don’t care much for the other breeds.” Her breath caught when he pulled too hard. He had never considered it in those terms, but, “No. I don’t.” His admission gave voice to a creeping suspicion that maybe he wasn’t all that different from the purists who only wanted him for his blood. If he wasn’t denying his disinterest in other breeds, then he was admitting his libido had only sparked for one female whose breed remained a mystery. One he feared solving. “Hmm.” Isabeau didn’t reply. Her lids were drooping. Not a good sign.
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“Hold tight.” One more tug and she pulled free with a hushed groan that sent him stumbling back. His bad leg buckled and he fell. She landed with a grunt on top of him. For a minute, they lay there and caught their breaths. His spine was board straight, and Isabeau was spread eagle across him. The back of her head rested on his crotch while her arms and legs sprawled over his. Dillon gave up hope of concealing his reaction to her, but before he jabbed her in the neck, he sat up and grasped her shoulders, pushing her upright so she sat between his legs. His efforts were wasted. She slumped against his chest, her head falling back on his shoulder. His cock pressed snug against her ass. The hard part ought to be coming up with an excuse that didn’t involve a flashlight and a front pants pocket, but he barely managed not to rock his hips forward. “We need to talk.” When she didn’t answer, he turned his face into her hair and inhaled. His nape stung in warning before spines erupted down his neck. Where his hands gripped her shoulders, they contrasted dark against light. Fuck no. She gasped. He stuttered. “I can explain.” Her face turned toward his. Not a gasp, a snore. “Isabeau?” he asked to be certain. In answer, she buried her nose against his throat. “Hmm?” “Nothing.” His arms were stiff where he folded them around her waist. He ought to move. No one was immune to the desert heat. Linger here and he’d become as dehydrated as she was. Then they’d be prey for sand traps, raiders or other godforsaken scavengers combing the dunes. The soft puff of her breath across his neck froze him in place. Her fingers tangled with his, and she made a low moan in the back of her throat. She’d been out here for the better part of a day before he had found her. Sun sickness might have set in, but he’d bet thirst was the culprit.
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He glanced around. No horse and no more salt. Enough cubes were shoved down her top to prove she’d been the one to steal them, but where was the rest? The best he could figure was her partner had ditched her and escaped with the bulk of their loot, leaving her with enough evidence to incriminate her. Brought to justice or left to die. Either way, her partner would be free and clear. All she had were the clothes on her back and a battered locket. Something about it had her fired up and ready to fight him for it. Was it stolen too? It must be more valuable than it looked. Careful not to jostle Isabeau, Dillon leaned to one side and dug in his pocket. His hand closed over warm metal, and he withdrew the necklace to get a good look at it. It was oval, plain. Scratches marred the cover, and the clasp had seen better days. Spots of bronze shined through where someone or something had rubbed past the silver plate. When he popped open the clasp, a bit of string fell onto the sand. Fumbling, he tried to catch it but missed because his gaze was glued inside the locket, where a miniature portrait of a miniature Isabeau stared back at him. His same primal core that waked whenever Isabeau was near raged against the implication she belonged to another male. She was his. “No, she isn’t.” Saying the words aloud didn’t help. On his third attempt, he managed to break from the tiny face staring back at him to see what else she’d kept in there. Part of him hoped this was an heirloom piece. It would explain the wear on the finish. The little girl was Isabeau’s twin, so maybe she was Isabeau when she was a child. Shaking sand from the string, he realized it wasn’t thread. It was a lock of braided hair. He swallowed. It could still be hers. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled fresh violets, he knew. Isabeau had a child.
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Did she also have a mate? His nose pressed against her hair, smelling pears. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” This changed everything. He had hard questions to ask and he better damn well like her answers.
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Chapter Seven
Footsteps jarred me from sleep. I jerked upright and groaned as the world spun before my eyes. Darkness enveloped all sides of me but one. Glaring sunlight illuminated a long…tunnel? My eyes watered as I squinted. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I saw rock walls and scattered debris. My hand went to my necklace, and the knot in my chest loosened until the sound of boot hitting stone made my heart skitter. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was the… “You’re awake. Good.” I jumped at the sound of Dillon’s voice. Rays of sun poured over his shoulder, blacking out his face and keeping me from reading his expression. His tone was neutral, his shoulders relaxed. A better reception than I had anticipated. I shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Where are we?” “No ‘thanks for saving my life’?” He grunted. “Guess I should have seen that coming.” Spine straight as I could make it, I said, “I didn’t need your help, but thank you.” Nodding, he walked until his boot nudged my leg. He squatted and offered me a cool tin. I snatched it from his hands and took one hard gulp before he ripped it from my hand. “What—?”
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“Sip nice and slow.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you chug the water, you’ll vomit it right back up and the next batch won’t be nearly as cool or as clean. I promise you that.” The first sip made my throat quiver. Another sip, then another, until I was gulping fast as the water hit my mouth. Dillon reached for my hand, but it was too late. I’d drunk it all and I heaved. “Damn it.” He rose and stepped back while I emptied my stomach at his feet. “I told you to take it easy.” Once I finished, he grabbed me around the waist, sending a fresh wave of nausea roiling through my tender stomach, and then carried me to a nearby rock and set me on the edge. “Sorry,” I mumbled. He glanced up, nodded. “Tilt your head back.” I did as I was told, and the tunnel spun around me. Before I could complain, more of the same delicious coolness trickled across my parched lips. I opened my mouth, and Dillon poured me a swallow at a time. Enough I was desperate for more, but not enough I gagged or choked. “That’s enough for now.” Something rough swiped across my mouth, his shirt. After I processed his words, I lowered my chin and met his gaze. His eyes were my favorite of his features. It was no chore for me to stare into them and wait for him to begin his questions. After a moment, he rolled his shoulders and reached behind his head. Scratching his neck, he withdrew bloodied fingers. Crouching before me, he wiped at his hands. “We need to talk.” “What happened?” Sickness cast aside, I rose and circled him. “Why are you bleeding?”
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“It’s nothing.” He whirled before I reached his back. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.” Dodging his arm, I glared up at him. “Did something happen? I didn’t—” Blood drained in an icy rush from my face. I tried again, hating how my voice shook. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “No. You didn’t.” His eyes darkened, and I knew he was thinking of those I had hurt. “Oh.” Cursing my twisted thoughts, I grasped the simplest answer and held tight. “I thought I might have scratched you. You don’t want to risk another bacterial infection from unclean sand in your wound. Losing a leg is one thing, but an aggressive infection near your spine is another.” He blinked, considering. A roll of his shoulder dismissed the danger. Stubborn male. “You never said where we were.” I rubbed my arms as I peered down the darkened maw. “Think about it.” He stood at my shoulder and stared too. The bottom dropped from my stomach. Natural caves were rare, and these walls were far too smooth. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw the torch holders and the empty crates. Scattered tools and a worn bench gave me my answer. My knees buckled. “We’re in the mines, beneath the colony.” Events from the past two days flashed before my eyes. I’d hurt innocent males, destroyed colony property, lied to those I called friends, all for nothing. I was right back where I’d started from, with no salt, no escape and no hope. I turned slowly. “Why did you bring me down here?” “I’m not going to hurt you, Isabeau.” His sigh sounded tired. “God knows someone ought to knock some sense into you, but it’s not going to be me. I’ll
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leave that up to Emma.” He gripped my arms and shoved me toward the bench. “Who is your accomplice? Who put you up to this?” I landed with a thump but lurched to my feet the second I gained my balance. “N-no one.” He stalked closer. “We both know that’s a lie.” Dillon might not want to hurt me, but Roland lacked such mercy in his heart or compassion for my plight. If I gave Dillon his name, Roland would kill the one thing he had I wanted, and he would own me for the rest of my life. Death was too mild a fate. I would suffer for my failures. “You incapacitated Mason—somehow—and then you used the storm for cover to steal the salt.” He kept coming closer. “I don’t believe for a minute you’d think up something so stupid on your own. You know Harper. You know me. You knew even if Emma stepped between us, he would demand justice, and you know I’d mete it out.” He shook his head. “Is it the salt? If that’s it, then you could have asked Harper, and he would have given you enough to see you through.” Now he’d lost me. “What are you talking about?” His broad finger tapped the locket between my breasts. The locket I’d been wearing as a bracelet when I’d fainted. Only now it was knotted around my neck. I touched it, knowing without asking that he’d opened it. So he knew. Was that why he had shown mercy to me so far? “You have a child.” His voice grated. “Are you—? Damn it. Are you expecting another?” He took another step, pressed me to the wall. “Is that why you needed the salt?” His breath hit my face, and our noses almost brushed. “You had no reason to steal, but at least I can understand—” I couldn’t help it. I laughed in his face. “I’m not pregnant.”
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His eyes shone, a predator with prey locked in his sights. “Then is the bastard who put you up to this the father of your children?” He punched the wall beside my head. “Was he using your position, the unrest in Askara, to guilt you into stealing from us? Cash in and start a new life in a kingdom far, far away. Did he feed you the line about wanting a better life for you and his kids?” “No.” My laughter dried in my throat. “No, he didn’t put you up to it or no, he didn’t use that line. Did he have a better one?” I pinched my lips closed. Confide in Dillon or confront Roland. I lost either way. “No.” “Don’t play with me. I promise you won’t like the outcome.” Fisting the front of my shirt, he dragged me precious inches nearer. “Answer me.” His voice lowered. “What kind of male lets his female take all the risks and then leaves her alone in the desert?” He was careful of me. Not gentle, not rough, either. He took pains not to hurt me. Yet. He snarled, “Where is your mate?” I shoved at him. “I don’t have one.” His lips parted, and I waited for his next accusation. None came. His grip tightened as he dragged me closer. “Damn you.” His head lowered, and his mouth covered mine. His lips were hard, his kiss angry. One arm circled my back and flattened me to him while his other hand tangled his fingers in my hair. Most of it had fallen loose, and he wound the thick strands around his fist and tore our mouths apart. Panting hard, he scowled down at me as if this were all somehow my fault. He was tense, and his fury vibrated along his skin. I pushed at his chest in an effort to put space between us, but he wasn’t having any of it. He molded me to him until his heartbeat pounded on my chest. His eyes were mirror-bright and full silver. It was a small crack in his glamour, his second today. What did that mean?
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“Let me go, please.” I shoved at him again. “I’ll answer what questions I can, I promise.” “I don’t think I can.” Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled. His tongue slipped out to lick the sweat from my skin, and my lungs deflated on a sigh that coaxed a pained groan from Dillon. He shivered in my arms, and I held him, stroking across his shoulder and down his back as my mind churned with possibilities. “How are you feeling?” The cut to his neck might explain his fevered skin and racing heart. I had a theory that his time on Earth had lowered his resistance to bacteria native to Askara. Exposure to a new strain could make his old ailments flair, I thought. “Just…give me…a minute.” Heavy panting dampened my neck, but his grip loosened and he managed to pull back and glare down at me. “Don’t move.” He stumbled from me. “I need air.” He pointed to the bench. “Sit your ass down.” He cupped the back of his neck as he turned. “Wait.” I ran forward and touched his elbow. “Let me help you.” “I don’t need your help.” His growl froze me in my tracks. “Don’t touch me.” I would have said he was the one having trouble keeping his hands to himself, but I could use the reprieve. He could get his air and clear his head while I used his absence to clear mine. I watched him stalk to the mouth of the cave. If I so much as took a step, he would hear me. Even with his leg still on the mend, he wasn’t a male I wanted to cross. I wasn’t going to go anywhere. Time for a new plan. I sat on the bench and rested my head against the wall of the mine. He had brought me down here rather than turn me in for a reason. Whether it was his sickness or something else, I couldn’t say. Tucking my locket into my top, I brushed skin instead of pointed edges or salt cubes. My breasts were nicked and scratched. I readjusted the fabric to cover them.
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Across the tunnel, I spied a battered crate near where I’d awakened. Leaning forward as far as I dared, I made out several cubes of salt stacked neatly inside. Balanced on the topmost square sat the broken horse carving I’d stolen from Dillon’s tent. Balled in the bottom was the handkerchief stained with his blood. I knew I should snatch my prize, but after what I’d done to Mason…I had lost my appetite. While Dillon’s back was turned, I crept toward the box and snitched the horse. Why the attachment? I supposed I wanted something of his to hold on to once this ended. Rock crunched under a heavy boot. I froze, then rushed back to my seat. When no reprimand came, I glanced his way. He shifted his weight and massaged his neck as he stared at the desert. His fever-addled mind was dangerous, but it might also prove my best hope for escape. The healer in me longed to examine him, but I doubted he would trust me near him now. He knew I’d hurt Mason and the legionnaire whose horse I’d stolen. That blasted horse. I had to catch her. If I told Dillon his salt was strapped to her back, he would mount a recovery effort. Bringing me along would be foolhardy. Why give a dangerous prisoner freedom? No. He’d leave me behind. It made the most sense. Perhaps if I were lucky my new jailer would be less attentive. Break free, await Dillon’s return, steal the salt and then…hope I made it farther this time. Air at the edge of the mine was stifling, but Dillon would rather face the midday sun than the demoness waiting for his return. So much for asking the hard questions. Her accomplice, and she must have one, remained a mystery.
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Now that his mind was clearing, he noticed she hadn’t said the father of her child wasn’t involved. Father of her child. A growl pumped through his chest. He didn’t like that idea. Not one bit. So she had a daughter but not a mate. Or had she lied again? Frowning, he massaged his nape while gathering his wits about him. Isabeau as a mother… He admitted it wasn’t a far stretch to imagine her in the role. Even her lack of a mate was easily explained. Slaves birthed their owners’ bastards all the time. Most were sold once they reached a self-sufficient age. The girl in the portrait had the same roundness in her cheeks that Galvin had had until this last year. Based on that, he’d peg her at four or five years old. Old enough she must belong to Isabeau’s former master, whoever the bastard was. His hands balled. Focus. The past can’t be changed. Accept it, deal with it and move on. Accept it. She had a child. Between females aided by the freeborn legion and the consulate, so did one out of every four rescued, and his estimation wasn’t generous. Accepting she might be protecting the girl’s father was harder. It hinted at a relationship she had denied. Deal with it. She wasn’t his, and he didn’t want a mate. Move on. Claiming meant surrendering freedom he had fought too hard and lost too much achieving. No female deserved that level of control over him. With his resolve fortified, he turned and made his way back to his prisoner. She stood and stepped forward. “Are you feeling better?” He ignored her concern. “I shouldn’t have done that.” For a myriad of reasons. Her lips curved. “Another mistake?”
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“Yeah, it was,” Dillon agreed. She sounded fine with that, which made his hackles rise. “Sit.” He indicated the bench again, and she did as he asked. “You and I need to have that talk.” He folded his arms. “All right.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “Where would you like to start?” “First off, is the consulate stable or should I send someone to check on the boarders?” Her hands held her attention. “I left Lindsay in charge. There are enough supplies to last until Emma returns, and Lindsay has access to consulate funds if she needs to make a purchase.” “Good.” Her thoughtfulness shouldn’t have surprised him. “In that case, I’ll let Lindsay keep doing what she’s doing for now. What happened—the news will come easier from Emma.” “I agree.” Her shoulders hunched. “Lindsay is protective of me. She won’t believe… You’ll need another halfling there to restrain her.” She glanced up at him. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” “She won’t be.” The legionaries who went would be another matter. Halflings were loyal to a fault and volatile. The last thing he wanted was Lindsay harmed when the betrayal hurt enough. “You also might want to consider waiting outside while Emma breaks the news.” He grunted. “Still carrying a grudge, is she?” Isabeau’s brow creased. “A well-deserved one, yes, she is.” A minute stretched long between them, and he shook his head. Falling into conversation with her was too easy. Prolonging the inevitable wasn’t Dillon’s style. Time to do what Harper paid him for. Someone meticulous as Isabeau wouldn’t waltz into the colony without a plan. “You realize you’re admitting the theft was premeditated?” He paused. “That won’t look good for you.” No
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response. “How long have you planned this?” Nothing. “Was this your goal all along?” Rolling her eyes, she said, “When I started working for Emma, she had no contact with Harper except exchanging correspondence and samples. So no, this wasn’t some grand scheme.” “You handled the core samples.” He considered her a moment. “The idea could have been percolating for the past year. You just didn’t have the means of pulling it off until Emma and Harper reconciled. Then you trailed along, took your little tour of the colony and got up the confidence to at least try.” Fool that he was, he never saw it coming. “That was a nice touch earlier. Pretending interest in Aldrich’s light instead of the salt. Acting like you didn’t know the next shipment was ready to go when you probably watched Emma sign each of the city passes. You knew she and Harper would be gone and that a shipment was ready or we wouldn’t be heading to town.” His gut twisted as more pieces fell into place. “And maybe you thought I’d go easier on you than they would if you were caught. Maybe you thought I owed you for my leg.” Her eyes blazed. “It wasn’t like that.” So he’d touched a sore spot. Good. Time to see what happened when he poked it harder. “I don’t know. Some sthudai have a hard time adjusting to freedom, to holding down regular jobs.” He forced out the words. “Some think they can still pay their way through life with sex.” He met her glare. “You never mentioned what slave caste you belonged to. Sthudal…or sthudai?” Furious red suffused her cheeks. “I am not a whore.” Oh yes, he’d found her hot button. “Sthudai don’t use that word.” His smile was grim. “I should know.” Her gaze cut from his. “What? Don’t like that little reminder of what I was? Or you just don’t like remembering what you were?”
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She didn’t speak. “Sweetheart, I’m just as fucked up as you are, but I’d never call myself a whore. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wasn’t paid for my services.” He waited for her comeback, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted. “Okay, let’s pretend you didn’t think you could bribe me with sex.” Her cheek, what he could see of it, colored. “You still came to the colony with intentions to steal from us.” “And?” Her voice was too low to match the challenge held in that single word. “I want to know why. If you aren’t…pregnant…then you didn’t need the salt. There goes your best defense. Your kids can’t be hurting for food or necessities or you’d have damn well told Emma about them.” He tried to dull the edge of resentment in his voice and failed. “Give me something, anything that can help your case. Why did you have to steal? What’s in this for you?” “I don’t have children,” she said finally. “I have one child, a daughter.” He paused long enough to ask, “Does Emma know?” A shake of her head was his answer. “You’ve lived apart for more than a year. Why keep her a secret?” The rumble returned to his tone. “If you’re unmated, who’s caring for her? Is it the same person who put you up to this?” “Why are you so certain I didn’t devise this on my own?” Her hand went to her necklace. “I chose to serve my master, faithfully, and I enjoyed being with him.” He heard what she didn’t say. She’d enjoyed it…at first. Something changed that, and he’d be willing to bet it involved that pretty little face in the locket she was clinging to. “So you see, my plan failed. Mine.” Dillon ran his hand down his face. “I don’t believe you.” Time was running out. Let her keep her secrets…for now. Once he had the salt secured, he could
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unravel the mystery of Isabeau one lie at the time. Until then, he had to push past his curiosity and do what he did best—his job. “About which part?” she retorted. “Where I was enslaved by choice—?” “Stop trying to shock me. I’m fresh out of surprise.” He met her glare. “I don’t care about your past.” A lie if he’d ever told one. “All I care about is where the salt is, who has it, and how you plan on getting it back.” He watched as she blanched. “That’s not the response I hoped for.” “You’re right. Our personal lives have nothing to do with this.” Isabeau’s voice cooled. He got the message. Her kid was off limits. Not a problem. Not yet at least. “I would return the salt, but I really don’t have it.” Scanning her face for the telltale signs of a lie, he found none. Oh hell. “What happened?” “I stole a horse from one of the legionaries.” She picked at a fingernail. “The storm spooked the mare worse than I’d realized. I managed to hang on until we reached the open desert, but when I tried to slow her down, she bucked me off and ran away. That’s why you found me where you did.” Noticing her nervous tell, she folded her hands. “I didn’t have an accomplice with me.” Throbbing pain behind Dillon’s eye made him blink. “You’re telling me there’s a horse out there with the rest of my salt on its back, without a rider? Where raiders could catch it or kill it?” Her lips compressed. Then a reluctant, “Yes.” “You’re either very smart and we’re about to go on a wild-goose chase, or you’re the very worst thief I’ve ever heard of.” Yet she had almost gotten away with it. Such a simple answer, it boggled his mind. This explained everything except the why, and he had a theory about that too. While he had no clue who’d been Isabeau’s master, he saw now he’d have to find out. The fact she’d kept her daughter a secret even from Emma, when he
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knew the females were close, meant Isabeau had good reason to fear for her child’s safety. It also meant she had good reason to risk it all for a chance to cash in and walk out with enough coin for a brand-new start for two. He should have thought of it sooner. There were outreach programs in place now for slaves who had birthed children of interest. Most times, it was a nonissue. Once or twice, the topic of paternity had resulted in the murder of both the female and the child. For example, if a noble’s wife proved to be infertile, then why not let his mistress carry his heir? Wives weren’t fond of the solution, but most accepted it was part of the price they paid for maintaining their social statuses. Envisioning how it must have played out for Isabeau came easy to him. Her master demanded an heir. She provided him with one, by choice or by force. Then her master’s wife used the old “we can’t risk someone noticing our daughter resembles your mistress” line in the hopes of ridding herself of Isabeau while ensuring a scandal-free succession. But there was a problem. Isabeau wouldn’t fork over her kid. She fought them for custody. Then the news broke that Askaran slaves had been freed. Isabeau wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have grabbed the girl and run. After hiding her daughter in a secure location, she went to work for Emma at the consulate in the safest place for an ex-slave—under the new consul’s protection. His scenario also explained why she’d never accepted placement. She took the position of resident healer as well as Emma’s personal assistant, in addition to other duties she performed to keep the consulate running smoothly. It was a lot of work with little pay and even less gratitude. Yeah, this fit his idea of Isabeau. Hiding in plain sight, waiting until the stars aligned, or in this case, Emma and Harper reconciled. Pure salt worth a small
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fortune was in easy reach. The promise of true freedom for her and her daughter loomed. While his theory had plenty of room for holes, and it still didn’t excuse her actions, it did cast her motives into a more favorable light. When the pain spiked again and his vision wavered, Dillon asked himself at what point he’d begun preparing her a defense against Harper. Then he decided he probably didn’t want to know.
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Chapter Eight
Hunched behind Dillon’s back, I hid my face from the sun while I inhaled clean sweat and stubborn male. After deeming me a flight risk, which was ridiculous considering he was the one with wings, he had mounted Diani and ordered me to climb up behind him. I supposed my poor horsemanship might be the reason he demanded I ride with him. Horses were expensive, and I’d already lost one. Lost wasn’t the right word, but I would rather be embarrassed than explain myself. Our mare picked her way across the dunes without complaint. Dillon was even less vocal unless he was barking orders. Wrap your arms around my waist. Don’t thumb the ridges of my stomach. Stop humming. He expected me to ride in perfect quiet, but my nerves were strung taut. For whatever reason, he wanted my company. I’d tried convincing him that, as a criminal, I deserved to be locked up at the colony. The look he’d turned on me when I suggested one of the other legionaries could guard me had made me shiver. Was he so possessive of all his prisoners? I somehow thought not. Perhaps I was special because of my ties to Emma. I considered he might still believe I had an accomplice and I could bargain with him better than Dillon could. Though if he believed I had been abandoned on purpose, I didn’t see how he thought my presence would help. More than likely, he feared what might become of me if I were left at the mercy of the males I’d taunted with my choice of outfit. I picked at my top and wished for a change of clothes.
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Dillon’s voice drifted over his shoulder. “Hold still.” “Sorry.” I rested my forehead against his back and shut my eyes. He wiggled in his seat. “Can you not do that?” “What exactly can I do? I’m not to touch you, talk to you or entertain myself. What’s left?” “Sit still and keep an eye out,” he groused. “We have a horse to find and two sets of eyes are better than one.” He glanced left. “There’s an oasis a day’s ride from here. I bet she heads there.” “She’s been out in this heat without water, are you sure we shouldn’t be looking for…?” “A body?” Laughter rumbled through his back as he assured me. “Tessa is Nisean. She can go three or four days without water even out here. She’ll be fine until we catch up with her.” He paused as if debating before adding, “She was one of Harper’s souvenirs from our trip to Rihos.” I struggled for what I should say. Because of my involvement with Roland, I had heard his story and Emma’s version of events. I worried I would cross the two and make a worse mess if I spoke with Dillon and heard a third accounting. I knew what I needed to know about those days. Roland had lied to Emma, used her to lure Harper to the castle. Salt rights had been what he wanted. The Nisean horses Dillon had mentioned were a specialized breed, and they were the signature breed of the Bernhard family. While the progesaline found in salt was a necessary supplement to demon females, mares required no such fortification. Roland had discovered that by dosing them with the false hormone, they would go into heat. Then it was a simple matter of breeding them so they foaled together. He had used the salt to turn a natural cycle into a business solution. He used salt that could have saved countless females’ lives to aid his breeding program.
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If not for my familiarity with his excess, I would have been appalled. The safest topic for me to pursue was one avoiding Roland and his horses, not to mention all talk of that particular event. “I remember Emma mentioning the horses,” I said. “I met the other, a gray one, I think.” I couldn’t recall. After so many months, the details weren’t important. “Aldrich hitched him to the sled he used to deliver you to me, but I didn’t get a good look.” Dillon had been my only concern at the time. “I had other priorities, Emma’s safety and saving the leg of a certain stubborn male.” Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “Did I ever thank you for that?” “It’s my job,” I answered truthfully. “You don’t have to thank me for doing it.” He grunted. “I figured you’d say something like that.” “What was I supposed to say? That you were the worst patient I’d ever had? That you tore your stitches four times in the first week because you refused to lay still and heal? Or that you—” “Emma was right.” I heard amusement in his voice. “You don’t pull punches, do you?” “You don’t know that I was going to say something negative.” “Judging by the list you were rattling off, I figured it was a safe assumption.” He lasted a full minute before he cracked. “I’ll probably regret asking you, but what were you going to say?” I pinched his side for his comment, and he jolted, earning an irritated snort from Diani. He patted her side awkwardly. To me, he asked, “You were saying?” “Hmm?” I patted Diani in apology as well. “I forgot.” “Isabeau…” He warned.
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To our left, a dark blur caught my eye. “Did you see that?” I strained for another glimpse. Dillon twisted so his line of sight merged with mine. “Don’t try to change the subject.” “I thought I saw…something dark. I’m not sure. It was gone too fast for me to tell.” “It could have been a mirage.” He bared his teeth. “No such luck. We’ve got company.” My arms tightened around his waist. “Do you think raiders followed us from the colony?” “I’m not sure.” He gave the mare a solid pat. “Harper’s going to be pissed, but we’ve got to shake whoever’s on our tail.” He dug his heels into her sides, and she broke into a run. My eyes burned as she kicked up sand that caught on the wind and pelted my face. I managed to pry my eyes open in time to realize that he was right. The blur was back, and this time he wasn’t alone. Five Evanti glided over the sand heading straight for us. Their dark skin gleamed, and their ruddy wings spanned the horizon. Their V-shaped formation made spotting their leader easy. He lifted his arm and pointed at me as he led their charge. I leaned into Dillon. “What’s happening?” “If I had to guess,” he said on a growl, “I’d say some of your admirers from the colony decided they wanted to pay you an unsupervised visit. They’re in a perfect formation. That’s not good. It means they have experience hunting together.” He urged Diani harder. “Not good at all.” “What are we going to do?” I raised my voice to be heard, and he shushed me. Pressing my lips together, I kept my questions to myself. I understood why he didn’t answer, the others might hear, and we had enough problems. No
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matter how hard Diani ran, she couldn’t match the males’ long wing strokes. We were losing ground, and they were gaining faster than Diani could recover. My heart sped and my palms tingled. Though I was still drained, useless without the grimoire to borrow from, fear lent me strength. Looking for stronger mooring than his shirt, I grasped Dillon’s belt and held tight. Then I brought my other hand around and watched as sparks ignited in my palm. Dangerous to use magic when I had so little, but a dead priestess had no use for her spells at all. Stealing a quick glance at the leader of the hunt, I decided he was my target. Twisting in the saddle, I flung my arm toward the male. Energy sizzled, seared my hand but never left it. I gasped as my skin burned and magic fizzled in the breeze. A cruel smile from the leader was my reward. He had seen my attempt—and my failure. Word of what I’d done to Mason and the other legionnaire must have spread. I saw now he had hung back out of range until my display gave him all the proof he required. Yes, I had power, but my reservoir was tapped. I had been emptied. Now he knew it too and pressed his advantage. “They’re gaining on us.” My hand stung too much for me to grip Dillon. I settled for wrapping my arm around him and applying pressure. He grunted. I must have squeezed too hard. “Hold what you’ve got.” He grunted again, this time as he reined in Diani and sent her into a spin. In a flash, we had turned and now we were the aggressors. We raced toward the males and forced them higher. So many wings in so small an air space made for awkward turning. Two of them collided and hit the sand with a groan. While they shook sand from their ears, the other three swooped over our heads. Fingers stroked the ends of my hair, tugging, tangling. I hid my face hard against Dillon to keep from turning and seeing how close we were to losing this race.
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Thunderous beats filled my ears. The horse’s hooves, the flap of leather wings, the pounding of my crazed heart and the echo of Dillon’s where I burrowed as close to him as I could manage. I let his presence calm me. Everything was fine as long as he was here. He would keep me safe. The tug at my scalp became more insistent. I yelped as a large hand palmed my skull and my head was ripped from the safety of Dillon’s back to stare into the silver eyes of the group’s leader. With a grin, he used his hold to peel me backwards while the second male clasped my arm and ripped it free of Dillon’s belt. The third grabbed my leg. Together, they heaved upward. Dillon reached for me, clawed air and caught my necklace. I cried out as the chain snapped. Air whistled around me. Hands groped and dug into my skin. I screamed when claws pierced my arms and the hooks on their feet dug in, holding me immobile so they could fly without fear I would ground them. Squirming, I struggled until I spotted Dillon. He was a dot on the sand. A dark male sitting upon a pale horse, and both were fast becoming miniatures to me. I heard him bellow my name. The air surrounding him shimmered, his glamour fading, and I was awed. Enormous crimson wings arched over his shoulders. His pale skin was ebony and his eyes gleamed, reflective. For a moment, I thought I saw…but he was too far away. Kicking and scratching, I landed enough hits my captors exchanged a glance. I read it an instant before they released me. Desert raced at my face. I twisted midair and curled into a ball that broke on impact.
Throaty laughter tugged at my consciousness. My eyes blinked open on a small room lit by the single candle flickering in its holder. My wrists ached, not
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the dull throb of my slave bands but a more physical pain. I wanted to rub the grit from my face, but when I pulled my arm, chains rattled. Shadows concealed my bonds, but a strong tug rewarded me with a metallic rattle. I tried my legs next only to realize I was kneeling and had been for so long I couldn’t feel my legs or feet. I was bound to the wall, in the dark, with only a flame’s eerie dance to preoccupy me from the sounds of males conversing outside my cell. Their voices blended into a low murmur, punctuated by glee. I could guess the source of their happiness. I tugged my arms again and was rewarded with a fresh slice of discomfort. Pinprick pain in my limbs made me shuffle in search of a comfortable position. I found none. Funny how I’d been dozing happily, but now that I was awake, all my muscles screamed in protest. I struggled. I couldn’t help it. Chains clanged and a hush settled over the chortling males. “Now you’ve done it,” a soft voice, feminine, I thought, said to my right. I started. “Who’s there?” “It doesn’t matter.” She slipped into silence. Somewhere ahead of me a doorknob rattled. I made a mental note of its location. “Who’s there?” I shrank from the light flooding the small room and slid a glance toward my companion. Amid a tangle of black hair, dark eyes peered out at me. Delicate wings wrapped around her body but left enough exposed for me to tell she was nude and she was very pregnant. I flinched. “I wondered when you were going to wake.” A male entered the room. He stared down at me. “Neriah has been reprimanded for allowing his unit to drop you. For that, I do apologize. He overreacted. We had heard you had some skill with glamour, so your fall did serve a purpose. Clearly, your powers are either not what we had been told or you’re too drained to use them.” “Who are you?” I strained to get a better look at him.
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“I am Tobin.” He paused and glanced toward the door where another male blocked the frame. “You met Phineas earlier.” Dread burrowed beneath my skin as my eyes adjusted to the light and his face came into focus. “I owe him thanks for his quick thinking.” Tobin’s gaze slid over me. “You’re seldom unguarded. Only a rarity would garner protection from two halflings.” Not for the first time, I cursed the reputation I’d cultivated. Of course, when I chose my guise, I knew no Evanti. Their plight was a footnote I capitalized on, but I had underestimated their determination to thrive. By alluding my breed was theirs, I had tempted a desperate people. “I’m not Evanti.” Disbelief clouded his expression, but I pushed ahead. “I work for Emma, and Lindsay is my charge.” His knowledge of my relationship to both females was easy enough to uncover. Yet in pinpointing them, I feared for them. “Those are their sole connections to me.” “Perhaps you can explain then why Harper left Dillon with you while Emma was visiting her sister.” He paused and amended, “To clarify, I meant Queen Nesvia, not Princess Madelyn.” “Dillon was wounded. His leg…” I glanced at Phineas, who appeared too eager for my taste. “His leg wounds were minor. Many of those near the explosion suffered from similar injuries.” Tobin and Phineas shared a look. “She’s lying.” Phineas waited for an admission. I gave none. I wouldn’t endanger Dillon any further. “He was limping the last time I saw him, and you’ll notice he didn’t fly after us. He let us go, with his female.” Triumph filled his tone. “His wings must have been injured in the blast.” “Perhaps you’re right.” Tobin brushed stray hairs from my face. “Is he your mate?”
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“No.” The denial was automatic. Too late I realized I might have protested too quickly. Tobin relaxed visibly. “Good.” His thumb caressed my cheek. “I would regret having to break his will.” He lowered his arm. “Primes have rather singular focus, I’m afraid. Our attempts at convincing them to help repopulate our dwindling race are most often met with aggression. With so few living, they are a rare commodity, and once they mate, they become useless to us.” “You’re mistaken.” Primes of any breed were lore. Pure bloodlines no longer existed. “You don’t have to defend him. We know what he is.” His expression shifted. “We assumed it was your arrival at the colony that caused his glamour to fail. It was then we gained proof he was what our sources claimed—an unmated prime. We had hoped since he chose to toil among his brethren rather than hole up in the communes of Daeza that he would be open to persuasion.” I stared at him, replaying Dillon’s glamour failures twice in as many days. Were both those instances my fault? Emma had made snide remarks about him being a human in disguise. That was how rare glimpses of his natural state were. Was I at fault, or was my arrival merely fortuitous? Forget Dillon’s anger. I should have examined his neck. Illness would explain his glamour shortages. He’d been gone from Feriana for a hair over a month. If his was a chronic bacterial infection, and I wasn’t nearby monitoring him for signs, then sickness might have set in already. Zaniah worked in mysterious ways. Perhaps our lives were meant to intersect here and now. Only if I was here, “Where is Dillon?”
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“On his way to us, I imagine.” A smile touched Tobin’s mouth. “You may not be mated, but he won’t abandon you on principle. Primes are territorial. He won’t endure a slight to his honor.” I hoped I told him the truth when I said, “His honor doesn’t extend to common thieves.” Tobin’s expression slipped a fraction. “Phineas, what is she talking about?” Phineas roared with laughter. “That was you? You stole the salt from the colony?” “Salt?” Tobin perked at the word. “I’d heard the shipment was lost during the storm…” “That’s what Dillon wants everyone to believe, but I overheard Uriah.” Phineas elaborated with a tight grin, “None was recovered after the storm. Now we know why. She beat them to it.” “Interesting.” Tobin’s expression warmed by several degrees. “That was ambitious of you.” In that moment, I piqued his interest. I was sure that was a bad thing. “Where is the salt?” His appraisal made me regret my outfit yet again. “It’s not on you.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Using me as a lure for Dillon is a mistake.” I basked in Phineas’s dismay. “Dillon wanted me to guide him to my stash, but he forced me to give away its location before we left the colony. He’s on his way there now.” I bluffed my best. “He won’t come for me. If he’s forced to choose, he will pick the colony and its future over my wellbeing.” “I somehow doubt that. I left the tent seconds before your arrival. I waited outside, actually.” He let me imagine what he’d overheard. “He kissed you.” He smirked. “Among other things.”
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Cheeks scalding, I had no trouble believing he had tampered with the tent. No doubt he’d planned a similar theft. He must have circled back while Dillon and I were…otherwise occupied. “I kissed him.” As much as it hurt, I told him the truth. “Dillon said it was a mistake.” “Be that as it may, if Dillon doesn’t come, then I will regret the postponement of our plans for him.” Tobin shushed Phineas with a look. “You, on the other hand, have value and can be put to use.” He shrugged. “If you had the salt, I might have considered letting you purchase your freedom. Our cause…” He appeared to weigh his next words. “We expend large amounts of progesaline. Your gift could have saved us our silver or more thieveries. Oh well, it is what it is.” His tone belied his hope. His bait was tempting, but his methods of persuasion were nothing compared to Roland’s. I hoped Dillon would write my capture off as a loss and continue toward the oasis. My deadline was approaching fast, and Roland forgave no one’s bungled assignments. Was this it, then? I embraced failure when the stakes were highest? No. With my goal within reach, I would fight. First I needed a plan. I had to know. “What happens if he doesn’t come?” Phineas’s teeth flashed in a sharp smile. “I’m no prime, but our offspring would have purer blood than most, which is all that matters. This is for reproduction, not a mating.” He jerked his chin toward my cellmate. “Adina can explain how the program works and answer any questions you have. This is her first contribution to our cause, but she’s familiar enough with the system.” Horror numbed me until the bite of metal into my wrists revived me. “You’re breeders.”
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Tobin didn’t deny it. He smoothed a hand down his shirt as if brushing away my accusation. “The children birthed here aren’t sold or harmed. They live free. They’re placed with adoptive parents, fellow Evanti.” He gestured toward Adina. “This generation will be the first in memory raised free among their own kind. Our race will be enriched, our culture revived by that kinship.” Adina’s muted voice interrupted him. “Tell her what happens to the females.” She drew her knees to her chest, or she tried to, then she wrapped her wings around her middle and she rocked. “Even noble causes require sacrifices.” Tobin frowned. “Your daughter will be given a normal childhood. She will play alongside her peers until she reaches maturity. Then she will—” Her insistent humming ended his speech. Her eyes squeezed closed, her lips pursed, and my heart ached. She reminded me of a child balled tight against her night terrors, willing them gone by ignoring them. Only this nightmare was substantial, and these monsters wouldn’t dissipate. I didn’t need him to finish. I knew what came next. His cause was far worse than Askaran slavers. These were Evanti impregnating females in a desperate attempt to repopulate a race losing its grip on survival. Freedom would make a difference, in time. One day Evanti would feel safer raising families and their numbers would increase. Would a boom save them from extinction? I hoped so. I admired their tenacity, but their fate rested in Zaniah’s hands. And now, so did mine.
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Chapter Nine
Desperation had sliced Dillon free of his glamour miles ago. His wings were taut, the urge to fly a tic in his shoulders. He kept an eye on the straggler whose erratic flight pattern mimicked an injury. Dillon wasn’t buying it. His ass was staying glued to the saddle until he figured out what this guy’s game was. If he rocketed skyward, others could be waiting to launch an attack. If one stray arrow hit his wings the wrong way, he’d be crippled and stranded with a bum leg in the middle of Askara’s largest desert. Considering his wings hadn’t escaped the mine explosion unscathed, the risk was too great. If he and Isabeau needed his wings for a quick exit, he wanted them ready. Diani was his best bet for transportation, even if her legs were no match for flight. He could also use the time to think. Not to mention Harper would shoot him if he abandoned her. So regardless of how instinct screamed at him to take to the skies, he kept to the ground. Isabeau needed him at his best. His best wasn’t what it used to be, but it’d have to do. Doubt whispered getting help was the way to go, but leaving Isabeau alone? Not happening. Above, the injured male made a slow circle over a steep pile of stones. Dillon squinted, pinpointing the shady entrance before the male reached it. “Is Askara nothing but a damn mine?” It sure looked like it from where he sat. He and Isabeau hadn’t made it far beyond the colony before they were attacked and she was captured. There were
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no other mines this close to Feriana. This hideaway had to be yet another forgotten branch of mine connecting to the colony’s tunnels. While documenting the mine had become a full-time job for some legionaries, Dillon wasn’t one of them. He’d have to play this by ear and hope if the mine was in use, it was also in decent shape. Otherwise he was placing faith in a leg that hadn’t performed well enough to earn it. A quick scan of the area netted him nothing. If the others were here, they were inside. There weren’t any dunes high enough for a male to hide behind, and clear sky stretched for miles in all directions. Foreboding crept along his spine. This was a trap. No doubt about it. It had to be. He dismounted and sank to the ankles in powdery sand. Already his leg complained about the distance from here to the mine. Leading Diani behind him, he crossed to the entrance without interference. Things were quiet. That wasn’t good. He was an easy target, so why hadn’t anyone taken aim? Unless they’d led him here with another purpose in mind, which somehow wasn’t as reassuring as he thought it would be. When he reached the loose rock littering the entryway, he guided her to one side and knotted her reins behind her neck in case she had to leave in a hurry. Dillon glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure he was still alone. “Look, Diani, I’m going in there and springing Isabeau.” He scratched beneath her forelock. “I would appreciate it if you were waiting here when I get back.” Diani’s snort seemed to say are you talking to me? “Just stay put, okay?” He pointed from her to the ground. “Stay.” Exhaling, he focused on repairing his glamour. Unease rippled across his skin, followed by a shiver as the cool relief of his illusion slid back into place. From a distance his slip wouldn’t matter. It would have been wiser to approach
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while safe beneath his human façade, but no matter how much he wanted to believe it’d been his choice to be reckless, the bottom line was that was a lie. He was too wired, too ready for a fight to care. Even now warmth trickled down his spine, too heavy to be sweat. This was thick and sluggish, blood. More developments he couldn’t deny or hide for much longer. Try as he might, he couldn’t suppress this. His change was coming on fast. Turning on his heel, he crept toward the entrance. No guards stood watch. All was quiet. The sense of being watched made him check over his shoulder, but he was alone except for Diani. His first step into the dark was met with thunderous applause that deafened him to the approach of a lean male wearing a crisp black outfit with his long hair gathered tight at his nape. He raised his hand, and Dillon’s ears roared with the absence of sound. “I’m Tobin,” he said, offering Dillon that same hand, “and I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Pulse jumping, I stared hard where I thought I remembered seeing the door, expecting Tobin to enter and another round of explanations to begin. Guilt burdened him. How could it not? What else explained his need to reaffirm he was doing what was right and best for the race as a whole? “Save your energy.” A cough drew my gaze into the shadows. “You’ll need it.” “Why are they cheering?” After I’d awakened and been confronted, our captors had settled. “A new arrival would be my guess.” She didn’t elaborate. “They can’t have captured another female.” It was impossible to have found another so fast.
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“It’s not always a female.” She moaned and chains shifted. “Sometimes it’s a birth or a pregnancy. Sometimes it’s a new male or a victorious raid. The reason doesn’t matter, does it?” I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out it mattered to me and should matter to her. When I had been here as long as she had, endured what she had, I might become apathetic as well. I wanted to say that would never happen, not to me. I would maintain the empathy for others that had made me embrace my healer calling, but I could be broken as easily as Adina if not more so. Imagination supplied her with details of her unborn child while memory amplified mine. “How far along are you?” Almost term if I had to guess. “I’m not sure.” She seemed to consider the question. “I was a month along when they captured me. As large as I’ve grown, as strong as she is, I must be near the end. Eight months?” Hope tightened my chest. “So the program Tobin mentioned, your child isn’t a part of it?” “She will be.” Adina’s voice hardened. “Phineas is right that I’m familiar with their program. Tobin has hammered the message of duty to our people into my skull since my arrival. They have outlined my duty, my potential donors, every detail given, nothing spared. My nightmares are as well-rounded as my stomach, and I know the position they have readied for me.” “If you weren’t…” I asked because it mattered. “Who is the father?” “His name is Boaz.” Her voice thrummed with pain. “He’s a prime from the commune at Daeza.” I heard her swallow. “He’s my mate, and if he thinks I’m lost, that our child is lost, it will break him.” She lapsed into silence a moment before adding, “You can’t protect your mate by not claiming him. They know he’s yours. I heard them talking before you woke. They saw him without his
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glamour, as they told you, but their spy knew what proof was required for a confirmation and he found it. I’m sorry, I am, but they have noticed the first signs of his change.” Her words hung in my ears. “What change?” Her harsh laugh surprised me. “You mean you don’t know? Has he not told you?” “I’m a healer. Dillon was a patient of mine. He’s the friend of my employer’s mate. He was sent to capture me because I stole salt from the Feriana colony, not because I’m of value to him.” “They aren’t wrong about his change, but I suppose they could be wrong about the trigger.” I decided I didn’t like what she implied. “Do you mean another female could be the cause?” “Another prima,” she said, “yes.” “A prima,” I murmured, but she must have heard the question buried in my tone. Her pitch changed to one of incredulity. “How is it you know so little of your own people?” Your people aren’t mine. “I don’t know where Daeza is, or what the commune is. I see now I don’t know what a prima is, either. So please, feel free to enlighten me, not mock my ignorance.” “I apologize.” She sounded genuine. “Until they brought me here, I had no idea lowlanders considered Daeza a myth. I thought…I don’t know what I thought, but the mountain is very real.” I wondered what she meant, but she continued before I could ask.
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“Daeza is a land far from here, to the north, where the last primes and primas reside. It’s a valley surrounded by mountains and guarded by the best warriors our commune has to offer.” If that was true, then they were… “Evanti who escaped Askaran enslavement.” She nodded. “Our numbers are modest, our resources limited, but there are several primas, like you and me, many more primes, like your Dillon and my Boaz. Then there are children…” I didn’t bother correcting her misconception. I doubted she’d believe Dillon wasn’t mine. “When Askarans arrived in our lands, some Evanti said they should be killed, because they were different, and their ways were different. Others argued the Askarans had done no wrong. They were curious explorers who would see this new land as untamable and they would leave.” She paused. “It caused a rift between those who voiced tolerance and those who warned against complacency. The end result was a divide. Half the families left the area when the first Askarans built homes. It was a sign they intended to stay, and some heeded it. The remaining families were convinced cohabitation was possible. That there was enough land for everyone to live in peace.” I rocked on my heels to relieve pressure on my wrists. “I take it your family left.” “They did. They founded Daeza, and all were welcomed there. Then rumors of slavery arrived on the mountain. At first, no one believed it. The Evanti were—we are—fierce warriors. It made no sense these weak creatures could shackle our brethren.” Anger tempered her tone. “It was then we learned the reason Askarans had crossed the sea. Their females were dying. Their queen was
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desperate to save herself, and her people. They lacked a hormone required during—” “—pregnancy,” I finished for her. “They came here searching for progesaline.” I sensed her agreement. “They did, and once they found it, they began digging mines.” I pieced together the larger picture. “Then they realized they needed workers to fill them.” “Yes.” She growled, “They took advantage of our ignorance. We were content with our simple ways and failed to understand our females required the same supplement because we had been using surface salt deposits to cure meats, which meant we had been consuming it all along.” While she caught her breath, I admired her sense of history. How she took pride in her heritage. If it were possible, I would have thought she’d lived through the Askaran incursion. Perhaps she was her own worst argument against Tobin’s vision. She was a product of the sort of community he wanted for every Evanti. If some mothers, some children, were sacrificed for his vision to see fruition, as long as his supporters shored him up, then it was a worthwhile endeavor. Though I admired his vision of utopia, I still saw bodies littering the path to enlightenment. Unnerved by the sounds outside our door, I prompted her. “They withheld salt, didn’t they?” Fury roughened her voice, but it was softer now, as if she were tiring. “It was a poor incentive to work until the first females died, most during late pregnancy or during childbirth. If a female survived, the chances were good the infant was stillborn. The Askarans knew what would happen because it had happened to
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them. By the time the Evanti from down the mountain were properly cowed, it was too late. Primas died. Their primes followed them. Their children were torn from their families and given to Askarans who raised them ignorant of their heritage. “That first generation of enslaved males, having never seen primas, mated other demon breeds and diluted their bloodlines until they were shadows of their former selves. Askarans had systematically culled the Evanti and continued to do so until the new queen freed them. Since their mates were demonesses born in this region, most assumed they were progesaline dependent also.” She paused. “Whether they are or not mattered less than the fact they believed they were.” “How did you end up here?” Captured in a place such as she described would be difficult. “I’d gone with a friend to gather berries as we’d done a hundred times. Once we reached the forest, past the guards, we were captured. I don’t remember much after that, but when I woke, I was here and she was gone. I haven’t seen Tamara since.” I heard her yawn. “In Daeza, only our guards maintained contact with the outside world, the better to protect us from it, but there were those who chafed against the rules keeping us safe. Those few elected to go down the mountain, and we wished them well. We let them go and trusted they would keep our secrets.” She laughed softly. “As you can see, one of our more mercenary brethren exchanged our location for wealth.” Indecision warred within me. I wasn’t much better. I was a traitor as well. “Was it Tobin?” “If Tobin gained entrance to Daeza, which is impossible because of his diluted bloodline, he would never leave. No. I mean Phineas. He purchased the information from a former resident. He spied on Daeza, on me, learning our
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culture, learning about us. That’s why he was placed at the colony. Tobin wanted a male who recognized primes and females. His job was to search for fresh breeding stock among the new colonists. They suspected Dillon, but had no proof until…” “Until his glamour failed.” My chest ached. Had I been the cause? Was it worse if I was, and he was mine, or if I wasn’t, and he belonged to another? “What did you mean about his change?” “When a prime finds his prima, his body undergoes physical changes.” She sounded wistful now, a dreamy quality slipping into her voice. I wondered if Phineas had given her a sedative while I had been focused on Tobin’s speech. “There is no higher calling than guarding a mate.” I had to ask, not for myself, but for Dillon. “Can it be reversed?” Her response drifted to me on a hushed sigh. “Primes mate for life.” “Adina?” As I struggled for a better look at her, cursing the weakness of the candle’s flame, it dawned on me our captors hadn’t been cruel. Courteous wasn’t the right word, either, but this situation was much worse for me than Adina. The absence of light hadn’t bothered her because she could see me. In my panic, I had forgotten Evanti had flawless night vision because I didn’t. Careful not to rouse Adina, I settled in to wait on Dillon’s arrival, making myself as comfortable as possible. I was safe for now, until Tobin realized what I was and what I was not.
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Chapter Ten
Dillon stared at Tobin’s outstretched hand until the male got the hint and lowered his arm. Smile faltering, he said, “I’m pleased you could make it—” “Where is Isabeau?” Dillon didn’t see her, didn’t smell her and didn’t waste pleasantries. “If you’d follow me, I can explain.” Tobin’s gesture encompassed a compact seating area where benches had been carved from the tunnel’s walls. Several males sat stiff, perched on the edges of their seats, waiting for the wrong move Dillon was about to make. This ought to be fun. “The female you took.” His cool tone made Tobin pause, smile fading fast. “Where is she?” Clearing his throat, Tobin glanced behind him, at the others. “We know what you are. If—” Dillon’s arm shot out, his hand encircling Tobin’s throat. His fingers almost met behind the scrawny male’s neck. Squeezing and lifting, Dillon gritted his teeth against the strain on his calf. Fury and panic mingled in a volatile cocktail that blacked out the reasons why Dillon should proceed with caution. Diplomacy, well, it’d never been his strong suit. Besides, these goons had done nothing to earn even a smidgen of courtesy. They’d taken Isabeau from him and they’d pay.
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“I’m not going to ask again. Where is Isabeau?” His chest was pumping, lungs burning, neck prickling. He inhaled. Traces of her pear scent filled his nose, and his rage eased a fraction. Tobin’s face was three shades past purple, a good trick for a black-skinned demon. He stared at Dillon, lips moving, but no sound escaped. Dillon guessed that had something to do with the way his fingers dug into Tobin’s throat, crushing his windpipe, because nothing he said was what Dillon wanted to hear. He had taken Isabeau. A low growl rose in his throat. Taken what was his. This time Dillon’s instant denial wasn’t so instant. Isabeau was his prisoner, a wily thief who happened to be female, happened to make him want things he’d never considered, happened to make him want to be hers. Damn it. That did it, snapped reality into sharp relief. He belonged to no female. With that in mind, he gained the ounce of control he’d needed and loosened his grip enough Tobin could breathe and then speak. “Bring her,” he croaked, trying to break Dillon’s hold. For a minute, no one moved and Dillon’s fingers flexed in warning. “I’ll do it,” a familiar voice, thick with disgust, preceded the scrabble of boot on stone. Dillon broke eye contact long enough to pinpoint the speaker. Phineas. His grip tightened as betrayal sparked anger and blackened his vision. “Do you kidnap all the females who deny you?” Phineas gave him a faint smile that settled like a stone in his gut. “She’s unharmed,” Tobin said through a tender throat. “I promise you that.” Slamming Tobin’s head against the wall shut him up. Until Dillon saw Isabeau with his own eyes, he wasn’t buying she was safe. After all, there were only so many reasons to steal females.
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“You’d better hope she is.” Dillon popped his jaw and waited. His leg quivered. Holding himself upright was arduous enough, but pinning Tobin to the wall wasn’t his brightest idea yet. Somewhere down the tunnel, metal hinges groaned. Low words were exchanged, the tone a threat in itself. Dillon’s temper got the best of him. Melting glamour ran down his arms like water poured from the faucet. Twisting his heel on the uneven floor made his vision waver, but he used that pain to rebuild his illusion so these bastards, so that Isabeau, wouldn’t see him bare. “Dillon?” Reflex loosened his fingers. Tobin dropped forgotten onto the floor. Yards dissolved before Dillon registered his first step. Mine. His arms opened, and Isabeau stumbled into them, made clumsy by the shackles at her ankles and wrists. When he tucked her close, she was thrown off balance and her weight hit him. Even small as she was, his knees almost buckled. They needed an exit strategy, fast. He snapped, “You said she was unharmed.” Phineas peered at her from over his shoulder. “She looks fine to me.” Dried blood seeped from beneath the metal cuffs. She’d fought them. Good girl. The snap of her teeth must have warned them off until his arrival. How long had they had her? Hours while Dillon covered the distance by horseback rather than by wing. He held her gently. “You okay?” Her gaze cut to Phineas, but her words were meant for Dillon. “You shouldn’t have come.” The hell he shouldn’t have. Had they done more to her he couldn’t see? Brainwashed her within hours? Ridiculous. So what was the catch? “If that’s the thanks I get for rescuing you—” “They set this trap for you.” Her eyes met his and darkened. “I was the bait.”
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“Now, now.” Phineas’s expression tightened. “Let’s not point fingers.” Rolling onto her tiptoes, she pressed her face into Dillon’s neck. His groan as her lips moved over his skin muted her words. “There’s a pregnant female,” she warned. “We have to help her.” Dillon tensed as her message permeated the lust muddling his head. Another female? This ragtag band wouldn’t rate a female unless they’d stolen her. He’d seen their kind before, living on the fringes, preying on the weak. They’d gotten lucky with Isabeau since Phineas knew her from the colony. If there was another, she must have been scavenged from another group. Pregnant meant there was a good chance her mate was searching for her. But where did Dillon fit in? Why steal Isabeau to lure him here? Unless they suspected, as Mason did, he was courting her as his mate. Pressing a kiss to her neck, he promised, “We will.” Lifting her wrists, he made his first demand. “You want to talk? Fine. I want these removed. Right now or we’re walking.” Phineas didn’t rush. He ambled toward Tobin and waited for the order to be given, which made Dillon’s teeth ache from grinding them. Chained females kept in a cave full of males. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on here. No one wore glamour. All the males present were Evanti and Isabeau was thought to be. That painted an ugly picture. Had they captured her in the hopes she would claim one of them to escape the others? Or something else? One thing was for sure. Dillon wasn’t leaving without answers. Up to the point where he had crushed Tobin’s windpipe, Tobin had seemed chatty. Drawing Isabeau close, he turned to him now. “Sorry about that.” He didn’t smile. His fake ones were worse than his real ones. “I’m sure you can understand me being concerned about having my prize stolen right out from under me.”
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Motioning toward another male, this one with a set of keys, Tobin nodded. “I apologize, but given who you are, we thought it would be best if we brought you to us rather than come to you.” Unsure what that meant, Dillon played along, even muttering thanks to the asswipe who freed Isabeau. “I can see how you’d think so.” He wouldn’t have answered their summons and they both knew it. “I’m here now.” And he wasn’t thrilled about it. “You’ve got my attention.” “Have a seat.” Tobin motioned toward a section of empty bench while he sat opposite them. Careful of her wrists, Dillon guided Isabeau. When her knees gave out, he sat and pulled her onto his lap. Experience with dehydration had kept him from feeding her earlier. He’d wanted more fluids in her first. Hunger pangs were due to make an appearance any minute now, assuming they weren’t already to blame for the way she was teetering off balance. Once she was settled with her head on his shoulder, he looked to Tobin. “Well?” Gone was the timid twitch of nerves. Tobin sat straight, gaze fixed and eyes glittering. “As I mentioned, I have a proposition for you. One I’m sure you’ll be interested in hearing.” His gaze cut over to Isabeau. “First, though, forgive me if I have to verify you two aren’t mated, correct?” Isabeau tensed, and he stroked her arm. “We aren’t.” The implied yet hung between them. “Excellent. I’d hoped that was the case.” Tobin smiled. “You toil in the colony alongside your mixed-blood brethren.” When Dillon stiffened, he rushed. “Your work is commendable, and I admire your dedication to the legion, to the colony, to helping those who were once enslaved embrace their newfound freedom.” He became the picture of concern. “But have you wondered if you’re
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fighting a losing battle? Our race is dying. Our females are all but lore. Our children are weak reflections of our once majestic race.” He shook his head. “Every generation the blood is diluted a fraction more. How much longer can we survive? What will our descendants become?” “All races evolve.” He kept his answer vague but sensed he held Isabeau’s attention. “Don’t you mean devolve?” Phineas quipped. Tobin covered his flinch by shifting in his seat. “I’m not talking about evolution. I’m talking about returning our race to its former glory through selective breeding. You could be part of the rebirth of the Evanti. You’re an unmated prime. Mating with a prima is in your best interest.” He frowned at Isabeau. “I’m not saying mixed-blood females don’t serve their purpose, but you deserve our best. You deserve access to our primas, and there are several who aid in our cause.” Arms tightening around Isabeau, Dillon said, “I notice you didn’t say they were willing.” A slight shrug before Tobin continued. “Sacrifices must be made. It is unfortunate that not all females share our views, but as they bear the burden, it is understandable. I can guarantee their cooperation. All we ask is for you to consider joining our cause. Think of your race, their future. Think of pureblood children outside of Daeza. Of the commune being rendered obsolete.” Dillon suppressed a shudder as memories choked him with dainty, redstained hands. “Only a pureblood will do…” Eliya licked blood from her fingers, “…and yours is so potent.” “Not interested.” He stood, and Isabeau circled his neck with her arms. “Tobin, your boy Phineas must get the idea females weren’t emancipated from
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you. I hate to burst your bubble, but if you have females here who don’t want to be here, and no way in hell are they vying for a place in this line, then you’re breaking the queen’s law and there will be consequences.” While Tobin gaped, Dillon plowed forward. “I’ll give you a quick rundown of charges I can promise you’ll face. Kidnapping, one count for the females and a count a piece for any offspring resulting from your, did you really call this a program?” Tobin’s mouth started moving, but Dillon ignored him. “Rape.” His tone hardened. “Having been on the receiving end of that one, no, nothing you can say will justify your actions to me.” He glanced around. “This is part of the Feriana mine network, which means you’re trespassing on colony property and bringing your shit to our door.” “I told you he wouldn’t listen.” Phineas sighed. “He’s showing signs of the change, he’s—” “Get out.” Dillon cut him off, torn between holding Isabeau and plugging her ears. If she knew what he was going through…that she was the cause…he could kiss his freedom goodbye. “I regret you’re unwilling to see things from our perspective.” Tobin’s lips pressed together. “If you don’t mind, we’ll gather Adina and be on our way.” He wrinkled his nose as he took one final glance around the mine. He nodded at Phineas, who headed deeper into the tunnel. “My offer stands when you’re ready to accept it.” His gaze dipped. “She’s a poor choice for a mate.” Throat tight, Dillon choked on what he’d almost said. That he would be honored to be hers. No matter how honorable her reasons, she was a thief, a liar and…he sighed…a magnet for trouble. Instead of defending her, he turned toward the slumped figure Phineas dragged at his side. Recognition slammed into him, instant and undeniable. Beneath the lank hair and unfocused eyes was a prima.
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Eliya had once kept two, until a wayward comment on their beauty sparked her jealousy and ended their lives. Dillon recalled that jolt in his gut whenever they’d neared. It wasn’t a matter of attraction. Recognition of like to like? Hard to describe, harder to believe he’d forgotten the eerily displaced sensation, likened to awe, he’d felt in their presence. As he stared into the wide eyes of the female tucked to his chest, an equally strong pull tugged at him. If Isabeau had been a prima, he’d have known. That she wasn’t a pureblood didn’t mean she wasn’t Evanti, but the more he thought about that locket, the more he realized what had troubled him about the picture all along. The girl had auburn hair. Not impossible. Glamour explained the color. Except magic couldn’t reside where there was no energy. The lock of hair that matched her portrait to perfection was cut, dead, devoid of magic, which meant that her color was natural. And since Evanti birthed dark-skinned, dark-eyed and dark-haired children, that meant whatever Isabeau was—it wasn’t Evanti. Couldn’t be since her daughter wasn’t and the two were identical. There was no way the kid wasn’t hers. Only a mother would do what Isabeau had done. Yeah, no doubt about it. Isabeau personified motherhood at its fiercest. What it said for his state of mind, he didn’t know, but his glimpse of the heavily pregnant Adina made him wonder how Isabeau must have looked while rounded with child and radiant as new life grew inside her. It made him wonder how she’d look rounded with his child. Seconds passed while Dillon’s gaze captured mine, his expression an odd mixture of longing and frustration that may have once given me hope. My pulse did leap, but my heart knew better. He was here. He had come for me. His gentle touches soothed, his concern melting the worst of my fear. Once his arms
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opened, I had fallen into them, cherishing his soft words, his promise I was safe. Difficult as it was to lift my head, I had no choice. “Don’t let them leave with Adina.” His brow creased. “I don’t plan on it.” He leaned close. “Can you stand?” I was sore but, “I can manage.” I held on to his shoulders, and he put my feet on the ground. Tobin kept his back turned to Adina. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction. Guilt bled from his pores. While he failed in hiding his discomfort with his methods, his conviction he was right must have overcome the more unsavory aspect of his business. For his part, Phineas kept an eye on Dillon. His grip on Adina was bruising. Her lips pressed tight, and she kept herself silent. Dillon wrapped an arm around my waist, giving the illusion of protecting what was his, but a portion of his weight shifted onto me. I kept from glancing at his leg, but he stiffened beneath my notice. Concern for him warmed my palms, but my well was empty and my glamour nothing more than a spark too weak to illuminate the shadows surrounding me. I’d have to bide my time. One by one the members of Tobin’s group rose. While they’d been content to let Phineas act as muscle, when that failed and Dillon denied Tobin’s invitation, the atmosphere inside the mine changed. They stood to lose him and me and the secret of their existence. I don’t think, based on Tobin’s faraway expression, he’d realized the males weren’t shuffling defeated toward the exit. They were encircling us, prompting Dillon to back against a wall and pull me along behind him. “Well, Dillon, I suppose I’ve worn out my welcome at the colony.” Phineas’s grin was amused, no doubt because his duplicity had gone unnoticed. “I wish you and Harper all the best,” he said, extending his hand as if expecting Dillon to shake it, “but I’ll be taking Isabeau.”
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Tobin’s head snapped toward Phineas. “That’s not what we agreed.” “We agreed she’d make good bait.” He inclined his head. “That’s all we agreed.” “There are other primes, other primas.” Tobin urged, “Give him time. He’ll come around.” “Don’t you get it?” Phineas wheeled on him. “You explained how this operation works. Or at least how you think it works.” He gave Tobin a pitying smirk. “Do you think we can let him leave? He’s a legionnaire, an honest one.” He transferred the same look onto Dillon. “I’ve watched him for months. I told you he wouldn’t bend, but you couldn’t let it go until you’d spoken to him. Now you have. You have his answer, and it’s no. If we let him leave, he’ll run to the colony and alert the legion. He’s not going to let this, let us, go. He can’t. He’s too…moral.” “Name calling?” Dillon clucked his tongue. “Now that’s just being rude.” I rested my hand over his chest, trying to hold him back. His heart drummed beneath my palm. His gaze darted between the males in charge and the ones tightening their circle around us. “We’re leaving,” I said, nodding toward Adina, “and we’re taking her with us.” “No.” Phineas shoved her into the waiting arms of another male. “You really aren’t.” “Dillon, leave.” Tobin broke into the circle. “This is not the way. I won’t stand by and—” Another male crept up behind Tobin and grasped him by his bruised neck. A sharp pop made my gut churn. Head twisted at a wrong angle, Tobin slumped onto the ground at the feet of his attacker. Blood dribbled from his mouth, hung open on a silent gasp of unuttered surprise.
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Dillon’s reaction was calmer than mine. “You’re not visionaries, I take it.” “Mercenaries, more like.” Phineas frowned at Tobin’s corpse. “I do regret his loss. He was a little slow on the uptake, but true charismatics are hard to find. Recruitment was up, and morale was at an all-time high.” He appeared thoughtful. “Purpose is absolution. The key is getting others to believe in your purpose. The right spin on a series of acts can turn a reviled cause into a revered one. That was Tobin’s gift. He was a visionary, a believer, but when theory met practice, he wavered in his convictions. I suppose I should thank you for the excuse.” His chuckle was unexpected. “I’ve heard clean breaks are the best.” Around him, others laughed. “What you mean is,” Dillon said, gaze panning each grinning face, “you wanted an excuse to do what you wanted to, and Tobin was a righteous enabler.” At that, their expressions slipped. “I think we both know slavery will continue to thrive in Askara. How can it not when each of her neighbors embraces the old ways? Change was inevitable after Eliya, but drastic changes that cripple a kingdom aren’t the hallmark of a fit ruler. Nesvia will fall. The young queen has set herself up for abdication or an early grave. It’s only a matter of time before the slavers who were legal yesterday, illegal today, will became legitimized again tomorrow. So why halt my profits?” I glared at him. “Other than the obvious moral dilemmas, you mean.” “So says the thief,” Phineas retorted. My cheeks heated in equal parts anger and embarrassment. The weight of Dillon’s hand on my shoulder made it worse. I’d done nothing to deserve his comfort but enjoyed it to my shame. “Besides,” Phineas said, glancing from Dillon to me, “even if I suffered a change of heart, we all answer to a higher power.” He scoffed. “And no, I don’t
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mean some absentee goddess. I mean males of power who are used to getting what they want, and if they want females, then it’s my duty to supply them by any means.” He grinned. “And at reasonable cost.” “You’re playing with fire by supplying Askaran nobles with slaves.” Dillon’s voice lowered. “I can tell you from experience that if their plush little purses are threatened, they’ll squeal like the pigs they are. Your name will be the first words they purge from their lips. Trust me on that.” “That is true, which is why we no longer accept Askaran clients.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Other kingdoms are less close-minded than ours has become. Pity we have to travel so far to do business. Have you traveled with females and children? A more miserable trip you’ll never take.” He shuddered for effect. “But I figure it can’t hurt replacing one royal in our pockets with another. After all, queens suffer from jealousy and insecurity, both of which make placing our female sthudai arduous tasks. Kings,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “even future kings, I find, are much easier to please. Beautiful females are welcome and handsome males are, well, they have several uses I’ve heard.” His gaze skimmed over Dillon. “Pleasing wives and freeing husbands to play with their mistresses seemed to be the most popular application. I’m sure you would know.” Dillon’s fingers dug in deep, and I winced. Glancing up at him, I read his anticipation, but I was numb. Other kingdoms? Future kings? Phineas meant Sere, and he meant Roland. There was no other kingdom this side of the Gray Sea with an unwed heir, a son, poised to seize the throne. Yes, I knew Roland had slaves. The bands around my wrists were proof of that. He preferred females, and his tastes ran toward the exotic. There I was the exception. I was no great beauty. It hadn’t mattered. My vows of chastity had been my allure, a temptation too great for him to resist.
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Even knowing he held our daughter captive, knowing he had taken her from me for reasons he never saw fit to share with me, I was shocked by the implication Roland would purchase these slaves from these males. Why? What requirement could Evanti females meet that the rest of his collection lacked? They had always been rare. So rare he had none I knew of. The previous Askaran queen, Eliya, had guarded her few carefully. Perhaps their newly freed status made him think, and wisely so, they would go to ground and disappear, becoming more legendary than they were already. If that was his game, then his timing made sense, but Phineas had made it sound as if Roland were purchasing several—both male and female purebloods—which struck me as odd. Pressure on my arm dragged me from my thoughts. It was time to make our excuses and try for a peaceful exit I doubted we’d achieve. “If you’ll excuse us, we have other matters to attend to.” “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten the salt.” Phineas measured our reactions. “I don’t suppose you would bargain for it?” he asked Dillon. “Your freedom and hers exchanged for its location?” Mild surprise made me shake my head. Salt truly did make the world go around. Sold on the black market, it would net a hefty return. Mercenary codes being what they were, Phineas would be a fool not to attempt bribing us for the salt’s location since I’d cost his welcome at the colony. Yet he’d asked as an afterthought. Or was it a clever ploy to make us think it didn’t matter to him? He rolled onto the balls of his feet. Back and forth, back and forth, waiting, hoping we gave him a hint. Fortune awaited him if he found the stash before us. His program would benefit… Oh Zaniah, no. Breeders who specialized in rare and exotic demons. Roland who specialized in rare and exotic horses. What better partnership than him teaching them his progesaline trick?
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Roland’s lust for the purest and finest bloodlines made him a merciless equine breeder. Cast in that light, I wondered if his hobby expanded into distilling bloodlines for rare demons as well. “Even if I knew, that’d be a no.” Dillon snorted. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” “But she said—ah.” Phineas’s smile brightened as his gaze found mine. “Whatever we wanted to hear, whatever would protect you. So there is some fondness there after all. Good.” He lifted his hand. “That will make this easier. Galadriel, if you please.” A male advanced on Dillon, who shoved me behind him seconds before contact slammed us both into the wall with a loud crack. While I crawled from the fray, head spinning, I saw the male raise a knife. Instead of a fatal wound, he was slashing at Dillon’s bad leg, the one he favored as he ducked against sharp blows. Phineas raised his voice at me. “Give us the location, and he won’t get hurt.” “That’s bullshit and she knows it,” Dillon panted. “Stay back and keep quiet, Isabeau.” “She’s a healer.” Cunning gleamed in his eyes. “She can’t help but try and protect you.” Dillon faltered then, torn between his fight and my safety. “I’m fine.” I shouted over Phineas, “Don’t—” Too late, I was too late. Dillon’s head snapped toward me, eyes filling with relief. Motion blurred behind him, and agony replaced his concern. He toppled to the ground with a pained roar. The male leapt, and they rolled. Blood coated Dillon’s face as he traded blows with his attacker, twisting his wrist until I heard a snap and the male howled, his blade clattering onto the ground. “You can stop this, Isabeau.” Phineas watched me. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the salt.”
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“I don’t know.” Sobs threatened to choke me. Blood, there was so much blood. “Tell me.” “I don’t know.” Dillon’s enraged snarl vibrated through my ears. He was losing the fight while I scuttled for cover behind him like the coward I had become, that I had let Roland make me. No longer would I cower. I was reclaiming my birthright. Here, in this miserable cave, and now, in front of these males who would learn females were not the weaker sex. Any chance I had with Dillon was lost if I revealed myself, but his life was lost if I kept hiding beneath my glamour and weak excuses. There was no middle ground, only this, only me and my choice, my sacrifice. I had hidden from Roland. Let him use me, abandon me, let him keep the one good thing I’d made in my life. Now I hid from Dillon as he fought my battle for me. No. He would not pay for my mistakes. My daughter would not continue growing up without her mother. I would not bow before these males when I was their better. I was a priestess of Zaniah. I was one of her chosen, and I’d pay my tithe to my goddess with their blood, wash my hands with the ends of their lives. Sacrifice. My grimoire was not here to blame. Its hunger might linger in me, but this was my decision. The word and the intention was mine, and I embraced them both, embraced my magic. “Don’t lie to me.” Phineas’s voice was fading fast beneath the chant rising on my lips. The bloodied dagger used to slice through Dillon’s calf lay inches from my outstretched fingers. Touching the metal sent a shiver of pleasure through me. Magic is in the blood. Blood I could use. Dillon’s energy flowed through those smears, the pulse of his life fading as the blood dried, cooled, but I knew where
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to find more. My gaze lifted and I made eye contact with each of the males present. I counted them on my fingers. I read their eagerness and their vile intentions. The abandoned blade was heavy in my grip. I tested its weight, and I watched. Of the males nearest Dillon, one peeled his attacker aside and entered the fray energized. More blood splattered, Dillon’s, but I was ready. When he landed a punch that sent the male rearing back, I threw the dagger. My aim was poor, but my target was close and the wound inflicted was lethal. Gasping, the male clutched at his throat, jostling the knife and inflicting damage. Dillon bucked his hips, and the male toppled backwards. He lay there, panting, snarling, while I scrambled over him until I straddled the thick tangle made from his legs and my victim’s. “Isabeau?” My name came on a breathless question from Dillon. I didn’t dare turn. “Forgive me.” He gripped my hips and steadied me. How I wished I could accept his comfort this time. Braced for his loathing, I let my glamour slither down my arms. I watched as pale skin grew cluttered with runes. Black ink crisscrossed my forearms, trailing past my slave bands to swirl down my fingertips. Even the pads of my fingers blackened and burned. Dillon’s startled gasp hurt. He spat, “Sereian,” and his disgust sprayed my back. Harnessing that pain, I knocked aside the dying man’s hands and gripped the hilt of the knife. Wrenching it from his throat, I unstopped his wound. More blood bubbled from his neck and wet his shirtfront. I tossed aside the blade and heard it clatter, a distant annoyance that broke the rhythm of my chant. Louder and louder my voice climbed as I used his blood to ink runes on his skin. The
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empty well where my power resided overflowed as Zaniah accepted my offering. Her pleasure was a purr in the back of my mind, the restoration of my powers a temporary boon. Masculine fingers dug into my skin, but Dillon couldn’t sway me from my course. Phineas, who had stood back to await the victor, gaped. His gaze raked me head to toe as if he had trouble believing what he was seeing. My earlier worries were wasted. He’d had no clue I wasn’t Evanti. Until now. He swung his arm, and the others rushed forward. I lifted my arms as well, palms out, and pushed a pulse of energy that crackled the air. The smell of burnt hair and singed skin made my gorge rise. When those surrounding us fell in scorched heaps onto the ground, only Phineas and Adina, Dillon and I remained. My arms were heavy, so heavy they fell into my lap, and I whimpered when bending my fingers crackled cooked skin. Phineas stepped back, grabbing his last bit of leverage, Adina, and shoving her toward me. She tumbled, and I rose onto my knees to catch her. She hissed where my touch burned her. My sight rippled into a black haze for long seconds as the indescribable pain ebbed past sensation, numbing me until I fought back oblivion. Once I had Adina settled beside me on the ground, I turned to Phineas. He watched me, how my hands curled into fists in my lap, and a relieved smile tempted one side of his mouth. “I should have known Dillon wouldn’t settle for someone as conventional as another Evanti.” He eased right, near the mine’s exit. “Living on Earth changed the lot of them.” Inhale. Exhale. Fight the darkness. “Stay where you are.” Dillon shifted beneath me, wanting to stand, not wanting to topple me. “That seems unwise.” Another step and sunlight pooled near his toes. I couldn’t stop him.
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Do something. Think. You can’t let him escape. Or perhaps I could. Perhaps I should. My locket was lost, but I’d kept a braid of hair tucked into my waistband, thinking I might use a spell for tracking my daughter’s location if Roland reneged on his promise. Without the salt, I had no hope of honoring our bargain. I needed that blasted horse. If I found the mare, then I had more hairs and more objects to power a tracking spell if Roland left me no alternative. If I didn’t, then the hair made no difference either way. Retrieving the braid was awkward because my fingers refused my orders to bend. When at last I held it in my hand, an eternity later, Phineas stood several more yards from me. A whispered incantation made the braid glimmer. “Phineas?” He flinched, muscles tense. When he turned, slowly, his mouth was tight, eyes strained. Perhaps he wasn’t unaffected after all. I drank in his fear and tossed him the braid. “Something to remember me by.” He caught it on reflex. His brow bunched. He knew he ought to drop it but couldn’t quite let go. Glancing around the violent remnants of our meeting, he said, “I somehow doubt I’ll forget.” But he would. I’d made sure of it. Shaking his head, Phineas tottered into the sunlight, gripping the braid, and began walking. Adina brushed my shoulder. “What did you do to him?” “I placed a memory enchantment on something of value to me.” I shifted from Dillon’s legs so he could sit upright, and dropped beside her. “He won’t remember what happened here, and he’s disoriented enough he ought to head home, wherever that is.” I twisted to avoid Dillon. “He won’t know why keeping
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that token on him is so important, but as long as the spell works, he’ll have it in his pocket or on his person. Since it’s tied to me, I can track him. We can find where his people are based, where they’re keeping their females, and we can put a stop to his program.” “Why would you do that?” Her eyes narrowed on me. “You’re not one of us.” “I never said I was Evanti.” My gaze crept over Dillon’s calf. “But I didn’t admit I wasn’t.” “You lied.” Her anger stung my nerves. “She’s Sereian.” Dillon spoke for the first time. “It’s what they do.” I had no response. All my actions reinforced his bad opinion of my breed, with good reason. “Come on.” He grunted, pushing to his feet. “We should leave.” He managed a step before his leg buckled and he hit the ground, hard. He lay back, eyes closed, no doubt riding out the worst of the pain. While he was too winded to argue, I crawled to him. The knife was lost, so I grabbed a rock and sawed over the inside of my forearm until blood welled. A few swipes of my fingers across his calf set my runes in place. His eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You have to get her out of here.” I met his stare and promised, “I’m not going to hurt you.” “I know.” He scanned the room. “If you wanted to, you’d have done it by now.” My gaze slid from his. I indicated his calf. “May I?” He caught my wrist, stared at my savaged forearm. “What will this cost you?” More than I had to give. “Only this.” I indicated the runes already in place.
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“No.” He shook his head, disbelief shadowing his voice. “It’s not worth the risk—” Blocking out the rest of what he would have said, I spoke the words and let my magic flow into him. He moaned as pulses of warm, healing energy threaded torn tissue together. When the last drop of glamour left me, I slumped forward and inspected his leg. Muscle twisted in lean grooves. I hadn’t restored his leg, even with assistance from Zaniah, but I had healed him. My head became too heavy to hold upright. “Sorry…had to…heal…” I fell forward, braced for impact with the floor. Dillon snagged my upper arms before I hit and dragged me halfway across his lap. He scowled. “Can’t you listen to a damn thing I say?” He shook me. “I said it—” “Wasn’t worth…the risk,” I said, eyes closing. “Never hurt…you.” He gathered me close, his breath tickling my jaw. “You still aren’t listening.” His lips brushed my chin. I wished my eyes would open to see him. “This wasn’t worth the risk to you.” I smiled at his concern, well, tried to. Darkness swallowed my consciousness with one gulp. I never got that glimpse of him.
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Chapter Eleven
Warm air blew fragrant across my cheeks. The world was red behind my eyelids, so I turned from the slice of sunlight heating my face and snuggled deeper into bed. Cramps in my stomach made me struggle for a comfortable spot. As if sensing I’d roused, it rumbled a complaint, and my eyes cracked open on a room that wasn’t mine. I blinked. I wasn’t in a room at all, but a tent. Wood shavings littered the floor beneath a battered table holding a carving of a whale. “No.” Jerking upright, sheets twisting around my ankles, I kicked until my feet tangled and I rolled onto the floor. On my hands and knees, I panted. Not here. Not again. Not now. There’s no time. This wasn’t any tent, but Dillon’s. This wasn’t some hastily erected shelter, but a fortified dwelling. Head spinning, stomach revolting, I climbed onto the mattress and forced my head between my knees while inhaling long and deep. This wasn’t possible. I was right where I’d started—in the colony—again. How long had I been unconscious? Hours? Days? “Did you say something?” My mouth fell open as Dillon backed into the tent. When he spun around, he lifted a tray laden with cut fruit and cooked meats piled high over the bowls’ edges. My mouth watered as the scent hit me, but it was Dillon who held my attention. His mouth was set, eyes hard, but his gruff tone left me hanging on his every word. How was this possible? Why wasn’t I locked in a cell?
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“Aldrich said you ought to be waking up about now. Guess I have good timing.” He set the tray on a low table then dragged until the edge bumped my knees. “Eat, and I mean every bite.” “Dillon.” Thank you. He plucked a cube of fruit and popped it into my mouth. I had to chew or choke. I tried the first but managed the second. He wiped his fingers and grabbed a fork, stabbing another piece of food and aiming it at me. While extending one offering, he reached for a cup and lifted it as well. “How is Adina?” I chewed and tried to speak. “Do you have a healer versed in childbirth?” “She’s fine, and no, we don’t.” His offering bumped my lips. “I sent for a priest from town.” “If she needs anything…” I knocked his utensil to the floor, “…between now and then…” He made another selection with his fingers. “You’ll be the first to know.” “Good.” I relaxed, and he seized the opportunity. “I’ll talk. You eat.” He pressed fruit to my lips and forced his way inside. “Now, let’s cover the basics. I heard what you told Adina. I’m guessing what you gave Phineas was another lock of hair.” When I stopped chewing, he glared until my jaw sprung back into action. “You said you can track it, track him.” When I swallowed to answer, he said, “A nod works just fine.” I nodded. “Does the spell require you to track him personally?” He watched until I shook my head no. “Good. So you can rig it for someone else to follow Phineas’s trail?”
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I opened my mouth to say yes and got a mouthful of cured meat. Scowling at him, I snatched the cup and hid behind it long enough to say, “Yes, but the spell is only good for two days or so. Afterward, it begins to fade.” “Not a problem.” He sounded calm, reasonable. It made me more afraid than if he’d yelled. “We have a volunteer ready to go once the tracking spell’s activated.” I was fast becoming confused. “Once I realized what you were…” He frowned, started again. “I called in a favor and sent Mason to round up Aldrich. I figured he’d know more about what was wrong than our healers. Turns out I was right.” Lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “He said you’d borrowed more power than you could afford. That you were tapped out and something was draining you.” I picked up a roll of meat, but I’d lost my appetite. Dillon took my hand and guided it to my mouth. “He said a grimoire was his bet, but you didn’t have one on you. I explained about the runaway-horse problem, and we’re figuring that’s where your book is, right?” He waited as I swallowed, then nodded. If he was supplying me with means of retrieving my possessions, I would hardly argue. “He also said if you owed it so much you were blacking out, that you’d only get square by making a sacrifice—or sacrificing yourself—to sate its hunger.” His eyes hardened. “That’s not going to happen, so this is what we’re going to do. Aldrich is willing to donate his blood to seal your grimoire—permanently.” He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “Harper will be pissed to come home and realize I’ve used up his favors with the priest, but I…” He stared until my cheeks heated and I glanced away. “You don’t have to do this.” I addressed his calf, unable to meet his bicolored eyes. He made a noncommittal noise. “You’ll use my blood to set the tracker spell into motion.” I opened my mouth. He inserted a cube of cheese. “Don’t argue.
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It’s not becoming. You have no strength to spare, and I haven’t felt this good since the accident.” I bit his finger, and he growled. I smiled at him in an apology his glare said he hadn’t accepted. “Then we’ll pass the spell off to Mason.” I evaded his hand long enough to ask, “If he finds Phineas?” “Then the legion will take it from there. It won’t be the first time we’ve busted up a breeding operation. Slave rings are a dime a dozen thanks to asshats who believe Nesvia will come to her senses and reinstate slavery. Why crimp their cash flow when they’ll eventually be vindicated?” Phineas had said as much. Were they so sure Nesvia would fail? The thought unsettled me, but it paled to my unease where Dillon’s actions were concerned. “Why are you acting so kind?” “Is that some sort of dig?” His brow creased. “Are you implying I can’t genuinely be kind?” I tilted my head. “I mean that I expected to find myself in a cell somewhere, or at least under guard.” I gestured around us. “Instead I woke up in your bed, in your tent, and to this treatment.” “Who says you aren’t under guard?” His tone made heat flash in my cheeks. “And for the record, the isolation tent blew away during the storm, a storm with convenient timing now that I think about it.” He waited for me to confess. I didn’t. “You’re also the only prisoner we’ve got.” “Oh.” That put a different spin on things. “But you’re right. I’m risking a lot by keeping you here.” He cleared his throat. “With me.” I circled my question from another angle. “Why are you doing this?” He reached out, frowned at his hand, then wiped his fingers before cupping my cheek. “I think there’s a lot more to your story than you’ve told me.” His thumb swiped over my bottom lip. “I thought if I gave you some time you’d
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come clean with me, but that’s not happening. You are a lot tougher nut to crack than I thought you would be. That’s for sure.” He chuckled. “Granted, I may have made more headway with you if not for the sand trap and the kidnapping.” “Sorry I inconvenienced you.” The smile I’d almost given him slid down my face. I had things to say, but how much to tell him? I wanted to trust Dillon with the truth, the whole truth, but my throat closed at the thought of speaking Roland’s name. The risk was too high. Safer for us all if I led Dillon to make the same assumptions I had. “Tobin gave you his speech about saving your race, but there had to be another reason. Otherwise Phineas wouldn’t have let Tobin initiate the contact. He wanted something from you.” “Who knows? If Phineas was a plant here, he might have been tired of pulling his weight. Working in the mines is no picnic, and as rare as females are, he had to know chances were slim he’d spot more than a couple here and those instances could span years apart. For my money, he was willing to let Tobin give me his spiel about becoming a sperm donor to his cause, but hoped I could be convinced to take over the role of colony spy/recruiter for him so he could move on.” “That makes sense,” I said slowly, as if only realizing there might be another reason. “Could Phineas have wanted access to salt? He may have thought cornering you while Harper was away gave him better odds of negotiating terms.” I shrugged, nonchalant. “But I beat him to the salt.” “Yeah, you did.” He rubbed his neck, considering. “It’s possible they needed the payday. After the sandstorm, I assumed you had tampered with the tent. I see now that wasn’t necessary. That leaves Phineas as our prime suspect, not that it matters now. He hesitated, and it cost him.”
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He misunderstood, so I gave him a firmer nudge in what I thought was the right direction. “Or maybe they wanted the salt for other reasons.” I shivered at the thought. Dillon rubbed my arms. “Are you working on a fever? Blood loss or infection could cause one, right?” Months of hovering at his bedside must have worn off on him. His pinched expression said our earlier conversation was forgotten. I sighed. I’d drop larger crumbs next time. “Maybe I should get Aldrich. He said to tell him when you woke up.” His gaze slid past me toward the tent’s flap. “He wanted to chat with you, but maybe he ought to check you out first.” “I’m fine,” I assured him. His frown remained. “I barely lost blood, and my cut shows no signs of infection. I am, really.” Or I was until I remembered Aldrich was here and waiting for me. No doubt he wanted to speak with me about the grimoire and my inability to contain it. It pricked my pride, but I’d thank the elder for his help. After all, I had no one to blame but myself for my situation. Catching my chin, Dillon upturned my face. “There isn’t some kind of Sereian justice I should be worried about, is there? You don’t seem thrilled that he’s here for a visit. Is this safe?” “There’s nothing he can do that I don’t deserve.” I winced when his grip tightened. “I’m sure it’s fine.” “You’re not exactly convincing me here.” He waited for assurances I couldn’t give. There was no reason for Aldrich to speak with me that I could see, but refusing him would not be wise under the circumstances. He was an elder priest, and if he believed my condition was the result of my carelessness, then he could, by all rights, sacrifice me to appease our goddess.
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While Dillon believed our breed to be lawless and cruel, our meeting with Phineas and Tobin proved every race spawned monsters. The vast majority of Sereian priests and priestesses were simple practitioners who followed Zaniah’s edicts and obeyed the laws our queen set before us. The ones who disavowed Zaniah’s teachings, those who embraced darker magic, twisting the root of their glamour for evil, became outcast, hunted by their own kind. Ironic that in their quest for power, they had made themselves targets for their peers and fodder for taboo spell craftings. As I’d said, magic was in the blood. While sacrifices such as the one I’d made in the mine were frowned upon, sometimes they were necessary. As long as the death was justified, sacrifice was permissible without punishment. The infusion of power I’d gained by killing an Evanti paled compared to what an outcast’s death could do. Magic in their blood made them potent sacrifices. None of which helped my cause. I didn’t feel I had abused my power, but was neglecting it for so long an offense in itself? Aldrich had treaded the line of abuse to save Queen Nesvia by allowing a sentient crafting to feed on Emma. If he hinted at trouble, would wielding that information be called blackmail or named evidence if I used it against him? I wasn’t sure, but he was a dangerous male I’d be wise not to antagonize. I pushed those thoughts aside in favor of the question clawing up my insides. I inhaled, a mistake, because it carried Dillon’s scent. “Why does my safety matter to you?” “Other than the fact you’re my prisoner and protecting you is my job?” I tugged my chin from his grip. It didn’t matter that I meant nothing to him beyond his duty.
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“Or do you mean besides the fact it would finally give Emma a reason to introduce her knee to my balls?” He shook his head. “You don’t give your friends much credit, do you?” He took my hand and laced our fingers. His strength, his support, made me weak, willing to spill any answers I had he might want. “No offense, but you’re not much of an actress. Case in point,” he said, pointing through the flap at a familiar shadow positioned outside the tent. “Lindsay showed up while you were sleeping. She left the Lowndes in charge of the consulate, and I have to say Emma will be pissed at how you two played hot potato with her boarders, but I’m hoping by the time she gets back, we’ll have this settled. All we need is the salt and one hell of a good excuse.” I must have misheard him. “I d-don’t understand.” “No, you don’t.” He stared at our joined hands. “That’s part of the problem.” “You saw my glamour drop in the mines and you cursed me. You were disgusted. Don’t pretend otherwise.” I’d thought in exchange for his kindness, I could let slide that initial reaction, but I was proud of my heritage and his slight hurt. “The others will be just as accepting, I’ll bet.” “The others will manage to keep their feet out of their mouths.” His gaze lifted a fraction. “You’re right. I won’t lie. I wasn’t expecting… You’re Sereian, Isabeau. It caught me off guard.” My heart cracked. I was stunned he hadn’t heard the crisp snap as my hope fractured. Hadn’t I warned myself this would happen? Hadn’t I told myself Dillon wasn’t for me? Rough hands caught my cheeks, and calloused thumbs wiped moisture from them. “You did too good a job of making everyone believe you were Evanti,” he said, “and I—”
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I turned aside and pushed him from me. “You don’t have to explain.” He’d expected a mate, a full partner, not a pairing with a Sereian priestess. Craving him was selfish when his people required pure bloodlines to replenish theirs. I cringed at the direction of my thoughts, how they excluded any choice from him in the matter. That must be why his status remained a secret. Arranged matings were less barbarous than Phineas’s means but still required a hefty sacrifice from Dillon. At least rediscovering Daeza meant more variety in primas for him. I set my jaw. He would mate someone who could give him pureblood children. Not me. Dillon pressed his finger to my lips. “Hold that thought.” Shoving to his feet, he nudged the tent flap aside and craned his neck until he located his target. At first, their voices were too low for me to hear. Then his fist bunched canvas and he snapped, “No arguing, Lindsay. Go with Church.” The shadow I’d noticed earlier stomped off after another bulkier figure before Dillon returned. Snapping his fingers, he said, “One more thing.” He pulled me to my feet. “Turn around.” Warm breath fanned my nape. I froze as rough fingers trailed my shoulders, traced the column of my throat. A rustle of chain and familiar weight settled about my neck. No. It couldn’t be. I clasped the worn charm. “My locket.” “You need a new chain, but that knot will keep it secure until we can sweettalk Uriah into forging you a new one.” Taking my hand, he guided me from the tent. “Come on.” “What about Aldrich?” I dug in my heels, but he dragged me. “We can’t keep him waiting.” “Aldrich is discussing treatment options with Christophe and Warren for Derik.” He added, “Raiders almost disemboweled him. Our healers did what they could at the time, but they’re both inexperienced with major medical
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trauma. Patching up Mason and Osher pushed the limits of their ability to heal.” His expression darkened. “Aldrich is his best chance at recovery, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to consult, so while he’s making nice with those two, I’d rather leave them to it. Besides, Mason’s on his way back from the city. I expect it will be a slow ride since he’s still tender and all that jostling adds up fast. We have time.” Shuffling behind him, I frowned at his sense of urgency. “Time for what?” His chuckle was wicked. “You’ll see.” Skirting the neat rows of residency tents, we bypassed the heart of the colony and headed for its fringes. I frowned at the scattered debris marking what must be a construction site. Stacked rocks I guessed were harvested from the mine made an L-shaped divider. Dillon led me past the bend to a series of stalls constructed from sheets of hammered silver laced with intricate designs. “What are these?” I stepped inside one and spotted a drain. “They’re shower stalls?” “If you can’t tell on sight, then Uriah must not have done as good a job as he thinks he did.” “I guess I didn’t expect…” Pipes hung unattached overhead, and I remembered what Emma had said about spell crafters taking their time fortifying the new aqueducts. The colony had been purchasing water from Feriana at an exorbitant rate and would continue to until construction was complete. It appeared the colonists weren’t waiting idly by before they began preparations. “Ah.” He circled me. “You’ve noticed the small flaw in my plan. We lack running water.” I wished I hadn’t backed into a stall, into a trap. “The open-ended pipes were rather telling.”
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His smile was easy, genuine. I liked it. “I know what you’re thinking—” I was glad one of us did. “That this is an accident waiting to happen?” A flash of his teeth, then, “Are you saying I’m a danger to innocent females?” “I’m not innocent.” I swallowed as he entered the stall I’d chosen. “See, that’s where I’m not so sure.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I want you to trust me with the truth, Isabeau.” His head lowered. “I want to help you, but you’ve got to help yourself.” I wanted to trust him. I did trust him, but not with this. Not with my daughter. Not yet. I was too used to hiding her in my heart to crack open the door wide enough for him to slip inside. If he made me believe he wanted more with me than a quick resolution to a bad situation, then the fissure in my heart might split in two once he discovered I had been Roland’s mistress. I imagined his previous disgust amplified a hundredfold once he realized who’d fathered my child. No. There were things I must keep from Dillon, the better to hone my edge if we found the salt. But could I feed him half-truths? Hint at Roland? I still hadn’t told him my suspicions about Roland’s connection to Phineas. I feared anything I said might link Roland to me. Of course, he had heard Phineas and might share my suspicions. I braced myself. “What do you want to know?” His lips brushed mine, his sigh filling my mouth with his taste. “Everything.” My palms pressed to his chest and should have shoved him from the stall, giving me room to breathe, a means of escape. Instead, I thumbed his nipples, and his shocked gasp sucked air from my lungs. I battled my foolish heart as it tapped out its surrender. “I can’t tell you everything.” His voice was a pained groan as I tweaked his chest. “What can you tell me?”
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“This.” I rolled onto my tiptoes and met him halfway to a kiss. “I want you.”
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Chapter Twelve
Fog swirled through Dillon’s mind. Isabeau’s refusal to come clean should have pissed him off, and would have if she weren’t so busy turning him on. His nipples smarted in reminder of a time when they’d been pierced. Adornments for his body meant for the queen’s pleasure, not his. Red lips brushed his chest…teeth clacked on metal…skin tore… Grinding his jaw, he blinked free of the past and set his sights on Isabeau. See her, see now. Another tug made him wish he’d kept the damn barbells so she had something to hold on to. When her nails scraped down his stomach, he groaned, wanting her hands higher. She must have heard the edge of need in the sound, because she worked her hands under his shirt. He took the hint and shucked it over his head. She laughed when his wrists tangled in the buttoned cuffs. His shoulder bounced off the wall when she shimmied past him, turning him, pushing his back against the stall as she snatched the center tangle of fabric and tugged it, and his arms, higher. She teetered on her tiptoes, but she managed to knot his shirt over the showerhead. “What’s going on here?” He gave an experimental tug. Material gave and he exhaled. Escape was one firm tug away. Shrugging his shoulders, he relaxed into his captivity. Isabeau fanned her fingers across his pectorals, stopping when her thumbs brushed the tips of his taut nipples. “You like this.”
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Truer words had never been spoken. Yet she waited. Did she really need confirmation? His head bobbled yes. Paired with a grunt, it was all he could manage. She rolled and twisted, pinching him until he arched against her, panting. Was it possible for him to orgasm this way? It’d never happened before, but…another glance down as she dipped her head had him testing the shirt, debating the merits of ripping it in half. Should he or shouldn’t he? He couldn’t make up his damn mind because his brain had switched offline ten minutes ago. The first tentative brush of her tongue lit his skin on fire. Sweat popped along his upper lip and ran from his forehead into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and let his head fall back against the wall. Thumped it a few times for good measure. Another lick of pain flared where her teeth met tight buds and tugged hard enough his gut clenched. Red lips…sharp teeth…tearing… The past staggered him, blinded him until Isabeau pressed a soft kiss to his stinging skin. Another kiss followed the first. “Tell me if it hurts.” He barked out a laugh. “Yes, doctor.” His voice was graveled, throat tight. Her chuckle vibrated his chest where her lips feathered over his collarbone. “I’m not your healer.” She stared up at him. “Not here and not now.” Certain his next few words impacted his next several minutes, he said, “You did your job. Our tab was settled the day I walked out.” For good measure, “You haven’t treated me since.” Her nod ended with her face nestled against his neck. He leaned toward her, brushing their cheeks together, inhaling her pear scent and reveling in how his body had awakened beneath her fingers. Had he ever felt more alive than this? He didn’t think so. Sure he’d lived, and lived well, once fleeing Askara. In his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined this connection was what he’d been
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missing. No wonder Harper let Emma take the lead. A female who knew what she wanted, what her male needed, was a dream. And maybe, just maybe, was stronger than his nightmares. She thumbed him again, sighing into his shiver. “So sensitive.” “Are you?” He bit his tongue. “Let’s pretend I didn’t ask that.” Some sthudai he was. Pleasure had been his trade for decades. Funny how all the training he’d undergone hadn’t prepared him for Isabeau. His patience was shot. He wanted to please her the first time, every time, and yeah, he was ashamed for asking her for a cheat sheet. It was like pressing the handicap-access button because he was too lazy to open the door. No excuse for it. Just goes to show how long he’d gone without—contact, kisses or sex— anything physical. Isabeau’s laughter told him his impatience was forgiven. Good, because his gut twisted with each swirl of her tongue. His cock ached for her attention when he’d once sworn the next hand to touch him there would be introduced to the dull side of a blade. No one could touch him but her. “It’s been a while for you, then?” Had he imagined the hopeful lilt to her voice? “A long time,” he said, mesmerized by the swipe of her tongue across her lips. “You?” “For me too.” She traced his collarbone, fingers climbing toward his neck. He crushed his eyes shut, dragged in deep gulps of air. No reason to panic. Be here, be now. “Dillon?” She cupped his cheeks. “Are you all right?” He managed a jerky nod. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I just…I remember sometimes…”
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She stroked damp hair from his forehead. “I know. I heard your nightmares, remember?” His gaze lowered. “I’d forgotten that.” Or he’d tried to at least. Tilting his chin up, she scanned his face. “You were collared?” Breaking from her grasp, he planted his chin on his breastbone. “Yeah, I was.” “Then your throat is off limits.” She fumbled his shirtsleeves. “I should have considered.” A tug. “Here. Let’s free your hands. Then we can continue…if you like.” “My hands are good.” Damn his voice had gone rusty. “All right.” A sultry tone answered him. “Then I’ll make you comfortable in other ways.” Her fingernails scratched a downward path from his chest to his navel. When she traced the edge of his pants, he shivered. By the time she started working his laces, his fists clenched in the material of his shirt and tiny rips were punctuating her every move. As she spread the fabric, her hand found him hard and eager. One long stroke up his shaft buckled his knees. Then she knelt. Warmth from her breath hit his skin and then her tongue flicked out to taste him. Her hum of approval made his nape prickle. Blood mingled with sweat and trickled down his spine. He ignored everything but his Isabeau. Sweet lips engulfed him, and his guttural praise earned him a low hum of her pleasure that vibrated through his shaft. His eyes shut, spine bowed, and for the first time in his life, he experienced pleasure without artifice, without guile, and he wanted more. Fabric ripped overhead, drawing Isabeau’s wide eyes from her task, up his body to his arms.
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Dillon shook the pins and needles stinging from his hands and smiled down at her. As good as it was to receive…it was so much better to give. Delicious heat skittered along my spine as Dillon shredded his shirt and reached for me. His eyes gleamed, silver spotting their centers. Was arousal the cause, as I’d assumed? Or was Adina right, and this was a part of some greater change? I touched his cheek. “Your eyes are beautiful.” “Thanks.” He blinked, and they were once again bicolored and familiar. Our heavy breaths echoed off the thin metal walls surrounding us. Any passersby would see our legs, the direction our feet pointed, and their imaginations would paint a sinful portrait of us. I wasn’t as embarrassed by the notion as I should have been. While Roland had kept our relationship hidden, Dillon made no effort to hide me from his peers. In fact, he made certain all males knew I was his. Even with my tarnished reputation, he stood by me. I never thought a male once so resentful of my heritage could take…was it pride…in me? Dillon’s fingers chased a fresh surge of warmth from my flushed chest as it rose up my neck and heated my face. He toyed with my hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers before he inhaled, his eyes fluttering closed. The sight of him so entranced with me was oddly disarming. “Dillon?” My head tilted back as his hands tangled in my hair and anchored me in place. “We need to talk.” His amused snort surprised me. “Now she wants to talk.” “Your eyes have gone silver.” The smile slid from his face. I had his attention.
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His gaze shuttered, locking me outside, forcing me to look in on a male whose lips had warmed mine only moments earlier, but peeled from his teeth in a snarl meant to warn me away from him. My chest ached as I took that first step back. This time, he let me go. He ground his palms into his eyes and mumbled something about a mistake. I staggered back another step. “According to you, our relationship is a series of mistakes.” His hands dropped. “We have a relationship?” He measured me for some reaction then frowned when I failed to provide the correct one. I braced a hand over my roiling stomach. “You’re going through a change.” “Whatever Phineas told you—” “Adina told me.” His expression turned wary. “She said you’re exhibiting signs of change.” No answer. Turning from him was made easier by his quiet anger. Though my spine stung in warning, I stood my ground and addressed the door. Foolish to think I would make it past the threshold if he chose to detain me. “I admit I don’t understand all of what she implied. She told me that you—” “She shouldn’t have opened her mouth in the first place. If I wanted you to know, then I—” I whirled and answered his growl with my own. “You would have told me? No. I don’t think so. You ask me for everything, but what have you given me in return? Your protection, yes, and I am grateful for it. But what have you given me of yourself? Nothing. If not for Adina, I wouldn’t know you were a prime, that there were primes, or that only a prima could have triggered such a change.”
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I panted hard, furious, hurting. “She was right about all of it. You have met your mate.” He caught my upper arms and held me trapped in place. “Yes, I have. But you knew that when you kissed me.” His lips twisted. “You knew that when you said you wanted me, and you didn’t let it stop you, did you? If my eyes hadn’t turned, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be buried balls-deep in you and you’d be screaming my name, wouldn’t you?” “I…” “Hell yes, you would.” He shook me. “You started this. Man up and finish it.” Fury gave me strength to bare my soul to the one male guaranteed to shred it. “Fine. I will.” I struggled, but he held me firm. “Adina believes that only a prima could have triggered your change, but she’s lived in isolation. She can’t know whether crossbred females or other demon breeds can cause primes to change. Even if that were the case, and it’s not, there are no unmated females here. You wouldn’t steal another male’s mate, and you wouldn’t be with me now if your mate was elsewhere. Don’t bother to deny it. There’s only me. I did this to you. Me.” His eyes glittered. “What exactly did you do to me, Isabeau?” he asked softly. His sudden calm made me break into a nervous sweat. “I…triggered your change.” “You sure about that?” His grip loosened. I nodded, trying to retreat but still unable to break his hold. He dragged me two steps closer. “Then you know what this means, don’t you?”
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My mouth opened, but my throat wouldn’t work. “You made a good point. What are the odds of another female in the colony?” He sounded thoughtful. “Maybe it isn’t you.” He released me. “I guess I’d better go and see if I can find out.” “No.” I placed my hands on his chest over his heart. Its wild beat mirrored my own. “I think I will.” Each step scooted me backwards. “Unless there’s a reason I shouldn’t?” Pinned to the door, there was nowhere for me to go but out or him to go but back. I shoved him. “You’re mine.” My vehemence shocked us both. He arched an eyebrow and asked again, “You sure about that?” I slid a hand down his stomach until I palmed his erection. He was still hard, still hot, and his eyes flashed silver on contact. He hissed a string of curses from his teeth while I stroked him. “This is for me.” I tightened my grip, smoothed my thumb over his damp tip and relished his shudder. Gazing into sterling eyes, I asked, “What else is mine? What is this change of yours?” He panted. “You sure you can handle it?” My possessive growl was my answer. “I don’t look how you’re used to,” he warned. He used me, rocking his hips into my fist. I let him, relished him until he pried my hand free. “Primes are different even before the change.” I reached for him again, but he waggled his finger. I caught it, kissed it. “I want to see you.” “Then give me some room.” He rolled his shoulders. “It’ll get tight in here.” I sounded breathless. “I don’t mind.”
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“I haven’t shown anyone. Not since I escaped.” He squinted at me. “Give me a minute.” He exhaled. “I’m kind of, well…” He closed his eyes and he inhaled. Sneaking a peek down at his pale-skinned hands, he chuckled despite himself. “I’m not sure if I can do this with an audience.” I gave him a minute longer. “Should I turn around?” He shifted from one leg onto the other. “You don’t mind?” “Not at all.” Tucking my smile from view, I gave him privacy. I even closed my eyes. One breath, two, then a third, and his relieved sigh heated my back. “All right.” When my eyes cracked open, heavy crimson wings lined the walls to either side of me and their tiny claws hooked over the tops of the stall for support. I touched the filmy skin and watched as bright reds radiated from each point where my fingers rested. His wings were massive, his coloration richer, but so far, nothing unusual. Turning slowly, I allowed myself a moment to compose myself. His dark stomach was the next thing I saw of him. Beneath my gaze, his muscles quivered. Sweat on his skin made it gleam like polished ebony. His weight shifted, drawing my gaze downward, past his unfastened pants. His feet were bare, his boots kicked to one side. Thick, red spurs protruded from the backs of his heels. Again, nothing I hadn’t seen or treated. I was about to ask him where his differences lay, when a flicker of motion by his ankle widened my eyes. Was that, “A tail?” “Figures you’d notice that first,” he said gruffly. “It’s a very nice tail.” I peered around him. He’d tucked it out of sight, whether he realized it or not. “It’s mine,” he said after a moment. “I mean, it’s not part of the change. All primes have them.” His expression held a curious mix of embarrassment and
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pride, the result of a rarity whose conformation to Askaran and then human society left him uncertain of his appeal in either. Even his tone warned the appendage was permanent, which made me curious if other changes weren’t. When he cleared his throat, I jerked my gaze upward for his comfort. Again, I admired lean muscle twitching in time with the tail at his feet. Scanning upward, I found nothing I hadn’t seen before until my perusal snagged past his right temple. My gaze skittered left. A matched set. Small knots of carminecolored bone twisted from either side of his head. I pricked a finger on one spiral tip before thinking to ask, “May I?” He nodded and I pursued my timid exploration. He winced when my fingers slid from bone to tender skin. “The horns are new?” “Yeah, they are.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “They’re the worst of it.” “Your scar…” I traced the jagged edge. “I wondered if it was real or an embellishment.” “It was a parting gift from Queen Eliya.” He added, “After I strangled her with my tail.” I laughed at the pride in his voice. No wonder he chose to let the scar show even through his glamour. I would have done the same. “She returned the favor by trying to pluck out your eye?” He winked. “She didn’t try hard enough.” A laugh. “I guess I didn’t either. She survived.” “That’s all?” I scanned his face, made beautiful by his laughter. “That’s everything?” Red slashed his cheeks. “There is one more thing.” He twisted right and resettled that wing.
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Carmine-colored spikes jutted from his hairline, trailed down his nape and extended past his shoulders. Blood smeared his skin, glistening on the spiked ends. More dripped down his back. Recalling all the times he’d rubbed his eyes, his neck, I regretted I hadn’t realized what pain he’d been enduring. He’d been unwilling to ask for help, especially from me, because he’d have to lower his guard and answer questions. I touched the nearest tip gently. “Are they retractable?” “They seem to be. Once I gain more control, if I do, I’ll let you know.” He rolled a shoulder, and they slid beneath his skin. “You’d think I’d remember, but I don’t. The primes I met while I was enslaved, well, they weren’t much for teaching the new kid how to survive in the wild. They taught me other skills. Eliya made certain of that.” His expression turned grim. “I knew enough I didn’t melt down when the spikes appeared. My father made sure before he…” He exhaled. “I don’t want to go there. Not now.” He stroked my cheek with a clawtipped finger. “Then don’t.” I wanted to hear his story, but not as much as I wanted him. “Talking was your idea.” Silver engulfed his eyes, swallowing the blue and green irises he shouldn’t have without his glamour. “I was happy where we were, doing what we were doing.” “I forget.” I tweaked his nipple, and he all but purred. “Where were we?” “I think…” One claw sliced through my top’s crisscrossing straps. “I was about to discover how sensitive you are.” Torn fabric pooled about my waist. “What is—? That broken horse again?” His large palms covered my breasts. “What is it with you and shoving things down your shirt?” “I don’t have any pockets,” I defended. “Besides, it’s broken. I didn’t think you’d want it.”
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“You’re right,” he admitted. “On the list of things I want right now, the horse doesn’t rate.” I moaned when his coarse thumbs found my nipples hard and tweaked them harder. Soon his hands and fingers weren’t enough, for either of us. He lifted one breast, lowered his head and let his lips brush over that soft skin, leaving a damp trail of stinging kisses pressed everywhere but where I craved his mouth most. His tongue swirled away the hurt, making me whimper for more. I started when my side tickled and glanced down in time to catch him cut me free of my skirt and work the rest of the fabric over my hips until I stood naked before him. Cramped as we were, his view was limited. His scowl told me what he thought of that. When he glanced up, he smiled. “Next time,” he promised. I nodded, forcing the words through a tight throat. “Next time.” Grasping my hips, Dillon molded me to him, and I was lost. How could I walk away from him now? I couldn’t. Not with my heart. “What’s with that look?” His smile was hesitant. “Nothing.” I tunneled my fingers through his hair and locked my hands behind his head. He resisted, so I rose onto the balls of my feet and kissed the edges of his frown. “Where were we?” His lips were hard and unbending. Undeterred, I nibbled and licked my way down his throat until I reached the crease in his pectorals, then tasted my way across one of his flat male nipples. He groaned. “It’s all coming back to me.” I withdrew when his fingers cupped my scalp, made me stop and forced my gaze upward. “The way I remember it, it’s my turn.” He braced his shoulders against the wall and made a space between us. “Hang on a second.” Glamour shimmered.
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His wings vanished as I protested. “I didn’t expect this.” A lopsided grin melted my heart. “I’ll admit, I’d hoped, but…” He glanced at the door. “Next time, we’ll be prepared. We’ll find a place more private and you can play with them all you want.” His voice was graveled. “I might even take you flying if you’re a good girl.” I blushed. I couldn’t help it. I’d never been with an Evanti, and his wings… I bit my lip. “Like that, do you?” His husky chuckle raised hairs along my nape. He traced circles on my hip. His pattern spread across my abdomen and lower, until he brushed the juncture of my thighs. “Not yet.” His voice pitched so low, I had no doubt he hadn’t meant me to hear. Redirecting his path, his hands found my hips and squeezed, lifted me in a slow glide against his body until I hit the right spot and locked my ankles at the small of his back. Approval vibrated through his chest. Clutching the edges of the stall for support, I ground my hips against him. My biceps burned as I held tight, used my weight to slam those broad shoulders of his against the stall and pin him. Impact made him grunt. With the wall for support, his hands were free to slide beneath my bottom and squeeze, hard. He bore my weight while I readjusted my grip, grinding his erection against my core. Muscles in his neck strained. His total focus centered where our bodies aligned. Grasping my legs, he spread me wider, rubbed harder, until orgasm rippled through me. “Sensitive,” he murmured, fingers brushing the heart of me. I jolted at that contact, rocking onto his hand, and his fingers slid inside me. Trembling, my hands bit into metal as familiar pressure built and I shuddered into a second release. “Enough.” I shook my head as his fingers
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pushed harder, deeper. His thumb brushed the bundle of nerves still throbbing from his attention. “Please.” My hips rolled against him. “Dillon.” I shut my eyes. I had to. Seeing him, loving him this way, it hurt too much. Warmth encased the tip of one breast, and my eyes popped open. Dillon’s dark head clouded my vision. I leaned down, kissing his temple as his teeth scraped slow across my nipple. One arm banded about my waist and lifted me higher. A final lick, one last swirl, and he thrust inside me. I quivered in his arms. He buried his face in my neck, tugged me onto him, forcing my arms around his neck as he drove into me. His breaths were hard, sharp blasts in my ear. His skin was sweat-slicked, and we slid together. His leg shook beneath our combined weight. The strain made his groans pain-laced and pleasure-filled. When his hand fit between us, found me, stroked me, I screamed his name. He shivered, arms cinching, pace quickening. His bellow made my ears ring. He slid down the back of the stall until we crumpled onto the ground. Bucking his hips, he almost dumped me from his lap. “What the hell?” Reaching under him, he withdrew half of the horse. Tossing it over the stall door, he said, “I’ll make you a new one.” “You’d better.” My legs were boneless and loose. “I liked that horse, and I have the splinters to prove it.” He shifted me on his lap, tucking his face against my shoulder and breathing deep. A light breeze tickled our bare bottoms. Sand made plinking noises as it bounced off metal. I scratched Dillon’s scalp and rested my forehead against his collarbone. Warmth encased me, startled me into realizing I’d dozed for a moment. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I turned my head and spotted my blanket. His
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wings draped over my shoulders, hiding the scant inches of my skin visible beneath the stall door. Though his nudity concerned him less. Pressure coiled around my leg. I glanced down to find his tail encircling my ankle. I pressed my smile against his throat. As sleep tugged me under, I said, “I told you it was a very nice tail.”
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Chapter Thirteen
Alone in Dillon’s tent, I perched on the edge of his cot and awaited his return with Aldrich. To distract myself, I counted the curls of wood left from his carvings, but my attention wandered toward the tent flap. When a shadow dark with magic glided across the tent’s entrance, I started. A cowled figure stooped as he entered the tent. His limbs were twisted, his limp pronounced, and power, such power emanated from him. Bleary eyes peered out at me, made my skin crawl beneath his appraisal. “You are feeling better?” He bobbed his head in a birdlike fashion. “Yes?” I squirmed beneath his gimlet stare. “I am. Thank you.” “All right,” Dillon said, ducking inside on Aldrich’s heels. “Let’s get this over with.” “I thought…” I glanced from him back to Aldrich. “Shouldn’t we speak alone?” If I was to be accused of misconduct, I’d rather it be done in private. The priest rolled his shoulders. “I have nothing to say that one can’t witness.” Relief surged through me. If that was the case, then whatever the topic of our conversation, it must not be as dire as I’d imagined. Still, I remained wary. “Dillon, could we have a moment…” “No can do.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You’re a prisoner, remember? That means no unsupervised personal visits.” He walked to the cot and dropped down beside me. “Carry on.”
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I winced at the reminder. Glaring at Dillon, I was torn between gratefulness he was here and frustration that he might hear Aldrich’s accusations, if any were made, but he ignored me. His attention remained riveted on Aldrich, confirming what I’d suspected. He mistrusted all Sereians. With Aldrich, he had reason to be wary. After all, so was I. As for me, well, his reservations were warranted on that score as well. So far we had both established our breed’s devious natures. “Your manners haven’t improved, I see.” Aldrich shuffled toward Dillon’s desk and claimed the chair with a soft grunt. He pointed at Dillon’s calf. “Your leg has, yes? Emmaline’s healer has done well I think. Her talents were wasted at the consulate, though it matters not, considering her theft.” His expression turned sly. “My queen could use such a healer. While your Isabeau isn’t my equal, I could train her.” His gaze swung my way, assessing. He licked his dried lips. “Yes, she has much potential. Keep my offer in mind when the time comes to decide her punishment. She would be confined to the castle, to my quarters, and she—” “Get to the point,” Dillon warned. “While you’re at it, roll your tongue back in your mouth.” He slid a heavy arm around my hip, dragging me across the cot until I bumped against his side. Aldrich glowered at the possessive show, but warmth sparked clear to my fingertips. Face flushed, Aldrich snapped at me. “You were reckless with your powers, and there will be consequences for your actions.” His displeasure lashed over my skin. “Even now, your energy is draining. Magical parasites aren’t easily removed. They’re not easily caught, either. You abused more than your own power; you exploited a lethal tool of your trade. A grimoire is at fault, yes?”
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My shoulders bowed with the knowledge of how right he was. How foolish I’d been. “Yes.” “If you intended to break your vow, you should have bound it so that no harm came to you or whoever finds it.” His glare sharpened. “It is lost, yes? That you didn’t take the proper precautions suggests incompetence, but you are far from an amateur spell crafter. You are a priestess of Zaniah.” Dillon tensed beside me. “Otherwise, there would be no grimoire to lose.” I straightened with ease now that Dillon’s fingers had loosened. “I have no excuse.” “You surprise me.” Aldrich appeared taken aback. “Yes, you would be a fitting apprentice.” “I appreciate the offer, but I’m content with my work.” Or I had been. I exhaled. No regrets. “Ah, yes. I don’t doubt you were, once, but betrayals aren’t easily forgiven.” He coughed up a ragged laugh. “If your prison’s walls become too restrictive, send word and you will be freed into my custody.” He turned a cold smile on Dillon. “He is not the only one with favors owed.” “Get back on track, priest,” Dillon snapped. “She’s not yours, and you can’t have her.” Tension crackled through the air. Burnt hair wafted to my nose as Aldrich’s temper flared. Escape was a tempting offer, but after what Roland had done to Nesvia, the old priest’s offer was conditional. Or would be once he realized who had taught me. After hearing my master’s name, his offer would swirl from my hands the same as sand snatched by winter winds. Oh well. He had his allegiances, and I had mine. I touched my locket, a gesture not lost on him.
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“You have a child, yes?” Aldrich adjusted his robes. “Female, I heard. Perhaps consider—” Low growls sliced through Aldrich’s offer, and my heart swelled. For a moment I let myself pretend my daughter and I could claim this fierce champion. That he was ours and would protect us against the threat of recruitment. I was sullied. I would be barred from my temple, as Mother had been after my birth. My daughter, though, was born of powerful bloodlines, and some would covet her, believing her father would compensate their efforts at grooming even his bastard heir. Once, an offer of status through education would have tempted me. Apprenticing to Aldrich was an honor, one difficult to dismiss. But I wanted my daughter with me, not raised in a temple. I would teach her. I would protect her. It was my duty to keep her safe from choices I had made. Another rumble brought my attention to the angry tic in Dillon’s jaw. I patted his thigh, and he jumped on contact. Being so intent on Aldrich, he hadn’t noticed when I moved closer. Soon enough, he relaxed beneath my touch. When he dragged me against him and pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, my eyes rolled shut. “I won’t let him have you, either of you.” His lips trailed my cheek. “You’re safe here.” Crossing to my ear, he said, “Say the word and he’s out of this tent, out of this colony, hell, out of this realm if it makes you happy.” “I’m fine.” I caught him unawares, my lips brushing his before he withdrew. “My patience wears thin,” Aldrich groused. “Let us settle this matter so that I might leave.” Untangling from Dillon was impossible. His grip was too firm. I gathered as much dignity as I could muster while plastered from hip to shoulder with him. “All right. What are your terms?”
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“In exchange for the absolution of my debt to the queenmaker, Harper Delaney, I offer my blood to seal your grimoire. Should you accept my offer of aid, then I ask our bargain be sealed as well.” His bony shoulder rolled. “Considering your current situation, I am well within my rights to ask for such precautions to be observed.” He gave me a half smile. “You have a knife?” “No, she doesn’t,” Dillon said, “but I do.” Aldrich considered him for a long moment, until I felt sure he would deny the possibility of Dillon acting as my proxy. “If she breaks her vow to me or abuses my blood, then you will be the one who suffers for it. Are you willing to risk a blood tie to me for her? A Sereian? A priestess?” So Aldrich knew of Dillon’s disdain for our kind. Having spent time together while Dillon was wounded, several days as they journeyed from the city of Rihos toward Feriana and the consulate, his dislike would have been obvious. Dillon wasn’t one for keeping his opinions quiet. Dillon offered his arm. “Do it.” I tried to press his arm to his side, but he locked his muscles. “You don’t have to do this.” “You’re too weak to give more blood, besides…” his eyes searched mine, “…I trust you.” My throat constricted, trapping the warning I owed him after what we shared. You shouldn’t. “I see now why you’re slow to accept my offer.” Aldrich patted his pockets. “It seems your jail has fewer bars than I’d realized.” He grinned. “Or else it has incompetent jailers.” When he withdrew his hand, he clutched a vial and uncorked the lid. After Dillon supplied a knife, Aldrich sliced through the thick scarring on his forearm, digging deep until reluctant blood surfaced. He gave no indication the cut caused him pain, but his brow wrinkled as he measured his
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donation. I watched as crimson filled the vial and it was stoppered. Without warning, he slashed Dillon’s forearm, pressing the seam until crimson ran in rivulets. Then he clasped arms with him and let their blood mingle. Dillon hissed as Aldrich’s magic wormed beneath his skin. I rested my face behind his shoulder and stroked his back until the worst of his tension ebbed. When I withdrew, damp splotches marred his shirt, but at least my eyes were dry. Foolish, foolish male to trust me. Aldrich held fast. “I’ll have your word my debt is paid once the grimoire is contained.” “You have my word.” Dillon gritted his teeth. Aldrich raised his eyebrows, so Dillon spat, “Once the grimoire has been contained, I give you my word your debt to Harper has been paid.” Aldrich’s low chant filled the tent. Strain from the binding spell beaded sweat on Dillon’s skin. “It is done.” Aldrich dropped his arm and passed me the vial. “You know the incantation?” “I do.” His blood warmed my hand through the thin glass, and I swallowed to keep down my meal. “Would you like me to clean your arm? I’m sure Dillon has bandages and ointment if—” He frowned. “There’s no need.” Air clotted his messy wound, and he appeared content with that. “If you’re capable of binding the grimoire, then a tracking spell should be a simple enough matter.” He inclined his head. “I could be persuaded to help, if my services were compensated.” “Isabeau?” Dillon touched my arm, and blood dripped onto me from him. Fisting his sheet, I dragged it onto my lap and blotted his arm. “I can manage.” To Aldrich, I said, “Thank you for your help.” I forced a smile. “Your offers were generous and appreciated.”
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“Yes, they were.” He grunted as he rose. “Keep them in mind. You may change yours.” “I will.” I think we both knew my acceptance hinged on my last resorts being exhausted. After he’d shuffled from the tent, Dillon caught my wrist. “Save the doctor routine for after we get that tracking spell off the ground.” He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Are you ready?” “Yes.” I realized I was ready. I had means of binding the grimoire without further sacrifice, I had Dillon prepared to aid me in my search for the book and the salt. In exchange, I offered him a chance to protect Daeza and other Evanti. After we had the salt, then my plans became muddled. Find the salt. Bind the book. Escape the male. The first and second parts were executable. The third, well, that part might be my undoing. Stinging pain coursed through Dillon’s veins. He had a funny feeling Aldrich’s let’s seal the deal ceremony did more than bind him at his word, but the alternative had been letting him carve up Isabeau, and that wasn’t happening. Ever since the mine, his protective instincts had kicked into overdrive. Hell, if he were being honest, he’d been strung out since he first laid eyes on her, and he didn’t mean her half-naked race to the colony, which too damn many males had watched. The growl in the back of his throat revved up a notch. “Why are you dragging your feet?” “I’m not.” Regret softened her voice. “How are Mason…and the legionnaire?”
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“You hurt them pretty good. Mason’s shoulder was barbequed. So was Osher’s hand for that matter.” Guilt made his pace slow. “Christophe used the opportunity to practice a basic healing spell Aldrich taught him. It was enough to take the sting out of the burns, but they’ll both scar.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, young males get bored fast out here. I figured it was more humane to let them go back to work at their own pace than put them on bed rest.” She touched his shoulder, and heat blazed a trail to his gut. “Is Mason well enough to handle the spell?” “Well, I was hoping you could tell me.” Mason’s tent lay ahead. Even if Dillon didn’t know the way by heart, the handful of legionaries doing their best to appear casual while guarding the entrance would have tipped him off. When Isabeau’s hand slid down his back, he faced her. “He’s not holding a grudge, if that’s what has you worried. You did what you felt you had to do.” “Oh.” Her smile was too fast, too bright to be sincere. “It’s not just the situation with the kid.” He cleared his throat. “Your daughter, I mean.” The pain behind his eyes ached. “When I found him, he tried to warn me off, like I’d ever hurt you.” She nodded once. Her shoulder brushed his on her way to the tent. Even that small contact made his skin tighten. Every step straightened her spine, raised her head, until she was prepared to face her first victim. That she hadn’t balked made him proud. Made him believe her crimes hadn’t been committed by choice. Guilt mantled her shoulders. Good. He could work with guilt. Damn it, he ought to feel guilty. He was skirting the line of betrayal with Harper’s trust. Planning Isabeau’s defense in as much detail as he could scrape together was one thing. Calling in favors from Aldrich was another. He could argue saving Isabeau was what Emma would want. Harper wouldn’t say a word if that was the case, but the truth was, Dillon was saving her for him.
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Mating wasn’t possible. Was it? He cursed the thought even as he had it. He’d said he trusted her, and the shocker was—he did. While he wasn’t fool enough to think she’d given him the whole story, he believed she would. With the right motivation. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much other than she had a kid and must have been set up by someone able to use her kid, or their kid, as leverage. He didn’t see her abandoning her friends or ruining her perfect cover for anything less than her daughter’s security. Or her safety. Leading him right back to the question of who her master had been, who the father of her child was. Emma mentioned finding Isabeau in an outland slave market. How had she gotten there? Right time and right place or something else? Something planned? Pretending to be Evanti was a surefire way to catch Emma’s eye. No way would she have left Isabeau there to fend for herself. One way or the other, he was going to have to pry the answers from Isabeau’s sweet lips. Securing the salt was a priority for both of them. After that, well, he wasn’t so sure. No use stressing over the endgame yet. Finding the horse was step one. Whether Isabeau had fallen as she claimed, or the partner she denied having stranded her, she had lost the salt and Dillon had no qualms tracking the mare or her ex-lover. And yeah, the male would be exed out one way or the other. Isabeau wasn’t mated, lie or truth didn’t matter. She was his. Based on his earlier conjecture, if her ex-lover was her ex-master, that explained why he’d had no qualms risking her neck for his gain. Some slaves remained with their masters, afraid of carving out their own lives. His Isabeau wasn’t afraid, but she was running scared. Now he had to figure out why. Knowing how her kid fit into the equation would help. She must be the root of the problem.
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Ahead of him, Isabeau paused with her hand on the tent flap. Legionaries to either side cast her sideways glances. One leaned forward, made a comment that earned him a laugh. The sound grated in Dillon’s ears. The fact her pitch was off and she’d taken a graceful step left meant less than the fact the male’s face had split into a huge grin as he tracked her step with one of his own. Dillon kept his eyes on Isabeau and let her actions dictate his reaction. Her head turned, dark eyes seeking his. The legionnaire followed her line of sight straight to Dillon. The male muttered something, and this time Isabeau’s laugh was genuine. He parted the flap and held the halves open until darkness swallowed her outline. Then he resumed his post. He waited for Dillon to reach hearing range. “I didn’t know Isabeau was yours.” His smile was fond. Not Emma’s healer, but Isabeau. “How do you know her?” “Emma managed my placement here,” he said slowly. “Isabeau handled the paperwork.” Neck tense, Dillon struggled to maintain his glamour. “What did you say to her?” The male’s face turned red. Warmth trickled down Dillon’s spine. He lifted a hand. Still pale. His glamour was holding. He touched his nape. His fingers came away stained. It figured. “I meant the last thing you said.” “Oh.” He relaxed. “I asked if you were the one.” He hastened to add, “Isabeau and Lindsay had an inside joke. It was a male’s name, I could tell, but they’d never own up to whose it was.” Heat singed Dillon’s cheeks. He’d been a joke? After the stunt she’d pulled for Emma… Isabeau popped her head through the slit, and her eyes narrowed on the legionnaire. “What Alexander neglected to mention is you weren’t the joke.
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Lindsay’s reaction to you was what I found funny. You know how frustrating halflings are. They’re quick-tempered and cause damage when they’re upset they’ll regret later. Whenever Lindsay struggled with her lessons, I had only to mention your name and she would explode.” Color smudged her cheeks. “You know she was raised in an outland mine? Her language…some of the words she knows…some of the names she called you…they were quite inventive.” She stepped outside and rested her palms lightly on his chest. “I admit, I laughed. Then she laughed. By the end of it, she was calm, no damage done, and ready to try again.” Her fingers tapped against him. “It sounds bad, and I was wrong to-” Dillon exhaled. This he could handle. This was a mess of his own making. “You owe me.” “Did you miss the part where I implied it was your fault for being rude?” “No. Lindsay has reason to dislike me,” Dillon admitted. Isabeau smirked. “Okay, she has reason to hate me.” He covered her hands. “You, on the other hand, took advantage of me. You owe me.” Her mouth fell open. “How did I take advantage of you?” “I was in a lot of pain.” He swallowed his chuckle. “I said and did a lot of things I’ll regret.” “Things you will regret?” Her nail jabbed him. “Meaning you don’t regret them now.” Damn. She had him there. A wise male would stop before she pointed out the incident that wrote him into Lindsay’s bad book happened the day after they met. Before his leg was injured. “Are y’all standing on the porch all day or coming inside?” Mason called. Reality intruded, shattering the moment, and Dillon regretted watching Isabeau’s smile fade. “Let’s not keep him waiting.” Dillon took her arm and guided her inside.
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Her mood shifted the instant they crossed the threshold. Isabeau put space between them, and he didn’t have to glance over to know her stubborn chin would be angled up and her shoulders set back. With a sigh, he let her face off with Mason, knowing it was better for them both if she cleared the air first before they got down to business. Mason paused from shoving clothes into a backpack. “Hey there, Miss Isabeau.” He nodded at Dillon, gaze snagging on his arm. “I see you two have been practicing your spell crafting.” He flashed a megawatt smile at Isabeau, but it was shades dimmer than it once was. “I hear you’re going to set me up with a tracking spell? Cool. I’ve never seen magic used outside of glamour.” “Mason,” she said, “I owe you an apology.” He started to speak. She cut him off and continued, “Please—let me say this. I owe you this much.” He gave a terse nod. “I can’t let you pretend nothing happened, when I hurt you, badly. You trusted me, and I abused that trust. What I did—it was…” She gulped a steadying breath. “I’m sorry, and I don’t expect your forgiveness.” “Forgiveness isn’t the issue. It’s yours. Trust, now that I can’t give you.” He suppressed a wince as he shrugged. “I’ve known you a while, and even though I don’t know you well, I do know Emma. She trusted you, and, because of that, I did too. I knew when it happened you must have had your reasons, and it looks like I was right.” He paused. “Dillon told me about your little girl. It’s a fuckedup situation you’re in, and the legion will help you out any way we can, okay?” Isabeau murmured vague thanks that made Dillon turn. “So, how does this work?” Mason clapped his hands. “Do you need anything from me?” “It depends. Spells are stronger the more layers of connection you build between the magic and the bearer. Do you have a small item of importance, or it
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can be symbolic, that you wouldn’t mind parting with?” She added, “I doubt what you choose will be harmed, but blood does stain.” “Ah. Gotcha. Not a problem.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew an aged knife. “That’s Grandpa Ed’s knife.” Dillon recognized the worn deer antler casing. “Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute. “I got a pass from Harper. I know we aren’t supposed to bring items from Earth to Askara, but…this is all I’ve got left of the old man. I didn’t want to leave it at home. You know how forgetful Mom is. She’d toss it during one of her spring-cleaning fits, and there I’d be.” His voice thickened. “I figured it’d see more use here anyway. As long as the spell won’t hurt it, this knife’s the best token I’ve got for you.” “Once the spell fades, you can wipe the runes from the blade.” She accepted the knife with a gentle touch that showed proper respect to a good man, long gone from this realm or the next. It took trial and error until she figured out which silver stub held the blade. Once she found it, two tries past the bottle opener, she reached for Dillon’s wrist. “Are you certain you want to do this?” “It’s either you or me, and it’s not you.” He offered his arm. “Take what you need.” “What about me?” Mason’s brow furrowed. “It’s my knife, my connection. Would using my blood strengthen the spell?” Isabeau’s hesitation answered him. “I don’t mind.” His arm shot out. “Tell me you aren’t trying to protect me,” Dillon groused. “It’s a pocket knife, not a sword.” “Fine. I’m not trying to protect you.” Mason grinned. “I’m trying to get felt up by Isabeau.” The knife wobbled in her grip as she blinked between them.
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Dillon snorted. “Nice try.” He dared Isabeau to disagree with a look. “She’s off limits.” Her quick blush made him wish he’d tacked on something more permanent, more specific, more his. “Don’t let him get away with that.” Mason winked. “Tell him it’s a two-way street, darlin’.” Ignoring their banter, she found Mason’s washing bowl and cleaned his blade, giving her an excuse to turn her back on them, and on Dillon’s claim. Not a claim. That’s her call, remember? Yeah, he did. His problem wasn’t that she planned to claim him but that she seemed resolved not to. Contrary male that he was, his ego was bruised to realize he had done everything but stamp his name on her ass. Uriah had that forge and hot pokers at the ready… He shook his head. Insanity. The female was driving him out of his ever-loving mind. Why else was he half-wishing she was the one biting back the urge to claim him? To etch her name in his skin by ink, fire or claw? Yep. Pure insanity. Or worse. Maybe it was love. I was cautious about piercing Mason’s skin. Unsure how thick he layered his glamour, I had to go slow and be prepared to work blinded. Slicing through glamour was an acquired talent, one I hadn’t mastered until I went to work for Emma. Evanti illusion was tangible, but some wielded finer control than others. For instance, Dillon could reveal select parts of his body while keeping the rest hidden beneath his human façade. Others lacked his skill because of the control required. I’d once had a patient arrive at the consulate with a knife handle protruding from his shoulder. I’d been puzzled at the smooth skin underneath and the lack
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of blood. Emma explained camouflage is a survival instinct for Evanti. The male had been injured during a protest, so he donned his glamour and made his escape among the throng of fleeing Askarans. Once he reached me, his glamour was stuck. Emma had knocked him out cold so I could see his wound to operate. I worried Mason’s injury might affect his control, but as I held his wrist, magic evaporated and I was left holding an ebony forearm attached to a fairskinned elbow. “Dillon trained you?” “Is it obvious?” He chuckled. “I told you he liked some kids. I happened to be one of them.” Fresh guilt rose up my throat. More than a friend, I’d hurt someone Dillon must love. “This will sting for a minute.” I put more pressure on the blade and let it sink deep enough to give me what was required. Closing my eyes, I began a slow chant while marking runes onto the knife’s blade with my little finger. I knew the moment the spell caught. The blade began humming in my hand. “Here. Do you feel that?” I let him make a fist and feel the low vibrations. “It’s working.” “How can I tell direction?” He held his arm out, turning, yelping at the northernmost point. Dillon braced on my shoulder. “I guess that’s how.” Mason set the knife down and eyed it warily. “I guess so. Does it always do that?” “The combination of your blood and your token made for a more powerful connection than I anticipated.” I laughed at his shock. “Sorry, I should have said it was possible. You’re all right?” “I guess we don’t have to worry about me getting lost,” he joked. “Always a bonus.”
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I returned his smile. It was impossible not to. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you leave.” “Sounds good to me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Dillon. Dillon cuffed Mason on the back of the head. “Stop smiling at her like that.” “You see how he is?” Mason sighed dramatically. “I ask you, how is it fair he gets the girl?” “Enough with the bellyaching,” Dillon said, running a tired hand through his hair. “We need to see you off so we can get on our way.” He tossed him the knife. “Do you have any questions?” “I think I’ve got it.” He pocketed the knife and hooked his backpack over one shoulder with a grunt before changing sides. “Follow the tracker. Find Phineas’s base of operations. Report back with its location.” He frowned. “What about the commune, Daeza? If I get the chance to—?” “No.” Dillon’s command was firm. “Phineas is the one we need. Daeza can wait.” “Not for too long.” Mason eyed the tent’s flap. “That female’s due any day now.” “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. You can’t get near that mountain. The Evanti there would kill you the second they realized you weren’t…” Dillon’s gaze cut to me. “I’ll handle them, her, later.” “Fair enough.” Mason patted his pocket. “No offense, but if that’s it, I’m heading out. That knife is like having a bee trapped in my pocket.” He nodded to me. “Miss Isabeau, have a care with him, will you?” He slapped Dillon on the back. “And you—just don’t let your guard down, okay?” I gave a mute nod. Dillon deserved the warning, just as I didn’t doubt he wouldn’t heed it.
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Mason ushered them from the tent as he tied and knotted the flap. “See you when I see you.” “Two days, tops,” Dillon warned. Two days. Would this finally end in so little time?
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Chapter Fourteen
Lindsay was pacing outside Dillon’s tent upon our return. When she spotted me, she opened her arms and I walked into them, dragging Dillon along behind me. “What are you doing here?” “I was worried.” She hugged me until I gasped. “I started thinking about that man at the market. What if he saw you leaving on your own? What if he came back for you? So here I am. I had to know.” She held me at arm’s length. “You’re all right, aren’t you? It’s all right I’m here?” A mass of hard male brushed against my back. His curiosity hummed through the air. “You’re a dear friend to worry.” I patted her. “Dillon said you left the Lowndes in charge?” “Only for the night,” she assured me. “I’m heading back first thing in the morning.” “That’s good.” I swallowed when Dillon squeezed my shoulder. “I—I’m glad you came.” Lindsay glared from me to Dillon and back. “Your patient looks well enough.” “He is. Well, I mean.” I smiled until my cheeks hurt. “Good.” She brightened. “Then you can return to the consulate with me.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Dillon’s fingers tightened. “Isabeau has decided to remain at the colony for a few extra days.” He must have smiled because she flinched. “Sorry about that.”
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She frowned at me. “Isabeau?” “He’s right. I have a couple of things to wrap up before—” I exhaled. I owed Lindsay the truth. At least if I told her now, I could face her rather than sending a letter from my cell. Regardless of Dillon’s intentions, I didn’t doubt Harper would want his justice. I knew I wanted mine. “I have to tell you something.” I took her hands. “Try not to get too upset. Everything will be all right.” “You didn’t, did you?” Her expression crumpled. “You couldn’t have. I won’t believe it.” “I’m sorry?” I elbowed Dillon out of harm’s way. “What do you think I’ve done?” She pointed. “You mated him. I can tell.” Her eyes narrowed. “He’s smiling.” Smug satisfaction radiated from him. I elbowed him again, harder this time. “No, I didn’t.” “You didn’t?” Her shoulders slumped. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Isabeau, are you sure?” His lips brushed my ear. I turned my head, and he kissed me with enough force to rock me on my heels. “It’s…complicated.” He nodded, seeming to accept my answer. For now. “I don’t understand.” She withdrew. “Does this mean you’re not returning to the consulate?” “I honestly don’t know.” I leaned into Dillon for support. “I’ve done some bad things, and I have to help make them right.” The lie was mostly true. “I’ll have to be punished for what I did.” He tensed behind me, one hand digging into my hip to keep me close. “I told you, I’ll—”
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“No. I can’t let you step between me and Harper.” I wasn’t worth the loss of their friendship. “He’ll understand.” Dillon kept his voice low. “Why will Harper be mad at you?” Lindsay glanced between us. “I took something that didn’t belong to me.” I kept my tone soft, my words calm. “Now I’ve lost it, and I have to get it back. If I can’t find it, Harper will be upset. He should be. It was his.” “Does this have anything to do with that male at the market?” Her voice sharpened. “It’s not your fault you were attacked. If Harper’s whatever-it-is was stolen, it’s his fault. It’s not yours.” “She was attacked?” Dillon stepped between me and Lindsay. “By what male? When?” “The morning before she left for the colony.” Lindsay glanced at me and pressed her lips into a stubborn line I recognized too well. He’d pry no more information from her on the matter. He faced me. “Isabeau, I’m trying to help you. You know I am. Tell me what male.” Possibilities for escape flickered through my mind but scattered on the winds. The time for truth had come. Days remained on my deadline. Desperation made me believe Roland would honor his word, but I knew him too well. So I had a choice to make. Trust the one male who believed in me, or lose him forever. Tell him what I’d done, all of it, or let him learn I had fewer morals than he credited to me. I rubbed my hands down my face, felt his stare fixated. My daughter deserved a champion. If I lost him to the truth, well, I had memories to last me. I didn’t recognize my voice. “We need to go someplace private.”
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He grasped my upper arm and dragged me through the sea of tents. His grip hurt, but I kept my complaints to myself. Lindsay dogged our hurried steps, following us inside the empty clinic. “Find somewhere else to be for a while,” he barked at the healers. Both males jumped at the sound of his voice, then scattered outside, leaving us three alone. “Sit.” Dillon indicated a stool. I did, and he towered over me. He pointed a warning finger at Lindsay. “You, get out.” Her snarl was his only warning before she charged. He sidestepped her. His stance widened, and I saw things ending worse than I’d ever imagined. I leapt to my feet and stood before Dillon with my arms outstretched. Lindsay had turned, charged again. Registering me, she skidded left. “Move,” she ordered. “This is between him and me, and he’s had it coming.” “No.” I shrugged Dillon off when he tried to move me. “This is my fault. I won’t see either of you hurt. Please, Lindsay.” I indicated the stool I had vacated. “Sit. You should hear this too.” Frustration bled from Dillon, but I was about to wound him deeper. “Can you sit too?” I indicated a second stool. He ignored it, leaning against the wall instead. “Start talking.” He folded his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you had been attacked?” “It wasn’t like that—not exactly.” The familiar excuse tumbled out. “He didn’t mean…” “Your face was bleeding,” Lindsay snapped. “You were hurt.” A tic worked in Dillon’s jaw. “Your partner, I take it? The one you don’t have.”
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“Yes, but he’s not my partner.” I covered my mouth with my hand to hold in the words. “Who was he? If he’s not your partner, then why the hell was he beating you?” He prowled closer. “Better yet, why did you let him? He laid his hands on you and you let him walk away?” “You don’t understand.” I held my ground. “I had no choice.” “You’re right. I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his hair as he paced. “You have to tell me the truth. All of it.” His gaze cut to Lindsay. “There are…extenuating circumstances…” Then back to me. “This won’t work if you don’t tell me everything. You must know that, right?” Fear constricted my chest. Each breath burned, pricking tears behind my eyes. You’ve already lost him, I reminded myself. He just doesn’t know it yet. “The male from the market…” I swallowed. “I was meeting him.” I forced my legs steady. “I’ve been…stealing the embolite samples Harper sends from the Feriana mine. For a long time.” “Isabeau—” My name on his lips rippled with fury. I ignored him. I had to. Otherwise I would lose my courage and allow my lies to fester. “I took them after testing, after the paperwork and certification was done.” My gaze drifted toward the floor. I expected no thanks for that small kindness. “Once I was certain no one would miss them, I—I waited for market day and sneaked the samples from the consulate. While Lindsay did the shopping, I met the male. In the market. It was always there.” I heard Dillon shove from the wall. I kept going. “I gave him the embolite. He wanted pure salt, but…I couldn’t. I wouldn’t do that. The samples were different. I told myself the colony had given them away. They sat tagged on the shelves and never used, so I didn’t see the harm. It was wrong, but I didn’t have a choice.”
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He came closer. “You were stealing all along?” “Yes.” I rubbed my arms. It didn’t help. I was rattled, and I couldn’t stop shaking. “Emma finding me—it wasn’t an accident.” My gaze darted to his then back to the floor. “I was placed in that slave market. Whispers were spread about what I might be so she would demand I was set free. R—he said Emma wouldn’t turn her back on an Evanti. He was right. She did as he’d said.” “You’re not an outlander?” Lindsay spoke up. “I don’t understand. Where are you from?” Tongue so thick, I almost choked, I answered, “I’m Sereian.” “Oh.” She gasped. “Oh.” “Yes,” Dillon said. “Oh.” Another step and his boots were in sight. “There’s more I take it?” “I was told to report anything I heard about the mines. He…he wanted control of them, and he wanted information on Harper so he could plan his move against him.” I stammered when Dillon froze mid-step. “At first…I was afraid…I told him everything. Then Emma became my friend…and I couldn’t. I couldn’t…betray her. So I told him less, and only what was common knowledge, only things any courier visiting might overhear. Nothing of importance. And I stole the samples to keep him placated. Instead, it fueled his greed. He knew from the reports the Feriana embolite was yielding almost pure progesaline. The samples were no longer enough. He wanted exclusive mine rights. I think, now, that was his intention all along. To learn how the operation was run, to ensure the salt was pure over a period of several months, to make sure the veins weren’t in danger of depletion.” “You were a spy.” Dillon’s voice made me shiver anew.
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“I was.” I steadied myself. “When Lindsay found me, I’d been made an offer. If I stole a shipment of processed salt, then I would be freed.” I swallowed. “My daughter would be freed.” Lindsay toppled her stool when she stood. “You have a daughter—?” “—what do you mean freed?” Dillon closed the distance between us. Heat radiated from his body, and I wished I had the right to burrow against him. His palms landed on my shoulders hard enough my knees buckled. His fingers dug deep. His voice was a harsh grating sound tinged with betrayal I wasn’t finished supplying. “Damn it, Isabeau, tell me.” Releasing my glamour, I held up my wrists. Let him see the slave bands. His eyes widened. “What I told you about serving my master was true.” I winced when his fingers tightened. “I was his lover. For years he was content training me in the use of my powers. He’d taken me from my mother’s temple, you see.” I coughed up a bitter laugh. “He said he saw great potential in me, so he made a hefty donation to the temple and they…gifted me to him.” My voice softened. “My mother tried to stop them, so her sister priestesses beat her as he dragged me toward his sled. By birthing me to replenish the order’s numbers, she had become unclean. She had no say in temple matters. She had nothing but the shelter and food they provided in exchange for her…services.” Dillon’s hands slid down my arms until they hung at his sides. “Is that what you were?” “A breeder you mean?” I sensed more than saw his nod. “No.” I exhaled. “I was young and in love and foolish, and I believed my master cared more for me than he did.” I laughed at what a fool I’d been. “We were content those first few years. I had been drinking a contraceptive tea, so I had no aspirations of childbearing. When I became pregnant, he was elated. I thought it was joy that I
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had provided him with an heir.” I kept my voice level. “After I gave birth, he changed, and I…was glad when he severed his ties to me. He left our daughter in my care, and I was content.” “What changed?” Dillon’s voice rasped hard in my ears. “I don’t know.” I risked a glance up, but his eyes were too hard to meet. “I’d opened a small booth selling herbs and healing ointments. I had returned to the town of my birth, and my mother left the temple to live with me and help raise my daughter.” My vision blurred. “We were happy for the first time, until…” Warmth overflowed onto my cheeks. “I came home from market one day and found Mother. She’d been stabbed.” I blocked the mental picture before it devoured me. “And your daughter?” He sounded closer. “She was gone,” I whispered. “I looked—everywhere, and then I found the note.” Dillon’s touch startled me. “He said I owed him for the years I’d lived as a freewoman. He said my debts had come due, and our daughter was the payment.” I wasn’t proud of how my voice trembled. “I begged him. I promised him anything if he would only give her back to me, and he said that he had an idea.” Hysterical laughter bubbled in my chest. “I was to leave for Askara and hide in the outland slave market. He would handle the rest. I didn’t ask for details. I did as he told me. That was a year and a half ago.” My voice hardened. “I haven’t seen my daughter for eighteen months.” “That explains your hair fetish. It’s proof of life, right? He exchanges it for the salt.” I nodded. “Do you trust him? I mean—” Dillon swiped a hand down his mouth. “Are you sure…?”
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Are you sure she’s alive? How many times had I asked myself the same question? It was the source of my nightmares and the first question I asked myself every morning when I woke alone. “I have to believe she is.” There was no other alternative. “We agreed on using a spell for confirmation. He brings me a lock of her hair that’s no more than three days old. After that, all its energy has bled after being cut, and the spell comes back negative. If the hair is fresh, I know she was alive before he brought his trimmings to me. It’s not foolproof, but it has worked so far.” “So you had confirmation about a week ago.” He sounded thoughtful. “I doubt he would hurt her one way or the other.” He kept to himself that child slavery was a more lucrative venture for a male looking to rid himself of his unwanted offspring. “If he believes you’ll deliver, then he will have her close in case you balk.” He paused. “When were you supposed to deliver the salt?” “He gave me one week to meet him.” I jerked my gaze to his. “In Sere.” “Give me a name.” His tone hardened. “Who are we up against?” Phantom twinges in my slave bands warned me speaking his name carried consequences. Dillon caught my chin. “Name the bastard.” Shivers made me lock my jaw against clacking teeth. He tilted my head, forcing our gazes to meet. “Who did this to you?” My lips parted on a whimper. His eyes glinted silver with his fury. “Say it.” My eyes shut tight. His name has no power over me. “Look at me.” His hands cupped my cheeks, his thumbs brushing beneath my eyes. When I did look, I drank in the sight of him, filing away the worry lines and the sympathetic frown softening his features. His beautiful eyes would harden in
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the next moment, never again to return my stare with anything besides the disgust I had feared glimpsing in their depths all along. “Roland.” My voice carried through a heavy moment of silence. “Roland Bernhard.” Dillon was gone before I finished saying his name. Wood splintered in Dillon’s haste to escape the clinic. Four strides later, he still dragged the door by its handle. Flinging his arm, he cast it aside. Roland Bernhard, heir to Sere’s throne and a rank bastard. No wonder Isabeau had kept his name a secret. After what that son of a bitch did to Emma, Harper would throttle Isabeau if he learned of their connection. Damn it. Dillon’s mind spun faster than his thoughts gathered traction. She was a pawn, but she wasn’t the only victim. Roland and Isabeau. Isabeau and Roland. Clamping his hands over his ears, he knew that it wouldn’t help the mantra blazing through his mind, but the knowledge Roland owned Isabeau, had been her first lover, had fathered her child for fuck’s sake, was cracking more than Dillon’s glamour, it was breaking his heart. For her. For her daughter. Roland’s daughter. Flinging his head back, Dillon roared until his lungs emptied and voice smothered. His. Isabeau was his mate. That sadistic bastard had cut her loose as far as Dillon was concerned. According to Isabeau, Roland had surrendered custody of their child until it suited him, which was perfect for Dillon. Once Isabeau would have contented him, but now he wanted a matched set. He wanted his mate and her little girl. Staggering, he moved his hands from his ears to his temples. His fucking horns kick-started another migraine as his mating instinct flared his nostrils, sharpened his focus.
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The past few days distilled in a hot mash inside his skull. One name floated to the top. Roland Bernhard. Understanding plowed into Dillon with the force of a runaway train, and his world lurched. Kings, even future kings, I find are much easier to please. Phineas had all but named Roland as his new patron. Between Dillon having his ass kicked by goons at the mine and Isabeau’s reveal, he’d put zero thought into the breeding ring. After all, slavery was a trade as old as time. Forget Sere, look far enough south in Askara, in the outlands and below, and all that stood between you and your heart’s twisted desire was a piece of silver. Fantasies sold at auction. Desire had a price. Age was just a number made of dollar signs. Nesvia’s wham bam, thank you, ma’am emancipation proclamation had earned her the scorn of her noble peers. Slaves who’d bathed their masters’ feet before bed tossed in their rags and set out for the consulate or for the colony bright and early the next morning. No flourish. No fanfare. While the blatant thumbing of her nose at Askaran tradition might be cathartic, it bit Nesvia on the ass when Roland kidnapped her. Funny how, in retrospect, she was rescued by the slaves she had freed while not a single member of her inner circle had so much as batted an eye at her disappearance. First Court had kept her disappearance a secret, but who’d arranged their silence? Roland Bernhard, the male of the hour, was Dillon’s guess. On the heels of his failed attempt at siring Nesvia’s heir, Roland’s name showed up in connection with a ring of breeders specializing in rare demon
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breeds and sexes? It was too much of a coincidence. Factor in Phineas’s eagerness for the stolen salt and Dillon’s ears began to ring. Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner! Roland must be bankrolling the breeders, the same as he was bankrolling the raiders. Another thought had bile perched in the back of his throat. If Isabeau had taken precautions against pregnancy, which he knew from personal experience all slaves well-versed in sex did, it stood to reason Roland’s excitement over her pregnancy may also be connected. Substituting her contraceptive tea for something benign would have been a simple matter. Dose up a Sereian female and she wouldn’t go into heat, but she might ovulate, which was the result that mattered. Dillon was willing to bet Roland had not only gotten Isabeau pregnant, but he’d engineered her pregnancy. Sure. Why not? It fit. He must have started somewhere, right? Going after Nesvia without testing his theory, praying an overdose wouldn’t kill her, would have been a boneheaded move. Since dead queens bore no offspring, Roland wouldn’t have risked it. He wanted that heir. Jolted from his thoughts, Dillon jumped at the light caress down his forearm. Isabeau stepped in front of him. “I’m sorry.” Dillon had no clue how long he’d been standing there before Isabeau scraped up the nerve to come look for him. “S’okay.” His heart clogged his throat. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I should have told you sooner.” “He has your little girl.” His voice went rough. “Anyone would have done the same.” Her head bobbed, giving him the answer she thought he wanted. He caught her face between his palms. “I mean it.”
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“You say that,” she said, searching his eyes, “but you would have fought for her.” “I don’t know what I would have done,” he snapped. “I’ve never loved someone like that. I have never had to make life or death decisions that impacted the life of someone I couldn’t live without.” He cursed his timing as he said, “Not until this.” He brushed her lips. “Not until you.” She blinked, stunned, and he crushed his mouth to hers before she said something he wasn’t brave enough to hear. Admitting she was his mate was one thing. But if she claimed him now, if she spoke the words and made their relationship binding, Dillon would always wonder if Isabeau really loved him. Or if she felt obligated to parrot his affection in order to secure his cooperation. Damn it. He wanted more than her gratitude, more than an exchange of his freedom for hers. If he was going down, he was taking her heart with him.
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Chapter Fifteen
Biting my nail, I kept watch on the tent flap and the demon I wished would walk through it. I had an idea for locating the grimoire, but Dillon wouldn’t like it any more than I did. As for the salt, well, I doubted we’d find any at this point. The odds of the horse roaming free after all this time were slim. Nudging that fear aside, I lowered my glamour, and runes glimmered over my forearms. I skimmed the neat rows on my left arm with a finger until I hit the symbols I required. “What are those?” I glanced up to find Lindsay’s brow crinkled as she stared at my arms. Her hesitant question was the first she had spoken to me since we’d relocated from the clinic back inside Dillon’s tent. “They’re runes.” I traced a crisp line of ink. “Each one holds a different spell.” Fabric rustled and Dillon entered the tent with a bulky male behind him. He held a letter and tap, tap, tapped it across his palm. His guest grinned at me. I wasn’t fool enough to smile back. Whack. Dillon slapped the male with his letter. “Keep your eyes to yourself.” “I’m Church by the way.” The male addressed my feet. “Upchurch Moore.” “She’s Isabeau.” Dillon scowled. “Now. You’ve been properly introduced. Happy?” “He isn’t an agreeable male.” Lindsay frowned. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t mate him?”
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Church coughed into his fist while Dillon scowled at Lindsay. “Halflings,” he grumbled. “Can’t live with them…” Lindsay tensed to stand. I put my hand on her knee. “He’s upset,” I said. “Let him be.” “Let him be. Ignore him. Don’t hurt him.” She slumped. “You’re forever defending him.” He glanced my way, and his lips twitched. My cheeks burned as I asked him, “What are we waiting on?” “Russ.” Dillon went back to tapping his letter. “Mason’s been training him as a fill-in for the courier position. He’s made the trip into the city a couple of times now. He ought to be primed for a solo ride.” He chuckled. “I guess we’re about to learn how good his sense of direction is.” “And I thought Uriah was harsh.” Church gave a mock shiver. Dillon’s gaze narrowed. “Cute.” Light spilled inside the tent as a leaner figure joined their small gathering. The new arrival’s voice was low, cool. “You wanted to see me?” “I’ve got a job for you, Russ.” Dillon handed over the letter. “Get that to the consulate.” Russ grasped the rectangle of parchment and frowned. “Mason’s away at the moment.” “You got a problem making this run?” Dillon waited. A minute ticked past. “No.” Russ tucked the paper into his shirt pocket. “I’m certain I’ll manage.” “You do that.” Ignoring Russ’s exit, Dillon gave Church his full attention. “Once he gets back, I want one of you two patrolling the border at all times. Double the number of legionaries in the field until I return. If something comes up you can’t handle, ask Uriah. Make his ass help.” Church’s eyes sparkled. “You expecting trouble?”
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“Don’t know yet.” He rubbed his nape. “We won’t until it gets here.” “No problem, boss man.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he gave me a half wave. “It was nice meeting you, Isabeau.” With a wink at Lindsay, he said, “We’ll finish the tour later, doll.” “The tour? Oh.” Red blossomed in her cheeks. “I think I would enjoy that.” “I’ll make sure you do.” His chuckle followed him from the tent. My concern collided with Dillon’s annoyance. Later. Our newest complication could wait. “Okay, now that we’ve got a moment alone, what’s with the glamour? Or the lack thereof?” “I think I have an idea for tracking the grimoire—and the salt.” I rubbed at my runes. “When Aldrich left you with me that night at the consulate, once you were stabilized, I approached him about a spell exchange.” When his jaw set, I rushed, “I was in the market for a tracking spell, for obvious reasons. He said he had such a spell, well, not a spell, but a sentient crafting I could use. So we made an exchange. He gave me Song’s runes and I traded him my memory serum recipe.” “Okay, is it a song or a spell or a crafting?” He sighed. “Sorry, I don’t follow.” “Its name is Song, but it’s a powerful crafting.” I shrugged. “It must have once been a basic spell, but the incantation was recited so often, asked for by so many practitioners by name, that it became aware. Once achieving that level of power, it became able to decide who it would serve.” “So it’s possible you’ll do your thing and nothing will happen?” He sounded relieved. “Yes, but I’ve called it once before and it came.” I neglected to tell him how eerie I found it. “I had hoped it could find…but it couldn’t. Roland had samples
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of my blood. Even faded, they were powerful links between a mother and child. I believe he used them to shield her from me.” “I guess it’s worth a shot,” he finally said. “Anything to give us an edge and save time.” He pointed at my arms. “Why did you get the tattoo? That doesn’t give it power over you, does it?” “No.” He must have sensed my hesitation. “It’s complicated. It can’t control me, but if it did decide I was interesting, it could stay. Inside me. Not influencing me exactly, but talking to me.” The growl returned to his voice. “And if that happens?” “Then there’s nothing to be done.” I shivered. “Let’s hope he finds me and his task boring.” Lindsay scratched at my skin. “Are the others alive as well?” The snap of Dillon’s teeth told me he hadn’t considered the possibility. “No. Song is the one sentient crafting I have. The others are larger spells, unwieldy spells, but nothing I want to lose.” He inclined his head. “Why not write them in your grimoire?” “Where do you think I found them?” I laughed. “You’ve seen what the book has done to me. Grimoires exhibit various levels of awareness as well. We feed them our blood or…other things in exchange for their knowledge. If we wrote the spells down, we would imbue yet another book with magic. So practical spells are committed fast to memory, but impractical ones are tattooed.” Appearing to ponder the implications, he settled on asking, “Over time, wouldn’t it have the same cumulative effect on your skin?” Then he groaned. “That’s why Aldrich’s covered in runes. They’re not just a handy reference, but they imbue him with power. Remind me to warn Harper.” I nodded, as if I were certain we’d survive our confrontation to have such mundane worries.
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A throat cleared outside the tent, drawing my attention. Dillon’s gaze touched on his table, then locked on me. “That’s our ride. You’re ready?” He extended his hand for mine, but Lindsay knocked my arm aside before we touched. “What’s your problem now? We’re burning daylight.” “I’m coming with you.” She stood, planting her feet wide. “I can help.” “Thanks, I appreciate the offer but—” Whump. Before I could yell a warning, Lindsay had turned his outstretched arm into a lever, flipping him over her shoulder, winding him as his spine hit the packed sand floor of his tent. I leapt to my feet as she dusted her hands together, Dillon sprawled in a mass of twisted limbs at her feet. Leaning over him, Lindsay smirked. “See?” “Snapping my spine,” he said on a groan, “is not…helpful.” “Lindsay,” I chided. Kneeling at his hip, I examined him before he brushed my hands aside. “Let’s go.” Bones popped as he sat upright and pushed to his feet. Rolling his shoulders, he measured Lindsay a moment. After taking my hand, he said to her, “Come on if you’re coming.” He didn’t have to ask her twice.
Featureless scenery spread as far as the eye could see. Sweat made my palms slide where I’d grabbed the edges of the dune sled. Well, sled might be generous. This was more of a utility cart, outfitted with metal rails for gliding over the desert. Paint flakes stuck to my hands, and cramped quarters meant I felt every flex of Lindsay’s muscles as she sharpened a blade she’d chosen from the armory before our departure. Strokes from blade over stone were precise, even from practice.
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Perhaps sensing my attention, she lowered her weapon. Its forward-curving blade gleamed. Our gazes locked, and hers was somehow clearer, made sharper by the sword in her hand. “Are we close enough for you to try?” Dillon’s voice shattered the moment. She resumed her task while I clambered onto the driver’s seat beside him. I cast another glance around and saw nothing but sand. “This should be fine.” He pulled on the reins, and our ride coasted to a stop. Calling Song was risky, and I wasn’t certain it would work for locating the grimoire. It was a specialized crafting meant to locate a person using, of course, blood. I had a hunch my grimoire held enough of my blood, and my mother’s blood, for the spell to take root and give me direction, but when dealing with a spell possessing a mind of its own… I’d heed all necessary precautions. Starting with how I planned to make my attempt well outside the colony. Since Aldrich had summoned the crafting to locate the queen in the mines, I wanted distance from that connection. Patting my pockets, I touched warm metal and withdrew a small knife. I followed it with his compass, taken from the desk in his tent, and a scrap of paper I’d wrapped around a clay marker. “I’m tempted to ask but I won’t.” Dillon shook his head. “I’m afraid of what else you’ve got in your pockets considering what all you managed to cram down that skimpy top from before.” I grinned. “I am a bit of a packrat.” “A bit, says the female who shoved a quarter of a salt shipment, a knife and a horse—” “A horse carving,” I clarified.
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His laugh petered into a sigh. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’m stalling.” “I hadn’t noticed.” I was too grateful for the reprieve. Another soft press of his lips and he scooted aside, giving me room. I positioned the knife. “Once I begin this chant, if Song answers, I can’t stop. The sound is what anchors him to me.” I sank the blade into my skin. Blood welled and I dabbed runes on the compass before I passed it to Dillon. “If the spell works, you can follow his directions with this.” He avoided smearing the markings. “How will I know if it works?” “The needle will spin south.” I unbuttoned my shirt, exposing my throat. “Watch for it.” While reading the runes from my arm, I wrote them across my chest and onto my neck. The familiar sensation of magic glided over my skin. I was being tasted by the crafting I was about to call. Before the first note rose in my throat, pressure coiled about my chest and stifled my lungs. A silken voice hissed through my mind. Ssspeak the wordsss. I did. Pitch flat and notes falling shorter each repetition, I couldn’t breathe well enough to sing for it. After noticing my issue, the crafting eased its grip on me and fell into contented quiet. I blushed when Dillon shifted his focus onto me. His heated stare drew even Song’s attention. In my haste to divert the crafting’s interest, I fumbled a beat, and Song’s annoyance made me gasp. Asssk what you will. Your favor isss granted. My price isss met. Careful to keep my chant smooth, I replied in kind. I have misplaced a family heirloom, my mother, Alisha’s, grimoire. Her blood and mine ink the pages. Can you locate the tome for me? Thoughtful silence met my request. I can. It isss far. I would hear my sssong while I work.
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Gulping air, I renewed my efforts, pausing only to tap the compass. “It’s moving.” He cracked the reins. “Here we go.” The sled lurched, and I let it rock me against my seatback. Finding comfort was unlikely, but I did try. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I scanned the horizon for any clue as to our destination or the book’s whereabouts. Sand was the only landmark and dunes the only break in its contours. Hours passed. Night fell. Still we traveled. Before long, the dawn’s rays burned my eyes. Dillon’s gaze cut my way more often now, but I pretended not to see. Lindsay had inched up behind me, so her shoulder supported the rickety seatback, allowing me to recline as best I could. Ah, yesss. Song chortled. Your book liesss here. Tightness in my chest eased in slow increments. Song’s anticipation made my nerves thrum. The wind shifted and the stench hit me. Retching sounds rose from behind me as Lindsay’s stomach emptied over the side of the cart. Our mare shied until Dillon positioned her upwind of whatever lay ahead. Palm treetops sagged in the fetid breeze, and mirages sprang to shaded life. “The oasis.” Dillon twisted to check on Lindsay. He tried on a smile. “Maybe we got lucky.” Bad luck perhaps. I shuddered. Something was very wrong here. My tasssk has been fulfilled. A word of caution, your book is ssstarved. Shock at its warning seared away as Song exited my body through its runes. Pain contorted my limbs and wrenched me sideways. I fell from the sled onto the sand. Curling onto my side, I spat blood and grit. Down here, the sense of unease was greater. Blood leaked from the corner of my mouth and mingled with the
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sand. A discordant sensation, sharp and dangerous, made my vision blank and stomach roll. I heaved, coughing and blind until strong hands set me on my feet. “What the hell happened?” Dillon held me at arm’s length, no doubt examining me. “It’s the book,” I said hoarsely, blinking hard to clear my sight. “It’s done something…” And if the grimoire was at fault, then I was at fault. I swallowed hard and regained my balance. It was time I learned what we had done.
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Chapter Sixteen
Lindsay groused when Dillon ordered her to remain with the cart, but I was grateful for one less witness to what my carelessness had wrought. If I had doubted Song, my confirmation of the book’s nearness showed in the weight of my legs as I trudged through loose sand, slipping until a firm hand pressed me to a harder body for support. Spell-crafted roads were rarer than oases here. Open desert forged its own rules. You learned them or it taught you a fatal lesson. I swatted a fly from my ear and wrinkled my nose. Judging by the stench, someone had been educated here recently. Another landed, buzzing with excitement at finding an unexpected feast. Dillon’s steps slowed. “Do you feel that?” “Yes.” Exhaustion was setting in, the same as it had when I lost the mare in the first place. Already my thoughts churned sluggish and my limbs quaked with desire to lie in the warm sand. “It’s the book.” Words sat heavier on my tongue than usual. “Siphoning energy. Trying to sate.” I shook my head, but the jumbled sentences bounced around without ever reforming. “M’tired.” Dillon’s injured leg buckled. He hit the dirt and toppled me alongside him. His eyes fluttered a moment, then calmed. Air whispered from between his lips. “Dillon?” I shook his shoulder.
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He rolled toward my voice. Instead of scooping me against him, his hand fell limp to his side. I shook him again, harder this time. He gave a sleepy smile and mumbled sweet-sounding nonsense before falling back to sleep. Huffs of his breath stirred sand beneath him less and less. Shaking him a third time proved fruitless. My fingers had lost most of their grip and slid off his shirt as if I’d meant to dust lint from his pocket rather than grab him and shake him. No part of my body obeyed even the simplest commands. I was relaxing into the spell slower, but easily. Slumped onto the side where I’d landed, I rolled onto my stomach. Lethargy weighted my arm, but I found my pocket after several tries. When my fingers bumped glass, awareness sizzled beneath my skin. On its heels, panic flared. Dillon lay so still and his breath moved no sand now. Grasping the vial, I winced as heat worked through my tired limbs. I shoved upright and stared as blood swirled in a magical suspension. My mind tumbled through weak excuses as to how this was a bad idea that would be made worse, but I crushed its complaint and unscrewed the lid. A whiff of the vial’s contents made gooseflesh rise, but survival dipped my finger and I inked protective runes. Acid burned my skin, and a moment passed where I was sure Aldrich’s magic would flay the flesh from my bones. Twisting the cap into place, I let the razor pain slice through my arm, burn through my shoulder into my chest, carving out a part of me agreeing I should lie down and die. Struggling to my feet, I had a choice to make. Either I dragged Dillon to the cart, if I could, and risked burning the boost Aldrich’s blood had temporarily given me, or I left him here while I confronted the book. Considering neither was any real option, I checked his pulse and decided I would go on alone. It was, after all, my grimoire and my fault it was unleashed in the first place.
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Leaving Dillon crumpled on the sand ate at me from the moment my back turned on him. I had no choice. Use too much of Aldrich’s blood and the grimoire’s binding would fail. Now that I knew the book’s location, I had a responsibility to contain it before someone was hurt. Almost on cue, the breeze rustled my hair in an insidious reminder someone most assuredly was already. The stink of death and magic filled my nostrils and steadied the racing of my heart. The grimoire was close. Cresting a small hill dappled with clumps of dying grass, I rubbed my eyes and wondered if I was seeing a mirage. Straining my eyes didn’t alter my view one bit. The mare stood grazing several yards from me. No one appeared to have tampered with her saddle or my bags. Her reins dragged the ground between her forefeet. Untied, untouched and unconcerned, she continued her munchstep-munch pattern while my sense of unease made me eager to retreat behind the dune. Dread pounded a staccato beat in time with my steps as I began my roundabout approach of the mare. Pulsing magic washed over my skin, tasting yet again. The grimoire may have noticed me, but the mare was oblivious. If she ran, I’d be out of time to capture her and reach Sere. So I approached slowly, circling wide so she would see me coming. As my perspective shifted, I located the source of the stench and retched loud enough for the mare to lift her head and prick her ears in my direction. While she returned to lipping grass, I did my best not to stare at the ramshackle series of hitching posts. Or the camels collapsed at their bases. Dry desert air hindered decomposition, and the bodies could only be a matter of days old.
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How was she unaffected? Unless the book realized she was its only means of transportation? Moving faster now that the mare was aware of me, I was reminded of what Mother had once said about death magic having its own scent. It was a footnote in my education, and this was my first time experiencing it. Our temple practiced white magic, but black magic was gossip fodder. While part of me pointed out the grimoire only knew what we had written onto its pages, its use of a spell not in my repertoire, one my mother should have had no knowledge of, chilled me. Or at least it did until I pondered applications for such a spell…and its price. A wary snort dragged my focus back to the mare. She watched me stumble, ears swiveling. I held still long enough for her to dismiss me. Then I resumed inching closer. The grimoire’s spell licked over me, sampling my altered energy until my legs trembled. Tasting Aldrich’s power excited it. Even the mare twitched her skin as if dislodging biting flies. A sharp smile cut my mouth as I began murmuring the binding spell. The grimoire’s hunger slammed into me once I finished reciting the first verse. Its curiosity was overcome by survival instinct. Pulsing teeth spiked with energy sank in my essence and tore. I screamed. Clutching my chest, I willed myself another step closer. I owed a hefty sum for the purchase of the wind spell I’d lifted from its pages. Energy loaned to me during my escape, well, I owed it for that too, but not this. Not the days it spent exhausting all its reserves in search of fresh prey. Debt piled up to my eyeballs. After its taste of freedom, its massive expenditure of energy, I knew the grimoire would scoff at my customary blood
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offering. Depleted as it must be, it would crave sacrifice, ache to glut on some poor demon’s energy as his life extinguished. Only I saw no demons here. The residents must have escaped after their livestock fell ill. No doubt rumors of an oasis plague were circulating in nearby cities as I stood here, debating the safest course of action. “Isabeau.” My head snapped up and my gaze scanned the path behind me. Dillon was crawling toward me, toward the book. Teeth that had been content gnawing at me sensed him and retracted. An instant later, I heard his grunt of pain, saw him fall to his side and sensed his gaze as he reached for me. While the book toyed with its latest catch, I eased close enough to the mare I could toe the reins from their coil on the ground to me. Before I bent, she shied and danced left. I stomped on the lead and held her in place long enough to wrap the leather strap around my hand. I threw my weight into restraining her as I reached her side and tore at the buckles and the straps holding her saddle in place. When the saddle and bags hit the ground, I worked her bridle and freed her head. A toss of her mane and she was gone. Thank the goddess that was done. Dropping to my knees, I emptied the bags until the grimoire tumbled onto the sand. Vial in hand, I smeared runes across the cover and all but screamed the binding spell. Seconds passed. A minute stretched into infinity. Nothing happened. I chanted the spell a second time, then a third as I clutched the vial, hoping I’d used enough of Aldrich’s blood but afraid of wasting my best weapon. A furious roar rattled my ears as tendrils of its energy were sucked back into the book. It bucked across the ground, reminding me of an animal writhing in its death throes.
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Weak as a newborn babe, I watched its final struggle and blessed its eventual containment. I cringed when energy seeped from its cover onto the sand. Close as I sat, as tired as I was, I could only sit as its stolen harvest seeped into me, chilling me as I shut my eyes and saw those camels. Yes, death magic had a scent. Now I knew it had a taste. I sickened as my power swelled. I made it to my knees, pocketing the vial before I dry-heaved. “Shh.” Hands stroked down my spine as I purged mouthfuls of foul breath. “I’ve got you.” After wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I slumped against Dillon. We collapsed in a pile of sickly limbs and waited for Lindsay. Or so I told myself before my eyes rolled shut.
Sharp jabs in the ribs woke Dillon. His side protested the rough treatment, a ripe curse rising on his lips, until he cracked open an eye and remembered where he was and what had happened. Rolling onto his back, he stared up at Lindsay outlined by blue sky. She kicked him again before he blocked her foot, snagged her ankle and twisted. The halfling hit the ground. “Where is she?” he growled. Scuttling out of his reach, Lindsay wheezed. “She’s checking for survivors.” He sat upright and squinted toward the ramshackle shelters dotting the edge of the oasis waterhole. “She shouldn’t have gone alone.” His weight settled heavy on his left when he stood. Narrowing her eyes, Lindsay rose. “I checked first. I wouldn’t have let her go otherwise.” If she was going to make him ask, fine. “And?”
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“No dead demons, only dead livestock. Camels and a couple of chickens. A few are alive, but most not. No signs of their owners. Of anyone.” She shrugged. “It could have been worse.” “Much worse,” he agreed. This tiny watering hole couldn’t sustain permanent residents, so it was used as a pit stop between Feriana and Duchai. Most likely, when the animals got sick and the demons did too, the merchants abandoned the weakest of their lots and evacuated in a hurry. “We should get moving before someone finds us here.” She gestured. “With all this.” Bone-tired as he was, Dillon knew she was right. Time was wasting. Sere was still a ways to go, and they had plans to make. Rolling his shoulders, he started walking. “I’ll go fetch Isabeau.” “I’ll load the cart.” Her chin indicated the saddlebags. “The salt’s there, if you’re curious.” Dillon slowed. Salt was the last thing on his mind. Isabeau was the first, her daughter second and surviving this clusterfuck a distant third. Lifting a tired hand in thanks, he made his way past the murky pond serving as the oasis’s water source toward the row of dilapidated lean-tos. Faded canvas hung in weathered swaths, failing to offer any privacy to the sometimes-occupants but would have made Lindsay’s, and now his, search for survivors easy as skimming down the line. “Hey,” he said, once he got within hearing range of Isabeau. Her back faced him, her shoulders straight, sight fixed somewhere off in the distance. “Isabeau?” Dried blood coated her arms and speckled her clothes. “You all right?” Still no answer. Wheeling her to face him, he asked, “Anyone home inside that beautiful head of yours?”
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“I’m sorry.” She blinked several times. “I didn’t hear you.” “It’s fine.” Her token protest was ignored as he hugged her. “What are you thinking about?” “Lots of things.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. He nuzzled her throat. “Like?” “How irresponsible it was of me to use magic beyond my control. How these deaths are my fault. How much worse this situation would have been if instead of this oasis, the mare had returned to the colony or run into the nearest city. And I’m not done yet.” She said, “Far from it.” “No.” He held her tighter. “We aren’t done yet.” Her fingers tightened in his shirt. She didn’t speak, didn’t have to. He knew she would try to shoulder the blame when this was over, but his hands were just as dirty as hers. Somewhere along the way, he’d realized there was more to life than his job. That losing that job might have been a gift instead of a curse. After all, Harper was mated now. He wasn’t the guy he used to be, and Dillon was glad for it, for him. Emma was healing him. Together, they were whole, and thank God for it. “I regret…” Dillon pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off Isabeau’s response. “Sweetheart, we all have regrets. I know I do.” He sighed. “When this is over, then we’ll talk. There are going to be heavy consequences for what you’ve done. For what I’m helping you do. We’re in this together, right?” Her face rubbed against him in a nod. Isabeau was in this up to her pretty little neck, but damn if he’d let her get hurt more than she had been. Breathing in the scent of his mate, Dillon cast aside his doubts. She was worth this.
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Harper more than earned his slice of peace, no doubt. But didn’t Dillon deserve the same? Maybe the best way to vanquish the ghosts of his past was to embrace a future so bright it blazed through his tormented dreams. If so, Isabeau was the key to locking his worst nightmares at bay. If that meant giving up friendships and the colony to protect her, he’d do it. For their family.
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Chapter Seventeen
Sere loomed ahead, its boundaries an invisible line crisscrossing Askaran sands. From my seat in the cart bed, I stared over my right shoulder, as if my will alone would drag us closer or push our destination farther, I wasn’t sure which I preferred. To my left, Lindsay lay dozing with her blade in her hand. I studied her, but in sleep she looked as she always had. It was her demeanor that had changed. Since beginning this journey, she’d remained quiet and thoughtful. Neither of those qualities were synonymous with the Lindsay I’d come to know. Rubbing my cricked neck, I admitted defeat and stared ahead, the scenery much unchanged. Green splotches marred the otherwise golden dunes. I braced as the cart hit another patch of grass. Wincing as my tailbone thumped against wood, I grumbled about male drivers and their ability to hit every clod in their path. When we bounced again, I tapped Dillon on the lower back. He didn’t bother glancing over his shoulder. “If you think you can do a better job,” he said, patting the bench seat, “hop on up here.” I accepted his invitation, pressing a kiss to his nape along the way. “Not much farther now.” He grunted, which I took as agreement. Resting my head against his shoulder, I let the miles glide past until grass matted our path and our horse
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trumpeted its annoyance at the roots tangling our sled’s rails. Icy foreboding made me shiver. I sat upright, shrugging lower into my clothing. We’d arrived. Home. How empty the word rang through my head. I lay my hand atop Dillon’s, where he fisted the reins. “This is far enough.” “Are you sure?” He eased the horse to a standstill. “We’ve barely crossed into Sere.” “I’m positive.” I stroked his hand with my thumb. “Roland will be expecting me to arrive alone. When he realizes I brought company, he won’t be pleased. We should remain near enough to the border we can cross if things end badly.” I squeezed him. “If Roland won’t release me, then I want you to take my daughter.” When his jaw clenched, I added, “I’m sure that Emma—” “Roland won’t honor his word. We both know that. No, don’t interrupt me. You wouldn’t be ticking things off your to-do list if you believed even for a minute he was trustworthy.” Twisting, he faced me. “You’re going to walk away from this with your daughter and with your freedom.” I wished I believed him. Yes, I had Roland’s word, but even vows could be circumvented. Dillon scowled at my obvious doubt. “You’ve never thought about it, have you?” “I’ve thought a lot about a lot of things.” During these past days, my brain had cramped with eventualities and risks and possible outcomes. “Do you mean being free? Or…being a mother?” “The latter has never been far from your mind or we wouldn’t be here now.” His gaze fell on me. “Freedom. Never feeling the tug of slave bands again. Never saying yes when you mean no.”
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“Of course.” Hadn’t all slaves shared the same dream? “So what haven’t I thought about?” “I’m talking residency laws.” He snorted. “You know, those pesky rules the queen drafted to ensure Askara wasn’t overrun when slaves from neighboring kingdoms tried claiming asylum? If I recall correctly, any demon living in Askara prior to the announcement was grandfathered into full citizenship. If I’m not mistaken, it also stipulates any demon working in Askara for a period of one year earns citizenship. By my estimation, you’ve worked in Askara for a year and a half.” “I have.” Dangerous hope unfurled in my chest. “Or I did.” “You’re free, sweetheart.” He cupped my cheek. “Remember that. Whatever Roland says or does won’t change the fact you’re as free as I am.” His grin was smug. “When this is over, you and I are walking out of here together.” He amended, “The three of us are leaving Sere behind.” While I didn’t share his optimism, I marveled at his revelation. “I thought I would feel…” “…different?” he asked. “Hold that thought. We’ll revisit the topic once this is over.” His lips brushed mine. “When did you become so confident?” “I’m a confident kind of guy.” I chuckled. “I think you’ve confused confidence with arrogance.” “Not nice.” His growl warmed me. That warmth radiated from my chest, down my arms until my slave bands singed my skin. No. Shoving Dillon back, I hissed, “He’s here. Roland is here.” Dillon’s head snapped up, and his hand went to the blade at his hip. “Where?”
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“I can’t tell.” I scooted from his reach, deafened by the pounding of my heart. “Near.” “Well done, Isabeau.” Masculine laughter sliced through my ears. “And you’re on time.” “I brought what you asked.” I resisted the urge to rub my wrists. “Show yourself.” My feet hit the ground before Dillon caught me. He bit off a foul curse, but I waved him into silence and followed the noise from Roland, adjusting myself so I remained between Dillon and him. Though I doubted Lindsay was still napping, I also doubted he could see into the bed of the cart from where I’d determined he was standing. At least one of us held the element of surprise. Black tendrils of smoke whirled several yards from us. When the remnants of his parlor trick were scattered on the wind, he smiled at me. “I never doubted you would succeed.” His gaze slid over Dillon. “I am, however, impressed you managed to convince your friend here to deliver the salt to me.” His laughter chilled me. “Or does he perhaps think to save you from your bargain?” Ignoring his question, I firmed my tone. “We agreed I would meet you at your estate.” A shrug was his answer. “How did you find us?” Dillon narrowed his gaze, scanning the area for unseen threats. Roland flashed his handkerchief, still spotted with my blood. “Basic spell craft.” Understanding the significance, Dillon let the matter drop. “You must have been close,” I said, buying myself time to think of a plan. I saw no one, but I knew in my bones my daughter was near, meaning at least one of Roland’s guards must be too.
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“When my spell lost you for several hours, blocked by a magical signature I recognize, well, it occurred to me you might be using a certain crafting to locate a certain someone. Rather than wait for your arrival, I gathered guards to help me locate you. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.” “We brought the salt,” Dillon said, gruffly. “Where’s the girl?” “Well, well. Possessive.” Roland clicked his tongue. His gaze cut left, pausing a moment before sweeping my body in a slow appraisal that unnerved me. “You have been busy, Isabeau.” I stifled the rise of shame at what he implied. “I have your word,” I reminded him. “So you do.” His tone was far from comforting. Unease slithered the length of my spine. “Where is she?” “First, I’ll have the salt.” He scuffed the dirt. “Place it at my feet, if you please.” Trusting Dillon to guard me, I turned my back on Roland and reached over the cart’s edge. I swallowed my surprise when firm fingers grasped my wrist. Lindsay nodded at me, twisting her blade, letting me know she was ready. For what, I didn’t know. She pressed a small cube holding salt into my hand. When I grabbed for the bag, she shook her head no and mouthed sample at me. “Roland,” I called over my shoulder. “Would you like to sample the product to be sure?” “That’s quite all right.” He eyed the cart. “I trust you.” Stretching to gather the strap, I dragged the saddlebags within reach and mouthed he knows. A sigh that huffed bangs from Lindsay’s eyes was her response. “Wait for my signal,” I whispered, preserving the element of surprise as long as possible.
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“Isabeau…” Roland left his threat hanging. Hefting the bag onto my shoulder, I inhaled once before I turned. “Salt is heavy, you know.” I crossed to him and hesitated. He scuffed the ground a second time, making his point. “Count yourself fortunate you’ll never have to handle such a large amount again.” His fingers knotted in my hair, and he reeled me to him. “Dillon, isn’t it?” Roland knew well and good that was his name. “I trust you’ll behave while our darling Isabeau enjoys her reunion?” He yanked my hair back until my skull hit his shoulder then brushed a slow kiss on my cheek. “I know she’s been waiting a long time for this. It’d be a shame if she missed out on your account.” Dillon growled. “If you hurt her…” Roland cupped my chin and gave a vicious twist that made my neck pop. “If I decide to hurt her, she’ll be dead before your feet touch the ground.” He kissed the side of my throat. “Sorry.” “I’m sure you are.” I dared to lean against him. “Please, show her to me.” “Very well, I suppose a glimpse is in order.” He flicked his wrist toward the spot he’d eyed earlier. Air pulsated as black mists parted to reveal two figures. “There you are. Look your fill.” “Brielle.” Her name tore from my throat. Speaking it cut my tongue with shards of regret. Waves of auburn hair cascaded over the arm of the guard who held her lengthways across his body. Round cheeks were flushed from sleep, and her beloved face was more beautiful than I had remembered. Blue ruffles poured over his opposite arm, trailing from a flouncy gown meant for show more than play. Matching shoes covered her feet, a bow of the same color on her head.
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Her dark lashes meshed. Red lips pursed. Porcelain dolls would envy her innocent beauty. “My baby,” I whispered. “My beautiful baby.” Panic crept through my chest, sinking barbs of fear into my heart. How many times had Mother teased that mice tiptoeing on sand could wake her? How many mornings had I wished for one more blessed hour of sleep to no avail? Yet now she slept? “What have you done to her?” “I gave her something to help her sleep,” he said. “You should thank me for that kindness.” From that secret place where I had locked every detail of her precious face welled a furious pain, cinching my throat and shredding my heart. My nails dug bloody furrows in Roland’s arms. “I’ll have none of that now.” He jerked me flush against him. Only then did I realize I was still scrambling to reach her. “Play nice.” His arms tightened. “Or I think we both know I won’t.” “Calm down, sweetheart.” Dillon’s voice cut through my fear. “It’s going to be okay.” “Things will be better than okay.” Roland stroked my hair. “Since Isabeau was kind enough to bring you all the way to Sere, it’d be a shame not to give you the grand tour.” He smiled. “My castle is only a few days’ ride south, and I assure you accommodations are on par with Rihos’s.” “What’s your game?” Dillon shifted on his seat. “You know Harper won’t bargain salt rights for my life if he wouldn’t for Emma’s. You have no leverage. Give us the girl and we’ll leave.” “That’s where you’re wrong,” Roland purred over my shoulder. “I have something better. I have his second-in-command, the one other male privy to all aspects of the mining operation and someone intimate with the colony’s security
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measures.” He stroked my cheek. “As long as I have Isabeau, you’ll cooperate.” His gaze slid to Brielle. “I think you’ve realized by now she’s part of a package deal. You must not mind or you wouldn’t have come. So my guess is you’ll guard the girl.” He trailed a finger down my throat. “Kind of you to be so invested in our child’s future.” Struggling against Roland, I snapped, “You knew he’d come. You knew I’d bring him.” “I won’t lie.” I heard the smile in his voice. “I did hope you’d tell him everything and that he would insist on accompanying you.” His amusement turned to disgust. “You have such a guilty conscience, it’s pathetic. I figured your remorse would win him over if use of your body didn’t.” Blood rushed into my face. The need to look at Dillon, promise him I hadn’t used him, was a knot in my throat. Afraid of facing him, I asked Roland, “What are you going to do with him?” “Easy.” He pushed my shoulder until I sat at his feet. His fist remained bunched in my hair. “I have two things he wants.” He stroked my temple. “That would be you and our lovely child.” “You promised—” I spluttered. “I promised you freedom, and as you have no doubt realized, you are a free female, a minor oversight on my part, but one our dear Brielle rendered negligible. I am rather disappointed it took your friend pointing it out to you, but your willing blindness only reinforces my point—you have decided your freedom is worthless without Brielle. A point I saw and capitalized upon but have never understood.” He grew pensive. “As to the girl, well, I’m afraid I can’t surrender her.” “You lied.” His magic should be stunted, yet power radiated from him. How was it possible?
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“I did.” He tugged my hair until I stared up at him. “You do realize you could have more children?” My snarl made him laugh aloud, made his gaze heat. “I do admire your devotion.” “She is our daughter. Does that mean nothing to you?” I spat, “Do you feel nothing for her?” “My dear, I long ago lost track of the number of daughters and sons I’ve sired. Yours is but an interesting footnote in my history. I’ve only paid her this much attention because of what you could do for me. She is a pretty little thing, I’ll give you that, but she’s a null, totally worthless.” No, she wasn’t without her own magic, but I’d hardly tell him that. Resting my head against his thigh, I chuckled bitterly. “I was a fool to ask.” “Yes, you were.” He appeared genuinely confused. “Now, your friend has a choice to make. We can either return to Tanith, to the castle, and begin negotiations, or we can end this here and now.” He rolled a shoulder. “Dillon, it’s your choice. Work with my raiders. Teach them how to circumnavigate your protocols. Increase my profit and, in time, you’ll earn her as your reward.” Silver sparked in Dillon’s eyes. “I won’t betray the colony.” “Goddess be damned.” Roland glowered. “Is that mantra spoon-fed to all legionaries?” “Honor your word,” I beseeched him. “Stop talking in circles. Keep your vow. Let this end.” “You’re right.” Roland lifted his arm. “I should have known this was a futile effort.” When his hand dropped, black smoke ringed the cart. Wind snagged the fog, revealing four more guardsmen. Metal scraped as swords unsheathed, eager troops awaiting Roland’s command.
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Struggling to my knees, I winced as my hair, my leash, was yanked. “Release him.” “I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” His knuckles brushed my scalp where he tightened his grip. “Dillon, this is your last chance.” He drew a dagger from his belt. “She has no further use for me. She’s blown her cover, delivered my prize.” He pressed cold metal to my throat. “She lacks the stomach to use her talent, and whores are plentiful at court.” A line of fire blazed from one side of my neck to the other. “The girl will be sold. I have no patience for rearing a bastard, and my future queen will have no need of one.” A bestial roar made the knife slicing my skin lower. “He is a prime, a mated prime,” Roland seethed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You didn’t ask.” Husky laughter bumped my throat against his blade. His outburst banished my doubt he knew about Phineas. How else would he recognize a prime? Let alone a mated one. “You used to be more agreeable, Isabeau.” His hand steadied. “I’m disappointed in you.” “I used to allow fear to rule me.” From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed black skin and red wings. “I used to let you rule me.” Dillon’s nod eased the tight ball of fear in my chest and while Roland fumed, I drew back my elbow and sank it into his crotch. He roared a startled cry of pain, bent double and gasped. I caught his wrist, knocking it aside long enough to roll from his reach. Then I loosed a shrill whistle, the kind I used on market days to snare Lindsay’s attention. “You bitch.” He bent over, fingers sinking in his thighs. “Kill the Evanti,” he ordered. “Now.” “No,” I cried. “You can’t do this.”
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Heart pounding, heat built in my hands. I stared into my palms, calling my glamour, feeling my magic rise around me. I gagged at the stench of borrowed magic, death magic. The grimoire had eaten and eaten well before I sealed it. This surge in my power attested to that. Steeling my mind against repeating all the ways this could go wrong, I summoned all that power in my hand. Rolling from the cart, Lindsay sank her curved blade into the gut of the nearest male. Across from me, Dillon braced his legs apart and drew his sword. His silver eyes held mine for several heartbeats. Emotions mirrored within them. Love for me, hope for a future we might not see, a family we might never make, all of it reflected between us without him saying a word. Roland’s broken laughter splintered the moment. “You’ve made your choice. Live with it.” He snapped at the nearest guard, “Kill the girl.” The male barely breathed before Dillon attacked. Winding his tail around the guard’s ankles, cinching tight, Dillon yanked as he shoved the male’s shoulder. When the guard flailed, Dillon plucked Brielle from his arms. With a vicious punch from the tiny fist atop his wing, the male landed with a thud at Dillon’s feet. While he adjusted his hold on Brielle, his tail lifted the dagger from his belt and sliced the guard from ear to ear before flicking with catlike annoyance. I had told him it was a very nice tail. Assured Brielle was safe, I spun on Roland. “You’ll pay for every day I lived without her.” More grunts and groans rose behind me. Feminine laughter interspersed with screams.
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Roland frowned at his dying guards. “I’m afraid any debt on my part is imagined on yours.” Lifting his hand, he vanished on a twist of black mist. I stepped and tripped over the bag of salt. He was invisible, not intangible. No one could vanish and rematerialize. It was an illusion. To break his spell, I needed his blood, a hair, something. Think, Isabeau, think. I lifted my hand, grinning at Roland’s blood caked beneath my fingernails. I jabbed my finger with the point of my knife, cleaned from under a single nail and let our blood mingle as I chanted a brief spell with my eyes shut. When the final words left my mouth, I opened my eyes and saw through Roland’s illusion. His back was to me as he strolled toward his great black stallion. No cries arose as the coward escaped. No one saw him go. No one but me. I had to stop him or we would never be safe. My gaze slid toward Dillon. Brielle still lay crossways in his arms, cradled against his chest. He’d folded one wing over his shoulder and tucked the other under his arm. The resulting cocoon protected her as Dillon battled with his free arm and with the use of his viciously dexterous tail. Tears sprang to my eyes at the sight of him, my glorious mate, defending my sleeping child. Breaking that connection, I glanced at Lindsay, whose teeth were bared as her blade swung. I cast about for a weapon to take Roland unawares. I held the advantage unless he noticed—and he would notice—the hole I’d punctured in his glamour. All the while, his steps never slowed. His head never turned. He was so certain he had outwitted us all. His confidence would be the death of him. I swore it. Never again would he ride from battle on his stallion unscathed.
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Metal clattered as Lindsay hit the cart with bone-snapping impact. She rose in a bloody fury. Her exit knocked the remaining bag from the bed onto the ground with an ominous thump. It was then I knew what I must do. I ran. Toward the cart and until my hands breached the bag, withdrawing the grimoire and the few remaining drops of Aldrich’s blood. Heart thumping in my ears, I grew deaf to my surroundings as I pursued my oblivious quarry yards from where the others fought. I had no reason to run now. Once I cracked open the grimoire, if it didn’t kill me first, it would drink Roland dry. Dropping to my knees, I settled the book on the sand and prayed what skin and blood stuffed under my nails would do the job. I was close. I didn’t need much more than a clear direction for the grimoire once its pages and jaws opened. His consumption would square our debt most tidily. His abuse of Emma, his neglect of Dillon, his endangering Harper, those cruelties were unforgivable, but he’d also killed my mother, stolen our daughter and kidnapped Queen Nesvia. If he lived, he’d never stop coming for those I loved. They deserved peace. Brielle and I did too. Fingers trembling, I unscrewed the vial. Knife wavering, I cleaned from under my nails with care not to prick myself. Once I’d cleaned the blade on the book’s cover, I dipped my finger and inked my runes as the first notes of my chant pierced the air. A pulse, not unlike a heartbeat, had my skin pouring sweat. Louder, I lifted my voice until the sharp notes caught Roland’s attention. He spun, his lips parting automatically on a counter spell, but his words spluttered and died. Horror lined his handsome face in the first show of true
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emotion I’d ever witnessed from him. Whirling toward his horse, Roland broke into a run. Triumph made my voice soar. So his powers had suffered for his lie. No matter the cause of his impotence, he was unable to stop me. Filling my lungs, I hurled the final incantation at him. He mounted the horse as the grimoire opened. Magic burst forth and sent me flying backwards. My head met stone, and my vision wavered. Pages fluttered wildly and ravenous energy prowled toward its fleeing mark. The stallion screamed as I struggled upright. Blinking blood and dirt from my eyes, I witnessed Roland’s fall. He didn’t get back up. Static charged the air as his magic fizzled and his illusion dissipated. Cries from his men arose as they spotted his body and then me. Trusting Dillon and Lindsay to protect me, I ignored the guards in favor of the grimoire as its tendrils of sated power slithered back inside its cover. Power pulsated from the tome. Roland had fed it well. Temptation whispered in my ear. Think of the power. Use the book. Protect your daughter. “Isabeau.” I started when Dillon tapped my shoulder with his tail. Blood trickled from his forehead, and sweat made his skin gleam. He was panting, but when his wings parted, Brielle lay nestled flush against him, unblemished. Fingers curling into my palms, I staved off the urge to snatch her from his grip, crush her to me and never let go. But I held firm. Once she was safe in my arms, I might never release her. Before basking in sweet relief, I had a task to perform. “Give me a moment.” While he stood guard at my elbow, I used my blood to bind the book.
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Too stuffed to protest, the grimoire settled into slumber without complaint, and I left it at my feet while I embraced Dillon over my daughter. Words of thanks, of love, tangled on my tongue. Soft sighs of protest drifted up from Brielle, and my heart twisted, torn between the desire to touch her at last and fear she would vanish on the mists on contact. Curls clung to Dillon’s arm. Red tinged one side of her face where it rested against him. Those things were real. She was real. Meaning she was really here. She was mine. Our nightmare had ended. Pink cheeks weakened my resolve, and I rained kisses on her sleeping face and soft neck. “I’ve missed you.” I stifled a sob against her hair. “So much.” Breathing in the sweet scent of violets, I shook as Dillon’s wings enfolded our small family.
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Chapter Eighteen
Loathe as he was to acknowledge the panicked guard’s cry, Dillon raised his head from the huddle of warm limbs pressed soft against him. He spotted one of the two remaining guards easy enough. The male stood at Roland’s feet, throat working convulsively, sword arm sinking lower. “He’s dead.” His eyes met Dillon’s. “She killed him. She killed Prince Bernhard.” “Looks that way,” he agreed. Roland’s death had been coming. Dillon doubted Harper would kick up too much of a fuss over it, and neither would the queen for that matter. Even her consort, Rideal, who was Roland’s younger brother, would be hard-pressed to shed his tears after what Roland had done to his wife. “She…” The guard pointed at Isabeau with his sword. “Killed him.” Dillon settled Brielle in her mother’s arms. “Yeah, I got that part.” His wild gaze bounced from Roland’s body to Isabeau. “I can’t return without him.” Sight ping-ponging between the slain guardsmen, he finally returned to Dillon. “I can’t return alone.” “I suppose not.” Shouts rose behind them. Lindsay must have caught their runner. Bet he hadn’t made it far. Not with her breathing down his neck. A short scream rose behind them, ending on a wet gurgle. The male before him flinched.
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Dillon read the moment the guard decided it was worth risking his neck to bring his queen Isabeau’s head. As if his failure would be buffeted by such a gift. Doubtful considering Sere had just lost its future king. God only knew what that meant for Rideal, for Nesvia, hell, for Askara. And right now, he didn’t care. “Head to the cart.” He nudged Isabeau behind him and gave her a push toward Lindsay. Seeing his opportunity at vindication escaping, the guard lifted his sword and charged. Tired of it all and ready to go home, Dillon sidestepped as the male rushed past. His tail shot out at the last minute, winding around the guard’s ankle and tugging until his prey smacked onto the ground. Snatching the short sword from his lax hand, Dillon skewered him through his heart. With that threat handled, he approached Roland’s body with caution. He’d seen death often enough to recognize it, and the prince was a goner. Damn their luck. Nothing for it now, though. It had either been Roland’s life or both females’ lives, and Dillon wasn’t losing Isabeau or Brielle. He rubbed at his chest. That girl was the spitting image of her mother. What a little beauty. “What do we do with him?” Lindsay knelt by the body, checked for a pulse and frowned. Dillon rubbed his face until he noticed she was staring at him. “What?” “What the hell are you?” She eyed his tail. Why did they always notice the tail first? “What I am is none of your damn business.” With effort, he shrugged his glamour in place.
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Still staring where his tail had been, Lindsay pointed out the obvious. “We need to leave.” “Tell me something I don’t know.” Dillon drummed his fingers on his upper arm. “We can’t afford to be caught with his body. So we’ll leave him. I doubt his Mommy Dearest buys this was some random raider attack, but with his men dead, it’s plausible and the best excuse we’ve got.” “Agreed.” She began pulling rings from his fingers. “Are you going to help or just watch?” “You finish up here.” Weariness pressed on him. “I’ll get started with the guards.” “Fair enough.” She returned to her work. “Make sure you take their weapons.” “I plan to.” Uriah and his forge were good for more than one thing after all. Lifting the bag of salt on his way past, Dillon scanned the area with a frown and came up empty. “Lindsay…” Lindsay drew her sword. “What is it?” “Did you move the grimoire?” He turned a slow circle, but the book was gone. “No.” She stood and came to his side. “Isabeau doesn’t have it, either. Her hands were full.” “Finish up with Roland.” Leaving her, Dillon stalked to the cart. “We need to go. Now.” Isabeau didn’t glance up on his arrival. He knocked on wood to get her attention. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Her smile lit her up from the inside. Suppressing the urge to bite his cheek, Dillon had to ask, “Did you take the grimoire?”
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“No.” Her smile faltered. She leaned around him. “I left it right over…” “It’s gone.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We must have missed someone.” “I don’t see how…” Her eyes widened. “Roland. I knew he was up to something.” “He was always up to something.” Had he ever not been scheming? “What do you mean?” “That tricky bastard must have used a proxy, and a weak one at that.” Her brow creased. “No wonder his glamour failed him in the end. I didn’t—but of course it does make sense now.” That didn’t sound good. “Why would he need a proxy?” He glanced over his shoulder at where Lindsay was hunched over the sprawled body. “Wait—that was Roland you killed, right?” “Yes. It was.” Her gaze followed his. “He broke his word, and his power should have been depleted for a time because of it. Yet he used basic glamour to hide himself and his guards when that should have been an impossible feat for him.” She frowned. “Roland must have brought one of his priests and siphoned the magic he used from him. I doubt he risked a skilled practitioner. He likely chose an inductee in case he drained too much. After all, he had Brielle for insurance.” “He could do that?” Dillon ought to be taking notes. “Of course he could. I guess there isn’t much difference between borrowing magic from a person rather than a book. Same rules apply?” She nodded. “He knew me well enough to guess I would see his show of power and assume he had full use of his magic. That he’d learned how to break his word while maintaining his power. Cocky bastard was right. I never doubted his abilities. He made a fool of me to the end.”
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“He made a fool of us all. Right now, it doesn’t matter. By the time Roland’s body is found, we need to be on the other side of that boundary line.” He touched her hand. “Stay put. Lindsay and I will handle cleanup.” He passed her his knife. “Keep an eye out. Whoever stole the book may still be hanging around, so be careful. Sit tight and yell if you see something we don’t.” “We should go.” She glanced past him. “Even if the priest was too drained to save Roland, it doesn’t mean he’s no longer a danger to us. The queen will want our heads for her son’s death.” “And I’m guessing with the grimoire he’s got the power to do something about it?” Color bled from her face. “He has the entirety of Roland’s essence bound in those pages.” Damn it. If Roland’s acolyte had been powerless to stop the death spell, then the priest would be desperate to spare himself from the queen’s wrath and would know his options were limited. Once Roland had drained him dry of magic, there was nothing left for him to do but turn tail and run…or borrow from the energy-flushed grimoire…which was now missing. Just great. Spikes pierced Dillon’s nape, stinging as he turned. Someone could be out there. Watching. Straining his senses, he picked up weak pulses of energy skittering across the sands like a frantic heartbeat. A desperate priest armed with the grimoire was the last person they should confront. “Dillon?” He grimaced. “Other priests can do that invisible trick too, I take it.” “Yes.” “In that case—” he waved Lindsay over, “—we’re getting out of here.” Lindsay tossed him Roland’s signet ring. Proof for Queen Nesvia. “What’s wrong?”
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“Isabeau will explain along the way.” He crawled into the driver’s seat. “Let’s move out.” Scowling all the while, Lindsay settled in beside Isabeau. She cast one last sour glance at the mess they had left and said, “This is going to bite us on the ass. You do realize that, don’t you?” “Every-damn-thing else does,” he agreed, “so why not this too?” Pissed as Lindsay was about deviating from their plan, she got real quiet when Isabeau told her there was a good chance Roland’s invisible friend was skulking about armed with her lethal grimoire. By now he’d have their names and descriptions to pass along to Roland’s mother, with an eyewitness account of her son’s passing. All of those things added up to one ticked-off queen. Dillon had no intentions of being here when she arrived armed to the teeth and ready to take a bite out of their collective asses. Much as he hated to disappoint, his days of playing chew toy to any queen were long over. She’d have to find someone else to gnash and gnaw on in her fury.
Days faded into nights then blazed into mornings. Relief at holding my daughter twisted into panic as she failed to wake. Whatever herb Roland used to lull her to sleep kept her unconscious. I prayed she hadn’t been this way for long. Now her stomach gurgled feeble protests for food I had no way of feeding her, which made me sick with worry over how long it had been since her last meal. Water helped, but I feared he’d hedged his bets by giving her a slow-acting poison or some other lethal alternative. Brielle is fine. I exhaled slowly. You’re letting your fear rule you yet again. Roland had meant to keep us both as leverage against Dillon. Or he had intended to keep her while he continued to blackmail me. Either way, Brielle
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would have been worthless to him dead. I simply had to wake her. Who better for the job than a priestess trained by Roland’s own hands? “How’s she holding up?” Dillon called over his shoulder. “The same.” Muscles aching, I shifted to a more comfortable position. “How much farther?” “It depends.” Our horse slowed as the sled crested a steep dune. “Where are we going?” Below us, colorful tents accented the cityscape. Spiced air ruffled my hair and familiar noise rose from the bustling merchant stalls that heralded our return to the city. In the distance sat the consulate, and I would have given almost anything to return there. Or so I thought until Brielle’s soft snores made my arms tighten around her. The consulate had been home, but she was my life. “Not the consulate.” Lindsay’s tone left no room for argument. I frowned at her. She returned the favor. I asked in all seriousness, “You’d rather we returned to the colony?” “If you want to visit more disaster on the colony, be my guest.” She snorted. “I’m certain the fact Askara’s queen was kidnapped then found in Feriana’s mine has been forgotten. It was, after all, several months ago. That’s practically ancient history, isn’t it? And it’s not as if the queen’s hold on her throne is precarious, due in no small part to her support of the colonists and freedom. I’m sure, all things considered, that if the son of a neighboring queen is murdered and his killers seek refuge in that same freeman colony, no one will fit Harper’s or Nesvia’s necks for nooses.” “You’ve made your point,” Dillon growled. “No, she’s right.” I’d merely been curious as to her loyalties. “We can’t return to the colony or the consulate. There are too many lives at stake if Sere’s
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queen retaliates.” I leaned my head back. “Our best bet is reaching a safe house.” I spoke over Lindsay’s complaint. “There’s one nearby Emma marked as compromised after she and Harper used it. As far as I know, it’s still secure. Delisting it was more of a precaution. It’s outside of Feriana’s city limits. So it’s close.” “Safe house it is.” Dillon urged the horse forward. “Besides, until we figure out what Roland used on Brielle, I’d feel better knowing we’re close enough for Aldrich to pay a house call.” I laid my hand on his back. He reached behind him and squeezed my fingers. “I have an idea of what Roland used and how to counteract it.” He was generous with spells and shared his knowledge with me. In hindsight, I think he’d meant to impress me rather than educate me, but I’d been so eager to earn his approval at the time, I hadn’t noticed the difference. “Make a list. I’ll go.” Lindsay stared at Brielle. “In case she wakes up.” “Thank you.” I touched her arm. She smiled, but it was strained. Rather than ask her questions I was certain I’d soon learn the answers to, I confided the safe house location to Dillon, and we began our careful descent. Despite the sun, I shivered restlessly. This escape was not the one I had planned. Instead of liberated elation, dread stifled me. Rather than being a simple thief, I’d earned the title of murderess. Salt had been stolen. Injuries accrued. Lives had been taken. Even my hopes of beginning a new life with Brielle were slim. As much as I wanted to flee, I wouldn’t ask that of Dillon or expect the same of Lindsay. They had lives before theirs were entangled with mine. I owed them for helping me save Brielle.
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For all the damage I’d done, I had debts to pay and consequences to face. I had Emma to face.
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Chapter Nineteen
Dry coughs made my lungs seize. Dillon raised his head. His eyes were redrimmed as they met mine. Waving aside dust motes, I gave him a brittle smile and resumed pacing. I may as well have spun in a circle for what good it did me. Forget safe house, this was a cramped cubbyhole. My gaze darted from the door, to the sofa where Dillon sat, to the bedroom and the tiny body covered by worn quilts. I paused, holding my breath until I saw the covers rise and heard snores. Exhaling, I tore my sight from her and began my circuit again. Step, look, step, look, step, look. “Sit down.” Dillon patted the cushion beside him without opening his eyes. “I can’t.” Nibbling my fingernail, I sought distraction. “Would you like something to eat?” “I can wait.” He sighed. “Lindsay can’t be much longer.” “You’re right. We should wait for her. No reason to deplete our stores when fresh supplies are on the way.” I skirted the table and backed until the bends of my knees hit the spot by him. I sat. He cracked open one eye and glared at my knees…which bounced with coiled energy. “Sorry,” I said. “Should I…?” Wood grated. Metal hinges groaned. A gust of fresh air stirred dust into my eyes. I was still blinking when Lindsay descended the stairs. Followed by Emma and Harper.
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Dread balled tighter in my stomach when Aldrich shuffled behind them, bags in hand. I leapt to my feet and retreated until my spine cracked against the casing of the bedroom door. Heat singed my palms, and I made fists to crush the foul magic burning up the back of my throat. “Emma.” I breathed her name. “You were expecting someone else?” Her eyes narrowed when Dillon stood. Harper glided between them, and Dillon dropped Roland’s signet ring onto his palm. “Nesvia and Rideal will want to see that.” Behind Harper, Emma paled as he crushed the ring in his hand. “It’s all we had time to salvage before we left.” Turning his back on Harper, Dillon strode to my side. His arm brushed mine as he widened his stance and blocked the doorway to the bedroom. My heart swelled as I whispered, “Stubborn demon.” “Your demon,” he corrected, taking my hand. Nudging Harper aside, Aldrich said, “I’ve come for the child.” “No.” Heat flared again, and this time I let it burn and swallowed my disgust. “What he means,” Harper said, narrowing his gaze on Aldrich, “is he’s come to tend her.” “That’s what I said.” The old priest’s grin bared blackened teeth. “No, it isn’t.” Harper and I spoke over one another. Grumbling, the priest patted his bags. “I’ve brought the proper herbs, yes? There’s little that Roland could do to your daughter I can’t undo.” He scowled. “His knowledge is my knowledge.” “You mean you taught…” Well that explained much. “Rideal was my pupil. Not his brother.” Aldrich huffed. “Where is the child?”
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I gestured toward the bedroom, and Dillon gave the old priest room to scuffle past him. “Dillon.” Harper stepped fully into the room. “This is a tight spot you’ve gotten us into.” One hard, remorseful look from Dillon silenced his friend. I left the males to their silent stares and turned to Emma. “I thought you two were—” “On Earth?” she supplied. “We were.” “Then how—?” I glanced between them as Lindsay cleared her throat. “I sent a message through the gateway between realms before following you to the colony.” “How is that possible?” Even I didn’t know its location. I demanded, “Who are you?” She shared a look with Emma. It didn’t comfort me. “Lindsay is my name,” she finally said. Another look from Emma made her sit on the sofa. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking questions, Isabeau.” Emma’s foot tapped. “You’re right.” I had no right to feel betrayed. “I—I have a lot of explaining to do.” “Lindsay filled in the blanks on our way here.” Emma’s foot picked up speed. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me? I was…I am your friend, but this? You compromised the consulate’s work, you endangered the lives of our boarders, and you endangered Harper’s life.” Pressure on my hand fortified me. I accepted Dillon’s reassurance and endeavored one day to deserve it. “I never told Roland anything he could use against you. I never said anything a courier might not overhear and relay to his
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mistress. I did steal from you. I did break your trust. I didn’t tell Roland anything he could use to harm you.” I glanced at Harper. “Or hurt your mate.” Emma’s low growl made me sweat. Harper rubbed her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. “Make no mistake,” she said. “If you had directly endangered Harper’s life, and I had proof of it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Harper grabbed her by the hip and pulled her against him. Her glare cut his way. “What? I’m not going to attack her. I’m stating the obvious.” A distant rumble from Dillon ratcheted tension in the room. “Stop it with the possessive-male crap. We get it. Don’t threaten your mate. You don’t have a leg to stand on.” Emma smirked at Dillon’s leg. “Or should I say you only have one— Ouch.” Harper tapped her side where he’d pinched her. “Behave, Emma.” “You always take his side,” she groused. “Did you not hear him growling at me?” “I did.” Harper’s fingers dipped beneath the edge of her shirt. “Ignore him. We’re here to discuss Isabeau.” He offered me a tight smile. “Lindsay mentioned you’re mated. Is that right?” “Yes.” Dillon answered for me. “We are. Is that a problem?” Wrinkling her nose, Emma said, “No. It might actually play into our solution.” “Which is?” he demanded. “Let’s back up a step.” Emma pegged me with a sharp look. “Is this it? Or is there more you haven’t told us? Now is the time to come clean. This is the one and only chance I’ll give you.” I cleared my throat. “How much do you know?”
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“We pieced together that you’ve been stealing embolite core samples for the past year.” She shrugged. “I assume since Roland likes getting his hands dirty, he’s the one Lindsay saw meeting you in the market. She tried tailing him afterwards, but that vanishing trick made it impossible.” “She didn’t follow him.” My brow crinkled. “We went straight home after…” Lindsay broke her silence. “She doesn’t mean this time. I’ve followed you for months.” I stared at her as if I’d never seen her before now. “I eavesdropped on all your conversations too.” I kept from gaping at her, but barely. How had she slipped past my notice? “And?” “And, because of that, I was able to tell Emma how much he enjoyed knocking you around.” She cut Dillon a bored look. “It also got me curious about those envelopes he kept trading you.” “You knew about my daughter.” I reached for my locket for the first time in days. “We knew he was holding something—someone—over your head, but we didn’t know who until Aldrich filled in the blanks.” Lindsay was unrepentant. “I saw you two talking that night. It was an odd thing for anyone to do. Approaching a priest, I mean. So it made me curious. I heard him explain how Song tracked people.” She said, “The rest took more digging, but yeah. I did.” “You suspected Isabeau and you never mentioned it to me?” Dillon asked Harper. “Emma confided in me a few weeks ago, after we’d mated and realized her living in Feriana wasn’t going to work. By that time, you were recovering from major surgery and didn’t need the extra stress. So I handled it.” His glare dared Dillon to disagree. “Until we were ready to move, I saw no reason to involve you
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in a matter outside our jurisdiction. If I’d been here and saw you’d changed your mind about pursuing Isabeau, then I would have told you. You deserved to know.” Unhappy being left in the dark, Dillon settled his expression in familiar lines of annoyance. “What made you…? Was it the missing samples?” Something must have alerted them. “You’d gotten good at covering your tracks,” Emma answered. “At first, I was stumped. We had several long-term boarders, so I assumed one of them must be to blame. I mean, it had to be someone with access to the storeroom, but that still left me with several candidates. That’s when I brought in Lindsay. She usually does legion work in the outlands, but this job was a good fit for her skill set.” She winked at her mate. “Besides, Harper didn’t mind, and her unit didn’t miss her.” “Uh, yeah, I did mind.” Harper glared at her. “You used the fact we weren’t speaking at the time to get what you wanted. Big difference. If you’d asked, I wouldn’t have said no. I would—” “—have said hell no and we both know it.” She patted his cheek. “The point is that Lindsay adopted a sympathetic cover and came to work for me.” To me, she said, “You had us going for a while. I never considered you a suspect. Lindsay was more objective. Good thing too, because it wasn’t until after we escaped from Rihos that you finally tripped up.” Emma jerked her chin toward Dillon. “You were strung out after he got hurt.” Her gaze slid down his leg, then away. “You were in a hurry to get back to Dillon and you made a mistake. Lindsay saw you pocket the sample. Then she followed you to the market. There, she was a witness to your exchange with Roland, not that she knew it was him.” She waved her hand. “The rest snowballed from there.”
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“What are we missing, Emma?” Dillon leaned against the doorframe. “You’re acting mighty calm about all this. It’s not like you to ask questions first and rip out spleens later. What gives?” Harper coughed into his fist. It sounded a lot like laughter. “Dust. Sorry.” “I’ll bet it was,” she grumbled. “I’ll level with you, Isabeau.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve been where you are. Trust me. My little sister…there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to protect Maddie. She was my whole life. I know we’re talking about your daughter, but I raised Maddie. I know what it’s like to lie, cheat and steal to protect someone you love. Even now, looking back, I know I did terrible things, but I’d do them again in a heartbeat. I bet you’d do the same. So I’m not going to ask you to lie and repent when we both know you won’t mean a word of it. What I am going to ask you to do is come clean with me. Then, maybe I can help you out.” Sounds of resignation drifted over my shoulder. “Tell her,” Dillon said. “Tell her all of it.” And I did.
Hours. Dillon ground his palm in his eye. Emma and Harper alternated questioning Isabeau while Aldrich huddled over Brielle. Packed like sardines with males capable of harming his mate had his protective instincts ramped up and his temper simmering. This had gone on long enough. “Enough,” he snapped. “You’ve both asked her the same damn questions ten different ways. If she hasn’t changed her story yet, then she won’t.” He pointed at Lindsay. “Even your spy has verified everything she’s said.” Glamour rippled across his skin. He gritted his teeth and held tight to his illusion. “Give it to us straight.” He growled. “What resolution have you cooked up?”
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“There’s a secondary reason we brought Aldrich along.” Emma met his stare coolly. “Part of our proposed solution means tying Isabeau’s hands so the grimoire issue won’t happen again. It’s her call to make. As I understand it, her powers can be unbound in the future. Significant damage might have been done to her spell-crafting ability by that time, but she’s proven herself unable to handle the level of power she has access to. So…she has a choice. Either she’s exiled as is in the outlands, which is the safest place to hide her and her daughter from Sereians retaliation. Or…” “Or?” He ground between his teeth. “Or Aldrich binds her powers and we give her a fresh start.” A small smile. “On Earth.” Seconds passed while Dillon’s brain scrambled. Maybe it was already scrambled. “Earth?” “Yeah, Earth.” Harper grinned. “The next realm over, remember?” “I remember, I just…” His head swung toward Isabeau. “That’s your call, sweetheart.” “Keep in mind the colony and the consulate are off limits,” Emma warned. “Preserving that mine and the safety of our people must come first. Exile sounds harsh, but it’s your only option if you stay in this realm.” She shrugged. “You could leave Askara, but with a young girl in tow…” “It would be too dangerous.” Harper frowned. “At least if you remain in Askara we can get supplies to you. There’s not much between here and the Gray Sea, but you could make it home.” “What about Earth?” Isabeau’s voice was a bare whisper. “What would I find there?” “Earth is…” Dillon struggled for the right words but settled on one. “Home.”
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Surprised at the longing in his voice, Dillon fell silent. Sure, part of him had known he was hanging on to his good memories by telling the Feriana colony’s children stories of animals they would never see except through his words and carvings, but he hadn’t realized until this moment how much he longed to see overgrown yards and dusty roads, rusted cars and porch swings. He’d left part of his heart one realm over, and bringing Isabeau and Brielle there with him felt…right. Squaring her shoulders, she asked, “What about Lindsay?” “I’m a legionnaire. Besides,” she said, smiling, “I’m already stationed in the outlands.” Releasing Dillon’s hand with a final swipe across his knuckles, Isabeau faced him. “You have a life here.” If she kept picking at her nails, she wouldn’t have any left soon. “So I understand if…” She tore a nail to the quick and stuck her thumb in her mouth. He noticed how it bought her a minute to gather her nerves. “Harper needs you. I’m sure he could find a way—” “You heard Emma, the colony is out.” He measured her response. “I guess the outlands are a choice for me. Sounds like there’s more than enough work there to keep me occupied. Unless…” “Unless…what?” She lowered her hands, hope creeping into her tone. “Earth can be confusing for new arrivals.” He cupped her cheek. “If someone asked nicely, I might be willing to play tour guide.” He ignored the drumming of his heart while she made him wait. “I do have a house there.” He couldn’t help but add, “And I’d be able to support you both.” Dillon’s head snapped up as Harper stifled Emma’s low sound of disgust. As if those two weren’t worse than teenagers, necking every chance they got.
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Using a finger to turn his head, Isabeau said, “I thought we had an understanding.” Her first step into him made him groan. “You’re mine. I know it’s selfish, but it’s been a long time since I took what I wanted, and you’re it.” When Emma tried to interrupt, Harper slapped his hand over her mouth. Dillon broke into a grin, and Harper returned the favor. Isabeau cleared her throat, and Dillon stared at her. “Dillon Preston, before these witnesses, I claim you as my male, as is my right.” His eyes widened, and his jaw might have come unhinged. “Dillon?” The uncertainty in her voice sliced his heart to ribbons. Of all the ways he imagined being claimed, this topped every one. As Isabeau stepped back, her face pale and eyes liquid, he wanted nothing more than to tie his heartstrings to hers forever. Backing her into a corner, which took all of two steps, he said to hell with his fear. “Is that a fact?” he teased. That stubborn chin of hers kicked up, and right then, he knew he loved her more than words could say. Instead, he showed her. Glamour slid from his skin as his wings enfolded his mate and gave them the illusion of privacy. Behind their cover, his lips pressed against hers. Emma’s bark of laughter made him lift his head with a growl. “Is that a tail?” she asked. He tucked it behind him. “Why do females always—?” Isabeau trapped his face between her palms and dragged his head lower and his mouth closer to hers. Laughing as she sighed into his kisses, she confided, “I told you it was a very nice tail.” His rumble of appreciation was cut short by a series of soft cries. Isabeau froze, then shoved him aside as she raced for the bedroom. He followed on her heels, arriving as Aldrich recoiled at the sound of the wailing child. Even Dillon winced. The girl had a healthy set of lungs for sure.
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Grateful for the reprieve, Aldrich skulked from the room, eyeing Dillon warily as he passed. Once Isabeau tugged Brielle’s hands from her eyes, the girl’s sobs turned to shrieks of joy. Brielle leapt into her mother’s arms without hesitation, never doubting Isabeau would catch her. “Oomph.” Isabeau staggered while adjusting the girl on her hip, then spun them around the room while kissing her face and neck and hands, anything within her reach. “I’ve missed you.” Skinny arms wrapped around Isabeau’s throat. “Not as much as I missed you.” “You can’t even imagine.” She sighed against her daughter’s cheek. Doorknob in hand, Dillon backed from the room with a smile. “Who’s that?” Brielle asked. “He’s a friend. A very special friend,” Isabeau said. “Would you like to meet him?” He guessed the answer and cracked the door wider. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” “My name’s Brielle.” Her tiny chin lifted, just like her mother’s. “I’m Dillon.” He looked to Isabeau for guidance. She gestured for him to come closer. The second he cleared the door, Brielle squealed. “He has a tail.” She gasped. “And horns.” Crawling from Isabeau’s lap, Brielle hit the floor and circled him, prodding at his wings and sliding her hand down his tail as she went. Dillon sighed and stood still for her inspection. When she finished, she stopped before him and curtsied…with his tail in hand. When she launched herself back into Isabeau’s arms, still holding firm, he lurched with her or risked a de-tailing.
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“I think he’s a dragon.” Brielle flipped the tip of his tail under her mother’s nose as proof. “He’s a real one. Like the ones in the storybooks you used to read me at bedtime, the ones who eat princesses.” She informed him, “You won’t eat me. Mother wouldn’t like that.” Studying him a moment longer, her dark eyes brightened. “Can I see your teeth? Are they sharp? Do you bite?” Firm knocks on the door gave Dillon the excuse he needed to postpone answering Brielle. Harper hesitated at the threshold. “It’s time for us to go.” “Brielle, do you think you’d like to try and eat something?” Isabeau grinned as her daughter’s head bobbled. Setting Brielle on her feet, Isabeau patted her bottom. “Why don’t you wash up, and I’ll see what Lindsay brought us from the market?” She pointed. “The bathroom is right through there.” She smiled. “Take your time. Call if you can’t find the soap.” With the child out of the room, tension ebbed. Brielle was in high spirits, and no one wanted to bring her down. “I appreciate you coming out here,” Dillon said. “But you should head back.” “He’s right.” Emma peered over Harper’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. “It was dangerous letting you come into the city in the first place. Your diplomatic immunity only extends to the colony’s borders, and that’s where I want you to be.” To Dillon, she said, “Well?” Dillon let the question roll off his back. “It’s your call, Isabeau. I’ll follow where you go.” “I won’t make this decision alone.” She reached for his hand. “This is your life too.” Obviously the female had missed the memo that she was his life now.
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“When Harper brought me to Earth, I thought I’d found paradise. It’s lush and green, unlike anything I’d ever seen. Dempsey colony is self-contained. The only humans there are married to other Evanti. They’re good people.” What mattered most was, “Brielle will be safe there. You’ll be safe there. If she was my daughter…and I was in your shoes…that’s where I’d go. No doubt.” “All right.” Isabeau nodded, exhaling slowly. “I trust your judgment. If you think Earth is the better alternative, then that’s where we’ll go.” She met Emma’s stare. “When will we leave?” “It depends.” She held up a finger, then turned and asked a question into the room behind her. A low voice rumbled in response. Emma snapped back, leaving him no doubt she spoke to the priest. “Aldrich says it will take several hours to bind your power if you agree to our terms.” “How can we trust that’s what he’ll do?” Dillon growled. “Or that it’s all he’ll do to her?” “He’ll play fair,” Emma said grimly, “or Nesvia will toss him out on his wrinkled ass.” Having witnessed the priest’s fervent devotion to his queen, Dillon let the offer stand. It didn’t mean he liked it. “I hate tying your hands and tossing you into a new world, but my sister is there.” Emma’s expression softened as she met Isabeau’s cautious gaze. “I won’t risk Maddie when I’m not there to protect her.” She sighed. “I’d like to say I trust you, Isabeau, but I don’t. I understand your situation, but this is the best offer I can make you. Trust must be earned, and you just lost ours.” “I understand, and I’d do the same.” Isabeau paused. “Brielle won’t come into her powers until puberty. Can we revisit the issue then? I can train her
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without my powers, but her transition would be less…problematic…if I could control her powers until she can learn control herself.” “Wait—Roland said she was a null.” Dillon frowned. “That means no magic, right?” “It means my mother bound her powers. It’s a common practice until puberty. It makes the children harder to track should their fathers take an interest in them.” Her smile was sad. “Such relationships were frowned upon by the priestesses. Knowing who Brielle’s father was, Mother thought it best her powers be bound at birth. Now I wish… I never thought she might need them.” Dillon squeezed her hand. “You couldn’t have known he’d come after her the way he did.” Isabeau didn’t answer, which was answer enough. She blamed herself for that decision too. “Okay.” Emma shared a glance with Harper. “That sounds fair. We’ll see where we stand when the time comes. If that’s all, then I’m taking Harper home, where he’s safe.” She glanced past her shoulder. “Aldrich says he can have you bound by sundown. He’d like to stay and watch Brielle for residual effects from Roland’s sedative. So we’ll have Lindsay ready the horse and cart. We’ll plan on meeting at the gateway between realms by midnight. How does that sound?” Again, Dillon deferred to Isabeau. “We’re going somewhere?” Brielle entered the room and drifted to Isabeau’s side. “Yes.” She smiled. “We’re going on an adventure. Are you up for it?” Silence greeted her announcement while Brielle regarded her mother for a long moment, her clear gaze baring a soul much older than this child’s years. “We can’t go home again, can we?” “No.” Isabeau studied her daughter. “We can’t go home.”
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Brielle stared right back. “Is it because of Grandmother?” Isabeau covered her flinch by shifting on the bed. “I—well, in part, yes.” She pasted on a bright smile. “But you and I will make a new home, far away from here, and we’ll be together.” Squaring her shoulders, Brielle gave a stiff nod and stuffed all that hurt inside her tiny body. Pursing her Cupid’s-bow mouth, she said, “Let’s go then.” She glanced his way. “Is he coming?” Isabeau kept her tone neutral. “Would you like him to come?” With a shrug, Brielle dismissed him. “He does have a tail. I suppose it’s okay if he comes.” Flicking said appendage, Dillon experienced a moment of clarity. Life would never be the same again. Already he heard her bantering with other children. It was easy enough to imagine. Brielle would affect a solemn expression. “He’s got a tail.” Her peers would grumble their disbelief. “No, he doesn’t.” An imperious flick of her hand. “Come on then, and I’ll show you.” “What are you smiling at?” Isabeau asked him. Crushing his visions of their future, Dillon said, “Life is never going to be the same again.” Try as he might, he just couldn’t feel bad about that.
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Chapter Twenty
Midnight crept over us as I snuggled with Brielle beneath a quilt in the bed of the cart. I was blindfolded, not that I minded the precaution. Even Brielle wore a blindfold, but hers was meant as an accessory. We were princesses, you see, captured by a villainous dragon with wings and, of course, a tail. While she was busy concocting our elaborate escape plan, something she did with such ease, I wondered how many nights she’d played this game alone while in her father’s care. Biting back another round of are you all right and are you sure you’re all right was difficult, but I managed, largely because Dillon had promised there were counselors where we were going whose job it was to help new arrivals adjust and deal with the trauma of their pasts. Perhaps they could help Brielle. One mention of my mother had left her shaken for hours. That worried me. Fisting my hands in the quilt, I replayed the grimoire’s draining of his essence yet again. Dead. Roland was well and truly dead. He was never coming back. Magic inked into the slave bands across my wrists held no hum of power. I was free. Oblivious to my dark thoughts, Lindsay chattered beside us, seeming more her old self than she had been. Or she acted as I remembered her. I wasn’t sure which her natural disposition was. Hairs along my arms lifted. My first indication we’d arrived. Chills were the second.
Hailey Edwards
“Mother?” Covers rustled as Brielle cuddled closer. “It’s all right.” I kissed her hair, not my intended target. “It’s only the gateway.” We rocked a bit as the cart slid to a halt. Footsteps sounded, muted by sand. Masculine fingers brushed my temples, and I blinked the night into focus. It had been dark when we left, and the view now was much the same. At least until the shimmer of a solid rock wall caught my eye. Such a strange gateway it was. Sparks of magic embedded in a sheer rock face were the only indication this was no simple stone deposit or abandoned mine entrance. Hiding in plain sight, it was a reinforced illusion. Step through stone and tumble into another world, an amazing concept. Harper and Emma waited to one side. He was doing a nibbling thing on her neck that made my cheeks flush, and I sought a safer focal point. Church, I think his name was, stood nearby. He kept an eye out as we approached, seeming relieved for an excuse to break up the kissing couple. Done with playing hostage, Brielle yanked her blindfold down around her neck. Lindsay hit the ground first, and I followed her, grunting as Brielle attached herself to my back. Once I’d hitched up my rider, we trailed Dillon, who went to shake hands with his friend. “Church and Russ are green, but they’ll do.” Dillon paused, checking over his shoulder before adding, “I’ll admit, Russ reminds me of someone. Should I know him from somewhere?” “You knew his father—Demetrius Addams.” Harper added, “From what Clayton told me, Russ made it to Earth a few months back, searching for leads on his father’s whereabouts, but Demetrius was already gone. No one knows where he went. He didn’t use the gateway and he’s not at the second colony site.” He
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frowned. “When I showed up and asked for volunteers, Russ was one of the first to raise his hand. Instead of waiting around for Demetrius, he decided he’d rather return to Askara. Since his legion record is solid, and his father is a damn fine legionnaire, I figured I could do worse.” He grimaced. “Plus I hoped he’d balance out Church’s exuberance.” “Good luck with that,” Dillon muttered. While the males discussed colony matters, Emma sidled up to me. Tweaking Brielle’s nose, she said, “It’s going to be hard replacing you. I wish we’d figured things out sooner or…well…” “That I’d been honest with you,” I supplied. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Or that.” “What happens to the consulate now?” Before I left, I had to know it was in good hands. “With me moving to the colony, I’d already decided I needed to transfer the consulate too. I have the funds, a grant from Nesvia, to construct a building. As for the current consulate, I think if Helen and Joshua are interested in a permanent position, I’ll let them run the place. I still need rooms to board exslaves looking to transition into other work inside the city. The Lowndes had it rough, and some of that is my fault because I came into this job without a clue as to what I was doing.” Her silence held regret. “They’re good people, and I think they’d appreciate the stability.” “I agree.” They were both Evanti, and a mated pair, a perfect fit. “I’m going to miss this.” “Midnight rendezvous? Fleeing for your life?” Emma laughed. “Trust me, you won’t.”
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I rocked my shoulder into hers. “I meant this—talking to you.” My smile was sad. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, the only friend I’ve ever had. I’m sorry things had to end like this.” “I need some time,” she said softly. “Harper is…I can’t lose him again. The thought makes me crazy. Even though you had good reasons, you endangered him, and it’s hard for me to look past that.” She patted my shoulder. “We’ll be visiting Maddie and Clayton again soon. If you’re not too busy, Harper and I will look you two up. Maybe we can do dinner and a movie together.” “A movie?” I frowned. “Never mind.” She waved her hand. “You’ll see.” Thundering hoofbeats interrupted our small gathering. Mason pulled up short beside Dillon and dismounted. His shirt clung to his back, his face ran with sweat and his chest pumped hard. “I found Phineas.” He panted. “He’s set up camp at the base of a mountain far to the north.” “Daeza,” I whispered. “How will you get Adina home if his guards block your path?” “They can’t very well guard the entire mountain.” Lindsay scoffed. “There’s a way. We’ll just have to find it.” When Harper glanced her way, she shrugged. “So maybe I’m not rushing to return to the outlands after all. Adina will be more comfortable around another female, and I can keep her as safe as anyone else. I figure as long as I’m not in Askara, I won’t cause any trouble.” “The commune won’t appreciate outsiders in their midst.” Dillon’s brow creased. “It will be a dangerous trip for Adina, and if she’s escorted by a halfling, it might prove disastrous for her.”
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“If her mate wants her back, he’ll deal with it.” She scowled. “I may not be a pureblood, but I can do the job. If you think you’re better equipped to handle this mission than I am, you do it.” I held my breath while he glowered at her. Things he might say tightened his expression, but when he finally spoke, he had settled on the answer I wanted to hear, and I exhaled with relief. “My mate and I are leaving. We’re taking our child with us.” He shrugged. “It’s your neck if you want to go ahead instead of waiting for a prime to do the job. The legion does employ a few, you know.” Her expression said she hadn’t known. “Mason, draw Lindsay a map or something.” “No.” Mason used a rag to mop his face. “She can’t go alone. Not with Adina expecting. I’ll go.” He didn’t look happy about it. “Parts of the pass are blockaded. I may have to fly Adina in.” Dillon was about to argue when the first rays of dawn hit his eyes. Squinting, he fell silent. “Time flies, I guess.” Emma surveyed their group. “The others will wonder what’s taking so long. If we don’t want Clayton to come through the gateway, we’d better send you all through.” “She’s right.” Harper embraced Dillon. “Take care. I’ll see you soon.” He nodded to me and smiled at Brielle. “It was nice to meet you, Brielle. I don’t suppose I could ask you for a favor?” She peered around my leg, nibbling on her bottom lip. “It depends.” “Can you keep an eye out for my friend here?” He pointed at Dillon. “I think he’s nervous.” “Dragons don’t get nervous.” But she sighed loudly and offered Dillon her hand. She was markedly less impressed with his human glamour. Walking over to her, Dillon slid his hand in hers. “You’re a very brave girl.”
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Her small shoulders tensed for a moment. “I’m not a girl, I’m a princess.” “My mistake, Princess Brielle.” He chuckled. Turning to me, he asked, “Are you ready?” “I am, Lord Dragon.” I tugged Brielle’s blindfold. “Are you ready to be led into his cave?” She gave a regal nod and resituated her blindfold. “I’m ready.” My gaze collided with Dillon’s over Brielle’s head, and I mouthed I love you. He stole a kiss and murmured the same against my lips as I savored how our future tasted on his tongue. For the first time, as I watched the mighty dragon march the brave princess through a glittering gateway and into another realm, I considered there might be a grain of truth to those fairytales after all. Stepping from Askaran sand onto earthen grass, I swore, “We will live happily ever after.”
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About the Author
Hailey is a wife turned mother turned writer, who loves her husband, her daughter and alone time with her computer. Whenever southern living strikes her as too ordinary, she can be found squinting at her monitor as she writes her next happily-ever-after or with her nose glued to her Kindle’s screen. Wings and/or cupcakes are usually involved… She loves to hear from readers at
[email protected]. You can also swing by www.haileyedwards.net for all her latest news.
Look for these titles by Hailey Edwards
Now Available: Daughters of Askara Everlong Evermine Araneae Nation A Hint of Frost
Hope dangles by a silken thread.
A Hint of Frost
© 2012 Hailey Edwards Araneae Nation, Book 1 When the head of the Araneidae clan is found poisoned in her nest, her eldest daughter, Lourdes, becomes their clan’s new maven. If her clan is to survive, she has but one choice: she must marry before her nest is seized. All she needs is a warrior fierce enough to protect her city and safeguard her clansmen. Such a male is Rhys the Cold. Born the youngest son of an impoverished maven, the only things Rhys has to his name are his sword and his mercenary reputation. His clan is starving, but their fondness for the flesh of fellow Araneaeans makes them unwelcome dinner guests. Torn between loyalty to his clan and fascination with his future bride, Rhys’s first taste of Lourdes threatens to melt the cold encasing his heart. Amid the chaos of battle, Lourdes’s sister disappears and is feared captured. Lourdes and Rhys pursue their enemies into the southlands, where they discover an odd plague ravaging southern clans as it travels north, to Erania. Determined to survive, Lourdes will discover whether she’s worth her silk or if she’s spun the thread by which her clan will hang. Warning: This book contains one mercenary hero with a biting fetish, one determined heroine who gets nibbled, and an answer to the age-old question, “What does dragon taste like?” Matricide and sibling rivalry are available upon request. The house special is revenge, best served cold. Enjoy the following excerpt for A Hint of Frost:
“Is that what I am? Do you look at me and see a flesh-eater whose hungers rule him?” I recoiled from his touch and his temper. “I don’t know what I see, Rhys. You confuse me. You’re not what I expected. You’re more, better, and it makes me want more and better from you.” I gained a pitiful bit of distance. “Your brother taunts us both with a secret you’re unwilling to share, yet you hope my opinion remains unaltered? How can it? It’s impossible.” “Lourdes…” His voice broke. “No, you asked. You keep asking. Let me have my say.” My feet found strength on the riverbed, and I stood tall. “I don’t understand you, but I’m fonder of you than is wise. I can’t abide not knowing where we stand. If nothing else, tell me that. Tell me who Mana is to you.” His harsh lips curved into a beatific smile I had no defense against. “You’re jealous.” Had he heard nothing I’d said? Of course I was. “She’s something to you. What is she?” Instead of answering, he waded to where I stood. Trembling with anger, I forced my knees steady as he palmed the base of my neck and dragged me toe to toe with him. Rhys towered over me, his smile shining like the sun’s rays upon my face, and my treacherous heart flip-flopped. “You are jealous.” Wonderment filled his voice. “You care for me.” “I’ve said as much.” Either he wasn’t listening, or what I said wasn’t sinking through his thick skull. I’d given him words. I wanted some in return. “I question your affection, not mine.” His eyebrows slanted as a look of utter confusion crossed his features. Growling, I hooked my leg around the bend of his knees and shoved against his chest. I lost hair in his fall, but the shock on his face was worth the pain. I stood
there, pleased with myself one second and then gasping the next as he dragged me under. Beneath the cool water, his mouth found its way to mine and his lips moved across them. I’m yours. I understood him as clear as if he’d spoken in my ear. Peace suffused my limbs and tingled in the smile I could no longer hide. He was mine. Dumbstruck by his trick, I think I would have floated blissful and unaware as I drowned beneath the pleasure of his vow. He was the one with sense enough to realize we’d both lost our air and dragged us choking to the surface. Spluttered laughter poured from me as he patted my back. “Maven Lourdes?” The sharp, feminine gasp killed my hysteria. “Are you well?” Mana stood on the shore with stacked clothes balanced on one arm and supplies hung from the other. Rhys pressed down on my shoulders until water rushed around my throat. “She is well.” He gave her a small smile, a fraction of the one he’d given me, and yet I found myself envious. “Oh.” Her gaze averted. “Then I will leave your supplies by the water’s edge.” Until he frowned down at me, I hadn’t realized my nails bit into his arm. I’d seen ursus in heat respond better to encroaching females than I did. He was mine. He’d said so. “He’s mine.” Gods above, had I spoken aloud? Judging by Mana’s broad grin and Rhys’s patient sigh, I had. “Yes, Maven.” Mana laughed. “He is yours. He told me as much himself.” “I’m glad I amuse you.” I was acting out, yet I blamed her for my foul temper. Far easier for me to point the finger than accept some animal part of me wanted Rhys bathed in my scent so other females knew where he belonged—at
my side—always. Until our life threads joined, such marking was ill-advised, but the need roared through me. Desire was a pale word for what I felt. “I meant no disrespect.” Her face drained of amusement. “I apologize for my rudeness.” I rubbed a finger alongside my nose. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry, Mana, I am. Whatever your relationship is—was—to Rhys, doesn’t concern me. It’s between you two.” Mana dropped her supplies as her eyes rounded with understanding. Rhys looked to her. “Thank you,” he said, shifting his attention from her on to me, “cousin.” Embarrassment was a flash fire that ignited in my cheeks and constricted my throat. She was his cousin? Fine impression I had made on his family. What Mana must think of me, all but foaming at the mouth. After Pascale’s tantrum, I was amazed Rhys had dared risk the introduction. “You are most welcome. I will fetch you when dinner is ready.” She hesitated. “I gave your brother the room beside Old Father. I assumed you would want privacy at your home.” The look he turned on me melted my bones. “We do, and, Mana? If we don’t answer…” More red blossomed in her cheeks. “I’ll leave a tray outside your door.” “Thank you, Mana.” I broke Rhys’s gaze. “You’ve been more gracious than I deserve.” “Hearts are fickle things, Maven. They drive us to act without thought at times.” Her smile was kind and conveyed perfect understanding. “That yours is a love match is a blessing only the two gods could have bestowed.”
My mouth ran dry and my lips puckered closed. Thank the gods for that mercy. I didn’t love Rhys. I didn’t know him well enough. I glanced back at him and my chest tightened. Did I? His hand traveled my shoulder until he stroked the side of my throat, and all of my doubts scattered as if his thumb had flicked them away. “I judged you unfairly.” I’d let my insecurities speak for me. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” He excused me without hesitation. “Vaughn sews his seeds of doubt well.” “I let him have his fun at my expense.” I should have known better. “If I’d asked you sooner, we could have avoided this.” Rhys didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He radiated smug male satisfaction. “What?” He managed the word without inflection as he drew me flush against him. I covered his hand with mine. “I think you’re enjoying yourself too much, that’s what.” “My beautiful, jealous female is naked in my arms.” He smiled. “What’s not to enjoy?” I sank lower in the water. “You’re unconcerned with nudity, aren’t you?” “I am what the gods made me, as are you. There is no shame in what they created.” His faith bolstered mine. “Your offer stands?” Perhaps it bolstered mine too far. His heavy brow creased. I bit my lip and glanced between his face and, well, the rest of him. Understanding dawned in the flare of his nostrils. He nodded, and I looked my fill. The current swirled about him, curving around his waist and drawing my eye to the hard board of his abdomen. Scars crisscrossed roped muscle, pale
against his tan skin. My gaze skipped like a stone across a pond, unsure which part of him to admire first. A dark trail led from his navel to the waterline, and my fingers itched to trace its path. His legs were the first bare thing I’d seen of him, and even they fascinated me. He said look upon him. I had. Now how did I stop? My fingers curled. “Can I touch you?” “I think that would be unwise.” His gaze cast upon the shore. “Oh.” My hand dropped. I hadn’t realized I’d lifted it. “Water is sacred to the Salticidae.” He touched my cheek. “I have a healthy respect for Old Father and his walking stick. Otherwise, I would have left you under Mana’s supervision.” Better for us both that he hadn’t. “No touching then.” “Not while your skin is bare and your eyes are willing.” His grin turned wry. “I placed more faith in myself than was wise. Resisting you clothed is difficult, while naked it’s nigh impossible.” His fingers sank in my hair. “I thought coming to the water would be safer for us.” “You mean with your honor to hold you accountable and my fear to keep me honest?” He chuckled. “Something like that.” I touched his arm. “I respect their beliefs, but I know myself and own my desire.” He cleared his throat. “I believe I said I owned my actions.” With a careless shrug that cost me the dregs of my modesty, I stood on knees weak enough to be swayed by the current. Sacred waters kept my virtue untouched, but it also kept Rhys untouched. Digging my toes into the sandy bottom, I owned my desire. My innocence was his. He would be my husband. I knew him well enough to understand he would never let me go.
“Come, partisan.” I curled my fingers. “Help me bathe, then take me to your home.” I heard him swallow. “As my maven wishes.”
War tore them apart. Betrayal could bring them together…
Brightarrow Burning © 2011 Isabo Kelly
Layla Brightarrow’s world fell apart the day the Sorcerers invaded her city, intent on using her fellow humans’ pain to augment their spells. Worse, the neighboring elven kingdom declared neutrality, effectively abandoning her people to struggle for survival. Then some of the elves break neutrality to trade with the Sorcerers, and Layla is ordered to assassinate Althir, brother of the elf lord she has secretly loved all her life. When Ulric of Glengowyn uncovers his brother’s plot—and that Layla is one of the assassins sent to stop him—his first instinct is to protect her from all possible harm. He’ll even use seduction, if necessary, to get her into a position to talk some sense into her. Years of pent-up desire is too much for Layla to resist…and one touch unleashes an unquenchable fire that changes everything. Leaving Layla caught between duty and a love that could be her destruction. Or her salvation. Warning: This book contains evil sorcerers, a scarred heroine, a sexy elf hero, naughty language, and an intoxicating and addicting pheromone that leads to wildly hot sex. Plus traitors, deadly magic, bespelled baddies, and a really, really rotten brother.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Brightarrow Burning: She sucked in a deep breath as she listened. The air was sharp and humid in her mouth, tasting faintly of ash and mist. “So most of the elves would still leave us humans to die.”
He was silent for long enough she knew she’d hit a soft spot. “I’m not one of them, Layla,” he murmured. “I believe we should be involved.” “But on which side?” His hands clamped down on her shoulders and she was whipped around so fast her feet twisted beneath her, costing her balance. He brought her up flush against his body before she could regain her footing. “How can you ask me that? I’m betraying my own brother to protect you.” The feel of his hard muscles pressed against the length of her body made her stomach tighten. Blood pumped faster through her veins. Swallowing to rewet her throat, she opened her mouth to speak, closed it, swallowed again, then forced a few words out. “You expect me to trust you?” “Yes,” he hissed. “Yet you still talk to Althir.” He brought his face closer, his breath brushing hot against her mouth. Her lips parted without her permission and need welled up to flow through her. His scent was impossible to ignore now. Something about it called to her, and she found it harder to resist the longer they stood this close. “I talk to my brother to keep you safe.” “And that’s the part that makes no sense,” she said, her voice low and harsh from a lust she could barely control. “Why would you work so hard to protect me?” “Because I care about you, damn it.” Her head spun as tension tightened in her gut. She blinked to force back the dizziness. “But only after I nearly killed Althir,” she pointed out, as much a reminder to herself as to him. “Before that, you weren’t here keeping me safe.” “I was forbidden by my king and queen.”
She frowned, trying to see the lies around the haze of want fuzzing her brain. His voice softened. “I tried to leave Glengowyn. To help you. King Varim forbade it. Until the other elves defected, I was stuck by their ruling.” His grip relaxed and he cupped her face in his palms. A shiver raced along her arms and up the back of her neck. Step back, she thought. Get away while you can. Instead, she dipped a breath closer. She barely felt in control of her body. So easy to just let go, to allow him to seduce her, to give in to what she’d wanted for more years than she could bear to think about. “Layla.” His voice dropped an octave. “They had to physically keep me away.” She shook her head and shifted her gaze from his, though his hands stayed in place. She couldn’t bring herself to dislodge his hold. “No. That’s…that’s wrong. You never… Not before. I can’t…” Why wasn’t her brain working? Now she couldn’t form a coherent sentence? She faced him again, intent on arguing, but as soon as her gaze met his, all the words evaporated. Her pulse sped, and as she watched, his pupils dilated, nearly overtaking the blue of his eyes. Suddenly she understood. Elf-fire. The pheromone that elves exuded whenever they were about to have sex, or at least wanted to very badly. The drug that drew humans to elves and was said to make the sex so amazing, humans often became addicted—which was why the pheromone was also nicknamed elf-tears. Elf-fire couldn’t be faked. It was a physical response, completely out of an elf’s control. But they had to actually be attracted to their partner. While elves could have sex without attraction, though they rarely did, they could never pretend to have an elf-fire reaction.
Which meant, whatever else Ulric was after, he wasn’t pretending to want her. As she studied his eyes, watched the black widen more, the reality of the moment pierced her resistance. He was as affected by her as she was by him. She wasn’t sure why. She just couldn’t imagine what he saw in her to invoke lust. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter. She’d dreamed about having him for so long. Even if it was just this one night. Even if she couldn’t trust his other motives. She could trust his desire. And for a few hours at least, she could give in to her own. “Elf-fire,” she murmured aloud. She raised a hand to his cheek, then trailed her fingers along his neck, watching in satisfaction as he sucked in a breath. His hands tensed on her jaw, edging her closer. “Now do you believe me?” “I believe you want me.” A low growl escaped as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. “It’s about damn time.”
His mark could bind her forever—or finally set her free.
Demon Bait
© 2011 Moira Rogers Children of the Undying, Book 1 Fifty years after a demon apocalypse devastated the world, summoners still bear the bulk of the blame. Marci lives in secret, hiding the gifts that could cost her a secure spot in one of humanity’s underground cities, and access to their virtual world. After all, her chances of avoiding the genetic-testing lotto are better than her chances of surviving topside. The bastard son of a terrifying incubus, lust heats Gabe’s blood and sex fuels his magic. Innate charm and charisma help him navigate the cultural gap between the outcast town he calls home and the human settlements he infiltrates for trade. His latest mission nets him an unexpected asset—a summoner strong enough to soothe his darkest needs. Trust a half demon, especially one who uses a lockdown to trap them together? Not in this lifetime. Yet Marci can’t resist Gabe’s offer to see her safely to a selective outcast settlement where she can live without fear. The journey alone is as dangerous as the way Gabe makes her heart race, but it could be her one hope of a real life. If only she could be sure Gabe’s telling her the whole truth… Warning: Contains a virtual world where humans flee to escape the demon-infested earth, a dangerously seductive half demon with sex magic to burn and a network-hacking summoner brave enough to make herself vulnerable to him. Enjoy the following excerpt for Demon Bait:
His senses were more alive, his own voice like gravel in his ears. “What do you know about binding?” Her lips parted, and her gaze locked with his. “I know I’d be powerless. Completely at someone’s mercy. Is that what happens in Rochester?” Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, short little breaths… She was nervous and aroused, and his pants were too fucking tight. “It’s always what happens. A literal deal with the devil. The mark keeps you safe from every other demon.” Her brows drew together, though the desire pulsing through the room didn’t abate. “I don’t like not having a choice.” “Who said you don’t have a choice?” It took everything in him not to reach across the table and touch her. “You give your partner the power. They don’t take it.” “You can’t tell me no one would hassle an unbound summoner.” “They wouldn’t do it twice.” That broke the spell—mostly. “So the alternative is to get someone killed for trying to convince me? No, thanks.” He felt his eyebrows trying to climb again. “If all they were doing was trying to convince you, they wouldn’t get killed. We’re not savages. Halfbloods would try to get to know you, and try to prove their worth. It’s courtship, not a hassle. But if it became known that you weren’t interested, they wouldn’t hassle you, because it’s against the rules.” “Okay.” She leaned toward him, her eyes alight with challenge. “I’m not interested. Now is it against the rules for you to put the whammy on me? ’Cause that’s what you were doing a minute ago, right?” It took effort not to back down and apologize. “Yeah. If you come back to Rochester with me, you can get my ass in serious trouble. Good enough reason, huh?”
She met his volley with silence, then shook her head. “You’re a tricky one.” “Sometimes.” Gabe let himself smile as he leaned back in his chair. “I slipped. It happens when we’ve gone too long without taking care of business, but that doesn’t let us off the hook for it. Halfbloods are expected to behave themselves or get help.” “Taking care of business.” Marci pushed away her mug. “Do you mean sex in reality, sex in the network, or plain old self-supplied orgasms?” Somewhere, the gods—or demons—were laughing at him. “Honey, if jerking off solved that little problem, I’d have spent the last two hours with my hand around my dick.” She blushed—hard—but didn’t look away. “And virtual sex?” “Only makes the itch worse.” The urge to tease her rode him hard, but the need to make her understand the truth was even more important. “It’s not just about sex, though. If you’d been trained, you could wrap me around your little finger.” Her tension didn’t ease, but the corner of her mouth kicked up. “Now that’s a mental picture.” Her amusement faded, and she gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m willing to try it, you know. On the off-chance that it works.” His mouth went dry. The demon purred. “It’s—” He had to clear his throat and shift positions in his chair in a hopeless attempt to ease the uncomfortable pressure of arousal. “I wouldn’t know how to explain it. They fold magic around us somehow. Like a blanket.” “I have—I don’t know how to explain it, either,” she said helplessly. “But I think I know how. It’s a…a sort of gathering. A force. I can feel it a little already.” He’d been gone from Rochester for more than a week. Eight days without sex or soothing contact of any kind, and he didn’t know which need was going to
swallow him first. “It feels different to everyone. For me it’s…sharp edges and water.” Marci rose and rounded the table with determination, stopping to stand behind him. After a single long moment, she laid her hands on his shoulders. When she spoke, her breath stirred his hair. “Do you have to let me in?” He was going to blow. Come in his pants like a teenager who’d hacked his way into an adult sector and discovered naked women. Just the touch of her hands set his pulse to pounding, half of the struggle tied up in how hard it was not to let her feel it. Trust was so fragile… Too fragile for anything but honesty. “If I do, I can’t promise you won’t feel everything I’m holding back.” Her breath hitched. “I thought you said this didn’t have to be about sex.” “It’s not,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Soothing the itch isn’t about sex, but the original condition sure as hell is. You might feel it before it goes away.” Her breath caught again, her hands shook—and he realized she was laughing. “You mean I’m going to feel like a voyeur?” She stroked her thumb over his shoulder. “You’ll feel—” The words choked off as magic pounded into him. Not slow or subtle, but an uncontrolled, glorious wave. She wasn’t a babbling brook, smoothing away edges over time. Marci was the ocean, powerful and wild, smashing rocks into sand. He shuddered and closed his eyes, tasting her aura as it spun around him in dizzy circles. She was smart, but he’d known that. Cunning too—again, no surprise. She’d hidden herself amongst humans, had blended in until no one suspected she wasn’t one of them. And beneath that…
Hunger. Passion. Wild curiosity and a sensuality that was pure in a way that made him wonder if a man had ever touched her outside the network. Sex in the Global was clean. Sterile, which was the point, but it left the wildest orgies a fleeting dream that might never have happened at all. His demon half was putty in her clumsy hands. His cock was hard as steel. Her lips brushed his ear, so quickly he could have imagined it, and then her touch vanished entirely. “Uh, no,” she whispered huskily. “That is one hundred percent about sex.” He took a deep breath. Another. “Did you want it to be?” “That matters?” If he hadn’t been turned on to the point of pain, he would have laughed. “Yes, Marci. That matters.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back. “I think I’m going to get a shower and turn in.” It would be so easy to follow her. She’d let him. He could see it in her eyes, in the flush in her skin, the trembling in her hands. No need to lean, because she’d open for him and he could show her the sort of pleasure a man with sex in his genes could bring. Soon, he promised himself. Knowing the advantages of a slow hunt was in his genes too. She was soft, but not melting. Not yet. “Thank you for helping.” “Sure.” She nodded to a door on the far wall. “That’s the bathroom. The showers are through the—past the bunks.” Then she fled, turning on one heel to hurry away. The urge to follow brought him to his feet, but self-control kept him from moving. Instead he rubbed his hand over his aching erection and eyed the door to the bathroom.
If Trip didn’t find his chip signal soon, Gabe was going to get awful familiar with that room. And the shower. And his own hand. At least the thought of water sliding over Marci’s naked curves gave him plenty of inspiration.
