As Conall slowed the rental car to a stop, Kiyo scowled at their surroundings. The neighborhood was one big dumpster fire. Between buildings was garbage and piles of discarded junk. Old, stained mattresses were stacked next to an ancient, rusted-out washing machine, flanked by rotten pallets and black garbage bags long decimated by vermin.
The buildings themselves were old and run-down. Some were covered in graffiti. Washing hung out of the windows of apartments on the upper floors while plywood had been nailed across windows on the lower floors.
It was the exact kind of place he’d choose to hide out if he’d, say, kidnapped a fae woman or was planning on hurting someone. What was Niamh doing? His gut knotted.
“This car might not sit here too long,” Kiyo observed grimly, trying to hide his anxiety.
“Aye.” Conall shot Kiyo an equally grim look. “This is a side of Paris I’ve never seen before.”
“Every city has places like this. No matter how beautiful the rest of it is.”
“Even the Highlands has places like this,” Conall agreed as he pushed open the driver’s-side door. “If the world existed as a wolf pack does, wealth would be distributed equally, and no place on earth would look or feel like this.”
If he wasn’t so concerned about tracking down Niamh, Kiyo might have smirked at the wolf’s idealism. Conall had apparently inherited it from his grandfather who could wax lyrical for hours on the advantages of pack life. And Kiyo had to admit, one of the things he’d admired most about Clan MacLennan and its chief was that everyone within the pack was provided with a pack stipend. No one would ever go without in their pack.
Following Conall out onto the sidewalk, Kiyo caught sight of two men farther down the street, leaning against an apartment building, staring at them. Or at the car.
He stared defiantly back, emitting as much alpha energy as he could and watched in satisfaction as the two men not only averted their gaze but hurried away in the opposite direction.
“You’d make quite the leader if you ever fancied creating your own pack,” Conall said.
He turned to find Conall watching him with a glint of admiration. Kiyo cocked an eyebrow.
“Your energy,” Conall explained. “I didn’t expect it, and it almost took me to my knees.”
“But didn’t.”
The Scot grinned. “Not once I fought it off with my own.”
He gave him a distracted nod. “Where is Niamh?”
Conall’s smile disappeared. He lifted his chin toward the building behind him. The one with the mattresses and other used shit spilled out on its “lawn.” They hurried toward it and found the entrance system broken. The building door swung open easily.
“Up here,” Conall said in a low voice.
Kiyo had to admit, he was envious of Conall’s tracking ability. It guided them to an apartment door on the third floor. Kiyo knew it was accurate because he could smell Niamh. He smelled that spicy-sweet scent of hers in the tight, graffiti-covered stairwell, and it grew stronger the closer they got to the apartment.
Something like nervousness twisted his gut, which made as much sense as his anxiousness. Kiyo was never nervous or anxious.
What the hell was happening to him?
And what the hell was happening to Niamh?
His urgency and worry overpowered that twist in his gut, and he grabbed the door handle and yanked until it broke. He and Conall moved into the apartment at speed and came to an abrupt halt at what they found in the small space.
Kiyo stared at Niamh, vaguely aware of Conall closing the apartment door behind them.
Niamh was huddled in the corner of the sparsely furnished room, her arms tight around her knees. Her cheeks were pale and tear streaked, her eyes huge in her face and filled with the kind of grief and pain that cut through Kiyo like a katana.
“Kiyo.” Conall’s voice stopped him just before he moved to go to her.
He glanced back at the alpha. Conall gestured to the wall adjacent.
Kiyo followed his gaze and found a small blond woman. Her back was pressed against the wall, her own face saturated with fear. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the gold rings that encircled the blond’s wrists and ankles. He’d never seen anything like it. The rings were made from light. Golden light.
Fae magic.
His eyes flew to Niamh. “Who is she?”
Niamh shook her head in despair.
He took a tentative step toward her. “Did you do that? The magical restraints?”
She nodded slowly.
Kiyo looked back at Conall who stayed where he was, guarding the exit. “Have you seen anything like that?”
“The restraints? No.” He shook his head, his attention moving to Niamh. “My mate had no idea what she was, had barely tapped into her potential before the change. It seems Niamh has had more practice.”
Niamh looked at Conall but immediately refocused on Kiyo.
He took another step toward her. “Who is the woman?”
Her haunted eyes filled with fresh tears, and Kiyo was done. He hurried across the room and lowered himself in front of her.
“Niamh,” he said, his voice soft, coaxing. “Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”
“She”—the word croaked and cracked, causing Niamh to swallow hard and try again—“Meghan … Her coven killed my brother.”
This was vengeance.
“I thought they were all dead.” Her grief-stricken gaze moved toward the woman behind him. “But that night at the hotel in Kalmar, I had a vision of her. Alive. Here in Paris.” She looked back at Kiyo, seeming to plead with him. “All those visions of bad people, all the justice I mete out. How could I ignore this one when it’s the most important?”
He lowered a knee to the floor and moved closer, his hand covering hers as it rested on her knee. “Then why is she still alive? And why are you balled up in a corner like this?”
“I’m taking my time,” she said in an almost comically petulant tone.
“You’re procrastinating.”
“I’m going to do it. Ronan deserves justice.”
His hand tightened over hers. “This isn’t justice, Niamh. This is vengeance. Trust me. I know the difference.”
“Whatever word you want to give it, I owe this to my brother.”
Kiyo recognized guilt when he saw it. “You’re not to blame for Ronan’s death.”
The surrounding air crackled dangerously.
“Kiyo,” Conall warned.
Niamh glared at him. “I never said I was.”
Denial.
Great.
“Niamh. Let the witch go, and you and I can get the hell out of this shithole.”
Her eyes lowered and she shook her head.
Frustration churned in his gut.
“Kiyo …” Conall’s voice came at him again.
And this time he understood why. The alpha’s words of wisdom regarding trust filtered through his mind. With a heavy sigh of discomfort, Kiyo moved to sit beside Niamh, his back pressed against the wall, the side of his body touching hers. He looked at her profile, taking in the pert nose that turned up a little at the end, the wide cheekbones, and the spiky, long lashes wet with tears.
Something tightened in his chest.
Agitation thrummed through him, but he called on the self-control he took much pride in and cleared his throat. He had a job to do and apparently making himself vulnerable was going to be part of that job.
“You don’t want to do this, Niamh. I told you before that deciding who lives and dies is too big a judgment to lay on your shoulders. It’s not up to you, and it shouldn’t be.”
She stiffened next to him but he pushed on. “It’s not who you are. There’s too much darkness in it. The line has been blurred between vengeance and justice in everything you’ve been doing these last few months. But this”—he gestured to the witch—“this is vengeance, pure and simple.”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”
“Your soul matters,” he said gruffly.
Her head whipped toward him, her eyes wide with surprise.
“You told me I should be grateful that your greatest gift was your kindness, your compassion. What you really meant was that I should be grateful your humanity was your greatest gift.”
Niamh’s beautiful eyes glistened once more.
He wanted to reach out and catch the tear that escaped but instead, he clenched his hand into a fist and held back. “You were right about me,” he confessed. “I’m more than I seem. I’m …” He exhaled slowly, disbelieving he was going to say the words out loud when he never had before. “I’m immortal.”
She seemed surprised, but he didn’t know if it was the nature of the confession or the confession itself.
“I was born in Osaka in the winter of 1872.”
Her eyes searched his face, curiosity bright in them.
“I’ve lived a long time, Niamh, and I personally understand vengeance.” He ducked his head toward her, inhaling her scent, and his fist unfurled with a life of its own. He found himself cradling her face with his hand, sweeping his thumb down her cheek in a tender gesture he didn’t know he still had in him. “Trust me when I tell you that once you have your vengeance … there’s nothing but emptiness at the end of it. It took everything from me. I don’t want that for you.”
Fresh tears spilled down her freckled cheeks as she wrapped her hand around his wrist and squeezed gently. “Okay,” she whispered.
Relief moved through him. She capitulated so quickly that he knew she was just waiting for someone to talk her down. This wasn’t who she was. He stroked her cheek one last time and then moved to stand, pulling her up with him. He studied her as she seemed to gather herself, throwing her shoulders back as she turned to look at the witch.
Conall gave him a nod of respect, which he appreciated considering how goddamn exposed he felt right then.
Then Niamh flicked her wrist and the golden light encircling the witch’s wrists and ankles disappeared.
“It wasn’t me,” Meghan said, her eyes wild. “It wasn’t us. She made us do it.”
Ignoring the witch’s stressed babbling, Kiyo turned to Niamh. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I don’t think I know what the right thing is anymore, and that scares me. It should scare everyone.”
“I’m not afraid,” he promised her. “Everyone, no matter how good they are, can be taken to the edge of darkness. Pain has a way of doing that. But you’ll never cross that line, Niamh. It’s not who you are.”
“You’re so sure?”
“I know dark when I see it. You’re not it.”
A groan of agony caused the hair to rise on the back of Kiyo’s neck, and he and Niamh jerked toward Conall, who had fallen to one knee, his hand clutching his chest. His eyes flew to Meghan, whose whole being seemed to crackle with electricity.
Something like fear for Conall flooded him, and he crossed the room to protect him just as the silvery gray weapon appeared in the witch’s hand.
A dagger.
An iron dagger.
His gaze flew back to Niamh, who seemed momentarily paralyzed with shock at the sudden turn of events.
The dagger flew across the room, crackling with magic as it headed directly toward Niamh’s heart.
A roar of outrage escaped him as he sped back toward Niamh, a blur of movement as he threw himself in front of her. Pain blazed through his chest, taking his feet out from under him.
The iron dagger was embedded in his heart.
Niamh gaped in horror at the sight of Kiyo falling to the floor with the dagger lodged in his chest. Fury at the witch and at herself for stalling burned within her as she felt her eyes bleed gold.
Meghan paled but reached out a hand toward Conall, the magic sparking the air as she tried to use him as her coven had used Ronan.
As Niamh moved toward Meghan, Conall bellowed at Niamh to see to Kiyo just as Conall transformed into a black wolf. He lunged at the witch. Stunned, Niamh could only stare for a second. She had never seen a wolf transform that fast before. As his wide jaw opened, his sharp teeth glittering in the dull light of the apartment, Niamh fell to her knees to help Kiyo.
She flinched, feeling somewhat sick at the sound of Conall tearing apart their foe, screaming in torment. Niamh ignored it and turned Kiyo gently onto his back.
He hissed, his handsome face contorted with pain. “Just … yank … it out.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
Trusting him, Niamh conjured thick gloves to cover her hands. She then wrapped them around the dagger’s hilt and shuddered as a feeling of utter lethargy crawled through her. Fighting the sensation, she gave the dagger an abrupt, quick jerk.
Kiyo convulsed, falling to his side to vomit up blood.
“Kiyo!” she cried in fright. Perhaps being immortal didn’t mean he couldn’t be killed like her. Maybe it was just a spell of long life, not invincibility. “The dagger.” Her hands shook as she brought it to her wrist. “My blood can heal you.”
He turned with a fierce abruptness that surprised her, wrapping his hand around her wrist that held the dagger. His lips and chin were smeared with blood. “Don’t,” he choked out. “I’m healing, I’m healing. Don’t.”
Reassured he would be okay, Niamh discarded the dagger and the gloves, using her magic to send them away from her.
“He’s all right?” The deep voice brought her head from studying Kiyo whose color was returning by the second.
Niamh stared at the huge werewolf that towered over them and almost blushed. He was naked. Her eyes moved behind him to where his clothes were tattered across the room. Her gaze snagged on a limp female hand.
“Dinnae look.” Conall caught her chin and pulled her head up gently to meet his eyes. “I’m afraid the pain she inflicted caused me to lose control over the wolf for a few moments.” Remorse flickered across his face.
Niamh gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do to protect us.”
He nodded grimly, and Niamh became all too aware again of his nakedness.
Lucky, lucky Thea.
However, sensing Thea wouldn’t be happy at the thought of her mate flaunting his rather impressively beautiful body in front of another female, Niamh flourished a hand in his direction and clothed him.
He jerked in surprise to find himself fully outfitted in a T-shirt, jeans, and boots that fit perfectly. He threw Niamh a bemused look.
“Sorry. Should have warned you,” Niamh said wryly.
Conall let out a weary, bitter laugh.
Niamh didn’t know him well, but she could tell he was extremely upset about Meghan.
“I’m sorry,” she said and then looked at Kiyo as he pulled himself up to sit. Guilt irritated her. When she’d left, Kiyo had obviously contacted Bran or Fionn who had put him in touch with Conall. With the alpha’s tracking gift, it was no wonder Kiyo had found her so quickly. “I’m sorry for putting you both in this position.”
“It’s my job,” Kiyo reminded her.
She glanced down at the slice in his shirt.
He’d thrown himself in front of her to save her life.
Niamh didn’t know what to do with that.
She just knew she needed to start trusting him.
Even if she was just a job.
Conall helped Kiyo to his feet and then held out a hand to her. She took it, letting the alpha pull her up. “Because of you, Thea trusted me. And Rose trusted Fionn. We owe you for that.”
“You didn’t owe me.” She shook her head. “But if you did, the debt is paid. I’m sorry, Conall.”
“Dinnae be sorry. My debt to you will never be repaid.”
Niamh felt a pang of envy. She wondered what it was like to be loved as Conall loved Thea.
“And better the witch than you or I.” His piercing gray eyes turned cold with determination, and Niamh realized he’d compartmentalized what happened. This was an alpha who allowed himself only a moment to grieve before moving on.
And he was right.
He’d done what he had to, to protect them.
Niamh held out a hand to him to shake. As soon as he settled his large hand in hers, energy shot from him and into her. Images slammed into her mind, forcing her head back in a jolt of sharp pain.
“Niamh!” She heard Kiyo yell but the images took over.
Warmth flooded through the pain as emotions, beautiful emotions of adoration and protection and laughter, filled her. Years of happiness and family and safety and inclusion. Thousands of days of love that if bottled could change the world for the better.
Quite abruptly, they stopped. Her eyes flew open and she found Conall holding tight to her hand while Kiyo’s front was pressed against her back as he held on to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked gruffly, his breath hot on her ear.
She shivered at the feel and scent of him surrounding her but nodded, her eyes locked on Conall’s.
“Congratulations,” she offered.
Conall frowned.
She squeezed his hand. “Thea’s pregnant.”
His expression hardened. “You saw?”
Niamh gave him a soft smile. “I saw. I saw much.” Tears of happiness for Thea filled her eyes. “You have a beautiful future to look forward to, Alpha MacLennan. Such a beautiful future as I’ve never seen before.”
Kiyo’s hold on her eased as Conall’s features slackened with surprise … and then gratitude.