Page 24

Maurice

I don’t know what to say to that. It is not often I am lost for words; not that I am particularly verbose—well, unless I am compared to Vlad, I suppose—but I do not know how to answer Njáll.

He seems defeated, and yet the problem does not seem as extensive as all that. His loyalty to his vampires is stronger than I care for, but it is endearing, really, that he wants to look out for all of them.

Even some jumped-up little fuck who thinks he can come here and demand revenge.

Augustine is trouble but easily dealt with, and if it comes to it, I will do that myself. My hand was on my knife when he dared to slam his own down on Njáll’s desk—as though he somehow has the right to blame Njáll, who has been fighting for him to achieve the justice he wants.

Although he does not want justice at all. He is all angry darkness, and I can understand that, but he is old enough a vampire to have a sense of perspective.

“I confess, I do not truly understand what happened with the wolves,” I murmur because the silence around us is almost palpable. “I gather Quinn is fragile, but I do not know why they protect him the way they do.”

Njáll sighs heavily but does not open his eyes. “Tamesis was using fae blood,” he says, and my own blood runs cold. “He used it to manipulate the pack bonds. It’s all very… convoluted, but essentially, he took hold of their bonds and made them do certain things.”

“And Quinn? He was important to him?”

“Not at all,” Njáll says. “Not as far as I can tell. But Tamesis was working with other wolves who wanted to hurt Quinn, so he had him kill a vampire… Augustine’s lover, I suppose.”

“How old is he?”

“Augustine?”

“No. Quinn.”

Njáll shrugs. “Late twenties, I think. Kieran is…” He’s clearly trying to work it out, but I’m already shaking my head, though he can’t see.

“He’s so young,” I say, and Njáll finally opens his eyes, blinking at the light. “Even an alpha like Deacon would have trouble fighting that.”

“He did. Tamesis manipulated him the night Vasile first killed him. Tamesis had Deacon attack his own mate.”

I stare at him for a moment too long. Njáll lifts his head to look at me, and he frowns as he studies my face.

“You didn’t know that?” he asks.

“No. No, I…” I know Moreau was attacked.

He was already part of the Hunt then; all of us except Paxton and Grant were.

The Huntsman retrieved him, and we saw nothing of them for months.

The next I heard of Moreau was that he had appeared back in London in time for them to sign the treaty—his signature is on it, as far as I know.

I know, too, that Vasile and Deacon were there that night. Vasile killed Tamesis, his sire, and left him there to burn. He and Deacon… They were together, and then they did not speak again. At least as far as I knew back then. They were hardly my concern.

“I didn’t know,” I say faintly. Tamesis was not helped by any of the regular fae.

My blood—like any fae-blessed mage’s blood—can cause a vampire to feel intoxicated, and a lot taken over a short amount of time can give them strength, maybe improve their natural persuasive abilities.

A regular fae’s blood would give them more power than that.

But to manipulate bonds? Pack bonds? That is a different matter entirely.

A high fae helped him. Perhaps even someone of the royal line.

“I understand that Quinn was manipulated,” Njáll says. “And he’s young and scared. But he’s not without guilt. I think Augustine should settle for less than he wants, but I can’t blame him for being angry.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t understand about Quinn at all. He can’t . He doesn’t even understand the magnitude of what Tamesis did to Deacon, it seems like, because Deacon would have known his mate from the first instant, and his wolf would never have allowed Vasile to be hurt.

“You don’t understand,” I say, realising my error when Njáll’s expression sharpens, and he sits up. “I mean… That power. You haven’t felt it.”

“I felt some of it.”

“When?”

“When Tamesis took us.” The words are brittle, Njáll’s shoulders pulled taut. “He didn’t make us fight each other, but I could feel it, sometimes, like he was trying to do something to me.”

He probably stretched himself too thin, I don’t say, and I don’t reach for Njáll either, although I want to.

“I understand,” I reply, “but fae magic is powerful. You felt it last night, didn’t you? Imagine that , all that power, manipulating that young wolf. And I’m sure he was in no headspace to fight it, with all his pack being taken along with them.”

Njáll scowls into the distance but nods. “Yes, I… I suppose that makes sense.”

“It’s not about that, and I’m not saying you’re wrong to have empathy for Augustine.

” Although I don’t have much, myself. It is unfortunate that his lover was killed, but I am suspicious of his motives for appearing in the city now and coming to Njáll specifically.

Not to mention that, beyond a name, we have no indication of who this lover was.

He has neatly avoided the topic, and I am not certain that Njáll has noticed.

“But I have more for that poor wolf. Fae bonds are no joke, and that is what Tamesis did with that fae magic he stole—he turned the pack bonds into fae bonds and used those to do as he wanted.”

“Fae bonds?” Njáll frowns. “That’s what… I remember Vasile saying that’s what his guards had.”

Saide and Rook. None of us have heard from them still, and though deep down I am worried, I cannot afford to dwell on it. The Huntsman will deal with that matter.

“They did. They do. Theirs is a soulbond. Like the wolves’ mating bond, I gather, but stronger still.”

“There are other types of bonds?”

“Yes.” I lean forward and clasp my hands together.

“The fae use bonds for everything. Bonds for lovers, of course, but bonds of friendship, of family or brethren… Enemies can be bonded, in a way, if their enmity is strong enough. And bonds of service or by promise, too, which is why it would have been so dangerous for you to agree to chase those fae.”

Njáll blanches, and he is watching me again now, his too-pale eyes cataloguing every expression that crosses my face. “You’ve felt them?”

“I have been manipulated by them before,” I say. It is true. And I don’t want to get into how the Huntsman uses them now. He only had to use his words to bring me here, to remind me of my duty, but we all know he has more power than that.

Is that why Saide and Rook left? They are fae, and high fae at that, so they can better resist him than the rest of us, but he is still the strongest of us all.

“When? How?”

“Over the course of my work,” I say, waving a hand absently in his direction.

A sudden urge to share burns through me, to share something of myself that Njáll does not already know.

“I was born a witch, you see, in a town overshadowed by a vampire we all appeased. He wanted me, wanted the magic in my blood, even if it wasn’t fae and wouldn’t do much. ”

Njáll makes a quiet sound. He leans back on the sofa, curling his body ever so slightly towards mine.

“He made his intentions plain, and when the town cast me out in fear, he chased me and turned me and kept me as his own.”

“He should not—” Njáll growls, hands curling into fists, and I laugh faintly, running my fingers over his knuckles.

“He is long dead,” I say. “No offence to Vasile, of course, as I believe our situations were very different, but I ensured it before I left.”

That gets me a faint snort, and when Njáll relaxes his hands, I don’t pull mine away. We’re not holding hands, but our fingers faintly brush, every touch sending sparks shuddering up my arms.

“The Huntsman came to me not long after that. I tried to kill him, but he was far stronger, and he had an offer. He could give me the one thing I truly missed from life.”

“What was that?” Njáll whispers. He’s closer than he was before, but I don’t mind that.

“My magic.”

“The fae blessing doesn’t…?”

“It gives all of us some ability,” I say, “but mine is different. The others can manipulate the environment around them, glamour themselves, things like that, but I can still cast spells in much the way I used to.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

I can’t help my smile. “More than. As soon as my sire turned me, I thought that was it. I’d never get it back, and my magic was— is —the most important part of me. I owe the Huntsman a great debt.”

Njáll tips his head to one side, blinking slowly as he watches me. The tension has leeched out of him throughout our conversation, and this time when he moves his fingers, they catch mine.

“I’m sorry for all that happened to you,” he says.

From anyone else, the words would ring with pity, and I would have an answer for it. But sympathy? Empathy, even, because although he cannot fully understand what the loss of my magic meant to me, he was turned too, and he knows the change for what it is.

That is why I lean forward, shifting my hand so that our fingers are threaded together, palm pressed to palm. Njáll does not move back. He lets out a quiet, contented sigh, and when I kiss him, he sinks into me as though he wants to be nowhere else.