Page 4

Lach

S weet laughter echoed in the darkness. I turned toward the familiar sound, neurons firing into action. “ Cate?”

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I whipped around as a figure fled down the corridor, out of sight.

“Cate!” I called her name, my voice clawing and frantic, sprinting after her. My body slowed when I glimpsed her. I fought against the invisible force.

Just a little too far ahead.

She turned, arms reaching for me, a silent plea etched in the space between us. Desperation surged through my veins, propelling me forward. The ground turned to mud, swallowing one foot. The other. With each step, I sank farther into the muck as if it was dragging me toward hell.

I fought harder, need pounding in my chest as mud consumed me to the waist, then the chest. My arms strained toward her, tearing at the mire.

Cate’s eyes locked with mine, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Why did you let me go?”

Her words cut sharper than any blade, slicing through the dream, and I woke, gasping. Shafts of buttery light fell across the guest room bed, and I forced myself up. I was still panting as I stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the living room.

Fiona, my perpetually disapproving sister, flew out of the kitchen. “Where the hell were you last night?” Her eyes zeroed in on my neck. “And why are you bleeding?”

“I was bleeding,” I corrected her, scrubbing at the caked-on blood. “I went to get information. Has anyone called?”

I’d wandered through the city until dawn, needing time to think before I found myself stuck in a cramped apartment with my sister, her increasingly hostile witch girlfriend, and too many cats. I didn’t remember passing out. I checked my watch. Durant should have heard something by now.

Fiona didn’t answer me. “Was that before or after you tried to get yourself killed?”

I made my way to the kitchen, where I’d plugged in my new phone. Romy, my sister’s better half, didn’t look up from the stack of grimoires in front of her as I passed. But she scratched absent-mindedly at the dark baby hairs that peeked from her silk head wrap—a sure sign that she was pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Where were you?” Fiona repeated as I grabbed my phone.

There were no missed calls. I resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

“ Lachlan.”

She wasn’t going to let it go, and this apartment wasn’t big enough to contain the fight brewing between us. “I ran into a little trouble at Durant’s.”

“You went to see the arms dealer?” Her tone sharpened.

Romy finally turned at this revelation, studying the wound on my neck. “Is he the one who shot you?”

“Probably,” Fiona snapped, crossing her arms. “Every time my brother leaves New Orleans, he gets shot.”

Which was why I rarely did. But I shook my head. “I cut myself shaving.”

“I know a grazing wound when I see one, Lachlan.”

Historically, it was a bad sign when my sister used my formal name.

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten since you became a pacifist.”

This earned a rare snort from Romy, who usually barely deigned to acknowledge my existence, let alone find me amusing. It was a miracle that she was helping me at all. Although I suspected that the aid was only to get me out of her apartment sooner rather than later—preferably without destroying the building in a fight with my sister.

“I just got rid of my guns. Not stocking an arsenal doesn’t make me a pacifist.” She had the decency to look offended at the idea. Fiona may have never liked the violence surrounding the courts, but she was no innocent. No matter how she acted now.

“No, it makes you a sitting duck.”

“I don’t want your life.” The quiet words were laced with venom. She had too much of our mother in her. Not a pacifist, exactly, but something far more dangerous. Underneath her tough exterior, somewhere very, very, very deep down, she was an idealist. She had never forgiven me for relinquishing our family’s claim on the Terra Court throne. She thought I’d given up on it.

“I supported you leaving New Orleans so you could figure shit out,” I reminded her. “But part of the deal was that you would be prepared if the day ever came when one of us showed up on your doorstep.”

“ You know why I left New Orleans.” She glanced to where her girlfriend was still far too absorbed in her grimoire. Judging by the set of Romy’s shoulders, she was bracing for impact. Bringing up the reason they’d left the city usually made my sister detonate. The prejudice they faced as a mixed-species couple hadn’t stopped them from falling in love, but it had kept them from their true home.

Romy seemed resigned to her fate. Her coven, like most, had forbidden marriages between witches and fae. She had chosen Fiona over them—and my sister couldn’t forgive herself for it.

I didn’t particularly care that Romy was a witch. Our mutual dislike stemmed from conflicting personalities. Romy had practiced earth magic for most of her life. She made potions, consulted grimoires, and relied on the Belle Mère—the mother goddess—to provide, even as her people’s magic dwindled under the curse that had only recently lifted. Fae had never lost access to their magic, even if it had changed and warped, broken in its own way. But despite being able to call on magic, I often found a bullet was a more expedient solution to a problem. That seemed to trigger her. Fiona might not be a pacifist, but she was living like one to please her girlfriend.

“I ran into the Wild Hunt.” There was no point keeping it from them.

Fiona stilled. “The Hunt is in New York?”

“They were.” I shot my sister a pointed look.

“Did they leave?” Romy asked, closing the massive grimoire in front of her.

I bit my lip, giving my sister another look. “They won’t be an issue. Not for a while.”

Romy’s brow furrowed, and then her eyes widened as she caught my meaning. “Oh.” She swallowed this bit of information. “I guess my cloaking spell wasn’t strong enough.”

“You think?”

“Watch it,” Fiona snarled under her breath.

I tamped down my annoyance and forced myself to bow my head in her girlfriend’s direction. She had tried to veil me, using an old spell in her family’s grimoire that acted like a personal ward meant to hide me at all times. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” I wasn’t sure what I meant anymore, so I let the apology trail away. “It seems it wasn’t.”

She loosed a groan of frustration as she reopened a different grimoire in her pile. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to cast spells on two targets at once, even with the Belle Mère’s blessing.” Her eyes moved to the necklace lying next to the books on the table, and my chest tightened. “If I only had one…”

“Cate,” I said quietly. “Focus on Cate.”

Romy’s eyes were softer than usual as she met my gaze and nodded once. Without the added magical protection, I knew what I had to do. I continued to the guest room and dropped my phone on the bed, grabbing the duffel bags off the floor. Fiona followed me.

“We don’t even know if Cate is alive,” she said quietly.

“She’s alive.” I would know if she wasn’t. It was the only comfort I’d had in this shit week. Cut off from my court, my family, and her—the fact had kept me sane.

“You don’t—”

“I know,” I interrupted her. Just like I knew my own heart was still beating. The second hers stopped, I would feel it. But I didn’t have time to explain. Something told me that Fiona wouldn’t understand anyway.

She didn’t press me on the issue, just like she hadn’t asked me about the new tattoo on my wrist—the one I now kept glamoured at all times. I’d been more than happy to avoid the topic as well.

I unzipped one of the bags and began pulling out its contents. Fiona hovered as I took stock of the weapons, laying each out on the bed, one at a time.

“What is your plan?” she asked as I began stacking boxes of ammunition next to the guns.

“I’m not waiting around anymore.” I could barely breathe. My skin tightened with each passing second that Cate was with Bain, and I was damn close to peeling it off. “I’m going after her.”

She took a step between me and the doorway. Fiona wasn’t above using force to stop me, even if she’d given up her guns. “That is a monumentally bad idea.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Opinion?” Fiona swiped a box of bullets. “That is a fact. What are you going to do, nip to London and just start shooting?”

“I don’t have time to argue with you. Every second I waste in New York leaves Cate at the mercy of that monster.” Had he figured out what happened to his penumbra yet? Was he taking revenge on her for it? The knowledge that she was alive was little comfort when I considered what she might be enduring. “I need more weapons.”

“You’ll get your girlfriend killed, too,” she said quietly.

“Girlfriend?” I repeated. My sister had seen the truth. Why was she pretending otherwise? “She is my…”

“Yes?” Fiona demanded when I trailed away. “What is she, Lach?”

I clamped my mouth shut. The first time I said those words wouldn’t be to anyone but Cate.

“You can’t even say it,” she accused.

“Fi,” Romy called as she appeared from the other room, light shimmering around her like an aura, as if her magic was preparing to intervene. “Let him go.”

She whirled on her. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Staying in New York won’t be any safer. Not anymore.” Romy turned a calculating stare on me. “It sounds like he made quite a scene.”

“ They made quite a scene,” I corrected her. The Wild Hunt had picked the fight; whether or not I’d been asking for it was a different story.

Romy ignored me. “People will have seen him. There are plenty of witches who would rat you out to the Hunt in this city. You should leave.”

“Will you?” I asked her.

“Enough,” Fiona interrupted us. “No, she will not.” She glared at Romy to solidify that it was not up for negotiation. There might be bad blood between us, but we still shared it. My sister and I had never had an easy relationship. We’d both gotten the lion’s share of our mother’s temper. But family was family. “She’s not wrong, though. Magic is awake here. The witches are no longer confined to old spells and parlor tricks. They have their power back, and they aren’t afraid to use it, especially if they think you’re a threat.”

This was no surprise. There’d been very little love between other creatures and our kind before the curse that had stifled their magic. When fae had retained their own magic, it had shifted the power dynamic in our favor. Now?

“I’ve never done anything to them,” I said coolly.

“You’ve never done anything for us, either.” Romy crossed her arms and glared. “Fae treat other creatures like second-class citizens in their cities.”

“I don’t have time for this.” I started to turn away from them. She could prosecute this agenda on her time. I had plenty of my own things to worry about.

“Wait,” Fiona called. “I can’t let you do this.” Something flickered beneath her resolve. The flush of anger drained, leaving her skin even paler than usual, and Romy moved beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“We shouldn’t fight,” Romy murmured.

But Fiona’s eyes stayed on me. It was only the second time I remembered my sister ever looking so worried. I hoped this time didn’t end like the first. “Wait until we hear from home. Ciara is working on something.”

“There was an uncharted eclipse in the city, according to my sister.” Romy nodded to confirm the theory. “That means powerful magic is being cast.”

“Just give it a few more days,” Fiona pleaded. “Give them time to find a solution.”

But even the thought of waiting deepened the gnawing uneasiness in my gut. We didn’t have time to wait. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try explaining,” she sniped back.

“I should never have dragged you into this,” I muttered.

My phone vibrated on the bed.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Fiona warned. “Why is it even on?”

“A necessary evil,” I said, ignoring her. The Wild Hunt had already traced me to New York. I answered it with a clipped, “Yes.”

“According to my pal Gideon, Bain is at the club right now,” Durant drawled on the other end of the line.

“Now?” I checked my watch. It was a little early to be starting the evening. The club would be less busy at this hour—less potential for innocent people getting caught in the crossfire.

And likely a trap.

Durant continued. “He went up to the VIP floor with a brunette. In the back, up the staircase. He’s got a crew of vampires on.”

A brunette. Definitely a trap. Bain was dangling Cate like bait. Adrenaline coursed through me, gathering into a tight knot in my chest. “I owe you.”

“I’ll remember that.” Durant sounded pleased.

I hung up on his ominous promise and turned back to the bed.

“You can’t go after him alone.”

Of course Fiona had heard every word. She studied the cache before us and then plucked a semiautomatic from the pile. Turning it over in her hands, she sighed. “We should wait for Roark.”

“We?” Maybe she wasn’t a pacifist after all. Romy caught my gaze over her shoulder. She and I might not see eye to eye, but we could agree on this. “ You aren’t getting mixed up in this.”

“I’m already mixed up in this.”

I shook my head, tucking a Beretta into my waistband before reaching for my regular double holster. “I’m going after an heir in his own court.”

“No.” She took a step forward like she might physically stop me. “Bain won’t invite you to the Infernal Court.”

But that wasn’t my plan. “I don’t need an invitation to enter London.”

“The second you step one foot into that city, you’re a dead man.”

“And I’m taking Bain down with me. If he goes, anyone who comes with me will find themselves marked for the Hunt, too. I can’t let that happen.”

“Why do you need all these weapons?” she demanded.

The weapons weren’t for me. At least not all of them. I shoved a grenade into my pocket along with a few more loaded magazines. “Fallout.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Lach—”

“Keep them. Just in case.”

“You can’t honestly think that you’re going to survive,” she murmured.

I forced a smirk that felt as empty as the hole in my chest. “Bad pennies always turn up.”

“I can’t let you go alone.”

My gaze flicked to Romy, and she nodded ever so slightly as she began to whisper under her breath. I checked the clips on my 9-millimeters before sliding them into my holster. “I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my mess to clean up.”

“You think you can stop me?”

“No,” I admitted, stepping forward and kissing her forehead. “But she can.”

Romy’s chant grew louder, and Fiona tried to lunge but found herself frozen in place.

“At least wait for Roark,” she screamed at me between curses.

But I was already gone.

Stepping foot in London—into fae territory—was like triggering the countdown on a bomb. Even without nipping directly inside, the moment I appeared outside the nightclub poised over the entrance of the Infernal Court, the clock began.

It didn’t look like much from the street. A brick warehouse repurposed into a nightclub. It had been a factory the last time I’d bothered to visit Bain on his turf. A velvet rope stretched the length of the sidewalk, and a handful of overeager humans waited to get inside. I studied the building a moment longer, my eyes flickering to the sign over the double doors.

Brimstone.

Time to walk into hell.

The bouncer looked me up and down as I approached, bypassing the line. His eyes darkened, narrowing on my human glamour, before going jet-black. Without Romy’s additional magic cloaking me, it would be easy for another fae to see past it. But he wasn’t fae. He was a vampire.

Gideon.

“I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to show your face here.” His hand hesitated on the clip holding the velvet rope. Behind me, a few people in the line grumbled.

“My ignorance knows no bounds,” I promised him.

He scowled, glancing toward the crowd. “There are humans in there. If I let you inside, it’s my ass on the line.”

I glanced at the people waiting to get in and sighed. Time to kill two birds with one stone. Clear the queue and do Gideon a favor. It was going to be messy, and I didn’t really have time to waste. “We can’t have that. How about an alibi?” I pulled out a gun and shot him. He’d recover. Eventually. “Sorry.”

The street went silent for a split second before someone screamed. Panic erupted around me, some people dropping to the ground, others running. Everyone eager to get as far away as they could. The cops would take their time when the reports started coming in, not wanting to interfere in Bain’s business.

I stepped over the vampire’s body and proceeded into the club. At the early hour, it was still half empty, but the low, pulsing music had smothered the gunfire. No one looked up as I made my way across the dance floor toward a hallway lined with gold torchères lit to look like the flames of the underworld.

But while the humans hadn’t heard the gunshot, security had.

Two more vampires appeared, temporarily dazed as I dropped my human glamour. They hesitated when they saw I was fae, and I gave each an apologetic smile before I took them out with quick, clean shots. The room seemed to freeze, only the pulsating beat of the music continuing, before the partiers scattered like startled birds, rushing toward exits or taking cover behind tables and pillars. The tang of fear rose above the smells of sweat and liquor as I strode toward the back of the house and the stairs that led to the VIP floor.

A guard, this one fae, stepped into my path, and I leveled the 9-millimeter at him. He hesitated—unlike the vamps, he wouldn’t recover from a direct hit with an iron slug. So I made the choice easy for him as I took a step closer. “Your prince will want the pleasure of killing me himself.”

Then I dropped my gun.

He grabbed me by the elbow. I didn’t fight it. He’d kept Cate alive, which meant he didn’t want to kill her. The whole point was to get inside and make Bain an offer he couldn’t refuse: the chance to put a bullet between the eyes of the man responsible for killing his penumbra.

It’s what I would do for Roark.

All he had to do was let her go. Nip her back to New Orleans, back to Ciara and the others. One last bargain to save her life.

The guard hustled me inside the room, patting me down until he’d relieved me of my weapons, including the grenade in my pocket. He shoved me to the ground before a red leather couch and deposited the grenade on the table next to his boss.

“You brought a fucking grenade?” Frost coated Bain’s voice.

I pushed to my feet, dusting off my slacks, and turned to face the prince of the Infernal Court and the terrified woman perched on his lap.

A woman who was not Cate.

She blinked in surprise as Bain deposited her onto her feet. “Go get a bottle of champagne.”

Her eyes lingered on the grenade before she scurried off. I stared after her.

Not Cate.

A few more guards stepped closer, but Bain held up a hand to stop them. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Where’s Cate?” I snarled as my rapidly fraying control snapped.

“How should I know?” He shifted, crossing his legs, and reached for a rocks glass on the table beside him. “Where’s my penumbra’s body?”

“In the bayou.” I glanced around the room, numbly noting the half dozen guards surrounding me.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, his blue eyes chips of ice. “Is that what this is about? Her?”

“MacAlister tried to kill her, and when he failed, you took her,” I accused. He had to have her. His penumbra had tried to kill her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gage.” He drained his glass before depositing it on the table. He stood, peeling off his jacket, and began rolling up his sleeves. “But I can’t let you walk out of this room. Blood spilled and all.” I glanced at the guards surrounding us, but Bain shook his head and wagged a finger at me. “This is between the two of us…for now.”

He didn’t have Cate. There was no bargain to be made. I wouldn’t walk away from this club alive.

There was only one thing to do. I slipped out of my own jacket and smiled grimly at him. “I’ve always wanted to kick your ass.”