Love Me to Death (Underveil, #1)(110)

“Woo, Ellie Baby! Did you see that? It’ll take him a century to heal from that!” Aunt Uza hollered from across the balcony. “Hated to let him go, but we’re gonna need him down the road.”

Need him?

Aunt Uza pointed at her head. “I see stuff, remember?” Then she burst out in laughter. “Yippee! New Year’s fireworks right in his chest. Yeah! I’m hotter than asphalt in August.” She danced in a circle singing “The Macarena,” and Elena laughed—something she didn’t think she’d ever get the chance to do again.

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder. “What about him?” Fee gestured to the wood elf still bound to the post.

He kept his eyes down, certainly expecting to be abandoned there. She searched through her memories of their first meeting in the dungeon, hoping her new ability to see the past objectively would help. Fear. Incapacitating fear and something else colored his view of the scene. Confusion. Hatred—but not of the others in the cells. It was self-loathing. This pitiful creature hated himself.

The air smelled of wet ash and rain. From the floor below, shouts and the sounds of metal clashing and scraping rang out. With any luck, this was the end of the old regime of hatred. Her job was to unite. What better place than right here to begin change?

She inserted the key into the wood elf’s shackles.





Chapter Thirty-Five


Nikolai knew exactly where he’d find Fydor. Hopefully, the f*cker hadn’t teleported out already. Forging a direct path through the battling warriors, which consisted of wood elves, bear shifters, and some rogue vamps against everyone else, he paused to snag a crappy sword from a dying wood elf. The resistance was crushing the poor fools fighting on behalf of his uncle, so he didn’t even bother helping out as he shoved and pushed his way to the door of the “rec room.”

Fydor was standing perfectly still in the middle of the large, round space, his brother’s sword clasped point down in his hands and the crown on his head. The chains and shackles hung limp and empty from the wall where Nikolai had been bound and beaten by this monster of a man he’d once trusted.

“I knew you’d come,” Fydor said, broad back to him.

“I assumed you’d teleport out and flee.”

He turned. “I tried. We are locked down, evidently.” Fydor pulled a vial out of his pocket, popped the lid, and downed it. “Aren’t you going to try to kill me, Nikolai, like I killed Ivan Itzov and Gregor Arcos?”

There it was. The admission he thought he’d never hear. “Deathbed confession time, Uncle?”

“Just figured you should know the truth before I kill you.” He raised the sword in a ready stance.

Nik held out his inadequate “borrowed” weapon. “Hardly a fair fight, Uncle.”

“Didn’t your father ever teach you that life’s not fair?” He swung a wide arc with the sword, missing Nik by only inches.

“He taught me to level the playing field in the interest of fairness.” In one burst, he leapt and slammed his uncle’s hands with a roundhouse kick that sent the sword careening into the wall, then clanging to the floor along with the crown. He threw his own sword to the opposite wall. “Now it’s fair.”

Fists raised, the men approached each other.

Nikolai wanted to kill the bastard, but kicking the shit out of him would just have to do for now.



“Ooo, honey, c’mon over here and let me check ya for ticks!” Uza shouted at a tall light elf pulling a sword out of a bear shifter’s torso. “Dang, those elves are hella fine, aren’t they, Ellie?”

“Yeah, fine,” she answered, ducking to avoid being whacked in the head by a wood elf’s club. Stefan reached out and gave the elf a zap to the head.

“Timber,” he called as it fell over.

“Ha! Good one, hottie,” Uza said, clearly enjoying herself as they pushed through the waning battle in the great hall. Only a few of the revolution fighters were standing.

“I hope Fydor didn’t teleport out,” Elena said, tripping a wood elf that was trying to sneak up on a vampire. She would have electrocuted him, except she still didn’t have any powers.

“No way, Ellie. I put a roach motel spell on this place.”

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but what is a roach motel?” Stefan asked, stepping over the body of a bear shifter.

“Mercy,” Uza said, pushing some hair back in place. “Haven’t you seen the ad on TV? ‘The roach motel! Roaches check in, but they don’t check out!’” She did a little shimmy and giggled. “My spell allowed folks in, but not out. Get it?”

“Got it.” Stefan retrieved a dagger from the floor.

“You asked,” Elena said as they stopped outside the round room where she rescued Nik. Sounds of struggle came from within. Grunts and smacks of fists on flesh.

“Open it,” Uza urged. “This is exciting, like getting a present. Open it!”

Stefan turned the handle and pushed the door open. Both men were bloody, Fydor more so than Nik, mainly on their fists and faces. Elena’s chest felt tight. He’d followed her request rather than his instinct. They were both alive.

Nik grinned and gave Fydor a hard shove into the wall. “Took you long enough.”