Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(100)

The fae in the room suddenly dropped to their knees, bowing their heads, oblivious to the Order members still standing.

And that was a really bad sign.

I drew in a sharp breath then it caught as another shadow moved from the doorway. A man walked through, not a cloud of evil mist, but a man well over six and a half feet. He wore the same kind of black breeches, but a white linen shirt clung to his broad shoulders. As if he'd grown bored of buttoning it, half of his bronze chest was exposed. His raven colored hair was longer, brushing his shoulders, and his features were astoundingly angular. All the raw beauty the fae seemed to have pieced his face together. He was so beautiful he was almost hard to look at, and it was unnatural, too unreal.

And there wasn't an ounce of compassion or humanity in his features.

I didn't need anyone to tell me who or what he was. The way he held his head high, the slight curl of distaste to his full lips, how he cast his gaze around the room with a look of arrogant dismissal.

The prince.

The prince had arrived.

And the men before him were the knights. They were free, and before the full horror of that could be recognized, one of the knights stepped toward the closest Order member and thrust his hand out, shoving it clean through the man's chest.

Chaos ensued.

Order members charged the knights as the fae remained in their obedient, kneeling positions. Instinct guided me. I reached for my left arm, unhooking the thorn stake strapped there. Grunts of pain and the wheezing sound of last breaths being taken surrounded me as I stepped forward, preparing to engage the nearest knight.

Then I saw Val.

She was walking at a rapid pace behind the prince, who with a simple raise of his hand, sent anyone standing in front of him flying to the sides. The show of power was shocking. Within seconds, he was at the entry to the hallway and then he was gone from my sight, Val right behind him.

I hesitated, my frantic gaze finding Ren ducking under the outstretched arm of one of the knights and popping up behind him. He slammed his booted foot into the knight's back, bringing the powerful creature to its knees. A second passed and then Ren saw me, and I knew what I had to do.

I spun around and raced for the hallway, darting around those who had fallen—some injured, some never getting back up again. I thought I heard someone shout my name, but I threw open the door and crossed the short hallway, peering over the railing. Down below, I saw the bright red of Val's shirt slipping through the front door.

"Val!" Taking the steps two at a time, I rushed through the foyer and caught the front door before it swung shut. I burst outside, startling a group of teenagers standing on the curb.

Looking left and right, I caught sight of Val heading toward the French Quarter. My brain had clicked off. Duty demanded that I go after the prince. I'd been the closest to the door, and I knew others would soon be in pursuit—if they could get out of that house, but it was more than just duty.

I had to get to Val. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was denial that she had purposely enabled the ancient to open the door—that she had willingly left with the prince. Deep down, I knew that she was a traitor, that she had already betrayed us, but some little part of me thought I could fix this, if I could just get to her. Because she had to have been compelled. Maybe she'd been caught without protection like Merle—like I had been.

Picking up speed as they turned onto St. Phillip Street, I feared I knew where Val was leading the prince. All I could hope was that I was wrong. Legs aching, I pushed, dodging streetwalkers and panhandlers. My lungs seized when I passed the Irish pub and saw Val's red shirt a second before it disappeared.

No. No.

I pushed harder than I ever had before, nearly out of breath when I reached the side entrance of Mama Lousy. Heart sinking, I yanked open the door and peered up the staircase.

The normally closed, secured door was open.

Dread settled like a cannonball in the pit of my stomach as I climbed the stairs. As I neared the top, the metallic scent was so strong that I could taste it in the back of my throat. Clearing the stairs, I stepped into the room and swallowed a hoarse cry.

Harris lay on his back, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The front of his shirt was torn and covered in red. A puddle of blood seeped out from under him, spreading across the beige carpet.

Anger and horror warred inside me as I stalked forward, toward the back of the room and the stairwell that led to the third floor, clenching the stake until my knuckles hurt. "Valerie!" I shouted.

A door to my right slammed shut, and I whirled. Val stood there, holding something the size and shape of a bowling ball in her arms. It was covered with a black cloth. I had no idea what she was carrying, and in that moment, I didn't even care.

"Why?" I asked, my voice cracking halfway through the one single word.

Tight curls bounced as she shook her head and edged toward the door. "I wish it hadn't been you that came after me."

Before I could respond, cold air danced along the nape of my neck. I spun around, my breath catching as I saw the prince standing before me. Two words pretty much summed up how I felt about that.

Oh shit.

I heard the door close behind me, and even though I knew Val had made her escape and she had left me with this—this thing, I didn't take my eyes off of him.

The prince cocked his head to the side, studying me intently like I was an odd bug under a microscope. "Your hair," he said. His voice was odd, an accent that reminded me of someone from England, but different, more lyrical. "It is the color of fire."