Feversong (Fever #9)(24)

I pretend to be his Rainbow Girl beneath the gore, frothy, fragile, and fatally flawed. I fall to my knees, clutching my head. “Barrons,” I scream, “help me! Oh, God, help me! I’m in here. Get it out of me! Please, Barrons, help me!” I infuse my cry with desperation, knowing he’ll hear it in nightmares.

I shake myself violently, flood my eyes black again, toss my head back and snarl. “She is beyond your help.”

“Mac, I’m here. I’m not losing you,” he says roughly. “You’ve got to fight it. You can do it! Fight!”

Rah-rah fucking cheerleader. All he’s missing are fluffy pink pom-poms. It’s all I can do not to shake my head in disgust.

I make my eyes go green/black/green/black, body shuddering as if I’m weak and fighting for control.

“Barrons,” I scream. “It hurts! It’s killing me! Please, you’ve got to save me! I don’t have much time!”

He lunges forward, checks himself and stops.

His pain is my pleasure. “You can’t defeat me.” I let my eyes go full black again. “She’s mine and I will never release her.” I push myself up and saunter toward him, swaying my hips, jiggling my breasts, a blatant reminder of the potent bond they share. And perhaps can again—my walk suggests. I wet my lips and smile. My body is hot, parts of it ache in a way that’s sinfully delicious. It’s an ache I understand. LUST. GREED. Dominate him. Chain him. Use and abuse him. I have plans for this one.

He mutters beneath his breath and a silvery wall appears in the air between us.

I saunter closer, stopping inches from his hastily erected and not nearly fortified enough to keep the likes of me out druid wall.

“The Fae taught the druids,” I purr. “And not very well. We always withhold information.” I reach for the three lesser amulets I took from Cruce that hang around my neck, enclose them in a fist and murmur softly, weaving a spell of illusion that will convince Barrons to drop his druid wall and become lamb to my slaughter.

The druid wall remains.

I chant louder and my amulets glow with blue-black fire.

The corners of his mouth lift in a smile and he says smugly, “The lesser three don’t work on me. Only the king’s does and I have that one. Mac doesn’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t either. You’ll learn my limits. By discovering their lack.”

It offends me that he possesses an amulet that should be mine, offends me more that yet another thing that should unfold in my favor doesn’t. I go motionless, banking the embers of my rage with images of his destruction. I will torture him to the brink of death over and over. I will take him with me, my prisoner when I leave this world. I will make him beg for death until the black holes I plan to feed so they will grow rapidly out of control devour the earth and trap him as I was.

In nothing.

Forever.

I return his smug smile, thinking about it.

His eyes narrow to dark burning slits. “I’ll kill her rather than let you have her. Take my body or come up with another deal you’re willing to make. I’ll hunt you across the motherfucking galaxies. I’ll shred you limb from limb, dice and exorcise you. I won’t let her live in hell. You have three days. Get out of Mac’s body. Or die.”

Long before three days have passed, I will be all I was meant to be and gone. And he won’t hunt me long. Once I feed the black holes, he’ll either die or be trapped in nothing forever. I consider attacking his druid wall by a different method but I am as uncertain of the current strength of my body as I am of whether I could seize his.

I whirl and dash away from him.

I race into the woods behind the abbey where I sequestered my car, as rapidly as my weakening body is capable of moving.

He lets me.

As I knew he would. He won’t harm MacKayla’s body.

Not so long as he believes his precious Rainbow Girl is within reach.

Everyone has something they value more than anything else. That’s what we see when we look at you, scribbled on your flat, one-dimensional faces.

That thing that means everything to you—and without it you are so easily broken.

Fucking keys to your kingdom.





JADA


After seeing the sidhe-seers safely to Chester’s, Jada left them settling into the upper-level rooms and hurried back to Barrons Books & Baubles to address something she should have dealt with earlier. Every minute now, each hour, was vital.

They’d wasted the better part of a day sifting women, one by one, to Ryodan’s club, sending others ahead by what few cars were at the abbey, and tending to the needs of the injured. Before she’d left the club, she’d lost four more sidhe-seers to wounds too severe to heal. Crushed skulls and lacerated organs were beyond their limited medical abilities, and although Cruce possessed at least some power to heal, he’d claimed to be too taxed by his time in the cocoon to use the ability at the moment. Whether or not that was true was anyone’s guess. The ancient prince would resent employing any of his precious power for a mere human unless there was something significant in it for him.

They needed all hands on deck, and Ryodan, with his ruthlessness, Machiavellian mind, and knowledge of arcane magic, was crucial. Had he been uninjured today, she suspected he, too, might have healed some of the women. She had no such ability, and would sacrifice a great deal to learn it.