Chapter 12 #2
“What the hell is happening?” Cliff deadpanned.
“Beats me,” Delilah murmured, cocking her head curiously.
“She’s a noble,” I said breathlessly, barely sparing them a glance. “Her hair. It indicates royalty.”
Cliff exchanged a look with Delilah. “You’ll have to forgive me for not prostrating myself,” he said. But his eyes became sincere as he dropped onto one knee to catch the noble’s gaze.
“Please, call me Zia,” the noble fairy insisted. She lifted her chin to regard Cliff with confusion. “You’re a hunter?”
“Don’t lose your head over it. Your horror stories don’t tell it all.”
Zia shook her head. “No, it’s—You're just not what I expected. I didn’t think hunters could be so… pretty.” Her voice tapered into something almost shy, like the thought had been blurted in sheer astonishment.
Cliff’s eyebrows shot up in the same instant Rowan swiveled his head at the noble disparagingly, eyes flashing.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” His well-meaning smirk sobered as he once more acknowledged the glass separating them. “But we’re gonna get you out of there.”
“This building is impenetrable,” Zia said. “In the last two days since we arrived, I’ve seen Eros eliminate six men in this very room. You can’t try to reason with these people.”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t dealt with me before,” Cliff answered. He frowned, angling his head for a better look at their wings. “Sylv, can you remove those things?”
I glanced at Zia reproachfully, silently questioning if this would be some offense to her. I tried to recall the stories of Elysia before the council of Elders took control. Was there a correct and respectful amount of time to stay knelt before someone of her lineage?
Zia’s face softened into something of a sheepish smile, her fair cheeks flushing slightly. “Please, there’s really no need for all that.”
She stepped forward, hand outstretched for mine. She hauled me to my feet, and Ben followed suit beside me. Taking great care to dodge Rowan’s narrowed gaze, I circled to analyze Zia’s back.
Dark metal restraints held her turquoise wings together, fastened like a clamp to make flight impossible.
To my horror, there appeared to be a small incision where the clamp cut directly through the wing membranes.
I grimaced, pulling my hand back. There was iron somewhere in the mechanism.
Another safeguard designed to snuff out any fae magic before they could even speak a spell.
“We can remove the metal,” I called to Cliff over my shoulder. “But it’s going to take time without ripping the membrane. It’s embedded into the wings themselves. It’s carefully crafted.”
Cliff made a noise of disgust, but gave a terse nod. “Iron?”
“Not entirely,” Zia said, lifting her gaze to him.
She was tentative yet firm, all in the same breath.
The combination left me strangely transfixed, hanging on her every word.
“But there’s enough there to dampen my magic.
I should be able to heal it once it’s removed, but as your friend so aptly put, we’ll need resources we don’t have here. ”
Cliff’s gaze caught mine meaningfully. “His goon back there seemed pretty thrilled about Sylvia healing him. Any idea why?”
“Besides the obvious?” Rowan cut in. “It’s a desirable trait.
We only know that they’re selling every siren, fairy, and werewolf kin to some other cretin.
Someone worse. For what exactly, I’m not sure.
Something about regeneration qualities, if I had to wager a guess.
For a supposed savior, you’re terribly clueless. ”
“I’m gonna need the attitude to get checked,” Cliff muttered.
“Did you catch the buyer’s name?” Delilah asked, standing close behind Cliff.
Rowan glanced briefly at Zia. “I don’t know. Bryce or Price? Something like that. We’ve been a little preoccupied with surviving, not preparing for an interrogation.”
The door clicked open, followed shortly by the much more sinister click of a gun.
At once, we drew apart. An unfamiliar man entered the room, pushing a woman in front of him.
The gun was lazily aimed in her direction, his bright eyes scanning the unconscious guards sprawled on the floor, the case-protective cloth in a heap.
“How utterly dramatic,” he drawled, a slight accent to his voice I couldn’t place. “Step away from the case, now.”
A prickling feeling crawled up my arms. I exchanged a look with Ben. He felt it too: the sickening coldness of something about that man screaming in his veins.
Cliff obeyed at once, putting space between himself and the captives. Though his hand tightened on the gun he’d salvaged, he discreetly tucked it just out of sight behind his back.
“Tammy,” Cliff breathed, taking in her formalwear. “What are you—I thought…”
My heart staggered. Tammy. Their mentor.
Normally, I was delighted to see Cliff struggling for words. Now though, my heart ached for him. I darted into the air with Ben, launching myself into a hover behind Delilah.
Tammy started toward Cliff, only to have the man seize her arm. She scowled, wrenching free with some effort. “Let me talk to him, Graham,” she hissed. “Is talking permitted?”
The man’s jaw feathered as he looked to Cliff. “Try anything, Mr. Everett, and she’ll have a bullet in the back of her head.”
Cliff’s face went pale. His gaze flickered to me ever so briefly, and I wondered if it was any comfort that I shared his horror.
They know us by name. They know we’re here.
Our plan had failed before we’d begun. Oh, stars—Jon. Was he safe?
The man released Tammy. He kept one weapon trained on her as she hurried across the room. She threw her arms around Cliff, giving him a hug.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said into his jacket. “Oh, sweet boy, you shouldn’t be here.”
My lips parted as I watched the exchange, somewhat hypnotized.
After all this time hearing the veritable myths about their hunting mentor—the woman who had slain a nest of harpies single-handedly, who supposedly wore a belt of vampire fangs and knew their every weakness…
I was stunned at how ordinary she appeared.
She was dark-skinned and slightly below average height.
Her elegant black gown revealed a figure that was athletic, but not overly slender.
Her lips were full and her dark eyes a startling blend of compassion and cold, calculating intelligence.
There was something about her that reminded me, just for a moment, of my mother.
“You’re not even trying to hide it now, Tamara,” Graham sighed from the doorway, rolling his eyes. “If you’re disloyal to Eros, at least put some effort in, hm?”
Tammy glared over her shoulder, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Are you okay?” Cliff asked, pulling away from Tammy. He grasped her shoulders, squeezing. “What the hell is going on? We thought you were all but left for dead, killing ourselves to get here in time.”
My eyes flickered between the guards posted in the room and that man—Graham. My skin was screaming, my senses sharpened to full attention, warning me that something wasn’t right.
I looked at Ben again. He felt it, too.
Tammy reached up, wiping her cheeks. Tears spilled freely despite her best efforts. “I just—” She stopped, voice choking. “I just want you to know I had to.”
“Had to?” Cliff gave her a strange look.
“My son—my youngest, Conner—he’s sick. We’ve been to a dozen doctors, and no one can help him, while it just grows more aggressive. I didn’t know what else to do, but I never meant—”
“Slow down,” Cliff started. His eyes flicked up to the gunman still watching them.
“Cliff,” I ground out. “He’s not human.”
Stillness penetrated the room like a thick fog.
Every eye turned to Graham. Zia and Rowan were plastered against the glass wall of their enclosure as far as they could from him, their faces stricken with terror.
Rowan had pushed Zia behind him again, his arms spread protectively while she peered over his shoulder.
Graham smiled slowly, still looking like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused with everything unfolding before him.
“My preferred form,” he said, gesturing at his face—a square jaw peppered with a day’s worth of beard growth, wavy bark-brown hair, and deep brown eyes that seemed to pierce any target of their intense focus.
He glanced toward me, smile sharpening. “You little ones always seem to loathe it no matter what face I wear.”
“Leave them out of this,” Delilah snapped.
His smile only widened. “Why? You practically hand-delivered them here, didn’t you?” Coldness writhed inside his stare as he regarded me and Ben. “Isn’t it strange that shapeshifters are labeled as monsters when fairy glamour is just as deceitful?”
Cliff scoffed. “The difference being that shapeshifters have the funny habit of murdering their targets to make the identity theft cleaner. Just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I don’t always need to kill,” Graham chuckled. “Sometimes I only need a face temporarily—just long enough to enjoy it. Or, when the need arises— to find a man’s breaking point.”
The shift happened from one instant to the next. I blinked, and suddenly I was looking at Jon in the shapeshifter’s place. The clothing shivered and darkened into a deeper shade like scales unraveling—an approximation of the tuxedo he’d been wearing.
A strangled noise escaped me, and Cliff staggered back from Tammy—pure, reflexive horror. I flitted past Delilah to hover over Cliff’s shoulder.
“Do you think he’s been captured?” I whispered. “Or—or is he…”
“Doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Cliff ground out in a low voice, stare unwavering on the doppelganger. “But it means he got a good look at him.”
“Why the long faces?” Graham asked, his voice chillingly similar to Jon’s. “I thought this one would suit you. Hang on—I’m sure I can find the right fit. Have to make sure you’re comfortable, after all. Eros insists you’re at ease.”
He shifted several times in quick succession, pausing briefly on a beautiful woman from the gala. A lavender gown swirled down her body.