Chapter Two
Iona
“What?” I felt my jaw drop. “Who wants to kill me? And why?” There was my mother, of course, but I hadn’t heard a peep out of her since Grandma released her from captivity more than a decade ago.
Besides, the geas she and Grandmother had agreed to forbade Siobhan from killing either me or Maeve.
We couldn’t kill her either, not that I hadn’t given it serious thought. A lot. The geas wouldn’t allow it.
The prince settled back in his chair. “I don’t know who’s targeted you, at least not when it comes to specifics. My vision didn’t show me your attackers. I just saw you die. Repeatedly. And none of them were good deaths.”
“Vision?” I stared at him. Most werewolves couldn’t use magic beyond shifting, a limitation that also made them invulnerable to direct magical attacks.
Merlin had created the Direkind to contain Arthur and his Magekind in the event they went evil.
Given the power of Arthur’s witches, that meant the weres had to be immune to magic.
A handful of werewolves lacked that limitation -- they could cast spells, but that meant they were also vulnerable to magical attacks.
The prince must be one of those, judging by the flecks of power whirling in his irises like snowflakes.
I’d met Dearg’s father when I’d been a kid, but King Ll?r’s magic had been disciplined, tightly under his control. The prince’s whirled around him, dark and feral and a little bit sinister. No wonder Sidhe gossip suggested he ate people. “What exactly was this vision? And when did you have it?”
“About an hour ago,” he said. The sword hissed, the gemstone in the dragon figure’s mouth spitting a gout of sparks. And he was right -- it did feel hungry.
Dearg shifted, one hand falling to the hilt as if to quiet it.
If I find the sword’s presence uncomfortable, wearing it must be even worse. And is that pain in his eyes?
He noticed me noticing, and his face instantly went blank.
Okaaay. “Can you show me this vision?” Powerful magic users could project images of their memories. The prince was obviously strong enough or Cachamwri wouldn’t have sent him.
Dearg hesitated a beat, compassion on his face. Or was that pity? “These are… not particularly pleasant.”
“Don’t care.”
He studied my expression and sighed. “Look, I damn near threw up watching them, and I don’t even know you. They’re nightmare fuel.”
Must’ve been one hell of a vision. This guy did not look squeamish. “Show me anyway. I may see something that would tell us who my attacker is.”
“Attackers. There seem to be several of them.” He gestured and his power flared, dark and wild. An image of me appeared in the air, looking as vivid and clear as if we were looking through a window.
My own agonized scream tore through the room as talons gripped me, twisted, and crushed me like an eggshell. The shrieking went on until a huge beak punched down, shredding my belly like an eagle ripping into a rabbit.
Luckily, I’d gotten used to the idea of horrific shit happening to me before I’d hit puberty. I shoved the horror away and concentrated on the details I’d need to know in order to survive. “That’s a griffin,” I said, puzzled. “What the hell did I do to piss off a griffin?”
Dearg didn’t answer, his eyes grim.
I glanced at him, puzzled. For a man who didn’t even know me, he was affected by the vision more than I’d have expected. Especially given his reputation for eating people.
The next image showed me with a great sword I recognized as one of Grandma’s. Vision-me was faced off with someone out of view in front of the display window of Summerwood Spells and Potions. Leaping into a lunge, I swung the sword…
A second blade impaled vision-me like a butterfly on a pin.
A booted foot kicked me off the weapon, sending me crashing through the shop’s plate-glass window.
Tempered glass rained around me as I fell in the middle of the display, my blood pumping bright scarlet from the horrific chest wound -- the attacker had hit an artery.
In seconds I was dead again, staring with empty eyes at the shop’s ceiling.
It didn’t get better from there, each death bloodier than the last, as if channeling every nightmare I’d ever had in my mother’s court, every death threat she’d ever made. Crushed, shredded, burned alive. Death after sickening death.
What was worse, Dearg was right. I couldn’t even tell who was attacking me.
There seemed to be several different killers judging by glimpses of a hoof that might have belonged to a centaur, several magical attacks that looked like Sidhe work, and a fireball that could have been cast by anyone.
Next came an enormous clawed green hand hurling a boulder that crushed me like a cockroach under a shoe.
A troll. Like Olwydd.
My mother’s voice whispered like radioactive silk in my ear. “I’ll give you to him, you little bitch. You can’t imagine the pain. Olwydd has a cock like a stallion. He would rip you in two. And he will, if you ever give me the slightest reason.”
I’d been ten.
He’s dead, I told myself, clenching my teeth and fighting to keep my face expressionless. He’s been dead for two decades. Helen Donovan, Grandmother’s werewolf troubleshooter, had killed the twisted bastard soon after the Massacre of Times Square that outted us all to mortal humanity.
Sometimes I still dreamed of Olwydd. I probably always would.
The last bloody image winked out, but I barely noticed, lost in my horrific past more than a possible nightmarish future.
Sweat broke out on my upper lip as I fought the flashback.
If not for Conal Donovan risking his life to alert my grandmother, Mother would have eventually killed me.
Even at ten, I had sensed her anticipation.
“Why in the Egg’s name did she hate me like that? What did I do?” I murmured.
“What?” The prince straightened, his gaze intent. “She? Do you know who’s sending the killers?”
It took a moment, but I managed to wrench free of the memories that would cripple me if I didn’t fight them off. You won’t win, you bitch. “It’s not her. She’s not behind this.”
The prince rose and knelt in front of me, one wolf-warm hand taking my icy one. It felt good. His eyes met mine, flecks of magic swirling in his remarkable irises. I focused on them, trying to ground myself in the now.
“Iona, who are you talking about?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother?” The incredulity vanished as he remembered exactly who my mother was.
“Oh, right, your mother.” He laid his palm against the side of my face, frowning in concern.
“Your skin is clammy.” The prince gestured.
Sparks flew and a goblet appeared in his hand.
I recoiled, way too close to the flashback to hide my reaction.
Dearg’s smile was patient, kind. Concerned. “It’s just water.”
I took the goblet, feeling the ice water chill through the thin metal. I was tempted to dump it over my head. That would jolt me the rest of the way out of the flashback, but I didn’t want the prince to think I was nuts. I sipped it instead.
“Drink it all. I think you need it.” His deep voice seemed to stroke across my jangling nerves like fur.
I obeyed, draining it, though I didn’t look away from his chiseled face. The man was hypnotic -- his voice, his eyes, his touch. Best of all, he steadied me.
A nagging thought reared its head. He barely knows me. What does he care? That paranoid thought was the child me, the one who’d been just as suspicious of Conal Donovan when he’d arrived at Mother’s male harem with his infant twin sisters.
“I’m sorry,” the prince said as I watched his lips shape the words.
“For what?” That mouth… I focused on it, knowing my demigoddess libido could ground me when nothing else did. Even tight with concern, his lips looked soft. I wanted to taste those lips. Feel them taste me back…
“I should have held the worst back.”
I blinked, trying to focus as he spoke earnestly about visions and that he was sorry about… Something. But every time that lush mouth moved, I wanted to touch it. Taste it.
This is unprofessional as hell. For fuck’s sake, Iona, the man just walked through the door.
Time to pull the demigoddess back in before my magic starts affecting him.
I don’t want the whole department to hear me banging the Wolf Prince.
And considering my two Able shift werewolves could hear a ghost fart, they would definitely notice.
He’d fallen silent to stare at me expectantly. What? Wait, he asked me a question. “Worst of what?”
The prince lifted a dark brow. “I said I regret exposing you to that vision. I should have filtered it, skipped the worst…”
“No. I needed to see it. Needed to know. Hiding from that kind of thing…” I had to pause to draw in a breath, blow it out slowly to gain control of my raw need. “It just gets you killed. Besides, I needed to see if I recognized who’s gunning for me.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned. “Would you like me to cast a healing?”
Did I want him to touch me again? Yes. Yes, I really did…
My office door flung open so hard, it bounced against the wall.
Lapis stalked in. “What the in the name of Cachamwri’s Egg is going on?
” she demanded, glaring at Dearg with narrowed sapphire eyes.
Ugly rumors or no, she looked ready to go for the prince’s throat.
“What kind of magic are you throwing around in here, Galatyn?”
Crap, she’d felt his display of the vision.
If she found out I was in danger, I wouldn’t be able to turn around without tripping over a fairy cop.
And one of them might get themselves killed, because unlike me, they didn’t have a goddess grandmother.
I had a lot more power than they did. I haven’t been that battered little girl in a long time.