Blood Reign (#4): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) (2 page)

Julia could be neutral, but Cynthia was pissed.

She hated—
hated
that pudwacker, Harriet. It went beyond the obvious kidnapping crap. Cyn was aware, very aware, that he was Alpha Red and that meant he could pretty much boss any Were around. Not great for her.

*

Cyn took satisfaction the deepest canine punctures were a necklace of wounds around Lily's neck.

It made a smile bloom on her face like a flower seeking the sun.

“How's it feel, bitch?” Cyn hissed at Lily.

She strode to Cyn, and the fey warrior paused just long enough to kick her in the ribs.

Cyn grunted, biting down on the natural yelp that threatened escape by a fraction before it erupted. She wouldn't give the heartless Sidhe the satisfaction.

Whatever irritated that betraying, lying
c u next Tuesday
worked just dandy for Cyn.

“Cyn, God, would ya
stop
?” Adi rubbed her wrists where the silver had burned her like acid. Cyn pulled a face at the ligature marks at the sight of the silver bindings decorating Adi's wrists.

Bastards.

Tom Harriet crouched down next to her with a slight bounce, cocking his head to the side and studying her like an interesting experiment inside a petri dish.

Cyn kicked up her chin. “Gonna beat the hell out of a bound woman?” She spit in his direction. It landed near his left foot, missing his expensive shoes by a fraction of an inch.

Harriet's lips curled. “Ordinarily, no. However, you bring the very worst reactions out in me. My wolf wants to clamp jaws around that skinny neck of yours and shake you until your teeth rattle.”

“What's stopping you, pencil dick?” Cyn challenged.

A vein popped in his forehead, and Cyn braced for the worse. Deep in her heart, she knew she couldn't be a martyr for anything or anyone, like Jules had committed to doing long ago.

She was too much of a selfish bitch, for one. If he killed her, then she wouldn't have to deal with what had happened to her. Cyn centered herself, hoping for finality. She thought she was more selfless than this, but surprise... she was more human than all the Singers and Were combined. Right now, she felt pretty damned human. Cyn was beyond frustrated and helpless. She couldn't live like this.

“Don't, numbnuts!” Truman's voice boomed out into the open space where they camped. He trained his eyes on Harriet's hand.

Harriet hesitated, his fist lifted to strike.

Cyn watched him warily, shooting a glare at Truman, who returned her look with one of his own.

He'd spoiled a perfectly good braining.

That fist fell to his side. He breathed deeply, scrutinizing Cyn as he began to speak. “I was top in my class at the Bureau; received honors for my grades when I studied the criminal justice system. I know what you’re attempting here, Cynthia Adams.” His eyes searched Cyn's. She gave a disgusted exhale, her face inches above the sparse grass where she lay.

“Suicide by Fed. Or in this case—Were.” Harriet stood, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “We didn't bother with all this elaborate shit to kill you. Think.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “You can't kill the fey. She's immortal. You'll just piss her off.”

Cyn doubted it. There had to be some way to kill her black ass.

His gaze roved the small group, Ford cruising up to stand by his side.

All this was so overwhelming.
I want to go back to where I was.
Where getting her nails done and the latest pair of shoes filled her thoughts.
But no.
Now it was
Were
this,
Singer
that.

She looked at her chipped, shitty nails. Her hair had two months’ dirty blonde grow-out. She wanted to howl for that alone. Instead, she glared at Harriet.

Adi said, “Wait a second...” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I know why you took Julia. No offense”—her gaze swept Julia then went back to Harriet—“everyone wants the Rare One.”

Harriet said nothing.

“But you took us, too. Why not knock us out, take Julia, and run off?”

“That's the $64,000 dollar question,” Lily said.

Cyn rolled her eyes. “Don't try. Don't try to be clever, interesting, or relevant. You've been in the fey mound too long. That's not even that much money anymore, you dodo bird.”

Jules stifled a laugh. Adi didn't even try, letting a straightforward guffaw escape.

Lily's lips thinned into a slash of charcoal. “I want to end her. I don't care if she's Red, or leverage... she is a foul-mouthed Singer that has been turned into a dog. She is of no consequence.”

Cyn smirked.

She shouldn't have felt confident, given they'd caught on to her new skill set and bound her in silver. But she did. It was just too damned easy to yank Lily's chain. Cyn found she liked it. A lot.

“Not yet.” Harriet stayed the fey with an arm. His skin was very white  against the tar color of hers.

“Why?” she nearly wailed. “I put up with her empty head while she was friends with the Blooded Queen because I was told I must... but now? Let us do away with her.”

Adi rolled her eyes between the two. “Let's stay on task, kidnappers.” They looked at her. “So—you take Julia for the obvious reasons.”

“Brood Mare,” Julia piped in then lifted a finger. “No—scratch that. Paranormal brood mare.”

Harriet and Lily scowled at Adi, but she was unfazed.

Adi swept her hand to Julia. “Yup, that covers it. But you still haven't explained the rest.”

“I know why,” Truman said.

Harriet's self-satisfied smirk turned into a shit-eating grin. Cyn figured that couldn't be good.

“You're Red. I'm Red.”

Heat flared in Cyn’s skin when Truman's gaze skimmed over her trussed-like-a turkey form.

“Jason—Cyn?” he asked.

“Very good, cop. It shows that not all the police force is bumbling fools.”

Truman coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, it shows I don't have to go to four years of a hoity-toity college to prove I can puzzle something through. I don't have to hold my dick to know I have one, if you feel me.”

Cyn felt her eyes go round as Harriet strode to Truman.

Harriet's face was thunder. “Don't make me shut you down, cop. It'll hurt.”

“If you think you've got the brass balls for it, try it.” Truman's face was set in stone. He was a man of his word. It was all over him.

“Truman,” Jason cautioned.

Cyn remembered Jason's caged existence while he was feral after being turned. He was Red because he'd been bitten by a Red but didn't have the Were lineage. He'd almost gone sideways when he'd changed. Not true in Truman's case. He had the genetic fabric to make the change.

Truman shrugged Jason's hand from his shoulder and squared off with Harriet, the testosterone so thick in the air Cyn choked on it.

Instead, Lily's droll voice broke through their posturing. “All the talk of penises has made me realize how distracting it is to have one.”

Truman and Harriet turned to Lily.

Her hand came to rest on Cyn's hair and she wanted to puke on Lily's feet. She did the second best thing. “Get your hands off me or I'll bite your toe off. It won't kill ya but it'll be a bitch growing that back.”

Lily's sour look soaked Cyn with its venom. She glared back at her.
Like that bitch's dirty looks were going to matter. Duh
.

Harriet's gaze found Lily's, and a silent exchange passed between them. Cyn shifted her weight.

“You're right, of course,” Harriet conceded to Lily. He cast a last glance at Truman then walked away to stand beside her.

“I am but one 'scout', if you will... who searches for Reds. If we can reclaim those that wander without a den, or worse”—Harriet's gaze sought each of theirs—“are unclaimed and killed simply because of who they are, then my bit in this life will have had value.”

Lily looks bored,
Cyn noted. She just knew that wench had her own agenda.

“So what's with Lily, what does she get? Because I know she's not here for any philanthropy.”

Jason grunted in the background.

“No.” Harriet's tone was short. “The fey make pacts that benefit their people.” He spread his arms wide, palms out. “Like all of our species.”

His gaze went to Julia. “Even the Queen of the Singers, their 'Rare One', must wield a certain mercenary edge to maintain order.”

Cyn didn't hear Jules argue. Hell—she couldn't protest it, either.

Her mind spun with the why of it all. Then she touched on something... “So you collect the Reds and you become, what? The most kick ass den in the West or something?”
Or North?

Harriet smiled. “No. Pure Reds do not need to heed the moon's call to change. We change at will.”

“It's the sign that a dog is Red enough if he or she”—Lily literally looked down her nose at Cyn—“can change without lunar fullness.”

“But some can't,” Truman said.

“Not exactly.” Lily’s pale eyes bored into Julia's. “Now that the Blooded Queen has
become
, all those who have the Red blood of the Were can willfully change, if she is in proximity.”

“So just Julia being around...?” Adi fished for confirmation.

Harriet nodded.

“It's very similar to the lowly human who has a bit of fey blood.” Lily sniffed as if this likelihood was not only repugnant but also unlikely.

Cyn narrowed her eyes to slits. “Tell us. How does it compare to a human having fey ancestry if a Were is Red?”

Lily rolled her eyes at Harriet, who said nothing.

“Why... you're such a daft girl. Throwing around a few four-dollar words is not proof of intellect.”

Cyn moved her shoulder in an awkward shrug. She was okay in her own skin. The strange creature that had treated Julia badly, lied, and hidden who and what she was wouldn't diminish Cyn. Only she had the power to do that.

“Just tell them,” Harriet said to Lily. The limits of his patience finally grew thin. About damn time. Hell, hers had gone MIA about... well, from the very beginning.

“Like blood calls to like. For simplicity's sake, a summons—if you will.” Lily crossed her arms over a flat black stomach, and Cyn was disturbed to note she had an outie.

“So strength in numbers.”

Lily inclined her head.

“This is a getting a bunch of the same species together for what end?” Truman asked carefully.

“Control,” Harriet said. “With the Blooded Queen, we are suddenly all moonless changers. It's a powerful summons.”

“I want to know more about this fey angle.” Cyn slid her gaze to Lily. Cyn was suspicious; Lily's presence still didn't make complete sense.

“The fey will be summoned as well. With enough time, the status of all the Reds becoming moonless changers, regardless of blood, will be solidified forever.”

Jason spoke for the first time. “You won't need Julia.”

“No,” Lily answered.

“Then what happens to me?” Julia asked.

Lily favored Jules with a malicious smile. “You will then be mine to summon the humans who have fey blood.”

“Why?” Jules pushed her matted hair behind her ears, a helluva shiner distending her cheekbone.

“So we can rid the earth of the half-breed.”

“Genocide?” Truman asked in patent disbelief.

Cyn shook her head at the grinning Lily, who was obviously touched in the head.

“Feycide,” Cyn confirmed.

Tharell met the unlikely source of his intel, Gabriel, the Rare One of the death bringers' Northwestern kiss.

“We have an understanding, then?” Gabriel asked.

To say that working with a corrupt Singer, leader to a coven of the fanged, was a necessary evil was an understatement.

Every thought had been about the Rare One, the Blooded Queen of the Singers. Only her presence, then lack thereof, could be the cause of the disquiet. The sithen knew her.

Trust did not come easily to the fey. However, the insurance of another faction whose interests aligned with theirs was advised.

A stealthy rustle in the periphery made Tharell turn. A deer trotted within shouting distance. Somehow, it felt the men’s presence, though Tharell had thrown a cape of glamour to hide them. It scampered off, skittish as a new colt.

Gabriel's eyes never wavered to the distraction of the wildlife. “Your glamour?” he asked.

“It holds,” Tharell responded, insulted.

Gabriel chuckled. Tharell schooled his face to the blank neutrality for which the Sidhe courts were so well known. Though now that Queen Darcel no longer ruled, there could come to be a Sidhe the sithen deemed worthy. Tharell had hoped it would be the Blooded Queen.

She had made a vow to consider Singers as candidates for marriage in Faerie. Whether or not she would bow to that wisdom remained to be seen.

“If what you tell me is true, and William has met his end in true death—”

“It is,” Tharell answered, already tiring of the game of words.

“Then I see no reason why we cannot ally as we search for the Rare One.”

“She will not comply with what you offer.” Tharell crossed his arms, and the glamor that rode the surface of his skin shimmered, settling back on the deep violet flesh like a floating covering. Only he could see it, as he owned that magick.

“There is Claire, cousin to William...”

Tharell palmed his chin. Familial ties were very strong, especially amongst the fey. As strong a consideration for Singers as for the Sidhe. “Perhaps she would return to Seattle, in the underground lair of the Northwestern, but she left under terrible circumstances. Julia was soul-meld with a Singer of royal lineage.”

“And fey, and vampire,” Gabriel interjected.

“Not precisely. Though it was a motley mess of ancestry to be sure.”

Only a few could venture very far from the mound and hope to retain their power. Tharell, of course, due to his mixed blood, and maybe Domi with some extraordinary intervention or assistance. But the distance Gabriel proposed would challenge even him, as rare as some of his gifts were. And he was prepared to find out what that would be in the happenstance that some things came to pass.

“They mean to unite the Reds and it will be back to what it was two thousand years ago, when the fey were in Europe and the Reds struck fear in anyone foolish enough to travel with a moon full or gone.” Gabriel gave a slight lift of his broad shoulders.

Tharell frowned, remembering the legends well. The Red Were were feared. Rare and hunted to near-extinction. Now it appeared as though distance had given them sanctuary.

Their sojourn would sicken Domi and make Tharell vulnerable.

Gabriel watched his thought processes with interest. “Have we struck a bargain, Tharell of the Unseelie Sidhe?”

Tharell stared at Gabriel so long the other man almost took his proffered palm back. The fey took an oath with the utmost seriousness.

Finally, and with great reluctance, Tharell shook hands with the devil. His motivations went beyond this meeting, to which Gabriel was not privy.

It was the best solution amongst bad ones.

Julia Caldwell would be taken again. For good, and many Singers handed over to the Unseelie in exchange for her freedom.

It was an unjust manipulation of her. He could easily apply that old human expression of “
sacrificing the few for the many
” here.

*

Tharell could not wash the treachery from his skin as he bathed in the modern showers of Faerie supplied by the underground hot springs.

The water slid like hot, fragrant silk over the muscles of his body as he mechanically cleansed himself.

The lack of an interim ruler unsettled many of the Sidhe. Tharell agreed. But without royal blood and a slew of bodyguards, there was no peace. No one could step in without being murdered by another vying for the top position.

That was why a magical padlock of sorts had been used on the court. No one but the fashioner of the spell could undo it.

Of course, like all the old magicks, it had strength in the beginning, only to fade as the timepiece of the sithen ticked. And as all knew, time ran differently in Faerie.

Tharell pressed his forehead against the sithen’s smooth, polished rock. He simply thought of the need for a towel and a peg pushed out of the rock, a towel appearing that was a shade lighter than his skin. He knew of civility, and the sithen’s low-running intelligence was sentient enough for an exchange of thoughts, though the sithen did not possess speech as such.

Tharell said nothing, taking the towel from the peg that had grown out of the wall. He petted the wall in quiet thankfulness for the small courtesy shown by this place where but an unspoken thought met the Sidhe's basest needs.

The peg shimmered, becoming opaque and finally translucent. Then, like water, it melted back to become one with the low wall’s glittering ebony.

How much longer will the sithen be healthy without leadership?
And not just any leader, but one that showed deference and respect to the fey. All fey, not just Sidhe.

Tharell padded into the larger quarters that gave way to an archway, hand-cut centuries before Tharell’s birth. He set about getting his garments donned. His tunic came first, breeches and soft-soled shoes were custom cut and sewn for his feet. He laced them to the tops of his shins, winding the leather ties twice around his upper calf and knotting it with proficiency borne of long practice. He walked to the door, grabbing his weapons belt off a hand-hammered brass hook as he left.

There was no iron in Faerie. It was poison to the fey.

He loathed the royal singer contained within their prison, but he must deal with her. She might be what Tharell needed to survive the journey so far from Faerie.

*

Tharell moved through the labyrinth of the sithen.

If it had been to Tharell's liking, Jacqueline would have been dead long ago.

The Singers Book of Blood forbade such a thing. Jacqueline was royalty, though her mixed blood appeared to be as frowned upon as his own. Fey, Singer, Were, and vampire. Jacqueline, reigning monarch of Region Two, had too much variation in her blood.

And just the right amount of what mattered.

Jacqueline stood when she saw him, the heavily veined marble bench that had been her post disappearing into the sithen wall as she left it.

Tharell released a breath of resigned frustration.
Half-clothed again.
Jacqueline always knew when he would appear and shed her clothes at just the right moment.

Tharell cast his gaze away when he saw what the Were did behind her, their vulgarity part of who they were. He could not close his ears to the lustful coupling that reached him. It was always the same. And deliberately meant to throw him off balance, make him feel ashamed to watch them rut as alley cats caught in their mating.

Tharell squared his shoulders. They were detestable but had become necessary.