Page 39

C orban hurt. His injured leg throbbed, and his head pounded in time.

He’d tried again to heal his thigh, but his quartz had been pushed too hard. He’d have to heal the old-fashioned way, which was too damned slow. Every hour he was incapacitated was another hour that Adric had to track him.

Morning came. He couldn’t see the sunrise, but he noted it with a fada’s internal clock.

He got up to pee and downed several cups of water before curling up in the blankets again.

The day passed with agonizing slowness. He was hungry, but all he had to eat were a couple of nutrient bars he’d brought from Iceland.

He rationed them out—one in the morning, one that evening—and ignored his hollow stomach.

He considered calling one of his brothers, but he was wary of letting even them know his location. Kane could be trusted, but Nash was Adric’s man now. And even if they didn’t betray him, they might inadvertently lead someone to his lair.

No, it was safer to remain incommunicado.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll go out hunting. The park had rabbits and other small mammals. His wolf salivated hungrily.

Outside, night fell. He forced himself to move his injured leg. The pain made his chest seize, but it was getting better.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to exercise the torn hamstring: stretching it, bending the knee.

Midnight came and went. He wrapped himself in a blanket and dozed, tormented by fevered dreams. Nika, furious that he’d left her behind to face the music. His father telling him what a weak excuse for a man he was.

But the worst were the black shadows that slithered out of the walls to wind chill fingers around his limbs. His nostrils twitched. Metal and decay.

He jerked awake to find Tyrus staring down at him.

The night fae lord was dressed in black from his overpriced duster to his handmade leather shoes. Tall and thin, he loomed over Corban like an elegant crow, his eyes dark coals in his pale face.

“Get up.” He planted his toe in Corban’s ribs.

Corban had already thrown off the blanket. He rose to his feet, ignoring the pain that stabbed through his leg. Never let them see that you’re weak.

Even standing, he had to look up. He was tall for an earth fada, but the night fae had a good six inches on him.

“Jones is still alive.” Tyrus’s tone was icy with scorn. “And Adric took your woman prisoner. What the fuck am I paying you for?”

“Kill him yourself then,” Corban snarled. “Your assassin failed, too.”

Tyrus struck. Long white fingers wrapped around Corban’s throat, rattlesnake-fast. “You dare argue with me, fada?” He gave Corban a shake.

Corban growled. His claws slid out and he took a swipe at Tyrus, but the night fae grabbed his wrist and shoved him back against the wall.

Stunned, Corban stared at Tyrus. The man must have the Gift of wayfaring. Only a fae who could move at an inhuman speed could’ve evaded a fada so easily.

Fear coated his insides.

Tyrus held Corban pinned against the wall. His gaze snagged Corban’s. He froze, ensnared by the unholy red flicker in the night fae’s pupils.

Energy hummed over Corban’s skin—cold and black as the slithering shadows of his nightmare. His bowels iced.

“No,” he said, but the sound was swallowed in the darkness.

The energy increased, braiding itself into ropes. One rope twined around his skull, while a second spiraled around his chest and a third licked up his injured leg.

Blackness. Endless as a nightmare. He was small, helpless, cowering before his father.

“Stupid cub.” A hand clouted him in the head. His ears rang. A single tear slid down his cheek, and his father hit him again, disgusted.

“Stop your blubbering, you little coward.”

Corban tried, but the tears wouldn’t dry up. They ran down his cheeks, hot and damning.

The blows fell again and again, until Corban’s face was on fire and he was woozy with pain. They didn’t stop until Corban forced the tears down into somewhere so deep and tightly guarded, they never escaped again.

The rope around Corban’s chest constricted. Panic clawed at him. He was forced to take short, shallow breaths, unable to fill his lungs.

“I own you,” Tyrus said, soft and cold. “We have a contract.”

Despair washed over Corban. He fought the urge to turn his head and offer submission to the night fae in the way of his wolf.

But he’d been raised by a bastard. Despair and hopelessness were mother’s milk to Leron Savonett’s son.

Rage rose up in him. All the rage the sniveling little boy had had to hide. It blew away the despair, replacing it with a red-eyed fury. His head pounded, and his vision clouded.

His switchblade practically leapt into his hand. He released the blade with a snick and pressed it into Tyrus’s belly. “Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”

Surprise flashed over the other man’s face. He released Corban and took a step back, but his silent assault continued—only now, he was feeding off Corban’s anger.

Gods, the man was a sick fuck.

If only Corban had a blade of iron, he’d end this for good. A knife straight to Tyrus’s black heart. Because Tyrus’s death would serve Corban’s purpose almost as well as Jace Jones’ death. Prince Langdon would never believe the clan wasn’t behind the attack, and he’d be on Adric in a flash.

But without iron, Corban would only make Tyrus madder, and he needed Tyrus to get him to Jones and his pretty little human.

Jones was the key to the smartphone tech.

Remove him from the equation, and Adric would be back to the beginning.

And then Corban would wait until Adric showed up—and kill him as well.

With both Jones and Adric gone, Corban would be the strongest man in the clan. Nothing would stop him from taking over his rightful place as alpha. Some of the lieutenants might squawk, but they’d accept him—or die.

Corban took a fighter’s crouch, the knife loose and easy in his right hand. He knew his eyes were pure gold now, his wolf running the show. And with the wolf came calm.

The dark ropes of energy loosened. He sensed Tyrus’ confusion.

“Enough,” Corban gritted. He might not be able to kill a fae with a steel blade, but he could hurt the man.

The fire in Tyrus’s eyes faded. “You’re stronger than I believed.” He tilted his head, scrutinizing Corban as if he were an interesting problem.

“So this was a fucking test?” Corban remained in the crouch.

“A test?” The night fae lifted a brow. “No. But you’ve proved you can still be of use to me. Come here.” He beckoned with a single long, sharp-nailed finger.

“Why?” he returned without moving.

Tyrus pressed his lips together. “I can heal you. Then I’ll take you to the jaguar’s lair.”

“Jones? He has a look-away spell concealing the entrance.” Corban knew approximately where Jones lived, but the spell kept him from determining its actual location.

“A child could break that spell. Now come.”

Corban stared at him for another moment, and then nodded. What did he have to lose?

He crossed the few steps between them. The night fae set his hand on Corban’s chest, and muttered a few words in an arcane fae language.

Corban’s entire thigh lit up with an eerie blue flame. Pain seared through him. A shriek escaped his lips. He cursed and shoved Tyrus away, and then fell to the dirt floor where he curled up in agony and waited to die.

And then the blue flame was gone as abruptly as it had appeared.

Corban dragged in a breath. Then another. When his body stopped quivering, he sat up, panting softly. His hand went to the back of his thigh. He froze, and then twisted so that he could see the back of his leg. The ugly gash was gone, the scar rapidly closing over.

Tyrus was already moving up the ladder. “Come. Dawn is only a couple of hours away.”

Corban took a cautious step. The pain was completely gone and he could move with ease. He released one last breath and then pulled himself up the ladder after Tyrus. At the surface, Tyrus strode into the woods without looking back, confident Corban would follow.

Corban paused to tap his quartz. It was time to call in the only man he still trusted in Baltimore: his middle brother, Kane.

Born a year apart, he and Kane had formed an alliance against their dad.

When their youngest brother Nash came along four years later, they’d protected him as best they could.

Maybe that had been a mistake, because Nash had grown up weaker because of it—he was firmly in Adric’s camp.

But Kane had stuck by Corban, supporting his bid to be alpha until Adric had won the challenge and forced both brothers to swear allegiance to him or die. It wasn’t an easy thing for a fada to break such a vow, but it could be done if you were determined enough.

Still, the effort had made Corban violently ill for a month, especially since he’d smashed his quartz at the same time. But he’d had a new quartz ready and he’d holed up in a cave in the Himalayas until he’d recovered.

“What in Hades is going on?” Kane hissed into the phone now. “The alpha has everyone out looking for you.”

“Fuck that. Are you still with me?”

There was a fraught silence, and then his brother expelled a breath. “Of course. But—”

Corban named an intersection near Jace Jones’s den. “Meet me there now.”

His brother understood immediately. “You have a way to get past the look-away spell?”

“Yeah.”

“It still won’t work. He’s got a den full of soldiers.”

Corban glanced after Tyrus, who had disappeared in the woods. “I have a night fae with me. Lord T.”

“So it’s true. You’re working with the fae.” Kane’s tone was gruff with disapproval.

“For now.” Sometimes you had to deal with the devil if you wanted to win. “You in?”

Kane bit out a curse. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”