Wrath: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 2 (26 page)

“She arrived tonight shortly after Darius. I refused to answer the door, as instructed, but Darius felt none of the compunction to follow the same orders.” It was obvious Mark thought little of Darius’s apparent lack of respect for Hellion’s wishes.

I rubbed my upper lip to hide a smile. I really liked Darius, all the more for his disregard of the rules.

Hellion sighed. “And?”

“Gaitha handed him this and then she left.” Mark held out his hand, and I snatched the gold coin out of it.

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed, looking at the now familiar raised monarch and horseman. The gold felt heavy in my hand, and I didn’t object when Hellion lifted it from my palm and examined it closely.

“Is it the same, then?” he asked me.

I nodded grimly. “Yeah.” I turned and walked over to the sofa and flopped down, discouraged at the implications. I leaned forward and dropped my head into my hands.

“Anything else, Mark?” Hellion asked, pocketing the coin.

“Another note arrived after you left, sir.” He pulled out a long white envelope with an “H” scrawled on the front in blue ink.

“How was it delivered?” I asked, watching Hellion walk to the antique secretary sitting in the corner and dig around, finally coming up with a letter opener shaped like a miniature claymore.

“It was shoved in the mail slot,” Mark answered. “It was just lying on the floor. I came to you instead of calling because I knew you’d want to see the coin and the letter.”

Hellion walked slowly back to Mark, every step calculated and heavy, as if he was dreading reading this letter as much as I was. He accepted the missive and sliced it open, carefully keeping his fingers away from the sharp edge of the little sword. He tossed the letter opener carelessly on the coffee table and pulled out the letter, glancing through it quickly before handing it to me and turning to face the fire to gather his thoughts, hands clasped behind his back. Before I could lift the letter to read, Hellion abandoned the fire to stalk to the bookshelf. He searched for a moment before pulling down a large tome and, sitting down at a nearby table, began thumbing through it hastily before finding what he was looking for. As he read, so did I.

Hellion,

Every fool can be led astray by their wandering cock, and for that you can be forgiven. What will not be forgotten is the history you incur with the whore at your side, who is as Catherine Howard was to Henry Manox—neither wife nor consummated lover. Stand aside and let the whore fall for treason or face a similar fate.

I was too shocked and angry to hold the paper still in my trembling hands. I made my way to Hellion’s side and stood, dropping a hand on his shoulder, not entirely sure what to make of the note. I needed answers to that riddle before I could form intelligent questions about the rest of this mess.

“Who is Catherine Howard, sir?” Mark surreptitiously wiped the bead of sweat from his upper lip and stood straighter.

“Just a moment, Mark.” Hellion scanned pages before finding what he was looking for. Summarizing as he read, Hellion said, “Catherine Howard, wife of Henry VIII, was tried for treason and beheaded on February 13, 1542. Her crimes were charges of adultery. Henry Manox was her music teacher when she was a young girl, and while they never consummated their relationship, it was improper for the times and he never married her. When her indiscretions came to light, Henry had her tried for treason and then beheaded.” Hellion pushed his hands through his hair and dropped his forehead to the table, banging it lightly against the wood. Sighing, he pushed himself to standing and turned to me, quickly and unapologetically pulling me to him for a scorching kiss.

Confused, I kissed him back until I remembered Mark was standing there waiting on us to do, well,
something
. I disentangled myself from Hellion’s embrace and buried my face in his chest while I regained some semblance of control. After a few seconds, I turned out of Hellion’s arms and faced the other man. “Did Darius say anything when you left him?”

“Only that he wasn’t going to leave me behind when he came to deliver your love note,” came the midnight voice from the corner.

I turned to find Darius sprawled on the sofa, watching us with interested eyes.

“You’re not nearly jaded enough, old man,” Hellion snarked, “if watching two people snog is entertainment.”

“And you, chap, need to pull your pants out of your bum crack. They seem wedged high enough you should be able to taste the worsted wool.”

Hellion frowned, rubbing at the wrinkles in his brow. “I believe you’re right. Apologies, Darius.” Hellion took my hand and walked over to the opposing sofa and took a seat, waving at the lamps so they turned on enough to supplement the room’s candlelight. “Mark, have a seat.”

The butler look surprised but quickly took a seat near Hellion. “I insisted he remain behind, sir, but he wouldn’t be swayed—”

Hellion waved off the man’s apology. “I just want to know what happened between Gaitha’s visit and the arrival of the letter.” Hellion leaned back, extended his arm across the back of the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his sock-clad feet at the ankles.

I slid closer to him, curling up under his arm.

“Literally, sir, Gaitha arrived and demanded to see you. I wouldn’t open the door and was preparing to contact the new fae High Council member, Praen, but Darius opened the door.”

Hellion lifted his hand off the back of the sofa and motioned for Darius to pick up the story.

“Arrogant bastard,” Darius muttered, leaning forward in his seat.

Hellion just smiled. “Worsted wool, was it?”

“Screw you. The queen stood there, shocked, I think, that it was me standing under the lintel. She demanded to know where you were, saying it was a matter of vengeance. Naturally I refused, and she became more agitated. Frightening woman, really, though she does inspire some pity. I was getting ready to forcibly remove her from the stoop as we’d drawn some attention from neighbors and passers-by—”

“Shit,” muttered Hellion.

“—when she seemed to scent something. Acted like an animal, raising her face to the wind and then she was gone, running up the street faster than any human could track.”

“She likely picked up our trace since we left from the house,” Hellion groused. “I’d imagine she found Amaly’s general vicinity but was forced to resort to canvassing the neighborhoods on foot looking for us since we’d blocked Maddy’s tracers as we left. Thanks for handling her, Darius.” The vampire inclined his head. “And the letter, Mark?”

“I found that too,” Darius said. “I walked by the foyer about an hour later, bent on sending you a text despite your admonishment to leave you free this evening. I’d fretted about it like a damned schoolgirl, and figured you’d both ignore it if you didn’t need to know. The letter was lying on the floor and smelled odd, like burning hair.”

Burning hair…
“Shit,” I gasped, pushing away from the comfort of Hellion’s side and sitting up quickly. “The night Bahlin came to the window I smelled a similar smell in your bedroom, Hellion.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it because…?”

“It was one of those fleeting things, there and gone. I forgot about if after I got the eerie sensation of being watched at the window.” I thought back to that night and wracked my brain for anything else I might have forgotten. It was all so vague except the sense of being watched and that distinctive smell. “I suppose she could have been at the house that night, but then why did the smell show up so long after she left tonight? Could she have come back and dropped the note off, using some type of magic that generates the smell? No, it doesn’t make sense. Not with what we have so far.”

“I agree,” Darius said before the other men could disagree. “Maddy’s right. If it had been Gaitha, I’d have smelled it on her when she first showed up tonight. It was a wretched smell, wasn’t it?”

“Like very
fresh
singed hair.” Without thinking, I reached up and fingered the small stubble where the hair had been shorn as I slept. I turned to Hellion with a feeling of horror snaking its way through my belly.

“Fair enough,” Hellion said, not seeing the look on my face.

Darius, though, saw me and stood quickly. “Maddy?” he asked, taking a step toward me.

“No,” I whispered and shook my head slowly. “No, no, no.”

Grasping that something was wrong from Darius’s movement toward me, Hellion turned and took me by the shoulders. “Maddy? What is it, love?” he demanded, giving me a small shake again.

I felt like a rag doll, even though he’d been gentle, my head lolling about on my shoulders. “Did you cut my hair?” I asked.

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “What? When?”

“When you sent the roses.”

He looked disturbed. “I’m not quite clear what you’re asking, love. I’ve never cut your hair, and I’ve never sent you roses.” Looking closely at me, he sat up straight. “You’re not suggesting—”

“The roses weren’t from you?”

“What bloody roses?” Hellion demanded.

“Remember? The ones in the hotel room when you came to get me the first time, and you pulled Clay out of bed?”

Disturbed, Hellion shook his head.

“Oh. They really weren’t from you,” I said softly.

“I’m not clear—“

“No? Okay. But what was you it you said about the dirt? The gouges at the park?”

His eyes searched my face. “You’re not making any sense,
anamchara
.”

“You said the magic was elemental, right?” He nodded. “You said you should be able to do something with it as far as a revelation spell because it was elemental and, as dirt, didn’t really belong to anyone. What could you do with hair?”

Hellion’s eyes widened as he began to understand what I was after. “Hair is a personal element, Maddy. It could be used in a thousand upon a thousand different spells, for equally as many reasons. Are you suggesting… I hate to sound dense, but what
are
you suggesting?”

I stood and walked on wooden legs to the fireplace, no longer feeling the warmth of the fire or seeing the leaping flames. Instead what I saw were the faces of the potentially damned. “I’m sorry, Mark, but I’ve got to ask you to leave,” I whispered. Hearing no movement behind me, I turned and repeated the request, more firmly this time. “Please,” I added with more pleading than I’d like to have had in my voice.

“Go,” Hellion said, “but stay here tonight. I may yet need your help.”

“Sir. Darius. Niteclif.” Mark bowed briefly to each of us. He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

I turned back to the fireplace, and all I could see were flames dancing merrily to the tunes of murder and vengeance playing through my mind.

Chapter Seventeen

Darius looked at me very carefully, watching as my fingers worried a loose thread on a throw pillow I’d pulled into my arms. I needed to have something to do with my hands. My heel bounced against the floor in rapid bursts of fidgety activity before I became aware of the behavior and willed the foot to stillness. His voice was gentle when he asked, “Should I stay or go, Maddy?”

“I’d like you to stay. Please.” This was firmer, and I was glad I didn’t sound quite so desperate.

He stepped up to me and wrapped me in a strong hug. “For you, anything.” Hellion cleared his throat and Darius turned to him, keeping his arm draped casually over my shoulder. “You’ll have to accept that I’m crazy about your lover, Hellion. Treat her well,” he said, a trace of jest in his voice but, underlying that, a note of heavy seriousness. “I’ll be here if you don’t.”

“We’ve been friends too long for you to threaten me,” Hellion said softly, standing up and lording his height over the shorter man.

“We have, but you’ve a real gem here, and for the first time in many centuries I find myself coveting the life of a mortal.” Darius kissed me quickly on the temple and slid back into his chair, lounging for all the world like there was nothing serious happening.

What the hell? Was I emitting some kind of pheromone? I cleared my throat. “The hair.” Both men nodded at me but never took their eyes off each other. I continued. “What could you have done with my hair if you’d kept it, Hellion?”

“Truthfully? Nearly anything involving your person. For example, I could have fabricated spells of lust, hatred, binding, wealth—”

“Tracing?” I interrupted.

“Tracing,” he said, nodding.

“What about breaching wards? Could hair allow you to do that?”

“The hair would either have to be taken from the warding source or else it would have to be taken from the magic practitioner and stationed inside the wards to provide grounding inside the magic. So yes, it could be used to breach wards.”

“Do you recall who admitted to us that they had a magus in their employ?”

“No, I don—
son of a bitch
,” he bellowed, turning to the table and swiping at the lamp so that it flew across the room and smashed into the wall in an explosion of glass. His chest heaving, Hellion turned back to me. “Aiden and the blue weyr,” he growled, low and fierce. He sank back to the sofa and dropped his head back against the high cushion.