Surrender, Book 3 The Elfin Series (6 page)

Lisa was laughing as she pulled the comforter back on the bed she would share with Elora. “She just likes to get a reaction,” she told her daughter. “If you’d ignore her she’d eventually get bored.”

“It’s a little hard to ignore her when she’s talking about Cush and me and rabbits. Doesn’t that disturb you just a little, Lisa?”

“I’m learning to think of other things when you and your mate’s attraction is brought up, like roadkill guts and dog vomit. Those seem to really help me avoid images that some” ―she looked at Syndra― “try to suggest.”

Elora climbed into the other side of the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She tried not to hum happily as she snuggled down. “Good to know you’ve worked out a system,” she told her mom as her eyes drifted closed.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Syndra muttered under her breath as she snapped her fingers, causing all of the lights to go off at the same time and plunging the room into blissful darkness.

Elora’s mind drifted in a haze on the edge of sleep as she thought about Cush. Syndra was right to a certain degree. The attraction between them was growing stronger. It was harder and harder to deny and she wondered if being in Las Vegas was going to make it even more difficult since sin city called to her dark half. It whispered to her of all the pleasures she could have if she’d only let go and give in to her desires. Even laying there in a hotel in Colorado, simply thinking of the city and all its glittering glory and promises of fulfillment had her darker half stirring. Elora truly hoped she had the strength to keep from giving in to the desires that were not necessarily good for her.

And if I’m not strong enough, I ask the Forrest Lords to please make Cush strong enough for the both of us,
she thought as she finally succumbed to sleep.

C
assie stretched her arms above her head and then bent at the waist as she tried to loosen muscles and joints made stiff after having spent so long in the vehicle. Once they’d finally left her house, they’d driven for what seemed like forever and had finally reached the sign declaring that they’d entered Louisiana. It had been a few hours since their last gas stop, and Cassie had been asleep so she hadn’t gotten a chance to get out and give her cramped limbs a break.

The night air was muggy and warm, causing her neck to sweat despite the lack of the sun. Crickets chirped in the fields surrounding the gas station which was the only thing giving off light for as far as she could see. A wry smile tipped her lips as she realized that it was the perfect setting for a horror flick murder scene. On the tail end of that thought she jumped when large hands encircled her waist.

“Jumpy, Beautiful?” Trik’s voice trailed over her neck like warm honey.

“I was in the middle of writing a murder scene in my head that takes place at this rather nice establishment,” she said dryly and as though her heart wasn’t trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“Are we talking gory, body parts flying murder scene or something more along the lines of the quiet assassin who slits his victims’ throats before they ever know he’s around?”

Cassie turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. One eyebrow rose slowly as she narrowed her eyes. “You were supposed to say something like, ‘Don’t worry, Beautiful, I won’t let any scary boogeymen murder you.’ ”

She could tell he was trying to hide a smile when he responded. “I kind of figured it went without saying at this point. I mean” ―he pointed to himself― “dark elf assassin slash king.” Trik gave a shrug and said, “I even have a shirt that says,
I’m kind of a big deal.”

That made Cassie laugh. She remembered when he had worn that shirt to her school. That seemed like years ago but it was only months. Trik saw the sudden change in her mood and pulled her tightly against him.

“Talk to me, Cass. Tell me what I can do to make this easier?” His mind was wide open to her and she could tell that he was hurting for her just as deeply as she was hurting over the capture of her parents. Cassie wished she could tell him how to fix it. He just needed to fix it, or at least that’s how he saw it in his mind. But until they got her parents out of Tarron’s hands, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to make it easier.

She was about to say she was sorry but he cut her off. “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the fool for thinking I could somehow make this less painful. It’s been a long time since I had parents; I’ve forgotten what the attachment was like.”

Trik tilted her chin up so that she was looking up into his silver eyes. His dark hair was unbound and framed his handsome face. He was beautiful, but masculine in only the way a dark elf could be. Even though he’d given up his dark elf ways, there was still an air of danger that surrounded him. He was powerful, deadly, and yet he looked at her as though she was the first flower of Spring. “You do make it easier,” she told him.

“I should have been able to keep them safe so that you wouldn’t have to be going through this at all.”

“Trik,” Cassie sighed. “You may be the elf king, but that doesn’t make you infallible.”

“Says who?” he asked in all seriousness.

She laughed.

“We’re ready when you two are,” Tamsin called from a few feet away.

Trik took her by the hand and started leading her back to the SUV. “I did manage to do something right,” he said as she walked beside him.

“What’s that?”

“Well you haven’t been dismembered by the boogeyman, so,” he said drawing out the last word with a shrug.

Cassie squeezed his hand. “True enough, quiver boy.”

“You know you could pick a different nickname,” Trik grumbled as he opened the door for her.

“Give me something better than quiver boy,” Cassie said as she buckled her seat belt.

Before he shut the door Trik leaned in close and whispered, “I have given you plenty to work with, wife.”

Cassie knew she was blushing as he walked around the front of the vehicle to climb in the driver’s seat. She had walked right into that one.

“We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Trik announced as he started the engine.

“What are we going to do once we get there? How will we find him?” Cassie asked.

“We won’t have to find him. He will find us,” Tamsin spoke from behind her.

Cassie glanced over her shoulder at him. She felt a shiver of unease slide down her spine.

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” she muttered under her breath as her eyes were drawn to the darkness beyond her window. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. She knew she was going to need all the sleep she could get.

Rest Beautiful,
she heard Trik’s voice in her mind at the same time she felt his hand wrapped around hers.
Dream of all the babies you will one day give me.

She let out a choked laugh but didn’t open her eyes.
You’re awfully confident.

She could feel his smugness as his thoughts intruded into hers.
The Trik, pun intended, is to find what you’re good at, and then do it a lot. And baby,
you
are what I’m good at.

The laugh that bubbled up out of her felt good.
Yes, quiver boy, you are.

T
arron stood just inside the small cabin door. The shack was surrounded by swamplands. Tall trees, bathed in moss, loomed over it and murky waters full of hidden predators swayed languidly around the stilts the cabin was built on. He let the night wrap around him as his form became one with the shadows.

“What do you want this girl for?” The thick Cajun accent would have been hard for most to understand but he had known the priestess for a very long time.

Tarron’s head didn’t turn when the old woman stepped from the doorway onto the porch. He heard the old rocking chair creak as she eased her worn body into it. She would wait for his answer. That was the frustrating thing about the old ones. They didn’t have anywhere to be that they hadn’t been already so they weren’t in any hurry for anything, be it conversation or action. She would wait patiently until she finally got her answer.

After several minutes of just the sounds of the swamp serenading them, Tarron finally spoke. “She is my Chosen, priestess Chamani.”

The priestess clucked her tongue at him. “Come now, we both be knowing that your lady passed on a long time ago.”

“We also both know that some souls don’t pass on, Chamani. They simply wait for their next chance.”

The rocking chair began a steady creaking as she began to rock slowly. The rhythm of the chair seemed to blend in with the sounds around them making an eerie symphony.

“This girl, she gonna be fine with being your female?”

Tarron turned to face her. His eyes narrowed on the old woman. He wasn’t trying to intimidate her. There was no point in that; she was powerful in her own right. Their magic wasn’t the same but she would be able to hold her own no matter the wrinkles that lined her leathery skin.

She let out a slow breath. “I ain’t judging boy, calm down.”

He almost laughed at the
boy
comment. Tarron hadn’t been a boy in a very, very long time. He couldn’t even remember a time when he didn’t shoulder the worries of a man. No, he wasn’t a boy but, perhaps, to one such as Chamani, he might still be seen as such. Tarron had no idea how old the priestess was, but he could feel the power that radiated off of her and power—that kind of power—came with age and experience.

“Why do you ask, old woman?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against the crooked railing of the porch. He felt the wood give a little beneath him, but it didn’t break under his weight.

“Spells be tricky business. They tend to have a mind of their own if in the receiver ain’t to welcome on it. Not saying I can’t manage it.” She shrugged.

Tarron thought about Cassie’s parents who were still tied up at the old Victorian house that he’d turned into a makeshift lab. No, she wasn’t going to be fine with being his female, but she would do it to protect her parents. He’d thought about just getting her reacquainted with Rapture before deciding to come to the Voodoo priestess, but he had quickly come to the conclusion that he didn’t want a drunken Chosen by his side.

“I have something she wants to keep safe,” he told the old woman. “She will accept the magic.”

Chamani continued to rock in her chair, wrapping an old, worn shawl tight around her bony shoulders. The night wasn’t cool and yet she shivered. The priestess turned her head sharply to the left as if she’d heard something he did not. All of the color leached from her eyes and her body stilled. The white orbs stared at something that Tarron couldn’t see. As if the swamp also sensed a presence, the steady cacophony of noises around them suddenly died down, and they were left surrounded by an unnatural silence.  He didn’t interrupt her, though his body tensed with the urge to know what she was seeing. There was no point in asking. She would tell him when the vision had past, or when she was good and ready.

“What you seek does not belong to you,” her voice crooned out in an accent that was not her own. The usual Cajun accent was gone, replaced by a formalness that this priestess had never known. Tarron straightened and pushed away from the rail. He didn’t step toward Chamani but shifted his body so he was directly facing her. And then he waited.