Devil's Gate (Elder Races #4.6)(24)

She lowered the gun, slid the safety back on and strode rapidly over to Duncan to fling her arms around him. He clenched her to him, one hand at the back of her neck.

“You’re not hurt?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back. “I’m all right.”

Oh gods, thank you. She held onto him with all of her strength.

His lean cheek was cool against hers, the length of his body hard. He said, “Let’s go home now.”

She nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. In that moment, she thought those were the four most wonderful words in the English language.

Let’s go home now.

Chapter Seven

Hearth

After a nerve wracking yet uneventful drive back to the Reno airport, they were airborne a couple of hours later and headed to Chicago where they would stop just long enough to allow Xanthe to disembark before they flew to Miami.

During the car trip Vetta drank three bottles of water, ate a couple of protein bars and had a crying jag against Seremela’s shoulder as relief set in. As soon as they had cell phone reception, they called Seremela’s sister, Camilla, and Vetta cried some more at her mother. Once they boarded the jet and took off, the girl disappeared into the lavatory for a while to emerge some time later, looking pale and exhausted but somewhat cleaner.

After Vetta finished, they all took turns washing up. Seremela sighed with relief as she rinsed the desert dust off her face, arms and neck.

Dawn spilled over the horizon. After shuttering all of the windows to block out the morning sun, the co-pilot served Xanthe, Vetta and Seremela bistro-style breakfast trays with fresh fruit, rolls, cheese, hard boiled eggs and smoked salmon, hot coffee and cream and fresh squeezed orange juice.

Duncan accepted a glass of bloodwine. Seremela frowned. After a sleepless, stressful night she was starving. He must be too. While bloodwine might do in a pinch, it did not have nearly the same nutritive qualities as fresh blood did.

Somewhat haltingly, she asked him, “Will bloodwine be—sufficient for you, for now? I would be honored to help if you need fresh blood.”

Duncan smiled at her. He looked inexplicably sweet and roguish, and she thought he even looked somewhat embarrassed. Although she wasn’t sure what prompted his expression, she could not help but smile back.

“That is very kind of you,” he said. “Bloodwine will be sufficient for now, thank you.”

She felt her cheeks warm and her gaze slid away from his. She had never fed a Vampyre directly from her vein before. Their bites were famous for inducing a sense of euphoria in their donors. Perhaps that was why he looked embarrassed. She glanced at Xanthe and Vetta. It was probably just as well he didn’t need fresh blood at the moment.

Even though tiredness threatened to take her over, she ate quickly and drank several cups of coffee, fueled by a sense of purpose. She was not going to relax while they carried an unexamined item of Power on the plane.

As she ate, she listened to Duncan and Xanthe talk. Duncan asked, “Why kill Thruvial instead of taking him back to face trial?”

“He was the last nobleman involved in the conspiracy that killed the Queen’s family,” Xanthe said. “The problem with putting him on trial was that the evidence we managed to gather might not have been enough to convict him. Lord Black Eagle made the decision on the kill order.”

The unfamiliar name caused Seremela to pause, until she realized that Xanthe referred to Tiago, the Wyr warlord who had mated with Niniane. She had met Tiago when she had been a medical examiner in Chicago, and she shuddered as she recalled Tiago’s edgy demeanor. He had terrified her—she had no problem whatsoever imagining him taking responsibility for ordering someone’s execution.

The Dark Fae woman was continuing. “It took me the better part of the year to work my way into Thruvial’s household. He fled Adriyel as soon as the borders opened. The trials of his fellow conspirators had shaken him considerably, but it didn’t stop him from committing other distasteful crimes at Devil’s Gate—including sex trafficking, protection and blackmail.”

“He was a horrible man,” Vetta whispered, her head bent.

Seremela murmured gently, “Did he hurt you in any way?”

Vetta looked at her sidelong, and she could tell her niece knew what she was really asking. Vetta shook her head and told her telepathically, “He thought I was disgusting, but he wanted to put me out to customers who were interested in exotic experiences. The last time we talked—fought, actually—he threatened to scar my face if I didn’t do as he said. I’m glad he’s dead.”

Seremela breathed evenly, struggling to contain her rage as she listened. “I’m glad he’s dead too,” she said.

She finished her breakfast, swallowed her last cup of coffee, set the breakfast tray aside and reached for Vetta’s backpack. “Don’t relax too much yet,” she said to her niece who was drooping sideways in her seat. “You need to tell me about this Tarot deck from hell. Who did you steal it from?”

“I don’t know,” Vetta said. “She was just some woman at a rest stop. I lifted it from the back of her car when she went inside the gas station. I could tell it had a tingle of Power. At first I thought it was cool. Then every time I started to lay out a spread for myself, Death kept showing up. Every time, Aunt Serrie. It got so that I couldn’t sleep. I kept checking the cards. Then I started to pray. I was so sure I was going to die.” Her voice broke at the end.