Chapter 1
ONE
ATLAS
“Rune!”
Sitting up abruptly, I blink groggily, desperate to orient myself, but my heart races with unknown panic.
Something is wrong. He’s in trouble.
I stumble from the bed and down the hall, lured by the joyful, relaxed voices of my friends. They’re sitting around a table playing our usual game of cards.
Cassius, the vampire, notices me first, and he’s on his feet instantly, rushing over. “What’s wrong, At?”
“I had a nightmare.” I grip Cassius’s shoulder like I need it for balance, slowly shaking my head to sort my jumbled thoughts. “It’s Rune.”
Mac, our resident dragon, looks confused. “The mage?”
I nod, dragging my hand through my hair. “He’s in trouble.”
“How do you know that?” Roman, asks, his wolf-shifter eyes flashing yellow at the suggestion of danger.
“I don’t know. I can feel it.” I rub my sternum. “He needs help.”
Drax, our cinnamon roll of a demon, twists his lips. “Are you sure? You said it was a nightmare, and he doesn’t exactly like us. He probably wouldn’t want us just showing up.”
I nod as the feelings in my head spread through my chest. “I’m sure. We know how to get to him.” I frown. I can’t put my friends through that again. “I can go alone.”
“No way,” Cassius says.
“Yeah, no,” Roman says.
Mac nods. “We’ve got your back, Atlas.”
Mac slides off of Drax’s lap. “Sounds like we have another mission. Let’s go save Rune.”
“It could be dangerous,” I warn.
“Everything we do is, friend.” Cassius pats my shoulder. “When has that ever deterred us before?”
“Cass is right,” Roman adds. “If you feel strongly about this, then so do we.”
“Thank you.”
The guys scatter to their rooms to change, and I shuffle back to mine, bumping into Auri on my way back. Our demon boss tilts his head as Grim, the three-headed hellhound, comes to a screeching halt beside his master.
“What’s happening? I sense unease.” He glances down the hallway in the direction everyone else went, like he’s trying to get a read on everyone’s aura at once. Knowing him, he probably is.
We don’t go out on a lot of missions without Auri’s approval.
None, actually. If you want to get technical about it, he owns us.
We all signed contracts that basically make us his property, in exchange for status, money, and an exciting job as his own personal little mercenary unit.
If someone is brave enough or powerful enough to summon Auri, we’re the ones who end up doing the legwork for whatever deal he might strike.
It’s not a bad life, in spite of how it sounds. But right now, with my heart racing with the knowledge that Rune might be in trouble, I’m not loving the idea that he could outright forbid me from doing something about it.
“Roman’s crawling out of his skin to get laid.
” The lie jumps to my lips before I can overthink it.
And, honestly, it’s believable. It’s a rare night when our resident wolf isn’t humping legs or chewing on the furniture out of boredom.
“And the rest of us could use a little wilding, so we’re going out. ”
He stares at me with those freaky, glowing eyes of his for a long, tense minute. I have no clue if telepathy is one of Auri’s many powers, but just to be safe, I think really hard about loud music and firm, sweaty bodies.
“Hmm.” I can’t tell if he’s convinced or not, but he smiles and pats my arm. “Come along, Grim.” He whistles, and the three-headed dog bounds off down the hall with big clumsy paws—no longer a puppy, but still in that awkward, adolescent phase—followed by an amused Auri.
I hurry back to my room to put on proper clothing and run some water over my face and beard.
My neck has been tense since I woke up, and I’m still hoping this lingering sense of dread is nothing more than misplaced concern and we’ll find Rune in one of his many workshops or hideouts, annoyed by our mere existence.
Even as the thought dances in my head, I already know it isn’t true.
In the months since we last saw him, I’ve never felt an intense, urgent need to go find him.
My thoughts of him are usually more carnal and fleeting, but this is different.
This is real. He’s in danger. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.
A few minutes later, I rejoin my friends in the common area, all of them looking to me for direction. “I’m not exactly sure where he is.”
Roman nods. “I can try to catch his scent.”
“We don’t have anything of his anymore,” Drax points out.
Reluctantly, I dig in the pocket of my jeans and shyly produce a small swatch of purple velvet. “Uh, well, I have this.”
Cassius grins, peering closer. “What’s that?”
I shrug, still embarrassed by the urge I had to take something of Rune’s when we were in his home. “It’s Rune’s. I think it got stuck to my shoe or something.”
“Stuck to your shoe,” Mac says flatly. “Lucky us.”
Roman takes it, holding it close to his nose and sniffing. “It still has his scent.” He meets my gaze. “And yours.”
I snatch it back, tucking it into my pocket. No way I’m admitting the things I’ve done while rubbing the soft fabric between my fingers, but I’m positive Roman can tell. “Is it enough?”
“Might be,” Roman says. “Let’s give it a shot. It’s a start, at least.”
“Human realm, here we come.” Drax smiles, sliding his arm around his mate’s waist.
Mac’s eyes heat and a tendril of smoke spirals from his nostrils.
Those two are so in love that it’s renewed the longing I’d thought I put out centuries ago.
Gargoyles used to mate for life, but we’re a dying breed.
I don’t remember the last time I heard about a mating union between my kind.
That’s part of what made it so easy to join Auri’s team.
I’m not with other gargoyles, but at least here, I’m not alone.
“Ready, guys?” Roman asks.
I nod, preparing mentally for the astral trip. “Ready.”
As I close my eyes and the room around me fades, I focus all my thoughts on finding Rune, praying to any deity listening that I’m wrong.
RUNE
I think I’m in real trouble.
Rattling the bars over the window of my enclosure, I focus all my energy on melting the barrier away, but all I get are sparks that immediately fizzle out. Whoever did this to me is beyond powerful. I never even saw it coming, and somehow my magic is being thwarted.
What I can’t figure out is why someone would target me. Sure, I have my enemies, but no one strong enough to overpower my magic. My reputation precedes me, and yet, an unknown perpetrator managed to kidnap me.
The cell is dark and damp, the moldy smell tickling my nose in the worst way. All I have is a ratty cot, a wobbly wooden chair, a small oil lantern, and a bucket, presumably to relieve myself.
I shudder. Ew. How primitive.
When I find out who is responsible for this, they will rue the day they fucked with me. I may not use the name anymore, but Delaport blood runs in my veins, and that’s something they clearly don’t know.
The sound of heavy footsteps and jingling keys reaches me, and I sit up a little straighter, refusing to look worn down by my plight.
The metal door blocking my exit opens and a tall woman with waist-length black hair enters, carrying a tray with various items on it.
She’s wearing a long dress with two slits from the hips to the floor, heavy knee boots with leather straps and silver buckles, and a corset type top with a mesh bodice.
Her eyes, piercingly aqua, focus on my face for a moment before she sets the tray down on the rickety chair seat. She’s beautiful in a terrifying way, but I sense no magic in her. Just muscles and fury. I could try to physically attack her, I suppose, but without my magic, I doubt I can take her.
“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” I demand, trying and failing to keep my tone friendly. Charming her is clearly out of the question given that I’m, well, me.
The woman turns slightly in my direction, uttering something in a language I don’t understand and have never heard. Normally, I could use my magic to sort through it, but the wall around me is both invisible and powerful.
“I can’t understand you.”
She turns completely toward me, gazing at me with blank eyes. “What language?” she asks in stilted English, but not as if she’s a new learner, as if it’s something she’s read out of a book and done her best to pronounce.
“English, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, some Italian, and a working knowledge of Turkish, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. Any of those work?”
The woman nods, seeming to sort through my words. Her head tilts awkwardly to the left for a moment before she nods again. “You stay here,” she says slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “Until the end.”
“The end of what?”
She blinks rapidly, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s even human. “The end of the war.”
I pull my head back slightly. “What war?”
As she rights her head, she backs away. “That’s all. Eat. Good for you.”
“What’s in the food? Poison?”
“Poison?” she repeats, clearly confused, but then a moment later she shakes her head. “No. Safe. No harm. Not until the end.”
Well that ominous answer isn’t very comforting.
“Who is your boss? Why am I here? What is your name?”
The woman mumbles something again in her original language as she turns and walks toward the exit. “Eat,” she repeats before unlocking the door and slipping from the room, leaving me frustrated and confused.
That got me nowhere. What war is she talking about?
There hasn’t been a supernatural war in ages, and certainly none I would be involved in.
It’s always the wolves or the vampires causing trouble in a bid for dominance.
Occasionally the fae folk get restless and stir up drama, but even they’ve been pretty calm.
There was that whole dragon thing a few years back, but the two groups found a tenuous peace, and none of us would involve ourselves with human skirmishes or we’d never get anything done. What other war could there be?
All that aside, I honestly don’t care. My sole concern is finding a way out of here.
Perhaps my magic is only temporarily disabled, and when it returns, I’ll rain down hell on my captors.
They can fight their own war, thank you very much.
If someone thinks they can hijack my magic for their ill gains, well, won’t they be surprised when it turns on them.
One thing about being a Delaport, no one can take us down for good.
Only another Delaport can destroy a Delaport, and I made sure that won’t happen.
For now, I’ll bide my time, wait for my magic to return, then get the hell out of here.
My belly rumbles, so I reluctantly walk over to check out the offerings. There’s a bowl with a savory smelling soup in it, a small plate with buttered bread, and a glass of what smells like grape juice. Ironic that the ubiquitous food of prisoners happens to be my comfort meal.
I flick my fingers over it in an attempt to suss out any disagreeable ingredients, and even with my current handicap, I get the sense that there’s nothing dangerous about it.
I pick up the tray, carry it to my cot, sit down, and tuck in.
I might as well be full while I wait and hope for my magic to return.
One way or another, I’ll figure out a way out of here. It’s not the first time someone has tried to capture me, and the misguided fools are always sorry they fucked with me when it’s all over. This won’t be any different.
Mm. Good soup though.