Chapter Thirty
Vladimir
Ifeel something from Grant. I do not know what, and I do not dare examine the bond too closely for fear of drawing Eirian’s attention to it.
Of course I am certain she knows it is there—she is high fae, after all.
What I do not want is for her to attempt to capture Grant and use him as leverage.
He would be far more effective bait than Rachel.
Not that I want her to die. I do not want to bite her, kill her, turn her. That is not the way of things, and it is clearly not something she wants, either. What if she does not even end up with the same powers as Grant? What if Eirian attempts to give her even more magic and kills her?
“I’m waiting,” Eirian says, eyes flinty. She has not looked away from me the entire time. The puca pushes Rachel into the centre of the room, then to her knees. She still has a knife to Rachel’s throat.
“This will not help you take the throne.”
“Of course it will.”
It cannot. When the queen dies, there are heirs to take her place.
I do not like Eirian’s chances against them.
I do not know them, but they must be powerful to have those roles in the first place.
And should they fall or fail to take their rightful seats, there is a court full of fae who are power-hungry, which is to say nothing of the Seelie, who have been waiting for the end of Unseelie rule for centuries.
“I did not ask your opinion, anyway,” Eirian says. The puca steps aside when she approaches and Eirian grabs Rachel’s hair, forcing her head back. “You will turn her, or she will die.”
I see the knife in Eirian’s hand too late. The blade is black stone, and when it sinks into Rachel’s side, she lets out a pained cry. Eirian does not remove the blade. She lets go and wraps her free hand around Rachel’s throat.
“I don’t want her to die,” she says, looking at me, “but I will remove the blade if you continue to refuse. How long is it that humans last without all that blood? Not long at all, surely.”
Not long enough, no. The scent of it has already flooded my senses, though I am least certain I can keep any bloodlust under control. The sun is beginning to go down, but we will not last long enough. By the time they all realise I have not joined them, it will be too late.
Unless Grant has noticed something already. Though, considering what I felt from him a few minutes ago, I think that unlikely. He has his own fight. I have mine.
The trouble is that there are two of them, Eirian is far more powerful than I could hope to be, and Rachel is more of a liability than anything else right now. I cannot get her to freedom without risking the sun.
Should I do that? Can I get her somewhere safe, even if it kills me? I know Grant will be—I do not want to do this to him. But I do not want to turn his cousin, either.
“Come, now,” Eirian coos. She slides her thumb down Rachel’s jaw, then lets go of her completely. Rachel slumps forward, softly crying. Eirian steps around her and approaches me.
She is not as tall as I am and slender, but there is no denying she holds all the power in the room. Shadows spread around the puca, her eyes darkening as she prepares to drop her glamour. They both know I will fight. They are both prepared for that.
“It’s not just her I’ll kill,” Eirian murmurs. “I will find all the other friends you have here, all the other little members of Iagan’s club, and I’ll kill them one by one until you turn someone for me. It really is a simple choice. Turn her, and I’ll let them live.”
She can’t lie. She’ll let them live. But not me. Not even Rachel, should Rachel prove not to be the obedient pet she truly wishes for.
What else can I do? Rachel’s breaths are growing shallower, her face pale. Turning her will at least buy us more time.
I swallow a growl. I will turn her. I will kill the puca. I will… However I deal with Eirian, I will ensure it is done. Rachel will be safe from both of them because Eirian needs her.
I crouch down. “Rachel?”
Her eyes flick to my face. They’re too wide and too dark and for the first time, I truly see the familial connection between her and Grant. It hits me hard, almost a physical punch, and I clench my teeth together because I will not have her die here.
“No, please,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I don’t want it.”
Eirian chuckles condescendingly. “You’ll die.”
Rachel glares up at her. Her hand closes around the hilt of the dagger, and Eirian’s eyes widen, and the puca shifts on her feet, but they’re not going to be fast enough, either of them.
“Let me die, then,” she says and pulls the dagger from her side, then tosses it across the floor, where it shatters into gleaming black pieces.
Eirian shouts, and shadows fill the room, and when Rachel sways to one side, I tackle the puca and bring her to the ground. I need to get her before she can entirely shift out of her glamour, but her magic pushes back against mine and when she kicks me in the stomach, I roll away with a gasp.
“I’ll kill you!” Eirian screams, and she is advancing, very much intent on killing me here and now, power be damned, but a colourful blur streaks into the room and Grant pins her against the wall next to the window, angrier than I have ever seen him.
I cannot admire him for long. The puca takes advantage of my split-second distraction and shadowy claws dig into my side, cutting down to the bone.
I lash out with my blessing. I would usually be more controlled, but I need this puca gone, need to assist Grant, who Eirian has pushed back, her magic flaring between them.
He does not back down. He does not even look my way, although I know he knows I am injured, and I am proud of him for that. He has more focus than I do. I grab at the shadow still clinging to my side and the claws tighten, but I bite the inside of my mouth so that I do not make a sound.
I will heal. I have healed from worse than this before. Rachel is still conscious, but barely, and the hand she has pressed to her wound is weak. We must finish this now.
Eirian fires magic at Grant, who ducks aside, and I take the chance I am given.
The puca screeches when my blessing hits the centre of its shadows, pushing it directly in the path of Eirian’s magic.
She does not notice or does not care. Her blade might be gone, but she throws herself at Grant, and he hits his head against the wall, eyes going hazy for a second.
The puca collapses to one side, shadows spooling out until they are all gone, and I do not know if she is dead or has just escaped, but that does not matter.
Eirian brings Grant to the ground. Her magic overpowers his now, though he is still valiantly fighting, and I reach for my own blessing, ready to take what I can from him if it means he will survive.
With the wound I have, this may kill me, as it happens, but I am content with that.
I have been content with that from the moment I turned him. I would not change it for anything.
Grant tips his head back as Eirian readies another strike. His eyes meet mine, go wide. He understands what I intend to do and he hates it, as I anticipated, but what else am I to do? Let him die? Watch it happen? I could never.
His mouth presses into a thin line. Eirian’s magic builds to a crescendo as I rally my own, reaching for our bond, my blessing wrapping around it, ready to draw out every drop to use against her—
Grant moves before either of us can. He grabs her wrist, lowers his head, and when he strikes, fangs sinking deep, she howls and loses her grip on her magic.
I am so surprised that my blessing draws back into my core.
Eirian rains blow after blow down on Grant’s head and shoulder, but he curls around his prize, drinking and drinking in a way I have never seen from him before.
He is determined to drain her, and my heart leaps up into my throat because fae blood is dangerous for us even in moderate quantities, so what will it do to him here?
It does not matter. Eirian weakens, unable to stop Grant, unable to draw on her magic to do so, it appears. She pales, but when she finally tries to get away, he tightens his grip and keeps drinking.
After a few minutes, she collapses onto one side. She is not dead. Not yet. Grant stares blankly ahead for a second, then blinks, gaze landing on me.
“You…”
“I will be fine.”
He gets to his feet. He sways for a moment, then steps over Eirian’s body and into my arms. He is careful not to touch my injured side and for a moment, I simply breathe him in.
Eirian is all but dead. Grant killed her, drained her, and now—
I tip his head back and stare into his eyes. “What about you?”
“Fine, fine.” He looks distractedly around, horror crossing his face when his gaze lands on Rachel. “Oh, fuck!”