Blood and Malice

Chapter 2

2

KERADOC

Evander.

The name slipped from the fugitive’s lips and right through my defenses, prodding at something that felt like a memory. Images flashed in my mind—a fae child laughing, his silver eyes alight with mischief as he bent his head close to share a secret. A father playfully wrestling with his boys in the soft grass. The scent of sweet cakes cooling on a sill…

Another time, another place. Certainly not mine.

Blinking away the odd images, I stepped down from the dais, leaving the Darkwinter witch bound to the throne behind me.

Still on his knees, the vampire-fae fugitive my guards had captured gazed up at me strangely, his silver eyes so like my real eyes. Similar too were the set of his jaw and the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the grin that tipped higher on one side than the other. It was as if we’d been cast from the very same mold.

But for the glamour I’d been wearing for the last eighteen months, I could’ve been gazing into a mirror.

“It’s really you,” he whispered as I approached. Blood leaked from a half-dozen wounds in his chest, hawthorn stakes jutting out at odd angles, sapping his strength. His pain must’ve been unbearable, yet his eyes held only wonder. Happiness.

Evander…

“No one gave you permission to speak, slave.” One of my guards kicked the prisoner in the back, sending him sprawling. He caught himself on his hands with a grunt but made no effort to get back to his knees. A coughing fit seized him, wringing the blood from his lungs out onto the polished floor. The guards had dragged away the remains of the executed shifters but had yet to clean up their mess. Now, it mingled with the blood of my new prisoners in a dark, wet stain. The scent of copper and fear hung heavy in the air.

“Keradoc!” the witch cried out, as fiery as ever. I didn’t need to turn around to know she was still struggling against her bonds. “Help him! Help him!”

At her desperate cries, the second fugitive—a one-eyed demon shot full of metal bolts—winced, as if the fear in her voice hurt him even more than the devil’s trap sigils sucking away his life force.

Even more than watching his mate suffer brutally on the floor beside him.

The vampire-fae lifted his head once more. His arms trembled. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth, but he was still staring at me with awe.

“Do you not remember?” he whispered. “Do you not know your…” His words trailed off into another wet cough that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but through it all, one word rang out clear, whispered over and over again like a prayer.

Evander. Evander. Evander.

The echo of it unleashed another flicker of images—two fae boys swimming in a cool emerald-green lake, diving for make-believe buried treasure. A mother calling them back to the shore for lunch, the sand pink and glittery beneath her bare toes. The rustle of the breeze through treetops dripping with silver leaves.

An odd warmth spread through my chest, quickly chased by a sucking emptiness so cold it left me gasping.

I cleared my throat and dismissed the visions, reclaiming my focus. This was obviously another of Melantha’s games—some wicked spell meant to disarm me and distract me from her machinations with the Darkwinter witch.

No matter. When this war was finally over, I’d make the dark goddess pay. By the time I finished with her, the banishment she was enduring now would look like a pleasant vacation.

“Keradoc,” the witch called out again, cutting straight through my thoughts like a blade through flesh.

I turned to her, drawn by the anger in her voice. The righteousness.

The contrast of the raw bones and sharp, polished obsidian of my throne against her soft skin and artfully painted face was so striking, it nearly stole my breath. Death and beauty, darkness and light. Both suited her equally.

A smile touched my lips. For all Melantha’s tricks, the blood witch Haley Barnes was not a disappointment. Not only was she beautiful, she was sharp-tongued, passionate, clever, and just this side of mad.

Precisely how I needed her.

No witch in her right mind would attempt the ancestral ritual required to channel her Darkwinter kin—Midnight’s most formidable enemies. Haley herself would certainly refuse at first, but I had no doubts she’d come around soon enough.

Now that I’d captured her companions, persuading her to cooperate would be much easier.

“Do something,” she implored, and the fire sparking in her green eyes ignited a more recent memory—one I could absolutely claim as my own.

Her lips crashing into mine as she wrapped her legs around me, stealing a kiss that left us both breathless. The feel of her silky hair in my hands as I laid her on the dais and gave her what she seemed to so desperately want…

The taste of her still lingered on my tongue, threatening to make me hard again.

But no. It wasn’t me she’d wanted. The witch had seen through my glamour, however briefly, and mistaken me for another.

Her vampire-fae, I realized now. The Midnight fugitive who seemed to be wearing my real face.

More dark magick. More trickery.

My blood simmered as Melantha’s betrayal burned through me anew. Was there no spell she wouldn’t conjure, no illusion she wouldn’t cast in her endless attempts at vengeance?

I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, forcing myself to remain steady. In control. Unraveling in front of my guards and prisoners would put everything at risk, and I’d worked too hard, too tirelessly for that.

“Evander…” the fugitive said once more, his voice a gurgling whisper as he continued to drown in his own blood. New images flashed through my mind—fae children chasing each other through a thick forest. A festival in the heart of the oaken woods, boughs glittering with lights, couples dancing merrily as red and gold leaves fluttered on the breeze like birds…

Behind my eyes, a dull ache throbbed to the beat of an old song lingering on the edge of memory…

“Please, Keradoc.” The witch’s voice cut through the din, chasing away the music and the visions both. When I opened my eyes again, I found her gazing back at me, her face pained.

I climbed back up the dais and approached the throne. “What was that, little thief?”

The demon responded before she could find her words. “Touch her and you’ll—”

One of my guards shot him with another bolt, silencing him.

“I’ll… I’ll do anything you ask of me,” the witch stammered. “Just stop hurting them. Please… please don’t kill them.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, dousing the last of her fire. She was suddenly exhausted and weak.

Pathetic.

Anger stirred inside me. This woman, this formidable witch had traveled to Midnight and risked her life in an attempt to steal my blood. My blood! Even after I’d exposed her lies and taken her prisoner, she’d continued to taunt me, to fight me, to burn with indignation.

Yet now, at the sight of her wounded companions, she crumpled like a flower crushed beneath a soldier’s boot?

Had I been wrong about her mettle? Her power?

“Help them,” she begged again, not meeting my eyes.

I gripped the arms of the throne and bent low, leaning so close to her the berries-and-cream scent of her skin filled my senses. Ignoring the stirrings of my c**k, I said softly, “My apologies, little thief. I can’t quite hear you above the pathetic moans of my prisoners. Did you have a request? ”

“Yes.” She finally glanced up and met my eyes. That old fire blazed anew, and at my answering grin, she flashed one of her own. Sly. Triumphant. Wicked. “Get f****d, asshole. You’re going down.”