Elisa Paige

        Chapter 1

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When I shift out of the night onto a tidy front yard in Dallas, I wonder resignedly what Bakis has dragged me into this time.

Throughout the sleeping neighborhood, shadows stir and thicken, solidifying into a huge swarm of malformed, bear-like bodach. The air fills with their charnel house stench as they wheel in unison and race toward a waiting group of sword-wielding supernaturals. A cursory glance confirms there are no Dark Fae assassins among them and I allow myself a moment’s relief—with Bakis’ warped sense of humor, I can never be sure what I’ll have to deal with on these shifts.

Drawing my own blade and shaking dark-light down its length, I watch the two sides clash as the surprisingly quiet battle churns the damp lawn into mud. Swords and fangs gleam under the streetlights, a decapitated bodach head smacks wetly against a realtor’s “for sale” sign, and a Light Fae leaps onto a minivan’s roof, setting off the car alarm as she avoids having her throat torn out.

From the small house’s front porch, a male Vampire fires an arrow into the minivan’s grill, the incessant alarm giving a final, irritating bleat while the Fae finishes off the bodach harassing her. Unfortunately, the archer didn’t kill the alarm fast enough and lights come on in the houses around us as humans rouse.

Without warning, a Vampire charges me, and I dance sideways, evading his crushing grasp as he blows past. That he picked me to annihilate, rather than the vile swarm, could give a girl a serious complex.

“Good guy here!” I holler, ducking as he lobs a snarling bodach at my head. “Dammit, I said I’m a good guy!”

With his hunting instincts engaged, it’s hard to understand his growled reply as he spins and comes at me again. Despite his attitude, he’s not my enemy and I don’t want to hurt him. But if he gets hold of me, I’m a goner—Vamps are as strong and deadly as they are beautiful.

The only spot clear of combatants is up and I shift just in time, the charging immortal’s huge fist lashing through the space I vacated. If he’d made contact, the blow would have snapped my spine.

Shifting with bodach around is asking for trouble and, sure enough, one surfs in behind me onto the cottage’s roof. Cursing, I pivot and balance lightly on the ridgeline, sword at the ready. The creature crouches, its thick muscles taut beneath the shaggy pelt. Trembling with need, it whines its eagerness to rip into me.

Whirling smoothly to dodge its sudden lunge, I sever the bodach’s forelimb at the shoulder, my blade’s dark-light limning the gaping wound as the creature howls its rage and pain.

Being three-legged doesn’t slow the bodach as it stands erect and swipes with its remaining forelimb. The two-inch, toxin-laced claws whistle past my nose, forcing me back a step on the canted roof. I’ve never figured out how the damn things see, since they don’t have eyes and their heads are mostly muzzle with rows of wicked-sharp teeth. But the black-furred face unerringly tracks me, foam dripping from its lips as they skin back to reveal a mouth that shouldn’t exist.

The beast crouches, oblivious to its own severed leg lying gruesomely nearby and to its thick, yellow blood oozing off the roof. While bodach aren’t the most intelligent creatures the Underworld ever spawned, they’re relentless once they’ve locked onto a victim.

But I’m no victim.

The thing’s oily, cold awareness brushes against mine, searching for a weakness to exploit. Reflexively blocking the vile contact, I stretch my senses into the night and pull.

Shadows deepen to an impenetrable, roiling darkness, and fill the corners of my mind.

“My turn,” I whisper, impaling the creature’s awareness with living shadow and baring my teeth in a savage grin as it staggers under the unexpected assault.

Even dazed, hemorrhaging, and three-legged, the evil furball won’t disengage—just as well since I intend to kill it, and having to chase it down would only piss me off. Shaking its head, the bodach’s face points in my direction. It hisses, waves of hate and bloodlust pulsing on the air between us.

When it charges, I leap over it and stab my sword to the hilt where neck meets spine. There’s a sickening, wet thunk as the point buries itself in the composite shingles, then the creature’s weight slides down the sword’s length. Death from such a blow is instantaneous, but, still, the venom in those claws can melt flesh like candle wax. Yanking my sword free and wiping the viscous blood on the bodach’s fur, I put the length of the roof between us and gaze down at the front yard.

The fight has spilled out into the street and the sound of bodach claws on concrete makes my skin crawl. The creatures are freaking everywhere, fighting the Light Fae female and—now that I’m paying attention—seven, eight…damn, eleven Vamps. I’ve never seen so many of the immortals in one place.

“What the hell has Bakis gotten you into this time, Mia?” I mutter, wondering what purpose I’m supposed to serve here. But in all the shifts he’s forced on me over the centuries, he’s never told me his reasoning. And no amount of raising hell will make a bit of difference.

A shriek draws my attention to a knot of humans, vulnerable and pale in an assortment of boxers, sweats, and one very revealing negligee. Their sleep-muddled faces are lit by the bonfires of burning vehicles and, even from here, I can smell their fear. There’s an explosion as an SUV goes up in flames, and the mortals duck and scatter. My breath catches when several veer into the path of six bodach, then a red-haired Vampire and the guy who took a swing at me get between the humans and the attacking nasties.

Almost directly below my perch, eight creatures surround the Fae and the Vamp archer. I’m surprised they carry ehrlindriel blades—made by Fae mastersmiths, there aren’t many in existence, and no warrior would just give one away. The couple’s graceful sword work looks like they’re following complex, deadly dance steps. And while the woman is impervious to the peril, the male’s obvious tension at the danger surrounding her touches a cobwebbed corner of my heart.

Shaking off the unaccustomed feeling, I look away to see a male and a female immortal go down under a pile of bodach. Since only ehrlindriel and Vampire teeth can penetrate Vamp skin, I’m not concerned about them. But I do worry about the panicked humans running around—even as some make it in their front doors, more leave their houses to see what’s going on. And, great, several are talking on cell phones, their voices shrill and frantic. Sure enough, off in the distance comes a chorus of sirens and it’s only a question of who will get here first, the fire department or the police.

“Time to end this,” I murmur, leaping from the roof to land in a clear spot. Mindful of the claws and teeth, I sheathe my sword. Having to free my hands and be at ground level with bodach all around are just two reasons I’ve dreaded this.

Extending my senses lets me see the energy signature, the life force, of each individual battling madly around me. As always, the bodachs’ seething mass is the most pronounced and I shove away the familiar pang that I see darkness so much more easily than light. Right now, it proves useful since it reveals three immortals concealing themselves in a house’s shadow across the street.

The blackness at the cores of their fiery auras tells me their souls’ condition. It has nothing to do with being Vampires and everything to do with the choices they’ve made, with the people they are.

Casting my net wide and ensuring each dark form is touched by a strand, I raise my arms and pour power into the effort. Tightening the connection and drawing the forms into my awareness, I force their limbs still and freeze them into living statues.

With the bodach and the dark Vamps frozen, it looks odd seeing the good guys continue to fight before they realize their enemies aren’t moving. My erstwhile allies kinda stagger to a stop, looking around in surprise.

The Fae’s tri-color gaze turns to me. “You,” she breathes. Her mate puts himself between us, but, straining to hold their enemies, all I can do is laugh at his protectiveness.

Sensing others converging on me, I force air past my clenched teeth. “Kill the bodach…I can’t contain them…forever.”

“How are you doing this?”

“You’re…wasting…time,” I pant.

The Fae tosses her head before turning to the chore with great enthusiasm.

Behind me, a female voice says, “I wonder…”

There’s a pause as I’m wondering what the hell she’s wondering, then a pale arc appears and, each time it touches a bodach, the creature erupts into flame.

“Well done, Emma,” a male Vamp murmurs.

My heart constricts at the warmth and pride in his voice. It’s so clear he…loves her.

Shoving away the distraction, I focus on holding the bodach as they’re methodically dispatched. The swords scythe through the bodach like winter wheat as Emma’s pale arcs incinerate both the fallen and the living. Rather than reassure the humans, the furry bonfires generate greater panic, and screams rise into the night as the bodach blaze and burn to ash. I never have understood mortals, but know they’ll be babbling about tonight’s events for years to come if something isn’t done about it.

Glancing at the two closest Vamps, I rasp, “Somebody, go and screw with the humans’ minds. No witnesses!”

The one with white hair—he must’ve been an elderly human when he became Vampire—startles and looks at the blond by his side. “I’ll do it, Tripp. You stay and watch over our guest.”

The two exchange a look, then the old guy shoots off to chat with the humans, erasing their memories and replacing them with some plausible story that has nothing to do with nightmarish creatures or supernatural warriors.

The Fae jogs over, color high in her cheeks. “Done.”

“You missed three…there…” I force the words past aching teeth and tilt my head. The strain of holding the bodach has eased, but the dark immortals are fighting me with the power of their combined will and it’s becoming difficult to bind them.

Over my shoulder, the redhead murmurs in an Irish lilt, “She can control Vampires?” From his tone, this is most unwelcome news.

“Not…for long,” I gasp. Already, one has gotten a hand free.

Pressure from my captives builds impossibly higher, pressing on the inside of my skull, lancing down my neck into my body, and compressing my ribs in a grip so tight I can barely breathe. Pain explodes in my ears and a trickle of blood leaks from my nose as a vein ruptures.

“Hurry,” I whisper, and only my stubborn refusal to be bested keeps the net taut.

The captives’ struggle turns frantic as more Vampires head toward them and attack. My hold slips further as their blood flows, the dark immortals’ rage and terror like a sledgehammer inside my skull. Closing my eyes, I dig deeper.

A few breathless moments pass and a male voice says, “You can let go now, miss. Our friends have them.”

My eyes open to see a stunningly handsome Vampire standing beside a gorgeous, willowy brunette. I’m so astonished by their kind regard, it takes a moment for the guy’s words to make sense.

Severing the connection, the lack of pain is such a relief all I can do is stand there and suck in great lungs full of air. The strength goes out of me and, suddenly, I’m sitting on the grass.

“Are you all right?” The male kneels, bringing his gaze to my level. “Do you need anything?”

Again, the kindness in his eyes throws me. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes.”

Then, the red-haired Vampire is there, moving so fast he just appears beside the couple. “Levi dealt with the humans. The captive situation is resolved and there are three more piles of ash blowing around. But it’s time to go. The cops are on the way, with the local TV stations and their camera crews not far behind.”

The mated Vamp and Fae return, and I’m startled to see the others’ caution toward the female. I’d thought they were all together, but their wariness indicates otherwise.

There’s a loud whoomp and we all instinctively duck as the cottage behind us goes up in a fireball.

“No!” Emma starts toward the house, but her mate holds her back.

“Jake got Phoebe out a few minutes ago. She’s fine,” he says, and nods to a black-haired Vampire carrying what looks like a corpse to the curb.

This just gets weirder and weirder.

Emma’s tension eases, but her voice is despondent. “Oh Joshua…I grew up in that house.”

The Fae watches this exchange with fascination, like she’s memorizing the ebb and flow of conversation and emotion. Shaking herself, she says in a Texas drawl, “We can go to my ranch, at least until y’all decide what you want to do. It’s safe. My wards will keep everything out.”

A furry little body bumps against my side and I almost shoot off the ground before recognizing the purr emanating from the cat’s small chest. “I figured you’d be here somewhere,” I say.

The sudden tension in the Fae and her mate hit me, and I look up to see their intent expressions.

“It’s bizarre, the way that cat keeps showing up,” the Fae murmurs. “First at the ranch and now here.”

“You know him?” The male’s tone is hard, like I’d better have a really good reason.

“I should.” I lift the cat in my arms and climb to my feet.

“Why is that?” the Fae asks.

“Because he raised me.”

The guy who’d tried to slug me comes to stand beside the Fae, along with the red-haired male, making a veritable wall of Vampires.

“You were raised by a cat?” Slugger’s thin lips twist with derision.

“He’s not always a cat,” I tell him a little defensively.

“So, what is he?” the Fae asks.

Thinking, irritating, arrogant, a furry pain in the ass, I go instead for diplomacy. “He’s never said what kind of supe he is. Only that he was once a Greek oracle. His name is Bakis.”

“He kinda creeps me out.”

“He has that effect on people,” I respond, ignoring the cat’s baleful glare.

“My apologies,” the Fae’s mate says to me, then looks at her. “Amalie, we must leave now.”

“Dang straight.” Turning to me, she says, “You can come with us, if you’d like. But decide now. You sure as hell don’t want to violate the wards on my ranch without me to open them.”

I begin to say no—crowds have never appealed to me—but Bakis digs his needle-sharp claws into my upper arm, burying them deep and leaning. My pleasant expression remains unchanged, though, having learned at a young age to never show pain or fear. “Yes, I’ll come. Thank you.”

Bakis’ elliptical gaze tells me nothing of his reasoning, but his intent is clear. I’ve spent centuries doing his will and he’s the reason I survived my childhood. I’m used to his putting me in situations with no explanation, but just once, I’d like a clue as to why.

Freaking feline–oracle–whatever.

I glance over as Amalie and her mate touch hands, drawing my awareness as the movement draws my eye. It’s more than that simple gesture, though. It’s how he bends his body around hers, orients himself to where she’s standing, and how she seems constantly aware of him. Their love for one another is palpable and utterly alien to me. I’ve never imagined feelings exist like what these two share.

It shakes me to my soul.

I don’t realize I’m staring until the red-haired Vampire speaks.

“Is there a problem?” His Irish lilt is laced with threat and there’s steel in his pale blue gaze.

Unable to hold his eyes, I make an excuse of putting Bakis down on the grass. “No. Nothing.”

“Amalie and Nick are good people, lass. And anyone who might consider doing harm to them would have the rest of us to answer to.”

I stare him full in the face and snap, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

The conversation continues around us as the others decide that Amalie will shift the group to her ranch. This includes one motorcycle and a red car that survived the conflagration—not an easy feat and I’m impressed she can do it.

Through this, I’m giving the Irish Vamp the stink-eye. His expression tightens further, but, before he can say anything, the Fae’s power reaches out and caresses my awareness. She shifts us just in time to avoid the fleet of police cars tearing down the street with sirens wailing.

When we step back into the night a breath later, she looks paler than before. With her alabaster skin and white-blonde hair, that’s saying something. I peek at her energy signature and the brilliance is dimmer, but not dangerously so.

The red-haired male steps in front of me, blocking my view, and I look up into his angry stare. Having nothing else to wipe my bloody upper lip—the nose bleed stopped, but the mess is still there—I use the cuff of my long-sleeve sweater. His nostrils flare at the scent, but his expression doesn’t change.

“Explain yourself,” he growls. Sensing his anger, a Chinese Vampire and Slugger come over and flank me.

“I’ve never taken well to threats,” I tell him. “And ingratitude pisses me off.”

“And what is it you think we should be grateful for?”

My hand automatically goes to the dagger’s hilt at my waist. “How about pinning the bodach and those other Vampires? Or didn’t you notice how fast the fight ended?”

The redhead is about to snarl a reply when the Chinese male puts a hand on his arm and quiets him. “We have, perhaps, gotten off to a bad start. My name is Wen and my volatile friend here is Roddie. Nick and Amalie you have spoken with already.” At my nod, Wen tips his head at Slugger. “He is Burke.”

Three sets of Vampire eyes look at me, and the power of their combined focus sets my skin tingling. Controlling my reaction, I say in a calm voice, “My name is Mia.”

Burke’s gaze travels across my green-blue-gray tri-color eyes, the slightly pointy ears, and linger on my hair. “What are you?”

My smile feels bitter, but not because of his words. He strikes me as a blunt person, not a cruel one. “I’m Fae.”

“I thought you guys came in only blonde or brunette. I’ve never seen a redhead.”

My throat constricts and it takes me a moment to answer. The delay ratchets Roddie’s tension and it feels as if sparks crawl along my skin. “One parent was Light and one was Dark.” My voice is tight as I white-knuckle the dagger’s hilt. “Mix them and you get red hair.”

“Both sides are so determined to kill each other, I didn’t think they’d have time to get busy,” Burke muses out loud, and Wen flicks an irritated glance at him.

“Let’s just say it wasn’t for love that I came along. My father…” Words become impossible and I look away. It pisses me off that this topic causes so much pain, that I can’t discuss it lightly, can’t fake indifference even in front of strangers.

Better rage than tears.

“Your father?” Wen prompts, his gaze sharp.

A sour taste fills my mouth. “My father is Dark Fae.”

“And who is your father, Mia?”

“Cham Reiden. The Unseelie Butcher, himself.”

.

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Chapter 2

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The whole lot of us are in the white stone house’s enormous living room, and a familiar sense of panic creeps up on me. All of the furniture is arranged in the center, in a conversational grouping, so anyone sitting there will have a lot of space at their backs. There are large, floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere and several hallways that lead off to points unknown. Add the front door to the mix and this is one room that’s tough as hell to defend.

I do a quick scan of the limited options and find a solid wall to stand next to. The redhead’s hard eyes never leave me and I see his warrior’s recognition of my picking the one defensible spot in the place.

Being as close to the cool plaster I can get without touching lets my breath come a little easier, but it’s still difficult being in a roomful of strangers. I feel like I’m in the middle of a freaking Vampire convention and constantly scanning so many immortals for any hint of aggression is giving me a serious headache.

Still…my resolve to never get involved with others on these Bakis-induced shifts weakens and I find I’m curious about whatever’s going on with them.

It seems they make up two groups that are new to each other. And while the individuals within each are so closely united I can almost see their ties, there’s an unmistakable connection between the groups that strengthens as I watch.

I can’t figure out how it’s happening. All they’re doing is talking quietly as they sit back and relax, commenting on the beauty of the furnishings, asking questions like, how big is Amalie’s ranch? And how many horses does she have? They are wondering if there’s any large game to hunt.

I don’t have a clue what to make of their ease, their companionable air…their trust.

Vampires do not just hang out with each other. Their predatory natures make it impossible, like being in a room full of extraordinarily fast, immeasurably strong tigers with powder-keg attitudes. Throw in the instinctive protectiveness Vampires have for their mates, and the potential for violence escalates off the charts.

Besides, people don’t bond like this. They don’t relax deep into overstuffed furniture that would be difficult to struggle out of to defend themselves. They don’t casually leave their swords hanging on wall hooks or lying on the floor.

And they don’t put their backs to strangers like me.

As unnerving as all this is, it’s actually painful to look at Nick and Amalie. Wholly against my will, my gaze is drawn to them and my eyes sting with sudden tears. Maybe I’m most affected by these two since I’m also Fae. But it’s terrifying how their feelings for each other brush across my senses like a warm, sweet caress.

It’s nothing I’ve known. Nothing I’ll ever know.

Wrenching my gaze from them, I find it far more comfortable to meet Roddie’s angry and suspicious stare. Wen and Burke keep glancing at him, clearly surprised by his behavior toward me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the only one in this group of lunatics who’s acting rationally.

Bakis pads over to gaze up at my face, expectant.

“What?” I ask in a rough voice. He wants me here, so here I am. But he knows perfectly well how difficult it is for me to be in this room, around these people. He stares at me a few seconds longer, then turns his back and I have the urge to punt his furry ass across the room.

Amalie smiles at me over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come sit with us, Mia?”

“I’m fine here, thanks,” I tell her, not achieving the light tone I’d hoped for.

Roddie looks like he’s got a lot to say about that, but Wen stills him with a glance. “Mia,” the Chinese immortal says, “would you repeat, please, what you shared outside?”

All eyes turn toward me and my tension cranks up several degrees to be the focus of so much attention. I inadvertently lean away from it and my back brushes against the wall, my mind almost whiting out from the pain. Only a lifetime of rigid self-control keeps my breathing normal and masks the agony of that brief contact.

It’s the space of several breaths before I can force the words out. “Which part do you want me to repeat?” I’m not trying to be a wise-ass, just buying a little time to get my thoughts together.

“Which part? Are you feckin’ serious?” Roddie erupts.

Wen’s eyes are sharp on me. “Are you in some distress, Mia?”

Trying to divert him, I say, “Wouldn’t you be if the Cham was your father?”

Amalie’s hiss surprises me. She turns around on the sofa to face me and she’s even paler than her coloring would account for.

I see Nick’s lips move, but he’s speaking at levels I can’t hear—a skill singular to Vampires, although Amalie seems to understand him.

Nick’s gaze stays riveted on her face as she looks at me. “What did you say?”

“Cham Reiden, king of the Dark Fae’s Unseelie Court, is my father.”

Taking Amalie’s visibly trembling hand, Nick asks, “And your mother?”

My throat squeezes shut as images blast through my thoughts—pale blonde hair turning scarlet as the strands soak up the stain from…No! In a panic, I banish the memories, and the flood of rage that inevitably follows.

Everyone’s looking at me, their gazes alternately hard, curious, or confused. I hate being scrutinized. Attention can pin you down, can track you through dark nights, can strip away every defense you have, and leave you gutted and broken. Safety lies in anonymity, in blending in, in easy escape and, when that isn’t an option, in defensible positions and pounding the bleeding hell out of your enemy.

“Your mother?” Nick’s gaze softens.

This is the trouble with Vampires. Their eyes are almost impossible to fool, even the young ones. I’ve done it before, but it takes all my focus. These guys, though, are mature and powerful—my skin tingles with their presence and they’re not even doing anything.

My stomach clenches and I fight to stay calm, even as I realize that I must be slipping for a weakness to be read. The combination of Joshua’s and Emma’s kindness, of Wen interceding with Roddie, of Nick’s softening…all of it leaves me feeling unbalanced, like the world has slipped its axis.

Working some spit into my parched mouth, I make myself say it. “The Cham killed my mother when I was young.”

I yearn to shift out of here, away from these strange people and their…their damn kindness, and my senses stretch outward. A low growl from Bakis makes me refocus and fight the urge to escape. Breathing deep, I center again.

There’s a pause that tells me this was noticed, then Nick asks, “Did you know her name?”

“Aeolin,” I whisper.

Amalie’s eyes widen. “I once met a little girl with that name.” Leaving the sofa and coming nearer, Amalie’s gaze travels across the planes of my face as if she’s looking for remnants of the child.

Nick joins his mate and having the two of them within striking distance makes me ache again to shift away. My defensible position now feels like a too-tight place, like I’m pinned between two strangers and a solid object.

Amalie senses my distress, but seems to misunderstand its cause because she steps closer still. She reaches toward me in a consoling gesture, but habit has me spook sideways and my shoulder hits the wall. The reverberation goes through my back, wringing a gasp from me despite my best efforts at silence.

“Are you hurt?” she asks as I get a hand up to the wall to keep myself from falling.

“I’m…fine.” I force my head up, my spine straight.

Nick’s nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

Trust a Vampire to notice.

I’m saved from answering by a knock at the front door.

Without moving her gaze from me, Amalie calls, “Come in, Michael.”

A man walks in and a huge grin splits his face as he sees the crowded living room. “The Dallas Vampires, I presume,” he says, and appears oblivious to their sudden tension.

Vamps do not like being outed, especially by a human.

“What is the meaning of this?” Joshua asks in a tight voice.

“Michael has no future as a diplomat,” Nick says. “Please accept our apologies on his behalf. He told us about your group in Dallas and encouraged us to seek an alliance, as we discussed before the bodach attacked.”

Despite my resolve to stay uninvolved, I’m curious—Vampires seeking an alliance? For what possible reason?

The human walks over to Joshua and holds his hand out to shake, his expression amused. “I just have a way with people. Always have,” he says, unrepentant. “No worries, though. My granddad is Light Fae, so I’m a third-generation supe. Sure wish I’d gotten one of the talents, but I’m what they call a null. I cancel out everybody else’s abilities.”

Amalie nods. “Fangs won’t extend, shifts are tricky, wards have no effect. Michael is, in every way, a real pain in the ass to have around.” Her tone conveys an affection that negates the hard words.

Joshua reverts to his formal human origins, something Vampires do when stressed, and rises to shake Michael’s hand. Regardless of his impeccable manners, I sense Joshua’s power. This and the lethal grace and control of his movements tell me he’s no one to trifle with. Michael’s good humor strikes me as either stupid or suicidally unaware.

Amalie and Nick drift a little distance away, and I’m grateful for the space. Until Michael’s pale gaze turns toward me.

“A redheaded, cross-bred bastard! I never thought I’d see one!” He gives me a huge grin and I have a sense of how the Dallas Vampires felt being outed. “I thought the Dark Fae made a habit of killing your kind at birth.”

Nick winces and Joshua’s face goes pale as the others look at me in shock.

“Geez, Michael.” Amalie rolls her eyes. “Could you be more of an asshole?”

The human’s cheerful expression doesn’t waver as he crosses the room to me. I want to be angry, but there’s no point arguing with fact. Besides, he’s such a bizarre little man, it’s hard to work up much outrage. Maybe five-seven, he’s an inch shorter than me, bald on top with a wild halo of brown hair. His eyes are watery blue and he has a huge, bushy mustache. The ugly bowtie, dress shirt, baggy tweed pants, and saddle Oxford shoes add to his air of strangeness.

Everyone is looking at me, holding their collective breath, uncertain how I’ll react. But I’ve heard much worse and on a regular basis.

“You missed a few of the more colorful descriptives, but you’re right on all counts. The Cham wanted to experiment, so he sired a few cross-breeds, then kept us around to see how long we’d last. I’m the only one who survived.”

“There were others?” Amalie asks with sudden intensity.

She and Nick drift close again, and now I’ve got three people facing me. I edge away from the wall and put a little distance between us.

“Two, yes. A male and another female.”

“What happened to them?” Nick asks.

I wonder at their focus on this topic. I’m not in the habit of sharing anything about myself. Hell, I normally don’t talk at all—weeks can go by without a peep from me. But Bakis’ will is boring into my brain like a high-speed drill, and it’s clear he wants these people to hear the details.

“They didn’t survive the upbringing,” I tell Nick. Amalie blanches and I flick a quick glance at her, surprised that she’d care. “Are you familiar with how brutally Spartan children were raised?”

“Yes.” Michael steps closer still. “But compared to the Dark Fae, children of Sparta were coddled. I understand that the Cham likes to begin each day with five lashes from the whip and any who cry out get double. Those who can’t remain on their feet, whether from the pain or from passing out, are killed where they lie. I’d guess cross-breeds get far worse treatment.”

I keep my gaze on Michael, focusing on his hideous orange bowtie rather than the images his words conjure.

“Well, dead is dead,” I tell him. “So it’s hard to get worse than that. The Cham used to brag that he taught the Spartans how to raise children, but they softened his methods.” Glancing around, the looks of shock and concern are mortifying, and it’s agonizing that they know more about me than I care anyone to. I edge further back, which brings me within a few feet of Roddie where he sits in an overstuffed leather chair. I meet his eyes, needing to see his anger and suspicion. Both are still there, but I’m horrified to see what looks like sympathy, too, and I wrench my gaze away.

Beaming, Michael rocks on his feet, his shoes’ rubber soles squeaking against the terracotta floor. “Wait until I tell Granddad about this. He’ll be fascinated to know there’s a surviving half-breed.”

“Don’t you dare invite the Reave back into my house, Michael Udesky!” Amalie snaps.

My hand flies to my sword’s pommel. “The Reave?” I stammer. “Reave Thaunier? He didn’t go with the other Light Fae leaders into exile?”

“He’s still in the mortal world.” Amalie studies my expression. “You know him?”

“His hatred of half-breeds is legendary. He sees us as things to be hunted down and exterminated.” My hand tightens, the worn leather grip familiar and reassuring. “I have to leave. I’ve been here too long.”

What has Bakis gotten me involved in?

That the Reave didn’t go into exile is staggering news. Since escaping the keep, I’ve been on the run, never staying in one place for more than a week before shifting somewhere else, always looking over my shoulder, having contact with no one other than Bakis on those occasions he calls to me. It’s a horrible existence, but it’s mine. It’s kept me alive all this time. But now, to be someplace the Reave frequents, the assassin who… My brain freezes.

What the hell was Bakis thinking?

The walls are closing in on me and I can’t draw enough air into my lungs. I get a quick image of the inside of a windowless room with a low ceiling and a solid locked door. Pressing my free hand to forehead, I will the helpless rage away.

“The Reave is Amalie’s father, Mia, and she won’t let…” Nick trails off as I half-draw my sword.

“He’s her what?” My voice is a hoarse whisper.

Nick and Amalie move toward me, and I can’t be sure of anything now. Is that concern on their faces or calculation? Is the raised hand meant to convey comfort or is it preparation for a blow?

I back further, dancing aside as Roddie stands and reaches toward me. Panic pounds at my temples and the ceiling seems to lower. I’m almost panting, my heartbeat roars in my ears, and the craving to get away presses harder and harder.

Somebody says something—I can’t make out the words—and my instincts take over. To hell with Bakis. He’ll have to pin me to the wall to keep me here any longer. Collecting my awareness, I brace myself for the explosive agony of defying him, but it doesn’t come. Surprised and relieved, I shift out of this strange, alien place to one of comforting solitude.

But when the shift ends a heartbeat later, I step onto pine needles, feel cool mountain air on my face, and realize two things.

This isn’t where I intended to shift, and I’m not alone.

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Buy now:

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Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=elisa+paige+in+books

 

 

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BookStrand Publishing

http://www.bookstrand.com/shadowplay

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