“It is a 1962 Rothschild,” Carling murmured as she sipped from her own glass. “Yours is bastardized with a healing potion that will ease your discomfort, should you care to drink it.”
Niniane kept her gaze downcast. She tried to think past the pounding in her head. She would not put Carling past anything in pursuit of her goals, including poison, but why would Carling bother to poison her? Carling and Urien had hated each other, which had only served to strengthen the Vampyre’s alliance with Dragos and the Wyr. Niniane couldn’t see Carling backing any other potential Dark Fae contender for the throne, especially anyone who might have been a supporter of Urien’s when he had been alive.
On a personal note, Niniane and Carling had always been cordial. And the Vampyre was here in an official capacity as a representative of the Elder tribunal. Niniane needed allies, and Carling, if she were so inclined, was in an excellent position to make a friend and ally of the next Dark Fae Queen.
Also, the Power imbued in the concoction was a warm, gentle glow against the palms of her hands. It felt good to her, in the way chicken soup smelled good when she was sick. She raised the wineglass and took a cautious sip. Her eyebrows went up. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” she said. “It’s delicious.”
Carling drank wine and watched her from under lowered lids. Niniane came to a sudden decision. She threw back her head and drank the healing potion down to the last drop.
A Powerful glow filled her body. She felt like she was an empty vessel being filled to the brim with rich golden light.
“Whoa-kay,” she muttered. Her head lolled against her chair. She had to struggle to remember to lock her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and not just let it fall to the carpeted floor. A moment later she felt her fingers fall open and she lost hold of her glass. She tried to peer at the floor through the golden light that filled her head.
Then the diffuse Power concentrated on the wound at her side. As it ebbed from the rest of her body, she could feel the area around her wound grow brighter and hotter, until it shone in her mind like an internal star.
The star began to burn, as if someone laid a hot clothes iron along the puncture wound. It hurt. It hurt so much. Ow ow ow. She gasped and wrapped her arms around her middle. She could feel the torn flesh knitting itself together. You’re not supposed to feel something like that. It was a thousand times worse than the internal itching caused by the cleansing spell.
She gasped, “A little warning would have been nice.”
“You surprised me. I didn’t expect you to just toss the potion back.” Carling’s beautiful voice penetrated her misery. “I’m told deep breathing helps.”
Was that amusement in Carling’s voice? Damn Vampyre. Niniane threw a glare in Carling’s general direction as she tried the deep breathing. She couldn’t tell how much it helped with the actual pain, but it focused her attention. She ended up panting through the pain.
After what felt like forever, the hot star dimmed until it died out. The pain and disorientation slid out of her body as if they had never existed.
She straightened with caution and pressed light fingers against the bandage. No pain. She took a deep breath, expanding her torso. Not even a twinge. Overcome with curiosity, she lifted the bottom of her shirt and peeled away the edges of the bandage to peer underneath. The only blood left was what had soaked into the cotton pad over the wound—or rather, over where the wound had been. All that remained was a small silvery scar, along with two stitches.
“Get out of town,” she said. She poked the scar. “It’s completely healed. I’ve never heard of a healing potion that strong.”
“I am not surprised,” Carling replied, “as I don’t often stir myself to make them.”
Niniane looked at her. “Okay, I totally buy that. Thank you so much, and I really mean it, but I’m mad at you too because that hurt a lot.”
The Vampyre lifted an eyebrow. Still sounding amused, she said, “I expect you’ll find a way to get over it.”
She grinned. “Yeah, I expect I will too.”
Niniane took another deep, pain-free breath. The potion had more than just knitted the puncture wound together. It had healed her bruises and contusions. She felt like she had before the attack, infused with a sense of vitality and wellness. Carling’s healing potion was as far removed from Dr. Weylan’s healing spells as the space shuttle was from a 1972 Toyota Celica. While there might be nothing wrong with a well-maintained Celica, it sure as hell couldn’t defy gravity and fly.
She looked down at the bandage she had already half removed. She yanked it off the rest of the way, grimacing as her skin protested.
Carling’s blonde attendant stood by her chair. Niniane managed to control her startled urge to shrink away. She watched as the pretty, young-looking Vampyre retrieved the glass she had dropped and placed it on her tray. The Vampyre held the tray out to her, head inclined, as she murmured, “If her highness wishes, I would be happy to dispose of the bandages.”
She looked down at what she held. The cotton pad was blood-soaked. As well as she seemed to be getting along with Carling, giving a sample of her blood over to the Vampyre attendant of one of the most Powerful sorceresses in the world didn’t seem like the best of ideas. She cleared her throat with a delicate cough and said, “Er.”
“Of course Rhoswen will burn the bandages properly in the fireplace,” Carling said, as she finished her wine.
She didn’t bother to dissemble or apologize for her caution. “Thank you,” she said. She dropped the bandage on the tray.
Rhoswen turned to take Carling’s glass and place it on the tray, her expression the blank smoothness of the perfect servant. Both Niniane and Carling watched as Rhoswen placed the bandages in the fireplace and lit them with a taper. They watched in silence as the small flame flared and died.
Freed from pain and lethargy, Niniane’s thoughts arrowed back to Tiago. He had to be worried about her, unless he had some way to track the direction of the Djinn’s transport. She didn’t have any idea about Tiago’s capabilities as a tracker, other than Dragos always swore Tiago was the best at what he did. It was possible Tiago already knew she was safe with Carling (and she was, wasn’t she?).
Maybe Tiago was relieved to be rid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He had made it clear from the moment he arrived that he considered the whole trip to be a pain in the ass. She bit her lip as she fought the urge to squirm.
Whether he was relieved or not, she knew the obsessive nature of a Wyr sentinel. She had been taken on his watch. He wouldn’t rest until he got her back, which meant—
She sucked in a breath as certainty settled into place. He didn’t know where she was.
“I’m sure Tiago has learned his lesson,” she said to Carling. With an effort she kept her voice steady and devoid of all urgency. “Now I would like to let him know that I’m with you and that I’m all right.”
A shadow of ugliness crossed Carling’s lovely features. The Vampyre said in a smooth voice, “Why don’t I just send one of my attendants with a message?”
Niniane looked at her. “Because we both know he might be too distracted to listen to anything your attendant might say. Then you could continue to take your revenge on him for blowing off your earlier message.”
“Distracted,” said Carling, dark eyes glittering. “I like that.”
Whatever else might be communicated, one overall particular message was coming in loud and clear. You ignored the Vampyre Queen very much at your own peril. Carling wasn’t going to budge on this unless she was pushed.
Niniane sighed and said, point-blank, “Give it up, Carling. You and I have a terrific chance right now to develop a good alliance. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a good alliance with the Dark Fae. But it isn’t going to happen if you insist on tormenting Tiago with my disappearance—or if you insist on tormenting him for any other reason.”
“How interesting. You would put a potential Nightkind–Dark Fae alliance in jeopardy over
one bad-mannered, bad-tempered Wyr.”
Niniane tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. It wasn’t wise to lose your temper with the Vampyre Queen either. After a moment, she kept her voice measured as she said, “I will remind you that Tiago followed me to Chicago after I went missing, and he saved my life. This is after the Wyr provided me with shelter and protection from my uncle Urien for almost two hundred years. Don’t force me to choose between you, because you won’t win.”
Carling gave her a faint smile and conceded the point. “Fair enough.”
Something crashed nearby. This time Niniane couldn’t control her jump. She heard a sharp shout down the hall, a growl, and another booming crash. It sounded like a door had been slammed off its hinges. The Vampyre turned her head toward the hall. Carling remarked, “Apparently choosing a method of communication with your Wyr has become a moot point.”
TIAGO! Oh gods, no. He couldn’t attack the Vampyres or, with the mood Carling was in, she might very well have him killed.
Niniane bolted out of her chair and ran to the suite door. Somehow Carling was right beside her, long graceful fingers curling around the door handle. It seemed to take the Vampyre forever to open the door. As soon as she could, Niniane slipped through the opening and darted into the hall.
She took a mental snapshot of the scene in one horrified glance.
A heavy fire door lay on its side against a wall thirty feet away. Tiago’s massive figure filled an open doorway that led to a stairwell. Three male Vampyres stood in a semicircle in front of him, each one a beautiful, lethal weapon. The blonde Vampyre Rhoswen had positioned herself between Tiago and her mistress. Several humans stood in open doorways, and some of them had guns. All of the guns were pointed at Tiago.
And Tiago—he was something out of a nightmare. He had weapons: a sword strapped to his back, guns in holsters. He had partially shapeshifted, a clear indicator of a Wyr caught in some kind of extreme emotion such as fear or rage. The bones of his face were alien, shifted into wrongness. His chest, arms and legs were wider and rippled with muscles where muscles weren’t supposed to be. Talons tipped his powerful hands.
When Niniane appeared in the hall, Tiago’s dark, savage face turned to her.
His eyes.
Their normal obsidian color and sardonic expression were gone. They blazed with white fire.
Niniane whispered, “Call off your people if you want them to live.”
“My people will do their job,” Carling said.
The Vampyre sorceress had lost her habitual amused detachment. Instead she stared at Tiago with a combination of anger and fascination. She also shimmered with vitality, her skin, eyes and hair more lustrous than ever.
After one quick, incredulous glance, Niniane dismissed the enigma that was Carling. She turned back to the tableau. Tension trembled in the air like the shiver of an avalanche before it crashed down a mountain range. She held a hand out and tried to smile at the monster down the hall as she walked toward him.
“It’s okay now, Tiago,” she said. She tried for gentle and soothing. Instead she got scared and shaky. Crap. She forced a false sense of conviction into her voice. “Listen to me. Everything’s okay.”
The monster’s blazing gaze fixed on her. Tiago started toward her, and the avalanche came down.
The dark-haired Vampyre nearest Tiago moved to attack so fast he was a blur. If Niniane had been human, she might have missed it.
Tiago’s enormous fist pistoned. He punched the Vampyre, whose body shot through the air and slammed through a wall. Tiago kept moving forward.
The other two Vampyres attacked. Tiago grabbed one. He spun on his heel and threw the Vampyre into the stairwell. With a wicked slash of fangs and talons, the third Vampyre leaped on him. Crimson blood spurted from wounds that appeared on Tiago’s face and neck.
A blinding white-hot sear of flame flashed out of Tiago’s eyes. Every light in the hall exploded as the lightning bolt struck the third Vampyre in the chest. The Vampyre flew back fifteen feet and slid along the ground to lie motionless. Thunder exploded in a rolling boom. It sounded like a rocket launcher had been fired in the hall. All the while, Tiago continued to plow toward her, an unstoppable juggernaut.
The humans armed with guns chambered rounds. They were far too slow for this kind of fight. Niniane would have called them cannon fodder except they were in addition to the Vampyres who were already occuping Tiago’s attention. So many stood against Tiago, including Rhoswen, who hung back and stood in readiness to protect her mistress. Then there was the immovable object, Carling, the king cobra of the nest, who watched the conflict and waited in the background with all of her considerable venom at full strength.
Tiago against Carling. If those two came head-to-head, if they actually fought each other, neither would stop until one was dead. Between the two of them they could raze Chicago to the ground.
No.
For the second time in one day, terror mowed down her reasoning skills.
She didn’t think. She didn’t calculate risk or odds. She acted.
She flung herself forward and shrieked, “STOP!”
Niniane may not have much in the way of size or strength, but as a Dark Fae, she was slippery-fast. She was much faster than any of the humans. She was certainly faster than Rhoswen, who flung out a hand to stop her but acted far too late.
At her scream, Tiago spun from the fallen Vampyre. She leaped for him with her arms outstretched, blindly trusting him to catch her. She caught a blurred glimpse of that monstrous savage face and the white blaze in eyes, which were overcome with astonishment. He snatched her out of the air and whirled to place his body between hers and the others. One tremendous hand covered the back of her head as he jammed her face into his chest.
She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, still wet from her earlier outburst of temper. The ferocious engine in his chest hammered against her cheek. His heavily muscled arms wrapped tight around her. He shoved her against the wall and covered the top of her head with his.
He sacrificed his ability to fight in order to protect her.
She had time to think, no, this wasn’t what I meant. This is a unilateral disarmament.
They’ll kill him.
She opened her mouth to scream.
Then in one of the most beautiful voices in the world, and one of the deadliest, the king cobra spoke a quiet foreign word filled with Power.
Everything stopped.
EIGHT
A nearby broken light fixture emitted a fitful buzzing. Other than that, the hall was filled with total silence.
For a moment it seemed the whole world had gone still. Niniane pressed her face against the warmth of Tiago’s broad chest. She concentrated on the powerful rhythm of his heartbeat. She felt his ribs expand as he drew in a breath.
Then he released her. He pulled his sword and one of his guns. She pulled his second gun from its holster as he turned away. He let her take it. He ordered her telepathically, Stay behind me.
And let him get shot to pieces right in front of her?
Oh phooey! she snapped. She hopped out from behind to stand at his side. It earned her an infuriated growl.
Carling stood not five feet in front of them.
Drywall dust floated in the air. It lent a hazy dreamlike quality to the strange scene. Rhoswen stood unmoving in the center of the hall. The Vampyre who had first attacked Tiago was frozen in the process of crawling back through the hole where he had slammed through the wall. Another Vampyre lay sprawled on the floor, his chest singed black. The third male Vampyre had not reappeared from the stairwell. Eight humans dotted the hallway, each one held stationary by Carling’s Power.
Five guns were still trained where Tiago had stood just moments before. He nudged her gently with the back of one hand and moved sideways with her until they stood several paces to the left.
Carling mirrored their shift down the hall in a loose-limbed prowl, her hands relaxed at her sides, an elegant and barbaric woman i
n bare feet and Chanel suit. She regarded Tiago with her head cocked, her lovely dark almond-shaped eyes bright with interest. Her earlier anger and its accompanying disfigurement of cruelty appeared to have vanished as if it had never existed. And, Niniane noted with a surge of baffled irritation, Carling looked even more radiant than ever.
“You would have sacrificed yourself for her,” Carling said. “Interesting.”
Niniane rolled her eyes. Carling was too strange. She gave up trying to figure out what made the old Vampyre tick. Instead she turned her worried attention to Tiago.
The slashes on his face were already healing. He was no longer the monstrous Wyr caught in midshift. His bones had settled into a more familiar shape, and the terrifying hot white blaze that had taken over his eyes had darkened again. But lightning still flickered at the back of his black gaze, the muscles in his arms were cut with rigidity and his Power felt razorsharp, held in readiness for battle.
He exhibited a roaring disinterest in conversing with Carling. He said in Niniane’s head, I want you to move toward the stairwell. Do it now while she has her people in stasis.
She took in a slow, deep breath and cast a leery glance down at the huge weapon she had pulled from his shoulder holster. It was a large-bore .50 Magnum Desert Eagle. It probably fit the width of Tiago’s hand quite comfortably. In her much smaller grip it looked and felt like the hand cannon it really was. She had fired large-bore handguns before. They always knocked her on her ass unless she braced herself back against something. She found the gun’s safety and clicked it on.
She said to Carling, “You created this mess. What are you going to do to fix it?”
“What, indeed.” Carling lifted an eyebrow, turned her head to the side and said, “Rhoswen, make sure the guns do not fire.”
The blonde Vampyre flowed into smooth motion as if she had never been frozen in time. She moved from human to human down the hall, taking their guns, ejecting clips and placing them on the floor.