Heir of the Dog Black Dog (16 page)

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“I do.” The honesty of my answer surprised me. “Humans fall prey to creatures they don’t stand a chance against. I like making fae think twice before breaking the law in my region.” What I didn’t confess was how much the hunter in me enjoyed the pursuit. Or how well suited my gifts were to my trade. Rook was perceptive. He would guess even if I didn’t confirm it for him. “I like helping people.”

“Humans aren’t the only ones in need of help.” His lips parted, but he said nothing more.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Humans could be just as screwed up as fae. I knew that better than most. “But anything inhuman has the strength and resources to have a fighting chance. Most humans don’t.”

His forehead creased. “Does that include you?”

I mashed my lips together. “That’s what I get for making sweeping generalizations.”

“I’m curious.” He adjusted under my weight, calling attention to the fact I still sat on his lap.

“I haven’t got it all figured out, but I do okay.” I admitted, “Or I did until I met you.”

I untangled our limbs and pushed off his chest.

His hand circled my wrist. “A few minutes more.”

After a moment’s hesitation, where I decided he was more comfortable than a tree limb, I let him drag me back down. “What do you know about bystanders in regard to the hunt? I met one last night.”

“Ah. You saw them earlier, at the Halls.”

“The googly-eyed things guarding the mirrors, right?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “They’re called Watchers and travel in pairs. They’re the eyes of their respective houses. Each records the hunt for review later in case there are any disputes about the outcome.”

Great. All my bumbling recorded for posterity. “What was the deal with those mirrors anyway?”

“The consuls are great powers.” Rook toyed with the frazzled ends of my hair. “They are strong enough to project their likeness or voice anywhere they wish. They never attend hearings in the flesh. With the exception of your father, I don’t know of a single fae who has ever met them.”

Interesting. “The Watchers are the consuls’ guardians?”

He waited a moment before answering, “Yes.”

“The one I encountered felt powerful.” More powerful than it had at the meeting.

“They draw on the power of the house they serve,” he explained. “They aren’t a threat to you.”

“That makes two who aren’t,” I grumbled.

For once Rook didn’t protest that he wasn’t a threat, and for once I wondered if perhaps he wasn’t.

Was he bound in service to his brother’s house the way I was bound to the conclave? Live or die. Easy choice. Even if choosing life meant doing things that once appalled you. At least you were alive. You had, if not the opportunity for change, the hope for it. You had reasons to keep you going.

How could I blame Rook if he was under the same sanctions as I was?

My duty to the mortal realm was to maintain peace at any cost. That I was a death dealer meant that kind of maintenance came naturally to me. Rook was death-touched too. Now that I knew he was a half-blood like me, I had no doubt there had been a steep price for him surviving this extraordinary world.

Ancient as he claimed to be—and his weary eyes dated him—he was a hardcore survivor. I didn’t see him ceding his battle in the foreseeable future, not to me or on my behalf.

Old things got old by being smart and not making waves.

My coming here caused a splash and sent ripples through Faerie’s stagnant waters. Rook’s hand might not push me under, but holding on to his arm wouldn’t keep my head above water either. It hit me whoever sent him might have thought his muddied bloodlines would help win me over, that I might trust a half-blood more readily than a pure-blooded fae. I guess
Raven
had thought otherwise.

No time like the present to ask. “Why did you tell me you were Raven?” 

“I never said I was. I said I was the Morrigan’s son, and you assumed I meant Raven.” He voice grew a sharp edge. “I thought if I went to you as a prince, you would be more inclined to help. I see now I was wrong, but what’s done is done.”

“Everyone knows my father too.” I patted his chest. “That doesn’t make it cool to namedrop.”

I pushed off his shoulders and situated myself on the rough limb beside him.

A fierce grumble made Rook bolt upright.

“False alarm.” I put a hand to my stomach. “We should have packed supplies before we left.”

“The hunt...” His voice trailed into silence.

“Doesn’t last long enough to bother with food or other niceties,” I finished for him.

Pleasant as our stolen moment had been, talk of the hunt made me twitchy. I had to move. I needed to pace, to walk, to do something other than make myself a sitting target.

Climbing the tree went faster in reverse. I hit the ground and stretched out the kinks in my back and shoulders while Rook cheated his way down by sprouting wings and gliding onto my shoulder. Considering how smooth his flight was, his broken arm must have healed without any complications. He was heavier as a bird than I expected. Curiosity won out, and I reached up to stroke his chest.

I grinned as his beak worried the pad of my finger. “Are you scouting ahead or sprouting legs?”

Rook cawed and shoved off my hand, flapping his wings until he vanished from sight.

The cramps in my legs thanked me when I started walking.

While Rook was about his business, I decided I should get serious with mine. Trees were nice, but yesterday’s dryad encounter convinced me they were not the safest place to make my stand. One spirit in the right place could shove me off a branch or—as an extreme measure—another equally invested fae could chop down my refuge.

Autumn’s endless forest gave dryads plenty of options for their next sensual attack. Winter was out of the question. No death wish here. That left my options as Summer, which would be out for blood to reclaim the Seelie throne, and Spring. I was betting Spring was where the tether spat us out into Faerie.

That made it as close to home as I might ever be again.

Between the singing toadstools and all the slithering vines, the hounds and I would be at an equal disadvantage there. Surviving in Spring might prove as difficult as fending off the beasts. Not a boost for my slim odds, but at least I wasn’t rolling belly up either. It could work. Now I only had to get there.

The púca said his burrow was near the border, so I angled my brisk walk in that direction.

Only when I became breathless did I realize how fast I was going. Tingles swept over me when I stopped to ease the catch in my side. Ahead, the forest thinned and the ground turned green and bursting with life. Already my ears caught the mashup of birdsong, enchanted melodies and the chirp of rowdy crickets.

The urge to run tensed my calves as the first howl echoed through the forest.

I inhaled but smelled nothing. Spirits had scents. The hunt must be masking theirs. Too bad I hadn’t been able to do the same. Gulping the panic coating the back of my throat, I ran for Spring. I passed potential weapons, but kept going. Fear chipped away at my plans, urged me not to think but to flee. I hit the edge of Spring and sighed as if crossing that invisible line made any difference.

A blur to my right surprised a scream out of me before I realized it was Rook and not a hound.

Clutched in his talons hung a limp rabbit...a pinkish one.

“You go ahead.” I spotted a large boulder. “I’m not hungry.”

Rook dove in front of me, causing me to stumble, before he darted toward the rock. He met me on the highest peak, nudging the corpse toward me with his beak. He flexed his wings until I lifted it.

“I don’t understand.” Holding it gave me the willies. “What do you want me to do?”

A throb of power banished the bird and left a swirl of magic at my elbow.

“Skin it,” Rook ordered.

An eager howl made me flinch. “Fine.” Anything to get us moving again.

After reciting my Word, I removed my glove. Transferring the rabbit into my left hand, I fed a steady stream of magic into its limp body. This time there was no pain to share as my power scissored beneath its skin, slicing the mottled fur away from the muscles. The pelt slid from the body into my hand.

“I don’t understand.” I ran my fingers over the silky fur. “The pelt...it’s soft.” Usually my talent sucked the skins dry and left me holding flaky husks.

Whatever its faults were, Faerie agreed with my magic.

Barking shook me from my confusion, and I flung the corpse to the ground hoping the treat would earn me a few minutes more.

“Your father is dual natured. Man and hound, they wear many faces,” Rook hurried. “I thought the talent skipped a generation since you never shift, but that was before I learned you’d had no contact with your father. Perhaps you have the gift too and just don’t know how to use it.”

“You want me to shift too?” I lifted the pelt. “Into this?”

“Your father is a hound in the guise of a man, but that is not his only skin. Tricks keep the hunts lively, and that was one of his favorites.” Rook placed his hands on my shoulders. “I hoped we could find your father before now, that word would spread and he would come for you. We could have asked him how the shape shift was done, but we’re out of time. You must try. Or you will die here.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Clutching the skin in my shaky hands, I met Rook’s gaze. His eyes darkened and thunder rolled when he spoke, jarring me from the vise clamping around my chest.

“Eyes are windows to the soul.” His voice rang with profound meaning I couldn’t grasp.

Deep-chested baying alerted us to the approaching pack.

Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades.

“Curtains are half off at JCPenney,” I snapped. “What’s your point?”

Rook took the pelt out of my hands, draped the fur over my head and tugged the face down so I looked through the lopsided slits where the rabbit’s eyes had been.

My view of the world—distorted.

Down, down, down, the swirling wisps of ancient magic dragged me.

I reached up to adjust the skin, but it was stuck. The sensation of drowning worsened until the only thing I could do was cough, certain my lungs were filling with water and the next second would be my last. I would have slid off the boulder if Rook hadn’t clutched my shoulders and held on tight.

“What’s—” I gasped, “—happening?”

Concern warred with his features but relief won. “You’re shifting.”

Pain whispered over every inch of my skin until furious tears were wrung from my eyes. Sore as I was, I welcomed Rook’s embrace. I clung to him, burying my face against his chest while my flesh ignited in a searing rush.

“How did...?” My mouth stopped working. My lips were wrong and words wouldn’t come. Still he understood.

“I wasn’t born this way. I might have lived and died as a mortal if I had been allowed to remain with my father, but the Morrigan came for me the year I stood on the cusp of manhood. She claimed me as her son and told me I must kill a rook, my namesake, and claim its form as my own. If you shift enough times, a skin becomes yours.” His tone went soft. “Mother told me while I was young and powerless that if I couldn’t fly away, I would be eaten.”

Nice mother you’ve got there
. Of course, my father was no prize either.

At least the Morrigan had come for Rook, taken him in hand and taught him to survive. The survival thing...wasn’t working out so well for me.

“Shh.” Rook stroked down my back. “Don’t struggle.”

I couldn’t help myself. I thrashed, kicking him harder the tighter he restrained me. I braced my hind legs on his chest...
Hind legs?
What—?

I flexed my hands. Make that front paws.

Well, I’ll be damned. It worked. It actually worked.

“I’m going to carry you, all right?” Rook pointed at the neighboring boulder. “We need to circle back to Autumn. There’s another entrance to the burrow on the other side.” I swiveled an ear at him, curious how he knew. “I’ve hunted púcas before.” He shrugged. “It amused Mother when I was a mastering my skin.”

He must have meant catching the púca before it shifted into something able to give a young rook a run for his money. Poor things. That explained how Rook knew where to seek shelter last night too, but not why they welcomed him.

Though I suppose fear he might get a sudden hankering for rabbit was a powerful motivator.

“We don’t have time for you to learn this form.” He stroked my ears, eliciting an excited thump from my rear leg and a brief grin from him. “I’ll carry you as far as I can before I shift, then we run.”

Safe in the cradle of Rook’s arms, I studied the boulder where he stood. It was the lower section of a larger chain than I first thought. As he climbed, more stone revealed itself. The higher he climbed, the taller the peaks loomed. Enchanted rock, it had to be. Rook must have reached the same conclusion.

He paused to catch his breath and turned to see how far we had come, and barked a tired laugh.

We hadn’t gone anywhere.

It was all an illusion.

Rook stood on the same boulder, at the same height as where we started.

“I have a new plan.” He tucked me snugly under his arm. “I will make a run for it.”

Afraid to fight him, worried I might fall and be snapped up by the jaws of a hound, I curled into a tight ball and prayed.

The hunting pack, whose enthusiastic pursuit carried in surround sound—thus making it impossible to pinpoint their location, another nasty trick that was starting to piss me off—burst into view the instant Rook’s feet hit the ground. Those bastards. They must have caught up while we were stuck in that blasted rock illusion.

My first glimpse of them made me quiver. I counted a dozen beasts. All wore thick black fur and each emitted a familiar green light. The faint glow was identical to the runes covering my palm.

Two dogs stood taller than the rest. They shouldered through the middle of the pack, paused to snarl a warning at the others and then lunged for Rook. He spun aside, missing the first hound’s jaws but not escaping the second. Its growl reverberated through Rook’s chest to my ear. That prince was vicious.