Authors: Marie Hall
Finally Harry blurted out, “I’m going home.”
“Wait,” Tamryn said and turned to Eve. “You gonna be okay if…”
“Yeah.” She nodded, knowing her sister felt a need to tend to the sickly. Though if you asked her, Harry was really milking it with that ridiculous woebegone expression on his face. Pathetic. Men. Catch a little cold and it was like doomsday; their world was thrown into a tailspin.
“Go. Go.” She shooed Tamryn and Harry off. “Just be safe and call me when you get there. K?”
Tamryn nodded and walked off, murmuring soft words of encouragement.
“Oh brother,” Celeste said in an aside. “That bear’s begging to get a poor-baby lay. Well, I hope Tamryn’s smarter than that. He’s not gonna stick around after tonight, if you ask me.”
Eve nodded, not really paying much attention to her sister. She couldn’t stop herself from repeatedly glancing at Cian. It was more than just the good looks. There was something about the quiet, unpretentious stranger that beckoned her. Somehow he seemed so familiar. Yet she knew his face was not one she’d ever have forgotten. What was it? The nagging thought teased at the back of her mind.
And yet the memory just wasn’t there. Infuriating. She wasn’t going to be able to go to bed until she put the mystery of the man out her mind. She sighed. Nothing for it; she was in for a long night.
Cian was quiet, watching the alleyway warily. With a gentle grip he held her elbow and steered her and Celeste in the opposite direction.
“I’ll walk you both back. Death still walks amongst us.”
H
ow dare he commit to that oath?” The Morrigan growled her disgust into hers and Dagda’s chambers.
Dagda hooked his thumbs together, quiet and contemplative. The Morrigan stalked through the room. Her black gown trailed behind her agitated march like shadow.
She whirled on Dagda, pointing her finger directly at his chest. “How dare he?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
She flared her nostrils, the ivory of her skin mottled with anger, her eyes a glowing red. Dagda inhaled her rage with each breath he took. It stretched inside him, powerful and malignant, spreading its poison throughout his body. He was immune to her sorcery, but the mortals had never been. This was how his queen incited her wars.
She looked like a warrior priestess, her multihued hair crackling around her head as a charmed cobra. “I’ll obliterate Frenzy for this.”
He took a deep breath. These were icy waters and he needed to tread lightly. “And what would that accomplish, Chaos?”
“Why do you care?” she snapped. “Is that any concern of yours?”
He cocked his head, feigning disinterest.
She narrowed her eyes, stalking toward him, slowly, methodically. “Why do you continue to involve yourself in these matters? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing that concerns you, dear queen.” His tone was velvet edged in steel.
A wicked grin curved her lips. “So, we are once again at an impasse, fighting on the opposite side, it would seem.”
He inclined his head.
The Morrigan licked her lips, now only mere inches from his grasp. Every nerve in his body was aware of her, the energy thrumming through her veins, the fire of fury in her eyes.
“A wager?” Her black brow cocked in challenge. “I get to the human first, she dies, as do Cian and Frenzy.”
Dagda grabbed her wrist, yanking her into his lap. She was stiff, but only for a minute. Then she relaxed and began to rub her nose down his neck.
“What makes you assume this is about the mortal woman?”
She bit his left earlobe. Gentle at first, then hard enough to get his attention and make him wince.
“Don’t play the fool, Dagda.”
Shifting, he moved her directly over his cock. Her eyes widened and she wiggled her bottom on him, making him groan in response.
“Fine,” he said, voice husky and full of desire. “I win and they live. Those are the terms.”
“What about the week Frenzy committed to?” Her warm breath, spiked with mint, tickled his nose.
Digging his fingers into her waist, he strained against the desire to rip off her clothes and have her now.
“We let them have it and begin in earnest six days hence.”
She nipped the corner of his mouth. He tittered on the brink of an explosive violence.
“Maybe. Then again, maybe not.”
“Six days. Minimum.”
She inhaled. “Three.”
“Chaos,” he growled, “that is not acceptable.”
She sucked on his bottom lip. “Five. But that is all I’m willing to pledge.”
Clenching his jaw, he knew bargaining for more would be futile. When his queen set her mind to something, she was as unshakeable as stone. “So be it. It is sealed. I bind you to your oath.”
The air quickened with a hot rush of fire. Wind howled through the room, knocking books from shelves and glass containers from desks. Gradually the gale died and an unnatural lull filled the chamber. The pact had been sealed. To break it now meant eternal damnation.
She smiled, a delighted glint in her royal-blue eyes. She looked happy, ready to gloat. That didn’t bode well. The queen hid a secret. He could almost see the cogs in her head spinning. She’d already formulated her method of attack. The Celts called her the goddess of war and strife for a reason: rarely could anyone outmaneuver The Morrigan in strategy.
He frowned, only guessing at what she might be thinking. Knowing his queen, it would be something ingenious and devious. It was now up to him to figure out a way to thwart her. For now, his thoughts were of other things. With an animalistic growl he claimed her lips for his own.
* * *
The Morrigan sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts and watching the slow rise and fall of her king’s chest. She slipped on her robe and tiptoed out of the room. With silent steps she walked down to the rack room, Frenzy’s flogged and bloody body still hanging from the chains.
She smiled, admiring her handiwork, and walked up to him. His breathing came out in short, shallow gasps.
“Listen to me,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear.
He turned bloodshot eyes to her. Even after all this, fear did not glitter in their depths.
“I’m releasing you. Find the witch”—she cocked her head—“don’t take her soul.” She paused, leaving the rest unsaid. By the question in his eyes, she knew he caught her meaning. Not taking one’s soul had nothing to do with not harming. There was a difference. She lifted a brow and nodded, then continued, “Follow her. Gain her trust if you can, and when these five days are up, kill her.”
“I vowed a week,” he said through clenched teeth.
She grasped his chin, pulling his face toward hers. “Five days,” she hissed, “that is all. Follow her, then kill her. Is that clear?”
He ground his jaw and yanked away. “I’ll do as you say, my queen.” The words lacked warmth. No matter. What did she care whether death groveled at her feet, so long as they were loyal. And Frenzy was
very
loyal.
The Morrigan narrowed her eyes. “See that you do. I’m offering you penance, Frenzy. Don’t make me regret it.”
His nostrils flared. He reminded her of a caged panther: incredible power and deadly grace.
“I want no contact except for the day before her death. Come to me at the witching hour. I’ll make sure I’m alone.”
He nodded.
“Good.” She tipped her chin and ran her hands down his back, doing something she rarely did. Heal.
A black mist flowed from her palms into him, sealing the lacerations and stitching the flesh together. She was not of the great healer bloodline, but what she had was good enough. Within hours he’d be whole, for now, this would do. She reached up and released his bonds.
He rubbed his wrists. Hair like a sea of fire crackled around his head.
“Here.” She shoved a pewter amulet against his chest.
He trapped her hand between his, yanked the chain from her cold fingers, and looked at it, then at her.
She pulled her hand back and growled, “So that Cian does not detect you. If you are to be around his mortal, your mark will be all over her. Cian cannot detect the subterfuge. Keep it on at all times. You’ll remain cloaked by the charm within.”
Silver eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam of madness burned in their depths. Grinding his jaw, he slipped it over his head. Muted blue light flared from out the amulet, covering him. He shone palest blue and then the light faded, swallowed into his flesh.
Frenzy was now undetectable to any fae. They could look at him but all they’d sense was the mark of mortality. Warm satisfaction seeped through her veins. Everything was going according to plan. There was no way she’d fail.
Who’d suspect the treachery she was about to put into motion?
She smiled.
“And how am I to get close to her?” He yanked on the amulet, gruff voice full of displeasure.
She patted his cheek, a mocking smile tilting one corner of her mouth. Impatience built inside her chest. The heaviness of budding anger settled in her gut. “Have you forgotten all your skills, Frenzy? Perhaps I was wrong in keeping you in my court so long.” He fingers trailed up the ridged scars of his bare back. “I could always find another if you don’t feel up to it.” With a deft flick of her wrist she sank one of her nails into his flesh, not deep, but enough to draw blood.
He growled low in his throat and pulled out of her grasp. She laughed and licked the stain of blood off her nail.
Silver eyes swirled. Frenzy was so unpredictable, so animalistic, on the verge of insane. With none of Cian’s weakness toward mortals, he was the perfect scout.
“Wait out the night. You’ll know what to do on the morn. And for your sake, do not fail me again.” Then she turned and fled back to her chambers and the warm body of her consort.
* * *
Eve’s heart was in her throat. Fire scorched her lungs as she ran barefoot through a wild thicket of trees. She gasped as sweat poured freely down her forehead.
The footsteps were gaining on her, crashing through the trees, swishing aside the blades of grass. Stones bit into her feet. She felt the sticky wetness and knew she bled, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keep running.
She pushed herself harder, her arms pumping, her muscles screaming in protest.
It was so dark, the sliver of moon the only light around for miles.
The footsteps were close.
An icy chill swept down her spine. She glanced behind her shoulder, ignoring the stinging pain of tree branches slapping against her cheeks.
A dark silhouette followed, a barrel shape ripping through the woods with purpose.
A paralyzing fear gnawed at her brain.
Keep running. Don’t stop.
She twisted around trees, jumped over fallen branches. She slipped on a pile of dead leaves, her bloody feet making it slippery and wet.
She scrabbled for purchase, her nails clawing at the dirt until she stood upright.
Breath on her neck.
Oh goddess.
Fingers grazing her back.
She tried to run away. Hard hands clamped onto her waist, pulling her down. Eve screamed through her teeth, her ankle twisting out from under her as she fell hard and wrapped her arms around her head.
Her heart was like the toll of bells, pounding in her throat, her head. A whispering wind riffled through the woods. Crickets chirped. Owls screeched and wolves howled.
Nothing happened. The breathing was still heavy, lungs grasping for air, but nothing was happening. Curiosity was a burning thing. Who was this? She had to see. Cautiously, she dropped her arms and opened her eyes.
“You,” she whispered, her fear turning to shock.
Solemn blue eyes studied her. Cian knelt before her.
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” he said, tracing her jaw with his knuckle. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Eve shot up, pushing the covers off her legs. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps. Her bedroom was bathed in shadow, the only light coming off the red lava lamp sitting on her dresser.
She blinked, trying to clear her head of the dream. Her mouth was dry, stale. She got up and wrapped herself in a bathrobe, rubbing her temple and releasing a shaky breath.
Shot full of adrenaline, her veins thrummed. That had felt so real. She touched her cheek, not feeling a physical sting but remembering the sharp slaps with a clarity that astonished.
She looked out the window, at the safety of the city, miles away from any forested area, and wondered what the dream had meant.
It was dark outside, the moon a thin crescent dangling in the fog-banked sky like a silver pendant. She leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes.
Why had Cian been following her? Chasing her? Why had she felt such fear of death and then only comfort?
Dreams were real for her. Not a prophecy of what would happen, but a way for the subconscious to show her something she wouldn’t normally see.
She sighed. Maybe a nice cup of chamomile would help settle her nerves. She opened her eyes, ready to head to the kitchen, when a darting shadow on the sidewalk caught her attention.
Narrowing her eyes, she held still, waiting to see the figure move again, her nerves taut. But after a minute of standing still, her legs began to shake. She shook her head, her hands trembling as she glided away from the window.
F
renzy stepped through the gnarled oak separating realms and into the perfect darkness of Alcatraz Island at night. The sky, obscured by low-lying fog, glowed a silver-grayish color. Dreamlike. Striking.
He narrowed his eyes, studying the land. Rotted out, abandoned buildings dotted the landscape like gravestones. Mortal-crafted stone rusted by decades of salt water crashing against it. Weeds shoved their sturdy stems through long cracks in building foundations.
Anger twisted a hole in his gut. Humans poisoned the land—turned all that was beautiful into a wasteland of disease and decay. Concerned only with war and what they could own. The fae liked to believe themselves superior. But strip them of magick and beauty and they were all the same. He despised every one of them.
With a snarl he swiped his hand, opened the portal, and stepped through. It took nothing to find Cian. All he had to do was attune himself to his brethren and that shared bond between them. A shimmering trail of ebony fire tugged at his chest like an invisible bond.
The dazzling colors of the portal rolled into one with dizzying speed. Surrounded by lava-like brilliance, lights sped past his eyes faster and faster. His heart rate picked up in cadence, threatening to rip a hole through his chest.
And then…he was there.
Frenzy punched his hand through the opening and jumped out, reappearing a few feet from where he knew Cian sat crouched in shadow watching the witch he’d become obsessed with.
Frenzy touched the amulet The Morrigan had given him. A part of him hoped it would work, keep him undetectable to Cian. But another part, the more reckless side, prayed to be found. To be drawn into a fight. Right now all he wanted was something solid to take his frustrations out on.
The rotten stench of rancid restaurant oil permeated the breeze. Frenzy grimaced, curling his upper lip and exposing his canines. Mortal land: it was a nemesis he’d hoped never to meet again. Tonight with the demon had been more than enough and yet here he was again.
It had been seven centuries since The Morrigan had granted him absolution from death reaper duties and allowed him to serve as personal retinue in her court. Not that it was any fun. Being slave to the queen’s whims was a leeching feeling of misery.
And yet it kept him away from the insanity of death’s duties. He could still remember the utter, soul-sucking blackness of being death.
He’d take his royal crone over this any day. Rolling his shoulders back, he walked down the crooked sidewalk. The heavy footfalls of his booted feet echoing down alleyways, alerting mortals to his presence.
Most just curled up into their newspaper burrows, too drunk on Listerine to care. A few glanced up from their positions around barrel fires. Dirt-laden faces full of sorrow and years’ worth of hard living etched into their brows.
He kept walking until he spotted a liquid drop of golden light. The buzz of flickering streetlamps was a discordant cadence to the rhythms of the night.
Two stories up, in an old Victorian-style home, stood a silhouette of a woman. Curvy, shapely. The witch.
Fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. Frenzy whipped around, scenting death only seconds before he caught a flash of Cian’s multihued hair. Cian might not be able to sense him, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes, and Frenzy hadn’t thought to use essence to cloak himself. Using it now might alert Cian. So he jumped behind a row of stacked moving boxes.
Cian stood within a pale circle of light, his upturned face and steadfast gaze proof of what he saw.
The silhouette behind the window stiffened and Cian slithered back into shadow. His face twisted into a mask of hunger, pain, and need.
Hours passed. A slow, steady drizzle filled the predawn hours. Frenzy shifted on the balls of his feet. Obviously the queen’s charm worked; Cian was in no hurry to leave. Muscles of his legs cramped and screamed out in protest for him to move, to walk. But he was patient. Cian wouldn’t stick around too much longer. He wouldn’t want to be caught by her.
Already warm rays of sunshine began to crest the horizon, draping the world in a Salvador Dalí painting of orange and pink.
A heavy sigh and shuffling steps and Cian was gone.
“Fucking death,” he growled and squeezed out from behind his hiding spot, rolling his neck from side to side with loud, satisfying pops. Blood rushed to his numb limbs.
“Now what?” he drawled, studying the home in detail.
A three-story Victorian, hardly fortified. Easy access. Top two windows open, gingham curtains fluttering. Windows probably led into the kitchen or living room.
Although…
He narrowed his eyes and walked across the street, stopping on the first step of the stoop. He’d seen her profile last night on the second floor. At the time he’d assumed she’d been in her bedroom. The layout of the home was strange. Maybe it was more of a loft or apartment-style home, the three floors completely separate from one another, which meant there had to be neighbors.
He walked up the last steps and placed his hand against the red door. Dew on the golden brass knocker seeped into his palm. Taking a deep breath, he reached out with his senses and immediately detected the signs of several mortals inside. First one gentle flutter of a beating pulse pressed against his skull, then another. The second was heavier, labored. Unnatural. Sick but not close to death, only the beginnings of heart disease laying waste to a once-robust body.
Frenzy was ready to pull his hand back when a third heartbeat came to him with crashing force, filling his mouth with the taste of adrenaline. The beats were getting slower and slower still, becoming little more than a pathetic attempt at pushing blood through clogged veins and arteries.
Fire shot down his arm and into his hand. He smiled, pulled back, and snatched the glove off. Skeletal fingers appeared bold against the weak rays stretching across the city. Inside the apartment complex someone lay dying. The scent of testosterone and cigarettes filled his head. The man had lived a hard life, and now he was reaping the rewards of his fast lifestyle.
He curled his fist. The Morrigan had told him the truth: a way inside would indeed be found this morning.
The streets were empty, beds still full of sleeping bodies. None would see him, and there were no other grim reapers about. It was time for him to do what reapers did best. Frenzy swiped his hand, following the weak hammer of a pulse, and landed in a dimly lit bedroom. A crack through the blinds showed the dancing dust motes floating through the air.
In the bed lay an older man, hair a crisp snow white, skin as dark as ebony. Full lips parted on a silent gasp. Next to him lay several cats. Some with their paws on his chest, others meowing and some waving long tails through the air.
Frenzy walked forward. Large chocolate eyes rolled toward him, anguished desperation glittering in their depths. He sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing one of the man’s hands into his own. “Be well, stranger. Your time is nigh; I come to see you on.”
Two fat tears rolled down the corners of both eyes simultaneously. The old body jerked. Oxygen-deprived lungs deflated and burning with the brittle need of a moment’s relief.
Painful, empty gasps. Like a fish out of water, struggling for breath, for reprieve. But there would be none. With one last gulp the old man closed his eyes and went limp.
It took a moment for the soul to realize it had nothing to hold on to, no body to contain it. And then slowly a blue curl of winding smoke filtered through pores and openings, pulsating and waiting for him reach in and claim it.
Frenzy reached into the chest, his insubstantial hand phasing through, and grasped on to the viscous soul. A glowing portal of white opened up before them. But before he’d release it to the spirit world, he had one last task. If he was to be this man, he must know this man intimately.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the memories to wash through him—a life full of music, joy, highs, and lows. And then there it was. What he really sought.
The witch was Eve Philips. She’d been married to Michael Philips, and they’d been his neighbors for the past ten years. Curtis Lovelace had no family, no children, no one to grieve him or miss him. He was the perfect mark. Frenzy could assume his identity, get in close to Eve, who knew Curtis well.
“Thank you, Curtis.” He then stood and walked the soul toward the portal and its final destination.
The white of eternity swallowed the soul and faded to darkness, leaving him with a body and several curious cats.
He sat on the edge of the bed. One cat, a fat orange tabby, jumped onto his lap and began rubbing its head against his cheek.
Soft purrs of delight rolled from out the muzzle. “Samhain.” The name rolled off his tongue in a thick burr.
The cat yowled as if in recognition and curled into a ball.
The gentle patter of footsteps broke him from his petting trance. Above him Eve stirred, beside him a dead body lay cooling in the morning breeze.
Nobody could know Curtis had died. Not yet. With a flick of his wrist he engulfed the husk in flames. Hot enough to burn bone, teeth, anything and everything. Cool enough that the blanket wouldn’t singe, that no smoke would be detected. The inferno pitch of heat so hot that in seconds the body was reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes.
He lifted the window and called to the wind to take it. A rushing breeze funneled through the room, picked up the black soot and dragged it out in an undulating wave.
Cream sheets, tangled and twisted—pushed back to the footboard—showed not a speck of dirt, blood, or fire. There was nothing save him, the cats, and an apartment full of dead memories.
There was still much work to be done.