The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) (46 page)

Loupe dropped her arms to her sides and took a step closer to him. “Kirill says you were a wolf before. You remember the change?”

“I remember.”

“I can help you through it if you like,” she offered gently.

Mac closed his eyes, already reaching inside himself, searching. There. “No,” he whispered. “I am…all right.”

“Loupe is a
loup garou
,” Kirill told him, coming to stand next to Loupe. “A type of werewolf who can pass on the change through her bite. You are not what you once were, you will not change permanently to a wolf for a set period of time. You will be able to go back and forth between forms, but you must use caution.”

“Biting someone alone is not enough to infect them,” Loupe added. “You must intend to infect them.
Loup garous
are more magic than lycanthropes. There is much even I don’t understand yet.”

Mac laughed softly. The sound started out small, a chuckle that rose from somewhere inside him, caressed his insides as it rose to spill out his lips. Something came with that laugh, a spirit or form that hadn’t been there before. Mac welcomed it, embraced it. The spirit washed over him and as it rose, his muscles melted into something soft and malleable, his bones turned to liquid, flowed in different directions before they hardened and became stronger.

“Astounding,” Kirill said, a trace of awe in his tone.

Mac blinked, momentarily disoriented by the change in his perspective. He was no longer standing before Kirill as a man, but rather on all fours as a wolf. Black-furred legs met his eyes, his own body a strange sight. He raised his head, sniffed the air. The scents of the world exploded around him in a palette that put what he’d been used to in his human form to shame. The vampire before him was a mixture of stone, blood, and the crisp scent of snow. The fire crackled with the smoky tones of burning pine, a flicker of a heavier scent—the oak leaves and twigs he’d cast off his clothes. The wolves…

Mac padded over to where they lay in a pile. He could smell their wounds now, smell the faint traces of infection beneath the healing paste of the herbs. Shame weighed his body down and he lowered his body to the floor and curled up against Sienna’s side, offering warmth to the side of her that faced away from the fire.

“They’ll be fine.”

Loupe knelt beside him, and her voice was gentler now. Mac didn’t know if it was the fact that he was now a wolf, and thus qualified to be on her good side, or if she’d somehow sensed the change in him, sensed his regret. He rested his head on his paws, letting his thoughts settle.

Loupe stood and faced the vampire. “He doesn’t seem to require my help. If our business is concluded, I’ll be going home to my husband now.”

“The gargoyle will see you home,” Kirill responded politely. He cleared his throat. “It may behoove us both if you would bathe before seeing your husband to avoid carrying the scent of our meeting. I do not think he will be as pleased with our bargain as we were.”

“I will not,” Loupe snapped. “I have no intention of hiding this from him. We needed that land for the wolves, and I fail to see what harm could come from having another
loup garou
around.”

Mac arched a lupine eyebrow at that, rolling his eyes to look at the vampire. The woman had a kind heart, and was obviously a force to be reckoned with when she was protecting wolves. But she clearly didn’t have a head for strategy.

Kirill met his eyes for a brief second and then smiled at Loupe. “You’re right of course. Enjoy your evening, and tell Etienne I said hello.”

Author’s Note:

Those of you familiar with the Blood Realm series have no doubt noticed that this epilogue was a bit different. Usually, the epilogue is where the Blood Princes have a little meeting with the hero and heroine to formally invite them into the Blood Realm. In the original version of The Archer, that’s precisely what happened.

Then the epilogue turned out to be almost 17,000 words. For comparison, my average chapter length is about 3,000 words. That is obviously very long for an epilogue so I took the advice of one particularly loyal reader and wrote a new epilogue (which was originally going to be a bonus scene) and turned the old epilogue into a bonus short story entitled “The Unwanted Guest.” This short story is included free with The Archer, so please continue on and enjoy…

Jennifer Blackstream

Bonus short story: The Unwanted Guest

(Contains spoilers for The Archer, so read The Archer first.

You have been warned…)

“Robin!”

Adonis hefted himself away from the bookcase, ignoring the groan of old wood behind him. He’d been using the particularly sharp spine of an ancient book of maps to chase an itch behind his wing, but that endeavor was forgotten as his carefully chosen vantage point gave him the first view of the newest arrivals through the study’s open doorway.

It had been a few years since he’d seen Robin, but he’d have known the
sidhe
anywhere. Dressed in shades of forest leaves with hair so blond it was nearly white, he stuck out in the dark hallway like a will o’ wisp in a bog. As Adonis put himself in the center of the doorway, Robin’s face brightened with a broad smile. He squeezed the hand of the woman at his side and stepped into the room to embrace Adonis with the enthusiasm of true affection.

“It has been too long, my friend.” Robin clapped him on the shoulder, looking him up and down with an appraising eye. “The wings and horns suit you. If you’ll forgive my saying so, you were rather unremarkable as a human.”

“As are you,” Adonis responded easily. He spread his wings out for dramatic emphasis, the sharp snap of leather giving the gesture a satisfying flair. “It is good to be able to stretch again. And it’s so much easier to find one’s balance when one has the proper number of appendages.”

His gaze slid away from Robin, drawn to the beautiful woman he’d escorted into the room. Her hair was a glorious spill of color ranging from melted rubies to polished amber. It fell against her neck like a river of lava down a slope of ivory, wild waves combining with ropes of tightly wound braids. Her gown was simple, neat stitched panels of alternating shades of green, all of it held together at the bodice by darker green ribbons. She would have been truly stunning if not for the glint in her green eyes that said she was assessing him for the best spot to put an arrow.

“She’s not going to shoot you.”

Adonis glanced at Robin, only slightly assured by the upturned tilt of the
sidhe’s
mouth and the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Lovely to hear it.” He flicked a wary glance at Marian then back to Robin. “You’re certain?”

“I am.” Robin chuckled, the sound moderately more reassuring than his smirk. “She’s thinking about it, mind you, probably has a soft spot all picked out. But that’s just her way. She won’t shoot you unless you annoy her.”

Marian pressed her lips together and glared at Robin, but there was no heat in it, and when she looked back at Adonis, her lips were pulled into an understated, but warm smile. “Robin’s told me a lot about you. He says you’re one of the few people who share his sense of humor. I find that both endearing and concerning.” Her smile widened. “And he’s right. I will shoot you if you annoy me.”

Adonis let out a short laugh, but the sound was cut off by Patricio’s sudden interjection.

“You’re as good as a pin cushion.”

Adonis’ tail twitched. “Ignore Patricio,” he told his guests. “He’s in a rather foul mood—as always. It’s something you just have to get used to, unfortunately, since he’s not one for self-improvement.”

It wasn’t the best opening for introductions, but it would suffice. With a sweeping wave of his hand, Adonis invited Robin and Marian farther into the room, opening his stance so he could see his guests as well as his fellow council members. “Gentlemen, meet Robin Goodfellow and his wife, Marian LeFey. Robin, Marian, meet Kirill, Prince of Dacia, Etienne, Prince of Sanguennay, Saamal, Prince of Mu, and Patricio, Prince of Meropis.”

Robin stepped forward with the comfort of someone used to charming strange crowds and gave an exaggerated bow. Marian took a decidedly less casual approach, creeping forward to stand beside him with her green gaze sweeping back and forth as if fully expecting to discover snipers planted about the place like potted flowers.

 “Don’t be shy, love, we’re all friends here,” Adonis offered, giving her his most charming smile. 

“Are we?”

Adonis’ smile wilted at the corners. Marian did not look like a woman excited to be invited to an evening with five royals, anticipating an offer few could brag of. Rather, she looked into the southwest corner of the room, her voice cold and level, her gaze steady.

Confused, Adonis looked to see who had heaped the tension on Marian’s delicate, but firmly muscled shoulders. They were guests here, and everyone in this room had agreed to that invitation. There was no reason for anyone to be offering her anything less than a warm greeting.

Kirill stood in the southwest corner, directly in the path of Marian’s somber stare. The vampire was tucked away beyond the edge of the large windows that lined the west wall of the study. His position gave him a view of the entire study, including the main door where Robin and Marian had approached from. The fact that he had his back to no one wasn’t lost on Adonis either.

The fire in the massive hearth threw thick beams of yellow-orange light throughout the room, but Kirill’s corner remained just shadowed enough that he could remain almost hidden and likely go unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t really looking—like Marian was.

“Kirill,” Adonis said carefully, “don’t be rude. Say hello to our new
friends.
”

The vampire ignored Adonis, his full attention focused on Robin and Marian. “Robin…Goodfellow.”

His voice lacked emotion, but anger glittered like shards of ice in his pale blue eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, Adonis saw Robin step in front of his wife. The redhead pressed her lips into a thin line and grabbed her husband by his arm, deliberately dragging him to her side.

“Sorry, love,” Robin said, not taking his eyes off the vampire. “Just trying chivalry on for size. Didn’t fit, no worries.”

“Now, now, Kirill,” Adonis said, fighting to keep the tension out of his voice. “You’re not wearing the welcome smile we’ve been working so hard on these past few months. Remember our lessons, big smile, no fangs?”

Robin, bless his heart, laughed right on cue. He was the only one.

Kirill stepped forward, shadows clinging to him like sticky webbing.

Marian’s bow was suddenly in her hand, an arrow nocked and held at attention. The tension Adonis had managed to keep out of his voice seized his spine in a painful grip. Kirill didn’t move, but his hands were out of sight beneath his cloak and Adonis knew he had enough weapons on him to make the rest of this evening very, very unpleasant. And he’d known Robin and Marian were fey before they’d invited them, so there was no doubt in Adonis’ mind that the vampire had iron weapons on his person—in bulk. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he took a very tentative step closer to Kirill, ready to throw himself between him and Marian if necessary.

That arrow is going to hurt.

“All right, now let’s just calm down.” He looked at Marian, keeping Kirill in his peripheral vision. “Marian, put the weapon down. No one’s going to hurt you. Kirill just takes some getting used to.” He looked at Kirill then. “He doesn’t realize how
very creepy
he can be without even trying.” He kept his voice light, trying to catch Kirill’s eye, willing him to understand how very serious he was.

“You did not come alone.” The vampire’s voice was whisper soft, a cool breeze over frozen tundra. The breathy quality of his voice was almost enough to dull the accusation that flew from his words like a projectile. “You were told to come alone.”

Robin hadn’t drawn his weapon, but Adonis had seen him draw before. His
sidhe
heritage made him fast, inhumanly fast. And even without his speed, his gift for glamour would let him conjure an image of himself unarmed and let him hold it before him for as long as he pleased while he took his time. In fact, there was no guarantee that he wasn’t doing exactly that even now…

Adonis’ wings itched and his tail lashed from side to side behind him. “Robin.” He kept his voice quiet, as if talking too loudly would cast them off the ledge into chaos. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

For one horrible second, Adonis thought Marian would release her arrow, take her shot and flee, dragging Robin after her. There was that sort of tension in her muscles, a deer preparing for flight from a predator. But then Robin’s shoulders sagged and he rested a hand on Marian’s shoulder, nodding for her to lower her bow. She clenched her teeth, but nodded, once, and the bow fell to her side.

“The King of the Sluagh had Marian. He was within his rights to keep her, and I didn’t have a prayer of getting into his court. I needed help, and there was only one person who could help me.” Robin looked at Adonis then, met his eyes, and there was a plea there. “You know how she is.”

Adonis closed his eyes, his wings wilting until they brushed the thick carpet. “Oh, Robin…”

“All right, what exactly is going on here?”

Etienne’s voice held a level of exasperation that suggested he’d been holding the question in for awhile now. The werewolf was fully dressed, always a blessing and a surprise, though his shoulder length brown hair maintained the wind-blown look that resisted all attempts to brush it into submission. His dark blue waistcoat and tailored tan trousers would have made him the epitome of a Sanguennayan gentlemen if he wasn’t scowling like someone had tugged his tail.

“What is going on here, is that the man Adonis invited—the man he
vouched
for—has broken a rather important rule.” Kirill’s voice dropped so far it was a wonder a layer of frost didn’t form on his lips as he spoke. “The
sidhe
has brought in someone of his own volition—someone who was
not
invited.”