Fever 5 - Shadowfever (22 page)

The only reason it worked was because Fade caught him off guard. Barrons can move so fast that shooting him isn’t the easiest way to kill him.
But he didn’t expect Fade to shoot him, and Fade is as fast as Barrons.
I don’t know what Barrons and the others are, but until someone tells me otherwise, I’m going to assume they’re all the same. They have heightened senses: smell, vision, and hearing. Barrons has the strength of ten men, and his bones are extremely resilient. I imagine they have to be, so he can transform the way he does. I’ve watched Barrons drop thirty feet and land on his feet, as light as a cat.
Fade surprised them all. He managed to gun down Ryodan, too, before the others attacked him and took his gun away.
Fade stumbled back against the wall, and I thought how strange it was that he’d lost his weapon but was still hanging on to the sheets.
“What the fuck, Fade?” Lor snarled. “Forget your meds again?”
Fade looked at me. “Your parents are next,” he purred. “I will destroy everything you love, MacKayla.”
I sucked in a horrified breath. Ryodan wasn’t paranoid. He’d been right. The
Sinsar Dubh had
skimmed me, lifted information about them from my mind, and acted on it swiftly.
It was right here—in the room with me!
It had learned about Chester’s and had come to take a look around, see what it might see.
I’d been out of the Silvers for three days—and this was the third day in a row it had found me!
Was it really my fault that it had gone to the abbey because it hadn’t been able to find me in Dublin? Was I indirectly responsible for all the
sidhe
-seers who’d died that night? How long had it been here, moving from person to person, working its way closer to me all the while?
Long enough to have discovered my parents—
“It’s in the sheets,” I cried. “Get the sheets!” I regretted the words the instant I said them. Whoever touched it would also be possessed, and the other men still had guns. “No, don’t touch the sheets!” I screamed.
Fade flashed into motion and was gone.
The others followed, leaving me alone.
I dashed for the door, but it slid shut before I could get there, and I had no clue how to open it. I pressed my palm frantically to half a dozen places, with no success.
I whirled, staring into the other room. If the
Sinsar Dubh
got to my parents … if Fade carried it in there … if it killed them …
I couldn’t bear to think about it.
My parents were standing up, looking at me, but I knew they couldn’t see me. They were merely staring in the direction from which the gunfire had come.
The door hissed open and closed behind me.
“I have to get you out of here,” Lor growled.
I spun around, spear in my fist. “How do I know you’re not the Book?”
“Look at me. Where could I hide it?”
His pants and shirt clung to his muscular body like a second skin. I checked his shoes. Boots. “Take them off.”
He kicked them off. “Now you. Lose the coat.”
I slipped out of it.
“Skirt, too.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I snapped. “My parents—”
“Fade left the club. They’re safe for now.”
“That’s not good enough!”
“We’ll take precautions. We’re on guard now. Someone has to carry it in. No one will enter the upper levels of the club or your parents’ cell with clothes on.”
My brows shot up.
That
was going to be a real shocker for my mom.
“I said lose the skirt.”
“How could Fade have passed it to me?”
“Minuscule possibility. I take no chances.”
Sighing, I unzipped and dropped it. My sweater was snug. I had on a black thong. My boots clung to the shape of my legs. No place to hide a book. “Happy?”
“Hardly.”
As I zipped my skirt back up, I took a last longing glance at my parents and turned away. My gaze hitched as it passed over Barrons’ crumpled body, and I flinched violently.
Here I was with Barrons dead. Again.
I knew he wasn’t really dead, or at least he wouldn’t be for long, but my grief was too fresh and my emotions too complicated.
“How long until he—” I broke off, horrified to hear the catch of a sob in my voice.
“Why do you give a fuck?”
“I don’t, I mean, I just—
shit!
” I turned and beat at the wall with my fists. I didn’t care that my parents could hear the dull thud or that the wall shuddered beneath my blows. I didn’t care what Lor thought of me. I hated Barrons being dead. Hated it. Beyond reason. Beyond my understanding.
I punched until Lor caught my bloody fists and pulled me away.
“How long?” I demanded. “I want to know! Answer me or else!”
He grinned faintly. “What, you gonna feed me bloody runes?”
I scowled. “Do you guys tell each other
everything
?”
“Not everything.
Pri-ya
sounded pretty fucking fascinating to me. Never did get all the details.”
“How long?
Answer me.
” I used Voice to force him.
“Not sure this time. But it won’t be as long as last time. And if you ever try to Voice me again, woman, I’ll kill your parents myself.”

What must a prince do to get a Valentine’s Day kiss, MacKayla?”
The words floated out of the darkness, Eros skittering across my skin, pricking me with a hundred tiny little Cupid bows. Even with
Pri-ya
-induced immunity, I still thrill to the musical, sensual sound of V’lane’s voice. I no longer begin stripping when he appears, but deep down inside me there’s a summer girl who never stops wanting to, especially when he’s being playful, seductive.
How many Valentine’s Days in my life had ended with a kiss?
I could count them on two fingers.
And those had been decent kisses, not great ones. Certainly nothing to rock a woman’s world.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob of Barrons Books and Baubles. Barrons had changed the locks on the garage and the back door, so I’d had to park the Viper in the alley and walk around to the front. It had been a difficult night. I was ready for it to end. I wanted covers over my head and deep, dreamless sleep.
Mere hours ago I’d been consoling myself that, even though Barrons was furious with me, at least I would be going to sleep tonight with the comforting knowledge that he was alive.
Right. Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
“I believe human males present flowers.”
I was abruptly wreathed in the delicate scent of roses. A bouquet appeared, tucked into my arm. Petals tickled my nose. The ground at my feet was strewn with them. Dewy, lush, they gave off an otherworldly, spicy scent.
I leaned my forehead against the diamond-paned cherry door. I could see my demolished shop through it. “Did you come here to accuse me of being a traitor, too?” It would be just like a Fae to shower me with gifts while threatening me. I was through justifying myself. Seeing Barrons’ lifeless eyes again had nearly put me back on the cliff’s edge. I had no idea why I hated seeing him dead so much, when I knew he wasn’t really. Lor had assured me he would be back, although he couldn’t say when.
Why
couldn’t he say when? Did Barrons’ body have to heal, and certain injuries took longer than others?
I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. Now I had two visions of Barrons to torture myself with: gutted and shot. On top of that, I was terrified for my parents. Terrified by how easily the Book had infiltrated those closest to me. First the abbey, then Darroc, Barrons, and now a threat to my parents. I could no longer dispute Ryodan’s conviction that the Book was finding me. Playing with me. But why not just kill me and get it over with? Did it really think I would—as Ryodan said—“flip”? Nothing about the
Sinsar Dubh
made sense. Sometimes it gave me a splitting, crushing headache and I could sense it coming a mile away. Other times, like tonight, I didn’t have a clue it was in the same room with me.
It killed everyone else it came into contact with. But not me. It hurt me, but it always left me alive. Why?
I’d demanded Lor remove Mom and Dad from Dublin. He’d refused to even consider it. Said nobody would lift a finger unless Barrons told them to. So much for their demands for my head—apparently Barrons had the final say about everything.
I could always persuade V’lane to sift in, get them, and whisk them somewhere safe, except … well, maybe it was the
sidhe
-seer in my blood, but I just couldn’t trust my parents to a Fae.
“I am not a fool, MacKayla. You were playing Darroc. My only question is why.”
A weight slid from my shoulders. It was about time somebody believed in me. Figured it would be V’lane. “Thank you,” I said simply.
I turned around and my eyes widened appreciatively. V’lane is always a vision. He’d muted himself, donned his “human” form, but it did little to diminish his otherworldly allure. In black pants, boots, and a black cashmere sweater, with his long hair spilling down his back and his velvety skin dusted with gold, he looked like a fallen archangel.
Tonight, he was even more majestic than ever. I wondered if leading a Seelie army had given him purpose he’d lacked, if he was no longer an immortal riddled with ennui and petty desires but was becoming a true leader of his people. He would have his hands full trying to lead the Seelie court. Perhaps if Jayne and the Guardians shot and caged enough of them, they’d pull their heads out. A little hardship and suffering would do the Seelie a world of good.
“You never doubted me? Even when I was standing there in the street with the Unseelie army?”
“I know the woman you are, MacKayla. Were you Fae, you would belong to my court.” He studied me with ancient, iridescent eyes. “My army is not as discerning as I. They believe you are his ally. We will persuade them otherwise.” A smile touched the corners of his lips. “If nothing else, your claim that Barrons was dead gave you away. I saw him tonight with you at Chester’s.” He paused. “I am uncertain how you managed to deceive the Unseelie Princes. They were convinced he was dead.”
He delivered the statement so blandly that I almost missed the question, and the threat. Lacing his silken words was steel. Beneath his playfulness, V’lane was in a dangerous mood. But why? I knew he’d been at Chester’s. Had something happened after Lor had whisked me out and dumped me at the Viper? Did he know the
Sinsar Dubh
had also been there?
“Just a little trick I learned,” I evaded.
“Barrons was never dead? Was he … incapacitated for a time?”
V’lane and Barrons hate each other, something to do with Barrons killing V’lane’s princess a long time ago. Instinct deeper than I could fathom made me lie. “You’re kidding, right? Barrons is unkillable.”
“I would know how you deceived the Unseelie Princes, MacKayla.” There was the steel again, lacing the silk. It was not a question. It was a command.
He moved into the alcove with me, and the intoxicating fragrance of the Fae court, of jasmine and sandalwood, perfumed the delicate spice of the purple petals crushing beneath his boots. Danger stepped in with him.
I cocked my head, studying him. I suddenly knew where his anger was coming from. He was on a dangerous edge not because he thought I had managed to deceive the dark princes but because he was worried they’d known all along that Barrons wasn’t dead and had somehow managed to deceive
him
.
V’lane sat on the queen’s High Council. He’d been handpicked by the leader of their race to see through court intrigue to the truth of matters. And he’d failed. His inability to discern truth from lie—from an Unseelie, no less—had shaken him. I understood that. It’s debilitating to realize you can’t trust your own judgment.
However, in this case he hadn’t been wrong. Barrons really
had
been dead, and the Unseelie Princes hadn’t deceived V’lane. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. Not only had Barrons insisted I lie to V’lane, it seemed I was programmed with an unshakable imperative to keep Barrons’ secret.
Knowing him, he’d probably tattooed it on me somewhere.
Still, I could give V’lane some of the truth. “Remember when you said that I had only begun to discover what I was?”
His gaze sharpened and he nodded. He touched my hair. “I am pleased you restored it, MacKayla. It is lovely.”
Yeah, well, Barrons hadn’t seemed to think so. “You were right. I’ve recently become aware of a place inside me where I know things that I can’t explain knowing. I find things I don’t understand.”
He inclined his head, waiting.
“I found runes that the princes didn’t like. I used them with a combination of others to create an illusion that Barrons was dead,” I lied.
He processed my words: The Unseelie hadn’t duped him.
I’d
duped the Unseelie. Faint lines of tension eased in his face.
“You convinced Darroc and the princes that Barrons was dead so Darroc would believe you genuinely sought an alliance with him?”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
I hesitated.
“MacKayla, can we not finally trust each other?” he said softly. “What must I do to convince you? Command me, I am yours.”
I was so tired of lying and being lied to, of not trusting and not being trusted. “He knew a shortcut to controlling the
Sinsar Dubh
. It’s why the Book killed him.”
“It is true, then, what we heard,” he murmured. “It was not a Hunter after all.”
I nodded.
“And what is this shortcut?”
“I wasn’t able to get it out of him before he died.”
He studied me. “Deceiving the princes so thoroughly would have required immense power.” He began to say something, then seemed to change his mind and stopped. After a moment he said carefully, “These runes you used, what color were they?”
“Crimson.”
He went still, regarding me as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. It made me extremely uncomfortable. Then he said, “Did they beat like small human hearts?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible!”
“Would you like me to summon them now?”
“You could, with such ease?”
I nodded.
“That will not be necessary. I accept your word, MacKayla.”
“What are they? Darroc wouldn’t tell me.”
“I imagine he was even more interested in you after he saw them. Tremendous power, MacKayla. Parasites—they graft onto anything they touch, grow, and spread like a human disease.”
Great. I remembered how they’d seemed larger in the bedroom at Darroc’s penthouse. Had I inadvertently loosed another Unseelie evil on the world?
“Used with the Song of Making, they can form an impenetrable cage,” he said. “I have never seen them myself, but our histories tell us they were employed on occasion by the first Seelie Queen for punishment and were one of the ingredients used in the walls of the Unseelie prison.”
I jerked. “How could I possibly know anything about runes used to build the Unseelie prison walls?”
“That is precisely what I would like to know.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. More questions. They were beginning to gnaw at my sanity.
“You are weary,” he said softly. “On this night for lovers, where would you sleep, MacKayla? In a silken hammock tied between palm trees, swaying over tropical surf, with a devoted Fae lover to attend your every desire? Would you share a Fae prince’s bower? Or would you climb the stairs in a ruined bookstore to sleep alone in the building of a man who has never trusted you and never will?”
Ouch.
He touched my jaw, slid a finger beneath my chin, and tipped my face back. “What a lovely woman you’ve become. You are no longer the child that arrived here months ago. You have been tempered. You display strength and determination, conviction and purpose. But are you wise? Or are you ruled by a heart that foolishly imprinted on the wrong man? Like most humans, are you incapable of change? Change requires an admission of error. Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them.”
“My heart hasn’t imprinted on anyone.”
“Good. Then it may yet be mine.” He lowered his head and kissed me.
I closed my eyes and melted into his body. It was a novel change to have someone believe in me, answer my questions when I asked them, just plain be
nice
to me, and there was no denying his erotic allure. When his Fae name eased gently into my mouth, teasing, offering, waiting for me to invite it to settle, I breathed into his kiss and he breathed back. Consonants I would never be able to pronounce, with vowels comprised of delicate arias, began to pierce the meat of my tongue, causing my entire body to flush with sensual pleasure.
I inhaled the scent of Fae prince and the intoxicating aroma of spiced roses into my lungs. Not a bad Valentine’s Day kiss, not bad at all.
He took his time giving me his name, letting the impossible syllables work tenderly, slowly, into me, until at last they settled and I exploded, shuddering against him. I stood in the alcove of BB&B, kissing him long after his name was mine again.
I was still glowing when I climbed the stairs and fell across my bed.
“Dude, what
happened
in here?”
I leaned my broom against a fallen bookcase and turned to see Dani framed in the open door of BB&B, cramming a protein bar in her mouth. Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed the destruction. Morning sunlight shafted into the alcove, framing her auburn curls with a halo of fire. Though the day was bright, nearly windless—a whopping sixty degrees after the recent snow—I couldn’t get warm, even with both gas fireplaces on.
“Close the door, will you?” I said. I’d dreamed of the Cold Place all night. Repeatedly, I’d been jarred to near-waking by some fright—a slip into a treacherous drift, a nameless terror stalking me—but each time the nightmare had sucked me back down.
I’d scaled icy cliffs, searching for the beautiful, sad woman, calling out, certain I would find her just over the next ridge. But at the crest of each summit, the only thing I’d found were dozens of hourglasses, with fine black sand rapidly trickling to the lower half. I’d raced from one to the next, frantically turning them over, but they’d kept emptying again in seconds.
Moments before I’d awakened for the final time, I realized the reason I couldn’t find her was because I’d waited too long. Time had been of the essence and I was too late. She was gone. Hope, like the fine grains of trickling black sand, had vanished, too.
I’d blown it.
I’d showered and dressed, failure weighing heavy on my bones. Desperate to make progress, to see accomplishment of any kind, I’d attacked the debris in the demolished bookstore with a broom and a vengeance. I’d been at it for hours, beating sawdust and splinters from Barrons’ rugs, sweeping broken glass into neat piles.
Dani swaggered in and closed the door. “V’lane said you wanted to see me. Don’t know what for, but seeing I ain’t too busy this morning, figured I’d give you a listen. But it better be different kinda stuff, ’cause last time I saw you, you weren’t talking like no friend of mine.” She preened. “He brought me chocolate.
Dude
—like I’m his Valentine or something. Me and him, we had a talk. Told him I’m almost fourteen and I’m gonna give him my virginity one day.”
I groaned. She’d actually
told
him that? Before I’d sent him for her, I’d made him swear to turn off the lethal eroticism. “We’re going to have a long discussion about your virginity and V’lane, as soon as things calm down.”
“News flash, Mac, they ain’t never calming. World is. What it is. This is life now.” Despite her casual swagger, her flippant tone, her eyes were cold. Wary.
Tough words. Tougher truth to swallow. I never would. “It’s not staying this way, Dani. We’re not going to let it.”
“What can we do ’bout it? World’s too big. ’Sides, ain’t so bad. ’Til you go and get all pissy. Thought you and me were, like, peas in the Mega pod and there ain’t no other veggies on the plate. Then you go playacting you’re humping the Lord Monster. Pissing me off.” She shot me a glare crammed full of the words she would never say: