The Curse (Belador #3)(102)
Storm asked, “Think the goddess’ll extend your deadline?”
“Again? Not a chance. I was amazed when Macha gave me four more days.” That had been two days ago and Evalle had been given that reprieve from losing her freedom only because she’d defeated a demon Svart troll before it killed everything in its path.
Opportunities like that didn’t come along every day.
Good thing or she’d stay in perpetual traction.
But gaining a couple extra days of freedom from Macha had balanced out getting beaten to a pulp by the Svart. Macha was goddess over all the Beladors, a race of powerful Celtic warriors who protected humans who didn’t even know preternatural creatures existed. She’d offered sanctuary in her pantheon to all Alterants who swore fealty to her.
With a catch. Evalle first had to deliver the origin of Alterants, who were part Belador and part unknown. Since Alterants changed from human form into beasts that could kill even powerful beings, Macha wanted that unknown part cleared up before giving carte blanche freedom to Alterants.
And Tristan had that information.
But more than that, he’d helped Evalle escape a deadly enemy last week and gotten captured while doing it. She didn’t want to think about the hideous ways he might be suffering. Freeing him was her first priority.
All she had to do was find a witch called Imogenia who was rumored to have information on Alterants, Tristan in particular, and the location of T?μr Medb, home of the Medb Coven of deadly Noirre majik practitioners … where Tristan was being held captive.
A sick ball of regret rolled around in Evalle’s stomach. She’d left Atlanta two hours ago with Storm to hike up the side of Oakey Mountain in North Georgia. She wouldn’t have gambled the time spent coming here if she hadn’t trusted the source.
“Damned ghouls,” Storm grumbled as if lifting her thoughts, his deep voice ending in a growl. He didn’t read minds, but he was a powerful empath.
“Don’t blame him. Grady can only repeat what he hears.” Evalle shifted on the cold ground to find a comfortable position. She knew Grady’s limitations. He was a Nightstalker—just another homeless person who’d died ten years ago on the streets of Atlanta. Now he was her best source of intel. Usually.
“When we do find Tristan, I want ten minutes with him alone before you hand him over to Macha.” A muscle played in Storm’s jaw, the only sign of his frustration.
“I need him alive,” she reminded Storm, though she knew he didn’t mean to kill Tristan, but those two couldn’t stand in the same zip code without the threat of blood being shed. “I need every Alterant I can find. As it is, Macha is insulted that none have come forward to accept her offer. I have no idea where I’m going to come up with one other than Tristan.”
She released a long breath, disgusted. She’d been so sure this would be the break she needed.
“Grady said this was the place?”
“Yes. Imogenia had a meeting in the valley north of Oakey Mountain at the hour between Tuesday and Wednesday.”
“How specific was he on this information she has about the Medb?”
“That’s where Grady got vague. He said while he was eavesdropping, he started losing his corporeal form, which caused him to miss parts of her conversation. He did get that she mentioned something about Alterants and was going to deliver it to the Medb, plus she mentioned Tristan’s name specifically.”
“Maybe she’s here looking for more information she can sell to the Medb.”
Evalle considered that possibility. “I just hope she shows up and if she does know anything about other Alterants that I can convince her to trade with me instead of the Medb.”
“Think you have enough to outbid them?”
“I don’t know. Somebody in Imogenia’s Carretta coven wants to take over by using Imogenia as a blood sacrifice. A dark witch should be willing to sell her mother’s soul to get that name.” She checked the valley again. Something about the gathering sent bony fingers of anxiety clawing up her spine. What was going on? Evalle opened and closed her fisted hands, grumbling, “When we first showed up, I knew this location didn’t look like somewhere witches would meet, not in an area this exposed.”
“True, but I had hopes.”
“You’re really wanting that ten minutes with Tristan, huh?” Evalle teased.
He shifted around, using a finger to turn her chin to him. “You’ve been running on no sleep, little food, and frustration for the past two days straight trying to find one lead on Tristan. This is it, and digging up this tip was tough. I want to get that witch’s information tonight and find Tristan as much as you do.”
“Really? But—” She caught herself. Why am I questioning him? Storm couldn’t lie without enduring pain, a downside of the gift he possessed that allowed him to discern immediately if someone else lied.
He chuckled darkly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I still don’t give a rat’s ass about Tristan. He can rot in hell for all the times he’s let you down, but if there’s a chance that Imogenia does have any information on Alterants, we can’t leave until we know for sure she’s not here.”
“Agreed.” Between the frigid air and being immobile, she was losing feeling in her legs and butt. “Being still would be easier if it wasn’t so freakin’ cold up here.”