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Rhodri
I don’t want Maewen to be bait for my mother. I cannot bear the thought of Rhiannon’s dark evil sucking the life out of Mae and draining her dry. And yet, if the plan goes wrong, that is exactly what might happen. I know the plan makes sense, but it is hard to trust in it completely, when the stakes are so high if we lose.
That is assuming, of course, that Tarrien will be able to contact his father and convince him that he is, in fact, struggling to protect at least one additional banshee.
I meant what I said to Maewen about being part of her team. If we do manage to lure out Targon or my mother, there are any number of things that could go wrong. If either of them somehow slip through SUDAP’s clutches, I have as much chance as anyone of distracting them and holding their attention while others swoop in to secure them.
In the meantime, all I can do is return to Faerie and speak to my father about raising the full winter army. In theory, I will ask his permission, but the reality is more complicated than that, given his poor health. Regardless, I will ready the army for war, just in case.
The plan is rather frustratingly nebulous and up in the air at present, and dependent on Tarrien to initiate the contact—which is why I planted the small tracking device and microphone in the collar of Maewen’s shirt. She may or may not still have that shirt on, when everything kicks off, but it was the only thing I could think of in the short time we spent in her office. At the very least, I can keep track of her over the next several hours. In that time, I can figure out something more long-term to try and keep her safe.
I cannot stop thinking about the sexy detective with her long, curvy body and the way she looked when she was mounted and riding my need.
The way her back arched so flexibly as she sank deep into her own arousal. The way her mouth dropped half-open and her eyes drifted closed as her channel muscles tightened and clenched around me. The delicate mewling sound that erupted from her throat at the moment of her climax.
My organ hardens every time I am near her. My mind fills with thoughts of what it might be like if we both choose consciously to make love with each other, enjoying the desire and the building need without the specter of her nightmares—or her need to forget—hanging over us.
Sex with Maewen was fleeting and she clearly used me to assuage her inner demons. It should have been passably enjoyable, nothing more, given the reason behind it. And yet, the experience was so much more than I expected. I believe it may have been the same for her.
What would it be like, if I chose to seduce Mae the way I think she should be seduced? In a manner that is slow and decadent and filled with every pleasure I can imagine? Will she allow herself to fully enjoy it, instead of remaining tense and filled with unspoken worry? Will she truly be able to let go and simply enjoy whatever this is, between us?
I can’t stop my imagination from heading down dangerous and unchartered paths, whenever it comes to Maewen. Not even now, when I am back home in the winter palace and awaiting an audience with the king. When I arrived, I was informed that this is a rare good day, when Tryppton is actually in possession of most of his faculties and is receiving visitors in the throne room.
I shift uncomfortably, trying to tamp down thoughts of Maewen. It is not seemly, for the Winter Prince, to walk into the throne room while daydreaming about a girl. Especially not if the king is back to his old self. I need to concentrate.
When I am finally granted an audience, the courtiers already in the room part to allow me passage. I approach the throne and bend a knee, bowing my head. Even the heir apparent must adhere to protocol.
“Father.” I remain kneeling until the king indicates I may rise.
“Son. What further news have you, from the mortal realm? What news...um...err...” He clears his throat, his expression eager and somehow sad. We both know he’s asking about Mother.
We both know he doesn’t want to hear the truth.
I shake my head slightly and the king visibly relaxes, slumping back a little on the throne.
His demeanor is vastly improved from the last time I left him, staring vacantly at the winterberries and imagining them as droplets of blood. But I can see the effort it is taking to hold himself upright on the throne, and the faint tremor in his hands clutching the chair arms. The threat of his mind retreating to somewhere else hovers on the edge of my awareness.
Father is not okay, even if he gives the opposite impression to most of the courtiers in this room.
“There has been an escalation in the attacks on humans, Father. I am working with the human police division, SUDAP, to follow a number of leads.”
“You? A prince of the Winter fae, working with humans? Is that seemly, Rhodri? You are heir to the throne. This throne.” Tryppton smashes one of his hands down on the arm of the chair, before patting it as if he didn’t mean to be so forceful. He gives a small, embarrassed-sounding cough. “You need to ensure you behave in a manner suitable to your stature, son.”
“Of course, Sire.” I lower my gaze briefly, so he can’t read the accusation in my expression. If it wasn’t for his lack of action in relation to Rhiannon and Targon, there would likely be a whole lot of beings still alive today. I grind my teeth together, until I manage to rein in my temper.
“Last time we spoke, you requested permission to mobilize some of the winter warriors.”
If he remembers that conversation, then he knows I didn’t request permission. He also knows I won’t embarrass him with a denial in front of everyone here.
I raise my head and narrow my eyes at him. “I remember. I have already done so, in readiness. Sire.”
The air cools around me as a sub-zero frost descends. Everyone in the throne room stills, as if they can sense the tension between father and son.
“In readiness for what?” My father’s voice drips with ice, a reminder that he may be physically and mentally absent most of the time, but he is still King of the Winter Court of Faerie.
Well, I am the prince of that same court. I am the heir, as he just pointed out. I stare hard at him. Humans may think I am old at four hundred and thirty-five years, but in fae terms that is still relatively young. Right now, I feel like a human sixteen-year-old standing up to my parent for the first time, and I do not like that feeling at all. I might be young, but I am not that young.
I have had enough.
“In readiness to stop the deaths, Father. To end this decades-long issue that is taking life after innocent life. Don’t you care? Don’t you want to end this, as I do? You were the one who signed the Accord, on behalf of our people. You were the one who agreed that we should all live in harmony, no matter what species or realm we hail from. No matter where we live, whether we hold magic in our veins or not. You were the one who taught me, when I was young, that we should hold no hatred in our hearts for those different to ourselves. What happened to that sentiment, Father? What happened? Your detachment is the equivalent of condoning such behavior. Just because she—”
“Enough!” My father’s roar reverberates through the room so loudly that some of the ever-present icicles drop from the ceiling to spear the floor. Luckily, no one is injured by the falling debris. Guards rush in to the room, swords and spears at the ready, until Father waves them away with a suddenly weary hand.
“Don’t mention her again in this realm. Ever.”
I incline my head, hearing the tremble in his voice. Pain for what was, and for what might have been, grows in my heart. He is done. I see it. They all see it.
“All right, Father. Not while you remain on the throne.”
He rises, and instantly, he transforms into the old and careworn man I saw on my previous visit in the palace garden. Gray strands pepper his dark hair, and his movements are slow and arduous as he steps down from the dais and shuffles across the floor to stand in front of me. He was always taller than me, by at least a head, but now, I realize I have to look down to meet his gaze.
My immortal royal father—my king—is an old and doddery man. Standing beside him like this, seems to highlight that fact to everyone standing around watching, and it seems wrong. Disrespectful. I hunch a little, trying to become smaller.
He smiles at me, a sad, tremulous parody of a smile, and pats me on the arm.
“You don’t need my permission, anymore. We both know that.” He slants a glance around the room. “They all know it, too. You said you would do what you had to do.”
So, he remembers that part of our previous conversation, as well.
“I did. And I will.”
His eyes close briefly.
“I know, son. You have the strength for it. More than I ever had. More than I ever will. I bid you farewell, Rho. And take care. The darkness in her was only a speck, in the beginning, just as it is in all of us. But in her, it grew. It grew so big, there was no room for the light. I don’t believe there is anything of her left now, at all.”
He gently squeezes my arm, and then shuffles past me. I turn and watch his departure, my heart hurting for so many reasons, and I do not move from my spot until well after everyone else has left the room.
***
Maewen
Midnight, and once again I’m only just leaving the office. I will have to break this habit, one day. I will have to get home early enough to watch the news on TV, or cook a proper meal for myself. Maybe read a book, like a normal person.
I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Surely it wasn’t all the way back to when I was a child, trying to manoeuvre through the Lord of the Rings in the library that day. Surely not...
God. I need to get home and get at least a little bit of sleep. Even filled with nightmares, some sleep is better than none.
I lock up the office and head downstairs and out of the building into the cool night air. I love the balminess of summer, but I have always preferred the cooler weather. Perhaps that is due to my banshee blood, with its roots in the Winter Court.
I raise my face and close my eyes, breathing in deep. Despite the city environment, Melbourne is still relatively pollution-free in comparison with many other parts of the world. There are myriad gardens around the city, and the bay, of course. Our office near the Docklands ensures a fresh water breeze, no matter what time of day or night. I love the cold bite of air on my skin, after a day spent hunched over the desk indoors.
A sound to my left has my eyes popping open and I swivel, looking for the source. What was that? It sounded like a low growl, and not from anyone’s pet dog, either.
The shadows morph into solidity as something spindly launches out of nowhere and knocks me sideways. I stagger and fall, my hand going to the pistol on my left hip even as I land awkwardly on my right side. The air whooshes out of my lungs and I instinctively roll. A set of teeth snap shut right where my head was a moment earlier.
Jesus, fuck. What is this creature? It looks like a mix between human and skeleton. How does it have so much strength? I launch upward from the ground onto my feet and crouch, facing it. An abomination?
It grins, displaying yellowed incisors, and the red eyes flare as it licks its lips.
A vampire. Only, not an ordinary one, if there is ever such a thing. No, this one has murder in its eyes, and death on its mind. And it isn’t about to take no for an answer.
“Smell. Good. Hybrid,” the creature says.
It sniffs the air and wipes a hand across its face. Spittle drips from one of the incisors and slowly stretches down before plopping to the ground.
I suppress a shudder.
“Yep, that’s me,” I answer, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. “Delicious hybrid blood. Why don’t you come get me, vamp?”
I gesture with the gun, inviting the creature in close, and its eyes follow my movements. The click of the lever on the side of the gun echoes in the night. I have just switched from standard to exploding bullets. Silver bullets, encased in an iron-lead mix, and at its core a tiny sliver of hawthorn wood specially treated to allow it to survive the heat of an explosion.
SUDAP is the only organization in Australia authorized to use the triple-ex brand, and it has saved me on more than one occasion.
I hope the vamp knows what that clicking sound means. I hope it begins to feel something of the fear that is coursing through my own veins at the prospect of violent death.
Which of us will succeed?
“How many have you killed, abomination?” My heart might be pounding super-fast, but I can’t afford to show any terror in front of this creature. Fall apart later, I tell myself. Get through this now, and fall apart later.
“Kill. I kill many. Want. Now.”
The voice is warped, hardly distinguishable as words, but the intent is clear.
When the vamp launches at me, I shoot at it. The bullet hits the vamp in the throat. Blood, bone, and flesh explode everywhere as the bullet tears its target apart and takes the head right off its shoulders.
The headless body’s momentum continues to carry it forward until it lands smack-bang in the middle of my chest. I fall backward, hitting my head on the concrete pavement as the carcass collapses on top of me.
One down, but how many to go? Luc and Tarrien both mentioned the creatures hunt in pairs. So, there is at least one more. The thought flitters into my mind and then out again. A massive headache erupts. I realize I’ve come down hard on the sidewalk, hitting my head more forcefully than I thought. Am I okay? I feel...weird...dizzy...
Another growl erupts from the shadows, I push aside the dizziness and try to roll out from underneath the headless carcass. Despite its spindly build, I can’t move it off me quickly enough to avoid the other loup. I hear the creature’s growls increase in volume, and in my disorientated state I tangle in the dead vamp’s limbs.
When the second creature emerges into full view I am still struggling to get to my feet. I can’t seem to see straight.
The creature stands over me. Not a vamp this time, but instead a huge, misshapen shifter. A bear, perhaps? Hard to tell for sure in its half-form, and with my current double-vision, but the thick patches of fur and the tiny red eyes above a massive snout do not bode well for my future, no matter what type of shifter it is.
I give up trying to scrabble to my feet and instead sit back down on the pavement and aim the gun.
“Silver not kill me. Not fast enough.” It grins, a horrible stretched rictus of an expression, and I know it speaks the truth.
In a werebear shifter, silver will poison it, eventually, but not quickly enough. Same goes for the exploding bullet. It will do massive damage, but in a shifter this big, not enough, not unless I hit its heart directly. Not when it is already standing over me, ready to attack.
“We take you,” it says.
It reaches out its huge hand with massive talon claws and grabs me by the right arm. I try to pull away, but it tugs harder as it lopes away down the street, dragging me along in its wake. I am still holding the gun in my left hand, so I aim at its chest. I blink hard as my head bumps on the pavement and my vision blurs again. Stay strong. Stay awake. Stay with it long enough to kill.
My finger tightens on the trigger, but I never get the chance to finish the job. Instead, the shifter’s head suddenly parts company with its body and sails away through the air, disappearing from my view altogether. What the actual...
Rhodri? I catch a glimpse of the prince in full fae armor, wielding a huge sword that drips with blood. At the same moment, the shifter’s dead body crashes down on top of me. My ribs collapse in. I feel a sharp stab and an explosion of pain. Has one of the edges of bone punctured a lung? Breathing becomes difficult. Then impossible. I stop breathing, stop seeing, stop feeling, as everything swims into gray and then fades out into darkness.
