Bitter Night (3 page)

Max frowned, racking her memory. What did she know about Hags? There were a number of them, from all over the world. With her blue face and white hair, this one had to be ...Max mentally flipped through the pages of the many books she’d studied on faery lore. Yes. Cailleach Bheur’a Blue Hag from the Scottish highlands. But what did the redcaps want with her? Her Divine blood would do nothing to feed them, and redcaps were walking stomachs.

One of the little beasts shouted and tossed a powdery handful of something at the Hag. It enveloped her in a cloud and she began to shriek again. Max pressed herself back against the fence, covering her ears as best she could as the scream went on and on. It cut into her bones like the ache of winter. Blood seeped from her nose and she pinched it. She was running out of time. They were going to smell her soon.

Suddenly the cry cut off. Max lowered her hands, firming her grip on the shotgun as she peered out through gap in the gate. The Hag lay flat on the ground. She was breathing, but barely. Her skin was raw and looked like she’d been flayed. The redcap who’d thrown the powder was muttering vehemently at the Hag, shaking his steel pike at her. She did not respond.

Max scowled. The biggest rule in warfare is, don’t get involved before you know which side is which. But sometimes you just didn’t have time to twiddle your thumbs and wait for the answers to appear. One thing she knew for sure was that the redcaps had murdered the people lying out on the driveway. As far as she was concerned, that was enough reason to return the favor, no matter what her orders were. As she watched, the redcap leader dug in his pouch for more of the powder. Max didn’t think. She pushed the gate open, holding her breath as it made a faint creak. None of the redcaps noticed. She eased out, sliding into the shadow of a walnut tree. Leaning around, she sighted in on the leader.

As she leaned around the tree, there was a sudden popping of small-caliber weapons. Max jerked back and the redcaps screeched and scattered’those who were left standing. The noise thundered in Max’s sensitive ears. She winced. She’d got so caught up in her hatred that she’d stupidly forgotten to look for anyone else. Selange’the witch who owned this territory’would have sent her own recon team once she got a reading that something was going down.

A pale-skinned Shadowblade with fiery orange hair to her shoulders emerged from around the pool enclosure, her gun held before her. She didn’t notice Max as she ran forward and dug to a stop at the edge of the charm circle.

Several more Blades streamed out of the darkness. One of them was clearly the Prime. He radiated authority, and Max could feel the others cowing, turning toward him like flowers to sunlight. He wasn’t physically imposing, topping out at around six feet tall, with short black hair and dark Mediterranean skin the color of bitter tea. His muscular frame was lean and compact, but compared to the two Incredible Hulks on either side of him, he was a pygmy.

All the same, Max couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. It wasn’t that he was handsome’though he was. No, something about him was mesmerizing. Every lithe movement spoke of confidence and barely restrained raw power. He radiated grace and an aloof magnetism that triggered something primal in Max. He was her equal in ways that most men’most Shadowblades’could never be. But there was more to her sudden lust than just that tangible power. For one thing, she hadn’t gotten laid in close to six months. And for another, the bastard was her type. In fact, he was the dictionary illustration of it’dark, lean, and dangerous. His thin face was chiseled and bleak, and his hooded, dark eyes swam with deadly purpose. He was the bad boy every girl dreamed of.

Max grimaced. He was also the enemy. If he caught her trespassing on his witch’s territory, one of them would die. She didn’t think the odds were in her favor.

“Mercury and Attila, go round up the rest of the redcaps. You have fifteen minutes,” he ordered in a soft, almost conversational voice. The two hulks obeyed instantly, peeling away and trotting off with a stealthy grace that belied their bulk.

Max smirked. Mercury? Attila? They sounded like rottweilers. But a lot of witches thought of their warrior creations that way and gave them what they thought were power names.

The Prime lifted his head, turning to scan the house and the yard with slow precision. Max pressed against the tree, hiding the telltale paleness of her face against the bark and hoping the stench of blood and magic would continue to disguise her smell. When he didn’t spot her, she eased around to watch again and froze as he stopped in midturn. He seemed to be looking right into her eyes, and the weight of it slammed Max like a Peterbilt truck. She suppressed the urge to leap to her feet. If he’d really seen her, he’d already be at her throat. Instead his attention slid away to the three dead redcaps and the five his Blades had shot, then to the Hag.

Max let go a silent breath.

“You going to paint a picture, Alexander?” the flame-haired woman asked snidely.

Max saw something ripple through the Prime. He didn’t acknowledge the question. She scowled. If one of her Blades had questioned her that way in the field, she’d have dropped her like a stone and the bitch wouldn’t have got up again. Not that it happened often. Apparently Alexander had more patience for fools than she did.

“Thor, move the bodies into the house, then rig the gas line. We will burn all the evidence. Tell the others to bring up the trucks. The Hag and the redcaps come with us. Selange will want them.”

The others hurried off, leaving Alexander and the orange-haired bitch.

“This is stupid,” she pushed. “We should just leave before the cops show up.”

“Selange would disagree” was his indifferent reply. And then seemingly tangentially: “Marcus is not strong enough to take me. Do not put all your money on a losing horse, Brynna. You could get hurt.”

He said it idly, as if he didn’t really care, as if he weren’t thinking about her at all. He was pacing back and forth over the ground, following a trail that Max couldn’t see. She eased herself to her feet for a better look.

Brynna laughed, a shrill sound. Max stared in disbelief. Brynna was clearly no match for Alexander in strength, cunning, or power. She was one of those women who depended on their big eyes and curvy bodies to pry them out of whatever trouble their mouths, got them into’even as a Shadowblade. And she was digging herself a deep hole. Alexander clearly had no interest in the bitch and she was too stupid to see it.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Brynna pushed. “Marcus is everything you’re not. He’s young and strong and he knows how to make Selange purr. She wants him. Not you. You’re way past your expiration date, and pretty soon she’s going to toss you out with the rest of the trash.”

“I know well enough that Marcus is not like me.”

Max grinned. It wasn’t a compliment. Her gaze ran irresistably over Alexander again. Shit. She really had to get laid. The trouble was, she didn’t like messing around in her own backyard. She liked to get far enough away from Horngate that her one-night stands didn’t come back to haunt her. But since Giselle liked to keep her on a short leash, Max tended to have long dry spells.

“You should be careful of Marcus. He is reckless. He will get you killed. As for Selange ...who she sleeps with is her business. Does not seem to leave a lot of room for you, though. Are you going to sit by the bed like a hungry dog and beg for scraps?”

Alexander’s tone had not changed. He still sounded absent. He crouched and touched something on the ground, then lifted his fingers to taste. Brynna was spitting nails. But before she could say anything else, he stood up again. He sauntered over to her, his attention honing in so that he seemed to see nothing else. Max watched in delight as Brynna realized the shit was about to hit the fan. The flame-haired moron stepped back, the gun in her hand twitching like she desperately wanted to shove it in his gut. Alexander slid a gentle hand around the back of her neck, his thumb pressing against her throat as he leaned close. She shrank in on herself, her mouth twisting with fear.

“You should watch your mouth. I am losing patience with you. Straighten up or I will kill you,” he said softly.

“Selange would have your balls in a jar,” Brynna choked. She was shivering, the smell of her fear sharp.

Alexander smiled dangerously. His unruffled calm had turned menacing and angry’a volcano burned inside him. Max wondered if he ever lost control entirely. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But that would do little to help you, would it?”

His thumb gouged deep into her neck, and Brynna wheezed as he picked her up off the ground with one hand. Her feet twitched and then stilled. Fighting back would surely make her punishment worse, if not fatal. Max watched the lesson with approval. The word of a Prime was law, to be obeyed instantly. Disobedient Shadowblades got people killed. It couldn’t be tolerated.

“I am done with your bitching and backstabbing. The next time I have to talk to you about it, I will not be talking, do you understand?”

Brynna gave a minuscule nod of her head, all she could manage. Alexander let go. She dropped to the ground and staggered, gasping. He looked at her a moment, as if waiting for her to start mouthing off, but apparently she wasn’t as stupid as Max thought because she didn’t say a word. Alexander nodded, his expression smoothing into the sort of surface calm that hides shark-infested waters beneath it.

“Stay here and watch the Hag. Careful of the redcaps. The five we shot will start waking before long.” With that, he walked away around the side of the house.

Max smiled as Brynna’s face silently contorted. Would the woman throw herself on the ground and have a really good tantrum? But disappointingly, she managed to suck it up and keep her mouth shut. The redhead sent a venomous glare after Alexander, then skirted around the spell circle to look over the redcaps. None were moving yet, but they would. Bullets were a human solution. They slowed down most magical critters, but they didn’t usually kill them.

Brynna kicked one with a booted foot, then turned and wandered over to look at the Hag. Max shook her head. She really was a moron. Redcaps were vicious and smart. As soon as they woke, they’d be on her. She should’ve taken up a stance with her back to the house where she could watch the redcaps, the Hag, and the yard at the same time without fearing someone creeping up behind her. Like Max was about to do.

She didn’t let herself think about why she wasn’t safely retreating and getting the hell out of Julian. Instead she leaped across the few yards separating her from Brynna and clubbed the other woman in the head with the shotgun. Brynna crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Max grappled her collar and dragged her into the pool enclosure. It took her ten seconds to strip away the other woman’s guns and drop them in the water before hurrying back to the charm circle.

The Hag breathed in short, sharp gasps that jerked her body. She was covered in the powder the redcap had thrown over her, and her skin looked like someone had drenched her in acid. The black tears on her blue skin made her look demonic.

“Mother of winter, can you hear me?” Max whispered, keeping one eye on the redcaps while she glanced around for the return of Alexander and his Blades.

The Hag made no response. She was close to death. Max grimaced, then stood, walking around to see what Alexander had found so interesting on the ground. She stopped first by the three redcaps who’d been dead before she arrived. They were stiff and desiccated. Their lips were pulled grotesquely from their pointed, orange teeth and their hats had crumbled to dust.

The lawn around the mummified trio was gouged up. Max followed their track back along the side of the house and found an incomplete salt circle. She squatted down, leaning her elbows on her knees. It looked as if the redcaps had tried to seal the Hag inside the circle but she’d fought her way out. That accounted for the wild magic over the house and the chaos zone. Blood was splattered about, belonging to both the Hag and the redcaps. Max frowned, swiping a hand over her mouth. What was the Hag doing here?

Her gaze snagged on a little grotto. It was a small pool surrounded by pungent rosemary, climbing roses, and gardenias. Lily pads floated on the water. Of course. Julian Springs Orchards. The spring. This was the Hag’s home. The redcaps had lured her out of the water and captured her. Straightening up, Max looked again at the incomplete salt circle. Except it wasn’t a circle. It was a barrier curving around the front of the grotto to keep the Hag from returning to safety in the spring.

A rumble of voices from inside the house spurred Max to return to the charm circle. She set her shotgun on the ground and slid one of her forearm knives free, then hesitated a fraction of a moment. Up until this moment she could justify what she was doing as reconnaissance. Giselle would want to know the redcaps had been hunting the Hag. Now that Max knew what had happened, she should walk away. Those were her orders. Even contemplating breaking them made agony blossom in her gut as the magic that demanded she obey Giselle clawed at her. She drew a steadying breath, firming her grip on the knife.

She wasn’t going to leave the Hag. She’d fought a good fight and she was helpless. She deserved a chance to escape. Alexander’s witch would imprison her and either enslave her or find a way to steal her magic. The image of the four tortured bodies on the other side of the house rose in Max’s mind’s eye. The sudden rage that erupted in her gut came without warning. Her fingers shook with the force of it. No one else was going to suffer tonight. Not if she could help it. She hauled back her anger and pushed it deep into the hollow place inside. Emotions only got in the way. She focused instead on confusing her compulsion spells. It wasn’t hard; she had plenty of practice.

It’s for the good of Giselle, she told the magic firmly. And that was true, as far as it went. It was definitely better for Giselle if a rival witch didn’t get ahold of the Hag. Max didn’t let herself think about what could go wrong’like getting caught. The agony flower inside her began to wilt, and she smiled with fierce triumph. There were always shades of gray in the interpretation of her orders. She’d learned she could make decisions for the good of Giselle that she knew damned well the witch-bitch wouldn’t like. The compulsion spells didn’t care how the witch felt, just that she was protected and served. Magic didn’t understand nuance.