Mystical Warrior (30 page)

That made Mac’s smile disappear. “Now? You need to go
now
?”

“Well, yeah.” He gestured at Mac and then at himself. “And I’d rather not meet His Holy Highness, King of the World, looking like this.” He smoothed down the front of
his sopping jacket. “I can’t very well negotiate Fiona’s release looking like this.”

“Negoti—you have nothing to trade, you idiot, because you just
hand-delivered me to him
.” Mac stepped closer. “And I would caution you to show only respect toward my father, or you might discover a whale’s belly is preferable to this ship’s brig.”

Mac angrily twirled his finger in a circle, and Trace nearly came out of his skin at the feel of a thousand ants crawling inside his clothes. But when he looked down, he saw that he was still dressed, only his jeans, shirt, jacket, and even his boots were so clean they looked brand-new.

He rolled his shoulders to make sure he was still wearing his backpack and beamed Mac a smile. “I could use you on Sunday afternoons when I’m getting ready to drive up to Bangor for supper at my mom’s.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But I still need a bathroom. And I prefer to do it
myself,
” he quickly tacked on when the wizard raised his hand again.

Mac spun on his heel and headed toward a closed hatchway. Trace followed, trying not to gawk like a tourist. The massive room had to be three stories high, and he figured it was on the lowest level of the vessel, judging by the huge pool of seawater in the center through which they’d entered the ship.

Mac led him into an airlock, sealed the door behind them, and exited through another hatch into a long hallway. “And my father prefers to be addressed as sir, especially in front of the crew.”

Trace was about to say something but took a misstep when he saw several men dressed in what had to be the gaudiest uniforms on the planet. They all stopped what
they were doing to snap to attention, only instead of saluting, every damned last one of them bowed as Mac strode past without even acknowledging them.

Holy hell, the guy really was royalty.

Trace lengthened his stride to catch up, and tried to keep track of every twist and turn they made down countless hallways. “About that bathroom,” he said when they started up a set of stairs. “I really need to
go
.”

Mac turned and continued down the hall a short distance, then slapped open a door. “One minute. My father knows we’re here, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For chrissakes, can you see yourself? The closer we get to your old man, the more uptight you become,” he said, walking past him into the bathroom.

“I haven’t seen or spoken to him in nearly a
century,
” Mac growled. “And our parting wasn’t exactly pleasant.” He gestured stiffly. “We had a fight that sent most of Atlantis’s population scurrying to the other side of the island, nearly capsizing it.”

“Atlantis
floats
?” Trace narrowed his eyes. “Why haven’t our satellites seen it?”

“Because it’s a
myth
!”

Trace softly closed the door on Mac’s angry face and stepped back into the hallway three minutes later. He walked over to Mac, who was sitting on the bottom step, his arms resting on his knees as he stared down at his hands. “Come on,” Trace said, gently lifting him to his feet. “Let’s get Fiona and get the hell out of here.”

“Only the two of you will be getting the hell out of here,” Mac muttered, taking a left at the top of the stairs. “I can’t very well run off and leave my father to fight my battles for me.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need him to fight them
with
you, either.”

Mac stopped and turned. “You don’t understand; I’m his only heir, and if anything happens to me, the Trees of Life will start dying, and so will all of humanity.”

“He’s got Carolina.”

Mac shook his head and started up another set of stairs. “He refuses to leave the fate of mankind in the hands of a woman.”

Trace snorted. “We’d have fewer wars if women ruled the world.”

When Mac started up yet another set of stairs, Trace slowed enough to glance down the hallway, getting an uneasy feeling that he might have underestimated the size of the ship. As near as he could tell, it was some sort of underwater craft, like a submarine—only it appeared to be as big as a goddamned aircraft carrier.

Then again, its massive size might actually work in his favor.

“So I take it your father is the one who passed down your ethics about not using magic to do every little thing for him,” Trace said, figuring they must be getting close, because if Mac’s spine got any stiffer the man was going to snap in half. He snorted. “Only he’s not above using magic to steal my girlfriend to get you.”

Mac stopped just outside a set of huge wooden doors that had a large multibranched tree carved into them. “Girlfriend?” He arched a brow. “Does Fiona know she’s been elevated from your tenant to your girlfriend?”

Trace blew out a sigh. “No, I haven’t told her yet.” He grinned. “But don’t you think she’ll like the idea? It’s got a very twenty-first-century ring to it.”

Mac turned to the door. “The only ring she needs is one she can wear.”

Trace pulled his friend’s arm away. “He puts his pants on one leg at a time, Mac, just like all of us,” he said quietly. “And really, what’s the worst he can do?”

Trace saw the first hint today of an honest smile on the wizard’s face. “When I was a kid he would take away my magic as punishment, and I’d be forced to go to Carolina when I got myself in a jam.” He shook his head. “And she would make me play dolls with her as payment.” He sobered, and Trace saw his spine stiffen again. “Your word, Huntsman, that you will not antagonize him. We will humbly ask that he give you Fiona and then safe passage back to Midnight Bay for the two of you.”

“How about we humbly ask him to give the
three
of us safe passage back?”

“Why do you insist that I go with you?” Mac gestured at nothing. “It’s past time I face my responsibilities, even if that means agreeing to let my father choose my bride. At least then maybe I can find some peace.”

“So you’re saying everyone has free will but you?”

“Yes!” the wizard snapped, opening the door before Trace could stop him. “Father,” he said, giving a slight bow as he entered the room. “I’m sorry for not getting here sooner, but I was … detained.”

For Mac to have claimed that his father was legendary for his looks was one hell of an understatement, Trace decided. Titus Oceanus had to be nearly seven feet tall, with shoulders a linebacker would sell his sister for and a ruggedly handsome face that women would turn somersaults just to have smile at them.

Which made Trace wonder what Mac
really
looked like when he wasn’t trying to look like someone else. He and his father had the same vivid green eyes, though, a similar set to the jaw, and that same damned imperial brow—which the old goat raised as he gave Trace the once-over.

“Mr. Huntsman,” Titus said. “I’m glad to finally meet you, as I’ve been wondering whether you’ve been trying to save my son’s life or kill him.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Trace returned evenly, stepping forward. “I’ll see Fiona now. If you please,” he tacked on when he heard Mac growl behind him.

“In good time.” The elder wizard’s gaze slid to Mac, and his eyes hardened, but not before Trace saw the hunger of unconditional love flash briefly. “Maximilian, do you have any idea what sort of unholy war you’ve started?”

Trace stepped between them. “That’s just it. Your boy here doesn’t know who in hell’s out to get him, much less why. And since I seem to be caught smack in the middle of this unholy little war, I’d really like to know, too.” He took a step toward the giant.
“Right after I see Fiona.”

Trace saw a hint of amusement creep into those vivid green eyes as Titus raised a finger and silently waved it in a circle. A door at the back of the room suddenly opened, and Misneach came barreling through it, his claws scraping for purchase as he raced toward Trace with an excited yelp. Keeping his eye on the door, Trace crouched down to catch the pup while slipping a hand inside his jacket pocket when he saw Fiona appear. Only he quickly pulled his hand back out when he noticed the child walking beside her, the young boy’s brilliant green eyes huge with uncertainty, his hand clutching Fiona’s in a death grip.

Trace stood and shoved Misneach at Mac, then strode over and pulled Fiona into his arms and buried his face in her hair. He wanted to say something but for the life of him couldn’t, so he settled for squeezing her until he heard her squeak. Only then did he open his eyes, and looking down over her shoulder, he saw the kid all but twisting her arm off trying to hide behind her.

Trace straightened and cupped Fiona’s face in his hands. “We’re moving on to plan B,” he quietly told her. “So stay sharp, okay?”

Her beautiful, safe, and very much alive eyes sparkled like sunshine up at him. “What does plan B involve?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure yet. Where’s your gun?”

“Mr. Oceanus took it. He said any man who gives a woman that kind of weapon should be shot with it.”

Trace felt her arm being tugged on and grinned. “How old is he?”

“Six. His name is Henry.”

“I’m going to go over and stand beside Mac to stop him from falling flat on his face when his father tells him, okay? You just follow my lead when you hear the signal.”

“What’s the signal?”

He gave her beautiful mouth a quick kiss. “You’ll know when you—”

“It’s quite nice that Mr. Huntsman is so concerned for Miss Gregor’s welfare,” Titus said with all the authority of a king nearing the end of his patience. “And I realize that twenty-first-century men have little regard for tradition, but have you lost all sense of propriety, too, Maximilian?”

“Excuse me?” Mac said, his spine stiffening to the point that Trace decided he’d better get over there now.

He gave Fiona a wink and strode over to Mac. “Brace yourself, my friend,” he whispered out the side of his mouth. “We’re moving on to plan B.”

Mac shot Trace a threatening glare just before he smiled tightly at his father. “By propriety, I assume you mean his display of affection?” Trace nearly kicked Mac when the ass bowed to the old man again. “I assure you, sir, it’s perfectly acceptable for a man to kiss his girlfriend in front of others.”

Up went that brow, only it was far more imperial than his son’s. “You’re saying it’s acceptable for one man to kiss another man’s betrothed right in front of him?”

Trace counted four, maybe five heartbeats before Mac caught on, only he didn’t catch his friend when he staggered, because he felt like he’d just taken a punch to the gut himself. What in hell was he talking about? Fiona wasn’t
anyone’s
betrothed.

“In front of … what in hell are you saying?” Mac shouted. He pointed at Fiona. “She’s not my betrothed.” He swung his outstretched arm toward Trace, smacking him in the chest. “Fiona belongs to
him
.”

“Atta boy,” Trace growled. “You dig those family jewels out of your pants and shake them at him. You outgrew taking his bullshit a couple thousand years ago.”

“Maximilian!” Titus snapped, causing Mac to pivot to him. “This is no example to be setting for your son,” he said, gesturing toward Fiona.

This time Trace was ready when Mac staggered backward. “Don’t go all girly on me now, Mac, especially in front of Henry.”

Mac couldn’t stop staring at the young boy clinging to Fiona as if she were the only solid thing in the room.
“Henry?” Mac whispered. “He’s my … the child’s my
son
?” Mac looked at Titus. “But how? When?” He looked back at the boy, then at his father again. “Who’s his mother?”

Apparently realizing that he’d gone about the introductions all wrong, Titus blew out a heavy sigh. “Cordelia Penhope,” he said, darting a worried glance at the boy.

But Fiona had moved to the far corner of the room and was sitting on the floor, occupying the kid by playing with Misneach.

“Well,” Trace whispered, letting go of his friend once he was certain that Mac’s legs would hold him. “At least now you know why she suddenly sent you away.”

Titus stepped closer to Mac. “It’s Cordelia’s brothers who have been trying to kill you,” his father quietly told him, “in order to keep control of Henry.” He reached out and set a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Cordelia became ill and died three months ago, Maximilian. It took her servant over two months to escape and make his way to Atlantis to tell us that Cordelia’s dying wish was for you to claim your son.”

“Delia’s dead?” Mac whispered.

“You never knew she was having your child, son?”

Mac shook his head as he lifted his gaze to his father, but Trace suspected he was only seeing his dead lover’s image. “I didn’t know. I was going to ask Delia to marry me, but …” Mac shook his head as if trying to clear it. “She suddenly came to me one day and said that for as much as she’d enjoyed our time together, I was starting to bore her. And when I went back to my apartments, her brothers were there, and they told me that if I ever came near their sister again, they’d kill …”

He fell silent and turned away to face the doors.

“I find it hard to imagine you feared a threat on your life,” Titus said. “Nor can I believe they’d make such a threat to begin with, especially to your face.”

“Their threat wasn’t against me,” Mac said softly, still turned away. He canted his head back to stare up at the ceiling, his hands balling into fists. “That means it was all a pretense. Delia suspected I was going to ask for her hand in marriage.” He spun toward his father. “I never lied to her about who I was. And being my lover was okay, obviously, whereas being my wife was …” He darted a glance toward Fiona, then to Trace, then back to his father. “Apparently, Delia felt that having a theurgist for a husband, as well as Titus Oceanus as her father-in-law, would be more trouble than it was worth.”

“Or too dangerous,” Trace said quietly. “If she realized she was pregnant and feared her brothers would use your child for their own gain.”