Crowned by Fire (16 page)

The two shape-shifters pointed out the other Council members to her. Gabriel Morrows was a disapproving old man who looked vaguely like Merlin and was probably just as powerful. He had a snake familiar named Mythirion that curled around his neck like a thick, emerald collar.

Emily Garcia was young, somewhere between her age and the witch's, and had shaken only the very tips of Catherine's fingers, as if she had some sort of contagious disease. Her familiar was a sharp-eyed kestrel named Cadenza, who screeched and tried to claw at Catherine's face with her talons when she approached. “Karen Shields's replacement,” said Cheyenne.

“
In more ways than one,” Raj said contemptuously.

Cheyenne fixed him with a look of disapproval. “Now you don't know that's true.”

“Karen was barely dead in the grave before his father started looking for replacements.”

“
You mean—Phineas is going to marry her?”

“
That's just rumor,” Cheyenne repeated.

“
There's a half-truth in every rumor.”

“
Cannibalism?” she prompted him, quoting his jibe from earlier. “Where is the half-truth in that?”

“
Well, we eat, don't we?” he said. “Just not people. Half-truth. I rest my case.”

That was funny, but this time Catherine couldn't bring herself to smile. For all its alleged prestige, the Council was starting to have the feel of a gilded cage.

At the fringe of the group, standing apart from the witches, was a very thin woman wearing gauzy robes that clung to her slender frame like mist. Her hair was a silvery blonde but her face was unwrinkled, so it was impossible to tell how old she really was. The woman positively glowed with magic, but the absence of a familiar suggested she wasn't a witch. When her pale eyes met Catherine's, Catherine turned away in respect—and fear.

She was out of her depth and knew it.

Even so, she was pleased to find herself seated between Raj and Cheyenne at dinner. She suspected this placement was not an accident—the witches
would
quarantine the shape-shifters together, and at the farthest end of the table, to boot—but for once, she was grateful for the stigma. All the disapproving looks and condemning stares were wearing her nerves thin. It was nice to have them a table away.

“
You know,” Cheyenne said, in her low, musical voice, “you're exactly what I expected.”

Catherine drank her wine. More slowly, this time. “I hope that's a good thing.”

There was a twinkle in her black eyes. “That's a matter of opinion.”

The first course was a salad. She hated salad but made an effort to eat the lettuce and tomatoes. She was sure they were very high quality lettuce and tomatoes, but they might as well have been grains of sand for all the pleasure that Catherine got out of them.

Raj had a similar look of polite distaste on his face, cementing Catherine's suspicions that he was some sort of predator, but Cheyenne was eating happily. “Deer,” Raj muttered, which Catherine initially misheard as 'dear,' “You
would
enjoy this rabbit food.” So that was it, then. Cheyenne was one of the few shape-shifters that wasn't carnivorous. Vegetarian shape-shifters were quite rare.

Cheyenne smiled sweetly and chewed her bite of lettuce very deliberately.

“The prince keeps looking at you,” Raj said. “He seems quite angry about something.”

Cheyenne made a slight shake of her head.

“Angrier than usual,” Raj persisted.

“
Don't attract his attention,” she said, in the typical overly cautious manner of Prey.

When Catherine looked over, he seemed immersed in a conversation with Merlin.

“Well, he was looking a moment ago.” Raj dug into the meat placed before him.

“
Do you know of a vampire named Alec?” she asked quietly.

Both shifters went rigid—only another shifter would have noticed—and she knew that the answer was yes. They seemed to know it, too. With an air of resignation, Cheyenne said, “Yes. He used to be a Diad. Water and air, I believe. Back then, he was known as Alec St. Clair.”

“What was he when he wasn't a vampire?”

“
Captain of the Royal Guard.”

“
But that wasn't enough,” Raj said. “He killed one of his own guardsmen and drank his blood. Then he went on to drain about two dozen shape-shifters, the fucking leech.”

“
Raj.”

“
That's what they are,” Raj said, shaking his head. “Despicable creatures. There's a reason that there are no vampire delegates. Even the broom-humpers know they can't be trusted.”

“
That's not politically correct.”

“
Why? They can't hear me. And I heard two of them remark on 'the savages' earlier this evening.”

Cheyenne was prevented from making further comments by the witch tapping his wineglass.

“As I'm sure you are all aware, the reappearance of an ancient Slayer spell book has been the cause behind this recent wave of insurgency among the Slayers.”

Murmurs followed this statement—some hostile, some curious.

“The matter has been put to rest, and the book has been safely locked away.”

“
Good riddance,” someone muttered.

The witch glanced in the direction the comment had come from. “However, their numbers continue to climb—and worse, they are hiring vampires as mercenaries to do their dirty work.”

Outraged gasps.

“
Vampires?” Raj said. “Acting as mercenaries? What a shock.”

The witch cleared his throat. “The true purpose of
this assembly was to honor the shape-shifter, Catherine Pierce, for the service paid to the Otherkind—and at no small cost to herself.”

At no small cost to herself.
What a lovely euphemism for losing her family and her mate. Heads turned towards her on all sides. She wasn't about to stand up—she thought she might burst into tears if she did—so she settled for a short nod.

There was light applause, but it wasn't very enthusiastic and ended almost as soon as it had begun. He passed down a medal, which was handed from member to member until it ended up in Catherine's hands. It was a bronze disc emblazoned with the same pentacle on Finn's robes. The Council's insignia.

She wasn't sure it would sit well with the emerald necklace, so she looped it around her wrist, until the disc settled against her skin like a metal corsage. She was already eager to go. But the night, it seemed, was just beginning.

After his speech was a dance. Some classical waltz began to play, and the Councilmen began to dance. Most of them were quite good, although there were some exceptionally horrible dancers. Raj took her for a spin around the floor, but he was quite a bit older than she was; and while this was not necessarily a
deterrent in and of itself, it was obvious he had eyes only for Cheyenne.

Catherine watched the witch dance with Emily. She was beautiful, the way all witches were, with high cheekbones and a slender build. She was also a good dancer. A lot like Karen, except a little darker, and a little less pretty. Her eyes met Catherine's briefly. She didn't sneer, or look down her nose, or any of those other catty things women were always doing in romance novels. What she did was worse: she simply looked back at her dance partner, not sparing her a second thought.

Because, as far as Emily was concerned, Catherine might not have even existed.

A few males glanced in her direction but since they were witches Catherine knew none of them would ask her to dance. They were probably just wishing that she wasn't even there. She had another glass of wine, hoping it would soothe her nerves. It didn't.

Meanwhile, the witch danced with every single female in the room. He even made a polite offer to Cheyenne who, just as politely, declined him. When Catherine realized what that meant, the witch was already making his way over to her. “What did I tell you about drinking?” he said, so quietly that only she would be able to hear him. Aloud he said, coolly, “May I have this dance?”

“
I don't think that's a good idea.”

“
Then you do me a grave dishonor.”

Reluctantly, she took his hand as he led her back to the floor. She was conscious of the disapproving looks they were drawing; they were the only shifter-witch couple on the floor. Raj and Cheyenne whirled by, a dervish of wild, sensual grace that no witch could hope to match. They both raised their eyebrows, almost in unison. Catherine could only guess their thoughts.

The witch may have been a very good dancer but she was not. She couldn't understand why until he said, in another one of those asides meant for her ears alone, “Stop trying to lead, Catherine. Ceding control to me for one dance won't turn you subservient.”

Her grip on his neck faltered. She hadn't realized that she'd been trying to seize control of the steps. She was too aware of everything else—the stares, the whispers, the way his gloved hand felt on the bare skin of her back. She swallowed hard, and the witch said, “You're shaking.”

“When does this song end?”

“
At my say-so,” he said. “Otherwise, in about six minutes. Why?”

Catherine tried to pull away and he turned it into a spin.

“I don't think you want to do that,” he said, still speaking quietly.

“
Why the fuck not?” she hissed.

“
Because,” he twirled her in close again, closer than before, “if you make a scene, you'll give those who would have you dead an excuse to speed up the process.”

“
Who would have me dead?”

“
Well,” he swept her to the side. “My father for one.”

“
Does he know?”

“
What you are? No. If he did, you would already be dead. But he suspects. No, this is less about what you are, and more what you could be. Royce Riordan sees you as a threat, a revolutionary.”

“
He's wrong. I'm not a revolutionary. I'm just…trying not to die.”

“
You're very bad at that,” said the witch. “Because he enlisted me to kill you.”

Catherine missed a step, and ended up stumbling into his chest. “What?” she said weakly.

“Rather inconvenient,” the witch said, “considering how much effort it took keeping you alive.”

She tried to pull away again, and the witch pulled her back easily. “Stop that,” he said.

“You just said that you were going to
kill
me.”

“
Perhaps,” said the witch.

Catherine stared at him. “Perhaps?” she echoed.

“It would solve most of my problems.”

“
Did you know?” Catherine said. “Is this what you meant, when you said you were fated?”

His mouth twisted oddly. “No,” he admitted. “But then, Fate moves in mysterious ways.” The music slowed down, and he let his steps slow with them. “This puts me into an interesting situation, shifter mine. If I kill you, the savages will have my head. If I don't kill you, my father has mine.”

“I didn't drink enough to even begin to comprehend where your going with this,” she said.

“
Allow me to demonstrate, then,” said the witch, with that mocking smile she had grown to hate.

“
Don't you dare—”

“
I dare everything.”

And then, before the entire Council, before she could stop him, he pulled her close and kissed her.

Chapter Eight

Bad things happened whenever they kissed, but Finn believed this might be the worst to date.

Even though his eyes were closed, he could sense the revulsion of the other Council members. The tension in the room was electric, like the last few seconds of stillness before the atmosphere tipped in favor of a storm.

And oh, what a storm this will be.

But for one glorious moment, he didn't have to hide who he was. Everything was out in the open and it left him feeling exhilarated, untouchable, amazing.

The consequences—those would come later.

Catherine resisted and he could feel her pulse hitting hard against his fingertips even through the gloves. With a deftness that came from years of practice, he coaxed open her mouth and found, as the music stopped abruptly with a discomfited screech, that her tongue was still bittersweet from the tannins of the wine she'd been consuming.

“What are you doing?” she said. “What have you done?”

Finn elected not to answer that. He intended to take
advantage of the moment for as long as he could before the Council members came to their senses.

She managed to pull away again, moving her face when he tried to recapture her mouth. “You told me not to call attention to myself. You fucking hypocrite.”

He stroked his fingers down her downy cheek. “I also told you to trust me.”

“
I wouldn't trust you any further than I could throw you.”

That brought a smile to his lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to meditate on that in hell.”

“
Nobody's going to hell. At least not yet.”

The dance floor was empty. Everyone had rushed to clear it the moment that his lips had touched hers.

He found himself wondering how many of those shocked expressions were masks. Whether any of those stiff-collared officials had ever woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, aching for a taste of the forbidden.

Royce stood up from his chair. His fingers were gripping the armrests tightly enough that his grip would have left dents in the wood if he were a shape-
shifter.

“
What are you
doing
?” his father thundered.

“
Do you need to see it again to understand?”

And he tipped the shape-shifter back easily, brushing his mouth lightly against her unrelenting lips without taking his eyes off his father.
Judas kiss
.
This one is for you.

The look she was giving him rivaled his father's in anger.

Straightening, Finn casually wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I would have thought it obvious. One would have to be deaf to miss the whispers about my, how you say—” he paused, as though struggling to think of the right word “—preferences. You, yourself, thought to query about it at the start of the evening, if I recall correctly.”

That deflected some of the attention to his father. He had not seen Royce this angry in a while. Not since he'd found out that his wife had been fucking a human. Finn had to smile.
I've got you bested, Mother. This—this is far worse.

“
How can you stand there and smirk at me? If you have violated the Second Rule, your title, your lands, your inheritance—they will all be forfeit. This is serious.”

“
About as serious as violating the Truce, you might say.”

Royce stopped. In the silence that followed, Finn imagined  he could hear the sound of the shape-shifter's pounding heart. Or was that his own? Did he still have one?

“I do not understand,” said his father coldly. But Finn thought he saw the slightest trace of fear on Royce's face.

“
No?” Finn said, and while his words were pleasant they fairly dripped ice.
Yes, you know. Don't you?

He raised his voice to be better heard over the murmurs.

“Tell me, would you rather follow a deviant or a traitor? Because it seems as if you might have to make that choice before the night is over.”

“
Phineas,” said his father, “this sounds like treason.”

“
On that, we agree.”

And then he wove a spell of wind, and magic pulsed through the currents, seeking out the traces of spoken words floating listlessly through the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, as the completed spell burned silver-bright, “I give you—my father's politics.”

There was a loud boom:

“You said her family was forced to relocate?”

“
Yes.”

“
Good. Then they won't be able to seek revenge when she's dead.”

“
Excuse me?”

“
I know the type. She's far too uppity. Tensions with the savages are high. A single spark would incite them to rebellion like the bloodthirsty beasts they are—and that creature over there burns like a spark. I want her extinguished.”

“
I was under the impression that this ceremony was created to acknowledge her—”

“
Yes, yes. It wasn't my idea, although I admit that it may placate the savages, seeing one of their kind thrown a bone and then patted on the head. Cheyenne and Raj certainly seem quite pleased. They don't have to know how the story ends. WHEN THE CEREMONY IS OVER, TAKE THE BEAST SOMEWHERE QUIET AND KILL HER.”

The last two words echoed in the silent hall, like a chant: “…kill her, kill her,
kill her
…”

Eyes turned to Raj and Cheyenne. Cheyenne had her hand over her mouth. Raj was blazing, as if he were a step away from Changing over and raking out the king's eyes with his talons. “If what you have said is true,” said Raj, “you have another War on your hands, Your Highness.”

Royce was livid. “Guards,” he said. “ Bring me my son and those three traitors so that I may deal with them now.”

It said a lot that even his own guards hesitated.

Finn cast another spell, and all the lights in the room exploded at once. While the other witches conjured up glowing balls of light to see by, the shape-shifters would have no problem seeing in the dark.

Catherine was already headed for the exit. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, so he followed her. If she noticed the contact she didn't seem to care.

Not yet, anyway. But she soon would.

Just when she had thought that it could not possibly get any worse, the witch had branded her as a traitor in front of their king—and then, to top it off, he started another war, as well.

Catherine had heard terrible rumors about the things that had transpired during the last War. This world was not yet ready for the cruelties of a second one.
But are we ever?

She wasn't sure she wanted to live in a society that was constantly prepped for war.

“Grab what you need from the room,” said the witch. “We're leaving, and we aren't coming back.”

There was no time to argue, and she didn't want to. Not while he looked like that. Magic was coming off his skin, making it glow; it made him look grim, dangerous, alien.

The witch gave her the key. She rushed up the stairs and stepped into the beautiful hotel room. The smell of ozone hung heavily in the air, but she wasn't sure whether the scent was Finn's or another witch's. It was too caustic to identify. It could have been either, both.

Graymalkin had said that this hotel was owned by the Council. She wouldn't put it past them to phone ahead and have the place checked out.
Better get moving
. She doubted the humans would try to forestall her, but people had done stupider things.

She grabbed her messenger bag. It smelled different, which led her to believe that it had already been searched. Someone had beat her here after all.

“Shifter? Is that you?” Graymalkin crept out from under the bed. “Two humans came in here earlier.”

“
Yeah. Finn pissed off the Council and might have started another war.” At the look on his familiar's face, she said, “You didn't know?”

“
I knew there were problems, but none that severe.” She blinked her yellowish eyes. “He's shielding his thoughts.”

Of course he is.
Catherine shook her head and grabbed Graymalkin, and left the room as quickly as she could.

“
Run into any trouble?” the witch asked.

“
No.”

Graymalkin squeezed herself out from under Catherine's arm. “What's this I hear about you starting a war?”

The witch ignored her. “Good. The humans are still burying their heads in the sand.”

“
Graymalkin said there were two of them in the room.”

“
And they clearly found nothing of interest.” The witch pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge of the limo. “So that buys us some time.”

Catherine flinched at the pop of the cork; it sounded too loud in the silence. “You were on my case about alcohol all evening. Now you're going to booze it up while we're on the run for our lives?”

He took a deep drink and passed the bottle to her.

“
There is a time and a place for everything, shifter mine. This is the time, and while it is not necessarily my place of choice it will do as good as any for now.”

Catherine hesitated. Then she downed a long gulp as well. He had a point. Anyway, with her metabolic rate, the alcohol would scarcely have time to tingle her central nervous system before passing through.

“This changes everything.”

“
So does everything else, shifter mine.” He sounded and looked very tired, all of a sudden. “We're all changing.”

The limousine took them across the city to a roadside motel that reeked of rot. Finn leaned back against the door. The shifter watched him unbutton his gloves. He tugged them off impatiently and tossed them on the floor, since there was nowhere else to toss them, not even a nightstand.

The alcohol, meanwhile, had taken its effect on the shape-shifter. She was angry, and repetitive in her anger.

“You've completely fucked us over,” she kept saying. “You realize that, right? We're fucked.”

She kicked off her heels, stumbled, and then leaned against the wall for support as she wrenched the heel off in spite of the alcohol burning its way through her blood. Were all shifters so angry when drunk?

“Did you hear me?”

“
All it needed was a single spark,” he said. “It simply happened sooner rather than later.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out angrily. “You're not making any sense.”

“Sense walked out and left a long time ago,” Finn said, striding past her. The gold braid weaving its way down from his shoulder kept causing his uniform to droop to one side. He unbuttoned it from his jacket and balled up the cord, letting it fall in front of the AC alongside the gloves.

The shape-shifter sniffed the comforter in disgust—“I bet it hasn't even been washed”—before collapsing on it in frustration.

He tried not to look but the strapless gown had slipped down dangerously low on her breasts, just a few scant centimeters above her nipples. The emeralds in her borrowed necklace caught the light of the lamp, infusing her skin with color as she stretched.

She looked up before he could avert his gaze, and he saw the exact moment on her face when realized that the dark crescents of her aureolae were showing.

“You're insane, aren't you? Always looking at me like that. Like you think you can own me. Even if it means that we both die.”

“
Your point?”

The shifter got to her feet unsteadily, and stalked towards him. Her narrowed eyes reminded him of a lioness tracking her prey. Finn's cock hardened when she dragged her sharp nails down his cheek.

“You'll do anything to get what you want.” Her fingers dipped below his high, stiff collar. “No matter who gets hurt. No matter whose life you ruin. No matter if you start another war.”

He hissed in pain when she drew blood. She must have experienced the retaliatory pain of the blood bond, but if she did, she gave no indication.

“What are you doing, you savage?”

“
Giving you what you want.”

Finn hooked his fingers through the necklace. “That isn't what I want.”

His mouth brushed hers with every word, and she glared up at him through those slitted eyes.

“
Isn't it?”

“
No.”

And then they were kissing, biting. She dug her nails into his neck, and he twisted his fingers in her short dark hair to pull her head to one side. There was nowhere for him to retreat; his back was against the wall and the shifter was pressed against his front.

He bit her throat, and then her lower lip, tugging until she winced in pain, before returning to her neck again. Soft, supple skin; it healed almost as soon as it began to bruise. Not enough time to leave his mark.