Facets of Feyrie Box Set, page 63
part #1 of Facets of Feyrie Series
“Let’s go,” I say, heading out the door. My instincts tell me Jameson’s time is limited, and it’s ticking down quickly. I’ve wasted enough, waiting. I refuse to be responsible for his death, not when I can stop it. I hand the folder to Adriem who inputs the address into his phone.
We get the wingless loaded up in a transport van and sent to the hotel where they can be picked up. Our drive will take significantly longer. The four-hour drive stretches on for eternity. No one is talking, a good thing because I’m not sure that small talk is something I’m capable of now. My mind is already ahead, hoping that we’ll find Jameson there.
That small hope is immediately dashed because the lights are all off, and the house is screaming abandoned. We’re too late. That doesn’t stop me from hopping out of the car and heading to the front door. It’s unlocked, but I fight the temptation to kick it anyhow and move farther into the house.
As I walk, my eyes scan over the refuse, and the broken furniture, the bits, and pieces of things people leave behind, scattered on the stained hardwood floors. I look everywhere downstairs for signs of Jameson. My nose is leading me upstairs, where the smell of blood is fresh enough that I can tell it’s his. There’s enough of it to cause me to pick my pace and take the trash-strewn stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs is a hallway and I slam each door open as I pass it, heading for the one on end. The smell is most potent from that direction.
For two breaths, I pause outside the door, dreading the fact that I might find him in there dead. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I open the door and find it empty except for a chair and a plastic-topped table in the center of the room. The frayed rope dangling off the back of the chair is stained and cut. The pool of blood underneath the chair is at the congealing stage and looks more tragic than it is. The table next to the chair has three things on it, a pair of bloody pliers, a bloody knife, and a tool I don’t recognize.
“Those are bolt cutters,” Phobe supplies as he walks past me to inspect the chair.
With his finger, he touches the tool and then smells it. “They cut something off, finger or toe is my guess.” He leaves off the fact that we can both still smell the fear and pain. The smells are faint, at least a day old, and there’s no indication of where they went when they left here.
Casting my eyes around the room, I look for something that can give me a clue, but there’s not a lot. Wandering into the bathroom, my nose wrinkling from the smell, I try the faucets. No sounds, no water. The shower door is broken, and the tub is full of shit and worse. The floor is covered in food wrappers and drink bottles. The garbage can is what finally snags my attention, or rather the receipt sitting on top of it.
Rather ironic when you think about it, there’s shit all over the place, but someone threw a receipt in the garbage can. I pick it up and see that it’s a hotel restaurant receipt, dinner for two, in a familiar town. Dragon town. I tuck it in my pocket and walk back out into the bedroom.
“There were at least a dozen people here at any given time in the days Jameson was here. Including your stinky vampire and her shifter companion,” Phobe says, his eyes on the chair in the center of the room. So, they’re traveling with friends, that’s good to know.
“Do you think he’s dying?” I ask.
“The wound isn’t life-threatening and not my greatest concern.” Frowning at him, I move closer. “There’s a strange smell here, and I only noticed it because of this—” he points at the seat of the chair. Words are scratched into the chair, stained from his blood.
collar hurt iza
“What does it mean?”
“The stone had similar properties, although made from different things. The Schoth were working on one with Jameson’s help to specifically tamper Feyrie nature. Looking at this message makes me think they were successful,” Phobe explains. A collar like that would keep him from doing something simple like healing himself. Essentially, he’s human and now susceptible to infections and worse.
“He helped make a slave collar?” I ask. In answer, he nods. Well, that’s fucking spectacular. Pulling out the receipt, I hand it to him and watch the realization hit his face.
“I’m not that surprised, Kael has been involved from the beginning. I take it we’re going to visit him?” I give him a duh look, of course, we are. His smile, shark teeth, and all make me laugh a little. He’s not going to argue. He gets to eat a couple of asshole dragons, that should top his batteries off for a bit. With one last long look at the chair, I turn and leave the room, Phobe in my wake. Time to make me a pair of dragonhide boots.
Chapter Twelve
Without asking, I have Adriem stop at a fast food place. Against her shocked protests, I manage to get her to eat by shoving the food in her face. However, it doesn’t remove the dark circles under her eyes. The beginning of separation sickness is showing, and she thinks she’s hiding it from me. All she’s doing is delaying me finding out things, and she’s not nearly as secretive as she believes herself to be. We’re too enmeshed together for her to hide everything from me for very long.
It’s something I’ve not told her yet, probably never will. There are times I practice hypocrisy and hide things too.
With a long sigh, she rests her head against the window and is sound asleep within seconds. Carefully, I climb into the backseat to sit beside her. The fiends hover near her and are trying, and failing, to bolster her with their energy. Iza needs the Sidhe, they have a symbiotic relationship, and with the distance, her energy isn’t being returned. Not that she’ll listen to reason of any kind, she’s determined to destroy herself saving her Feyrie. I wish that I could muster up some jealousy, at least then I could have a leg to stand on in an argument with her. She might respond better to it.
“You actually care for her, don’t you?” The surprise in Adriem’s voice is borderline insulting. I meet his eyes in the rear-view mirror and then turn back to Iza. Under his breath, he mutters, “And this is why I stand a better chance of being crowned king than being with her.”
It’s true, so I say nothing.
“We’ll be at the dragon place in less than twenty minutes. Are you going to wake her?”
“Yes. she’ll want to kill things.” An oversimplification, perhaps, but true. Iza will be cross if I don’t let her have fun and vent her frustration. The woman genuinely cares for her wayward imp, that fact bothers her even more. The idea of getting to smash a few heads always appeals to her. And distracts her.
Bloodthirsty, stubborn and—although there are splotches of color under her eyes and her face is pale—sexy. She’ll always be these things, and I’ll never ask her to change them even if she frustrates the fuck out of me, a good bit of the time. Unable to stop myself—I never can with her—my finger slides softly down her cheek, and I smile when a strand teases my finger with a playful nip.
When the car stops, I realize I have been staring at her for several minutes. Not wanting Adriem to make it uncomfortable for either of us, I slip out the door and walk around the car to get her out. Knowing that time is of the essence, I open the door and watch her barely catch herself from hitting the ground. Rolling on the palms of her hands, she flips to her feet, her eyes glowing with her ire when she looks at me.
“You couldn’t tap on the window?” I shrug at her question. That idea was not as entertaining as watching her roll out of the car. “Oh, look, they’re throwing us a welcome party.”
That’s all she gets out before the first dragon attacks, Romiel, the coward. Iza meets him half-way, her claws long and sharp. Easily she dodges him. Even as he shifts to his much larger form, she holds her own. I lean against the car and wait. Adriem dives in, his true form roaring and flinging saliva all over the place. As large as he is, compared to some of the dragons, he looks small. They’re outmatched and severely outnumbered. Iza can hold her own, much better than Adriem, but she’s running on fumes and from the looks of things is barely trying. Every punch, kick, and swipe of a sword looks half-assed.
What the fuck is she doing?
This continues for several minutes until finally, she lays down on the ground, looking defeated and at the mercy of the gray dragon looming above her. She’s bleeding all over the place and from what I can see, the cuts aren’t healing.
Exasperated with her, I leap across the clearing and land at her side. Pulling Romiel’s clawed hand off her, I hold it effortlessly and wait for her to open her eyes. They pop open and with the audacity that I sometimes love and sometimes hate, she winks at me and shuts them again.
‘How else can I get my dear old iguana uncle out here? He has to think he’s guaranteed a win or he’ll keep hiding.’ The urge to kick her ass is strong, and the only way to resist it is to take a step back from her. Deciding instead to take my anger out on something deserving, I turn to Romiel and twist his leg until it snaps.
Iza remains on the ground, eyes closed, and as predicted, Kael makes an appearance, thinking his opponent weak and easy to destroy. The foolish creature, his arrogance is his downfall. The large red, scaly form of the dragon now dubbed ‘iguana,’ lands in the middle of the fight and roars his fury. She was dead on; he planned the entire thing—this way he looks like the gallant hero coming in to save the other dragons from the evil Feyrie, avoiding most of the fight in the process. What a load of shit.
I can’t stand cowards.
Iza flips to her feet and goes straight for him. Stepping back, I avoid the tail whip of Romiel. I almost forgot about him, a dangerous habit that I have around her. Iza was right when she said a dragon would help charge my batteries. Smiling, I jump up and land on his head, and the shadows come out to play. Romiel is a weak dragon, but he’s still a dragon, and he tastes like power.
As he screams and thrashes below me, I watch Iza. Quick as a snake she climbs up Kael’s long neck, going straight for his face. Iza is impulsive, and sometimes flighty and other times, utterly reckless, but when it comes to fighting, she’s as tenacious as it gets. Watching her sink her daggers into the dragon’s big eyes, hearing his piercing screams of pain as he thrashes around trying to dislodge her—is a beautiful thing to behold. It’s so engaging that the people are trying to reach her stop in their tracks and watch, as mesmerized as I am.
What is that saying they have when the previous king or queen dies? Oh, yes long live the queen. Something she looks every inch of as she scrambles around the blinded dragon’s head, using her daggers as handholds, deftly avoiding his claws. Claws that are strong enough to slice through his thick hide into his neck—causing rivulets of blood to form small streams as they flow down his body to the ground.
He’s doing more damage to himself than she is. Iza’s touch is stopping his healing in its tracks. Her death touch does not work on every creature, but it is working on Kael, and given his desperate grasps for her, he knows his end is coming. My shadows touch him, and I try to read his thoughts, curious if his weakness would enable it, but nothing happens. I’m still blocked.
Iza’s smile shines through the blood on her face. The little shit is enjoying herself. Bit by bit, she’s toying with him and drawing it out. This betrayer doesn’t deserve a clean death in her perspective. I don’t disagree with her. To betray your sister over something as paltry as power is an egregious mistake. He deserves the suffering she’s inflicting.
She isn’t planning on stopping either; her thoughts are full of maiming and killing him. Sergean won’t get this kill after all, but it should satisfy his need for revenge that his daughter—their daughter—spilled the murderer’s blood and will soon take his life.
In a way, it’s her right. The deception perpetrated by this creature and his puppet master led to the painful life she’s lived. She’s suffered the most, and with his blood, she will extract the life debt he owes her.
My feet touch the ground, temporarily pulling my eyes from Iza and her one-sided battle with Kael. Somewhat anticlimactically, Romiel is no more. His body was devoured completely. His memories swirl around inside of me, and they’re as hollow and useless as the owner of them was. Dragons are good to eat, but I’m still hungry—I want more. Thinking of Iza’s reaction, I search the thoughts of the dragon coming at me with his teeth bared, claws out in front of him. I smile. He’s as rotten as Romiel and Kael, a willing participant in their stupidity. He’s also powerful, more so than Romiel.
How would Iza say it? Snack time?
Amused by my absurdity, my smile broadens. The pinprick of one of my teeth digging into my lip encourages my tongue to flick out to lick the drop of blood off. The dragon’s eyes widen in shock, but he is too committed to moving forward to stop. A plain imp would not have a tongue such as I. Exhaling, I let my glamour ease a little, make some of my true self-peek out. It’s enough to hear his exclamation of confusion as I meet him mid-air and bury my hands in his neck. Dragon does taste good, and there’s an entire buffet of them here—no reason to let all that food go to waste.
‘Don’t eat the good ones, some of them don’t want to be here.’ Iza chastises as if I didn’t already know this. I say nothing and continue playing with my food. I’m already ‘quality’ checking each dragon as I move forward through the mass of them. The ones who don’t want to fight her but were ordered will be knocked out or hobbled enough to take them out of the fight. The rest… well, they’ll all meet in the darkness inside of me.
‘Are you going to continue batting your mouse around, Iza?’ I decide to tease her back. A quick at her to see Kael thrashing around on the ground with a laughing Iza dancing on what was left of his wings. The smile falls from my face as I turn mid-air to see a white light shoot straight for Iza. Her black eyes are wide with surprise as she flies half-way across the town square to crash through the wall of one of the houses.
Landing lightly on my feet, I study the newcomer, instantly knowing what he is because I can see it around him. For every inch of darkness that Iza possess this man possesses double the light. He’s Iza’s counterpart in her place in fate and her Light’s equivalent—the Guide—who, in a fair world, should have power equal to that of Iza’s. However, this cheater came here with borrowed Magiks. I can see the sickly color of them suffocating his own. He’s stronger than her with this boost, one that will ultimately cost him his life. Something like this always comes with a cost. I bet his master left this out of the offer of power.
His presence isn’t too big of a surprise to me either. I knew there were more players in this game, and now one of the big ones has shown his face. The desire to cross the distance between us and rip the skin from his skull is so strong that I dig my feet in to remain still. If I go after him before she has her chance, she’ll be livid with me. I’d rather her get her ass kicked, and she will, versus her being angry with me.
I won’t let him kill her like he plans to do. I don’t need to read his mind to know; the look on his face is evidence enough. Plus, he has the same protections that Kael has, implying they are plotting with or protected by—depending on how you look at it—the same person. No, not person, a supposed god.
Gritting my teeth, I watch a shaky but still standing Iza comes strolling back into the clearing. Her face is pale, and the wounds she suffered in the initial assault are still very much present.
“Well, hello there. I’m guessing you’re the Guide fellow?” She calls to him. Her smile is sharp and mocking and full of piss and wind, but inside she’s a little bit worried. From somewhere she pulls on inner strength and straightens her shoulders.
Iza and Jameson researched many more things than I realized, for her to know who he is purely on sight. Iza also knows she’ll lose against him as he is, but that won’t stop her. Even knowing defeat is inevitable that recklessness in her is coming out. Frustratingly, the Guide seeks me out with his golden eyes and smirks. There are times that those used by the more powerful don’t know the truth about their enemies because they rely on their master too much. His master doesn’t know me as well as he thinks either.
The fact that I must stand here and allow Iza to fight her fight is something that he will pay for as well.
As she walks by Kael—who’s on the ground huffing in pain—she makes a move I don’t expect. Smiling that vicious smile that I love, she jumps on him, and while holding the Guide’s gaze—stabs the downed dragon through the heart. Kael’s roar turns into a scream as death stakes a claim. It’ll be slow and painful, and no Magiks of any kind can heal the wound she dealt him. Iza put a fiend inside his heart to devour it as he dies.
Clever, clever.
The Guide slings his arm out and says a bunch of useless spell words—natural Magiks don’t require spell work—it comes from the desires of the wielder, not the words spoken. The white light flies towards Iza again, but this time she’s prepared and already moving. With a hard kick to the man’s face, she rides him down to the ground. Two more kicks to his bloody face and he finally manages to push her off him, with Magiks rather than his arms.
The man has no idea how to defend himself physically from her. Iza picks up on immediately. With a grunt, she flips back to her feet and goes after him again. Over and over they play this game, she hits him or stabs him, and he blasts her away with Magiks. This conflict is taking its toll on both of them but in different ways. Their exhaustion has made them equal, and now they stand face to face as such.
Adriem stops beside me, breathing hard, his clothes ripped and torn—dinosaur or not he’s still fighting dragons—and says, “Aren’t you going to help her?” I shrug.
If she genuinely needed me to, I would, but for now, I’m going to eat more dragons. Turning away, I go after my next snack.
