Page 36 of Fae Devoted (Fae Touched #3)

T ucker could admit the king was an intimidating male.

Thick-necked and broad-shouldered, Alexander Remington issued a level of dominance on par with Samuel’s wolf; a battle between the príohs could go either way.

And then there was Remington’s beta.

Ajay Anand wasn’t as tall as Tucker, but the male with shoulder-length brown hair, gold hooped-earrings, and a piercing between his lower lip and the facial hair on his chin that was thicker and wilder than his king’s, could match him pound for pound in pure muscle.

Tucker sensed his wolf could take him one on one. But not by much.

Clan Remington would make a worthy ally or a formidable foe. Tucker was leaning toward foe at the moment, which meant Jo had to remain at the cabin until they determined if Daimhín held sway over the Ferwyn king—or Jeremiah.

I can’t wait to meet him…

The memory of Jo’s sleepy wish made Tucker’s stomach churn.

Nausea was his constant companion since leaving her last night along with the lead weight sitting on his sternum making it hurt to breathe.

But he’d suffer any discomfort, face any reprisal if it kept his mate safe for another day.

And there would definitely be reprisals.

The fury and hurt he sensed from Jo when he’d reopened the bond to check on her before the meeting with the king knocked the wind out of him with its intensity.

But what else could he have done? Jo would never agree to go home without him and seemed determined to be at his side during the initial meeting with Jeremiah.

We’ll figure it out once we catch up to him…

Tucker’s gut cramped at the thought of confronting Jeremiah with his female at his side. The brother he loved above all others until he met Jo. He’d done the right thing leaving her behind.

Then why do I feel like shit?

“A fucking Fae could be in my territory, and you’re only telling me this now,” Remington grated through still blunt teeth, piercing dark eyes filled with accusation narrowed on Lady Rose.

Tucker expected Prince Myles to travel with the commander to the ENC king’s summer residence; instead, the queen and the battle witch, Ethan Hall, met him for the final leg of the trip.

According to Samuel, the Dádhe heir argued that Rose had no business risking her life entering a possible adversary’s territory.

Under any other circumstances, Tucker would have smiled at the thought of anyone telling his queen what she could or couldn’t do.

The prince was overruled.

Samuel surged from his seat at the conference table with a cautionary growl, bristling at the king’s disrespect toward his queen.

And though Ethan remained in his chair, the Anwyll tattoo covering his skin from his inner wrist to the hollow of his elbow flared to life.

The witch pushed up the sleeves of his thermal shirt to expose the intricately detailed ink embedded on his forearm, then rolled and flexed his tan fingers like a gunfighter in an old Western itching to draw.

An anticipatory glint sparked in his blue eyes; Ethan Hall loved a good fight.

Chess’ most popular cage dancer’s fun-loving demeanor disguised the unwavering loyalty and lethal skills that earned him a spot on Abby’s rescue team when she’d been held by Sinclair. And won the trust of a Dádhe queen.

Anand stood behind Remington’s left shoulder, the beta bowing up at the perceived threat to his king. Lady Rose placed a restraining hand over the glowing rune on Ethan’s forearm used to cast electricity. Or in a battle witch’s case, destructive lightning.

“Yes,” she replied, expression serene. “We were not positive if the Sídhe was merely a rumor until the recent events in Mississippi occurred. And as I explained earlier, not all of the Nine can be trusted.”

Remington leaned back, chair squeaking with strain at his bulk. He paused and ran a big palm over his mouth and full, black beard. “And you’re sure Nathan Sinclair is working with this Elven Lord?”

Samuel regained his seat across from his ENC counterpart in the Guard, Commander Lydia Baxter.

The Anwyll hadn’t flinched at the increasing friction in the room, but pale tattoos ringing two knuckles on her right hand shimmered against her dusky skin.

The older female must have noticed Tucker’s scrutiny because the fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled as the complex symbols winked out.

Ethan denied that Lydia was a battle witch, the secretive band of elite witches small and selective, but Tucker recognized the unique pattern of a stun spell when he saw one. If activated, the cast would have knocked them all on their collective asses.

“Commander Walker?” Lady Rose inclined her head, giving Samuel the floor and permission to disclose the details of Abby’s kidnapping to King Alexander—or not. The queen would never command a Ferwyn male to place his truemate in danger. No authority on Earth or Faery had that right.

Tucker stood at parade rest to the left of Lady Rose, his shoulders tensing as the bond with Samuel twanged with unease and rare indecision.

All Alphas were adept at manipulating the magical link with their packs.

They could filter the constant barrage of incoming emotions while preventing their own feelings from seeping into the communal consciousness.

Samuel walked this magical tightrope with greater ease than most as he utilized the symbiotic connection with their people to maintain his sanity.

The unique ebb and flow ability of an Alpha prevented the nine Clans príohs from turning feral without a more dominant Ferwyn’s bond in place.

Only situations involving his truemate shook Samuel’s spectacular balance and control.

They’d managed to leave Abby’s role in the Fae’s plans out of the conversation thus far, but it was time to determine if the ENC was a new friend or the enemy Myles feared.

If Remington was proven trustworthy, Tucker could retrieve his own mate and somehow persuade her to remain under the protection of the king’s large pack while he searched the area alone for his brother.

“Any progress in locating the government-run facility our prince informed you about last May?” Samuel asked instead, turning the topic.

Tucker approved his Alpha’s plan to test Remington’s willingness to share sensitive information before revealing Abby’s secrets.

Secrets that could get Samuel’s truemate killed.

There were those without honor who would sacrifice the sole Na’fhuil Walker rather than risk the inevitable deaths the return of the Sídhe to Earth’s realm would bring.

The king gave Samuel a long, flat look, the powerful Ferwyn male assessing but not challenging his wolf’s equal.

“None,” Remington said, rubbing his bare nape; his hair cut short enough to see his neck was unmarked by the Elven Lord’s brand, an encouraging sign.

The shifter’s frustration gave the air a sour note.

“Assuming we aren’t dealing with a massive cloaking ward…

the UP’s towns, Anwyll Colonies, and individual packs are still spread throughout more than sixteen thousand square miles of rugged terrain.

It isn’t easy to search for the equivalent of a needle in a haystack, even in wolf form.

“If your source could give us more direction, it would be helpful. Did they keep dairy cows or goats…livestock of any kind on this homestead? Could they see water or only a tree line? Shit, I’d take knowing the amount of snowfall at this point.”

“The snow was deep and hung around until April. Several outbuildings surround the primary residence, one of them houses a heated pool, and another is a large barn that stores their vehicles. They use underground tunnels to travel between the individual buildings for…training.” Samuel’s voice went low.

“The structures all appear run-down from the outside, but the inside and connecting sub-levels were modernized with high-tech security. When allowed to walk outside or leave on assignment, rushing water was heard but not seen. And to our knowledge, there was never any livestock on the grounds.”

“Icelandic sheep,” Tucker reminded his Alpha. Abby recounted seeing the odd-looking animals once, comparing their thick, wool coats to the fleece of a long-haired alpaca only puffier .

“A few wandered near the facility’s property line and were chased away by guards dressed as farmhands,” Samuel clarified.

Anand exchanged a knowing look with Lydia. Attention now rapt, the beta leaned in and placed his palms on the conference table. “Approximately how deep was the snow? Certain sections of the UP get heavier snowfall than other areas.”

“Our sources were born in the South.” The prior anxiety in Tucker’s link with Samuel decreased, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Two inches is heavy to them, but at a guess…two to three feet at times.”

“Sources? More than one Na’fhuil was forced to work for the facility?” Commander Baxter asked. “How many halfbloods did this nameless Director hold captive?”

“Three confirmed,” Ethan chimed in, briefed on the private flight from Memphis. The witch clasped his hands in front of him, placing the swirling white tattoos circling every finger, thumb, and knuckle on full display.

“But we have no idea how many Fae descendants this operation has discovered over the years.” Lady Rose hesitated before saying, “Or if the facility is connected to Lord Daimhín in some way.”

“If you believe the brochures, ninety percent of the world’s crude ore passes through the Soo Locks or is transported by railway through our borders,” Remington explained.

“Over eighty million tons of it annually. The few Dádhe that visit us here swear they can feel the effect and avoid the area whenever possible.”