Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (10 page)

A soft click in my brain sounded, shifting things into place I didn’t know had been out of place. A warm purr of delight vibrated through my body as the Pack formed in my mind, in my being, and became mine.

Ours!
she whispered, collecting all of them into us as a single warm mass of power. I’d stood apart before, a single person among many individuals. Now I stood above an entity as they watched me, waiting for everything, nothing, just being.

My bonds solidified and fell into sync as if all the tumblers were finally aligned and the last piece was in place to unlock me. Golden Anidae, Eithina, and Mate all slid into line. For the first time since my early childhood, I felt almost whole. I knew there was still part of me not complete but that part, Patrick, wasn’t talking to me at the moment.

My skin hummed with power as it tingled down my fingertips with the Pack’s energy. I could’ve run forever on the power coursing through me. Dean’s power slid into me in a solid mass of warmth, getting comfortable with my Eithina as if we both inhabited he same body. Rolling, tumbling together . . . playing. He was home. I was home.

A soft groan escaped his lips, matching my own as my power slipped into him too. The pulse of my magic seeped from me in a sheen of pink energy, spreading my comfort and contentment over the Pack.

“This is my Eithina and yours,” Dean groaned into the silent darkness almost in pleasure.

All the attentive ears soaked up the power spreading out from us in a fog of shimmering pink energy. One by one, the Pack joined in a chorus of howls that filled the night with a majestic off-key song. Under the soft howls, the first groans of pain rose up as the Pack began to shift.

I was at peace, like I finally had control of what was going on around me. I chose this. It wasn’t forced upon me. I chose him. Regardless of what the
power
within me dictated, I chose this life and Dean. He was mine. Dean and Patrick were both mine.

The soft patter of paws on wet grass was like a quiet stampede as the group disappeared into the tall grass of the field. I watched, making sure Ev stuck by Kurt as the Pack took off into the night.

For a moment, everything was as it should be but a soft prickle at the nape of my neck made the hair all over my body stand on end. Glancing off into the darkness beyond the trees, I searched. Someone was out there, watching us. Someone that wasn’t Pack. I felt the intrusion in the pit of my stomach and my fingers reached for the gun at my ribcage.

Dean’s eyes flashed to the trees, his nostrils flared and the heat from his body barreled out over everything, a wide circle of protection and warning.

I caught an unfamiliar scent on the breeze and turned toward the wood.

Alex followed close behind us into the trees.

“Did you smell it?” I whispered. I didn’t want to scare it off, whatever it was.

“No,” Alex whispered in return.

“Then what?”

“I heard the extra heartbeat,” she said with a grin that flashed a bit more fang than was customary for her. Ignoring her, I moved on.

We traipsed through the brush and broken limbs soundlessly, searching for that foreign presence I could still feel out in the woods. Whatever it was, the thing moved with the efficiency of a seasoned predator, quick and silent. The feminine estrogen scent stung my nose as we followed her trail. Weaving between tree trunks as the woods thickened, it became harder to navigate without making a sound as we followed in pursuit.

Dean stopped, too sudden for me to notice and I walked into him.

Graceful Sabin, real graceful.

“Sorry,” I whispered. His gaze darted from left to right, ignoring my misstep altogether. “What is it?”

“Lost her,” he said.

“What do you mean,
you lost her
?” Alex asked with the heat of disbelief and a twinge of panic in her whispered tone.

“Too faint in the wet foliage,” he said, still drawing air in through his nostrils in deep, full breathes.

“Typical,” she snapped.

“Not helping,” I warned over my shoulder. I could be bitchy too. Maybe she’d forgotten that. I sure as hell would remind her if I had to. “Do you hear the extra heartbeat?”

She shrugged and shook her head.

“What now? Someone was here. Someone saw you,” she snapped and then turned worried eyes to me. “Dahlia, they saw her.”

They’d seen Niyati and that was what had her on edge. Alex was good and truly scared and the expression of fear widening her eyes made my gut tighten. I’d never seen it before.

“I know,” I consoled. I wasn’t sure I could fix what had already taken place but if Dean couldn’t track this mystery female, I knew someone who could. “We need Ev back,” I said, confidence making my voice strong and sure.

“What the hell is that boy gonna do?” Alex almost shouted, snapping her teeth at me. Her lime-green hair flew into her face as she threw her arms about in flagrant protest.

“You sure?” Dean asked, a skeptical furrow to his brow as he ignored Alex.

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Closing his eyes, he turned his face up to the full bright moon. He released a howl that held nothing of his human voice in it. The sound was rich, a deep baritone that hummed along my being, filling me with yearning and envy.

“Is that it?”

“Yep,” he said, mimicking my short reply.

I smiled up at him, enjoying the private joke. I couldn’t help it. He was too stinkin’ cute.

A few moments later, the soft thump of eight paws through the underbrush and wet grass came thundering through the stillness. Kurt ran through the trees first, clearing a path for the smaller black wolf behind him. Ev plopped his butt down in front of Dean with a happy grin on his face as his wolf tongue hung from the side of his jaw and sea-foam green eyes sparkled. Panting from the exercise and exhilaration of a run cut too short, he stared up glancing from Dean to me and back again.

“Ev,” I said, stepping up beside Dean. “Follow me,” I ordered, storming back to the spot we’d first started tracking her. Trotting in a few quick circles around me, he turned expectant eyes up to me. “Got her?”

He barked a quick, solid sound of confirmation, and I smiled.

“Well,” I asked with expectation. “Where’d she go?”

He barked again and put his nose to the ground, prancing through the leaves. It took him less than a minute to find the spot where Dean had lost the scent. Ev passed by it with no trouble or even a hesitation, following her another 30 yards through branches, under a log and around several tree groupings until he came to a stop at a small copse of trees.

Set close together, they circled each other in a way that looked too much like a wooded cell for me to feel comfortable. With room for one person in the space at the center of the grouping, the opening was small.

“Perfect,” Alex snipped.

“Did you lose her?” I asked.

Kurt trotted a circle around the trees. A soft whine escaped his muzzle as he searched for the scent.

Ev huffed at me with an insulted snort as he plopped his butt down on the damp earth. I glanced up into the trees, around them, and into the darkness but I didn’t see anything. More importantly, the chill at the back of my neck had disappeared. We were alone, and I knew it. Whoever she was, she was gone. “So this is where she what? Disappeared?”

He barked, and I didn’t know if that was a
yes
or a
hell-if-I-know
. I stood for a moment in confusion as I allowed the world around me to dim into silence and listened for something I couldn’t name. All I knew was that I’d feel it like the pulse of energy from a television left on in a dark room.

Stepping into the circle of trees, I was struck with the soft hum of magic. As I crossed the barrier of trunks and completely immersed myself into the copse, magic swarmed me. It swirled about me like a whirlwind of sand on the beach, tingling along my skin and prodding at my flesh as it beckoned me to follow. The wildness of it made my breath hitch as I struggled to find my balance in the whoosh of energy.

Fae magic.

“Ahhhh,” I breathed as the electric pulse of the portal sent chills over my skin. “Good job, Ev.” I smiled.

“What?” Alex asked, confused and frustrated.

Christ, Alex was supposed to be the levelheaded one. If she lost her shit like this every time Niyati was involved, we were in trouble.

“I think she crossed over to Faerie,” I said. Glancing around, I noticed too many signs. The ground was littered with mushrooms in a neat little circle at the base of the ring of trees. The trunks and branches had grown in twisting limbs, conforming to the will of the magic of the portal. A prime spot, grown and shaped for jumping the veil between worlds.

“Are you gonna trust that some kid can track better than you?” Alex almost roared.

When I turned to stare at her, she was up in Dean’s face with her arms stiff on her hips.

“Hey!” Stepping out from the trees, a wrench of power ripped from my skin as I freed myself of the thick, almost viscous magic. I sure as hell didn’t want to get caught in Faerie if the entire place felt like that.

The familiar peace of anger settled over me. I welcomed it, letting it sit like a hot stone in my stomach. Alex might be Patrick’s second-in-command and my friend but she was nothing in the Manit and I wasn’t about to let her disrespect me or Dean.

“That
kid
tracked me across Las Vegas on foot in human form across the Strip. That ring of trees reeks of Fae magic, so yeah, I trust the kid.” No one was going to call him a kid but me, damn it.

Ev padded up to me, nudging my leg with his heavy, warm body. He forced his head up into my hand at my side and I absently stroked behind his ears.

“We need to talk with Saeran,” Dean said, accepting my assessment without question as if my word was law.

I realized as I stroked Everett’s ear and Kurt flanked me on the other side that after tonight, it was.

“I’ll get Patrick ready and set something up,” Alex said, finally dropping the attitude and acting much more like the calm strategic Alex I knew. The lovesick, panicked Alex made me nervous.

“Good,” I ground out, still agitated with her. She might be all right now but I sure as hell wasn’t. There was a weird fae watching the Pack and I didn’t like it. “Dean, Kurt, and Ev have a run to finish.”

Ev whined, rubbing his muzzle against my hip. I knew he wanted me to run with them but until Patrick knew about my ability to shift, it wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t want that information to come from anyone but me. We already had too much shit lingering between us to add one more betrayal.

“Come on, Pup. You did good. The first rabbit’s yours,” Dean said, patting Ev on the head. Dean leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, a soft press of lips that surprised me. Chaste and almost sisterly. “Be careful while I’m gone,” he almost growled in my ear, his hot breath sending heat low in my body as it caressed my neck. Motioning for Ev and Kurt to follow him, Dean left Alex and I in the wood. Alone. Together.

“I should tell Patrick,” she said, turning toward the cars. She stopped and glanced back at me, her normal hard edge gone. “Will you let Niyati know where I went and see that she gets a ride home?” Alex asked, pensive, as if she didn’t know how to talk to me anymore.

“I will,” I answered simply, all previous anger leaving me as I met her chocolate eyes. If I’d been in her place, I would’ve been worried too. Hell, I probably would have killed something by now. I should be the one to tell Patrick. She shouldn’t have to leave Niyati like this, not when every instinct in her was screaming for her to stay.

“I’m sorry you have to leave her here tonight. I’d tell Patrick myself but he doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I said. Hearing the twinge of guilt in my own voice, I was sure she did too.

“He wants everything to be as it was.” She sighed. “But too much has happened for that. It can’t be as it was when neither of you are the same people as before. Once he realizes that, he’ll come around.”

“Sure,” I agreed, not wanting to drudge up the subject again. I’d been happy for a brief minute and I wanted to hold on to that even if it was half a lie.

Alex turned and left without another word, leaving me alone with my own thoughts.
Damn it!
Nothing good ever came of that
.

Chapter 10

Faerie, Date Unknown

She couldn’t move her legs. She wasn’t even sure if they were still there since she couldn’t feel them. Maybe the rats had eaten them off while she’d been trying to figure out how long she’d been cowering in the dark.

Milagra knew she reeked but she’d been living in her own filth for so long, she couldn’t smell her own stench any longer. Her clothes had grown too small and she’d seen her monthly bleedings come and go many, many times. Too many times to count. Her only solace was the Cossack. He was kind to her, talked to her as if she mattered, and gave her what little food he could hide from the others.

When she finally understood no one was coming for her, she’d cried until she’d passed out. She ate only when the Cossack brought her food. Although few and far between, she waited for those days and the kindness in his voice, even if she didn’t understand the words. The water shoved through a small slot in the door was always dank and smelled dirty, tainted. She dared not drink it but the Cossack would bring her fresh water. Most days, she could count on that at least.

She laid her head down on the cold stone, ignoring the unknown gunk on the floor. She didn’t want to think about what she was lying in or the dark pressing down on her like a weight. She didn’t care anymore.

The heavy clamp of boots beyond her cell door got closer and closer. Her heart pounded with each thump of boots on stone. Maybe, just maybe, Likho had finally decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

Once, she’d feared the beatings, the burnings, and the knives but she’d healed from all of it. She’d feared the dark and the loneliness most of all but she no longer feared either of those. The monster Likho had taken great pleasure in tormenting her. He never asked her a question, his pleasure was her torture, her pain, and her screams.

The heavy oak door of her cell slid open, scraping the stone floor. The dull skidding sound turned her stomach as the door forced debris and grime out of its way. Soft light from the hall streamed in, filling her usually pitch-black cell with a warm glow, revealing the filth in which she lived.

Two large guards dressed in what she’d come to learn were Cossack uniforms stood just inside the door looming over her like giants. The two men were dressed in gray trousers with red silk
beshmets
, tunics with buttons angled up the shoulders. Over the
beshmet
was a long heavy gray tunic, layering against the cold Milagra no longer felt. A
cherkesska
acted like a coat, swinging in the breeze as they moved. The long cavalry swords she’d become all too familiar with, dangled at their hips. Tall fleece hats in crimson red crowned their heads to shield them from the constant freezing winter winds through the castle that never seemed to warm up.

She’d seen hundreds of Likho’s army and palace guards, or maybe it was only a few. They all appeared the same to her in their dismal gray tunics and bright red hats. All but one. She glanced up, recognizing him instantly. The warm eyes staring down at her, and the scar marring his cheek seemed like a welcome sight.

“You come,” the one on the left ordered as he pushed out each harsh sounding letter with a thick guttural accent.

Few of them spoke English, let alone Spanish. She’d picked up some Russian words but not enough to understand what anyone was saying, only one of them talked to her and it was too infrequently for her to learn. Sounding like a jumbled mess of harsh consonants, one word blended into the next as they spoke.

“I can’t,” Milagra whispered, attempting to raise her head from the cold stone floor. Too weak, underfed, and unexercised, the weight of her head was too immense for her to lift as she strained in an effort to lift it.

Her Cossack stepped forward and knelt down beside her. She wanted to fight and stop him from taking her but she didn’t have the energy or the strength. There wasn’t anything else they could do to her that she hadn’t experienced already.

A guttural laugh that hadn’t come from any of them echoed against the stone walls of her cell, tightening her stomach with dread. The Cossack kneeling next to her hesitated at the sound of Likho’s delight ricocheting off the cold walls. His hand shook and his dark gaze found hers. The scent of the Cossack’s fear tickled her nose as she focused on his scent instead of the filth surrounding her.

Slipping his hands beneath her body, the Cossack lifted her limp form from the ground, cradling her dirty, flea-ridden body against him as if she was precious to him. She knew she was precious to no one and his lie made the contact that much worse.

Milagra rested her head on his shoulder, wanting to believe if only for a few moments that she did matter to him, to anyone, all too willing to believe the lie.

His warmth permeated through his coat, fusing into her skin as she huddled against him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been warm. Milagra didn’t care if he turned his head away to keep her odor from destroying his senses. She was so close to being free from the constant chill in her bones, the indignation of her stench was nothing compared to the warmth of his body.

He carried her down the hall and away from her cell. Screams from the other prisoners, and there were many, died away as he strode on. Leaving the horror of her cell and the captives behind, she listened as his heavy boots echoed on the stone stairs. He climbed the spiral stairs with her clutched tight in his arms and she didn’t even care where they were going. Nothing could be worse. Milagra closed her eyes for only a moment as she breathed in the rich, clean scent of the man holding her so tight and yet so gentle against him.

When she opened her tired eyes again, adjusting them to the harsh torch light lining the stairs, the Cossack had stopped as his companion opened an oak door before them. With a grunt and all his strength, the heavy door was shoved wide. Her Cossack stepped inside with her still firmly in his grip, revealing a beautiful bedchamber.

Milagra’s heart beat faster and tears welled in her eyes. A real bed.

Furs covered the mattress, rich and warm. A fire. An actual fire burned in the hearth. Her bottom lip trembled with anticipation and fear. She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep in his strong arms. If she had, Milagra didn’t want to wake up. It was too cruel, too wonderful of a dream to open her eyes to her cruel reality.

Carrying her across the room to the hearth fire already ablaze, he towered over a large copper tub. Steaming hot, clean water waited. Milagra peered down at the hot water and gasped.

“Please let it be for me,” she whispered before turning hopeful eyes up to her Cossack, her rock, her savior.

His eyes were a soft chocolate brown and gazed down upon her as if the shear sight of her didn’t repulse him. His face was hard with sharp lines outlining his features. This was the first time she’d seen him in the light. He had a square jaw, seeming as hard as granite with a large crocked nose. A long scar from the corner of his mouth stretched up his cheek with crisscrossing translucent marks following the line up as if his face had been sliced open and stitched by someone who didn’t care that they were marring his lovely face. The scar was old, the skin hard, permanently marking his rugged features.

Milagra reached a tentative hand up to touch that mark, to feel the roughened skin of his scar beneath her fingers.

He jerked his head back and away.

Freezing her hand in midair, her fingers dangled as she longed to feel the long coarse length of his scar. When he didn’t set her on her feet or force her hand down, Milagra grazed her fingertips down the length of his cheek, stroking the raised flesh.

Milagra turned her tired gaze up. His warm gaze was filled with trepidation and awe. She’d touched him where something or someone had torn his face away from its perfect symmetry.

“Why have you brought me here?” Milagra asked. Her voice sounded harsh, even to her own ears, as if she was trying to speak around a mouth full of rocks. His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips, meeting her gaze in confusion. “
Zdayc
?” she asked, rifling through her brain for the words he would understand. Here, she wanted to know why she was here.

“You clean,” a stern female voice from behind the Cossack ordered.

A heavy, older woman approached from the hall. She was dressed in serviceable clothing, heavy wool and thick stockings. A rag was tied about her head to keep her hair from her work.

“We get you clean,” the old woman snapped. She crinkled her nose and took a step back as her nose filled with Milagra’s odor. The old washer woman glared up at her Cossack with a stern expression. “It’s time for you to leave. I’ll take her.”

Milagra felt a glimmer of hope. Clean. She could be clean and warm again. Her Cossack left the room hesitantly after setting her on her own two feet. Not having the strength to hold herself up, Milagra managed to grab the copper tub and keep her feet.

The old woman tugged at her clothing, rags really, as Milagra stared at the old woman’s mouth moving around words she didn’t understand. The old woman ripped her tattered and filthy clothes from her emaciated frame and tossed them into the fire.

Stepping into the clean water, the hot, painful rush of sensation up her legs stung her dirty skin. The water shaded to black before she even had a chance to sit in the tub as it rippled around her legs. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of her filth. The thought of finally being clean overwhelmed her to the point that the tears she’d been holding for what felt like years finally spilled over and streamed down her dirty face in silent relief.

The old washer woman took a bar of lye soap to Milagra, scrubbing until her skin was raw. Another bucket of hot water was poured over her head, washing away a layer of soap and grime.

Blood returned to her legs and her body came back to life as the water sluiced over her. Yanking Milagra to her feet, the old woman dumped another bucket of water over her already drenched head. The woman held out a large counterpane for Milagra to step into, wrapping the soft fabric tight around her body to soak up the excess water. Milagra ignored the urge to shake the water from her body and hair like a dog, snuggling instead into the counterpane and relishing its warmth. She gazed down at the old woman and clasped the counterpane closer to her.

Milagra noticed for the first time that she was taller than the old woman, towering over her smaller frame when she had never towered over anyone. Milagra’s legs were longer and even though she was half starved, her body was rounded in places it hadn’t been before. She was a woman now, and somehow she’d missed it. How long had she been in that cell?

The other woman ushered her to a chair by the fire and held out a fine gold plated hair brush. Milagra turned it over in her hand, evaluating the intricate designs on the handle. A single large eye was carved into the soft metal coating the brush. It stared back at her as if it watched her, then the eye blinked.

Milagra gasped. Her grip tightened, clasping the brush in her hand but the woman urged her on. Brushing out her hair by the fire, she repeated stroke after stroke until soft, silky curls streamed down her back, tumbling over her shoulders.

Milagra turned, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The old washer woman dug through the contents of the armoire on the other side of the room, giving Milagra her back as if she didn’t matter. In truth, she was so weak and hungry she couldn’t have escaped if her mind had been able to process such an idea. With a heavy sigh, Milagra turned back toward the mirror. Her hair was down past her round bottom, broken and dead at the ends. Her ribs jutted out, visible through her skin. Starvation made her eyes large in her gaunt face and her cheekbones sharp. Gazing at her reflection, Milagra searched for her mother in her own dark eyes, her strong cheek bones, and full lips but she couldn’t remember. No matter how much she racked her brain, she couldn’t remember her mother. Even Riona’s beautiful form was disappearing from her mind. She’d lost everything and everyone. Fresh tears stung her eyes as she searched for an image she could latch on to, a smell, anything.

Wiping the tears away, Milagra sniffed back her heartache. At least she was clean.

The old woman turned from the armoire with her hands full of heavy wool and soft muslin. Holding out a gown for her, the woman pressed on, impatient to be done with her. Milagra clutched the gown in her hands like a greedy child. The warm, hunter green wool was soft to the touch, and heavy enough to keep her warm in the chill that permeated through this castle. Butterflies of relief and long-forgotten comforts filled her stomach, chasing the anxiety of uncertainty away.

Merely a serviceable gown, the thick skirts and petticoats were the most beautiful thing she’d seen since leaving Riona. Milagra stepped into the clothing and waited for the woman to tie the laces up the back. The gown was warm and soft against her raw skin, shielding her from the cold that had long since sunken into her bones.

A soft knock jarred her from her momentary glee and Milagra turned toward the chamber door. She caught a glimpse of green skin the color of spring grass and shimmering hair draped over broad shoulders. Before she knew she’d moved, Milagra was across the room, vaulting herself into Saeran’s arms. He clutched her to him, carrying her dangling form farther into the room. She clung to him as tears streamed down her face. He’d come for her. He’d finally come for her. She’d known he would. He’d promised to take care of her and he was here in her arms. She was finally going home and away from this nightmare her life had become.

She buried her nose in his neck and breathed in, expecting the familiar earthy scent of Saeran that she’d never been able to forget. His and Rionas’ scents had been branded into her brain long after their images had faded. What filled her nose was not the light easy scent of spring flowers but a hint of burnt sulfur beneath a dirty, sweat-drenched odor. The scent was all too familiar to her.

Tensing in his arms, the realization washed over Milagra that Saeran hadn’t come. Likho’s grip tightened around her as she squirmed to get away. Too weak from lack of food, exercise, and sleep to do her any good, she struggled anyway. The small bits of meat, cheese, and stale bread provided by her Cossack had never been enough to sustain her.

The monster in Saeran’s form gripped her waist tighter as he grabbed her flailing arm in his grasp with his free hand, tight and unforgiving, crushing the bones in her wrist.