Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 26

  “Will you return to the Unseelie Court when this is all over?”

  What she saw in his eyes tore at her heart. He’d left to give her freedom to explore her needs. They were both fools. Him for not seeing how much she cared for him, and her for believing she needed anyone but him to teach her how to love.

  “No, I won’t be returning. At least, not as an álainn obedience.”

  Relief swept over his face and the scar on his cheek reddened.

  A piercing scream rent her mind and she doubled over against the pain. Her breaths came in gasps and she saw a vision of Cian, hurt.

  “Rori, what is it?” Therron’s arm wrapped around her and he dragged her to a booth. “What’s happening? Talk to me.”

  Words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stare into the distance where she saw a woman with blonde hair and sea-blue eyes hovering over Cian’s body. A moment later, the image popped and her hearing returned. Her breathing slowed. But her heart galloped at an alarming pace.

  “Cian’s hurt. It’s bad, Therron.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The human realm. I don’t know. He’s with someone, a friend, I hope.”

  “Can you get to him?” Therron beckoned to the barkeep and asked for a pitcher of water.

  “He’s coming back to Faerie.” Her voice sounded far away, even to her. “He’s not alone.”

  “Which doorway is he coming through?”

  “I don’t know.” She drank straight from the pitcher, not bothering with the glasses the barkeep brought. The cool water slaked her thirst, but did nothing to clear the sludge from her brain. “He’ll need a healer.” She set the pitcher on the table and wiped her lips with the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Is Meg still at Rowan’s?”

  “We’ll find out.” Rori was off the bench and heading to the cellar by the time she’d finished her sentence. If Cian was hurt, he’d need fae healers and Meg was the best. With any luck, she’d be at Rowan’s and the pair could mend Cian’s wound.

  At the doorway, she spoke the words that would take them to Rowan’s private portal. Therron watched passively and for once, she didn’t care whether he saw or heard what she did. Cian’s life was in mortal danger and now wasn’t the time to play one-upmanship.

  They stepped through into the darkness and she clasped Therron’s hand in hers. The warmth of his skin helped offset the chill that had settled in her heart. Cian had only been gone two days. What the hell had that fool man gotten involved in?

  The void wobbled and Rori pulled her thoughts away from her brother. She fixed Rowan’s study in her mind and breathed through her nose. Calm. Serenity. There was no telling what lurked in the shadows of the in-between and she didn’t care to find out.

  The light of Rowan’s study pierced the blackness and she grabbed it with her mind, propelling them faster to their destination.

  A startled Rowan glanced up from his desk as they stumbled through the portal. He rose, questions in his aging eyes.

  “Is Meg still here?” Rori asked by way of greeting.

  “She is, but may I ask what could be so important you abuse my sacred trust and burst into my private chambers?”

  Feeling the sting of his recrimination, Rori slowed and drew a long breath. “I’m sorry, Rowan. I know you said to never use your doorway, much less to ever speak of it to anyone, but this is an emergency. Cian’s hurt and I fear he won’t make it unless you and Meg heal him together.”

  Therron stepped forward and grasped the old wizard’s forearm in his own. “We appreciate your need for discretion and will never speak of this to anyone.”

  Rowan nodded and mumbled an affirmation. It took another minute to soothe his frazzled nerves, then he led them to Meg’s room, where the witch answered before they had a chance to knock. By the harrowed look on her face, Rori guessed she already knew why they were there. She looked past the woman to where medicines and tools were laid out on her bed.

  “You were expecting us.”

  “I was expecting someone, young Rori, but I wasn’t sure who.” Meg grinned and patted Rori’s arm. “To be fair, it’s usually you or your brother, so in a way, yes. I was expecting you.”

  They moved Meg’s supplies to a larger room where she and Rowan would be unencumbered in their work. Rori helped to keep her mind off Cian, but his presence battered her mind. She’d never had a connection like this with him, certainly not from Faerie to the human realm. When they were little, she’d always known where he was, but had grown out of the ability with adolescence. She’d missed the sense of having him with her, even in a detached sort of way.

  Now that it had returned, and with such insistence, she questioned the timing.

  “How will we get him here?” Rori touched the frame of an ornate mirror.

  “What, dear?” Meg’s hands hovered over her scissors.

  “We don’t know what doorway he’s using, or if he’s even coming back to Rowan’s.”

  Therron set a box of wrappings on a desk and stood, his gaze going from Meg to Rowan. Something in the way he held himself put Rori on edge. Would he leave her again? She knew he and Cian weren’t friends.

  “I hadn’t considered this complication.” Rowan scratched at his chin.

  “I can help,” Therron offered. The three of them looked at the elf with expectation on their faces. “I know a way to, erm, redirect him.”

  Rowan’s eyes rounded and his mouth drooped. “So it’s true? The legends. They’re real?”

  Therron held up a hand. “Don’t ask me how it’s done, for I won’t show you. Just trust me, please?” His gaze was rooted on Rori and her insides blazed.

  Questions, so many questions sprang to her lips, but the look on Therron’s face said he wouldn’t answer them any time soon.

  A fierce wail stopped her from responding. She grabbed her head and crouched low. The image of Cian standing before a doorway.

  “He’s coming.” The words sputtered between gasps of air.

  The three of them became a flurry of action as they sprinted from the room to Rowan’s study. Tug ambled into the room and Rori gave her friend a warm smile. Meg sidled next to the giant and they all watched Therron with tempered anticipation.

  The elf stood before Rowan’s bookcase and swirled his right hand in a circle, his left at chest level, two fingers held up. The words he spoke made the hairs on her arm rise and a shiver snaked its way down her back. Black magic.

  She listened, keen to know the words he used, but he spoke too low even for her fae hearing.

  The air began to undulate and shift, spinning in a circle with his hand movements. Quicker and quicker he went until there was a vortex not more than two feet in front of him. Rowan’s bookcase disappeared into blackness. Rori unconsciously took a step backward. From her peripheral, she saw Rowan did the same.

  Time slowed and they waited. The vortex continued and Therron stood firmly planted in front of it. Rori inched her way closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. He acknowledged her touch with a slight tilt of his head.

  With a long, steadying breath, she opened her magic and let it flow through Therron to the spinning air and beyond. She reached inside the blackness to find her brother.

  “He’s just there,” Therron whispered and Rori felt what she couldn’t see. Therron’s magic had made a net around her brother and was pulling him toward Rowan’s study.

  A moment later, a huge black dog lunged into the room, startling them. Rori gasped and clutched Therron’s tunic, but held her magic in place. The creature stumbled forward and collapsed in a heap at Tug’s feet.

  “He’s injured.” Tug bent and picked up the mass of black fur.

  “We’ll see to him as well. Cian first,” Meg assured them.

  A moment later, Cian’s face emerged from the vortex, eyes wild, hair sticking up at all angles.

  “The bloody hell is this?” He clutched his side where a crimson stain covered most of his shirt.

  Tears of relief stun
g her eyes and she brushed past Therron to her brother. “Cian.” She wrapped him in a hug and cried against his shoulder. Gods help her, she cried like a troll baby right there in front of everyone.

  “Let’s get them to the surgery theater.” Rowan led them out of the study and down the hall.

  Rori glanced over her shoulder at Therron. He was closing the vortex with both hands. Sweat rolled down his temples. He’d saved Cian’s life.

  He joined her and held Cian aloft as they dragged more than walked with him to the room. Once there, Rori lay her brother on the soft bedding and sat beside him.

  “I saw you with a woman. Did she do this?” Even then, Rori was conflicted about hunting that bitch down and killing her or staying with Cian until he recovered.

  “It wasn’t Nikala.” The way he said her name made Rori’s nerves tense. Whoever Nikala was, she meant something special to Cian.

  “Rori, you can interrogate him later. Right now, we’ve work to do.” Meg shooed them from the room and Rori promised Cian she’d be right outside the door.

  They crowded in the hall and Rori tapped her fingers on the wall.

  “I seem to recall being here not too long ago waiting on word about you.” Therron broke the silence.

  A flippant reply sprang to her lips, but then she looked at him and saw the concern etched in his forehead. The tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes where worry rested. He was scared. Not just for Cian, but for her.

  She did something completely not in her character and leaned into him. His arms wrapped around her and she breathed in his scent of forests and stone and spice. Tug’s big arms circled them both and she giggled against Therron’s chest.

  When Meg and Rowan finished with Cian, she’d get answers. For the moment, she was exactly where she needed to be—with the people she loved, and who loved her.

  29

  Nikala stared out at the skyline. London was glorious at night with all the twinkling lights from streetlamps to office buildings. She loved seeing the city from this height. From up here, she believed in the possibility of others. From this distance, she was removed from the filth and dangers of the streets.

  She cracked her neck and looked toward Chelsea, where Malcolm was murdered. Cian hadn’t killed him. Even though she knew the truth, her heart wasn’t ready yet to accept the alternative. There was no reason to eliminate Malcolm. He was Hunter’s funding. Surely he still needed Malcolm’s money. Although, the extravagant mansion shot a hole in that theory.

  Nikala tapped her fingers on the windowsill, her mind spinning. The papers she found in Malcolm’s safe were spread across his desk, spelling out what was to happen to SIRE in the event of his demise. She shuddered at the realization Malcolm knew something would happen to him—sooner rather than later.

  While she’d been off doing his dirty work, he’d been plotting and planning behind her back. The sneaky bastard. He’d suspected Hunter of treachery long before today. She unfolded the letter he’d written to her and read it again. Although she’d already memorized the words, she reread them in the hope she’d gain more understanding. More closure.

  Dearest Nikki (Nikala, I know how much you hate the nickname, please indulge me this one last time),

  Long ago, I let someone convince me to leave home for reasons I won’t bore you with here. I left the woman I cherished more than the sun loves the moon, and I left my friends and family. I came here to rebuild my life, but it was never complete without my starshine.

  Then you came into my life and I thought perhaps I had a second chance, but I soon learned that was not to be.

  Nikala’s hands shook as she read. Malcolm had never once told her who her mother was. She looked out the window at the stars dotting the horizon. Was she in London? Had he met her on a business trip and she’d died?

  The life I started building here benefited someone else as well and they abused our friendship through manipulation so complete it took me years to realize what they’d done. By that time, it was too late. I’d already lost you.

  Her snort echoed in the silent office. The victim stance didn’t sit well. Malcolm was too cunning to be taken advantage of so completely. Unless there was something else, a reason he was easily fooled. She scratched her chin and read on.

  My darling, perfect daughter. I destroyed you for a dream. A dream of a more perfect world, where one can love whomever they wish without penalty. A world where our kind can live side by side with others in peace.

  And now I see what I helped to create and what he truly is—a madman bent on destroying this world and ours. I once believed in his wild ideas and experiments. I once believed he twisted you and broke you so that all our kind would be immortal. I was wrong.

  Interesting. So Malcolm at least thought she could be killed. She wished he’d given Hunter the memo before the asshole shot her.

  My last wish is that you can somehow right the wrongs I made. Turn his experiments against him and help our people when the time comes.

  I hope one day you can forgive me.

  My eternal shame. My eternal regret. My eternal love.

  Your loving father.

  There was no date on the letter, and it wasn’t signed. She folded it into a neat square and tucked it inside her back pocket. As far as she knew, it was the first time Malcolm had ever put in writing that she was his daughter. She doubted whether even Yash or Jude knew.

  Certainly, Hunter knew. He’d used Malcolm as a weapon on her too many times not to have known. Taunting her about being sold to the highest bidder. Or, on many occasions, he’d claimed that perhaps Malcolm wasn’t really her father and she’d been found in a back alley, the product of an illicit affair, an unwanted consequence. His mental games were as much or even more of a torment than his physical abuse. Skin healed; the mind remembered.

  He was out there, somewhere. She hoped it was on a train back to Scotland. At some point she’d have to deal with him, but not yet. She was too raw from everything that had happened and from Malcolm’s letter.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. If only Cian had stayed. For a day or a week. Long enough to explain to her what being a faerie meant. Could she fly? Did she need to pollinate flowers? What did it mean to be fae? She was being selfish. As much as she wanted him to stay, he needed his people. His people. Were they now her people? He’d said there were healers in Faerie and gods knew, he didn’t look good when she left him.

  Two days ago, she thought she knew exactly who she was and lived as much on her terms as Hunter and Malcolm would allow. Now, she had no idea who the woman in the mirror was or where she belonged.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Hunter’s smooth, gravelly voice said from the doorway.

  Ice trickled over her skin, burning with its intensity. She thought she’d have more time before he showed up. But that wasn’t Hunter’s style. Of course he’d pounce when she was vulnerable.

  “What do you want?” She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t look him in the eyes. Not yet.

  “Did you destroy my lab?”

  “No. I told you, I was at the pub. I don’t know who did.” She turned then and faced the man who killed her father. “Why does it matter? The amulets are gone. You can’t get more.”

  His face brightened and he stepped closer. “You still believe in my work?”

  Pain, sharp and cruel like a knife piercing her heart, stunned her into silence. His work. She was as much a product of his work as Yash and Jude had been. He was the madman Malcolm wrote about.

  “Come with me,” he said when she didn’t answer. “Return to Scotland with me, where we can work side by side like we used to. Only now, you’ll be my assistant instead of my experiment.”

  The way his eyes danced and cheeks brightened, he truly believed she would be excited for the opportunity.

  “No, I won’t join you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m glad your lab was destroyed. I’m happy Acelyne is dead because now you can never torment our kind agai
n.” The words were strange on her tongue. Our kind. What did that really mean? To what purpose was any of this? His experiments and enhancements, they were just so he could play God.

  His eyes became hard and mean. His disfigurement turned rosy with his rising anger. Nikala had seen this side of Hunter too many times not to be afraid. But unlike all the other times, she wouldn’t shrink from him.

  “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re nothing but a throwaway. A scrap of flesh no one wanted. I made you who you are. I did that!” Spittle formed at the corners of his lips and his hands gesticulated wildly. The tiny scars on the backs of his hands—the ones he got from the same potion that destroyed his face—rose in crimson webs, reaching to his wrists.

  “You made me a monster. A killer without a conscience.” She strode to face him, their bodies inches apart. “I was loved by my father and you destroyed that. You lied and deceived and manipulated to get what you wanted. Then you broke me again and again for your sordid pleasure. I wanted to die every day for the last twenty years, but you wouldn’t let me. I don’t know how, exactly, but I know you made it impossible.”

  Shock shuttered over his features and he stumbled backward. “You ungrateful bitch. I made you immortal.”

  “At what price, Hunter?” She returned to her place behind Malcolm’s—no, her desk. She drew on strength from Malcom’s letter. He’d loved her. He wanted her to fight for their kind. My last wish is that you can somehow right the wrongs I made. Turn his experiments against him and help our people when the time comes.

  Nikala reached into her waistband and removed the gun she’d used to kill Yasheda. She held it steady, pointed at Hunter.

  “Do it. I dare you.” His mocking tone and quirk of his lips sent warnings through her mind.

  She pressed the trigger, but her fingers wouldn’t budge. Pain, cruel and twisted like a serrated knife ripping across her skin over and over, tormented her psyche. The harder she tried to pull the trigger, the harsher the agony.

  “Pathetic.”

  Nikala lowered the gun and the pain stopped. “What did you do to me?”