Wicked Enchantment (39 page)

Pity Brother Maddoc.

Men gripped his clothing, shredding the fabric and leaving him naked on the ground. The creaking leather sound of a whip being unfurled behind him filled the air and made him shiver with anticipation. The first lash snapped against his flesh and his body arched backward in shock and pain, hot blood welling. Sweet, delicious,
beautiful
agony followed.

The crowd made a collective gasp of horror, but no one would guess it was a smile on his face and not a grimace.

His will would be done.

 

 

“I’M
sorry, Gabriel.”

“I don’t want to hear that.” His voice was harsh, hard—filled with grief. “I want to hear that you can bring her back.”

Ronan smiled sadly. “I’m a powerful mage, but I’m not all-powerful. Issues of life and death lie in Danu’s realm alone.”

Aislinn lay on the bed in her chambers, her skin pale against the ruby coverlet they’d only recently made love beneath. The amulet tattoo, though dull, still marked her skin. It meant she was still alive, although only barely. In his numb state back at the temple, he’d failed to grasp that fact as a sign of life.

The doctors could only detect the slightest breath in her body and her skin was ashen, her eyes closed. The illness she suffered was magickal in nature so not even medical means could help her now. Only magickal countermeasures, and there were none. Aislinn was on her own.

“A weaker person would have died by now,” murmured Niall, coming to gaze down at her. “She’s fighting. As long as she’s fighting it, there’s hope.”

The battle at the temple was done and all the Phaendir who’d dared cross the line into Piefferburg were dead and had been delivered past the main gates of Piefferburg on a truck and dumped unceremoniously.
Faemous
had loved that. The Book of Bindings was still safe. Word of what had happened at the Grand Temple had spread fast—the second upheaval in the city in less than a week.

The fae races were riled. Volatile. You could feel the pulsing energy of it on the streets.

Perhaps now more than ever, with the exception of the years after the Great Sweep, the fae wanted blood for what had been done to them.

News of the fate of the Unseelie Royal had also spread. Many had been by to pay their respects. Her apartment and the corridor beyond were littered with flowers, candles, and other trinkets of well wishes. Even the Summer Queen had sent a bouquet.

Aislinn lingered in some place where he couldn’t go. Not here in the land of the living and not in the Netherworld. She existed somewhere in the middle, suspended by the magick of the druids that had done its best to kill her. He couldn’t go there and save her. This time there was no summoning Abastor, no descent into the unknown to rescue her. This time there was nothing he could do. She was all alone.

And it killed him.

If he could fall into the magick that held her captive, he would let it swallow him whole. If he could swim through the murk that held her so close to death and free her, he would plunge into it. He would let it take him instead and leave her living, breathing, laughing, and free to love.

“Since she had no children, we will have to consider a list of candidates for the Shadow Amulet,” said Hinckley from where he stood near the door.

Gabriel turned and speared him with a look so black and poisonous that Hinckley stumbled in his haste to leave the room.

Turning back to Aislinn, Gabriel stared down, his gaze tracing over her prone form for the millionth time since they’d carried her back from Goblin Town. He hadn’t changed his clothes yet and the residual stink of sulfur from the druids’ power still clung to him, competing with the scent of flowers in the room.

“Leave me alone with her.” His voice sounded raspy and broken to his own ears.

Ronan nodded and herded the others in the room out.

Gabriel crawled onto the bed and pulled Aislinn’s limp body against him. Her skin was cold and her lips were blue. He molded her to him and kissed her cheek, her neck, anywhere he could press lips to flesh.

“I love you, Aislinn,” he murmured. “I haven’t loved anyone since I was a child. I thought I’d forgotten how to love or maybe that I wasn’t capable of it. Then I met you.” His voice broke on the words and he fought to maintain control. “I can’t lose you.”

The offering candles guttered in their holders, casting flickering shadows over the walls until they eventually spent themselves completely.

Eventually, morning dawned. Roseate fingers inched their way over furniture and floor, giving the room a merry lightness that didn’t reach inside his heart. Gabriel closed his eyes and held her, willing his spirit to somehow enter her and help to free her from the trap she was caught in. He tried to project himself into her, fall into her. Immerse himself in her troubled waters, join with the injured portion of her mind and body and yank her away from whatever magickal forces had its claws sunk so deep.

But his magick was only of two things—sex and death.

Not life.

“Fight it. Come back to me.” He pushed up and stared down at her. “Do you hear me, Aislinn?
Fight it!
You’re mine, remember? You’re not death’s, not yet. You won’t belong to the Netherworld for many years, not until long after we’ve had kids and watched them grow up. Not until long after we’ve grown old together.”

But she didn’t move, didn’t make any indication she heard his plea.

Gabriel dipped his head and fought the grief rising up from the depths, trying to choke him. “Don’t leave me.”

* * *

AISLINN
pulled at the hands that held her down, the moaning, reaching arms of those in the Netherworld who wanted to drag her down into unfathomable depths.

“You’re ours,” they whispered.

“Stop fighting,” they growled.

“Let go and it will all be over,” they crooned. “So easy . . .”

Her body and mind were exhausted and every time she managed to extricate herself from one grasping bunch of hands, another group of them latched on to some other part of her body and the battle began again.

All she wanted was to sleep, to give up and let go . . . just like they said. But distantly, she understood that if she went to sleep, it would be the sleep of death.

Someone far away called her name, told her to fight, told her she was his—not death’s. Death. Were those the hands that pulled at her?
Fight it. Come back to me
. The voice was familiar, someone she loved.

Gabriel.

She remembered what he looked like, could recall the stroke of his hands on her flesh and the brush of his lips on the nape of her neck. The scent of him teased her nose, a distant memory she wanted to wrap around her like a soft, warm blanket. The look in his eyes when he was aroused. The sound of his voice, his laughter.

She strained toward the memory of Gabriel and away from the grasping hands. Calling up an image of the man she loved, she fell into it, used it as an anchor.

Don’t leave me
.

No, she didn’t want to leave him. She needed to fight. She wasn’t theirs, these hands that grasped and pulled at her. She was Gabriel’s love. He’d told her so. She
wanted
to be his.

And she was, heart, body, and soul.

Strength renewed, Aislinn fought with a renewed will. She pulled and kicked and fought and twisted, yelling back at the moaning voices that they couldn’t have her. She was already claimed. Claimed by life and by love.

An image rose up. Gabriel stood behind a sheet of shimmering silver, like a smooth mirror or the surface of a lake. He reached through the barrier that separated them, entreating her to take hold. She grasped for that lifeline and held on, used it as leverage against the sticky pull of the dark on her other side.

Light glimmered. The hands fell away.

More light.

Her eyelids opening.

Morning light.

Warmth beside her.

Despite the ache of her body and the fatigue that permeated every part of her, she turned her head to meet Gabriel’s face, his eyes closed and anguish clear on his handsome visage.

“Gabriel,” she croaked.

His eyes opened, widened. His hands cupped her cheeks softly, as though afraid she might break or disappear. His face filled with emotion that needed no words to express. He dipped his head, his lips pressing against hers, long and lingeringly.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered against her mouth.

Aislinn smiled, basking in the perfect warmth of the home his arms made and knowing she was exactly where she should be. “Never. I’m yours.”

 

 

 

 

AISLINN
stood on the top of the Black Tower at dusk still wearing her wedding dress, a bloodred and cream affair, accompanied by dripping ruby jewelry that would rival any outfit of the Summer Queen’s. Her hair was gathered and twisted at the back of her head, the red tips fanning out in an arc at the top and secured by a silver and black crown.

Her new husband stood beside her, now a king. The Unseelie Court had never had both a Shadow King and Shadow Queen and the inhabitants had been celebrating since the morning wedding ceremony.

Once, long ago, marriage had been unheard of in fae culture. However, human culture had leached into theirs and marriages had become common. But not for the royals. Sometimes the court royals had taken consorts, but they’d never trusted anyone enough to share full power.

As soon as she’d recovered, there’d been no question that she would marry Gabriel. They belonged to each other, belonged together, and would rule side by side.

The ceremony had been beautiful, but it hadn’t been because of the decorations in the main gathering hall, the expensive food and drink that had followed, or even the joy and celebration of the Unseelie. Honestly, she’d hardly seen any of that. She’d only seen Gabriel’s face.

His vows had echoed through her mind all day.

He’d spoken the words in Old Maejian first, weaving the spell between them—magick knitting the halves of their souls into one. Now wherever her soul went, his would follow. Then he’d spoken them in English.

She’d been surprised he’d used the Joining Vows, the traditional mating vows of the Tuatha Dé. No one used them anymore because of the magick involved. They bound souls together, making two halves one whole. When one of them died, the other would follow. Conversely, because the Shadow Amulet made her immortal, so now was Gabriel. As he’d pledged himself to her, the magick-laced vows had wrapped around her, held her close, and let her know that Gabriel’s love was pure, genuine, and strong.

Not that she’d doubted it.

She said them back immediately, happy tears streaming down her face.

Gabriel took her hand and they stood in an easy, contented silence, surveying the scene below them. They’d been able to slip away at the end of the day, leaving the others to continue the party, which she was sure would last well into the night.

Dusk rose on the horizon. Shades of orange and yellow gave way to dark blue, purple, and gray. Slowly the day slipped away, giving over rule to the dark.

The city still seemed to seethe and pulse after the populace had discovered the Phaendir had dared to step foot on Piefferburg soil. The old hurts and anger at their imprisonment, long since settled and cooled since the Great Sweep and Piefferburg’s beginnings, had been stirred up.

Maybe her near death had been a good thing. It was a rage they could use.

The book was safely hidden away and the Summer Queen had one of the pieces to the
bosca fadbh
. They needed two other pieces. It seemed impossible, but it was already impossible they should be in possession of half of what they needed to break free.

Clearly anything could happen. In the days ahead, Aislinn was pretty sure lots of things would.

She laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and watched the day give up its last gasp of light and give way to the mysterious and powerful dark.

Dear readers,
curious where Piefferburg is located?

 

Visit my website for an interactive map:
www.anyabast.com

 

 

 

 

Abastor
The mystic black stallion that leads the Wild Hunt.

Black Tower
A large building on one end of Piefferburg Square that is constructed of black quartz. This is the home of the Unseelie Court.

Book of Bindings
Book created when the Phaendir and the fae were allied. The most complete book of spells known. Contains the spell that can break the warding around Piefferburg.

bosca fadbh
Puzzle box consisting of three interlocking pieces. Once was an object owned by both the Phaendir and the fae, back when they weren’t enemies. When all three pieces are united, it forms a key to unlock part of the Book of Bindings.

Boundary Lands
The area where the wilding fae live.

ceantar dubh
Dark district. This is the neighborhood directly buttressing the Black Tower.

ceantar láir
Middle district. Fae “suburbia,” it also borders a mostly commercial area of downtown Piefferburg where the troop live and work.

charmed iron
Iron spelled to take away a fae’s magick when it touches the skin. Used in prisons as handcuffs and by the Imperial and Shadow guards, it’s illegal for the general fae population to possess it. Charmed iron weapons were a major reason the fae lost in the war against the Milesians and Phaendir in ancient Ireland.