WUTHERING FRIGHTS

Dulcie O’Neil #4

by

H.P. Mallory

Other Series by H.P. Mallory

Paranormal Women’s Fiction Series:

Haven Hollow

Midlife Spirits

Midlife Mermaid

Paranormal Shifter Series:

Arctic Wolves

Paranormal Romance Series:

Underworld

Lily Harper

Dulcie O’Neil

Lucy Westenra

Paranormal Adventure Series:

Dungeon Raider

Chasing Demons

Detective SciFi Romance Series:

The Alaskan Detective

Academy Romance Series:

Academy of Necromancy

Reverse Harem Series: (Writing as Plum Pascal)

Happily Never After

My Five Kings

Wuthering Frights

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication:

I dedicate this book to myself seventeen years ago when I decided I wanted to become a writer and then wondered if I actually had enough talent to make it happen...

You did it.

Acknowledgements:

To my fabulous mother: Thank you for all your help.

To my editor, Teri, thank you for the clean up!

To my son, Finn: I love you.

To the winner of my “become a character in my next book” contest, Christina Sabbiondo: I hope you enjoy seeing yourself in print!

To Natasha Kelly: Thank you so much for entering the contest to name this book and coming up with such a great title! I love it!

And to my past contest winners: Dia Robinson and Caressa Brandenburg, I hope you enjoy your return in this book!

Wuthering Frights

ONE

It is said that during times of immense fear, shock or heartache, your body does weird things. And I'm here to say it's true. Why? Because I endured all three of those emotions as I stood in front of the Head of the Netherworld, a double-dealing bastard who'd been importing illegal potions from the Netherworld to Earth for Hades-only-knew-how-long. And in dealing with the feelings of fear, shock and heartache, my knees went wobbly and I had to stabilize myself against the bookshelf standing next to me. Afraid I might accidentally blow a hole into the floor, I rested my Op 7 handgun, similar to a Glock 31, on the shelf. Why had my knees suddenly become the consistency of jelly? And why was I now finding it difficult to breathe? Because the bastard standing before me had just informed me that he was my father.

It was almost as if the doors to my brain had blown open in a hurricane because I was bombarded with thoughts and memories—memories of a time long ago, nine years long ago, when my mother was still alive.

My mother ...

In general, I tried to shield myself from thoughts of my mother because those thoughts invariably led to feelings of darkness and depression that would clutch my insides until I could barely breathe. My mother had been killed by a goblin nine years ago, which is why I'd decided to become a Regulator (think, law enforcement agent) for the Association of Netherworld Creatures (ANC) in Splendor, California.

I felt my eyes narrow as I glanced up at the man who called himself my father. It wasn't that I doubted him—I couldn't. If our last names weren't illustrative enough of our shared lineage, the similarity of our faces was—I had my father's emerald green eyes, both in shape and color as well as his high cheekbones. And my mane of honey blond hair seemed borrowed from the man standing just before me, although his hair was now generously sprinkled with grey. But while I was a fairy, my father was an elf. 'Course, he'd failed to mention his elfin ancestry when he'd introduced himself to me as “Melchior O'Neil, your father.” But, as a fairy, I possess the ability to detect bloodlines of everyone I meet, his included.

Family likeness aside, it was time I asked a few questions of my own and got some closure on some subjects I'd always wondered about. I’d practically abandoned my search for the answers seeing as how my mother was dead and prior to this moment, I'd never met my father.

“My mother said you left us, that she came to California because she was pregnant with me and you ran off,” I managed to say in a constricted, sore voice.

My father nodded but that small smile he'd been wearing since he'd admitted to our familial connections was still in place and still just as infuriating. “Yes, I imagined your mother would say something of the sort.” He shook his head like he was amused, like I'd just told him some funny little anecdote about when I was a kid. “That Marjorie ...”

“Then it isn't true?” I demanded, hating the sound of her name on his tongue. And that was when it was pretty clear that I hated him. I felt my hands fist at my sides and glanced down at the floor as I forced myself to count to five. An outburst would do me no good at this point. No, I had to maintain my cool while I figured out how to get myself out of this mess. Glancing down, I suddenly remembered I was wearing nothing but my bra and jeans. In the process of breaking into the Head of the Netherworld's office, I'd lost my shirt.

Lost a shirt but gained a father ...

“No, it isn't true,” my father announced and then turned to face the third person in the room who I could honestly say I'd completely forgotten about since I'd realized Melchior was my father. Quillan, who I'd mistaken for the Head of the Netherworld when I'd broken in and found him occupying my father's chair, was really Melchior's henchman, his right-hand man. And Quillan was also my ex-boss and ex–close friend. But that was a long and convoluted story.

Quillan remained silent and I found it strange that Melchior bothered to glance at him. Did he think Quill might have something to say about the mess known as my family? Instead, my old man looked at me and shook his head slowly.

“I never left your mother. She left me.”

I nodded as everything suddenly became crystal clear. My mother hadn't wanted to raise her child in the Netherworld, which was basically a combat zone and completely unsafe. More than that, though, I'm sure she didn't want to raise a child with this asshole, Melchior—someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a crime boss. He was making a killing off the black market in the illegal potions trade and was so high up the proverbial ladder, he was untouchable.

“Smart woman,” I said in the same tight voice.

Melchior said nothing but eyed me with no expression of sadness in his eyes at all—like it was no skin off his teeth that my mother had left him to raise me all by herself, like he could have given a rat's ass that he'd never had a connection with his daughter. As soon as that thought entered my mind, his demeanor changed, as if he'd clued into my feelings and wanted to prove me wrong.

“You look just like her,” he said in a haunted tone, something that sounded barren and void. It was as though he was suddenly sad that he'd missed out on all those years, like he was bummed he hadn't been there to potty train me, teach me to ride a bike, or tell me how beautiful I looked on prom night.

“Lucky for me,” I answered, my lips tight.

He chuckled then and shook his head, eyeing Quillan again almost as if he were embarrassed that Quillan was still sitting there. Then my father faced me and seemed to study me as if he were about to draw a detailed portrait of me. “Your mother was a beautiful woman and you are just as lovely.” He paused, as if waiting for me to say, “Ah, gee, thanks, Dad,” but when I remained silent, he continued. “Though she had none of your fire.”

That was when I realized the entire time I was making small talk with this jerk, Knight was still imprisoned, subjected to the beatings of the ruthless guards and probably worried that any minute could be his last. The main prison of the Netherworld was no vacation, not by a long shot.

I turned to face Quillan, no longer interested in playing the game of family charades with Melchior. “Get Caressa on the phone,” I said in a voice that warned him not to argue with me. “And put her on speaker.”

Quillan started to shake his head at the same time that he looked at my father. “Dulce, Caressa can't know you're here.”

I nodded. “She won't know I'm here—I won't say a word. I just want to make sure you're really going to call her and that you aren't trying to pull a fast one over on me.” I took a deep breath. “And don't call me Dulce. My name is Dulcie,” I finished with as much bravado as I could muster.

“Have you always been so suspicious?” Melchior asked me, his eyebrow raised in an amused sort of way.

I glared at him. “Yes, which is why I've survived this long.”

My father said nothing more but turned and nodded at Quillan as if to say putting Caressa on speakerphone was okay. Caressa Brandenburg was the only respectable, high-ranking ANC employee I'd encountered so far in the Netherworld. I knew she'd make damn sure Knight was out of High Prison and on his way back to Earth as soon as Quillan gave her the go ahead. Yep, Caressa was an angel of mercy, as far as I was concerned.

I watched as Quillan faced the rotary phone which looked like it was straight out of the sixties and any hopes I had of getting Caressa on speaker phone flew out the window. That was the weird part about the Netherworld—it was almost like a third world country, no modern conveniences. When I'd first met Knight, he'd described the Netherworld as existing in the same spatial plane as Earth. He'd said it was like a cake with layers, the Netherworld being one layer and Earth the layer just above. So even though I was currently in the Netherworld, I was also in the twenty-first century, yet you'd never know it by looking around.

“No speakerphone?” I asked, irritated.

Quillan frowned. “Not everything is as it appears, Dulcie.”

He started dialing when my father interrupted him. “Before you dial Caressa,” Melchior started as he gave me a nonchalant smile. My heartbeat pounded inside me as if it were still trying to deal with the bewilderment I'd been experiencing for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah?” Quillan asked. He paused with his index finger pointing aimlessly in the air as he faced my father.

“Then you agree to everything I've laid out for you, Dulcie?” Melchior asked me. His lips were tight and his expression stern.

I swallowed hard as I remembered the bargain I'd made—that I would resume my place as a Regulator for the ANC located in Splendor, California, and Knight would again be my boss. Only this time, I'd also be working for Melchior to make sure his illegal potions made it to Splendor so they could hit the streets and be sold on the black market to thugs, addicts and ... kids. I felt bile climbing up my throat and had to swallow it back down. The only reason I'd agreed to such terms was to save Knightley Vander's life. At the moment, that was all that mattered to me. I promised myself to think of a long-term solution later; but for now, I just had to save Knight.

Knight headed the ANC Splendor branch and he was a good, honest and loyal guy. For reasons unknown to me, he'd been kicked out of the Netherworld and forced to Earth. But when he'd taken the rap for me by pleading guilty to a mistake I'd made, he'd found himself back in the Netherworld. And back in the Netherworld, Knight had been exactly where Melchior wanted him. It was becoming increasingly clear that my father had always wanted Knight Vander dead.

“Yes, as I told you before,” I started and faced my father. “If working for you means saving Knight's life, I'll agree to it.” I paused. “But that's the only reason I'm agreeing to it. Otherwise I would have told you to go fu ...”

Melchior nodded and interrupted me with a chuckle as he faced Quillan. “Very well,” he said and I watched Quillan start dialing the rotary phone again.

I narrowed my eyes at my father, wanting some answers of my own. “What did Knight ever do to you that made you so intent on getting rid of him?”

My father seemed surprised by the question, and his eyebrows lifted. “If the Loki hasn't informed you, then neither shall I.”

By Loki, he was referring to Knight—Knight was a Loki, a soldier of the Netherworld forged by the fires of Hades, the god of the Netherworld. As to whether Hades had ever existed was anyone's guess. It wasn't like anyone I knew had ever met him—it was just one of those stories that some people believed and others didn't. Sort of like Santa Claus ... well, if you're seven years old.

But back to the fact that my father wasn't going to enlighten me about the issues between my Loki and him ... I guessed I was just SOL.

“Brandenburg, please,” Quillan said into the mouthpiece as he faced me and waited for Caressa to pick up. He glanced at my current state of undress and frowned. Then he started unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, pulling it down his arms and placing it on the desk. He yanked his white undershirt over his head and the sight of Quillan's beautiful upper body made me look away.

As an elf, Quillan is tall and regal looking with wavy blond hair and hazel eyes. He's definitely a looker and as I mentioned earlier, he was my former boss. Throughout our time together at the ANC in Splendor, I had a crush on him and we even shared a kiss or two. Once I learned he was working for the bad guys, however, I completely clipped him. Sometime after that, I came very close to arresting him. I even had him in the sights of my Op 7 but was unable to pull the trigger, and Quillan escaped. It was all my fault, but Knight took the rap.

Quillan glanced at me and balling up his T-shirt, tossed it over. I caught it midair and nodded my head quickly to say thanks. Pulling the shirt over my head, I smoothed it down around my lithe, five-foot-one frame and found it fit me like a dress. Well, T-shirt dress or not, it was better than standing there with my boobs hanging out of my bra.

“What do you want, Beaurigard?” Caressa's voice rang out and I could only wonder how they managed to rig up the rotary phone into a speakerphone. Must have been magic.

Quillan cleared his throat, apparently ill at ease with the fact that Caressa obviously didn't think much of him. But Caressa must have known he was Melchior's wingman, right? Hmm, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered exactly how much Caressa did know about all the ins and outs of the Netherworld and the illegal potions industry. I mean, how could she be such a highly ranked official and not know?

“I'm calling about Knightley Vander,” Quillan answered.

There was a moment or two of silence on the other end. “Why?” Caressa asked and her voice held much less boldness this time. She was obviously worried about Knight.

“He is to be released immediately,” Quillan ordered.

I heard Caressa exhale deeply. “I will see to it personally,” she answered and I felt tears well in my eyes, knowing Knight was now safe. Well, as soon as he was in Caressa's custody, he would be safe. Caressa and Knight had worked together when Knight still lived in the Netherworld and they'd become good friends. Really, Caressa had been the only friend Knight had in this godforsaken place.

“You are to accompany him to the portal on Albany Street and he is never to return to the Netherworld,” Quillan continued. “If he asks you any questions, Caressa, don't answer. As far as you're concerned, all you were ordered to do was release him. End of story.”

“So why the sudden change?” Caressa asked.

Quillan eyed Melchior and my father shook his head as Quillan wrapped the phone cord around his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was hard. “Not something you need to know.”

“Okay,” Caressa said impatiently. “I gotta go.” Before Quillan could respond, she hung up and the blaring of the dial tone rang out through the room.

***

I was finally leaving the Netherworld and although I'd accomplished my mission, and obtained Knight’s release, I couldn't say I felt good. Instead, there was a new cloud hanging over my head—one that kept insisting I'd foolishly sold my soul to the devil. I, Dulcie O'Neil, someone dedicated to fighting crime, had caved and was now one of the bad guys. The thought made me sick every time it crossed my mind.

“How long have you been working for him?” I asked Quillan as he escorted me from ANC headquarters to his company car. It was an old Ford something or other that looked circa 1970.”What is this?” I asked, glancing down at the car, suddenly irritated that it felt like I was stuck in a rerun of Grease.

“A 1961 Ford Galaxy Town Victoria,” he answered almost sadly. Then he rolled his eyes in an indifferent sort of way, adding, “I fucking hate it.” It wasn't lost on me that he really wasn't talking about the car.

“How long have you been working for my father?” I asked again, immediately regretting the brief change of topic. I needed to focus on the facts from here on out, not sideline myself with frivolity. The time for small talk was long gone. Quill opened my door and I seated myself as I watched him close it and then walk around to the driver's side. He opened the door and settled himself before looking over at me.

“The whole time I've known you.”

That would be nine years now, since my mother had died. My stomach dropped all the way to my feet. Quillan had been double dealing from the first time I'd stepped foot through the double doors of the ANC headquarters and asked how one became a Regulator. Throughout our entire acquaintance, he'd been pretending to be something he wasn't. But I couldn't focus on that anymore. What I needed to concentrate on was what the hell I was going to do about the mess I was now in. Because staying in this mess wasn't an option.

“But how long have you been working for my father in total?” I asked, rephrasing the question.

Quillan started the car and it hummed loudly, sounding only a hiccup away from stalling. “Nearly fifteen years.” He put the car in drive as we started out of the parking lot. I wasn't sure what time it was, but the nascent blue of early morning was just starting to tickle the horizon, pushing the navy blue cloak of night aside.

Something occurred to me and echoed through my entire being. “Did you know I was his daughter when you hired me?” I asked hollowly, wondering if that was the reason I was offered the position of Junior Regulator in the first place. I hoped the answer was no, because if I felt proud about anything, it was how good I was at my job. And furthermore, I absolutely detested the concept that I was given special treatment merely because I was the daughter of the Head of the Netherworld.

“Yes, I've always known,” Quillan answered, but refused to look at me. He glanced to his right and left briefly before starting down the street. “Your father kept strict surveillance over you your entire life.” He paused and then added, “You are his only child.”

I shook my head and felt a knot starting in my stomach. I couldn't even concentrate on the fact that my father had been aware of my comings and goings all along—it seemed almost meaningless in its immense depth. Instead, I merely cataloged it in my already overwhelmed mind for future exploration. At this point, I was still wondering how much my father had done to promote me in the ANC. I faced Quillan's profile. “Did he tell you to hire me?”

“Dulcie ...” Quillan started and offered me a discouraging look.

“Did he tell you to hire me?” I demanded again, my voice slightly more emphatic.

Quillan merely nodded as I dropped my gaze to my lap and tried to staunch the tide of disappointment that was currently filling me.

“But that doesn't take away from what a good Regulator you are, Dulcie. You are the best; and I'm not just saying that because of who your father is.”

“Save it,” I said, looking out the window and exhaling deeply. The streetlights reflected against the dark pavement and I let my eyes fasten onto the yellow lines of the road.

“I know this isn't easy for you, Dulcie,” he started.

“No, it isn't easy for me,” I interrupted him, turning to face him. “It goes against everything I believe in, everything I stand for!”

“And he's worth it?” Quillan threw back at me, his eyes narrowed and burning with something that resembled jealousy.

I sighed and relaxed in the pleather seat. “Yes, he's worth it,” I said, because it was the truth. In all honesty, I would have given my own life to save Knight's.

Quillan just nodded, falling quiet for a few more minutes as my mind raced. It was almost as if I didn't believe, or couldn't believe that I'd actually agreed to any of this. It was like I was living a nightmare, hoping that any second I'd wake up and find out none of this was actually real and that I was the same Dulcie I always had been. But try as I might, I couldn't wake up, because this wasn't just a figment of my imagination. It was as real as I was.

“I'll be with you every step of the way, Dulcie,” Quillan said in a soft voice, sighing deeply. “You won't have to go it alone.” He cleared his throat. “I'll protect you.”

I gulped, realizing he was trying to make this as easy on me as he could. Even though Quillan had been double-dealing all along, in his own awkward and limited way, he had been and still was trying to be a good friend to me. I could see as much in his eyes. “There has to be something we can do, Quill,” I started, shaking my head as I searched for a way out. I just couldn't give up yet—not before I'd exhausted all plausible escape routes.

He shook his head as he started up an on-ramp to what looked like a freeway. “Don't even think about it,” he said sharply. “Your father isn't just the Head of the ANC, Dulcie, he basically owns the Netherworld. His word is law. He's not only the top of the pyramid, but the pyramid belongs to him.”

I swallowed hard and forced thoughts of mutiny from my mind. Well, for now at any rate. For now I'd just have to play by my father's rules. I was about to start a life in crime and there was nothing I could do about it, short of seeing Knight die. And even if my father polished Knight off, I was sure he wouldn't just let me go back to my old life. Not now, not when I knew as much as I did. Yep, Knight's assassination would undoubtedly be followed with mine.

“I know you're overwhelmed right now, Dulce,” Quill said and glanced over at me with an encouraging smile. “But it gets easier, I promise.”

“Does it?” I asked with raw anger in my tone. I shook my head. “How can you wake up in the morning and face yourself, Quill? How can you live from day to day knowing what you're doing?”

He nodded and his eyes were heavy. “You just learn to cope.”

And that was when I realized this wasn't a walk in the park for Quillan. Yes, he'd had nearly fifteen years to come to terms with it, but deep down, I knew Quillan wasn’t a bad person. Now more than ever before it was obvious that Quillan hadn’t chosen this life, but it had been forced on him all the same. Prior to this moment, I'd figured he'd just shacked up with the bad guys out of greed, but I'd been very wrong. Quillan had been bullied into this life as much as I had.

“What did he hold over your head?” I asked, my voice soft.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Why did you agree to work for my father?”

He was quiet for a few seconds and his eyes seemed suddenly hollow, drained, his lips tight.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” I said, worried I was forcing him to relive memories painful to him.

“No,” he said immediately. “I want to tell you but I'm just not sure what to say. It wasn't the same as what he did to you...with Vander. For me...it just sort of happened.” He took a deep breath. “I started working for the ANC when I was very young and worked my way up to the top pretty quickly. I got a name for myself as a very good Regulator and when Melchior invited me to the Netherworld for some honorary award or some bullshit, I bought into it. Of course when I got there, what he offered me was something I wanted no part of.”

“But you must have realized there was no going back?” I asked. “He must have told you what was going on?”

Quill glanced at me and nodded, sighing deeply. “I knew too much at that point so it was just a matter of connecting A with B. If I didn't agree to work for him, he would've had me killed. It was an easy decision.”

“I'm sorry, Quill,” I said softly, hating my father.

He eyed me with surprise. “Sorry?”

“I'm sorry he did this to you.”

Quillan sighed and just nodded as if he understood what I was saying, but had no words for me. And, really, he was right. The past was history and he'd had fifteen years, plenty of time to come to terms with it.

He pulled off the freeway and we started down a long, dark road that snaked between a forest of oak trees. When the road did a hairpin loop, nearly backing up on itself, Quillan pulled over onto the dirt shoulder and turned the car off. With the loud humming now silent, I could hear the gentle chirping of night insects and I felt my entire being deflate. This was it—I was headed home to open a new chapter of my life—a chapter I didn't want to begin.

“Is this where the portal is located?” I asked dryly.

Quillan nodded and opened his door. “I'll make sure you get home okay,” he said, offering me a sweet smile. I said nothing, but opened my door and stepped outside, inhaling the clean, early morning air. Then I remembered that the Netherworld was somewhat prehistoric, considering the flying, bat-like creatures that patrolled the skies like pterodactyls, scavenging for unfortunate creatures on which to feed.

“What about the flying monsters, Quill?” I asked as I looked at the sky nervously.

Quill shrugged. “We're pretty safe out here. They tend to hover around residential areas where the eating is regular. There's nothing out here.”

Feeling slightly relieved, I followed him from the Ford into the cover of the oak grove. He stopped walking once he was parallel with the nearest oak tree and then glanced down at his wrist like he was checking the time.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Checking my compass,” he answered. He walked three steps to the right, then two steps directly in front of him, then turned ninety degrees to the left. “Yep, got it,” he said softly and then ran his hand back and forth in the air in front of him. “Don't come too close,” he warned me.

I waved him away with my hand and frowned. “I could get sucked in,” I finished for him, not missing his expression of surprise. “I know, Bram already told me.” Bram was a vampire and a pseudo-friend of mine. He'd also served as my guide to the Netherworld.

Quillan nodded and didn't seem surprised. That was when I remembered that Bram had told me he'd contacted Quill to let him know that I was rotting in a Netherworld prison for failing to apprehend him. And speaking of Bram, I hoped he'd discovered that I’d been released and returned to Splendor. At any rate, tonight I planned to pay Bram a visit to his nightclub, No Regrets, just to make sure he knew I'd returned from the Netherworld. I figured it was the least I could do considering the huge favor he'd done for me in taking me there.

“Well, let's not waste any more time,” Quillan said, glancing over at me with a sad smile. I took a step nearer, but he held me back with an outstretched arm. “Do you know how to get through one of these?” he checked.

I just nodded. I'd learned the rules of portal crossing with Bram.

“Okay, you'll have about three seconds once I cross over,” Quillan continued. I nodded again and watched him simply lift his leg and sort of catapult himself forward. Then he merely disappeared into the air as if he'd never been there. Remembering the three-second rule, I leapt forward and threw one leg into the air where Quillan had just disappeared. The air was always denser in a portal, like a gel—balmy and wet. It was like being in a wind tunnel for all of one second. I kept my eyes clamped shut and tried to fight the feelings of nausea.

Landing on my butt, I glanced around myself, trying to figure out where I was. Looking to my left, I noticed Quillan standing there with a smile and an outstretched hand. I took it and stood up, taking a deep breath as I realized I was truly out of the hellhole known as the Netherworld and back in good ol' Splendor, California.

TWO

After we arrived in Splendor, with the portal spitting us out in the absolute worst part of town—by the loading docks where the smell of rotting fish was pervasive—Quillan led me to a spare car. He kept it in a storage facility near an unoccupied warehouse. It was the perfect backdrop for suspicious activities. The portal we'd just come from was Quillan's mode of travel to and from the Netherworld, so the spare car was used for the express purpose of portal travel.

After about twenty minutes of being on the road, I found myself back in my unremarkable apartment all alone. As soon as I walked through my front door, I took a shower. I hadn't had one in Hades only knew how long and the urge to wash as much of the Netherworld out of my hair and off my skin was the only thing to occupy my mind. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Thoughts of Knight were first and foremost in my head as I wondered where he was and if he'd made it home yet. Being released from High Prison wasn't as simple as being escorted out and slipping through the portal back to Splendor. There would be reams of paperwork both Caressa and Knight would have to wade through, so he'd be lucky if he made it home by the evening.

And of course I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him and reassure myself that he really was out of the Netherworld and safe. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized things between Knight and me were going to have to be different from now on. I mean, I couldn't willingly continue in a relationship with him anymore, knowing I was hiding such a huge secret. I couldn't look him in the eye, while I rammed the proverbial knife in his back.

Yes, I did consider the possibility that I should just tell him what happened—how I was backed into a corner and agreed to work for my father. Well, first I'd have to tell him who my father was. And I had to imagine that in itself might jeopardize things between us, considering he hated my father. But I soon realized thinking along these lines was a waste of time anyway because of Melchior's words—that if Knight ever found out I was working for my father, it would mean the end of Knight's life. I wasn't about to take those odds. And knowing Knight, he'd fight for what was right and end up right back in the Netherworld and there wouldn't be anything I could do to help him. Nope, any way I looked at it ... this time, I was stuck.

Of one thing I was certain though, I would have to break things off with Knight but I'd also beg to be reinstated as a Regulator so I could get back into the ANC to act as the eyes and ears for Melchior. In so doing, I'd tell Knight I couldn't work for and date him at the same time—it was a conflict of interest.

I felt my heart break even as I considered the whole concept of never being intimate with Knight again, but I wouldn't allow myself to wallow in my own self pity. I'd made my bed and I'd have lie in it. All that mattered was that Knight was no longer in High Prison, at the mercy of my father, and for now, safe. And it wasn't like I'd never see him again. Quite the opposite—we'd be working together, which meant I'd see him every day—that dazzlingly handsome smile and those gorgeous blue eyes. I'd hear his hearty chuckle and have to remind myself that no matter what happened, Knight was still alive. And that would have to be enough for me ...

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in my robe, sliding my feet into my dog head slippers and padded into the living room. My stomach gurgled with hunger, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to eat. The thought was completely unappealing. Instead, I threw myself on the small sofa and didn't move for the next thirty minutes, at least. It was almost as if I was incapable of shifting position. I could have gone to retrieve my dog from an old coworker and friend, Trey (a hobgoblin who'd been watching my dog, Blue, while I was in the Netherworld). And I still had to pay a visit to Bram to let him know I was safe and sound ... At the moment, however, I couldn't bring myself to do much more than sit on my couch and zone out on the television which wasn't even turned on. Not that it mattered because there was no way I could have paid attention to anything on it. But then, thinking I was being a bad friend, I picked up my cell phone and texted my best friend, Sam. I wrote:

Hi Sam, I'm home and safe.

Let's catch up tomorrow because I'm exhausted and not in the mood to talk.

Love you, Dulce.

Thinking I should do the same for my other good friend, Dia Robinson, who worked for the ANC in the bordering province of Moon, and whose help I'd recruited while I was in the Netherworld, I pulled up her information and texted her something similar to what I'd just texted Sam.

Then I put the phone down and resumed staring at the grey of the television screen while my mind raced. I had to figure out a story for Knight. Why? Because he was too smart not to question his release as well as my own. And the worst thing I could do was go into that situation unprepared. So I forced myself to remember everything that had happened before I broke into my father's building. I forced myself to remember the way Knight and I had left things.

We'd been sitting together in High Prison when Caressa announced that I was to be set free, per orders from above. It was pretty obvious that Melchior had been responsible for my release, probably once he'd realized his “prized” daughter was rotting away in a Netherworld prison, awaiting her death sentence. At the time though, I had no clue Melchior was responsible and neither did Knight. Well, Knight didn't know Melchior had anything to do with me ... as far as I knew anyway. So on that point, I'd just play it cool ... I'd say I'd been released for reasons unbeknownst to me, that it was as much a surprise to me as to Knight. What it amounted to, really, was that I'd have to become a good actress. I could not, under any circumstances, blow my cover, or it would mean Knight's life.

I was prohibited from further planning my cover-up when the sound of someone's fist against my front door broke through the silence. I felt my heart ricochet into my throat and I stood up, feeling wobbly as I did so, since I hadn't had a good meal in days. I walked to the door and got up on my tiptoes to see through the peephole.

Knight.

I felt my palms go clammy as my body reacted of its own accord and I flung the door open. I didn't know what to say or do and ended up doing nothing. I just stood there staring at him. And he did the same thing. Neither of us said a word, but just gazed at one another as if we hadn't seen each other in twenty years. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing just as obvious.

“You,” I started, but the words caught in my throat, dying on my tongue. He was just as beautiful as he'd always been—so tall he nearly took up my entire doorway and almost just as broad. His dark hair was longish, owing to his time in prison. His eyes were the same crystalline azure I remembered, contrasting against the healthy tan of his skin. Knight is by far the most handsome man I've ever seen and even though he still had dirt and bruises distracting from the sculpted planes of his face, he was simply breathtaking.

“I was released,” he said quickly, shrugging in as much wonder as he said it.

I realized then that I had to act surprised. As far as he knew, I'd been released, but I shouldn't have known he'd been. “You were?” I started again, having a difficult time finding my voice. I cleared my throat, surprised that seeing him was so tough for me. “You're here,” I finished, my voice cracking as tears flooded my eyes.

Knight didn't say anything. He simply nodded and offered me a warm smile, his plump lips revealing large, white teeth. I swallowed hard and glanced down at my feet for a second or two, willing the tears to subside. I didn't want to cry—no, this was supposed to be a happy moment. I returned my gaze to his striking face and felt my heart begin to race again. There was just something about him, something I couldn't place.

Did he know? Could he know?

“Knight,” I started, but before I could finish my statement, he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pushing me backward into my house. He didn't say anything, but once he entered my living room, he kicked the door closed behind him, his eyes never leaving mine. He placed his hands on either side of my waist and lifted me up as my dog slippers dropped off my feet. I felt my breath catch while he carried me a few steps before reaching the wall. But it wasn't as if the wall had gotten in his way, he was aiming for it. He pushed me against it, still holding me maybe two feet off the ground, so we were eye level. He gazed at me for a few seconds and then his mouth found my lips, his tongue wrapped around mine. It was a raw kiss, drenched in impatience and determination. As I ran my hands through his hair and shoved my tongue inside his mouth, I realized I shared the same need, the same feelings of insatiable hunger that had to be filled immediately.

Even though I'd just spent the better half of my afternoon convincing myself that I had to break things off with Knight, that it wasn't fair to him to pursue our relationship, I couldn't even think along those lines now. No, now those were like remote thoughts that had washed up on a distant shore. Instead, all I could think about was that I needed Knight. I needed him in a way I'd never needed him before. I couldn't stop myself from folding my legs around his middle. I couldn't stop my tongue from meeting his or from biting his lower lip. And I definitely couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips when he started grinding himself against me. I could feel his erection straining behind his pants.

That was when I promised myself that tomorrow things would be different. Tomorrow would begin the rest of my godforsaken life. But for today, I would live in the moment. For today, I would pretend that nothing was wrong, that there was no Netherworld, no Melchior O'Neil—today it was just Knight and me.

“I want to see you,” I whispered, wanting only to revel in the glory of his naked chest, to run my hands over the swells of the muscles of his shoulders and back. He chuckled slightly and using the wall as leverage, pinned himself against me, keeping me in place with his knee below my butt. He allowed me to help him pull his T-shirt up and over his head. When he was naked from the waist up, I eyed him greedily. Even though there were cuts and bruises all over him, he was glorious to behold.

“I need to be inside you now,” Knight said in a tight voice as he toyed with the tie around my robe, then dropped it from my shoulders until I was completely naked. “I can't wait, Dulcie.”

I just nodded, not only understanding his need, but sharing it. Continuing to rely on his knee to stabilize me against the wall, he palmed my right breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers as my breathing sped up. He dropped my breast and his hand traveled south down my body, crossing the threshold of my thigh and pausing just between my legs. When I felt his fingers on me, I jumped slightly and then closed my eyes, throwing my head back against the wall as I felt his fingers caress me from top to bottom, flicking my sensitive nub.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded as he pushed a finger inside me and I bucked again, opening my eyes to find his fastened on mine, glowing with a whiteness that hinted to the fact that his body had selected mine as his mate.

I felt something cold erupt inside me at the thought that I was going to have to end things between us, but I forced it to retreat from my mind as I focused on the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of my wetness. We would have today. We would have this moment and I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.

“I want you,” I whimpered. “So badly.”

Knight didn't say anything, but reached down and I heard the sound of him unzipping his fly and then the shuffle of his pants as he slid them down his legs. Supporting my body against the wall, he pushed himself between my legs until I could feel the swollen tip of him at my entrance. I tried to prepare myself for his plunge, remembering how large he was, but when I felt him slide into me, my breath caught all the same.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyeing me with sincere concern.

I nodded adamantly and reached around him, palming his tight butt and pushing him forward, into me. “Stop talking,” I whispered as he chuckled and thrust himself until he was deeply ensconced inside me. I arched against him and moaned as he started his rhythm, pushing into me and pulling out repeatedly. He pinched my nipples and looked down, watching himself going in and out. Watching him watching me, I felt something blossom inside me and I clenched my eyes tightly, allowing the orgasm to seize me. I screamed out with the force of it and dug my nails into Knight's back, trying to pull him all the way into me, wanting him buried to the hilt. He pushed into me even harder and faster as my legs began to shake, my entire body shuddering with another orgasm.

That was the difference between having sex with Knight and having sex with anyone else—it was as if his body could control mine—he dictated when I'd have an orgasm and how many. I'd never been able to come this many times with other partners—this was just another of Knight's Loki abilities.

“Dulce,” he groaned as he started pushing inside me harder and quicker. I wasn't sure how much more I could take. Then he sighed loudly and moments later, simply collapsed against me, his head resting on my breast. He pulled out of me and set me on the ground again, being careful to support me when it seemed I might keel over.

“How did you get out?” I asked, remembering myself and the part I had to play.

Knight took a deep breath and walked away from me, shrugging as he did so. I could see the tension in his upper back and I didn't even have to feel his shoulders to know he had knots between them. He clasped his hands behind his head, handcuffed-style, and then turned around to face me again, completely awe-inspiring in his nudity.

“I don't know,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Caressa said they just didn't have enough to go on and that putting me to death would have caused a public outrage.”

Well, it wasn't a great reason, but it also wasn't like Caressa had had much time to come up with a flawless alibi. I took the few steps that separated us and threw my arms around him, needing to be close to him, needing to feel the heat of his skin against me.

“I'm gross, Dulce,” he said as he tried to push me away. “I need a shower.”

I smiled at him and allowed him his space. “It didn't seem to bother you earlier.”

He nodded and returned the smile. “As soon as I saw you, I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself.” Then he shook his head as if he were surprised by the fact that he'd just pushed me up against the wall and pounded the hell out of me. “You have a way about you, Dulcie.”

I smiled but said nothing, merely pointed to my bathroom. “Go take a shower and I'll see what I have in the kitchen. I'm sure you're starving.”

He nodded and grinned boyishly before disappearing into my bathroom. Once I heard the shower start, I turned to the subject of food. Opening my cabinets, I spotted some Jif peanut butter and bread, an open box of Triscuits and a few cans of Progresso soup. Hoping the fridge had more to offer, I opened it, but wasn't impressed. A carton of milk, long past its date of expiration, loomed ominously so I shut the fridge with a sigh. Reaching for the peanut butter and the bread, I figured I'd make Knight a sandwich to tide him over while I ordered a pizza for us.

Ten minutes later, Knight was out of the shower and I'd ordered “the works” pizza and made him a sandwich. He walked into my living room with a towel wrapped around his middle and I was suddenly overcome with feelings of depression as I realized this little charade wasn't going to last longer than today. That thought settled in my stomach like an anvil. Why? Because I wanted to play this game of house with Knight. I suddenly loved the idea of him plodding into my living room, leaving wet footprints in his wake while asking me what was for dinner every night.

I felt tears threaten again and swallowed them down angrily. That scenario was never going to happen and the sooner I realized it, the better.

“Here,” I said, handing him the peanut butter sandwich. I watched him smile in thanks and take a seat at my kitchen table. “I ordered pizza.”

“Is everything okay, Dulce?” he asked, eyeing me curiously as he palmed the sandwich and glanced at it thoughtfully before facing me again. “You don't seem yourself.”

I took a deep breath and realized my depressing thoughts were coloring my mood. I watched him take a bite of the sandwich, a huge bite to where only one half of it remained, and told myself to snap out of it. Today was the last day I was allowing myself to have with Knight, and as such, I needed to enjoy it wholeheartedly. “I'm sorry,” I started and exhaled deeply as I watched him cram the last bit of sandwich in his mouth. “I'm just still in shock, I guess. I just ... never thought you'd be standing here, that they would have released you.”

He tilted his head and raised his brows as if he, too, were surprised. “Neither did I.” Then he propped his hands on either of his thighs and faced me with a crease in his forehead. “What happened after you left prison?”

I swallowed hard, realizing my lies would start now. The time for telling the truth was long past and I had to inwardly take a big breath to prepare myself for what I was about to do. In general, I prided myself on my honesty. Well, things were about to change. “Nothing really. Caressa took me to the portal and after lots of paperwork, she sent me on my way.”

“Which portal?” he asked, looking at his plate, picking at the crumbs that littered it and bringing them to his mouth. He was obviously still hungry.

I swallowed harder, hoping my answers wouldn't come back to bite me later. “Um, the one at the airport. The same one Bram took me through when we arrived in the Netherworld.” I tried to sound confident. “Why, which one did Caressa take you to?”

He shrugged. “The same one.” Then he eyed me squarely. “I never said Caressa escorted me.”

I felt my stomach drop for the nth time and tried to act nonchalant, unconcerned. “Well I figured as much, since she accompanied me to the portal.”

Knight just nodded as if he bought my indifference and I sighed inwardly with relief, but before I could change the subject, Knight was at it again. “So did Caressa just drop you off? Or did she see to it that you arrived safely in Splendor?”

That was a quick decision I'd have to make, and given the fact that I didn't think Caressa liked me much, I opted for, “She just dropped me off.”

Knight nodded, but was interrupted from further questioning me when the doorbell rang. Knight stood up to answer it and when he pulled out his wallet, I figured it was the pizza delivery guy. He thanked the man and brought the pizza inside, laying it on the table while I tried to replay everything we'd just discussed to ask myself if I'd made a mistake in any of my lies. I didn't think I had.

“Plates?” Knight asked.

I reached inside the cupboard closest to me and offered him a paper one. In general I liked paper as it was easier to clean up. I detested doing dishes. He smiled in thanks and took the plate, placing a generous piece of pizza on it and handed it to me. I accepted it and started picking off the things I didn't like until I was left with a piece of plain cheese pizza.

“Why did you order all that stuff on it if you won't eat it?” he asked with a smile.

I shrugged. “I thought you'd appreciate it fully loaded.”

We continued to make small talk for the next twenty minutes, after which time, Knight had polished off the entire pizza, minus my one slice. I'd made it about halfway through mine. It seemed there was something in the air that I couldn't put my finger on, but neither Knight nor I had said much after the pizza arrived. I'd been overwhelmed with thoughts regarding whether or not Knight suspected I was involved in his release somehow, but as to his silence, I couldn't guess.

He stood up and carried the empty cardboard pizza box to my recycling bin, forcing it to fit, then faced me with a smile. “I have to get back to my place, Dulce,” he said. “I need to do laundry, get myself situated for tomorrow.”

I guessed he meant he was going into the office tomorrow. “Okay,” I started.

“Do you want to come by later? We can get a movie, relax, try to put all of this behind us?”

I wanted to desperately, but I knew I shouldn't. I shook my head and didn't miss the disappointment in his eyes. “I'm just a little overwhelmed at the moment with everything that's happened,” I said softly. “I feel like I need some alone time. That and I need to pick up my dog.”

Knight nodded and started toward me, grasping each of my shoulders in his large hands. “Okay, I understand. If you want company, you know who to call.” Then he bent down and kissed me on the lips while my heart broke.

THREE

When I opened my front door, my eyes fell on a manila package lying on my doormat. Sighing deeply as I figured the package couldn't contain anything good (I mean, I hadn't ordered anything so it wasn't like I was expecting it), I leaned down and picked it up. Not only was there no return address, but there was no address, period. It had just been left blank. Yep, this was definitely something ominous but I tore open the seal, all the same. Inside I found a white piece of paper folded in half. I opened it and read:

D, This is for when I need to get in touch with you. More later.

Quillan hadn't signed his name, but he didn’t have to—I knew his handwriting as well as my own. I further searched inside the package and retrieved a cell phone. It wasn't anything high-tech or sporty. It just looked like a run-of-the-mill, old school cell phone. I had to imagine it was pre-paid and therefore untraceable. So now I really was on call for my father, twenty four/seven.

Great. Just great.

Jamming the phone into my purse, I plodded toward my only means of transportation, my motorcycle, a Suzuki DL 650. Well, that wasn't totally true. Recently, Knight had gifted me with a much faster and nicer motorcycle, but I couldn't bring myself to ride it. Not now after everything that had happened, and not knowing what I still had to do. I threw on my helmet, hopped on the bike, and headed for ANC headquarters where I knew I'd find Knight.

It took me maybe fifteen minutes to get there—I hadn't allowed for traffic. Once I pulled up to the white, nondescript building, I felt my heart start thudding in my chest as I realized the weight of what I was about to attempt—I was going to beg for my job back. Having been retired as an ANC regulator for a few months, I'd been helping Knight out with cases whenever he needed an extra hand. Now I needed to be much more than that. I needed to be reinstated as a Regulator, in the employ of Splendor ANC, per my father's orders. And even though I'd always loved my job, now I was coming back to it for all the wrong reasons.

I parked the bike and took off my helmet, tucking it under my arm as I started for the double doors. Opening them, I waved to Elsie, the receptionist, who looked surprised to see me.

“Hi, Dulce!” she called out pleasantly, standing up, as if to get a better look at me.

I smiled and placed my helmet on the counter. “Hi, Elsie, I'm here to see Knight. Can you ask him if he can spare a few minutes?”

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile and speed-dialed him, announcing my arrival. I could hear him on the line telling her to send me in immediately. He sounded as surprised as Elsie had been when I walked through the doors. She hung up and motioned down the hallway. “He's all yours.” She swallowed and then another sweet smile claimed her lips again. “It's really good to see you again, Dulcie.”

“Thanks, Elsie, and good to see you too,” I said as I hauled my helmet back under my arm and started the trek down the hallway. I waved to my old coworkers as I passed their offices. Reaching my old desk, I noticed it was empty but Trey was still sitting at his desk, which was just across from mine. Some things hadn't changed.

“Yo, Dulce,” he said in a nasally sort of voice. Then he held up one finger as if to say “give me a minute”. He scrunched his eyes together and lifted his head, inhaling three short breaths as if he were wrestling with a sneeze. Eventually the sneeze won and exploded out of his mouth in a brash display of spit. Trey DNA bathed everything within a two-foot radius around him. Thank Hades I was standing a good four feet away. Afterward, he reached for a wadded-up and wet looking napkin from his pocket and blew his nose, something which sounded like a duck with whooping cough.

“Whatcha doin' here?” he asked finally, once he'd regained his respiration.

“I came to see Knight,” I said simply. “Sorry I didn't come by last night to get Blue.” Blue was my dog—a yellow Labrador and as I mentioned earlier, Trey had been dog sitting for me during my sojourn to the Netherworld.

He shook his head, the vibration of which ricocheted all the way to his enormous belly which wrapped around him like an overstretched water balloon. “Nah, it's cool. He's been real good.” Then he paused for a second or two before glancing up at me with cow eyes. His four chins made him look like a male orangutan. “Hey, do you mind if I keep him another night? We're really just gettin' ta know each other, and on my lunch break, I went to the store and got him some steak bones. We're gonna have us a party tonight!” Then he smiled broadly and I could see the eagerness in his eyes.

Poor Trey needed to get a dog because a girlfriend was pretty much out of the question. But, girlfriend or dog, either way, it was obvious he was lonely. I just smiled and nodded, trying not to remind myself that I was now just as lonely. Nope, I would not, under any circumstances, feel sorry for myself.

“Thanks, Dulce, thanks a whole lot,” Trey said, beaming at me. I was spared from further small talk when Knight popped his head out from behind his office door and cleared his throat.

“Dulce,” he said, with warm surprise, even as he raked me from head to toe, smiling appreciatively. Knight loved nothing more than seeing me in my bike leathers.

“Hi,” I said with a smile as I tried to ignore how freaking beautiful he was. How I'd managed to hold out so long where Knight and sex were concerned, I had no clue. Maybe it was my incredible sense of fortitude, or more so, my incredible sense of idiocy.

“What brings you here?” the sex god asked.

I didn't answer but, instead, quickly darted into his office, establishing the fact that I didn't want an audience. As soon as I walked into his office, I noticed the panoramic picture window that captured the beauty of Splendor Park with its poppies in full, spectacular orange and yellow blooms. Somehow the vista evoked a sense of wistfulness that suddenly started washing over me. This same office had once been Quillan's. That was before I'd caught him double dealing. His actions had gotten him kicked out of the ANC, only to return to my father in the Netherworld. I imagined that must’ve been a tough conversation between Quillan and my father since Melchior was pretty serious about having a touch point in the ANC.

Knight closed the door behind him as I seated myself in one of the two visitor's chairs across from his large oak desk. He took his chair and reclined backwards in it, studying me curiously.

“I hope I'm not interrupting,” I started as I gulped down the sudden sense of foreboding that flooded me. I'd rehearsed this scene over and over in my head until it was as regular as clockwork. But now that I was actually here, I wasn't sure I could go through with it. ‘Course there was no abandoning ship now.

“You aren't interrupting,” he answered quickly, furtively. “What can I do for you?”

“I, uh, I'm here to ask for my job back,” I said shamefully, suddenly wanting to cut right to the chase. But I was nervous, which was evidenced by the bouncing of my leg.

Knight studied me for a few seconds, rocking back and forth in his recliner chair, and then stopped rocking. He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and I wondered if maybe it was going to be harder to get my job back than I'd expected.

“It's yours. It's never been anyone else’s.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and only then realized I'd been holding my breath. “Thank you,” I began but he interrupted me as he resumed his idle rocking.

“What brings you back? I thought you liked your retirement?” He propped his large feet up on his desk, crossing them at the ankles as he smiled at me and my stomach flip-flopped.

“Um, I need the money.” I said the first thing that came to mind and was thrilled with my answer. Knight was well aware that I was typically barely scraping by in the finance department, so this response had the ring of truth. Yes, my career as a lying sack of shit was off to a good start. Yay me.

He nodded and removed his feet from the table, facing me squarely. “I'm glad to have you back, Dulce, very glad.”

“I'm glad to be back.”

He nodded again, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, his attention riveted on his fingers as he pressed them against one another. It seemed we were both fidgeting. “I've been thinking more about my release,” he started and his words turned my stomach over, the acid rising up my esophagus. “I still don't know what to make of it.” I just nodded and tried to appear ill-informed. “I actually talked to Caressa about it this morning,” he continued.

I gulped down the frog that was climbing up my throat as well as the suffocating urge to scream out “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs. “Oh,” I said feebly, going from sounding merely ill-informed to just plain stupid.

“I asked her about your release and how it came about.” He shrugged as if whatever he was discussing was commonplace and uninteresting; but I knew there was method to his madness. He was testing me.

The frog came back up my throat and I nearly choked on it. I thought I was going to vomit. “Oh,” I said again, that apparently being the only word that existed in my vocabulary at the moment.

Knight glanced at his steepled fingers again. “And, funny thing, but she said she never actually escorted you to the portal at all.” I gulped so hard I was afraid I'd swallowed my tongue. “She said she had nothing to do with your release whatsoever.”

I felt the breath catch in my throat and worried I might wet myself as I watched him raise his eyebrows, awaiting my response. I should have known better. While I was in the Netherworld, Caressa arrived to escort me from High Prison to the portal which would take me back to Splendor. I, however, talked her into letting me escape, promising to do my best to obtain Knight’s release. Caressa latched onto the idea immediately, not wanting to see her friend suffer for something he hadn't done. But when it came down to it, Caressa said it would've looked too suspicious if she released me. Instead, she thought of the alibi that I overpowered her and got away. We even added some actual facial blows to solidify the story.

Apparently Caressa had realized it wouldn’t behoove either of us if she told Knight the truth so obviously she hadn’t. Add to that the faux pas I’d just made when I told Knight that Caressa had taken me to the portal and I was well on my way to weaving a web of deceit and apparently not doing a very good job of it. But damn me for not touching base with Caressa before Knight got the chance.

“Hmm,” I started (thank Hades I didn't say “oh”). Racking my brain for something non-incriminating to say, I came up with a big, blank slate. Double damn me!

“Strange?” Knight queried, arching a brow in my direction. “I could have sworn you said she escorted you to the portal ... personally?”

I felt my heart drop to the floor and shatter into a million pieces before forcing myself to pick up the pieces and face the music. I had to come up with a plausible excuse and, harder still, I had to own it—for Knight's sake. “Um, yeah, well I sort of forgot to mention that I got away first,” I said, sounding ashamed and embarrassed.

“And what happened then?”

Yeah, what happened then, Dulcie? I asked myself, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. I pushed my thoughts aside, and focused on a believable explanation. I took a deep breath. “I went after the judge who presided over your case,” I began. My voice pleasantly surprised me by sounding even and calm, although I had no idea where this story was going.

“Judge Thorne,” Knight corrected and raised his brows as if he hadn’t expected me to go after the judge; it seemed to amuse him at the same time.

I nodded as I took another deep breath and continued lying through my teeth. “Yeah, and I pleaded with him to reconsider your conviction and punishment. I told him it was all my fault.”

“But he wouldn't listen,” Knight finished for me.

“No, he wouldn't,” I said, feeling slightly relieved when it appeared that maybe, just maybe Knight was buying this. “So after arguing with him for a few hours, he ordered an ANC escort to accompany me to the portal. End of story.” Phew, that actually wasn't half bad. 'Course it also hadn't been half good.

“So why did you say Caressa took you to the portal?” Knight asked, his tone hinting that he was annoyed I'd lied to him. Well, if that little white lie annoyed him, I hoped to Hades he never found out about the whopper I was fabricating now.

“I just knew you'd be upset,” I said quickly and shrugged. For a second, I wished I'd paid more attention in my high school drama class. Triple damn me! “I couldn't give up on you, Knight,” I added with a flutter of my lashes, hoping that might convince him. When all else failed, it was best to rely on feminine ingenuity. The only problem with that was that my feminine ingenuity usually eluded me.

He shrugged. “I see.” But somehow I thought I’d persuaded him.

There was a moment of distinctly uncomfortable silence and I realized I needed to change the subject—I felt like I might throw up in front of Knight or pee on myself if I didn’t. “Yeah, so anyway, I, uh, wanted to ask you about something else.”

Knight nodded, signifying that this conversation was over … for now at least. Thank freaking Hades for that. “What?”

“Bram,” I said, starting a conversation that actually interested me. It wasn't just a ploy to throw Knight off the scent of my lies.

“Bram?” Knight repeated and I spotted an expression of aggravation in his eyes. Knight was less than fond of Bram and Bram certainly wasn't fond of Knight. But c'est la vie.

“Bram seemed to know his way around the Netherworld pretty well. He even had his own portal,” I started as I eyed Knight to see his reaction.

Knight nodded but didn't seem especially interested. “Interesting.”

“Did you ... know him in the past, before you came here?” I asked as I wondered what Bram's involvement with the Netherworld was, especially how high up the chain he was. Based on my observations in the Netherworld, it seemed Bram had some pull of his own.

Knight shook his head. “I never set eyes on him before moving to Splendor.” Then he pushed his chair back, stood up and approached me. I stood up as well, not appreciating the stare down he directed toward me. I glanced up at him in question.

“I missed you last night,” he said, moving to kiss me. I stepped back, my unease arising not only because we were in his office, although the door was closed, but also owing to my new line of work. Whatever we shared before couldn't continue.

“Knight,” I started with a hesitant smile. “You can't just kiss me here.”

He narrowed his eyes on me. “Why not? No one has a clue what's going on in here. The door is closed.”

I rubbed my hand down the nape of my neck and sighed. “It's just ... I just don't like it. It’s not professional. You know how I am.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I know how you are.” He took a few steps back and made a big show of it, laughing all the while. “Dinner tonight? My place?”

I swallowed the bile in my throat and shook my head. “Um, I was hoping to write tonight.” Knight knew I was in the process of writing a book—a book I'd started a few months ago.

“Oh,” he said and my heart felt like a noose was squeezing the life out of it. I dropped my eyes to my fidgeting fingers, but was unable to resist watching his response and looked up at him again.

“I, um, I ... I still need a little time,” I said, hedging because I really needed to say it was over between us. But somehow I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

He nodded and smiled at me consolingly. “I understand, Dulce, take as much time as you need. I'll be here.”

I was reticent, but nodded and returned his smile with a sheepish one. Then I started for the door before the tears that were flooding my eyes began to stream out uncontrollably.

***

Later that evening, I actually did attempt to write. I'd always wanted to start a career as a novelist and I'd even managed to attract a very well-known agent to represent me along the way. Said agent was currently soliciting my first book, a story about Bram titled A Vampire and a Gentleman.

I sat down at my computer and opened the word document I'd started two months ago, but I couldn't will my fingers to start typing. It seemed like whatever inspiration I once possessed which allowed me to begin the follow-up to my first novel had abandoned me, high and dry.

I sighed deeply and clenched my eyes together, hoping to focus on something other than the look in Knight's eyes upon seeing me retreat when he'd tried to kiss me. I just felt so empty, so guilty about knowing what I had to do and not being able to do it. But the longer I waited, the longer I put off the inevitable, the worse the ultimate blow. I had to break up with Knight and it had to be the next time I saw him. I absolutely refused to do it over the phone, but I couldn’t prolong it any longer than I already had.

Guilt suddenly overwhelmed me, guilt over the fact that we'd had sex. It was the worst thing I could have done, knowing I had to end things with him. It hadn't been fair to either of us, and yet I hadn't been able to control myself. I was so overcome with love for him, so happy to see him, so relieved that he was safe, and that he'd made it back to Splendor. But those were all excuses and from now on, excuses weren't going to be worth a damn to me. I was going to live by the rules of black and white, yes and no.

I eyed the blinking cursor again and just sighed, my inspiration drained and parched. Before I had the chance to turn off the computer, the cell phone from Quillan began ringing. I felt my stomach drop and it was almost like an out of body experience as I watched myself reach for it.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice deep and nervous.

“Meet me at Crespy and Palm in thirty minutes at the tattoo parlor,” Quillan ordered, and before I could respond, he hung up.

FOUR

Crespy and Palm weren't exactly in a nice part of Splendor. Maybe not quite as bad as the loading docks where the portal from the Netherworld spat Quillan and me out, but close enough. And the tattoo parlor, aptly titled “Ink,” was a place I'd kept strict surveillance on during my entire time as a Regulator. It was owned by a Titan named Baron Escobar. Baron was one of three Titans I had the misfortune of meeting, and like most Titans, Baron was enormous. If I remembered correctly from his ANC bio, (the guy had a long rap sheet in Splendor—mainly for illegal potions activity), he was over seven feet tall. And he was broad as well—like an ox. So to me, coming in at just five foot one, this guy was like talking to the Empire State Building.

Baron was bad news, period. He was renowned for his nasty disposition and a flagrant temper that was attached to a very short leash. Yep, Baron wasn't exactly the patient sort. I'd already had numerous run-ins with him; and if asked to rank Splendor’s “bad guys” according to their severity, I would've put Baron close to the top. So you can imagine my excitement in meeting Quill at Baron's tattoo parlor ...

Yes, I had prepared myself, knowing full well that Baron and his entourage of mutual fuck ups were going to have a field day with the news that I was now one of their much esteemed company. I mean, I was sure the news was going to come out tonight if it hadn't already. I was actually hoping Quill had already informed them—it would save a big song and dance that I wasn't in the mood to get into.

I pulled into the parking lot of Ink and sighed as I wondered what I was about to walk into. The street was completely dark, the light bulbs from the streetlights having been broken purposely and never replaced. The tattoo parlor was the only active business on Crespy Street. It sat surrounded by empty buildings and warehouses that had been vacated years earlier. And, yes, I did have a feeling Baron had something to do with the dereliction.

The parking lot of Ink was overgrown with weeds, the asphalt crumbling into multiple potholes. I eased the Suzuki into a spot next to a white Camaro. Somehow the Camaro seemed familiar to me—I thought it might have been Quillan's. Glancing into the car, I noticed no one was in it which meant I'd probably have to meet Quill inside, something I wasn't thrilled about. Aside from my bike and the white sports car, there were five Harleys lined up in front of the door and a large black Hummer H2 parked just beside them. The H2 was Baron's.

I turned the bike off and stood up, removing my helmet and placing it on the seat. It wasn't a good idea to carry it under my arm because I wouldn't be able to adequately protect myself, if the need arose. And I had a funny feeling that the need was probably going to arise. As far as I was concerned, I was about to walk into a den of lions—lions who would very much enjoy mauling me into oblivion.

I took a deep breath and started forward, remembering the twin blades I'd strapped to both sides of my outer thighs. The Op 6 in my shoulder holster was most definitely going to be confiscated, but maybe my leathers would conceal the blades. I could only hope. ‘Course if the blades were seized as well as my gun, I could always rely on my fairy powers which weren't anything to scoff at. With just the shake of my hand, I could materialize a mound of fairy dust in my palm, the limits of which were pretty endless. I could light the entire place on fire, freeze one of Baron’s asshole thugs or at the very least, create a chasm in the ground and swallow everyone. I had to wonder if I could do all three at the same time. Hopefully I wouldn't find out because I needed to meld in—I needed to become one of them so I could get my job done and get the hell out of there. But what was more, I needed to figure out how I was going to get myself out of this whole mess. Either way, opening a can of whoop-ass wouldn't make me any new friends.

When I reached the front door and knocked, it opened immediately. A cloud of cigarette smoke wafted directly into my face. I gagged and tried to breathe through my mouth just to avoid smelling it. Facing the bouncer again, I recognized him, although his name escaped me. He was a hulking were who looked down at me and flashed a partially toothless grin. His canines were missing, which I found strange and a little off-putting, considering he was a were.

“The former ANC Regulator, huh?” he asked me with an ugly smile. So the cat was already out of the bag … Good. That just saved me a lot of explaining.

“I have business with Quillan and Baron,” I said acidly, glaring up at him and throwing my hands on my hips as I gave him all the sass I could muster. Hey, just because I was forced to work with Baron didn't mean I had to like it and, more so, didn't mean I had to be peaches and cream. Nope, I was going for sauerkraut and vinegar.

The were said nothing more, but harrumphed as if the joke was still on me and opened the door wide. I entered, feeling his gaze on my ass as I passed him. I turned around, my hands still on my hips, and narrowed my eyes at him. “Where the hell are they?”

“Down the hall,” he answered, nodding his head toward the dark hallway. Before I could start walking, he grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Then he grinned lasciviously as he patted me down, ensuring that he copped a good feel of my breasts in the process. Just as I predicted, he felt my Op 6. I frowned as I took off my jacket to remove it, and handed it to him. My expression must have convinced him that it was the only weapon on me because he didn't feel for the daggers strapped to my thighs. Things were looking up. I pulled away from him, and threw my jacket over my shoulders as I faced the interior of Ink.

The main room had two reclining chairs and a small stool that swiveled between them. The inside of the place was just as dingy as the outside: old linoleum floors, browned with age and filth, reflected the same decay and neglect as the surrounding buildings. The walls, once white, were yellowed from decades of cigarette smoke—the smell was pervasive. I'd felt a headache growing between my temples as soon as I'd entered the confined space.

Black and white samples, detailing the various kinds of tattoos available, hung around the room haphazardly. My eyes fastened on a skull with a snake going through both eye sockets; then shifted to the image of a naked woman spread-eagled. At that tasteful image, I decided to stop looking. Steeling myself, I started down the hallway. The combined smell of smoke, alcohol and vomit was nearly enough to make me hurl, but I strode on, trying to avoid breathing.

So this is what I was destined for? This was the type of place I was going to have to hang out in, the types of people I'd now be dealing with? I didn't even have the wherewithal to feel sorry for myself. Instead, I reached the end of the hallway, which terminated into a closed door and I rapped on it with my knuckles.

The door opened, the sound of “Black and Yellow” by Wiz Khalifa pouring out of the small room in a flourish of bass. A woman stood before me; she was wearing nothing more than a tiny black g string and heels that were so high, she towered over me. Glancing down at them, I had to guess they were at least six inches. The woman had a rocking body—huge fake boobs with a tiny waist that flared into curvy hips and long legs. Her face, though, was another story. Her nose was, in a word, generous, and her skin was wrinkled and sallow, hanging off her cheekbones as if all its elasticity was long gone. She looked like she'd been the inspiration for the phrase “rode hard and put away wet.”

“Hi,” I started as she eyed me from head to toe, smiling as she took in my leathers and matching jacket. I tried to see past her to count how many people were in the room in case I needed to protect myself, but she basically blocked my view.

“Hi yourself,” she answered back in a high-pitched, seductive tone. She probably assumed I was another of Baron's playthings—my leathers being part of a costume. But the idea of sex with Baron left me completely grossed out. I'd rather cut off my own arm ... with a butter knife.

“I'm here to see Quillan and Baron,” I said quickly, cutting right to the chase. I wasn't in the mood to make small talk with a floozy.

She frowned at my less than friendly greeting, but was spared any further correspondence when Baron's loud voice bellowed out over the other voices and music, “Who is it, Dolly?”

She backed away as if to say “see for yourself,” and I glanced around the dimly lit room. There were two old couches in the middle and a dartboard along the back wall. Baron emerged from behind a corner, probably the bathroom, if I had to guess. I saw a huge smirk on his ugly face and I scanned the room quickly, looking for Quillan. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

“Ah, Dulcie fuckin' O'Neil,” Baron said, with a sigh, like I was exactly where he wanted me. “The bitch responsible for making the last five years of my life ... difficult.” He was putting it mildly. I'd single-handedly busted his ass for multiple offenses and put him behind bars at least twice.

“Baron fucking Escobar,” I answered, with one eyebrow arched, hinting at my pseudo-ennui. “Pleasure to see you too.”

He laughed with a bellow that seemed to ricochet throughout the room. “It's always a pleasure seeing you,” he began as he eyed me up and down. “It's the dealin' with you part that's a pain in my ass.” He had the overall look of a boxer—a wide, flat nose, a nose which had been broken numerous times in fist fights. His eyes were set so far apart, he looked sort of like a dolphin; and he had an enormous lantern jaw—like he was half dolphin, half pit-bull.

“Well we can't all be,” I started and then glanced at Dolly who was hobbling back toward us, looking like she was about to trip over her stilts, “gracious.”

Baron folded his beefy arms across his barrel chest and regarded me with a grin, making me dread whatever was going through his head. “Seems like your new name should be ‘Shitty Luck’.”

I shifted my gaze from Baron to the three men who were standing around the dartboard, watching us curiously. As far as I could tell, there were four people in the room who might cause trouble. No, Dolly didn't count. And dammit all but where the hell was Quillan? I should have just waited on the bike until he pulled up instead of presuming the white Camaro was his. Stupid me.

“Call my luck what you will, but my name is still Dulcie,” I said icily.

Baron shook his head and the fake smile on his face melted away into an expression of anger. The look in his eyes was lethal. “You think you can just show up here like we’re old friends or some shit?”

Yep, things were starting to go downhill. And if Quill was planning on showing up, now would be a good time. I tried my best not to look ruffled in the slightest. “Look, Baron, I'm not here to cause trouble. Quillan told me to meet him here.” I even backed away a few steps until I nearly bumped into the slut on stilts.

Baron peered behind him to what I assumed was the bathroom and nodded. As soon as he did, two men walked out with Quillan between them. So it wasn’t a bathroom after all. ‘Course, right now, I was more concerned with why Quillan was being restrained than the architecture of Ink. From the look of it, he hadn't been roughed up or anything, so at least that was a blessing.

“Dulcie,” Quill said in a low, worried voice.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, looking at Quill and then Baron.

Baron took a few steps toward me and smiled as if he knew something I didn't. “The elf told me you were working with him now, for the Head of the Netherworld. That right?”

I nodded, but said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Quillan trying to disengage himself from the two weres holding him. He was unsuccessful.

“Baron, I told you the truth—Dulcie is working for us now,” Quillan interjected, obviously nervous about where this situation was headed.

Baron didn't spare him a glance, but faced me, nodding as his eyes narrowed into another angry expression. “Well, we gonna have us a little hazing then. A welcome to our newest recruit.”

I swallowed hard, not liking the sound of that at all. “What does that mean, Baron?” I demanded.

“Melchior won't approve,” Quillan said from the corner of the room. It made me wonder if Baron was also aware that Melchior was my father.

“What he don't know won't hurt 'em,” Baron answered, facing Quill with an expression that said Quillan better not say a word about it—to Melchior, or anyone else.

“No one touches her,” Quill said, his voice razor sharp as he again attempted to unwind himself from the weres. But they had him and weren't letting go.

Baron faced me again, apparently uninterested in Quill’s protests. “So you got two choices.”

I nodded, but I didn’t believe for a second that I was going to walk out of here untouched. Given the fact that I'd been Baron's enemy, I definitely had something coming to me. This wasn't a surprise. “And what are my options?” I asked, sounding unfazed.

Baron took the steps separating us and towered over me, grinning. I didn't step back, but held my ground, determined not to let him intimidate me. He leaned forward and gripped a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to look up at him.

“I either beat the shit outta you or screw the shit outta you. Your choice.” Then he sneered a wide and terrifying grin. “Screwin' you won't hurt so bad. You'll get to likin’ it.”

“Dammit, Baron!” Quillan yelled from the opposite side of the room, but I knew Quill had no authority here. No, if I wanted to be accepted into this band of thieves, I had to undergo punishment. I had to let them haze me in return for my arresting and convicting them. It was now a matter of quid pro quo, this for that. I had to overcome my past as an ANC Regulator who busted their asses mercilessly. I had to become one of them. I had to earn their trust.

But that said, there was no way in hell this pig was getting inside of me. I held my jaw tight and glared at him. “I guess it's going to be a beating.”

He pushed me away from him, obviously pissed off by my decision. I could see Quillan straining with his opponents again but I knew my bed was made. I just hoped there wouldn't be too much damage to show for it. Yes, as a fairy I could heal myself with my magic but that didn't take away from the fact that this was going to hurt like a bitch. But I was ready.

Without any warning, Baron pulled his arm back and cold-cocked me right across the face. My head flew back as I lost my footing and smashed against the floor, feeling the blow all the way to my toes. I took a deep breath and shook my head, trying to clear the stars before my eyes. I pushed up on my hands and leaned over, attempting to regain control of my body again. I could feel blood running from my nose and mouth. The viscous drops bled down my jacket front, pooling into a puddle of what looked like molten gold on the floor in front of me. I felt Baron's hands on both of my upper arms as he pulled me upright. I wavered a bit, but then held my ground, not at all looking forward to what else he had up his sleeve.

“Dulce! Are you okay?” Quill called, out, but I couldn't spare him a glance. Instead, I watched as Baron swung his arm from behind his head into my other cheek. The blow seemed to have a domino effect through my body and I felt my head spin, the upper half of me falling forward as the lower half gave out. I lost my balance and crumpled into a heap on the ground. A dull ache started behind my eyes and I closed them to ward away the pain, forbidding myself from blacking out.

“Enough!” Quillan yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the pounding of my heartbeat thumping between my ears.

Don't black out, Dulcie O'Neil, I told myself. Keep it together!

“Baron, that's fair!” I heard Quillan yell again. “You've hazed her enough!”

I forced myself into a sitting position and opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut, only to find Baron kneeling down next to me. He smiled an ugly and wide grin. Apparently he wasn't finished with me.

“You picked the wrong choice,” he said gruffly, his eyes settling on my bust. Wasting no more time, he gripped my shirt and yanked me toward him. Then he pushed me down, none too gently. I closed my eyes again, feeling like I was fighting a concussion or something. But the feel of Baron on top of me snapped my eyes wide open, well, at least one of them.

“Nah, I picked the right choice,” I managed to spit out, the salty taste of my own blood souring my mouth.

“To hell with you,” he exhaled into my face, his breath stale from cigarettes and alcohol. As I tried to clear the stars from my vision, I could feel his hands on the button of my pants. Then I felt him unzipping them and attempting to pull them off my hips. My daggers! He gave me the perfect opportunity to go for them when he started unzipping his fly.

“Get off her!” Quillan yelled as he overpowered one of his captives. He punched the other one and dove for me. But the weres were on him in a split second, dragging him back to the far side of the room. Yep, this was my fight.

I reached my hands beneath my leathers and started shimmying them lower as Baron laughed enthusiastically, probably thinking I wanted the disgusting Titan between my legs. When I had each dagger in hand, I waited for him to lower himself on me again. Then I acted, pulling the daggers up and out of my pants, until each was poised to impale both of Baron’s balls.

“Unless you want to become a eunuch, I suggest you get the fuck off me,” I whispered with a groan, as if to say I wasn't kidding. There was shock on Baron's face, then anger in his eyes, but he saved his acorns and pulled away from me, retreating from whence he'd come.

I pushed away from him and stood up with some difficulty, sliding the daggers back into their straps as I pulled my pants up, pleased with the fact that only the very top of my black lace panties had been visible. I cleared my throat. “Do we or do we not have work that needs to get done?” I demanded, first facing Baron and then Quillan, as I wished the headache pounding between my temples would fade away.

Quillan smiled at me with an expression of relief. “We have much to discuss,” he concurred.

I faced Baron and shrugged, still trying to catch my breath. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?”

He took a deep breath and motioned to the doorway, which I'd originally thought led to the restroom. “Ladies first,” he grumbled.

I said nothing as I walked past him, shaking my palm until a mound of fairy dust emerged. Then I threw it over my head, the particles falling around me like a shower of glitter. I imagined my pain as well as the wounds themselves vanishing into nothing. After another second or so, during which time the dust settled onto my skin, I felt completely healed and back to being Dulcie.

“Dulce?” Quillan said from behind me. He placed a concerned hand on my shoulder as I turned to face him and smiled encouragingly. We walked over the threshold of the next room and I noticed it was much smaller than the first one. It had nothing but a table and four club chairs that looked older than I did, complete with cigarette burns in the brown Naugahyde. I took a seat and swiveled to face Quillan. “I'm okay, Quill.”

He shook his head and seemed to be studying my face, as if making sure my magic had healed the swelling and bruises. Eventually he smiled at me, taking the seat beside mine. When he did so, he put his hand on mine and squeezed it.

FIVE

Even though I was in the lion's den, I had to admit I was more than grateful to have Quillan right there with me. Despite whatever had happened in our past, he was now the only person I could trust—well, with regards to this mess, anyway. As far as working for my father went, Quillan was my only friend and I needed him now more than ever before.

I glanced around the table with a big gulp. Baron was sitting across from me, two of his men on either side of him and a burly-looking goblin who, I imagined, was probably his bodyguard, standing behind him.

“The shipment of Yalkemouth is comin' through tonight,” Baron said with no emotion in his voice as he faced Quillan. He narrowed his eyes once he glanced at me, probably reminded of how close he'd come to losing his gibblies. I glared right back at him.

Yalkemouth was an illegal narcotic which had started picking up speed in the streets of Splendor earlier this year. It was concocted from the tiniest drop of dragon's blood mixed with sugar water to help the taste. In larger quantities, dragon's blood was liquid death to any Netherworld creature unfortunate enough to come across it. All the bullets provided to the ANC were made of dragon's blood. Not surprisingly, there had already been fifteen deaths reported from Yalkemouth overdoses.

Apparently the high from Yalkemouth was exactly that—high. The most common side effects were hallucinations of out-of-body experiences, whereby the victims would see themselves separated from their corporeal bodies and their “essences” (as they termed it) would simply float away. The victims, in an act of desperation, since their souls were about to have lots in common with errant kites, would try their best to hang onto their essence. However, once they realized they couldn't reach their souls on flat land, they would climb whatever they could find. This wasn't such a big deal if said victims were inside a house, for example, where most just toppled off their couches or kitchen tables. But if the victims happened to be outside ... Well, there had already been reports of deaths from creatures falling off bridges, buildings and rolling down the sides of mountains.

“Where is the shipment arriving?” Quill asked as he exhaled a pent-up breath that spoke of his anxiety. I looked at him and was suddenly struck by how much older Quillan looked than he should have. As an elf who could live well beyond two hundred years, at thirty-two, Quill shouldn't have had a single line on his face. But I could already see the frown lines in his forehead and the beginnings of crows’ feet in the corners of each of his eyes. His previously shiny gold hair seemed lackluster now, with threads of grey weaving around his ears.

This obviously wasn't an easy life, which was all the more incentive to get out of it. And although I didn't have an escape route planned yet, I wasn’t giving up. There was something inside me that refused to yield, something that was rallying, something increasingly pissed off as the days went by. I just refused to do this forever—and to carry on with the likes of Baron and his entourage. But mostly I refused to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that I would bend to his will. As to figuring a way out, I just needed a little more time—I needed to clear my head and come up with a plan. But for now, that plan would have to wait.

“Loading docks,” Baron answered as he started tapping his thick fingers against the surface of the table, which was worn in some places, stained in others.

“What time's it comin' through, boss?” the were at the right of Baron asked, chewing on one of his long, dirty fingernails. He had the general look of a were—big and burly with shaggy, disheveled hair that looked as if it hadn't seen a shampoo bottle in decades. He had a longish beard and his teeth were yellowed from too much smoking, I guessed. All in all, he was totally gross.

“Tonight,” Baron answered as his eyes fell on me, a trace of mirth visible in their dark black depths. It was almost like an untold challenge—he was testing me to see what my reaction would be—to see if I was nervous or anxious about my newfound role. Well, even though I was more than anxious, I wasn't about to let him know that.

“What time?” I asked, my face and voice revealing nothing. I'd not only taken his bet, but I’d doubled it.

He smiled slightly and dropped his gaze to my bust casually, but I knew better than to think he was being casual. No, he was reminding me how close he'd come to forcing himself on me. He was trying to goad me. I felt my blood begin to heat up and forced myself to calm down, and not to react because that's what he wanted from me.

“O dark thirty,” he said, his eyes still fastened on my breasts.

I held his gaze. “You might want to be more specific.” He glanced up at me and I dropped my attention to the table, as if I were looking at his nuts which had nearly been sliced from his body only a few minutes earlier. Two could play this game. “I mean, after midnight, but before sunrise isn't exactly buttoned down.” I looked up at his face again. “Is it?”

He eyed me and his smile widened, as if he were turned on by my pretending to focus on his man appendage. “One a.m.”

“Hey, Baron, how about you drop this game you're playing with Dulcie and give us the information about the shipment?” Quill demanded, his voice irritated and his eyes burning.

Baron said nothing, but cleared his throat, facing Quill. Apparently the charade was now over. I patted Quill's hand beneath the table to say thanks. He didn't face me, but squeezed my hand all the same. Yep, it was nice to know someone had my back.

“Melchior said there'd be fifty cases comin' through the loadin' docks,” Baron said finally, his manner now strictly business. And when he said “the loading docks,” I figured he meant the Yalkemouth would be traveling by way of portal from the Netherworld to Splendor, arriving the same way Quill and I had.

“And the dupe?” Quillan asked.

“There'll be five cases comin' through on a ship to the far west of the loadin' docks,” Baron answered.

And now everything made sense. Melchior was sending out a decoy, which was meant for the ANC to find and bust. The five cases of Yalkemouth would be the ANC's bust, meanwhile the fifty cases from the Netherworld would slip in unnoticed.

“And I'm going to bust the dupe?” I finished hoarsely, figuring out where this was going.

Baron glanced over at me and nodded, his eyes still on mine rather than my chest. Thank Hades. “You an' your ANC buddies can fuck around with bustin' Horatio and the five cases. You just keep them outta my bidness, got it?”

Horatio apparently was the hairy were sitting beside Baron because, at the mention of his name, he started grumbling something about getting beaten up again. Baron gave him a discouraging look and he shut up. And, really, he had nothing to worry about. Once we busted and imprisoned him, he'd merely be deported to the Netherworld where he'd probably just have to lay low for a few weeks. After that, Melchior would see to it that he was released to return to the crime ring. Basically it was like a revolving door, really just a hop, skip and a jump away from a walk in the park.

“What's the name of the ship?” I asked, realizing that was a necessary detail.

“It's a tanker called Alice,” Baron finished. “It'll be pullin' in at one a.m. an' there ain't gonna be no more ships tonight, so you can't fuck it up.”

As if I was going to fuck it up in the first place. I exhaled a frustrated sigh when something suddenly occurred to me. “How are you going to keep Trey from picking up on what's really going on?”

Trey could see glimpses of the future, his super power in the eyes of the ANC. Although half the time his gift couldn't delineate times or dates, or even locations, Trey's abilities were still an unknown that could seriously threaten the well-being of this plan. I mean, the last thing we needed was for Trey to get an inkling about the fifty cases of Yalkemouth on the opposite end of the loading docks. That would blow the plan all to hell.

Baron waved me away with an unimpressed hand. “Melchior already took care of it.”

I glanced at Quill with a question in my eyes. “What does that mean?”

Quill smiled down at me. “Melchior knows about Trey's gift. He has a witch in the Netherworld who magicks all the narcotic shipments to ensure there isn't any residue on them that Trey could pick up on.”

I just nodded and thought this whole thing had been so well choreographed, so staged. What really struck me was that it had been this way for years. The entire time Quillan had been the head of the ANC in Splendor, this had been going on underneath my nose and I'd had no clue.

“You have access to the vault?” Horatio asked me.

Baron turned his full attention on me, and realizing what this meant, I immediately shook my head. “The only person who has access to the vault is Knight,” I said staunchly. The only tip off I'd ever received that something unsavory was happening in the ANC was when I'd finagled my way into the vault. It was being used to warehouse the illegal potions we Regulators confiscated. Every week, cauldrons from the Netherworld would arrive, the sole purpose to destroy all the confiscated potions. When I broke into the vault (well, broke into it is a bit harsh, seeing as how Knight granted me permission), I immediately noticed that none of the potions had been destroyed at all. Later, I learned that Quill was redistributing them on the black market, something Baron was obviously interested in resuscitating—at least judging by the expression of curiosity in his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” I reiterated, shaking my head. “I'd be found out in a second.”

“She's right,” Quill said as he viewed the room, as if to ensure that everyone assembled understood that this wasn't a good idea. “Vander's the only one with access. It would be too suspicious.”

I stood up, after deciding I'd had enough. “So one a.m. tonight, Alice the tanker ship on the west end loading docks. Anything else?”

Baron glared at me as if he were annoyed that I was done with our little rendezvous since he hadn't announced “meeting adjourned.” When he didn't say anything else, I pushed my chair out from underneath the table and started for the door, Quillan right behind me. “See you in three hours,” I said.

“This is your night ta prove yourself, O'Neil,” Baron called out to my exiting figure. I paused with my hand on the doorknob.

I turned around to face him and smiled assuredly. “It's in my back pocket, asshole,” I said with as much disdain as I could muster before showing myself out.

“Watch it, Dulce,” Quill said and sighed heavily.

I glanced up at him, unfazed. “What? He is an asshole.”

“You know his temper.”

“Yeah and now he can get well acquainted with mine.”

Once freed from the confines of Ink, I approached my Suzuki quickly, and noticed an electric blue sports car, complete with black stripes on either side, parked beside it. Quillan beeped it unlocked and I glanced over at him as I wrestled with my helmet.

“Are you okay?” Quill asked as he faced me with concern in his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was referring to my emotional sanity or my close encounter with Baron. Maybe both.

“I'm fine,” I answered tersely, “I just want to go home.” I turned the key in the ignition only to hear it click a few times. I turned the key again and nothing. The engine was dead. “Son of a fucking bitch!” I yelled and slammed my palm against the tank. Quillan walked over and took the key from me and motioning me aside, straddled the bike as he inspected it and attempted to start it himself.

“It's dead,” he announced, standing up and eyeing me sadly. “I think it's the starter.”

“You've gotta be kidding,” I grumbled and shook my head like I couldn't believe it. Talk about shitty timing!

“I'll take you home,” Quillan said as I tore off my helmet and felt like I wanted to cry.

“What am I going to do with this?” I asked, meaning that I didn't want to be tied to Ink in any way, shape or form; and everyone at the ANC knew what I drove. It wasn't any stretch of the imagination at all to think that Knight, Trey or anyone else from the ANC might happen to do a drive-by to make sure Baron was on the up and up. Seeing my motorcycle in the parking lot was not a good thing.

“The bike is done, Dulce,” Quillan said in a grounded tone, as if he were afraid I was super attached to it or something. “Baron has guys who can strip it and sell the parts. I'll let him know on the way to your house.”

I nodded and approached Quillan's car, scanning it quizzically. “Is this a Mustang?” I asked, finding some of the lines fairly reminiscent of the iconic Ford.

“2013 Shelby GT 500,” he answered with obvious pride.

I gave him a raised brow as I opened the door and seated myself. “Mustang?” I asked again once he was within earshot.

He chuckled and helped himself into the driver's seat. “Mustang,” he answered.

I secured my seatbelt and then sighed. “I guess it beats a 1961 Galaxy Town Victoria.”

***

I walked in my front door at a little past ten p.m. Locking it behind me, I immediately noticed my answering machine blinking red. From the looks of it, I had two messages. I checked my cell phone lying beside it and lifting it up, saw that it also had messages. Probably Sam and Dia wondering what in the hell had happened to me while I'd been in the Netherworld. Even though I knew I needed to face them at some point, I just couldn't bring myself to do it now. Not after the crappy evening I'd just endured. But what was even scarier was that there was something inside me that wanted to sever all ties to my old life, something that wanted to invalidate any and all associations with my friends because I realized I was now a different person. Even worse, knowing me could be detrimental to their wellbeing. I mean, who knew what sorts of power trips Melchior could hold over my head now? He already had Knight for insurance, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine Sam or Dia could be next. Yep, my father had me exactly where he wanted me, and that was a desperate place to be.

Trying to avoid the naked truth in my thoughts, I searched the fridge for something to eat, but it was just as bare as it had been the last time I'd opened it when Knight had visited after his release from the Netherworld.

Knight ... just the image of him filled my gut with a deep-rooted sorrow, and a tremor that rattled me. I felt like I’d soon cave into a puddle of jelly.

At the sound of my doorbell, I pulled myself together, forced myself to put on my poker face and see why the hell someone was visiting so late. The fact that my alone time was now nonexistent was really getting old. I huffed over to the front door, expecting to find Quill or Baron and checked the peephole, instantly recognizing Bram. A sense of guilt washed over me as I remembered I'd never paid Bram a visit to tell him I was okay. And that was bad—especially after he'd acted as my guide and protector in the Netherworld.

With a sheepish smile, I pulled the door open and found the dashing vampire glaring at me. “Then it is true?” he asked, pushing past me and showing himself into my living room.

“What's true?” I asked as I closed the door behind us. I was actually happy to see Bram. Somehow, along the course of our Netherworld adventure, I'd actually grown fond of the vampire. If nothing else, he was definitely amusing.

“That you have escaped the Netherworld and returned to Splendor.” With his raised brows and frown, he looked pissed off. There was something livid in his eyes, which surprised me. I mean, even though it wasn't exactly polite that I'd failed to inform him that I was back, I didn't imagine he'd be this bent out of shape.

“Oh, yeah, it's true.” I took a deep breath and caught his eye. “About that, I, uh, had been meaning to come by and tell you.”

“And yet it appears you did not find the time?” he chided, crossing his arms against his chest.

That was basically the short of it, but it wasn't like I could tell Bram exactly what I'd been up to. Yes, I'd never painted Bram as a “good guy,” but I also was fairly convinced he was nowhere near the likes of a Baron or even my father. Nope, Bram basically ran in his own circle.

“I'm sorry, Bram,” I started, shaking my head, not really knowing what I could say to lessen the blow of my obvious bad manners.

“Perhaps I was not important enough?” he pouted. Jeez, he was really wringing everything he could out of this. But, I guess I deserved it.

“I really was meaning to come tell you,” I said in as sincere a voice as I could. “I feel really terrible about it, I mean it.”

“I see,” he grumbled but I could tell his mood was lightening. Note to self: apparently Bram likes panderers.

“How did you find out that I was back, anyway?” I asked, trying to change the subject because there was only so much ass-kissing I was prepared to do. And where Bram was concerned, I'd already reached my limit.

“I make the goings on in Splendor my business, sweet,” he answered and when he called me by my pet name, I guessed he was well on his way to forgiving me. Forgiving me was important because I wanted to keep Bram on my good side. He wasn't the type of person to have as an enemy. Nope, he was powerful. Just how powerful, though, I wasn't sure, but that's exactly what I intended to find out.

“And I was quite concerned with your whereabouts,” he continued, inspecting his fingernails as he spoke. “It has been the only subject to occupy my mind.”

“I'm sorry,” I said again, trying to belabor the point. “I really am, Bram.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, just watched me as if to gauge how sincere I was. And the truth of the matter was that I was sincere—I did feel bad about it.

Finally, he dropped his stern expression and smiled handsomely. “Apology accepted.”

And now it was time to move on to more important topics. It was time to learn just how involved Bram was with the Netherworld. I cleared my throat and thought about the best way to approach him, as well as what my chances were of getting some straight answers out of him. Figuring there really was no “right” approach, I just opted for friendly. “Have a seat,” I said, motioning to my couch.

Bram looked surprised at first, but quickly acquiesced and seated himself on the far end of the sofa. He eyed me curiously, as if wondering why I'd invited him to stay. Well, he was about to find out.

“Bram, I have questions for you,” I started and sat down in a chair beside him. I pulled it out so we were facing one another.

“As I have questions for you, sweet.”

It didn't surprise me to know he'd have questions for me. Bram was always nosy. “I know you're curious as to how I got home,” I began, searching for a plausible excuse. Remembering that I'd nearly blown my cover with Knight regarding my story about Caressa and the portal, I decided to learn from past mistakes.

“Quite so,” the vampire replied; and when I didn't respond immediately, he prodded. “Go on.”

“I escaped,” I said simply.

“Escaped?” he repeated dubiously.

“I overpowered Caressa and tried to talk Judge Thorne into taking me back into custody in exchange for Knight's life,” I spewed out, nearly tripping over the lie.

Bram said nothing, but eyed me suspiciously as if he found it hard to believe. “And yet the Loki has returned, as have you.”

I nodded, reminding myself to stick to my story. “Judge Thorne wouldn't listen to me and decreed that I be escorted to the portal by one of his guards.” I took a deep breath. “As to why Knight was released, I don't know.”

“I see.”

I shrugged, thinking I needed to play up my surprise a bit more. “I mean, I thought for sure he was never going to get out.”

“It is quite the riddle, is it not?” Bram asked and then smiled in an off-putting sort of way.

“It is,” I agreed and even nodded to reaffirm my words.

“And you have been reinstated in your position at the ANC?” he continued. Bram was definitely at the top of the gossip totem pole. He always had been, though, which was why I found him so useful in my position as Regulator. He got the inside scoops before anyone else did.

“You're impressive, I'll give you that,” I said softly and then smiled at him.

“Why did you insist on becoming a Regulator again?” he asked, his tone slightly more casual, but I knew his indifference was merely an act—Bram wanted to know what was going on. He made it his business to know the ins and outs of ANC business.

“I missed it,” I answered nonchalantly before turning to the subject of my own questions. “How high do you rank in the Netherworld pecking order?”

Bram smiled, revealing his fangs, clearly appreciative of the question and even more clearly impressed with himself. “High.” He narrowed his eyes on me. “Why was the Loki truly released?”

I swallowed hard. “I don't know,” I bluffed. “Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?”

Bram's smile dropped. “Yes.”

I felt my heartbeat quicken. “How familiar?”

“Familiar enough.” He paused a moment or two before that debonair smile was back in full effect. “Are you familiar with the head of the Netherworld?”

“No.” I paused to catch my breath, completely aware that he was testing me, that he knew more than he was letting on. “Are you involved with his affairs?”

“No,” he answered quickly. Maybe too quickly. “Are you involved with his affairs?”

My heart thundered through my ears, sounding like waves crashing against rocks. I almost felt like I was going to pass out. “No.”

“Are you aware that he shares the same last name with you?” Bram asked in a casual, bored tone.

I swallowed hard. “There are many people with the last name O'Neil,” I said simply, even adding a shrug, trying to portray the image of someone bored, apathetic and uninterested.

“Very true,” he answered noncommittally.

“Why were the prison guards so frightened of you, Bram, and why do you have your own portal entrance to the Netherworld?”

He smiled, long and languidly. “Why do you share the same last name as the Head of the Netherworld? And why was the Loki returned when Melchior had him exactly where he wanted him?”

I didn't say anything for four seconds and I'm sure I was wearing my anxiety. Bram smiled even more broadly.

“It seems we are at a standstill, Dulcie, sweet.”

SIX

Somehow Bram knew Melchior was related to me and I was pretty sure it wasn't just a guess based on the similarity of our last names. Since Bram hadn't said anything for the last few seconds, he was right—we were at a standstill.

“How did you know?” I asked finally. My voice sounded hoarse as I realized I'd been first to show my hand.

Bram smiled slightly, like he was pleased I'd finally acknowledged my familial relationship to Melchior. I watched as he relaxed against my couch and sighed dramatically. “I assumed from the moment I met you, sweet.”

The word “assumed” held a lot of weight because it implied that Bram didn't know I was related to Melchior. And I must say I was relieved he hadn't been in the know—I mean, it's not exactly a good feeling when you realize everyone around you knows more about your life than you do.

“Well, he's my father,” I finished, my jaw tight and my tone betraying the fact that I wasn't happy about it.

“Ah, I see,” Bram said, nodding thoughtfully. “And it seems you just learned this?”

It was my turn to nod. “Yep.”

“And your story regarding the escape from Caressa?” he pried, eyeing me with a drawn brow as if he knew I hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled just as deeply. “It wasn't true.”

Bram's left brow continued to reach for the ceiling but, otherwise, his countenance remained unchanged—the same expectant, yet unconcerned look he tried so hard to achieve. “And what is the truth?”

“Before we get into this dog and pony show,” I started, my voice suddenly sounding bossy and harsh, “this has to be a quid pro quo, Bram. If I'm going to spill the contents of my diary to you, I expect the same in return.”

Bram threw his head back, laughing heartily before his merriment died on his lips and he faced me with a wide smile and shook his head in wonder—like he seemed to approve of my sense of humor. “Of course, sweet, of course.”

I nodded and continued. “The truth is that I broke into the Head of the Netherworld's office with the express purpose of holding a gun to his head and forcing him to release Knight.” Bram's eyes went wide, but he said nothing while I merely shook my head, admitting that my plan had gone off with a major hitch. “The joke ended up being on me when I found out Melchior was my father.”

“Quite the sobering joke,” Bram said in an aristocratic tone, his English accent dripping. Sometimes I wondered about how, after living in California for a hundred years, his accent still sounded like he'd just jumped off a plane from Heathrow airport. Yep, Bram was one of those people who impressed himself often and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least to learn that Bram talked to himself just to hear the sound of his own voice.

“Yeah, I wasn't exactly laughing,” I admitted.

“Then you negotiated the Loki's release with the Head of the Netherworld?”

“Yes,” I replied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. The matter of what those negotiations with my father entailed was now just a matter of connecting A with B to arrive at C.

“And what did your father gain in return for releasing the Loki?”

“A daughter,” I said simply, not wanting to delve much deeper than that. I already felt as if my business was now standing in front of us, completely naked and embarrassed.

“You have sold your soul to the devil, it appears?” Bram deduced aptly and I felt my stomach drop. Sometimes he just had this uncanny ability to see right through me. It was almost as if I were a book and he'd merely opened me to the chapter where my innermost thoughts and feelings lay.

“Then you're aware of my father's ... business dealings?” I asked, eyeing him pointedly.

Bram was quiet for a few seconds and then simply nodded, saying nothing. But I wasn't about to put up with his silence. Not after I'd just spilled my proverbial blood. Now it was his turn to do a little bleeding. “How long have you been aware of it?” I asked, finding it somewhat ironic that I couldn't put a word to my father's underhanded ways, that I couldn't refer to them as what they were—illegal.

“The entire time I have lived in Splendor,” he said softly, pursing his lips together in something that most resembled a frown.

That was when I remembered Bram telling me, upon our entrance to the Netherworld, that he hadn't stepped foot on Netherworld soil in one hundred years. Jeez, that had to mean good ol' Pop was older than I'd imagined. I mean, I knew elves could live a very long time—the oldest on record having lived to see her four hundred and twelfth birthday—but this was still a surprise. “How old is my father?”

Bram cocked his head to the side as if my question had given him cause for pause. “Perhaps one hundred fifty,” he finished.

I couldn't help the astonishment that overtook me. I just hadn't figured Melchior was so old—he didn't look a day over fifty. “And how long has he been the Head of the Netherworld?”

Bram didn't hesitate. “A century.”

“Then you came here to Splendor to get away from him?”

Bram cocked his head again, this time to the other side. I was convinced he encouraged these long pauses just because he liked to build up anticipation. If nothing else, Bram was a drama queen.

“I would not use those exact words,” he finished.

I shook my head, feeling exasperation starting to fill my entire being, my ears even heating up with it. “Bram, can't you, for once, just cut this melodramatic crap and give it to me straight?”

He huffed like he was offended, but then dropped the charade a few seconds later, thank Hades. “Ask me what you care to know.”

I leaned forward, realizing what this meant—that the ordinarily reclusive Bram was going to let me in. Questions swarmed through my mind. “What was your connection with Melchior and why did you leave the Netherworld to come here?”

“I was your father's partner,” he finished succinctly as my eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

“Before O'Neil ever became the Head of the Netherworld, he was first and foremost a business man.”

I frowned, surprised. I wasn't sure why, but it was like I hadn't ever conceived of the idea that Melchior had ever been anything but a lying, double-dealing, piece of shit. “What sort of business?”

“Importing products from Earth to the Netherworld,” Bram said softly and his eyes took on a faraway sort of glaze—like he was reliving a time long gone.

“What sort of products?”

Bram shrugged. “Automobiles, horses, food, clothing, building supplies ... anything that existed on Earth that could be considered useful in the Netherworld.” He sighed deeply which was all for show because he had no respiratory system. “O'Neil and I were quite close friends,” he continued. “Little by little, your father's ...

“Please don't call him that,” I said, suddenly deciding that just because I was related to Melchior didn't allow him to bear the title of my father. A father was someone who, in my mind, had been involved in his child's life, or at the very least, cared about his child. And there was no evidence that Melchior had ever given a crap about me. As far as I was concerned, Melchior was basically a sperm donor.

“How would you prefer I label him?” Bram asked, his eyes softer as if he understood my need to distance myself from good ol' Dad. Well, knowing him first hand, Bram had to be aware of what a rotten person he was.

“Melchior is fine,” I answered. “’Course, the devil works too.”

Bram nodded with a sad smile. “Very well.” Then he started with his story again. “Melchior's interests turned away from imports and he became increasingly enthralled with the politics of the Netherworld. Eventually, he ran for the office of Head of the Netherworld and was elected.”

“So the Netherworld is a democracy?” I asked, completely confused because it had seemed anything but.

Bram shook his head. “Many moons ago it was, sweet, but not so any longer. Melchior has taken it from a republic to ... how shall I say this ...”

“Don't sugarcoat anything,” I interrupted, my expression and tone staunch. “As far as I'm concerned, my father is my father in name only.”

Bram nodded. “Melchior is a tyrant,” he finished.

“Why hasn't anyone tried to get rid of him?” I demanded, finally broaching a question that had been plaguing me all along. “I'm sure the creatures of the Netherworld don't want to live under a tyranny.”

“Quite so,” Bram agreed. He steepled his fingers together only to begin drumming them against his thighs. He was obviously a fidgeter. “The last attempt on Melchior's life was a century ago.”

“And what happened?” I asked, now on the edge of my seat.

Bram shrugged. “The interloper was captured, tortured and his corpse paraded through the streets to discourage future attempts on Melchior's life; apparently the warning achieved its purpose as there have not been any other assassination attempts since.”

I swallowed hard, thinking it sounded like a punishment from the middle ages or something more befitting the court of Henry VIII as opposed to the Netherworld a mere century ago. “And is that why you came here to Splendor?”

Bram simply nodded. “I chose not to subject myself to the oppression of Melchior any longer and, instead, opted for a quieter life.”

“I'd hardly call owning No Regrets a quiet life,” I said, but my thoughts weren't really on Bram's nightclub. Instead, they were centered on the feeling of a knot twisting my stomach. My father was much worse than I'd given him credit for. I glanced at Bram again, needing one more question answered. “Are you aware of his ... extracurricular activities?” I asked.

“If by 'extracurricular activities,' you mean his illegal potions importing, yes, I am.”

“Are you working for him?” I continued, hoping and praying the answer was no. Why? Because I liked Bram and didn't want to think that my father had not only royally fucked up Quillan's and my lives but Bram's too. But somehow, in my heart of hearts, I didn't think Bram was in the employ of Melchior.

“No,” he said resolutely and then faced me, concern in his eyes. “How deeply are you involved, Dulcie?”

I held my breath for a few seconds as I debated over whether or not to admit anything more. But, really, what more was there to admit to? “Deep,” I finished in a small voice.

Bram nodded and his expression was suddenly drawn, his eyes narrowed. “Was it worth it?” he asked, flicking his eyes back to mine.

It was the same question Quill had asked me. I just simply nodded, knowing if I had to make the choice all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

***

I got the call from Knight around one fifteen a.m., and of course, I'd been waiting for it. He called to say that Trey had just gotten a vision of a potions delivery in the loading docks and that I needed to hurry. Of course, I was already dressed in my leathers, my helmet waiting beside the front door. Once I hung up the phone, I locked the door behind me and started for my ANC provided (read: Knightley Vander provided) red Ducati Diavel motorcycle. Throwing one leg over the seat, I strapped on my helmet and turned on the engine until it was purring excitedly, and I was off.

It took me exactly ten minutes to reach the west end of the loading docks where I could already see the tanker ship, Alice, present and accounted for. Just as Baron had claimed, she was the only ship in sight. I pulled off the road, maybe one hundred feet from the docks, and hid my bike beneath a massive oak tree. A salty breeze traveled up from the docks, wrapping around me in a chilly embrace. I shivered in spite of myself and hopped off the Ducati, toying with my helmet as I pulled it off and placed it on the seat. Unzipping my leather jacket, I slid the Op 6 from my shoulder holster, palming it in a low ready stance, the muzzle pointing down. I stayed mostly to the shadows offered by the oversized oak trees along the stretch of road leading down to the docks. I had to look every inch the alert and prepared Regulator. Even though Baron and his men were more than aware that I was coming, I had to maintain the charade for Knight.

I continued down the dark road, the sound of insects chirping from the tall grass beside me in chorus with the lonely calls of a few seagulls who flew overhead. I glanced around myself, looking for any sign of Knight or Trey, but nothing. At a bend in the road, I took cover behind a knotty-trunked pepper tree and looked down at the loading docks, which were now maybe fifty feet from me. I could see the men of the ship unloading large crates of Hades only knew what direct from the Netherworld. Whatever portal this ship had come through had to have been pretty large because the tanker was, in a word ... enormous.

I didn't recognize the men who were unloading the crates and figured they had nothing to do with Melchior. As far as Horatio was concerned, there was no sign of him. I pushed out from the darkness of the pepper tree and continued down the road, the moonlight now spotlighting me as I hurried for cover under a large pine tree maybe ten feet away. Once I reached it, I looked around myself and wondered where the hell Knight was.

Well, wonder and you shall receive, because only seconds later, I heard Knight calling me from off to my right, where he was kneeling behind a crumbling brick wall, Trey just beside him. I hurried over to them, kneeling down in front of Knight who gave me a friendly smile.

“Good to see you, Dulce,” he said, his smile widening.

I returned the smile hesitantly before facing Trey. “What's going on?” I asked and then eyed the loading docks again, searching for any sign of Horatio or, failing him, Baron. But all I could see were the sailors unloading numerous crates. I could only hope we hadn't come too late. 'Course, I had to imagine Horatio would take his sweet time, knowing his sole purpose was to be caught.

“I don't get it,” Trey said and shook his head as if he were frustrated, alternating his stare between Knight and me. “I know I saw something in the vision,” he finished, his upper lip wet with perspiration. “It just doesn't make any sense that nothing's happening now.”

“And you're sure it was supposed to happen tonight?” Knight asked him, his tone conveying the fact that he, himself, was dubious.

“Yeah,” Trey said, emphatically nodding. “I had the distinct feeling that it was happening right as I was seeing it. When have my visions ever been wrong in the past?”

They hadn't been.

“What exactly did you see?” I asked.

“I saw crates of something that looked like Yalkemouth or maybe Arson Flower or Monravia. I couldn't really make it out in the vision, but it was a general feeling I got that hinted at one of those three,” Trey finished and then glanced at me apologetically.

“But so far, we haven't seen anything out of the ordinary,” Knight finished and shrugged as he glanced at the tanker again.

“Interesting,” I said, looking at Knight only to find his attention riveted on me. When I faced him, he simply smiled and I felt myself gulp down the need to throw my arms around him and kiss him.

Knight said nothing but handed me a pair of binoculars. I took them and focused on the loading docks and the men unloading the crates. On the opposite side of the ship, I watched as Horatio seemed to suddenly appear from the shadows, like they simply spat him out. Well, it was about damn time! I felt my heart speed up as I watched him motion to someone onboard. The sailor appeared with a large white crate between his hands, complete with rows of bottled Yalkemouth, the fluorescent blue liquid peeking out through the slats of the crate. He handed it to Horatio.

“Looks like it was Yalkemouth, Trey,” I said and handed the binoculars to Knight who took them immediately. He glanced through the lenses for a few seconds before returning them to his jacket pocket.

“Let's move,” he said simply and stood up, Trey and I following. “I don't want to lose him,” he added, pulling his Op 7 from his waist, holding it in low ready as he started down the road, being careful to stick to the shadows the entire time.

I followed Knight down the road which terminated in a cement walkway, the five ramps leading down to the docks looking like outstretched arms sprouting from the concrete. Our tanker ship was at the bottom of the second ramp.

Turning to face Knight, I watched him pause and figured he was deciding the best way forward. He checked behind him, then, holding up the binoculars in the direction of Horatio, who was still busily unloading his illegal imports, Knight shook his head, the look of impatience plastering itself across his face.

“He's already unloaded three cases of Yalkemouth,” he said in a steely voice.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Looks like one of Baron's guys,” he answered. “A were.” It wasn't like Knight was on a first name basis with Horatio or the likes of Horatio, so I wasn't surprised that he didn’t know Horatio’s name.

“So what do you want to do?” I asked, knowing whatever we were going to do, we needed to act fast because Horatio only had two more crates left to unload. And if he unloaded them too slowly, that in itself would seem suspect.

Knight shrugged. “We need to act.”

I glanced down at the ship and noticed the sailor handing Horatio the final crate of Yalkemouth. Horatio plopped the crate on top of the others and made a big show of being out of breath. Then he hoisted the top crate and started for a Ford Explorer, the only car in the parking lot, which was parked as close to the docks as possible. Once the first was loaded, he returned for crate two and seemed to be taking his sweet ass time. He was obviously waiting for us to make our move and probably wondering where the hell we were.

I glanced at Knight and watched him looking at the scene before him as if he were taking stock of every detail, deciding the best approach to take. We obviously couldn't just walk down the ramp to the ship single file like we were on a field trip. I guessed we'd probably get back on the road. It disappeared around a hillside just above the cement walkway, leading to the loading docks. There were some old, craggy oak trees along the hillside which would offer us ample cover.

“Let's stick behind those trees,” Knight said, motioning to the small hillside. Yep, I'd been right. Point for me.

Neither Trey nor I said anything, but simply followed Knight back up to the road, being careful to stay in the shadows and remain undetected. Once we'd reached the hillside, we continued along the tree line, skulking in the shadows. I glanced down at the goings on in the ship below us. The sailor who had been helping Horatio returned to the other side of the ship where he started helping his fellow sailors unload. Yep, he hadn't been involved in Horatio's business any more than just in helping him unload the crates. I wasn't sure why but somehow that fact was a relief to me.

My gaze fell to Horatio again as I watched him pick up the third crate and start for the Explorer. When we were maybe ten feet away from Horatio, Knight turned toward me and motioned that he was going to take Horatio down. I nodded and clutched my Op 6 even more tightly.

“I'll be right behind you,” I whispered.

Then I watched Knight sprint down the hill, landing on the concrete just behind Horatio with a soft thud. Before the shorter, stouter man could respond, Knight knocked him down. Horatio released the crate and it crashed down next to him, the bottles of Yalkemouth breaking as the fluorescent liquid began leaking from the broken bottles.

The sailors all turned at the sound of the confrontation and when a few began to walk towards Knight, I stood out before him, pulling open my jacket to reveal my badge.

“This is ANC business,” I said sternly.

The sailors nodded and the one who had been helping Horatio glanced at him nervously before facing me again. “I had nothing to do with it,” he said, swallowing hard. “I was just helping him unload whatever that stuff was.”

I nodded. “It's okay. Just keep going about your business.”

The man didn't say anything else but returned to the far side of the ship as I brought my attention back to Knight. Horatio was still on the ground, Knight's knee in his back. Trey was standing at Horatio's head, his Op 6 aimed at the were. I watched as Knight pinned Horatio's arms behind his back and read him his Miranda rights.

Horatio didn't attempt to put up much of a fight for obvious reasons and a few seconds later, Knight hoisted him to his feet and started toward us.

I didn't even glance at Horatio and I noticed he did his damndest not to look at me.

“Where are you parked?” I asked Knight.

“Up the street,” Trey answered. “I'll go get the car and meet you at the top of the docks.” We both nodded and Trey re-holstered his gun before running up the ramp to the cement walkway and back to the road from which we'd come.

I glanced at Knight and smiled, keeping my Op 6 trained on Horatio. “Not bad.”

Knight chuckled. “It's good to have you back.”

SEVEN

When I walked through my door, I was exhausted. After the whole Horatio ordeal and everything that led up to it, I felt like I needed a hot shower and a long nap—as in, sleeping-for-the-next-two-days long. I tore off my jacket, throwing it on the chair beside the door and bemoaned the fact that Blue wasn't around to greet me. I'd have to make a trip to the pound and get Trey a new friend, so he'd relinquish mine.

As I walked into my living room, I thought about getting something to eat, then about taking off my clothes and getting into the shower; but instead, I did nothing. I just stood there like I'd misplaced my brain, like an idiotic zombie. And before I could second guess myself, I suddenly burst into tears.

And it's not like I'm often given to fits of crying. In fact, I could count on one hand the occasions in my life when things have been so bad that I've cried. But even though part of me was shocked by my emotional side, it was in complete control of me. In fact, I wasn't really crying—it was more like sobbing, my entire body was consumed by a convulsion of tears.

It was as if everything that had happened over the last two weeks was suddenly raining down on me, straining my ability to cope. I guess it's true what they say—that everyone has her breaking point. And I was definitely at mine. My entire life had turned upside down and, really, I was living my own worst nightmare. I'd become something I couldn't respect, something that was so unlike me. I was being controlled by someone else, my father, and worse, allowing it. And the mere thought of that sickened me because I'd never subjugated myself before, and always looked down on those who did. Yes, I had to remind myself that my reasons were sound and good—that saving Knight's life meant everything to me, but that didn't mean I wasn't searching for a way out of it. I just needed some time to think, to plan, and in planning, figure out a way to extricate myself and all of my affiliations with Melchior. I just needed time, but so far, time alone was fleeting, if not impossible to find.

Pretty soon, I started hyperventilating and couldn't catch my breath so I told myself to cool it. What good were my tears going to do me anyway? It wasn't like they'd magically flick Melchior O'Neil off the face of the Earth, er, the Netherworld. It wasn't like they'd ensure Knight would be forever safe. No, all in all, they were completely useless and as such, I was done with them.

I shook my head, wiping the water from my eyes and threw myself into my couch, waiting for my breathing to return to normal again. I could feel my tears drying and hoped it would only be a matter of seconds before I could respirate like a completely collected, rational and normal person. Before I had the chance to fully regain control of myself, my cell phone buzzed in my jacket pocket; that is, my personal cell phone, not the one Quillan gave me. Standing up, I grabbed it and I held it up to my face, trying to make out the name through my glassy vision.

It was Knight.

I took a deep breath to feel more calm and a little more in control of myself before I answered. “Hi.”

“Dulce,” Knight started and his rich baritone warmed my entire being like hot fudge. “Just wanted to check in and see how you were feeling about things.”

“Things?” I asked, testing my voice more than his comment. I sounded okay. Maybe a little tired but not like I'd just had a crying fit alone in my living room.

“Yeah, you know—your first bust now that you're back as a Regulator for the ANC ...” I could hear the smile in his voice. Then his tone became a bit quieter. “And everything that's happened between us.” I was about to respond when he interrupted me. “Are you going to be up for a while?”

“I guess,” I answered, thinking that even though I was more than exhausted, I probably wouldn't be able to sleep. I'd been suffering from sleep deprivation ever since I'd found out Melchior was my father and more, that I was working for him.

“Do you want company?” Knight asked, his voice sounding hesitant. That stuck in my gut because “hesitant” was not a word to describe Knightley Vander. He was outgoing, confident, strong. Sometimes annoyingly so.

“Sure,” I said as warmly as I could, but inside me something was about to wither and die as I realized it wasn't right to continue pretending things were fine between us. I knew what I had to do and pretty soon, things wouldn't be fine between us.

“I'll be there soon. Want me to pick anything up?” His tone was warm, happy.

“At two a.m.?” I asked, surprised. “Nothing will be open.”

“Shit,” he laughed. “Sometimes this job makes me forget what time of day or night it is.” He sighed. “I'll see you soon.”

Then he hung up the phone and I collapsed onto my couch again, trying to quell the tears that were threatening to re-emerge, but now for a different reason. Now, something within me was snapping at the realization of what I was about to tell Knight—that we were through, that we couldn't date anymore. Of course, I couldn't tell him the real reason—that reason being that my father coerced me into his control by holding Knight's life on the line. Instead, I planned to tell him that things had gotten too complicated for me and that I wasn't comfortable throwing myself into a relationship. I'd buffer that excuse with another one—that since I was now working as a Regulator for the ANC again, I wasn't comfortable carrying on a relationship with my boss. Besides, a relationship between Knight and me was against ANC policy, seeing how he was my manager. I had to admit that I was surprised Knight had never mentioned as much. Sometimes, he definitely bent the rules to suit himself. At any rate, given my past, my reasons for breaking up with him wouldn't seem so farfetched. He always knew I had commitment issues. I'd been so badly hurt by my last relationship, I'd basically given up on men.

I was spared further soliloquies when Knight knocked on the door, a purposeful sound. I stood up and quickly glanced at the mirror on the wall above my couch. I checked my reflection to ensure I didn't look blotchy and red-eyed, or that I’d completely hit rock bottom and been crying my eyes out. I looked okay actually. Maybe a little red, but I could explain that away with allergies. 'Course, as a fairy, I didn't get allergies—being a creature of nature and all—but whatever.

I pulled the door open and greeted Knight with a small smile. He was wearing dark blue jeans and an untucked, long-sleeved, black T-shirt that matched the blackness of his hair. His hair was a little longish, curling around his ears and it gave him a certain unkempt ruggedness that was sexy as all get out. He smiled at me, his full lips spreading into one of the most breathtaking grins I'd ever seen and I felt my entire body deflate on itself. Not only was he beautiful, but he was all around a wonderful person. I felt the exact opposite of a wonderful person—like I was a huge, steaming, stinking dog turd on the bottom of his shoe.

“Come in,” I said in a near whisper, opening the door wide. He walked past me and threw himself into the chair beside the couch, propping his large feet on my coffee table. He looked so comfortable, as if he'd just come home from a long day of busting criminal ass, and planned to forget the day’s events in my armchair. Although he dwarfed my chair, he looked as though he was exactly where he belonged.

“Long night,” he offered and I closed the door, locking it, before taking a seat on the couch.

“Did you take care of locking him up?” I asked, referring to Horatio.

“Trey did while I wrote up the paperwork. He was one of Baron's guys. Horatio something or other.” After Knight had taken Horatio into custody, he'd let me go home, explaining that he and Trey could take care of things and I looked like I needed to get some z's. Knight knew me well because he obviously assumed I wasn't going to sleep, which was why he was sitting in my living room now.

“When are the cauldrons coming?” I asked, referring to the shipment in which we disposed of our illegal narcotics busts. Until then, they were kept locked up in the vault. I'd already promised myself to personally see to it that the Yalkemouth was destroyed.

“This week,” he answered, eyeing me curiously. “So, Dulce, are you going to tell me what's wrong?”

“Wrong?” I asked, feeling taken aback and sounding just as surprised. Was I wearing my emotions on my sleeve again?

He nodded with a stern expression—like I wasn't going to schmooze myself out of this one. “You look like you've lost ten pounds over the last week and you have bags under your eyes.”

“Well, you're beautiful yourself. Thanks for noticing.”

He shook his head and leaned forward, squeezing my right thigh just above my knee with his large hand. “I'm serious, Dulcie, what's up?”

I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Then remembering myself, I forced my eyes to meet his and held his gaze. “Nothing's up.”

He shrugged and relaxed back into the chair. “Sam said you've been ignoring her—not returning her phone calls. And Dia called yesterday, wondering where the hell you were? Apparently, you aren't returning anyone's calls? I had to convince Sam that you were fine and talk her out of an intervention.”

“Intervention?” I repeated with a frown, feeling irritation creeping up within me. “That's taking things a little too far.” I shook my head as I considered it. “Holy Hades, I've just been ... busy.”

“Doing what?” he demanded and his eyes narrowed on me as he crossed his long legs at the ankles. Relaxing against the chair back, he folded his arms behind his head and looked as if he had all the time in the world to listen to me lie my ass off.

“A little of everything.” I shrugged. “I've got a lot on my mind.”

“That's fair,” he said, standing up and approaching me. He dropped down to his knees in front of me and took my hands in his, forcing me to look into his stunningly beautiful blue eyes. “Dulcie, I know you've been through a lot. We've been through a lot. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. If you ever need to talk, if you need a friend, you have me.”

I had to choke down the guilt that suddenly welled up within me. More unshed tears were now ready to betray my words again. “Thank you,” I managed and then took a deep breath, looking away from him because I knew if I gave him any more eye contact, I'd lose it.

“I know how independent you are and I know how strong you are, Dulcie, but sometimes you need to break your barriers down and let people in. Sometimes you need to talk about things to get through them.”

I faced him again and smiled, dropping my eyes to the ground as I realized he was completely right, but I couldn't open up to him. I couldn't talk to him about everything that was going on because it would put his life in jeopardy. “I'll see Sam tomorrow at work and we'll go to lunch,” I said hollowly.

“No,” Knight said, with an emphatic shake of his head, leaning forward as he did so. “You and Sam take the day off and spend some quality time together. I'll call her in the morning and tell her to expect you at nine a.m., bright and early.”

“Knight, you don't have to do that,” I started, but his lips were tight, his jaw clenched, which meant he would not be dissuaded. “Thank you,” I said finally, allowing him to take each of my hands in his.

“I care about you, Dulcie,” he said frankly. “And everything I said to you when we were in High Prison was true.”

I felt my stomach turn. We both admitted our love for each other while rotting away in the main prison of the Netherworld. I was awaiting my sentence and Knight was basically sitting on death row. But as far as whatever we said or didn't say, I couldn't think about those things now. If I did, I knew it would break down my resignation as well as my dedication to doing what I had to do.

“Knight, I realize we were both under a lot of pressure when we were in the Netherworld,” I started, hating the way it sounded, and, more so, having to pretend that Knight didn't mean as much to me as he did.

“Dulcie, I meant everything I said,” he reiterated, his gaze just as penetrating as his tone. His hold on my hands tightened.

I nodded and said nothing, at a complete loss for words. Well, I knew what I had to say, but that didn't make it any easier. And so far, I was sucking at it.

“Did you mean everything you said?” he asked, after I was silent for a few more seconds.

And this was the moment when I knew I had to force the words out—I had to tell him that we couldn't be together any longer but the words seemed stuck in my throat, as if they were clinging to my tongue with all the strength left in them.

You have to do this! I screamed at myself. Knight's life depends on it! But I was still silent. For fuck's sake, Dulcie!

“Knight, I ...” I started.

Immediately, I could see the pain in his eyes. He knew what I was about to say—probably from my expression or maybe the tone of my voice or the words I’d just uttered. The expression of hope he'd shown earlier was suddenly gone, replaced with dejection. His eyes looked hollow.

“I don't want you to think I didn't mean what I said,” I corrected myself quickly, hating myself for inflicting the pain in his eyes. “But things between us can't continue.”

His glance was filled with angst but mostly anger. “Why?”

I swallowed hard, feeling as if my tongue was swelling and gagging me. It suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't blame all of this on my break-up baggage with my last boyfriend, Jack. Now it just seemed as if that excuse wouldn't hold weight. Why? Because the problems with Jack couldn’t hold a candle to everything that had happened between Knight and me. I mean, we'd openly admitted our undying love for each other! Those words were so strongly heartfelt and deep, I couldn't imagine anything I said now would hold weight. It was like I was just speaking in hypotheticals—in one-sided masks of reality that would easily fall over as soon as a gusty wind approached.

“I can't work with you and date you at the same time,” I admitted at last. The words sounded cheap and flimsy as soon as I uttered them. “It's against ANC policy.”

Knight narrowed his eyes and stood up, retreating to the far side of the living room. His back was to me and his shoulders seemed tight, making his posture straight and rigid. When he turned to face me, there was anger in his eyes and grimness to the lines of his mouth. “That's bullshit, Dulcie, and you know it.”

I stood up and took a deep breath, trying to convince myself not to lose it. One tear and he'd know I was bluffing, that I wasn't being honest with him or myself. “Whatever my reasons, Knight, I can't do this anymore. Things between us from now on have to be strictly platonic.”

He glared at me. “So this whole thing was set up.”

“Set up?” I repeated, shaking my head, although dawning realization hit me like a bomb. That was exactly what this looked like—a set-up. He thought I’d only asked for my job back so I could break up with him, blaming it on not being able to work together and date. Although it was the farthest from the truth, the truth was nearly as bad.

He nodded and took a step closer to me. I felt like I was shriveling beneath his stringent gaze. “You wanted your job back because you knew it would be an out where you and I are concerned.”

“No, that isn't why,” I started, shaking my head again, only this time more adamantly. Before I could defend myself, he interrupted me.

“Then why, Dulcie? Seems pretty damn convenient if you ask me.”

My heart started beating frantically. I didn't want to get into an argument with him. I'm not sure what I expected—or what I'd thought his reaction was going to be, but I wasn’t at all prepared for this. “I just, um … I just felt like I belonged in law enforcement,” I said sheepishly. As soon as I said it, I realized my reason needed to sound more legitimate than that. A lot more legitimate if Knight was going to buy it. “Going to the Netherworld reinforced my reasons for getting into law enforcement in the first place. I needed to come back where I belong,” I said as a wave of nausea washed over me. I hated the fact that I was a complete and total hypocrite.

“The ANC is where you belong. It's in your blood,” he agreed, but crossed his arms against his chest to reveal that he was still angry all the same.

“Please believe me when I say that getting my job back has nothing to do with ... this.”

“Then what does this have to do with?”

“I just don't think it's right to work with you and date you, Knight. It's a conflict of interests, especially because you're my boss.”

“Then I'll change the arrangement so you can report directly to Caressa.”

I swallowed hard. “Knight, Caressa doesn't work in our office and no one else reports to her. It would be too weird and I don't want special favors merely because you and I are in a relationship.”

“So you’d prefer to be completely out of the relationship?”

And that was exactly what I was trying to say, but apparently, not doing a good job of saying it. “Knight, I care about you,” I started, but he sighed and shook his head.

“But not enough, it seems.” He glared at me for a few more seconds and the pain in his eyes nearly undid me. “Damn me for falling for you, Dulcie.” He shook his head and stared at something in the distance. “The warning signs had always been there, but I ignored them. I thought you would let me in, that I could help you break down your walls and forget about your past, forget about Jack.” He faced me again. “But I was completely wrong.” He chuckled acidly. “And fuck me for being completely wrong.”

I felt my heart breaking because everything I'd just told him was a complete lie. I was as much in love with him now as I'd ever been. And he had been successful in breaking down my walls! It was solely because of Knight that I was able to put Jack behind me and move on. Knight really had saved me, but of course, I couldn't tell him that. Instead, I had to watch silently after I painted the worst possible picture of myself. I had to simply sit back and allow him to believe that I didn't love him.

“I'm sorry,” I said dumbly, knowing there really wasn't anything more I could say. Anything more would be considered blabbing the entire truth, thereby sealing his fate to an early death.

Knight didn't say anything for a while, just stood there looking at me with an overall pissed off expression. Then he shook his head and exhaled as he started for the door. “Dulcie, you have issues and the sooner you can attack those issues, head on, the happier you're going to be.”

“I realize,” I started, but he held up his hand, intimating that I should talk to it because the face wasn't listening.

“I actually pity you,” he continued and with his other hand on the doorknob, he turned back around to face me. “I just hope for your sake, one day you don't wake up and realize you wasted your entire life by dwelling on the past.”

Then he turned around and walked out of my house, closing the door behind him.

EIGHT

At nine a.m. the next morning, I showed up on Sam's doorstep and rang the doorbell. She answered immediately, a huge smile spreading across her pretty face. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, highlighting her large brown eyes and rosy cheeks. She sort of reminded me of a young Sally Field. She was wearing her “Kiss Me, I'm Wiccan” apron which had to mean one thing—she'd either been cooking or baking. Lucky me.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, throwing her hands on her hips as she pretended to be irritated, but the smile curling her lips gave her away.

“I know, I know,” I said, guilt rampaging through me as I shook my head as if to say I had no words for being such a bad friend. If she only knew the half of it ...

“Well, come on.” Sam held the door open wider and grabbed my hand, pulling me inside. “I thought I'd make us breakfast.” Then she eyed me suspiciously, tapping her index finger against her mouth. “Knight is right—you have lost weight and you look anorexically thin, like LeAnn Rimes in a bikini thin.” She brought her eyes back up to mine. “Not a good look.”

“Thanks ... to you and Knight,” I grumbled.

“Don't worry; I'll fatten you up,” she said and pinched my left butt cheek ... a little too hard.

“Ouch, Sam!” I yelled, swatting her hand away.

As soon as I walked into her house, the aroma of eggs and bacon welcomed my nostrils. I knew I was in for a treat because Sam was an amazing cook. “Mmm, what smells so completely awesome?” I asked, my stomach growling in agreement, as I dropped my backpack on her sofa, followed by my leather bike jacket. Motorcycle riding was getting old fast just based on the need for constant wardrobe changes. Sidling up to her counter, I took a seat on one of her barstools, swiveling around to face her.

She smiled proudly. “Well, eggs and bacon with fresh-squeezed orange juice, made from the oranges from my tree, I might add. And then we have blueberry breakfast casserole, zucchini and sweet potato frittata, and snicker-doodle bread.”

“Um,” I started, a look of mild concern on my face. “Aside from me, what army do you plan to feed this morning?”

Sam waved me away with her hand as if she were brushing away crumbs. “I have all these recipes my friends keep pinning on Pinterest, so you're just a good excuse to try them out.”

I said nothing but shook my head and smiled at my best friend, suddenly incredibly grateful to Knight that he'd orchestrated this whole thing. Of course, thoughts of Knight led to memories of last night and I had to firmly push them from my mind, reminding myself for the nth time that what I'd done had to be done—that in the long run, I was doing Knight a huge favor.

“Okay, Dulce, go sit at the table because breakfast is ready,” Sam said, untying her apron and reaching for what I imagined was the blueberry casserole—the verdant blue splotches in the otherwise white dough being my first clue. I followed her to her dining table, pulling out my chair as I watched her gingerly place the casserole on a trivet. Then she returned to the kitchen for dish number two. The fresh squeezed orange juice was already sitting in a clear jug on the table and the eggs and bacon on a large plate just beside the orange juice.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get into my pants,” I said with a laugh, filling my glass with OJ.

Sam glanced at me and smiled widely. “As if! And, besides, I'm well aware that somebody else already filled that position, no pun intended.”

I smiled at her very-much-intended pun before my smile turned into a frown and a resigned, despondent sigh. I watched her deliver the frittata and the snicker-doodle bread, placing both directly in front of me. She handed me a serving knife, motioning that I should cut myself a slice of the bread. Then she busied herself with piling a heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs on my plate, three pieces of bacon and an even larger serving of frittata. When she started in on the blueberry breakfast casserole, I had to say something.

“Go easy, there,” I begged. She offered me a raised brow but gave me a reasonable serving. Then after fussing around me like she had the Queen of England at her breakfast table, she sat in her seat and started serving herself.

“So why the sigh?” she demanded. I should have known better than to think my best friend would ever let anything slip by. So, figuring the news would soon be known anyway, I decided it was best for Sam to hear it directly from the horse's mouth.

“Knight and I broke up,” I said, in a dejected tone.

She didn't respond for a few seconds, taking a bite of her blueberry casserole as she stared at me. Swallowing it, she took a swig of orange juice, surprising me by asking, “What do you think of the blueberry casserole? Good?”

I hadn't even tried the casserole, or anything else for that matter, but I couldn't say my mind was on food. “Um, did you hear what I just said?” I was completely thrown when she hadn't jumped on the topic, not that I wanted her to, but, still, it surprised me.

She simply nodded although I noticed her jaw was clenched and she looked annoyed. “Of course I heard you, but I chose to ignore it.”

I frowned at her. “That doesn't sound like the Sam I know and love so well.”

She was about to take another sip of her juice, but seemed to change her mind and plunked the glass down so hard, some of the juice splashed out. “I just don't get you, Dulcie,” she said, shaking her head as she glared at me. “Knight is a great guy. And what's more, he's perfect for you.” She was silent for a few more seconds. “I just don't understand why you destroy every chance you have for happiness, not to mention that I think it's totally shitty to hurt Knight like that.”

“I said 'we broke up' not 'I broke up with him',” I corrected her, even though the truth of the matter was that I had been the architect. It annoyed me, however, that Sam automatically assumed all the blame rested on my shoulders.

“You didn't have to say who did it, because I just made an educated guess based on how well I know you,” she retorted. “So was I right? Were you the one who ended things with him?”

I nodded and then immediately held up my hands in a rendition of it wasn't my fault! “I didn't mean to,” I started, wondering what exactly I was going to tell her. Earlier, I decided to just blame the whole thing on my hang-ups from my relationship with Jack, but I knew I couldn't lie to her, my best friend. But I also couldn't tell her the truth. Aye, there was the rub. “I didn't have a choice, Sam.”

She frowned again. “Didn't have a choice? Everyone has a choice.” Then she eyed me speculatively.

I shook my head. “I ...” I stared down at my fork on which I'd speared some eggs, but the thought of getting them past my lips was completely out of the question. I'd just lost any appetite I might have had. That burning feeling of acidic bile in my stomach, which had become a permanent tenant ever since my return from the Netherworld, was back in full force.

“Dulcie, what's going on with you?” Sam asked, putting her fork down as she stared at me. “You're not acting like yourself.”

“I'm fine,” I started and tried to act unconcerned, but Sam saw right through me. I should have known she would.

“Whatever it is, we can get through it together.”

I swallowed hard. “It's not so simple,” I started, finding myself at a loss for words.

“Well, for God's sake, tell me what it is!” I just took a deep breath and so she continued. “You've been so weird lately, I wasn't even sure if you were going to show up this morning.”

“Of course I was going to …” I started, but she interrupted me.

“Ever since you got back from the Netherworld, you've been different, Dulcie. You've been avoiding everyone, not answering your phone, not returning phone calls. What happened to you while you were there?” I tried to answer, but she shook her head, signifying that her tirade wasn't over. “Do you realize you never even told me what happened while you were in the Netherworld or why you went, for that matter? You've kept me completely in the dark.”

I took a deep breath. “I left you a message to let you know I was back and that I was okay,” I said. My words rang hollow and weak. She was right, I hadn't treated her like the friend she was—really, Sam was the closest person to me. She was more like family than a friend.

“Dulcie, I was worried sick about you, wondering what the hell you were doing there. Not to mention, what was going to happen to you and Knight? And talking to Dia didn't make matters any better. The two of us were nervous wrecks. I couldn't sleep that whole week! And then all you can say is that you're back and you don't want to talk about it?” Her tone was becoming frantic and it was pretty obvious she'd been keeping all of this bottled inside her, finally reaching her boiling point.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” I said in a mousey voice as I exhaled deeply, searching for some excuse as to why I'd failed her as a friend. “I've just been through so much lately, I barely know what to think of any of it myself.”

“That's what your best friend is for,” she responded, her tone softer. “Whatever you're going through, I'm here to help you. You don't have to go through it alone.” She took a deep breath. “But in order for me to help you, you're going to have to tell me what the problem is.”

But I shook my head, knowing she was wrong, that I couldn't tell her anything or I'd be endangering her. “Sam, I can't tell you the specifics, and please don't push me because I can't and I won't.”

She eyed me with concern. “What happened to you in the Netherworld, Dulcie?”

I swallowed hard and shook my head again. “I can't talk about it.”

She reached across the table and took my hand, her eyes piercing through me. “Are you in trouble?”

I took another deep breath. “Not at the moment and that's why I can't talk about anything. Just trust me when I say I'm handling it, okay?”

“What does that even mean?”

I stood up, feeling claustrophobic, like the feelings of turmoil were suddenly caving in on me, suffocating me with angst. I started for the door. “Sam, I can't do this,” I said, my voice wavering between anger and sadness. “I have to keep you safe and as part of that, I can't tell you what's going on.” I reached for my backpack and jacket. “You have to just trust me on this, okay?”

“Okay,” she said and stood up, pulling at my backpack as she motioned for me to sit down again. “Please don't go. I won't press you anymore, I promise.”

I just nodded and offered her an apologetic smile as I returned to her dining table again. “I'm sorry, Sam, but things are just going to have to be this way for a while, until I can figure a way out.”

She started worrying her lower lip, something she did whenever she was frustrated or upset. “Does Knight know about any of this?”

“No!” I responded automatically. The thought that she might tell him started wreaking havoc with my stomach. “And he can't know anything! Not even that we had this conversation, okay? Promise me you will keep this to yourself.”

She nodded. “I promise.”

“Charm promise it,” I said, knowing that if she charmed herself into promising, she literally wouldn't be able to break the power of the spell, no matter how hard she tried.

She frowned at me, probably because she was annoyed I hadn't trusted her enough not to say anything without the protection of a charm. Eventually, though, she stood up and walked over to her potions cabinet. Her potions cabinet was a two-foot-by-two-foot white box with matching doors that she'd mounted on the wall beside the front door, for easy access. She bottled a multitude of charms in vials in case she needed them right away and didn't have the time or energy to go through the rigmarole of performing each one.

The charm I sought, one which discouraged blabbermouths, was pretty commonplace so I wasn't surprised when she located it right away, taking out a vial filled with amber liquid. It was about the size of my thumb. She closed the cabinet doors behind her and then removed the cork from the top of the vial. Once it was free, she eyed me askance (another reminder that she was miffed I'd made her do this) and downed the liquid, saying aloud: “Whatever Dulcie O'Neil tells me, I will keep in strict confidence.”

She carried the vial to the dishwasher and put it in for the next load. Then she faced me with anxiety in her eyes. “Does all this have something to do with why you broke things off with Knight?”

I nodded, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy with exhaustion. “It has everything to do with why I broke up with Knight.”

She nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor before glancing up at me again. “Then you do still love him?”

Even though I was surprised to hear her using the “L word,” mainly because I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious in my affection for the Loki, I just sighed and nodded. I figured on this one count, I might as well be honest.

“Is there anyone you can talk to about this, Dulcie?” Sam asked, her expression filled with concern. “Is there anyone you trust whom you can talk to?”

There was one person—Quill, but he was as deep in all this shit as I was. Plus, I didn't think he'd appreciate me lamenting my shattered relationship with Knight. I shook my head. “I have to figure a way out of it, Sam, but I'll find a way.” I offered her a tentative smile. “You know me.”

She returned the smile, but hers was wistful. “If anyone can, it's you. I just hope you know what you're doing and I also hope you aren't in serious trouble.” She sighed heavily. “I really wish you'd tell me what's going on, Dulce. I'm sure I could help you.”

I shook my head. “I can't tell you anything, Sam.”

She nodded and dropped her eyes to her lap where she'd folded her hands neatly, like she was posing to have her portrait painted. “I have something for you,” she said as if just now remembering and stood up, walking to the far end of the living room. She opened the top left drawer of her entertainment center and produced a white box. Walking back, she handed it to me without a word.

I opened the box and found a bracelet inside it. It was made of silver wire and appeared to be knitted. The wire knit framed a greenish-blue stone in the middle of the bracelet. The stone was maybe the size of my thumbnail. I glanced up at Sam and smiled. “It's beautiful, Sam, thank you.”

“It's called a Viking Knit,” she said. “It's hand woven wire, and back in the days of the Vikings, they used the same weaving for their chainmail armor.”

“Wow,” I said, rubbing the stone between my fingers.

“It's one continuous strand of wire.”

“It's really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said and looked as if she was very proud of it. “I made it myself.”

I glanced up at her, surprised. “Oh my gosh, Sam! Wow, I'm really impressed! I love it.” I rubbed my fingers across the slick surface of the stone, watching it sparkle in the light. “What sort of stone is it?” I asked.

“A protection stone,” she said softly. “Also something the Vikings carried with them. They believed it warded away evil spirits. I charmed it to protect you against anyone who would do you harm.”

“Thank you,” I said again, throwing my arms around her.

“I'm really worried about you, Dulcie,” she said as she rested her head against my hair.

“I'm going to be fine, Sam, I promise.” Even as I uttered the words, I couldn't say I believed them.

She shook her head and sighed as she pulled away from me, smiling as she took each of my hands in hers. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Whatever it is you've gotten yourself into, the bracelet should help keep you safe.”

I watched as she took the bracelet from my hand and placed it on my wrist, securing it as she did so. I shook my hand, the bracelet sliding down my wrist and resting at the top of my hand. The silver knitted metal gleamed in the sunlight streaming through Sam's windows. It was beautiful. I glanced up at my best friend. “Thank you for being you, Sam.”

***

I spent the majority of the day with Sam, and I had to admit, I needed every minute of it. Being able to forget the stress of my overwhelming life for a few hours did wonders for me. When I got home, I actually felt rejuvenated, recharged. 'Course, the added energy could also have been from all the food Sam had forced down my throat. I'd eaten more today than I had all week.

As soon as I walked in my door, I noticed Blue outside in my yard, pawing on the sliding door to be let in. Taped to the glass was a note. I walked over to the door and opened it wide, nearly falling over as Blue jumped up on me. He showered me with doggy kisses, his tail wagging as he peed all over the floor and then looked up at me in an embarrassed sort of way.

“You silly boy,” I said, laughing as I walked to my kitchen, grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned up his mess.

Then with Blue on my heels, I approached the sliding door and pulled the note off the glass, unfolding it to read:

Dear Dulce,

I didn't want to keep Blue too long cause I'm sure you miss him. He's a really great dog and if you ever need someone to dog sit again, call me first, k?

Really glad you're back. We all missed you tons.

Love, Trey.

PS: There's this convention coming up for Star Wars and I got this Chewbacca costume that's super cool and I was wondering if you would go with me to the convention? It wouldn't be like a boyfriend-girlfriend thing (Knight would kill me) but like a friend thing. I just don't want to look like a loser going by myself, you know? Oh, and don't worry about a costume—we can find Princess Leah or Padmé or I also have a pretty cool ewok costume I wore last year. That might be a little big on you though ... Don't worry about a costume, we'll figure it out, k? Cool beans?

P.P.S: Thanks again for letting me keep Blue so long. I really like him.

Later gator!

Love, Trey.

I put the note down on my kitchen counter and couldn't help the sadness welling up inside me. I just felt as if I'd not only been a bad friend to Sam, but to Trey and Dia as well. And I couldn't even think about Knight. But the frustrating truth was that this whole situation was a catch twenty-two because I had to keep my distance from everyone in order to keep them safe. I didn't want Melchior knowing who my friends were because I didn't want him to use that knowledge against me ... or them.

I didn't have the chance to continue feeling guilty because the cell phone from Quillan suddenly started ringing. Feeling my throat constricting as I wondered what in the hell Melchior or Baron wanted from me now, I reached for it and flipped it open.

“What's up?” I asked, my voice tremulous.

“Meet me at the portal by the loading docks in ten minutes. Melchior has requested to see us both.”

NINE

“Hi,” I said, once I recognized Quill. He was standing next to his blue Mustang, which he'd just parked in the lot of the loading docks. I'd pulled in beside him a minute or so earlier. He closed his door, beeping the car locked as he faced me with a wide smile. His glance moved from me to my bike as his eyes narrowed.

“Is that your bike or a loaner from the ANC?” he asked and motioned to the Ducati, inspecting it as though he were displeased.

“Mine, but provided by the ANC.” I removed my helmet, wedging it under my right arm as I stepped off the bike. The light of the full moon was so bright, it was like standing under a spotlight. The cold, salty ocean air whipped around me, chilling me through my leathers, while the smell of dead fish made me want to retch.

“Where's the Wrangler?” he asked.

I sighed, remembering my Wrangler and missing the yellow Jeep. “Gone. Totaled in an accident.”

He didn't say anything but noticed my helmet underneath my arm and unlocked the mustang again, holding his hand out for it. I gave it to him and he plopped it on the passenger's seat. He was as aware as I that if I left the helmet unattended on my bike, it probably wouldn't be there when we returned from our errand to the Netherworld. Like I mentioned earlier, the loading docks weren't exactly the best neighborhood.

“And that?” he asked, referring to the leather jacket, which I was still wearing. “Remember, you'll get wings in the Netherworld.”

That was one of the curiosities of the Netherworld which I liked least. As a fairy, wings would instantly sprout from my back as soon as I crossed over to Netherworld territory. The worst part was that my wings seemed to completely have a mind of their own. They'd start flapping unexpectedly and for no reason at all—annoying, to say the least. And they were also the reason I had to wear an oversized, baggy T-shirt which I'd slit in half down the back in order to make room for them. So, yes, it would be wise to leave my jacket behind. I took it off and handed it to Quill, waiting while he locked the door again.

“You totaled the Wrangler?”

The pervasive silence between us was telling. Quill had to be thinking the same thing I was—that once upon a time, when we were much closer, he would have already been aware of details like this. Now, however, there were parts of my life to which he wasn't privy. We definitely weren't the friends we used to be.

“Yep,” I said and shrugged like the accident hadn't been a big deal although it had been a very big deal.

“Were you hurt?” he asked in a soft voice, his tone troubled and contemplative.

“As you can see, I'm fine,” I said simply, not wanting to focus on the past any more than I wanted to focus on the shreds of Quill's and my former friendship. It was enough that we were maintaining some sort of pseudo friendship now, something born from necessity, considering the fact that neither of us belonged to the social circles in which we were now included.

He glanced at me curiously, but refrained from commenting, instead facing the Ducati again. “You'll need another mode of transportation.”

“Why?”

“Don't want you to give off ANC everywhere you go.”

I shook my head. “I thought my added value to this cluster fuck was all because I'm active ANC?”

Quill's eyes traversed me from head to toe as he took a deep breath and shook his head, apparently appreciative. “You look good in leather,” he said with a soft smile. But at my less-than-impressed, raised-brow expression, he got back to the point. “Being active ANC isn't the only reason you're valuable to your father or me, Dulcie. You know that.”

“Actually, I don't, but let's skip that conversation,” I retaliated, wanting to think about my father as little as possible. “You think I need to drive something different to avoid suspicion?” I figured Quill was worried that leaving my ANC bike unattended in questionable places such as the loading docks, might draw speculation should anyone in the know (namely, Knight, Trey, Sam, etcetera) happen upon it. He actually had a good point.

“Yep,” he said and nodded. “Apparently, we think alike.”

“Well, an untraceable vehicle can be part of the agenda we discuss with Daddy Dearest,” I muttered and started forward.

“Portal is this way,” Quillan corrected me. He motioned for me to go in the exact opposite direction I was headed. I glanced at him dubiously, trying to remember the previous location where the portal spat us out the last time we returned from the Netherworld.

“That way?” I asked, my hands on my hips and eyebrows scrunched in an expression of “Um, you're wrong, Quill.”

“Yep, the portal always changes location. It’s a safety measure,” he explained.

“Interesting,” I said, shrugging as I started toward him again. “How do you know where it's going to pop up?”

He rolled up his left sleeve and pointed to his watch. “Portal compass. Remember?”

I nodded, as I recalled him using the same device to locate the Netherworld portal that brought us here. But on to more important topics ... “So what does Melchior want with us?”

Quill glanced down at me and smiled before shrugging. “That's the twenty million dollar question. Who the hell knows?” He took a deep breath and shook his head, leaving me with the feeling that he wasn't exactly fond of my father, even if he were Melchior's right-hand man. “He's summoned me to discuss incredibly unimportant shit in the past.”

“Such as?”

He sighed as he thought about it, his frown slowly giving way to a smile as he apparently remembered a case in point. “To tell me a joke,” he said and shook his head, the humor leaking out of his expression while something close to irritation crept in. “He summoned me once to tell me a stupid ass joke that I already knew.” Then he laughed again, but the sound was forced, like he was pretending to find it funny, while there wasn't a shred of true amusement in him.

Somehow, I couldn't share in Quillan's feigned humor. I didn't regard my father's actions and his personality flaw of ordering people around very funny. Disrespectful, unnecessary and self-centered, yes, but funny, no. I stopped walking and took a deep breath. Quill paused in front of me and turned around to face me with a curious expression in his eyes.

“I'm not going to do this forever, Quill,” I said, my lips tight. “I'm not going to let him dictate my comings and goings for the rest of my life.”

Quill was quiet for a few seconds as he apparently searched for something to say. “Once you're in, there's no getting out, Dulcie.” He said the words as if he were already resigned to them, and almost as though he believed them wholeheartedly. The truth of the matter was that he probably did because he'd been involved in this lifestyle for so long, any embers of fight left within him had died a long time ago.

I will never allow that to happen to me, I insisted to myself. As long as there is breath is my body, I will fight or die trying!

“There's a way out of everything,” I said resolutely. “And I'm going to find it.”

“Dulcie, I hate to break your bubble, but you're already in the thick of it. There's no getting out.”

I shook my head and clenched my teeth as I faced him with steel resolve. “I'm in it for the moment, but this arrangement isn't permanent. I'll find a way out.”

He approached me then, placing a hand on either of my shoulders, the look in his eyes patronizing. “Your father is more powerful than you can imagine. You can't just go after him with your guns blazing. All you'll end up doing is sacrificing yourself and Melchior would just replace you.”

I didn't say anything but nodded, knowing Quill had been brainwashed by my father for too long, his backbone having been compromised. But as for me, I wasn't used to taking no for answer and as long as there was breath in my body, I'd get myself out of this shit if it was the last thing I did.

And from the sound of it, it very well could be.

***

Once we located the portal, Quill stepped through and within a few seconds, I was quick to follow. That bizarre feeling of balmy gel enveloped me but before I could respond to my growing feelings of claustrophobia, I felt a swish of air across my face and then felt like I was falling. I opened my eyes, realizing in a split second that the portal had kicked me out and into my father's office ... at ceiling height.

I shrieked and in apparent reflex, my wings suddenly started beating insanely, just saving me from hitting the floor. But now that I was airborne, I had a new problem—landing. I still couldn't exactly control my wings. Once they started beating, it was nearly impossible to get them to stop.

Quillan, apparently observing my quandary, reached out and grabbed hold of my leg, pulling me down beside him. Once my feet touched the ground, my wings continued to frantically thrash back and forth. I had to hold onto Quill's arm so I wouldn't float away again. Suddenly realizing we weren't alone, I looked up into Melchior's amused eyes. Taking a deep breath, I forced my poker face.

“The portals do have a way of depositing unsuspecting travelers in quite random places, such as the ceiling.” My father's voice infiltrated the room and I felt myself recoiling.

I cleared my throat as my heart pounded in my chest. He looked the same as I remembered. His grey hair framed a very handsome face for a man of his age—appearing to be in his fifties although he was over one hundred, a fact which still amazed me. His emerald green eyes were the exact shade of my own, so similar, in fact, that I had to ask myself how I'd never made the familial connection between the two of us when I'd first met him.

“Quillan Beaurigard and my very own flesh and blood,” my father greeted us as he took a few steps forward. His eyes fastened on me as his smile grew. “How are you both?”

“I've been better,” I said with a frown, anchoring myself more firmly to the chair behind Quillan, my wings still beating incessantly.

My father had nothing to say, but never lost his irritating smile. Instead, he faced Quillan with an expectant expression. “And you, Quillan?”

“I'm good, thanks,” Quill said, taking a deep breath, and eyeing me before looking at Melchior again. He seemed nervous. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Melchior nodded and walked around his executive desk, an ornate and overwhelming piece of cherry furniture, embellished with gold accents that matched the hutch directly behind it. In a word, it looked ... expensive. It also looked incredibly ostentatious and overdone. Melchior opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a black box. Then he walked back to us and handed the box to me.

“A present for my daughter,” he said simply.

But there was no way in hell I could or would accept anything from him. “Gifts weren't part of this bargain,” I said without humor.

“Then don't think of it as a gift,” my father answered, his lips drawn tight as he pushed the box further into my face.

I withdrew from him, clinging to the chair which was anchoring me in place. “How about I don't think of it at all?”

My father sighed and gave Quillan an expression that said, if nothing else, he found me exasperating. Then he faced me again and this time, there wasn't any trace of levity in his eyes or the hard line of his lips. “You will need it,” he said simply. “It's a portal compass.”

Realizing he was right, I took a big bite of humble pie and reached for the box. I mean, he had a good point—I couldn't always rely on Quillan when it came to catching a ride to the Netherworld. As my wings began to calm down, I released my hold of the chair back and stood still for a few seconds, testing myself to see if I might become airborne again. Once my wings appeared to be sitting peacefully, I opened the box. Inside, I found a silver watch, a Rolex, complete with diamonds to represent each hour. Smaller diamonds trimmed the periphery, highlighting the pink watch face. Obviously, my father knew nothing about me—I hate pink.

“Quillan will teach you how it works,” Melchior said as Quillan obediently nodded.

Sighing heavily, I pulled up my sleeve and immediately saw Sam's Viking bracelet. A sense of warmth filled me as I thought about my best friend. Not wanting to taint the beauty of her bracelet with the gaudiness of Melchior's watch, I pulled my sleeve down and offered my other wrist, allowing Quillan to fasten the watch on me.

I glanced at Melchior, my lips tight, my hands crossed against my chest. “Now that we've taken care of that, Quill mentioned that I shouldn't be driving my ANC provided bike—that it would be too obvious should it be spotted while I'm in your employ.”

Melchior nodded thoughtfully and then smiled. “I have a fleet of vehicles at my disposal on the basement level of this building. My secretary will call the guard to inform him that you are in need of one.” He paused as if considering the logistics before adding, “It will be shipped to you.”

I turned to Quill, expecting him to get this show on the road. As far as I was concerned, I'd just ticked off everything on my list.

“How did the Yalkemouth import go with Baron?” my father asked, spearing us both with his trenchant gaze.

I didn't respond, so Quill nodded. “Good, just as planned.”

“Very good, very good,” my father said, but suddenly seemed uninterested, like there were bigger things on his mind. I figured he had to have known the import went off without a hitch, probably getting the report from Baron, himself. “Horatio arrived in High Prison just yesterday,” he continued.

“And?” Quill asked.

“He is living the high life in one of my apartments for the next three weeks at least. Then I will release him back to Splendor.”

“Beats High Prison,” I said angrily, remembering what a shithole it was and how I'd worried Knight and I would never get out.

“That it does,” my father agreed, seemingly not sensing the acidity in my words or, more fittingly, not caring.

“Okay, so let's cut through the crap here,” I said, my temper finally getting the best of me. “Why did you call us here?”

My father faced me and frowned. “You will not speak to me in such a way ... I am the Head of the Netherworld and you will treat me with deference and respect.”

“I don't care who you are,” I began as my fingers dug into my palms and my hands balled into fists. “I agreed to do your bidding, but that's it. As far as I'm concerned, you are a piece of ...”

“Dulcie!” Quillan silenced me, grimacing with a knitted brow meant to discourage me from further speaking my mind.

“Do not forget, girl,” my father interrupted him, turning his fuming eyes on me, as well as his long and bony index finger, “that I can end the life of your friend with merely a phone call,” he finished, referring to Knight. “If you care for him as much as you appear to, you would do well to keep that in the forefront of your mind.”

I gulped and tried to take a cleansing breath, realizing my father had bested me ... again. Yep, he had me exactly where he wanted me; and it was the second to worst feeling I'd ever had. The worst feeling was hearing that Knight was sentenced to death.

“Now that we've addressed your quarrelsome nature,” my father continued and with a discouraging glance at me, returned his attention to Quillan, adding, “I would like to discuss my reasons for requesting your presence.” I said nothing while Quill merely nodded and smiled at my father, so he continued. “First, I would like you both to meet someone.”

Melchior walked back to his desk and turned the dial of the rotary phone. Immediately, the sound of ringing blared out over the speaker phone (the logistics of which I still hadn't figured out).

“Yessir?” A woman's voice picked up. Probably Melchior's assistant, if I had to guess.

“Please send Christina in,” my father responded, lifting the handset, only to replace it again at the sound of a dial tone. None of us said anything for the next five seconds as we awaited Melchior's guest.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” Melchior called out.

The door opened and a woman walked in. She passed by both Quillan and me as she approached Melchior. She offered him a smile and extended her hand which he instantly clasped in his own, kissing the top of hers. I could only wonder at the nature of their relationship. Melchior admired this woman—I could see as much in his eyes, but as to what his admiration meant, who knew? Either way, I'd find out—the information seemed like a necessary arrow to have in my quiver.

“Melchior, it is good to see you again,” she said with a slight New York accent. She was small in height (even shorter than my five foot one) and her frame, though also petite, was very toned. She was dressed well, wearing tailored, black dress pants with a matching black, unbuttoned blazer. Beneath the blazer peeked a purple tank top. But what really captured my attention were her shoes … They were white snakeskin, peep-toed heels with metal spikes on the heels, which had to be at least four inches high. I suddenly viewed my own ensemble of leather pants, black sneakers and faded, ripped, long-sleeved T-shirt with disinterest.

I watched her make small talk with my father as I admired her incredibly long, straight dark brown hair that ended at her butt. And speaking of butts, hers was pretty nice. Um, not that I was into checking out women's butts, but sometimes you can't help but appreciate a good one. And she had a good one.

“Christina, I would like you to meet two of my colleagues,” my father said. He faced us both as I felt like choking on his description of us as “colleagues.” “Minion” would've been more fitting, or in Quillan’s case, “groveling, ass-kissing puppet.”

The woman spun around and smiled at us both, her front side just as attractive as the back. Quillan had apparently come to the same realization as his eyes raked her up and down wolfishly. She offered him her hand and smiled politely as he shook it. Then she approached me and offered her hand again with another practiced and radiant smile. As soon as I shook her hand, I felt a sense of familiarity welling up within me. She had a certain power within her that spoke to the same power within me.

“You're a fairy,” I said in surprise, having only ever met one other fairy in my lifetime—the fairy hooker, Zara. Even as the words left my mouth, I had to question them, because as far as I could tell, Christina didn't have wings. And in the Netherworld, all fairies had wings.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise as her smile widened. Her large eyes were nearly as dark as her hair and framed with perfectly shaped, dark brown brows. She was probably around the same age as me, maybe twenty-six, twenty-eight, with a young face. Her sensuality radiated out of her and I could only imagine how popular she was with the boys. But strangely enough, even dressed to the nines as she was now, something about her didn't seem totally girlie. Something about her hinted to the possibility that she could get muddy and do so happily.

“That's a true gift you have,” she said, her dark eyes dancing. “And, yes, you're right; I am a fairy.”

I frowned. “Where are your wings?” At the mention of “wings,” mine suddenly unfurled. And like a Jack Russell on Red Bull, they began beating in full-steam-ahead-mode until I had to grab the chair back to keep myself grounded. Mortified, I could only assume I looked completely ridiculous.

“I have a special device in my jacket, which keeps them under control,” Christina started as she dropped her gaze and tried to hide a smile. “It's one of the less-than-thrilling side effects we fairies have to suffer in the Netherworld.” She waited for my wings to calm down and added, “I'm Christina Sabbiondo, pleased to meet you.”

I smiled in return, finding her easy affability refreshing. I had to remind myself that she had some kind of relationship with my father and, as such, I shouldn't like her. “Dulcie O'Neil,” I said abruptly.

Christina's eyebrows stretched for the ceiling as she turned back to face my father and said: “O'Neil? As in a relative of yours, Melchior?”

He nodded with the expression of a proud father. It was something which didn't suit him and it made me want to throw up all over Christina's expensive shoes.

“Yes, Dulcie is my daughter,” he said, glancing at me as if I were a prize winning sow. I glared at him as I muttered something unintelligible, while my wings continued to imitate a hummingbird on fast forward.

Christina faced me again and seemed to be studying me. “Ahhh, I can absolutely see the resemblance. You both have stunning green eyes.”

I failed to reply because I was all out of pleasantries. Besides, where my father was concerned, it was better to hold my tongue than piss him off again. Especially since he didn’t hesitate in reminding me that Knight's safety was always on the line.

“I wanted to introduce the three of you,” Melchior started, “because I am tasking all of you with a team project.”

A fucking team project? I said to myself, suddenly feeling like I was an unenthusiastic candidate on “The Apprentice.”

No one replied, we just glanced back and forth at one another, waiting for Melchior to continue. He walked across his office to a coat closet in the corner of the room. Upon opening it, he reached for something and returned with a white Styrofoam box which looked like an organ transporting device. He opened the box and I almost expected him to pull out a lung. Instead, he placed a vial on his desk. It was about the width and height of my index finger, and filled with white pills that looked like Tic-Tacs. Melchior popped the cap and offered each of us a pill.

“What is it?” I demanded, feeling my heart drop. As a veteran ANC Regulator, I'd busted plenty of potions traffickers on the black market, and I was very familiar with illegal narcotics. But I'd never laid eyes on this small white pill before.

“It's an antidote, or should I say, an anti-buzz,” Melchior said softly.

“An antidote to what?” I inquired, my tone of voice sounding less than thrilled as I continued to study the white pill.

“To Draoidheil,” my father answered, as if the very word would ring a bell or two in my head. But, at the moment, the only thing ringing inside me was my temper.

“What is that?” Christina asked, sounding like an eager student. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who hadn't seen nor heard of Draoidheil before, much less the white pill.

Melchior reached inside the box again and produced another vial. This one was filled with what looked like iridescent glitter, although the particles were far smaller, almost like very fine sand. He handed the vial to Quill, who inspected it before handing it to Christina. She started to uncork the vial, but stopped when Melchior “tsked” her.

“I would not do that,” he said simply.

Christina's eyebrows raised as she gulped and handed the vial to me; but I wanted none of it and simply shook my head. She gave me a strange expression before handing it back to Melchior.

“What does it do?” she asked.

“In Gaelic, Draoidheil means magic,” Melchior said simply. “And that is precisely what it is and what it does.”

“Magic?” I asked in a droll tone, feeling like I'd just found a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. 'Course, I would've exchanged Melchior for Willy in a split second. And I didn't even like sweets.

My father faced me and frowned. “If I were to open this vial and hold it beneath your nose, with one whiff, you would be under the influence of Draoidheil. As simple as smelling a flower, whatever you most wanted in life would be yours.”

“What?” I asked, frowning helplessly as fear began uncoiling within me. I'd never heard of a narcotic being activated by merely smelling it. Inhaling, yes, smelling, no. “What does that even mean, whatever I most wanted in life would be mine?”

“Not in actuality, of course,” Melchior backpedaled. “But its influence would convince you that whatever you most desired; love, money, companionship, fame, intelligence ... was yours.”

“And that's the narcotic's high?” Quillan asked, although it was really more of a statement. He glanced at the vial again with shock in his eyes. I'd never heard of anything like this before and apparently neither had he.

Thoughts started swarming through my head, causing alarm bells to peal through my entire body. “If I were to throw that vial into the air, with all of us in here,” I started.

“We would all be under its influence,” Melchior finished for me.

“For how long?”

“Perhaps five hours,” Melchior responded, his countenance eerily casual and calm.

“How long does one vial of Draoidheil last?” I persisted.

Melchior held the vial up to his eyes, as if he were inspecting it. “The narcotic was designed to have an expiration date of two days after the uncorking of the vial.”

“And let me guess, it's incredibly addictive?” I continued, the frown on my lips drooping all the way to my feet.

My father glanced from the vial to me and smiled pleasantly. “Precisely so.”

A short shelf-life with an addictive chemical would predicate incredible demand. From a capitalistic standpoint, it seemed a winner. But from a humanistic standpoint, it was anything but.

“And how addictive is addictive?” Quillan asked cautiously.

“Currently, the most addictive potion on the market,” Melchior answered. “One whiff and you would be at the mercy of the Draoidheil.” I felt my mouth drop open in shock as Melchior held up the vial with the white pills in it. “That's why these little specimens are so important.”

“Those pills invalidate the power of the potion?” Christina asked, her tone revealing she was as shaken as the rest of us.

“Yes, if taken right before or after exposing oneself to the Draoidheil,” Melchior continued, “they nullify its effects.” He glanced at Christina, then at me, adding: “I call it Snake Oil.”

“Fitting,” I said snidely, my heart racing as I began to put the pieces together. “This isn't on the streets,” I said softly. “I've never seen it before.”

My father's eyes narrowed on me. “Precisely so.” He smiled then. “I am tasking the three of you with the mission of introducing and distributing it.”

TEN

No one said anything for at least five seconds—and the cloying silence in the room became uncomfortable. I was still in shock, allowing my father's words to sink in. I just couldn't come to grips with the idea that A, there was a potion available as dangerous and potentially devastating as Draoidheil; and B, that I was now in charge of distributing it. I could already imagine what that would entail—widespread addiction. It was the recipe for a large-scale disaster, the outcome of which would be absolute dictatorship for my father. Why? Because it would mean an immense amount of unlimited money—unlimited because the stuff was so addictive. And of course, Melchior had designed it that way for exactly that reason—to ensure his own tyranny.

The more I considered it, the more it concerned me. It wasn't farfetched to imagine half the population, on Earth and in the Netherworld, addicted to this stuff. One sniff and boom, you were hopelessly addicted! Actually, half the population was probably being conservative. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to imagine that eventually, everyone could become addicted since the stuff was basically airborne. Yep, this really was the perfect seedbed to Netherworld dominion, as far as Melchior was concerned.

“And does it work on humans?” Christina asked, her tone curious but wary.

I hadn't even considered that side of things and gulped hard. Most Netherworld potions didn't have any effect on humans (with the exception of one or two). Likewise, things like heroin, marijuana, cocaine and meth, for instance, did nothing to my kind.

Melchior shook his head and relief washed over me. “Not so far.”

That meant he was working on it. My sense of relief was short-lived and soon disappeared. The human market was probably where Melchior ultimately wanted to lay claim. There were far more humans in existence than Netherworld creatures, so he had to look at them like unmilked cash cows.

It seemed every time I turned around, I sunk deeper and deeper into the quagmire known as the illegal potions trade. If I thought I was up to my neck before, now I was up to my eyes and it was becoming increasingly difficult to invent a way out. But I still hadn't given up. I wouldn't give up now, knowing Draoidheil was on its way. I had to prevent this; somehow, I had to stop Melchior. But the question was how?

“Perhaps you would care to see a demonstration of the potency of Draoidheil?” my father asked. He said it with such ease and nonchalance, like we were on a field trip and he was going to show us how to pan for gold.

“Okay,” Christina said nervously, her eyes suddenly going wide as she probably wondered if she'd just offered herself as a guinea pig.

My father smiled at her warmly and shook his head, as if to say, “Calm down and relax.” Then he picked up the headset to his phone and dialed. His secretary answered almost immediately.

“Barbara? Will you come in for a moment?” he asked, sounding casual, but matter-of-fact.

“Of course,” she answered in a chirpy voice as Melchior hung up.

Then he picked up the vial of white pills and emptied them into his palm, taking out one before replacing the others. He brought the pill to his tongue and swallowed it in an instant, turning to face the three of us. “Now would be a good time to take yours.”

I'd nearly forgotten the white pill I clutched in my hand. For a split second, I thought the pill might be something entirely different than an antidote; and maybe this was some sort of setup. But after witnessing my father swallowing his and confident that I wanted nothing to do with the Draoidheil, I swallowed mine, hoping for the best. With last minute panic, I glanced at Quill and Christina, and relaxed a little after noticing they had both taken theirs.

At the sound of a hesitant knock on the door, I saw Barbara poke her head in. She was a redhead with a plain, non-descript prettiness about her face—like with the right makeup she might even be considered beautiful.

“Come in,” my father greeted her warmly. I watched as she closed the door behind her and approached us, smiling curiously before settling her gaze on my father. She was probably in her mid thirties and maybe five foot six, if I had to guess. She was dressed conservatively in a slim fitting, two-piece grey skirt suit, but it was still obvious that she had a good figure.

She approached my father and then paused, as if awaiting his instruction. He simply pulled out the vial of Draoidheil and handed it to her as my stomach dropped. It just seemed so wrong that he'd lured his trusting secretary to be his test subject. Why that should have surprised me was curious since there was really nothing redeeming about my father at all … A sobering thought.

“We are researching new scents,” he started, sounding like he was the chairman for a perfumery. “Our panel seems to agree upon this one.” He paused. “We thought we'd ask your opinion.”

I desperately wanted to stop her from reaching for the vial, but I knew I couldn't. Instead, I stood there with my heart lodged in my throat and watched her bring the vial to her nose and sniff it. At first nothing happened. Her face appeared to go blank, and I thought maybe she hadn't gotten the scent of anything. She started to move the vial toward her nose again, as if she needed another sniff, when the Draoidheil appeared to have hit her.

She sort of hobbled back a few steps, at which time Melchior grabbed the vial from her, to stop her from spilling it. Then a momentary look of bewilderment pasted itself across her pale face. She closed her eyes as a huge smile widened her mouth. When she opened her eyes again, she focused on Melchior and her pupils were dilated.

She definitely looked like she was on something.

“Melchior,” she said in soft voice, closing the gap between them. She took one of his hands in hers while running the fingers of her other hand through his hair. At that moment, it was pretty obvious what she most desired—my father.

Yuck in a basket.

My father seemed slightly uncomfortable, although not surprised by her display of affection. He eyed the three of us almost apologetically before taking control of the situation and turning it into a show-and-tell again. He smiled at Barbara, something she must have taken as an invitation because she suddenly tried to kiss him. He pulled away.

“What do you most desire, Barbara?” he goaded her, obviously still trying to prove a point.

“You,” she responded automatically. “You've always known that. I just never imagined you'd ever give in to your feelings for me.”

He looked at us again, holding Barbara's wrists to keep her at arm's length. “The Draoidheil makes you believe that whatever you most desire is yours,” he said to the three of us. He focused on Barbara again. “Case in point.”

“Point taken,” I grumbled, hating that Barbara's secret was being so blatantly flaunted in front of people she didn't even know. I couldn't imagine how mortified she'd be if she had any idea what she was saying and doing at the moment. Hopefully, the Draoidheil would mess with her memory. When my father made no move to end his little show, I attempted to. “I think we've seen enough,” I said, trying to sound calm and even-keeled. “Give her the antidote ... please.”

Melchior said nothing. He merely nodded and shook the vial of pills over his palm, before selecting one pill and handing it to Barbara. She stopped attempting to sexually harass him and eyed the pill curiously, making no motion to put it in her mouth.

“Swallow it,” my father said abruptly.

Barbara dutifully placed the pill on her tongue, and a second or so later, swallowed. I assumed it would take the antidote at least a few minutes to work, depending on how long it took to reach her bloodstream, but I was wrong. Almost instantly, her demeanor changed, the lovelorn look in her eyes was replaced with perplexity as she glanced around the room in utter confusion.

“Do you feel well?” Melchior asked, studying her in a detached, clinical sort of way. I felt extremely sorry for her, knowing that she was in love with my father who was incapable of loving another person. Of that, I was convinced; he was entirely too much in love with himself.

She faced him and shook her head, bringing her hand to her cheeks then her forehead. “It's strange but I feel a bit flushed, I'm not sure why.”

“Perhaps you should leave early today, Barbara,” Melchior said, patting her back as he escorted her to the door. “Sit down at your desk for a while before you drive, though, will you?”

She nodded obediently as he closed the door behind her. He faced us again and slapped his hands together like he'd just proven his thesis. “Any questions?” he asked.

I didn't say anything. I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. I saw Quillan simply shake his head, with the look of defeat on his face. Christina was the only one of us who seemed at all interested, and although she didn't have any questions, this new project seemed to excite her, all the same.

“If you don't mind showing yourselves out, I still have important business that demands my attention,” my father said. He returned to his gargantuan desk, took a seat and faced his computer as we started for the door. None of us said a word as we traipsed down the hallway to the bank of elevators. Even our ride down was silent. Once we reached the lobby, I cleared my throat and Quillan sighed.

“Guess we're going to have our work cut out for us with this Snake Oil stuff,” Christina said. She offered me a tentative smile as we walked out of my father's building and headed for the portal to return to Splendor.

“I'd say so,” Quill said, his tone of voice sounding somewhat reserved as he glanced at me for the third time since leaving Melchior's office. Knowing Quill as well as I did, I would have bet money that he was fretting over how I was taking everything that had just happened. He had to know I was reeling at the moment, anger and shock churning in my stomach.

Somehow, I imagined my father had to have been getting perverse pleasure out of being able to bend me to his will just like that. Well, he could think whatever the hell he wanted to think, but we were definitely not “like father, like daughter.” No, I was now even more determined than before to find a way out of this and what was more, I was arriving at the realization that the only way out of this mess was in going after the mastermind, himself.

“Are you headed to Splendor?” Christina asked Quill, interrupting my train of thought. We'd arrived in the parking lot of the ANC Headquarters. Apparently, this time the portal was at the far end of the parking lot, just beside the dumpsters.

I couldn't help but notice Christina was avoiding me, probably sensing my temper was about to blow. I tried to at least partially mask my foul mood, not wanting Christina to suspect I was less than thrilled to be a player in this team. Why? Well, first and foremost—I had to think of Knight. And I also didn't think it would be a good thing for Christina to know I was only working for my father because I had to. Yep, better to keep that under wraps. The less my father's people knew about me, the better.

“Yes, both Dulcie and I are headed to Splendor. You?” Quill responded.

Christina nodded and the sound of her heels tapping against the concrete grabbed my attention. I glanced down and noticed she had tattoos of purple and green hummingbirds on the tops of both of her feet. It made sense—fairies were supposed to be the “children of nature,” and most of us were naturally attracted to flora and fauna, hummingbirds always a fairy favorite. I guess I'd just missed the boat where all things nature were concerned.

“I live in Sanctity, but given recent events, I think I might stay in Splendor for a while so we can discuss a plan moving forward,” she answered as she pulled her incredibly long hair into a ponytail, offering me a glimpse of her ears. As fairies, Christina's and my ears came to points at the top. Hers, by the look of them, however, weren't as pointy as mine. Something which made my mood even better.

Scolding myself for comparing ears (and even more irritated that mine came up short), I forced my thoughts back to her last comment, something suddenly occurring to me. “You live in Sanctity?” I asked, turning to face her. Sanctity was the next town over from Splendor, maybe twenty or thirty minutes away.

Christina smiled sweetly, merely nodding. Quill stopped walking and checked his portal compass watch, I assume, to ensure that we were still going the right way. Apparently, we were because he proceeded forward again, Christina and me in tow.

“I've never seen you before,” I said finally, pulling my attention from Quill and narrowing my eyes at her. “And I'm pretty sure the ANC records only itemize Zara, the hooker, and I as the sum total of the local fairy population.” All Netherworld creatures that lived on Earth had dossiers in the ANC which specified the type of creature they were, how they earned a living and where they lived. It was the easiest way to keep track of them. And I wasn't bluffing—Christina didn't exist in the ANC database, as far as I knew. I definitely would have remembered another fairy living nearby.

She eyed me with surprise. “Ah, that's right! Your father mentioned that a member of his entourage worked in the Splendor ANC. That must be you.” Her smile broadened. “Very smart of him, placing his own people in the enemy's lair.” Then she laughed. All I managed was a half-assed laugh-giggle that came out more like a grunt, but sounded worse still, like a burp.

“Yeah, smart,” I managed, wanting to direct her to the question at hand. I raised my brows at her in impatience when it didn't seem she had anything more to offer. “So you managed to avoid ANC profiling?”

She simply smiled again. “I, um, stay beneath the ANC radar,” she said simply.

“Interesting,” I admitted, studying her pointedly. “And why is that?”

The look she gave me combined with the smile that was still on her lips told me she was hiding something. Something big. And that’s when I zeroed in on her little game. She was tough, strong and smart. But she didn’t want anyone to know that. She exploited her beauty and femininity in a way that got men to doubt her, finding her nothing more than a pretty face. Well, unluckily for her, I didn’t possess a penis. And since my father had deliberately placed her on this task force, I assumed he saw through her game as well. That or maybe he was enamored of her, which, come to think of it, could very well have been the case. Either way, she was someone I had to watch.

“One of the benefits of knowing your father,” she finished simply.

I said nothing more but just nodded.

“Should we regroup in a few hours?” Quill asked, eyeing us both, although his eyes rested on me.

I looked down at my newly acquired compass watch and noticed it was nearly five a.m. Yep, another night without any sleep. Great, just great. “I can’t,” I said, rubbing my eyes, wondering when I was going to get a decent night of sleep. “I’m due at the ANC in three hours.”

“Ah, I forgot,” Quill admitted before smiling apologetically. “Let’s resume discussions later. I’ll call you both tonight.”

I just nodded as Christina whipped her cell phone out to exchange numbers with Quill. All I could think about was getting home and crawling into bed so I could at least get two hours of shuteye before I was due in the office.

***

I was thirty minutes late when I arrived at the ANC. After parking as quickly as I could, I pulled my helmet off, and cradling it beneath my arm, hurried up the ramp to the double doors. I'd overslept … as in right through my bedside alarm, one which rang shrilly. Yep, I was that tired.

Stepping through the double doors, I waved to Elsie before hightailing it down the hallway, pausing to say hello to Sam on the way. When I reached my desk, I noticed Trey was already at his. 'Course that really wasn't much of a surprise because Trey was always at least a half an hour early every day. He considered work a social outlet.

“Hey, Dulce,” he said, looking up at me from where he'd been picking at his cuticles.

“Morning, Trey,” I replied, remembering I hadn't gotten back to him about the Star Wars Convention. “Oh, about that convention …” I started.

He glanced up at me, his eyes wide. “Yeah?”

I cleared my throat, feeling like the queen of all assholes. “I don't think I'll be able to make it.”

“Oh,” he said, dropping his gaze to his ample lap.

“I just have so much going on right now, Trey,” I continued, feeling like I needed to make him understand. “I really wanted to go though.”

“Nah, it's cool,” he said with a disenchanted smile. “There’s always others.”

“Okay,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere although the truth of the matter was that spending a day with Storm Troopers, R2D2 and Ewoks wasn't my idea of fun. “Thanks for the invite though.”

He nodded and seemed a little dejected as he focused on the cuticle of his left thumb. Apparently recalling something, he glanced up at me again. “Big guy was looking for you earlier,” he said with a whisper of a smile. “And just a warning, don't piss him off 'cause he's not in a good mood.”

“Great,” I said, not ready to deal with Knight and his foul mood. I dropped my helmet on the table and left my backpack on my chair as I started toward Knight's office.

“Hey, Dulce,” Trey called out behind me.

I turned around to face him. “Yeah?”

“Everything good with you?” he asked, studying me carefully, as if looking for a clue in my posture.

I felt my stomach drop as I realized I had to do a better job of appearing normal, as in not stressed out. The last thing I needed was everyone getting concerned about me. At the thought, I was suddenly consumed with exhaustion. This double life was getting to be too much, taking too large a toll on me. I needed to tell Quill that I had to have a night off so I could catch up on my sleep. “Yeah, I'm fine, Trey,” I said softly. “Just been really busy.”

“Okay,” Trey said and smiled at me encouragingly. “Just wanted to check on you.”

I didn't say anything more, but turned around again and started for Knight's office. When I reached it, I noticed the door was closed. I could see him reclining in his chair with his long legs up on his desk as he chastised someone over the phone. He spied me through the slats of his blinds and motioned for me to enter. I opened the door and walked in, sitting down in the chair directly in front of him.

At the sight of him, I felt my stomach tighten into a knot, which worked its way up my esophagus and into my throat until I almost couldn't breathe. Hot Hades, he was just so gorgeous. I wasn't sure where my libido had been the last few days, probably hibernating given recent events, but facing Knight now, it was back in full force. I couldn't seem to take my eyes off his incredibly broad shoulders, or the shapely swells of his muscular thighs.

“I don't give a shit, just make it happen,” he said into the phone, his tone heightened. I tried not to gulp too loudly as my gaze worked its way up his remarkable body to his even more incredible face. His eyes were on me, sharp and hungry. Or maybe I was just imagining that last bit.

“I don't care what it takes,” he said in a steely firm voice, letting his legs slide off the top of his desk. They were loud when they hit the floor. He leaned forward, resting on his elbows, never taking his eyes from mine. “I want those sons of bitches tried in our system, not theirs.” Then he shook his head and scrunched his brows together, in obvious irritation. “Just do it and don't call me back until you have good news. I have to go, I have someone in my office.” He was quiet for a few more seconds. “Call me tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.

“You wanted to see me?” I piped up, my voice sounding antsy and rushed.

“You're late,” he said with an undisguised frown.

I dropped my eyes to the carpet and started fidgeting with the zipper on my jacket, only then realizing it was damn hot in Knight's office. I took off the jacket, fully aware that Knight's eyes were glued on me the entire time. If anything, it just made my body temperature increase. I had to remind myself that I was Dulcie O'Neil and therefore, shouldn't be nervous and definitely shouldn't be fidgeting. I faced Knight with a renewed sense of self and held my jaw tight. “I overslept.”

“I see,” he said, narrowing his eyes, apparently dissatisfied with my attitude. “Don't be late again. Consider this warning number one.”

I gave him a replica of the pissed off expression he was giving me. “Noted.”

He glared at me for another few seconds before exhaling and quickly dropping it. “I want you to compile all the bios of every known potions trafficker through Splendor, Haven, Sanctity, Estuary and Moon,” he ordered as I felt anxiety working up my spine.

What in the hell would have prompted him to request this information? “Why? I mean, what do you need it for?”

He sighed and sounded exasperated, like he didn't want any questions. Well, too bad for him because I was anything but a yes-man, er yes-woman. “We received a tip this morning that a new street potion will be hitting the black market soon and I want to cover all my bases.”

I think my heart actually stopped for at least two seconds. Maybe more. “A ... a what?” I asked, in a whisper soft voice.

“A tip,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn't understand why was I asking so many questions.

“From whom?” I persisted, hoping the rapid pulse in my neck wouldn’t give away my worry that I was about to piss myself.

“Anonymous,” he answered, eyeing me inquisitively, and picking up a pencil that had been lying on his desk. He started drumming the eraser end against his desk, making a sound almost as maddening as nails on a chalkboard. “Where were you last night?”

I felt my cheeks color and dropped my gaze to the floor before forcing my eyes back to his. I just sucked at lying. “Why?”

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. “Got the tip last night. I called you and came by, but you weren't around.”

I gulped air, hoping he couldn't read me as I wished I could lie more convincingly. “I, uh, had plans.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “I see.” Then he stood up and started for his door, opening it extra wide as if to let me know he was finished interrogating me. “I need those bios by lunch,” he said sternly as I stood up and started for the door.

“I understand,” I answered simply.

“Trey and I are going to run some reconnaissance later today. That's why I need the bios before lunch.”

And the only reason he'd mentioned that was because he wanted to make sure I knew he'd asked Trey along for this mission, instead of me. I said nothing although I was burning inside. Knight was more than aware that paperwork wasn't my forte and, more so, that I hated it. It was something Elsie usually did or if she weren't around, Trey. But I held my head high, refusing to give in to him. Instead, I faced him squarely. “I'll have them to you by lunchtime.”

Knight said nothing, but stared at me as if trying to read me. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, I returned to my desk.

ELEVEN

As I sat at my desk, pouring through the profile pages of miscreants in Splendor and neighboring cities, I couldn't stifle the trepidation winding its way up my gut. Ever since Knight had admitted to receiving an anonymous tip about what could only have been the Draoidheil, I felt like I was going to throw up or, failing that, have a young-life crisis. I couldn't understand who could've leaked the information so quickly. I thought maybe Melchior had already informed his traffickers that the Draoidheil was on its way, and in their excitement, word got out. But it was how word got out that had me the most concerned. Obviously, I hadn't mentioned it to anyone and I assumed Quillan hadn't either. Christina seemed like she was currently Melchior's favorite pet, so I was fairly certain she was innocent of blabbing. But if it weren’t any of us, then who had it been?

Knight and the ANC were now aware the Draoidheil was on its way, which only created an added complication. It was also something I hadn't expected that would only make it harder for Quill, Christina and me to distribute it. I'd have to remember to inform them about this new obstacle as soon as we saw each other again. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became. It just would have been so much easier if the ANC hadn't found out, because now the three of us would have to plan a way around this and be extra careful. But first things first, I needed to find out how much Knight knew ...

'Course, currently I was stuck doing the mindless gofer job that Knight assigned me, so that's what I'd focus on. I glanced at the clock on the wall next to me, noting I had one hour left before lunchtime. I'd already located and printed the bios of traffickers from Splendor, Moon, and Sanctity. All I had left were Estuary and Haven and I could have those done in twenty minutes, tops.

“How's it goin' over there, Dulce?” Trey asked as he looked over the top of his monitor at me, his wide face reminding me of the moon rising into the sky.

“Good, I'm nearly done,” I answered, offering him a quick smile before returning my attention to the twelve or so bios left to do.

“Quick work,” he said as he hovered over his monitor, obviously not realizing I was on a deadline. I looked up at him and nodded, noticing he still made no move to sit down again. Instead, he continued standing there, wearing the expression of a kid too ashamed to admit he'd just wet himself.

“Yep,” I said, clicking “print” on the next bio. Then imagining I might be able to get some info out of Trey, I asked, “So what was this anonymous tip Knight was talking about?”

Trey shrugged and dropped his eyes back to his computer, sitting down immediately. Obviously, he knew something but even more obvious was the fact that he wasn’t about to spill the beans. “Not really sure. He said he'd fill me in while we were patrolling.” Clearly, he'd been ordered to keep his trap shut. Well, lucky for me, I was really good at prying traps open.

“Oh, I thought you might know, since you're always on top of the best gossip.” Usually, he'd leap at the opportunity to fill me in on any news around the office—it seemed like he was proud that everyone came to him first for the juicy details.

“Oh, yeah, not this time. It's pretty hush-hush I guess.” Then he was quiet for a few seconds. Hmm, this might be harder than I thought.

“Wow, so you don't even know about it? That is hush-hush.”

“Yep,” he answered succinctly and I gave up.

“I'm sure you and Knight will figure things out.” I didn't meant to sound so pissed off—like I was upset Knight had left me out of the loop. Well, truth be told, I was pissed off because I guessed the only reason Knight had failed to inform me was because he was angry I'd broken up with him. Another reason why it was never good to mix business with pleasure.

Trey stood up then, and propping his pudgy arms on the top of his monitor, he offered me a consoling smile as he studied me. “Things will get better between the two of you, Dulce.”

I felt my eyebrows arch in surprise as I realized Trey was more in the know than I could have imagined. I mean, I didn’t tell him Knight and I had broken up. “So word's already gotten out about us?”

Trey nodded with the expression of someone disappointed. “Yeah, I found out from Sam.”

“From Sam?” I repeated, suddenly worried that Sam had somehow broken the silence charm I'd insisted she put on herself. “What did she tell you, exactly?” I asked, eyeing Trey like a hawk.

Trey shrugged again and then ran his arm across his nose, apparently in an effort to scratch an itch. “Nothing really, just that you and Knight weren't together anymore. She said she didn't know why.”

Relief cascaded through me at the same time as a rock of worry filled my gut. It was just a huge bummer to realize the finality of Knight's and my breakup was now public news. I noticed Trey watching me expectantly, like he was waiting for me to fill him in on the hows and whys of it, which of course, was never going to happen.

“Well, sometimes things just don't work out,” I said dismissively and faced my computer screen again. I tried to remain uninterested and casual as I forwarded to the next bio and hit “print.”

“I thought you guys were really into each other,” Trey continued, his lower lip sticking out so far, someone could trip on it.

“Relationships aren't as easy as they appear to be,” I said in a stilted tone, not wanting to discuss any of this at all. It was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

“Knight's been different ever since though,” Trey continued, sighing heavily. He leaned his large head on his arm, looking like a country singer about to lament his unrequited love in a woe-be-gone song.

I knew I should've just avoided the subject altogether because it wasn't like I could do anything about it. I'd done what I had to and that was that. But somehow, I couldn't help my own curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“He's just in a crappy mood all the time now and doesn't seem like he wants to hang out with any of us, like he used to.”

I exhaled my pent-up anxiety and shook my head. “He'll come around eventually. I think he just has a lot on his plate at the moment.”

“Do you have those reports for me yet?” Knight's irritated voice sounded from behind me and I felt myself jump in reflex. I glanced at Trey and grimaced, realizing Knight had probably just overheard the remnants of our conversation. Trey just smiled innocently and sat back down, leaving me to suffer the wrath of the Loki. If I'd thought Knight was in a bad mood before, overhearing me discussing our failed relationship certainly wouldn't help things.

I pulled the final printouts off the printer and stacked them on top of the other ones piled on my desk. Knight said nothing, but turned around and started down the hallway for the break room, his coffee cup in hand. He called out over his shoulder, “Just leave them on my desk.”

I had no intention of leaving them on his desk. Nope, I had my own reconnaissance to do and that involved finding out as much as I could about this “anonymous tip.” I walked the printouts into Knight's office and sat on the visitor's chair, waiting for him to return.

With nothing else to do, I busied myself by scanning his office. His brown leather jacket was draped over his bookshelf, which was piled high with file folders. There really wasn't anything too personal in Knight's office, aside from a picture of him standing next to Gabriel, his best friend from the Netherworld. Knight and Gabe grew up together. Gabe was also a Loki and gorgeous—almost as gorgeous as Knight. I only met him once, when Knight and I were being held captive in the Netherworld. Moving on from the picture, there was a BMW magazine on the top of Knight's desk and a motorcycle magazine beneath it. I shook my head with an amused smirk as I thought about what a man's man Knight was with regard to his love of speed. The only signature in the office that was truly Knight’s was the smell—his office smelled just like him: crisp, clean aftershave mixed with pure and raw masculinity.

“I thought I said just leave them on the desk?” Knight grumbled from behind me as he closed the door, being careful not to spill his coffee. He walked behind his desk and took a seat.

“Yeah, you did,” I answered, my tone flat. I definitely didn't appreciate his sudden aggression. “So why the bad mood?”

He raised his eyebrows with surprise, before frowning. “What bad mood?”

“Um, the bad mood that’s been hovering over you all day. If you're trying to beat the competition for 'World's Worst Boss,' you're well on your way.”

“Funny, Dulcie,” he said, although his expression said it wasn't funny by a long shot.

“Haven't you noticed everyone around you seems to be walking on eggshells?”

He glanced at me as he sipped his coffee, looking completely irritated. “Is that why you came in here—to ride me about my office manners? If so, I'm not in the mood to hear it.”

“No that's not why I'm here,” I snapped, frowning as I leaned forward and gave him a little sass. “I wanted to bring you the printouts and ask what's going on with this new street potion you mentioned.”

He arched a brow at me and motioned for me to hand him the stack of papers. I did and watched as he shuffled through them and then tossed them on the desk, leaning back in his seat and taking a deep breath. He rested his legs on the desk, crossing them at the ankles and stretched his muscular arms above his head like a cat just waking from a nap.

“I don't know if there's any credence to the tip,” he started as he faced me again. “But we received a typed note saying to keep an eye out for a brand new, incredibly addictive potion.”

“Does it have a name? And if so, was it anything you'd heard of before?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my seat as I waited for his response with visible anticipation. “Did the note say when the potion was going to hit the streets?” Knight looked at me closely, as if wondering why I was so curious. “Um, I'm back on the force again; or did you forget?” I replied to the unasked question in his eyes.

He dropped the suspicious expression and simply nodded. “The note didn't say what the potion was or when it's due to hit, but from the sound of it, it's something completely new.”

“Where's the note?” I asked, trying to sound more businesslike, while burning with the need to see it. I hoped the note might give me some hint as to where it had originated and, more specifically, a hint as to who knew too much.

Knight said nothing, but pulled open the top drawer of his desk and handed a folded piece of white paper to me. His fingers brushed against mine and I felt my eyes go wide as they met his, which were narrowed and angry. I quickly looked away.

“And you checked it for prints?” I asked, unfolding the note as feelings of gratitude descended on me over the fact that I had something with which to attract my attention away from the heat in his eyes.

“Of course,” he answered tersely, wrapping his arms across his broad chest. I glanced up at him for a second and immediately regretted it. He just looked so ... mad.

Refocusing my attention from Knight to the letter, I read:

New potion hitting streets soon from Netherworld. Nothing like it out there. Instantaneous dependency. Could cause widespread epidemic. Increase patrols.

I felt myself gulping as my heart started pounding in my chest. Someone knew! There had to be a snitch somewhere in Melchior's ranks and the thought made me sick to my stomach. The next logical step was to deduce that if there was a snitch, he or she could easily have ratted me out ... if he or she hadn't already.

I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down. I was getting way too carried away, and playing the “what if” game wasn't going to help things. I handed the note back to Knight and offered him a raised brow expression, not really knowing what else to say. There was nothing in the letter that I could comment on. And, since there were no fingerprints associated with it, it truly was anonymous. Whoever left it had been incredibly careful.

“What do you make of it?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence between us.

He shrugged. “Who knows if it's legit, but I'd rather be safe than sorry; so I'm going to treat it as if it came directly from Caressa.”

“Probably smart,” I said, the words dying on my tongue as I noticed his intent gaze on me.

“What do you make of it?” he asked, studying me as if trying to memorize every line of my face.

“Not much there to make anything of,” I answered, feeling like I was choking on the words. He didn't lose that suspicious expression and at the thought of further questions, I quickly added: “Where do you want me to patrol?”

“I don't,” he said simply, his jaw tight.

I felt my stomach drop and was suddenly scared to death that he knew more than he was letting on. There was just something in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I don't think you're emotionally stable at the moment,” he said simply.

I nearly swallowed my own tongue. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged as if what he'd just said wasn't a big deal by any stretch of the imagination. “You've been sleeping in and showing up late to work, things you've never done before.”

“I did it once!” I interrupted him, spearing him with my eyes. “One time, for fuck sake!”

He didn't seem fazed. “You're too thin, you look sick and you've distanced yourself from all your friends. All warning signs, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Warning signs of what?” I demanded, glaring at him. He was basically doubting my ability to do my job, and I had to admit, despite my fuming, I was hurt. “And I haven't distanced myself from any of my friends, I've just been busy!”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business,” I said in as collected a tone as I could muster. “All that matters is that I'm good at my job, Knight, you know that.”

“You were good at your job. These days, I don't know what to think about you.”

I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth. “This is fucking unbelievable,” I said as I shook my head.

“I think you have some things to figure out for yourself, Dulcie,” Knight continued calmly, like he thought he was a shrink or something. “And as head of this branch of the ANC, I can't, in good conscience, put you in a potentially dangerous situation.”

Feeling like I would either cry or pull my hair out, I exhaled deeply, and ran my hand through my hair in frustration. Instantly Knight's eyes glommed onto my wrist.

“What's that?” he demanded, pointing at my portal compass watch.

If I'd had anything in my bladder, I absolutely would have wet myself. Instead, it felt like I was in slow motion as I brought my gaze to the diamond-faced watch, which caught the sunlight coming through the window. It reflected rainbow prisms all around the room as I panicked, my heart beating frantically. Then I realized there was no way in hell that Knight could identify this as a portal watch. There was nothing about it to give it away. Instead, it appeared to be an extravagantly ostentatious timepiece.

“It's a watch,” I said simply, berating myself for not having left it at my apartment.

“I can see that,” Knight barked back at me. “Where did you get it?”

“A store.” I said the first thing that came to mind, and realized my mistake immediately.

“You bought it for yourself?” Knight asked incredulously.

Well, the lie had already escaped from my lips, so there was no use in backing down now. As transparent as my lie would be, it was still way better than admitting that the Head of the Netherworld, a.k.a., the head of the illegal potions market, gave the watch to me. “Yes.”

Knight cocked his head to the side and studied me. “Interesting, considering you detest the color pink not to mention diamonds.”

I swallowed and prayed for a miracle. Unfortunately, one didn't come. “I, uh, needed a watch and didn't feel like shopping ... for a long time, so I just bought the first one I saw.”

Knight stared at the watch again, before bringing his fuming blue eyes back to mine. “A Rolex? You bought the first Rolex you happened to see?”

I suddenly wished one of the flying Netherworld monsters had followed me home and gobbled me up, just so I wouldn't have to face the ire in Knight's eyes. “Yeah, I wanted to get something nice for myself,” I answered sheepishly.

“Good to know you have, oh, ten thousand dollars just laying around.”

Ten thousand dollars! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I had no idea the watch was that expensive! I said nothing, but watched Knight shake his head as he exhaled. “It's great you've moved on so quickly, Dulcie. Kudos to you.”

“That's not …” I started, but he shook his head again, silencing me with his raised hand.

“I don't give a shit about your personal life,” he interrupted me. “All that matters to me now is that you do a good job here. And lately, your attitude sucks.”

I shook my head and felt exhausted from my hair to my toes. “If anyone has had a personality change lately, it's you,” I spat back at him. “So don't try and tell me that I can't do my job when it's pretty clear where all of this is coming from.”

His jaw went tight. “And where would that be?”

I wasn't about to back down, not now. “Obviously from the recent events between you and me.”

He snickered an ugly sound and then the smile left his lips entirely as he glanced at my watch again. “Don't flatter yourself.”

“I'm not,” I answered, narrowing my eyes as the pain of his words singed me. “I'm simply looking at the facts.”

“Dulcie,” he started, a slight smile playing with his lips again, which pissed me off even more than his harsh words had. “I've had plenty of time to ask myself what happened with you and me and I've reached the conclusion that what happened was destined to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that your hang-ups are bound to fuck up any relationship you get into.”

I shook my head, at a loss for words to adequately defend myself. And the kicker of the whole damn thing was that I'd broken up with him merely to protect him! “Maybe and maybe not,” I said finally, feeling completely defeated because there was nothing I could say that would make things better.

“It is what it is,” he finished dismissively. “But don't worry about me because I'll move on.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am moving on.”

I didn't want to admit to myself how much his words stung me to the core, and of course, I wasn't going to admit anything to him. I simply held my tongue and nodded, trying not to lose my poker face. “Then I'm happy for you.”

He glared at me for a second or two before a mask of indifference pasted itself over his face. “And as far as this investigation goes, you're off it.”

I stood up, feeling sick to my stomach and left his office.

***

The cell phone on loan from Melchior buzzed in my pocket at exactly seven p.m. I pulled it out and noticing “private caller” on the window, figured it had to be Quill. Really, he was the only one who ever called me on the damn thing anyway.

“Hello?” I answered, impatiently.

“Dulce.” It was Quillan. “Christina is going to pick you up in thirty minutes.”

Yes, I was dead tired and needed to sleep, but after my day with Knight, I knew I wouldn't be able to. “Sounds good,” I said with a deep sigh.

“I'll see you both soon,” Quill answered. Then he apparently remembered something. “Your father had one of his cars shipped to the empty warehouse at the loading docks. You can take it home tonight, but just be sure to park it somewhere where no one will notice it; and make sure no one's around whenever you're getting into and out of it.”

“I'll park it in the Vons lot around the corner,” I said. “And I'll go for incognito when I'm driving it.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he answered quickly and then paused for a few seconds. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that no, I wasn't okay by any stretch of the imagination, but held myself in check. “I'm great.”

TWELVE

After I got off the phone with Quill, it suddenly struck me as odd that Christina was coming to pick me up—mainly because it wasn't like we were friends or anything. I shrugged the concern away, though, figuring Quill was just nervous about me using my ANC bike on Melchior business. And when it came down to it, it would be an opportunity for me to grill Christina for information, and find out exactly how close she was to my father.

Christina rang my doorbell precisely thirty minutes after I hung up with Quill. This time, she was dressed in dark blue jeans with flared legs, white sneakers, and a white T-shirt, which made her natural olive complexion look even tanner. She didn't have a speck of makeup on, not even eyeliner or mascara, and even in this most natural state, she was still very pretty. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, which I immediately noticed because I'd always had an aversion to wearing my hair up and revealing the points on my ears. Apparently Christina wasn't a self conscious fairy. Point for her, I guess.

“Hi,” she said in a chipper voice as she poked her head in my entryway, scanning my house nosily. She pulled her head back out and offered me a heartfelt smile. “Cute place!”

“Thanks,” I grumbled as I eyed her jeans and sneakers again. “You were lots taller last time we met.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Those were my Sam Edelman's. Pretty hot shoes, don't you think?”

I couldn't argue because they were hot. “Yeah,” I managed to squeak in reply.

“You saw me in my work attire; usually, I look like this,” she said, glancing down at herself, and shrugging like “what you see is what you get.”

“Much more practical,” I commented, noting that I was wearing an outfit almost identical to hers. She seemed to notice it too and smiled at me in response.

“My dad always said not to get all dolled up every day because if you do, people will always expect you to look that way; but if you get dolled up every once in a while, people will really notice how beautiful you are.”

“I like your dad's advice,” I replied, locking the door and closing it behind us.

“It's good advice.” She started down the walkway with me at her side.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I chimed, feeling like I needed to do my part to seem sociable and friendly, especially since she was so gregarious. And you know what they say about catching flies with vinegar …

“Sure, Quill wanted you to be able to drive the car on loan from Melchior, so it made sense for me to pick you up.”

I hadn't thought of that. Guess my brain wasn't working on all eight cylinders. 'Course, I'd had all of, what ... four hours of sleep in the last few days? It was a wonder my brain was even working at all.

“Yeah, that does make sense,” I said and watched as she whipped out her car keys and beeped her remote, unlocking the doors to a lifted, black Jeep Wrangler which was covered in mud. “You drive a Wrangler?” I asked in awe, suddenly finding respect for her. I mean, there are cars, trucks and SUVs, and then there are Jeeps.

She opened the driver's side door and sort of launched herself up and into the seat, something which probably sounds comical but somehow she managed it with the grace of a ballerina. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite as polished and bashed my knee into her glove box. She raised her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I were okay. I just nodded and buckled my seatbelt, watching as she pulled her door shut, turned the engine on, stepped on the clutch and put the Jeep in gear. It was even a stick-shift. Another point for her.

“Yep, I'm a Jeep girl. Sorry about the mud, but I took it off-roading the other day and still haven't found the time to wash it.” She pulled into the street and looked over at me again. “I can be a huge procrastinator.”

“Do you go off-roading a lot?” I asked, finding myself naturally drawn to her. It was sort of hard not to because she just seemed so much ... like me.

“Yep, the bigger the rocks and steeper the hills, the better,” she said, coming to a stop at the end of my street, and casting me an impish smile. “Live like there's no tomorrow, right?”

I just nodded … I'd basically lived by that mantra the majority of my adult life. She took a right on Lucky Street and downshifted as my eyes roved over the inside of her Jeep—it was almost exactly the same as mine had been. “I used to drive a Wrangler, myself,” I said, lamenting the loss of my most favorite vehicle. “It was canary yellow.”

“You wanna know what's funny?” Christina laughed and shook her head, as her eyes narrowed on me. “I totally pegged you as a Jeep girl.” She also apparently knew her way around my neighborhood because she took all the back streets, apparently good with this incognito stuff.

“Well, I was a Jeep girl,” I said, pausing to allow myself to reminisce. “That was before I had an accident and totaled it.”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry.” Then she focused on driving, following the hairpin turn of the street. Once it was straight again, she turned to me. “Did you take yours off-roading a lot?”

“A few times,” I said with a sigh, feeling my exhaustion gaining on me. I yawned, covering my mouth with my arm and then tried to shake the feelings of fatigue right out of my head. It didn't work.

“You gotta get some sleep, you know?” Christina said as she arched a brow at me. “You can't go all day and expect to go all night too.”

“Tell that to Quill,” I answered simply as I stretched my arms over my head and relaxed into the seat.

“I will.” She came to another stop before turning left and jumping on Highway One, which led to the loading docks. As if suddenly unnerved by the silence in the car, she reached over and turned her CD player on. It was like the wrath of Hades was unleashed when the speakers blared a loud array of tantric beats. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the noise rattled the speakers.

“Shit!” I yelled, trying to calm my heart down as she reached over and lowered the volume. “I'm awake now, that's for sure!”

Christina giggled. “Sorry.” She pushed the “forward” button on the face of the CD player, sparing me further torture.

“Do you like punk rock?” she asked with an amused smile.

“I don't know. Name some groups.”

“Um, Pennywise?” she answered. Before I had the chance to respond, she added, “Here, this is My Own Way and it's one of my favorites.”

Then, without waiting for my response, she turned up the volume as a barrage of drums and guitar assaulted me with a beat so fast, I felt like we should have been head-banging.

“I also love Bad Religion!” she yelled over the singer's voice and started nodding her head while slapping her hand against the steering wheel in time with the beat.

Even though our tastes in music were miles apart, the thought struck me that if this situation had been different, Christina and I might have been friends. Why? Because so far as I knew her, I liked her—an independent woman carving her niche in a male dominated industry, refusing to take no for an answer. And even though we were on separate sides of the moral spectrum, I couldn't stop myself from liking her. There was just something about her that made her easy to like. She was definitely the type of person I would enjoy spending time with—she wasn't afraid to get dirty and had an affability about her that was refreshing.

It was a damn shame she worked for my father.

Once the song was over, she turned the volume down and glanced over at me with a smirk. “So, what'd you think?”

I shook my head. “I consider myself lucky to have survived it.”

She broke into a giggle, which was quickly reduced to a smile. “Oh well, I guess it's an acquired taste.”

“You think?” As soon as I felt like I wanted to laugh, I changed the subject. I mean, there was no point in becoming friendly with her when things couldn’t end well. I was now, more than ever before, convinced that I had only myself to rely on if I were to get out of this shitty situation. Who knew where that left Christina? Instead of making useless small talk, I should have been grilling her for information. “So how long have you been working with my father?”

The smile vanished from her lips, replaced by a pensive expression. She rolled her eyes, as if trying to remember. “Um, I think maybe six years now.”

“Wow,” I said, surprised it had been so long and disappointed all at the same time. I wasn't sure why, but I was hoping she was a new recruit, unaware of what she'd gotten herself into. Obviously such was not the case.

“Have you been working for your father your whole life?” she asked.

I shook my head, too tired to come up with yet another lie. “My father actually just came into my life a few weeks ago.” I couldn't help my less-than-thrilled tone. I didn't think it was possible for me to actually sound happy about anything involving Melchior O'Neil.

“Really?” she asked, eyeing me curiously. “So what made you decide to work for him?”

“He asked me to,” I answered, reminding myself it wasn’t exactly a lie, maybe just a white one. I mean, he had asked me to work for him.

“Oh and how do you like it so far?”

At this point, I was tired of trying to be something I wasn't and no longer caring whether or not it would come back to bite me in the ass later, I opted for candid honesty. “I don't.”

Her eyebrows arched in an expression of curiosity. “Why is that?”

I shrugged. “As you mentioned earlier, the hours suck.”

She laughed at that, and then took the opportunity of a red light, to ask me, “So if you aren't enjoying what you're doing, why are you doing it?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Personal reasons.”

She nodded as if she respected my answer and wouldn’t try to pry. “At least the pay's good?”

“I wouldn't know,” I grumbled, suddenly aware that I hadn't exactly made it onto my father's payroll. Apparently, Christina had. Well, good for her. “What about you?” I asked, turning the tables. “You don't seem like the type of person to be involved with something like this. It doesn't seem like you have anything in common with the Baron Escobars of the world.”

“He's a real piece of work, isn't he?” she asked with a smirk as she shook her head, probably recalling her less than pleasant memories of the Titan.

“Piece of work doesn't even do him justice.”

“With regard to the Baron Escobars of the world, I could say the same of you,” she started. “Doesn't seem like you two have anything in common either.”

“I don't, but I also don't have much of a choice since he works for my father.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I guess your situation is a little more complicated. Mine is pretty straightforward.”

“What is it?”

She shrugged and took a deep breath. “I started working for the ANC in the Netherworld and met your father during a convention. He was one of the presenters. I was really impressed with his business sense and asked him a ton of questions, probably too many. Anyway, he was really patient, and at the end of our conversation, he told me to drop my resume off with his secretary. So I did, never expecting to get a call back.”

“But lo and behold you did,” I finished for her.

She nodded with a smile. “Yep, and he asked if I was interested in working for him.”

“Did you know what you'd be doing?”

“No, of course not,” she sighed, as if remembering how she used to be, before her innocence was corrupted by street-potion-trafficking.

“Otherwise you probably wouldn't have agreed?” I asked, eyeing her surreptitiously.

She nodded and sighed. “I probably wouldn't have.” Then she was quick to answer, “But I like the situation I’m in now, so I have no regrets.”

And that, right there, was the difference between us.

***

Ten minutes later, Christina pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse beside the loading docks. I immediately noticed a bright red Mercedes sedan sitting in the parking lot and Quill standing beside it.

“Hmmm, looks like your dad sent the E550,” Christina said with a smile. “Not too shabby.”

“So much for being incognito,” I said, shaking my head, thinking I was going to be about as inconspicuous driving the red, flashy thing as the flying monsters of the Netherworld.

“Invest in some good sunglasses and a big hat,” she replied as she pulled alongside the Mercedes and killed the Jeep's engine.

I took off my seatbelt and opened my door. The smell of rotting fish was enveloping even this far north of the docks. Trying not to breathe through my nose, I jumped down from the Wrangler and faced Quill with a frown. “This better be quick because I haven't slept in four days.”

“You beat me to it!” Christina called out. She was referring to our previous conversation when she said she'd talk to Quill about my sleep deprivation.

“I guess I did,” I said over my shoulder before turning back to face Quill, my lips going tight.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, smiling at both of us before his eyes settled on me and he dangled the keys to the Mercedes. “From your father,” he said with a glance at the car. “He said to send his best one.”

“I could care less. As long as it works, I'm happy,” I grumbled.

“I know,” Quill said, grinning at me as if he appreciated the fact that I was completely unimpressed by material things. “And I don't think this meeting should take that long.”

I accepted the keys, and with Christina by my side, followed Quill toward the warehouse for our rendezvous. Overgrown bushes and piles of rubble from the neglected building created obstacles in our path and all three of us had to step over them. It was a feat for Christina and me since we had more in common with the Munchkins of Oz than I wanted to admit, at least where our height was concerned.

Looking up at the decrepit building, I noticed the paint was nearly completely chipped off what was left of the edifice. Graffiti covered the first six feet of the crumbling walls and the windows had been broken long ago, although glass still littered the ground. The inside was in as much disarray as the outside, with old, broken furniture scattered on the floor. What looked like the remains of an impromptu fire pit proudly occupied the center of the room, and next to it lay the bones of some unfortunate animal. I could only hope the transient who'd sought shelter here was now long gone.

“There will be six different shipments of Draoidheil coming in at the same time in six different locations,” Quillan started, alternating his glance between the two of us. “Melchior wants these first shipments to hit the streets in exactly two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” I repeated, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. “That gives us no time to prepare at all!”

“Where will the drop-offs be?” Christina asked, apparently unconcerned about the timeline.

“He wants drop-offs to occur here, in Moon, Sanctuary, Estuary and Haven. There will be two drop-off locations in Splendor, on the loading docks and the East side.”

“There is no way we can do this ourselves,” I said, shaking my head, while the anxiety bubbled in my stomach.

“Melchior realizes that,” Quill responded patiently.

“Then all the traffickers will have to be involved?” I said, recognizing that the three of us were just going to play the parts of orchestrators now, rather than potion pushers.

“Yes,” Quill said, his lips tight as he faced me. “We'll have to contact everyone in the know and plan it out.”

“In two weeks?” I continued with a frown, shaking my head incredulously. “And the dupe? Will there be six of those as well? Because that will require more ANC staff than we currently have.”

Quill shook his head. “No dupes. Melchior's orders are that the ANC can't find out about the Draoidheil at all.”

“No dupe?” Christina started, but I interrupted her.

“Too late. The ANC already knows.”

Both Quill and Christina gaped at me. Christina’s mouth hung wide open while Quill's brows knotted in the middle. Nope, there was no way either one of them had spilled the beans to the ANC, they both looked entirely too astounded.

“What the hell do you mean ‘they already know’?” Quill asked in a harsh tone of voice.

I took a deep breath. “We got an anonymous letter the other day.”

“What did it say?” Christina asked as she crossed her arms against her chest.

“It didn't name the Draoidheil specifically, but it did say an incredibly addictive potion was hitting the streets soon and to increase patrols. Knight is already on it.” I didn't include the part about him keeping me off the case because of my alleged emotional imbalance.

“Who the hell could have?” Quill started and then shook his head, probably realizing anonymous meant anonymous.

“So we are going to need a dupe or six,” I finished. “Unless Melchior wants Trey to sniff out the real stuff.”

“Melchior doesn't want the Draoidheil in ANC hands,” Quill said staunchly. “Period.”

I threw my hands on my hips in exasperation and raised my voice. “Well, it doesn't sound like he has a choice.” I took a deep breath, rubbing my temples because a headache was starting to form between them. “Besides, it's not like the ANC wouldn't bust it at some point anyway. Our track record is good.”

Quill held his hands up. “I'm just the messenger.”

“Well, we need to figure this out ASAP,” I answered, still as pissed off as before. My father was delusional and I didn't feel like dealing with his maniacal fantasies in the exhausted state I was currently in. “Something's going to have to give because Trey is very good at what he does.”

“I'll relay the information,” Quill said, checking his watch. “I guess we're adjourned until then.” Then he addressed both of us. “Tomorrow night?”

“If we need to figure this out in less than two weeks, yeah, tomorrow night,” I answered begrudgingly as we started for the entrance of the building that led out to the parking lot.

The cold night air assaulted my cheek like a slap as I stepped into the moonlight, being careful not to trip over an old cement pylon.

“Have a good night,” Christina said as she started for her Wrangler. “See you both tomorrow night.”

“I'll call you tomorrow afternoon with a time,” Quill answered, waving good-bye to her.

“Sounds good,” she called back. “’Night, Dulcie.”

“’Night,” I said and reached into my pocket for the keys to the Mercedes as Quill and I watched her start the Wrangler and then drive away.

I glanced at Quill and sighed. “Let me guess, you need a ride home?”

He smiled apologetically. “Sorry to be an inconvenience, but someone had to get the Mercedes here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said as I unlocked the driver's door. Locating the button to unlock all the doors, I clicked it. Quill walked over to the passenger side and opened the door, seating himself as I did the same.

“Well, he definitely set you up,” he said, sliding his hand across the tan leather interior. “This is one of the nicer rides I've been in and it drives like a dream.”

I frowned at him, uninterested in the Mercedes for the moment. “I guess it beats the Ford Galaxy,” I said absentmindedly.

“Uh, yeah,” Quill answered as I turned the key in the ignition and felt the car hum beneath me. I buckled my seatbelt and put it in drive as I eyed my passenger.

“Where to?”

“South side of Splendor, Citrus Glen area.”

I'd known that Quill had had to move after we discovered he was a potions importer, but I never knew where he moved to. Citrus Glen was one of the nicer areas in Splendor—a rural, but upscale area. “Nice,” I said as I eyed the rearview mirror to make sure I wasn't going to hit anything while backing up.

“It's quiet,” he answered indifferently and I could feel the penetration of his eyes on me. I glanced at him as he looked away, trying to pretend like he hadn't been staring at me.

I started back down the street that would take us away from the loading docks. Even though I was more than exhausted, the quiet in the car made me feel uncomfortable. “How come you never met Christina in any of your dealings with my father?” I asked as another thought occurred to me. “She said she's been working with Melchior for six years.”

Quill shrugged. “Melchior has people all over the place who I don't know about.”

I nodded, surprised by his answer, but accepting it at the same time. “Did you know she isn't in the ANC database at all?”

He nodded. “Lots of Melchior's people aren't.”

“I guess that makes sense too,” I said, stopping as the light turned red.

“Dulcie,” Quillan started. He paused, as if there was something heavy on his mind and he was having difficulty finding exactly the right words. “I don't know if you and Vander were in a relationship, but I hope you realize it's going to have to end. Most of your connections will.”

I was surprised by the subject change and felt a deep sadness inside at the thought of Knight and how our relationship had dissolved into something that barely even resembled a friendship. “Most of my connections will?” I repeated, swallowing hard as I thought about it. “Even my friendship with Trey, Dia and ... Sam?”

“Inevitably, they all do,” he said, sounding resigned and tired.

I couldn't think about my relationship with Sam falling apart. It was just too painful to dwell on. “Things between Knight and me are already done,” I said hollowly. “I guess you could say I had foresight.”

Quillan nodded. “I hope you understand it's for the best.”

My lips were tight. “I do.”

A few minutes later, we pulled onto Peach Tree Drive and Quillan pointed to a two-story, Spanish-styled home.

“This is me,” he said simply.

I pulled over and parked in front of his house, impressed with the large olive trees that graced the walkway up to the dark oak front door.

“Looks like you're doing well,” I said with a raised brow and a smirk.

He didn't say anything, but opened the car door and stepped out. Then he leaned over, presumably to say good night. “Do you want to come in and see the place?”

I really didn't want to, but his eyes were hopeful and I guess I didn't want to disappoint him. I nodded and turned off the engine, stepping out of the car and closing the door behind me. The moonlight reflected off his blond hair, making him look like some sort of angel. I met him on the sidewalk and then followed him up the brick pathway to his front door. He took a few seconds to unlock it and then stepped inside, turning on the lights.

I looked around, walking from the entryway into the living room, and was pretty impressed with the wide open space. The Spanish tiled floors and exposed beams in the ceiling definitely lent a California feel to the house. The coffee table and entertainment center were made of what looked like a richly stained pine and Quill's large sofas were slip-covered in white. His living room looked like something out of a magazine.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around, about to tell him how much I liked his house, but was completely stunned when I found him standing directly in front of me. Before I could react, his mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair. I was too shocked to respond for a second or two. But once I regained my wits, I pushed away from him, outrage billowing through me.

“What the fu …” I started, but he interrupted me.

“I'm sorry,” he said, frowning with shame. “I don't ... I don't know why I did that. It just ... it just felt like old times again, Dulce.”

I shook my head and took a few steps away from him. “Well, it's not old times and it never will be old times again,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to be in my bed, asleep. “I have to go.”

“Dulcie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

I refused to look at him and, instead, started for the door. “Let's just pretend like this didn't happen,” I said over my shoulder.

Before he could reply, I opened his front door and closed it behind me.

THIRTEEN

For the first time in five days, I slept like the dead. After leaving Quill, whose kiss filled my mind with confusion mixed with irritation, I came home, crawled into bed and didn't wake up until the next morning at seven a.m. sharp. I got a good stretch of six hours of sleep, which was more than I could have hoped for.

The next day at the ANC went by incredibly slowly, mainly because my mind was on other things, like the Draoidheil delivery, for instance. Along with my mind, Knight was also elsewhere. For the entire day, I was the only one on duty, aside from Sam.

Of course, she was still incredibly nosy about what had happened to me in the Netherworld and I was just as emphatic about putting the kibosh on any conversations leading in that direction. And that was no small feat because the topic was still uppermost in both of our minds. When we went to lunch, I noticed numerous pregnant pauses and uncomfortable silences than we'd ever experienced before. I was haunted by the fear that what Quillan had mentioned the previous evening about all my connections coming to an end might actually happen.

And as to where the hell Knight had been all day, I had no clue. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t call me to fill me in on his whereabouts, nor did I want him to. After our last interaction, it seemed no news was good news. At this point, it would be a wonder if he ever even spoke to me again. He'd been so pissed off about my watch, assuming it had been a gift from a would-be lover, that I didn’t think we’d be real chummy again anytime soon. Although I was curious where he was and what he was doing, it was actually a relief that he wasn't in the office. Especially when I considered how abrasive he’d been the last time I'd seen him. Yep, it seemed things were going to hell in a handbasket as far as my personal relationships were concerned. And worst of all, it didn't seem there was a damn thing I could do to prevent it.

Later that evening, Quillan called me just as he'd said he would. He told me to meet Christina and him at a deserted gas station down the street from Baron's tattoo parlor. Once I arrived, Quill outlined our plan so we could move forward where the Draoidheil was concerned. I now knew exactly where the shipments would be received, which smugglers would be handling each shipment and how many vials of Draoidheil filled each crate. I had a list of portal locations as well as ETAs when the Draoidheil was due to hit each site. Quill provided Christina and I with two vials each filled with white antidote pills.

As far as Melchior insisting on not getting the ANC involved, he’d taken extreme measures to ensure that no more information about the Draoidheil reached them. Once Melchior learned about the anonymous warning letter Knight had received, he instructed Quill to test both Christina's and my loyalty with a quick charm. It basically acted like a lie detector test to discern whether either one of us had written the letter. Of course, I passed with flying colors and Christina did too. Quill had taken the test earlier when Melchior first summoned him to the Netherworld to tell him the updated plan. Changes to the original arrangement included Melchior’s slashing our timeline of two weeks down to a mere three days (something which caused my blood pressure to sky rocket). And, to stifle Trey's ability to glimpse the future, Melchior employed the entire race of Dryads.

Dryads were the most sentient of all creatures. They had the ability to perceive the past, present and future more easily than any other creature in the Netherworld. And their power was strong enough to deflect the psychic abilities of other sensitives (Trey, for example). Dryads had never been allowed on Earth and the few that existed (last I'd heard, the count was nine, total) lived together in a Dryad convent. It was known as “The Valley of the Trees,” and supposedly located in the center of the Netherworld, deep in the Oslanian Forest. Dryads were all females and devoted themselves to the preservation of nature. They specifically presided over forests and the flora and fauna residing therein.

While growing up, my mother had told me many stories about the Dryads. They were the guardians of the trees and each Dryad had a special relationship to a particular tree, which they termed “the kinship.” If one of these kinship trees were ever destroyed, the Dryad associated with that tree would also perish. And the death of a Dryad was not a good thing. Mom told me stories of famine, hurricanes and drought resulting from a Dryad's death. But the one particular associated with Dryad lore that struck me the most was that Dryads could never be removed from the forest. Doing so was extremely detrimental to their health. I wasn’t sure if that meant they would die, get sick, or just become unbearably irritable. At any rate, there weren't any forests in Splendor or the surrounding cities, so I figured I'd soon find out.

When I asked Quill about taking the Dryads out of their natural habitat and if they could quite possibly die in the process, he had no answer for me ... and what was more, he didn't seem like he was interested in furthering the discussion. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the subject but I could also tell he'd convinced himself there was no way around it. All it proved to me was that my father placed far more importance in the successful marketing of the Draoidheil than he did on the lives of the Dryads. What was more, I had a feeling the Dryads were a good example of a magical ecosystem, and one I was worried about disrupting. One ecosystem’s failure could lead to the destruction of many others which could ultimately mean devastation for the Netherworld as a whole. Not that my greedy father would care. It seemed the only green that interested him was money.

And why did I think that? Because I now knew that this shipment of Draoidheil wasn't just another street potion trafficking. No, the Draoidheil represented far more than that. It was the vehicle by which my father planned to seal his definitive tyranny. His ultimate hope was to ensure that all creatures of the Netherworld would become dependent on the Draoidheil and, therefore, dependent on him for distribution. The Netherworld creatures would then become like a race of automatons, all obeying the whims of one man.

That was why Melchior didn't want the Draoidheil to fall into the hands of the ANC. He couldn’t afford to let the addictive power of the Draoidheil be known. As Regulators, if we busted a shipment of an unknown potion, the first thing we would do was send the potion to a lab in order to trace all of its components. In doing so, we could have the means to manufacture an antidote to the Draoidheil ourselves, something that would throw a monkey wrench into Melchior's campaign.

Fearing the ANC would discover his plans, Melchior made certain to dot all of his i's and cross all of his t's. Not only were Dryads scheduled to be present at each shipment station, thereby scrambling the psychic reception of any other sensitives, but Melchior also hired witches. They were tasked with charming each of the potion deliveries prior to the shipment to Earth. In other words, as soon as the Draoidheil came through the portal, and was received on the other end, one of the vials would detonate. The powder would blast out into the air, a wind of charmed intoxication suddenly spreading the Draoidheil far and wide. Of course, anyone working for Melchior would have already taken the antidote, leaving only the staff of the ANC to fall under its influence. And if that happened, the Regulators would be about as threatening as infants.

Given the previous example, it would only be a matter of weeks before all the creatures of the Netherworld came into contact with the Draoidheil and fell under its addictive power. Why was I so certain of this? Because one of the very convenient facts about the Draoidheil (which my father had failed to report when he first introduced us to it) was that there was a trigger in the potion. It made the person under its influence feel magnanimous and want to share his or her feelings of bliss with someone else. Consequently, the addicts would spread the drug themselves, addicting one creature at a time. And the only reason I'd found that out was because Quill had told me.

Now fully aware of my father's finely orchestrated and well-planned strategy, you can imagine how nervous I was about it actually succeeding. As far as I was concerned, it couldn't succeed ... I couldn't allow it to happen because it would destroy the balance between the Earth and the Netherworld as well as the lifestyle to which we were accustomed.

After Quill finished briefing us on what was supposed to happen and we wore him out with our questions, he adjourned the meeting. I waited until Christina left before asking Quill how he could follow my father's plan in good conscience, knowing what it would mean for all Netherworld creatures.

I don't know what I expected from him, considering my father had basically browbeaten him into submission a long time ago, but still, I expected more than I received. All I got from Quill was his acknowledgement that my father's plan would certainly enable his absolute tyranny and supremacy over the Netherworld. But when Quill discussed the subject, there was no fear in his eyes. Actually, I hadn't seen anything in his eyes, but a hollow void, a deep chasm, which made me realize that Quill had given up. And he’d done so years ago. There was no fight left in him. The fires of hope that burn in each and every one of us were nothing but smoldering embers in Quill, mere wisps of smoke, flapping their white flags of surrender. With no resistance left in him, he was useless to me.

The thought saddened me because I always thought of Quillan as a smart, strong person. He'd been a fair and good boss (well, at least until I caught him with his hand in the illegal potions jar). Now he was just a weak, vacillating, ineffective toady to my father. But having said all that, I felt sorry for him, more than ever before. I mean, despite the shit I was in, at least, I still had hope … And the ability to challenge Melchior’s agenda. But as for Quill, he wasn't strong enough to support me anymore. No, he was a lame duck. And I couldn’t rely on a lame duck.

As far as who could support me, Knight was the first person to pop into my head. Of course, I couldn't involve him in any way, knowing my father still ransomed his life over my head. And, furthermore, I'd have to figure out a way to protect Knight if I was going to breach my agreement with my father. And as far as I knew, I had to breach that agreement—I had no other choice.

With Knight out of the picture, there was only one other person I could turn to, one person with the position and morality to help me—Caressa Brandenburg.

For the remainder of my evening, I schemed and plotted until an idea began to construct itself in my mind, laying the building blocks of a solid foundation. Now that I had a fairly decent plan in place, it was time to get to work. The unfortunate part of my plan was that I couldn't use magic for any of it. I was too afraid that whatever I magicked for myself wouldn't work in the Netherworld, where my magic was ineffectual. Instead, I relied on commonplace conveniences such as the Rite Aid drugstore right around the corner.

Needing to “un-Dulcify” myself, I purchased the darkest semi-permanent hair dye I could find, even though I was incredibly bummed to have to use it. But c’est la vie ... Sometimes you have to sacrifice your naturally gorgeous hair in order to save the Netherworld.

Once I located the hair dye, my thoughts turned to makeup. I found the lightest liquid makeup I could in the Cover Girl aisle, along with four compacts of extra loud eye shadow, with colors ranging from fuchsia to electric blue, a bright red lip liner and matching lipstick, and a coral pink blush. The idea was to make myself look as unlike myself as possible. I was going for camouflage, disguise and incognito. I was going for Cyndi Lauper meets Boy George with a bit of RuPaul thrown in for good measure.

When I got home, I quickly dyed my hair. While it was wrapped up in a towel on top of my head, I searched through my closet for my white jeans and a white T-shirt. Once I located them both, I left the jeans on my bed and carried the v-necked T-shirt into the living room. I pulled out the ironing board and the iron, plugged it in and set it for “high steam.” Then I ransacked the first two drawers beside my kitchen sink until I found the iron-on alphabet decals I'd purchased for Halloween last year when Sam and I had dressed up like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

Our costumes had sucked so bad that we hadn't looked a thing like either Tweedle, so in a last ditch attempt to salvage our dignity, we opted to spell out our characters with iron-on alphabet letters. I couldn't help smiling as I remembered how much fun we'd had while cutting out the letters and arranging them just so. I was in charge of cutting while Sam did the ironing. After a few glasses of wine and too many laughs to count, my “Dee” ended up off center and Sam's “Dum” looked like it was falling downhill, which only made us laugh all the more.

I suddenly was overcome with feelings of depression as I cut out the letters to spell: “Flowertime.” I promised myself, then and there, to prove Quill wrong. Nothing could ever get in the way of my friendship with my best friend. Whatever crimes I committed with regards to Melchior would soon be wiped clean from my slate. I promised myself that I would come up with a plan to stop my father and this was just the first step. I had to ensure that the Draoidheil never made it to the black market. Because if it did, my father's sovereignty would be guaranteed.

Once I finished ironing the letters onto my shirt, I turned the iron off and set the T-shirt aside to check on my hair. I unwrapped the towel and combed out the long tresses, noticing they looked sort of purple. Either way, purple-black was less Dulcie than honey-gold. I started for the living room again and turned on my computer, opening Microsoft Word as soon as the computer booted up. When I was greeted with the blank page, I started typing:

Caressa,

There is a shipment of illegal narcotics coming from the Netherworld scheduled to hit Splendor, Moon, Estuary, Haven and Sanctity. The narcotic is called Draoidheil and it's like nothing you've ever seen before. Immediate addiction. The only way to avoid it is an antidote (I will include two vials of the antidote with this letter for you to distribute to any ANC members involved in busting it). It is very important that you find someone who can recreate the antidote exactly. Once you are able to duplicate it, make as much as you can. Again, this is the ONLY way to avoid the addictive effects of the Draoidheil). The potion is airborne and anyone unlucky enough to inhale it will immediately become addicted. The narcotics will be arriving on May 10th at the following ports and at the following times:

8 pm Splendor: The Loading Docks and The Abandoned Railway Station on the Upper East Side

8:15 pm Moon: The old asylum off Grover St.

8:30 pm Sanctity: The train tracks where Green St. crosses Blue St.

8:45 pm Estuary: The Henderson Tomb in the Briarwood Cemetery

9:00 pm Haven: The abandoned Highgate Theater

I finished the letter by naming all of Melchior's thugs who would be receiving the Draoidheil at each portal station. I also mentioned the Dryads. I thought about telling her that Melchior was behind it all, but then worried that if Caressa didn't already know my father was in charge of the trafficking, she might not act on the information; especially if she thought it could mean her own personal safety. I ended the note with:

As soon as you finish reading this letter, please destroy it.

I stood up from my computer and stretched my arms above my head. There wasn't anything more I could do tonight. Tomorrow, I would stop by the florist in downtown Splendor and purchase a bouquet, paying for it with cash so I could remain anonymous. Then I planned to hop through the portal to the Netherworld where I would pretend to be a flower delivery person with an arrangement for Caressa.

I was nervous, the anxiety pumping through my veins ever since I’d devised this plan in the first place. But there was no turning back now. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and Caressa was the only person I could turn to. I knew she'd eventually recognize me under my blackish purple hair and overdone makeup. I was betting on it because I needed her to believe the information I told her was accurate and true. And I had to imagine that she would trust me, given the relationship she and I had already built. It wasn't much of a relationship but it had definitely been built on trust. It was everyone else in the Netherworld who I was attempting to hide from, not wanting to be recognized on video surveillance, etcetera.

I was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. I glanced at the caller ID and recognized No Regrets, Bram's nightclub.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Sweet,” Bram's English accent seemed especially thick tonight. “Are you engaged this evening?”

I figured he was going to make good on the promise I'd made him to allow him to take me to dinner five times in return for serving as my guide in the Netherworld. Unfortunately for me, I still owed him all five dinner dates. More unfortunately for me, Bram had also stipulated that on every date, I was to wear a short dress which was also low cut. If nothing else, Bram was persistent. And as much as I didn't want to have to fend off the advances of the three-hundred-year-old vampire all night, I had nothing else to do.

“No, I'm free,” I said, sounding less than thrilled.

“Very good,” Bram answered, but seemed to be weighing his words. “I would like you to meet me at No Regrets, sweet.”

“We're going to have dinner there?” I asked, surprised because Bram usually seemed only interested in dining in five star restaurants, even though he, himself, never ate a thing.

“No, no, sweet. I am not interested in supper this eve. My request for your companionship has nothing to do with my list of demands; although I do hope you still plan to hold up your end of the bargain?”

“I do,” I grumbled.

“Very good, sweet, very good.”

It struck me as odd that Bram was requesting my company when there didn't appear to be anything in it for him ...Well, nothing that I could immediately see anyway. “What is this about then?”

He paused for a few seconds, which had to mean something was on his mind. “I prefer to discuss the specifics in person, sweet Dulcie. I will send a vehicle for you.”

“I have my bike,” I started.

“No,” he interrupted. “I prefer your visit be clandestine, sweet.”

I was surprised and intrigued, I couldn't help it. “Okay, I'll see you soon then, I guess.”

FOURTEEN

It was only twenty minutes later when Bram's black limo arrived in front of my apartment, chauffeured by a long-haired, bearded werewolf. The were was even dressed in a black suit, white-collared shirt, black tie and a funny little hat that made him look like he just stepped off the Newsies lot. I'd seen the guy previously around No Regrets a few times. I think he also moonlighted as Bram's bodyguard. Why would a vampire need a bodyguard? I had no clue—I think it was mostly for show. It seemed everything Bram did was merely for the sake of doing it.

“Thanks,” I said as the were opened the door for me and I seated myself in the plush black leather interior of the limo. I was immediately enveloped by Bram's smell—something slightly exotic and foreign, but captivating all the same.

The ride to No Regrets was quick and silent, which was just as well because I wasn't in the mood for small talk. Instead, I found my thoughts centered on why Bram requested the pleasure of my company this evening and more importantly, why was he being so secretive about it?

I lost track of time and when I felt the limo come to a stop, it didn't even seem like ten minutes had gone by. I smiled my thanks to the were when he opened the door for me and helped me out of the limo. Then he escorted me to the back entrance of No Regrets. So Bram hadn't been fibbing when he'd said he wanted my visit to remain secret. And I couldn't even say that it offended me … Nope, I was getting used to skulking in shadows.

I'd used the back entrance of No Regrets a few times when I'd visited Bram in the past (basically when I needed information from him and he wanted me kept on the down low) so when the chauffeur bypassed the door and started down the alley abutting Bram's nightclub, I was instantly on high alert.

“Um, isn't it this way?” I asked, motioning to the back door.

The were shook his head and his voice was deep when he spoke. “Bram insisted you enter through the alleyway.” Figuring I was relatively safe with the werewolf, since he was in Bram's employ, I followed him into the alley where he paused at the top of a flight of stairs. He glanced back at me as if to make sure I was keeping up and then started down the stairs, which terminated in a nondescript white door. He knocked and the door opened maybe three inches, at which time the were announced Bram had a visitor. Then he turned to face me, gesturing for me to approach. The person on the other side of the door held it open twelve inches wider, expecting me to squeeze my way through. Good thing for me that I was both small in stature and thin, otherwise I wouldn't have made it through.

Once on the other side, it took my eyes a few seconds to get used to the darkness of the room. Although it was nighttime outside, the moon was incredibly bright and now I felt like I’d just been thrown into a pitch-black cave. After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted and I found myself at the end of a long hallway. I could hear the sounds of Rihanna's “Rude Boy” in the distance, raucous laughter punctuating the song.

“This way,” the person at the entrance said gruffly. I didn't recognize the thuggish looking guy although I could tell he was a troll of some sort—whether from the Netherworlds of Scandinavia or Britain, I had no clue. He encompassed an enormous amount of space with his head nearly touching the ceiling. It would have, if not for the exaggerated hump on his back that caused him to hunch over to support its massive weight. He looked like a giant with osteoporosis. As if the hump on his back weren't enough to ensure he wouldn't win any beauty contests, he also walked with a limp. It was as if his left side had suffered from a stroke, his foot dragging behind him. All in all, I felt like I was on my way to visit Victor Frankenstein and his lab of horrors, Igor leading the way.

I followed the troll down the darkly lit hallway which T-boned into another corridor. Not only had I never been in this section of No Regrets, I never even knew it existed. Yep, Bram was a sneaky one. We took a left and continued down the passage until we came to a door. The troll whipped out a key ring, which was maybe ten inches wide, and gripping the longest key out of the bunch, unlocked the door, motioning for me to enter. When I did, I found myself in the midst of yet another corridor. I followed the troll when he made a right, suddenly feeling like I was in a maze. I definitely had no idea how to get back out again. The music from the main section of the club now sounded distant and muffled.

“How much farther?” I asked. “I forgot my walking shoes.”

The troll just “humphed” as if laughing at a joke, stupid though mine might have been, was entirely beyond him. He said nothing, but paused in front of another door before rapping his beefy knuckles against it, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

“Announce yourself,” came Bram's voice from the other side.

“Your visitor is here,” the troll breathed back, his tone of voice reminding me of Rensfield, Dracula's servant. Hmmm, how fitting.

“You may enter,” Bram responded and the troll groaned as he turned the doorknob and opened the door, leaning against it for support. Immediately, I recognized Bram's office—the white, red and black motif being hard to forget. Twin red velvet armchairs sat atop the plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Both the walls and ceiling were painted black, making it feel like I was actually standing outside, under the night sky. The only things missing were some twinkling lights to act the part of the stars.

Bram was sitting on one of the red velvet armchairs, his right leg crossed over his left knee and his hands clasped beneath his chin as if he were Madonna, striking a pose.

I walked through the door and turned around to watch the troll close and lock it behind me. Only then did I realize the reason I'd never noticed this door before—it was conveniently disguised as a bookcase. Clever, Bram, really clever.

“If you're going for Rodin’s Thinker, your posture is a little off,” I said as I glanced over at him again, my hands on my hips. He was always predictable in his attempts to appear important.

He stood up and approached me, frowning as he observed my newly dyed hair. “Dulcie, sweet, you have done this to yourself again?” Then he shook his head as if he thought it was a damn pity. “It is not a good look.”

“I didn't do it for looks, dumbass,” I grumbled back, not wanting to get into a long, drawn-out explanation. He ran a strand of my hair through his fingers, “tsking” at it with obvious displeasure. I didn't pull away.

“Then why did you do it?” he asked glumly, maybe taking offense to being called a “dumbass.”

“It's all part of the game,” I said simply.

“I do not care for it,” Bram replied as he arched his eyebrows as if to further emphasize his disapproval.

“Well I don't care that you don't care so I guess we're even.”

Bram threw his head back and chuckled heartily, not making any attempt to maintain personal space between the two of us. Instead, he looked at me with amused eyes, a smile pulling at his plump lips. “I believe it must be your distinctive scent that so intoxicates me.”

I shook my head with a deep sigh, desperately searching for the patience to deal with him, but coming up short. “Bram, why is it that every time I see you, we have to go through this song and dance? Haven't we been through it enough times now that we can just bypass it?”

“I am always hopeful, my sweet,” he started, while circling me as if he were inspecting a horse to purchase. He stopped walking when he was directly behind me and I could feel his gaze on my ass. I never encouraged this behavior and tonight was no different. I wasn't dressed up for the occasion, wearing fitted blue jeans and a v-necked, long-sleeved white T-shirt.

“Hopeful for what?” I snapped, even though I really wasn't looking forward to his answer. Things with Bram never seemed to change. I always had to play his little game of cat and mouse before he'd open up and tell me what I really needed to know.

Patience, Dulcie, patience.

I felt him grab a handful of my hair tightly at first, then loosening his grip, he draped it over my shoulder. At the touch of his fingertips along the sensitive skin of my shoulders, I got goose bumps.

“Hopeful that you will give in to me,” he whispered into my ear, his fingertips following the line of my T-shirt to my front, before trailing down to the cleavage of my breasts. I grabbed his fingers once it seemed they were intent on further exploration.

“A for your effort, Bram,” I said, turning around to face him. “Whatever acting classes you've been taking, they're paying off. I bet you could even outdo Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire.”

He frowned and sighed loudly to show his lack of amusement. “One night with you, sweet, would cure me of this insatiable hunger.” His gaze moved from my eyes to my bust and back up to my eyes again as he smiled broadly. “Of that I am certain.”

It almost sounded worthwhile. Just one night of sex (which would probably result in a wham, bam, thank you, Bram) and he'd no doubt get over me, relegating me to all his other conquests he grew bored with. Yes, it all sounded fine and good until I got to the sex part. “Sorry, can't help you there,” I said with an apologetic smile. “Now how about you tell me why you wanted to see me? And what's with that maze of hallways?”

Bram pouted but at the steely expression in my eyes, he dropped the pout. “I have been thinking about you, sweet,” he said as he led us to the red chairs in the center of the room again. He sat in the one he'd previously occupied and motioned for me to take the other. I did and faced him expectantly.

“And what's with all the secretive stuff?”

He shrugged as if it should be obvious. “I didn't want your presence here known.” Then he nodded as if he were seeking more time to say whatever he intended to say. “I have been quite worried about you.”

I frowned, not buying this story for one second. Emotions like worry and caring had no place in Bram's world. “Well, you couldn't have been that worried, considering you're just broaching this subject now,” I said as I arched one brow at him skeptically. I'd been up to my eyes in chaos for at least the last two weeks, so Bram's timing was definitely tardy.

He nodded as if I had a point. “Yes, sweet, I was quite overcome by the fact that I was experiencing any human emotion at all. It took a few days for me to come to terms with it.”

I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. “You are truly one of a kind, Bram.” He smiled with fangs and I couldn't help shrinking back into my seat. Sometimes Bram could be ... slightly intimidating. But it was never wise to reveal one’s fear to a vampire, especially this one. I sat up straight and glared at him. “Why did you want me to come here?”

Bram nodded and eyed me narrowly, his jaw tight. “I have been battling myself over whether or not to reach out to you ... dare I say it? To help you.”

“Really? Let me guess, you looked inward and discovered you actually had a heart, after all.”

He frowned as if he didn’t find my comment amusing and looked down his nose at me. “I do care for you, more than I prefer to say.”

“Well, I care for you too, Bram,” I said, feeling a little forced to reciprocate. I mean, it was obvious he had information for me and the best way to obtain it was by being nice and appreciative. I had to admit that a part of me, (albeit a very small part), actually felt sorry for Bram because he seemed so helplessly infatuated with me. Furthermore, it wasn’t like him to go out on a limb like he always did for me, especially since he was the most narcissistic, self-centered, egomaniacal person I'd ever met.

He smiled broadly at that, and almost looked innocent. Almost. Then the smile on his lips dropped and he inhaled dramatically, which was ridiculous, considering he had no respiratory system. “All hope is not lost,” he said simply.

It was my turn to take a deep breath and count to ten before I lost my temper. “What does that mean?”

“Last we spoke, you intimated that you were ‘in deep,’ is how I believe you termed it, with your father's business?” he asked as I nodded, eager for him to continue, which he did. “There is a way out.”

I felt my eyes go wide as my heart sped up. “A way out ... of what?”

“Your situation with Melchior O'Neil.”

I didn't say anything for a few seconds, my surprise overwhelming me. “And what is the way out?” I asked finally.

Bram arched a brow, but remained quiet as if he were still debating over whether or not to tell me what was on his mind. “It is called The Resistance,” he said simply. His silence told me if I sought any more information, he wanted me to dig for it. It was like trying to have a serious conversation with the Sphinx, who only offered riddles.

I reminded myself to keep my cool since I should have expected this. Conversations with Bram amounted to playing the game of Twenty Questions—me asking the questions and his answers amounting to no more than tidbits of what basically seemed like nonsense. “What is The Resistance?”

“An underground movement,” he started, and when I hoped he'd expound, he simply stopped talking again. Yep, my work was cut out for me and this was going to be tiring.

I sighed. “What underground?”

He shook his head, as if irritated that he had to go back to the beginning. “There is an underground ...”

“Where?”

“It does not exist anywhere,” he snapped. “The underground is termed so because it is a hush-hush society. And in this underground, there has arisen a group who call themselves The Resistance.”

“And what are they resisting?” I asked, although I had a pretty good guess where Bram was going with this explanation.

“They resist your father's rule,” he said simply. “They resist servitude, dictatorship and tyranny.” All the things my father advocated.

Although I sort of had been half expecting to hear the words from his lips, I still couldn't conceal the shock that made me inhale sharply. “How many are there?”

Bram shook his head. “I do not know.”

“Are you part of The Resistance, Bram?”

He eyed me hungrily, arching one of his brows. “No, although I have their ear.”

That was how Bram did most things in his life—he was always on the periphery, never quite involved enough to get his hands dirty, and far enough away to avoid reprisals.

“Then who is the leader?”

Bram shook his head. “I am not at liberty to say.”

“Okay then, what can The Resistance do about my father? Are they actually a legitimate threat?” Bram studied me for a moment or two, and it was almost as if he were sizing me up, trying to judge whether or not he could trust me. “Bram, I want nothing more than to put this lifestyle and the tyranny of my father behind me. You should know me well enough by now to realize that.”

He dropped his suspicious expression and merely nodded, apparently convinced of my loyalty.

“Are they a real threat to my father?” I repeated. “Can they take him down?”

Bram simply nodded. “They continue to recruit sympathizers to the cause daily. The Resistance is stronger now than it has ever been and, yes, I consider them a compelling threat.”

And that was when I realized Bram was right—there was a way out of this mess and I had a feeling this Resistance was just the ticket. As to Knight's safety? I'd already worked that one out. When I met with Caressa, that would be the first topic I discussed. And once Knight's safety was secured, I believed The Resistance would be the best force to dethrone my father and strip him of his power permanently. Well, that is, as long as their army was large enough to take on my father's.

“I need to meet with them,” I said urgently. “I need to tell them everything I know so we can stop my father together.”

Bram held up his hands to quiet me down. “It is a secret society, sweet, and if they knew I had broken their trust by relaying this information to you, they would never forgive me and my relationship with them would be destroyed.”

I frowned and hunched back into my seat. “So what should I do then? How am I supposed to get into touch with them?”

“They will call for you when the time is right,” he said simply. “Until then, I have their ear.”

I suddenly realized what he was getting at. He wanted me to spill the beans, and like playing a game of telephone, he would pass the information on. At this point, I had to seriously weigh my options and more specifically, my trust in Bram. Because just as Bram lived on the periphery of doing good, he also lived on the periphery of doing not so good. It wouldn't have come as an enormous surprise, consequently, to learn that Bram was employed by my father. I doubted he was, but how could I really be sure?

I eyed him speculatively as the conflict of whether or not to trust him continued to rage inside my head.

“Shall I provide you with some information to prove that all I have said is true?” he asked as I realized my emotions were as visible as the nose on my face.

I just nodded and watched him smile and study me for a few moments before he opened his mouth to speak again. “Were you notified of a certain letter to the ANC which warned ...”

But he never was able to finish his sentence. Instead, my mouth dropped open and I interrupted him. “That was you?” I asked, dawning realization instantly replacing the shock on my face. “You left the note with the ANC?”

Bram simply nodded. “Although there was no need to.”

“Why?”

He leaned back against his chair and stretched like a cat. “The Resistance has eyes and ears everywhere, Dulcie sweet.”

“In the ANC?” I asked, stunned, as I tried to imagine who could be the eyes and ears in our office. Trey? Elsie? Lottie, the super annoying pixie? Sam? I gulped. Knight?

“Everywhere,” Bram said simply while buffing his nails against his lapel. “The note was a mere test.”

I swallowed hard, disliking the sound of that. “A test?”

He nodded and glanced at me, his eyes suddenly harsh. “A test to evaluate what happened to the highly valuable information.”

I realized then that I'd failed the so-called test. I sat back in Bram's chair and felt like I might pass out because my heart was beating so quickly. My stomach dropped to the floor. “I told Quillan, Bram,” I said in a small voice, shaking my head as I realized the extent of my mistake. “I did exactly what I shouldn’t have.”

Bram nodded, but there was no sign of disappointment or blame in his eyes. They were uncannily hollow, devoid of emotion. “It will be difficult for you to gain their trust,” he said while raising his brows to emphasize the sentiment. “You cannot play both sides of the coin.”

“I had no choice!” I railed back at him, my voice sounding slightly hysterical. “I have to do what my father says because Knight's life is on the line!”

But Bram's lips were tight as he studied me. “The choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility,” he said, adding, “Eleanor Roosevelt.”

I nodded, because he was right. I couldn't play both sides. If I wanted The Resistance to trust me, I couldn't feed their information to Melchior. “What do I do, Bram?” I asked, in a flat tone.

“You make your decision and then stick with it,” he answered.

I decided then to tell him everything I knew—everything about the Draoidheil, my father's dreams for absolute rule, my plan to visit Caressa, everything. If Bram had the “ear of The Resistance” even though they weren't yet prepared to trust me, he could be my vehicle to reach them. That's all there was to it. So I spilled my guts about everything, naming names, places, events. I must have blabbed for a good ten minutes straight before I had to come up for air.

“I see,” Bram said at last. With a single nod, he let it be known that he'd digested everything I'd just regurgitated.

“Can you tell them everything for me?” I asked, perched on the edge of my seat.

But he shook his head. “There is no guarantee that they would trust me with such information.”

My heart dropped and I clenched my eyes shut tightly as I rubbed my temples, wondering why I’d bothered explaining everything if he wasn't going to do anything with the information.

“You must stick to your plan and visit Caressa,” Bram said firmly.

“Is Caressa in The Resistance?” I asked, my eyes going wide.

Bram simply shook his head. “No, but her word is valued much more highly than mine. If I were to deliver your information, it would only be as good as an anonymous note.”

“They would doubt its validity?” I asked, although I saw the truth in his words. Anything that came from Caressa, a highly ranked officer of the ANC, would never be questioned. And I was sure whoever comprised this Resistance was well aware that Caressa detested my father. Even though she'd never said as much, it was obvious. Which meant she must have a friend in The Resistance. Yep, I was spot on when I'd decided to talk to Caressa. She really was the only person left capable of preventing the Draoidheil delivery from going as Melchior planned.

“Very good, Dulcie sweet,” Bram said as he stood up, indicating that our meeting was over.

“Thanks,” I said, eyeing the bookshelf, trying to decipher where the doorway was. “How the hell am I supposed to find my way out of here?”

Bram smiled and then shook his head. “You may use the front entrance. I was unaware of your altered appearance,” he finished, with a dismayed glance at my hair again. “You look nothing like Dulcie O'Neil.”

I just shook my head and rolled my eyes, inwardly pleased that I wouldn't have to retrace my steps through the maze again with Igor. “I'll be swift and discreet,” I said.

“I will instruct Harper to pick you up at the front door,” Bram continued.

“Harper?” I couldn't help but laugh.

Bram didn't share my amusement as he held the door to his office open for me. Before I could take a step forward, I suddenly felt Bram right next to me, his arms around me. He leaned over and placed a kiss on my cheek, dangerously close to my lips.

“We shall be in touch,” he said with a suggestive smile.

I raised my brows, lacking the energy to bitch at him for stealing a kiss. Instead, I turned around to face No Regrets, only to find Knight sitting at the end of the bar, staring at me.

FIFTEEN

I must have stopped breathing for at least a few seconds; and in those seconds, I simply watched Knight glare at me and shake his head angrily, his jaw so tight it looked like it might snap right off his face. He glanced from me to Bram, who I guessed was still standing behind me, and then simply downed his drink, dropping a twenty on the bar before standing up and leaving.

I didn't go after him because I knew better. There wasn't anything I could say—I mean, yes, I could have run after him and sworn it wasn't what I was sure he thought it was. But to what end? It wasn't like I could get back together with Knight, well, not anytime soon anyway. I still had to figure out everything with my father and Caressa, not to mention The Resistance. I could only hope that once the dust settled (if it ever did settle), Knight and I could work things out because the truth of the matter was that I was absolutely in love with him and hated every second of this game I had to play.

But saving his life was worth playing it, I had to remind myself.

After leaving Bram, I went home, but I couldn't sleep all night. I just tossed and turned as I imagined what Knight must be thinking. With me leaving Bram's office, him leaning down and kissing me and me not attempting to bitch slap him, it had to look like there was something between us. Throw in the fact that I wasn't currently working on any cases at the ANC which meant I really had no reason to visit Bram and I must have looked guilty as charged. And the icing on the cake? The Rolex my father had given me, which I'd failed to convince Knight had been my purchase. If anyone had the kind of money for such an extravagant gift, it was Bram. Yep, I could only imagine Knight thought there was a whole lot more going on between Bram and me than there was. And that made me sick to my stomach.

I tried to push the thoughts from my mind in favor of sleeping. I even downed two Tylenol PMs around one a.m., but by the time eight a.m. rolled by, I was still wide awake and hadn't managed to get a wink of sleep all night. Finally abandoning it as a lost cause, I got up, fed Blue and started the coffee. I thought I should eat something, but my nerves were on full speed ahead and food would only disagree with my stomach. Instead, I started fretting over my plan to visit Caressa today—well, Hades willing, anyway. I'd already rehearsed the plan repeatedly through my mind, trying to imagine any and every obstacle that might possibly arise as well as a solution to them.

By the time nine o'clock rolled by, I'd dressed in my flower delivery costume, curled my hair into a frizzy mess and painted my face full of makeup, even indulging myself with a beauty mark just below my right nostril. I definitely didn't look like me, which was exactly the point.

Glancing down at my portal compass watch for the tenth time since getting up this morning, I made sure I remembered Quill's instructions on how to use it, and outlined each step in my head. After that little task, I looked at the vials of antidote that stood on my kitchen table, where I'd placed them the previous night with the express purpose of not forgetting them this morning. Next to the vials was a long piece of white ribbon and a pair of scissors, which would come in handy later on.

Checking the clock, I realized it was nearly nine thirty and time for me to go. The flower shop opened at ten a.m. and was located in the city center so it would take me a good twenty minutes to get there. I'd already called in sick this morning to the ANC, even though I didn't expect Knight to care. He'd probably be glad not to have to see me, if he were even there today.

Pushing thoughts of Knight from my mind, I grabbed my helmet and the keys to my bike, throwing the vials, ribbon, scissors and the letter to Caressa into my backpack. I supposed I could have taken the Mercedes, but the truth of the matter was that I wanted nothing to do with my father. Not when I was about to rat his ass out. Instead, I took a deep breath, remembered that in two days time, the Draoidheil was scheduled for delivery, and headed for the door.

The drive to the florist took exactly twenty minutes, just according to plan. And because I was their first customer of the day, I was in and out in another thirty minutes, sans forty dollars, but with a large bouquet of Casablanca lilies and red roses. I crammed the arrangement in my backpack, making sure it fit snugly and only zipped it up on one side, allowing the lilies and roses to poke out of the top. Then I started for the freeway that would take me out of Splendor toward Estuary.

I was going after the most remote portal, one which was located off an old, single lane, fire road with nothing but cows and trees nearby. Once I hit the street, aptly titled FireHouse Road, I searched for the telltale sign of a white picket fence on one side, denoting a nearby farm, and an open lake on the other. I found it without issue and pulled to the side of the road, steering the Ducati behind a large tree beside the lake. After I felt confident I was alone, I looked down at my portal watch.

The dial was spinning in circles, which meant it had picked up on the portal's energy. Now it was just a matter of dialing into the right location and then specifying the area in the Netherworld in which I wanted to arrive. I took a few steps toward the lake and noticed the dial starting to slow down, still making large loops around the face of the watch, but not nearly as quickly as it had before. I was on the right track. I continued forward, and the dial on my watch continued to slow. Once it stopped, so did I as I found myself facing the lake, the water’s edge only about two feet from mine.

The portal I wanted to connect with in the Netherworld was located on the third floor of the ANC building, down the hallway from Caressa's office. It was supposed to be located in the women's restroom, which seemed the perfect site, considering I'd have to adjust my wardrobe before delivering the arrangement.

I checked my watch again and took a step to the right, noticing the hour hand moving from twelve o'clock to one o'clock. I was almost there. It needed to be aligned with two o'clock. I took another step and the hand paused as the minute hand indicated thirty minutes. One-thirty. Another mini step brought the placement to one-forty-five. Another mini step and I was at two o'clock.

I reached my hand forward and felt the difference in the air immediately. The air in the portal was viscous, gel-like to the touch and balmy. Now was the moment of reckoning. I put my backpack on the ground, pulled my T-shirt over my head until I was standing in just my jeans, sneakers and bra. Then clutching the backpack in one hand and my T-shirt in the other, I leaped forward.

I was starting to get used to the feeling of portal travel, sort of like landing in a gigantic, warm gummy bear. But only a second later, you get shot out into a much colder atmosphere and have to take a deep breath to get your bearings straight. After experiencing exactly that, I took another big breath and found myself standing in the middle of a restroom.

Portal travel? No problem.

I could feel my idiotic wings sprouting from my back, only to begin frantically beating as I started to rise into the air. I lurched forward and grabbed hold of the sink with the hand that was also still clutching onto my T-shirt. I managed to station myself in place as I put the backpack in the basin before me. Then, while holding onto the sink with my other hand, I unzipped my backpack all the way and pulled out the bouquet. I propped it between the mirror and the faucet. Then I unzipped the backpack, taking out the scissors and the ribbon. My wings had started to calm down so I carefully released the sink, testing myself to see if I was going to start floating again. Luckily for me, it seemed I was finally earthbound, my wings only beating every few seconds.

I continued to breathe in and breathe out slowly, trying to calm my wings to make them stop flapping entirely. After a few minutes, it seemed they got the point and lay dormant against my back. That was my cue. I picked up the ribbon and holding each end between my fingers, draped it over my neck, and pulled it down until it rested against my back at chest level. I pulled the ribbon tight against my wings, then I looped it over my neck again and tightened it a bit lower, making a crisscross sort of pattern along my back. Once I was convinced my wings couldn't break free of the pseudo prison, I tied the ribbon in a knot right above my breasts and trimmed the excess with the scissors. Then I pulled my T-shirt back over my head and carefully smoothed it down over my wings. Turning to glance at my profile in the mirror, my wings were small enough that they folded nicely beneath my shirt. Granted, they still appeared slightly lumpy, but lumpy I could handle. It was the flying I couldn't.

I grabbed the bouquet and retrieved the note from the backpack, folding it in half and then half again so it just fit in my palm. Then I wadded my backpack up into as tight a bundle as I could and jammed it into the corner of the restroom, pulling the silver trash bin in front to conceal it. Yes, I was concerned about leaving the vials of antidote in the restroom unattended, but I was more concerned with being caught and as part of that, being questioned and detained. I mean, I had bypassed the whole front desk, sign-in procedure so it wasn't a stretch to imagine someone might have questions for me if I were caught.

Steeling my courage with a big breath, I pulled the restroom door open and started down the hallway, pleased that no one else seemed to be out and about. I held the bouquet up high, so that it partially concealed my face and started scouting the nameplates along the walls outside each office. I wasn't sure if Caressa's assistant, Alex, would be stationed outside Caressa's office, but I hoped she wasn't. I was afraid that Alex might recognize me, even through my clown makeup. And if Alex did recognize me, I wasn't sure what she'd do.

When I was halfway down the hall, I noticed Caressa's nameplate on the wall, outside of an undersized office, the walls made of glass. She was sitting at her desk, eating lunch as far as I could tell. No one else was with her. I felt my heart start beating hopefully.

You're going to be fine, Dulcie, I told myself. It's now or never.

I knocked on the glass door and when Caressa glanced up from where she'd been poring over a magazine, she nodded her head, giving me silent affirmation to enter. I did and swallowed hard as I closed the door behind me.

“I've gotta delivery for Caressa Brandenburg,” I said, making my voice sound high pitched and nasally. “Are you she?”

She placed what looked like a PB&J sandwich back on the brown paper sack beside the magazine and studied me suspiciously. “No one from the lobby alerted me that I had any deliveries. They just let you up here?”

“No one was there,” I said, shrinking beneath her stringent gaze. “So I just let myself in.” I frowned and offered her an apologetic smile. “Maybe whoever was manning the desk had to go to the bathroom,” I added.

She shrugged and eyed the bouquet with unconcealed interest as I watched her. Caressa was a shape-shifter; she could shift into a cheetah, and overall had the look of a cat; it was evident in her eyes and high cheekbones. She was tall, probably five foot eight, with long brown, wavy hair and blond highlights. Her eyes were nearly the same shade of blue as Knight's. All told, Caressa Brandenburg was beautiful and intimidating as shit.

“Who are the flowers from?” she demanded, suspiciously.

I shook my head to say I didn't know and walked right up to her, handing her the arrangement. She studied me for a second or two and I could see recognition in her eyes, although it was clouded with confusion. She was trying to place me.

“I'm not at liberty to say,” I replied, sounding like Mickey Mouse. Then I handed her the note.

She watched me curiously, but accepted the letter and unfolded it, honing in on the words. Her eyes twitched as she read it. Immediately, her expression dropped and she gulped hard. Then she suddenly seemed to recognize me. She said nothing, but simply looked down at the letter again and her expression changed from one of shock to appreciation. A huge smile plastered itself across her lips and she shook her head in apparent amusement.

“Wow, how sweet of him,” she said, smiling up at me. “They're from the guy I'm seeing.”

Immediately, I caught on to her. Obviously, it wasn't safe to talk in her office and she was playing into my game to throw off anyone who could be listening or watching us via a surveillance system. She apparently finished reading the letter because in a matter of seconds, she reached over and fed it into a paper shredder below her desk, destroying it per my request.

“Thank you for the delivery, they are lovely,” she said, with an artificial smile. “I need to get some water for them,” she added as she reached for a vase in the hutch behind her desk. When she stood up, I noticed the cast on her foot and then the crutches leaning against the wall behind her.

“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the bouquet, but with my eyes, I asked her: Where can we talk in private?

She handed me the vase and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, we can fill it in the restroom just down the hall.”

I simply nodded, figuring it made sense that the only place where cameras wouldn't be allowed would be the restroom. Apparently, there was a certain level of respect for privacy even in the Netherworld. I turned around, and with Caressa by my side, headed back down the hallway. When we reached the restroom, I held the door open for her and followed her inside. Before either of us said a word, I bent over and scanned under each stall for feet. There weren't any. We were alone.

Caressa reached over and turned on the water.

“Did you memorize the drop-off locations and times?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She simply nodded. “I made sure I had everything stored in my mind before I destroyed your letter. Lucky for you I've got a photographic memory.” She paused and took a deep breath, obviously displeased with the information. “Where did you get …” she started.

I shook my head. “We don't have time, and even if we did, I can't tell you. All I can tell you is that this is a dire situation. You need to get every ANC person you have in the know and at least three in each of the locations I specified in that letter. And …” I reached for the backpack which was still behind the trashcan. I fished inside it until I found the two vials of antidote and handed them to her. “Make sure everyone takes one of these prior to arriving at each destination. Otherwise they'll become addicts within seconds of the stuff being released into the air.”

“How long will the antidote last?” she asked.

I wasn't exactly sure, so I just answered, “Long enough.”

She nodded and accepted both vials, opening her jacket and placing them in a pocket beside her Op 6 which was holstered across her chest. “Are you sure that's the extent of the traffickers who will be at each location?” she asked. “I don't want to set my people up to be outmanned.”

I shook my head. “As far as I know, but it would probably behoove you to plan for more, rather than less.”

“And the Dryads? They can't survive for more than a few hours outside of the forest.”

I nodded and sighed deeply. “That will also have to be part of the ANC’s job—to get the Dryads back safely.”

She said nothing, but breathed in deeply and then nodded, as if approving of my plan to ensure the safety of the Dryads. Thank God. “He's responsible for this, isn't he?” she asked. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was referring to Melchior.

I didn't deny it, but neither did I confirm it; instead, I raised a subject far more important. “I need you to make sure Knight is as far away from Splendor as possible,” I continued. “Once the Draoidheil comes through, his life will be in danger.”

She glanced down at me with concern in her eyes. “Why?”

I shook my head. “I can't get into it. I've already stayed here too long. You just need to ensure that Knight is elsewhere—wherever he’s least likely to be found. And give him orders to leave Splendor today.” After all, there were only two days remaining before the Draoidheil was scheduled to arrive, only two days remaining before the shit was really going to hit the fan.

“Okay,” she said and then paused, studying me intently. “Are you in trouble?”

“Up to my ears.” I took a deep breath. “That's the other thing, do NOT tell anyone that I came here or that I gave you this information. If it gets out that it was me, Knight will be the one to suffer, do you understand?”

She frowned. “Crystal clear.”

SIXTEEN

The days leading up to the Draoidheil delivery passed by in a blur while the moments before we were due at the docks seemed to go by at a snail's pace. For the last twenty-four hours, I was on autopilot, just going through the motions of living my life (including magicking my purple-black hair back to my natural honey gold), fully aware that everything I knew was about to change drastically.

After tonight, when Melchior's plan went awry, my father would be fully aware that something was rotten in the state of Splendor. I had to imagine it wouldn't be a stretch to realize I was the one with the loose lips. As soon as Melchior discovered that Knight was no longer in Splendor and unaccounted for, it would be obvious that I was the mastermind. Yep, I would be the one to destroy my father's dreams of despotism. And what did that mean for me? Well, honestly, I hadn't even thought that far ahead. But considering it now, en route to the loading docks, with Quillan as my only companion, I realized my neck would soon be on the chopping block.

“Are you okay, Dulce?” Quill asked. He was driving the red Mercedes my father lent me. With my current state of nerves and anxiety, I didn't think driving myself was a good idea.

According to plan, it was just going to be Quill and me working on the loading docks. We were supposed to meet up with Baron and Horatio to receive six shipments of Draoidheil. After securing the crates in the Mercedes, we would take them to Ink, where we would store them in the cellar until further word from Melchior. Christina was supposed to do the same at the abandoned railway station, also in Splendor, with three sidekicks provided by my father.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” I said with a sigh when I noticed the concerned smile on his handsome face. As I took in the sweet expression in his eyes and the fullness of his lips, I suddenly wished things were completely different. I wished I could rewind time to how things were a year ago, before I discovered my so-called friends were illegal potions importers. And before I'd become one too.

“Do you ever think about how things used to be?” I asked him in a small, wistful voice, the seatbelt across my chest suddenly binding and tight.

He nodded and chewed on his lower lip for a second or two as his eyes seemed to glaze over with something that resembled nostalgia. “I live in my memories, Dulcie,” he said softly. “The only way I've been able to survive is to relive the memories I once found so much enjoyment in.”

My lips went tight. “You realize that's not living, right, Quill?” When he didn't respond, I continued. “He's reduced us to this.” I shook my head, hating my father with every cell in my body.

“We don't have to endure this alone,” Quill said, reaching over to pat my knee consolingly. I eyed him with surprise, and when he didn't move his hand, I moved it for him. “You used to care about me, Dulcie,” he said, apologetically, his eyes boring into mine.

“Yeah, a long time ago.”

“Once you called me your hero,” he continued and I couldn't swallow the frog that lodged in my throat. He was referring to the protagonist of a romance novel I'd been writing who had been modeled after him. And, to be fair, once upon a time he had been my hero. But if I'd learned anything in the last year or so, it was that “once upon a time” didn't exist. Fairy tales depicting happily ever afters were just that: tales ... lies ... crocks of total shit.

“I could be your hero again, Dulcie.”

“Quill,” I began, unhappy with the direction this conversation seemed to be headed. Things were as different now as night and day; and the feelings I'd once felt for him had changed.

But Quill shook his head. “I think about you constantly, about us, about what could have been.” He hit a red light and used it to his advantage, turning to face me as he spilled the contents of his heart. It made me feel like a total asshole because I didn’t want to hear any of it.”I've felt your passion for me, Dulcie. I've kissed you and I know you enjoyed it. I want to know what it means to taste you again.”

I took a deep breath and riveted my attention out the window, knowing that tonight I would not only betray my father but Quillan as well. And what was more, he would remember this exact moment, this conversation, and he'd probably hate me for it.

“We could be happy together,” he said, breaking the silence in the car that was now suffocating me. The light changed to green and he started forward. The docks loomed into view.

I faced him, my eyes harsh. “We'll never find happiness doing this,” I said acidly. “This is no way to live and you know it.”

“I would live my life around you. You're the only thing that brings me any joy anyway.”

“You have to stop talking to me like this,” I said, diverting my eyes, not able to stomach the expression of pain in his gaze.

Quill laughed an ugly sound as he took a right on the road that led down to the docks. We were twenty minutes early and there was no sign of Baron or Horatio anywhere. Neither was there a sign of anyone from the ANC. As far as I could tell, Quill and I were the first to arrive.

“Things will never be the same between you and Vander,” Quill said, seemingly enjoying holding my tattered relationship with Knight over my head. “You occupy opposite worlds now and the sooner you realize that, the better. You need to move on.”

“Move on with you?” I snapped, turning to glare at him, even as I told myself to cool it but I couldn't seem to keep my anger in check. I was so overwhelmed with rage and fear about the unfolding events that I felt like a ticking time bomb.

“You cared for me once,” he said simply.

I shook my head. “We are not having this conversation right now.”

Quill said nothing more, but parked the Mercedes in the lot just beside the docks. Faced with the silence between us, I undid my seatbelt, opened the car door and stepped out into the dark night. I stared up at the stars, feeling the cold, salty air dance with my hair, shifting it this way and that. Watching the stars twinkle back at me, I suddenly yearned to be anywhere but here. For once I actually wished my fairy wings would sprout from my back and carry me away with the gentle winds.

“Where the fuck you been?” I heard Baron's voice and turned around, feeling dismay fill my gut as my heart dropped. He stood maybe six feet from me, leering at me as if I were naked. And I was far from naked—clad in my yoga pants, tennies and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. I'd strapped daggers to my upper arms and my Op 6 was snugly holstered around my waist and hidden beneath my zippered sweatshirt.

“We didn't see you,” Quill said as he stepped out of the car and came up behind me. Horatio appeared out of the darkness, standing beside Baron. I checked my watch and noticed it was five minutes from show time.

As soon as I brought my eyes back up to face Baron, I heard what sounded like paper tearing, only much louder. It resounded in the air, somewhere off to my right. I felt like I was in slow motion as I turned and saw four men, dressed in grey and black uniforms, suddenly materializing from thin air. It was as if the sky had just spat them out. Clutched in their hands were firearms—some long-barreled, like rifles, and others small and short, like my Op 6. Obviously, they'd just come through a portal. But as to who they were, I had no clue. As soon as they got their bearings, they faced us and I recognized their Netherworld uniforms.

They began to fan out, forming an arc in front of what I assumed was the same portal they'd just come through.

“Who the hell are you?” Baron spat out.

“Security,” the man nearest me answered, with a frown aimed at Baron before settling his gaze on me.

“And who sent you?” Baron continued, visibly affronted that whoever it was obviously didn't trust us enough to handle things on our own. Yep, must have been good ol' Dad.

“The Head of the Netherworld,” the same man responded. My heart sped up as I realized what this meant for the ANC. I'd already told Caressa it would just be Baron, Horatio, and Quill to contend with. I could only hope she'd decided to beef up the ANC numbers, like I'd suggested when we spoke, or this could have a very bad outcome.

“When's the delivery?” the uniformed guard that spoke to us earlier piped up.

I glanced at my watch and realized the Draoidheil was due to hit any second. So where the hell was the ANC? I got the sinking feeling that maybe Caressa had failed to remember all the destination points or maybe she simply hadn't believed me?

A few seconds later, there was another sound of the air ripping apart and the night sky suddenly produced two women. They fell against the asphalt, although one quickly regained her senses and assisted the other, who seemed completely out of it, with a panic-stricken expression. They were dressed in outdated, empire-waisted gowns, the hems of which touched the ground. Their sleeves were also long, so long that they obscured their fingers. Their hair was gossamer and delicate—cascading down to their elbows and giving them an ethereal look. Not exactly like angels, but more like the girls from Little House on the Prairie. I had to assume they were Dryads.

Both Dryads stared at their surroundings as if trying to understand where they were, both becoming anxious when they saw the guards in uniform, along with Quill, Baron and then Horatio. When they spotted me, they instantly made a beeline in my direction, only to cower behind me. I imagined they weren't comfortable around men, seeing as how they'd come from a convent and all. I could hear soft whimpering and when I turned around, I realized the situation wasn't getting any better. The one with dark hair was leaning against the blond, her breathing shallow and coming in spurts. Both of them looked petrified, their eyes wide. They clung to one another, obviously in terror.

“Is she okay?” I asked the blond, then turned to face her friend whose eyes were clamped tightly shut, her face pale, and sweat beading on her forehead.

The blond looked at me and shook her head. When she opened her mouth, words didn't come out, but sounds did. Sounds that I can only compare to the voice of Charlie Brown's teacher. So the Dryads were unable to communicate? Fantastic.

I couldn't concentrate on the Dryads much longer because what sounded like thunder crashed into my ears and I turned to see another man come forth from nowhere, accompanied by the same sound of ripping paper. He wasn't dressed in the garb of the guards, but he was one of my father's, all the same. He stretched his arms forward and then his torso, half of him disappearing back into the portal. When he managed to pull himself out again, he was holding a large, plastic crate.

The crate was maybe three feet wide and two feet tall, with over one hundred vials of Draoidheil inside it. As soon as the crate made contact with the air on this side of the portal, one small vial flew up into the air, as if carried by invisible hands. Then the particles inside of it began swirling around, like the vortex of a tornado. The particles sped faster and faster until the cork seal flew off the top and the Draoidheil exploded into a mass of what looked like glitter. The sea breeze suddenly picked up the particles, scattering and lifting them even higher, and sprinkling them all around us.

Meanwhile, the man holding the crate passed it off to Quill as he leaned into the portal for the next one. I watched Quill take the crate and head for the Mercedes. He loaded it into the trunk and then jogged back to us again. The man pulled out the second crate and handed it to me. It only weighed about fifteen pounds, so wasn't a big deal. I carried it to the Mercedes, and slid it in next to the other one. When I stood up, I watched as the man in charge of delivering the crates handed another off to Baron. As soon as Baron touched it, the crate suddenly exploded in a mass of glass and Draoidheil. With a throaty scream, Baron dropped the crate, destroying the remaining vials. Before any of us could respond, the crate suddenly ignited in an array of orange and yellow flames. Both the Dryads began shrieking as they ran from the commotion, cringing in the hollows beneath the trees on the hillside next to the docks.

Obviously, the ANC had arrived to run interference. I slammed the trunk of the Mercedes and pulled my Op 6 from around my waist, holding it in low ready. Of course, I had no intentions of harming anyone on the ANC side, but I wanted to make sure I was armed and able to protect myself if and when I needed to. Anyone on the ANC side would naturally assume I was working with the bad guys.

With a swift look around me, I jogged away from the Mercedes, and away from the spotlights of streetlamps until I reached the line of shadows offered by the hillside trees. As soon as I touched the grass, an enormous blast issued from the direction I'd just come. With a gasp, I craned my neck toward the Mercedes and watched it jump a few feet in the air, suddenly exploding into a fireball of shrapnel and flames. I threw my arms over my head and fell forward, my face hitting the grass as I sought cover. When I sat up, the blond Dryad was sobbing. The other one lay still on the grass.

I didn't have the opportunity to inquire after her condition because chaos immediately enveloped us. The Regulators from the ANC must have made their move when the Mercedes exploded because they were now in hand-to-hand combat with Melchior's men. The cacophony of screaming, fists pounding flesh and gunfire filled my ears. I scurried to the top of the hill, taking shelter behind the crest of it. With my Op 6 in my hands, I searched for any sign of Quill, to make sure he was okay. I didn’t know what I’d do if he wasn't. Could I shoot one of my own people if it meant saving Quill's life? I knew the answer to that was yes, especially given the fact that I didn't recognize anyone on the ANC side. But I wouldn't shoot to kill. I would shoot to debilitate only because I couldn't allow Quill to die. Not on my watch.

My plan was to retreat back into the shadows offered by the trees on the hilltop. Once I could hightail it across the street, I would to take cover in the lushness of overgrown bushes and pepper trees alongside the road. With the help of some of my fairy dust, I could shrink myself down to a mere sprite. Then I’d hide out in the branches of the pepper trees and wait until everyone cleared the scene. My life as a renegade had already begun because I obviously wasn't working for my father now. But it wasn't like I could just pick up the pieces and return to my previous life.

From my perspective, the ANC outnumbered Melchior's men and were increasingly gaining the advantage. Horatio and two of the guards had been apprehended, and all three were cuffed and under the surveillance of two ANC men. I could also make out the bodies of two other guards on the ground, obviously dead. As I continued to watch, another crate of Draoidheil, which was sitting beside one of the deceased guards, suddenly erupted in flames when what looked like a Molotov cocktail made contact with it. The ANC had employed a witch or some other kind of creature that was capable of sophisticated magic, because blowing the Draoidheil to Kingdom Come was no easy feat.

When the smoke dissipated, I could make out Quill’s figure, also in cuffs and sitting beside Horatio. He was searching for me, his eyes scanning the horizon. When his gaze met mine, I could see the shock in their amber depths. It felt like minutes ticked by, but it was really only seconds that we stared at one another. And in his expression, it was obvious he knew that I'd ratted everyone out. Instead of throwing daggers and tightly fierce lips, he smiled at me. It was a proud smile —although I didn't understand why. Apparently, Quill was proud of what I'd done.

I didn't have the opportunity to further consider it as two ANC Regulators suddenly appeared at the base of the hill, each lifting a Dryad in his arms. I ducked down so I wouldn't be seen and when I looked again, they'd already disappeared through a portal, on their way to the forest where the Dryads dwelled.

It was time for me to make my move. Reholstering my Op 6, I crawled down the embankment and once I knew I was out of sight, stood up and turned around. I was about to dart across the street and take shelter behind the scraggily bushes beside the road when I found myself face-to-face with an enraged Baron.

We glared at one another for maybe three seconds as I'm sure the weight of my actions registered with him. His eyes narrowed as he growled and came for me, running full bore and plowing into me. He knocked me off my feet but when I fell, I didn't feel the bite of asphalt beneath me. Instead, it felt like I'd merely landed on an air pillow. I glanced down, shocked to find myself on the asphalt. Feeling a buzzing around my wrist, I pulled my sleeve up to find Sam's Viking Bracelet vibrating. So it had managed to protect me from harm. I couldn't help my smile but it was short lived as Baron, apparently realizing I was wearing an enchanted bracelet, lurched for it and ripped it off my wrist in a split second. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it, the chain weave collapsing beneath his immense weight. The beautiful stone broke in half as did my hopes of escaping Baron. Realizing he now had the upper hand, he grasped me around the neck and lifted me into the air, my feet lashing out as I gripped his forearms, digging my nails into his skin as I struggled to breathe. He released me while I was still in the air and I fell onto my back, the breath completely expelled from my lungs. I hit the ground hard and had to blink back the stars from my vision.

“You little back-stabbing bitch!” he railed as he slammed his enormous fist into my face. I felt my head snap back in response and bit my cheek hard. Suddenly feeling dizzy, I tried to force my eyes open, already feeling the blood trailing from my mouth down to my neck. I shook my palm until a mound of fairy dust appeared, but before I could throw it at him, he slammed my wrist against the ground, and the magical dust disappeared between my fingers. I forced my bleary vision on Baron's face and caught his ugly smile immediately.

“Yer not gittin' away from me this time,” he said, reaching for my sweatshirt, he ripped it off me and then went for my T-shirt, shredding it in two. The tattered pieces fell on either side of me, revealing the daggers strapped to my upper arms. Baron shook his head but the smile on his mouth hinted to his elation as he pulled the daggers from their makeshift straps. He flung one down the hillside and held the other one at the base of my neck, the sharp point slightly piercing my skin.

“I could end you right now,” he breathed and I gulped as the point pressed harder, cutting into me.

I felt my chest began to rise and fall as my heart rate increased. I was in full panic mode, and worse, Baron knew it. He lowered the blade and placed it between my breasts, his eyes suddenly feasting on the cleavage offered by my push-up bra.

Reaching for my gun, Baron quickly grabbed my wrist, pinning it to the ground painfully. Then, realizing he needed to have at least one free hand to molest me, he replaced his hands with his knees, thrusting his lower body directly into my face. This new position appeared to amuse him because he chuckled heartily. Holding the dagger above my right eye, he suddenly tossed it aside. It landed nearby, within twenty feet, but I had little interest in it. Instead, my immediate concern was Baron, who reached down to unzip his fly. I thrashed against him, kicking out and trying to nail him with my legs, but I was unsuccessful.

Before I could think of another strategy, he pulled himself free of his pants. I slammed my eyes shut tightly, trying to avoid what I imagined would be a hideous and traumatizing sight. Then, realizing his intentions, I clamped my jaws shut, telling myself not to open my mouth for anything, not even air, knowing what it might mean if I did.

“Open your mouth and take it,” Baron demanded, slapping me across the face when I refused. I bucked beneath him and felt tears starting in my eyes, leaking down each side of my face.

“You filthy son of a bitch!” It was Knight's voice. I opened my eyes and watched Knight ram his Op 7 at the back of Baron's head. I brought my eyes to Knight's as I wondered if he would shoot. Before I could comprehend what was happening, Knight squeezed the trigger. I shut my eyes as the sound of gunfire assaulted my eardrums. Screaming out in shock, I opened my eyes, focusing on Baron's face as it came nearer to mine, complete with a bloody hole in the center of his forehead. His enormous body slumped on top of me, twitching in death. I tried to push him away from me, but Titans are an enormously heavy race, and Baron was no exception. A second or so later, Knight rolled Baron off me and offered me his hand.

I took it, not even knowing what to say as I realized he'd just killed Baron in cold blood. It was against ANC protocol one hundred percent. But when I looked into Knight's eyes, they were glowing eerily. It was the same glow they revealed whenever another man was near me, whenever another man hungered after me sexually. And then I understood. Knight realized I'd just come incredibly close to being raped and in his rage, he hadn't been able to stop himself from pulling the trigger.

“Knight,” I started, as questions suddenly raced through my mind. What was he doing here? Had he been here all along?

I felt him yank me to my feet only to turn me around so my back was to him. Then he pushed me up against a nearby tree, and the bark scratched roughly against my cheek. He grabbed my arms, securing them behind my back as confusion clouded my mind.

“Dulcie O'Neil, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

“Knight,” I repeated, completely unaware of what was happening. I was being arrested? For what? I was the one who'd ratted out the bad guys and in the process, stopped a potentially devastating situation from happening ...

“You have the right to speak with an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights as I have recited them to you?”

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded angrily when he pulled me away from the tree. I searched his face, looking directly into his eyes as I tried to understand.

His face was livid and his lips were sealed tight. “Do you understand your rights as I have recited them to you?” he said again, his tone one of indifference and apathy.

SEVENTEEN

“How long have you been working for your father?” Knight demanded finally, after not speaking to me for at least ten minutes. He'd placed me into the passenger seat of a black Yukon Denali, my arms still cuffed behind my back so I had to lean forward slightly to obtain any semblance of comfort.

The only thing he'd admitted to me thus far was that I was being arrested for my involvement with the illegal potions trade; and specifically, for participating in the aid and distribution of the Draoidheil. Apparently the ANC had been able to salvage one crate of the stuff which was being transported with us in the Denali. The other ANC officials had taken Quill, Horatio and the surviving guards to Hades only knew where. Knight hadn't admitted that much to me yet.

At the mention of Melchior, I felt my heart drop, even though it was pretty obvious that Knight already knew about the relationship between my father and me. Even so, I still couldn't help the shock that warred through me. “You know?” I asked in a hollow tone as I looked at him, and felt my stomach sour.

He refused to look at me, keeping his attention focused on the road as he left the loading docks and headed for the freeway. “Of course,” he spat back. “I've always known.” He said it like I was stupid for even asking, like he was so accomplished as an ANC detective, by all rights, he would know.

“I ... Why didn't you ever mention it? If you knew he was my father, why didn't you ever tell me?”

He looked at me then and laughed, but there was no levity in the sound. He shook his head like I just didn't get it, like the joke was on me. “I never mentioned it because you obviously already knew and, furthermore, it would have given too much away.”

I closed my eyes, wondering if this whole thing was a dream. Maybe it was merely a fabrication from my muddled mind, arising from the fact that Baron had hit me too hard. But even after blinking several times, when I opened my eyes, I found that Knight was still driving and I was still sitting beside him. I glanced down at myself, realizing I was dressed in only my bra and yoga pants. With my hands firmly locked behind my back, my arms went numb, and when I tried to move them, they stung like pins and needles. “I don't understand,” I said simply, wishing the headache behind my eyes would fade away. “You would have given too much of what away?”

Knight expelled a breath and didn't appear to be in the mood for a lengthy explanation. “How long have you been working for Melchior, Dulcie?” he demanded again.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the question, tried to remember, tried to look past the pain that was throbbing between my eyes. “I don't know, maybe two weeks.”

“You're lying.” Knight snapped, glaring at me before returning his attention to the road, apparently remembering he was behind the wheel. “Don't play this innocent fucking game with me, Dulcie. I don't have the patience for it.”

And that was when I lost it. I craned my neck in his direction and felt my eyebrows furrowing because I honestly didn't understand what was going on and my headache was only making my temper that much shorter. “I have no idea what you're talking about! So why don't you drop your shitty attitude and tell me what the hell is going on?!”

Knight failed to reply, but seemed to focus entirely on driving, refusing to look at me. I could see his ears tinged red with anger. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow and pained. “Your father and I always had our differences,” he started and his hands tightened around the steering wheel, making his knuckles go white. “I was at the top of my game in the ANC, getting accolades and rewards left and right. Of course, Melchior not only respected my position, but realized he could use me to his advantage. He approached me about becoming his top potions smuggler and, in the process, had to put everything on the table. He had to show his hand. When I refused, he banished me to Earth, telling me I would never be allowed to return to the Netherworld. I was basically exiled to live the rest of my life beneath the radar.” He looked at me and frowned as I thought about the fact that Knight's story was very similar to Quillan's. It was like my father had searched out the best Regulators in the ANC to call his own.

“Obviously he didn't know me very well,” Knight continued. Then he took a deep breath. “He would have had me killed, but by that time, I'd gained so much notoriety in the ANC, knocking me off would have created too much suspicion. Instead, he banished me to Earth, and permitted me to work in any ANC location of my choosing. What he wasn't aware of, though, was that I kept a close eye on him, even from afar. When he pronounced my sentence, I promised myself, he would be taken down, that I would personally see to it ...”

I felt my jaw drop as something dawned on me. “You're part of The Resistance?” I asked as my mouth formed a perfect “O.”

He said nothing, merely inhaled deeply. But he didn't have to say anything because his lack of a response was answer enough. He was definitely part of The Resistance and probably always had been. I studied him, as the pieces of the puzzle titled, “Why Melchior O'Neil wanted Knightley Vander dead” were quickly falling into place. “Melchior wanted to wipe you out in order to end The Resistance,” I said, watching as he exited the freeway. We were on Coconut Street, which led to Splendor's city center. I thought we were en route to the ANC, where I’d be kept in custody for Hades only knew how long. Obviously I didn't imagine Knight would return me to the Netherworld for sentencing because, in his mind, it wasn't as though I'd actually be sentenced since Melchior was my father. The truth of the matter was that I'd probably be dealt with in the harshest possible way given my involvement in destroying my father's immediate chances at tyranny.

Knight glanced at me and shrugged. “Most recently, yes, but at the time he exiled me, he wasn't aware of my ties to The Resistance. However, I was more than aware of his ties to the illegal potions industry and after doing a little recon of my own, I learned he had a daughter.” Then he frowned at me.

“You came to Splendor because of me?” I asked, feeling nauseous at the realization that Knight assumed I'd been serving my father during the entire course of his and my association.

“Yes,” he snarled back at me. “I knew there was a mole in the ANC ranks in Splendor, and at the time, I figured it was you. So given my hatred of your father and my determination to see him dethroned, I transferred to Splendor so I could beat you at your own game.”

“But you knew the mole was Quill,” I said, wishing I could press my fingers to my temples, to try to assuage the pain between my eyes. I had to wonder if I had a small concussion. “You were there when I let Quill go.”

He glanced at me and shook his head. “I wasn't with you, I took you on your word that you let him go. Quillan might never have been there, for all I know.” Then he laughed cynically. “At the time, I might have bought into your little charade where Quill was concerned, but now I know better. Now I know the truth.”

“The truth?” I repeated, starting to become pissed off with this whole situation.

“Quill was the fall guy for you. Your father knew it was wiser to ensure your place in the ANC than Quillan's so he told Quillan to take the fall for you, with the knowledge that having you in the ANC would be a far greater advantage to him.” He looked over at me then, taking me in from face to breasts. “Your father is no idiot. He realized you were the best weapon in his arsenal. He knew you were every fucking man's dream.”

I shook my head, feeling panic stirring within me. Looking at things from Knight's perspective, I could understand how he'd come to this conclusion, even though he was completely wrong. But the evidence seemed to support his theory. “That isn't true, Knight. None of that is true. I met my father for the first time two weeks ago, I swear it.”

“I'm not finished,” he interrupted in an irate tone. “So I figured you got word back to Melchior about Knightley Vander and how he was now working in Splendor; and I'm sure Melchior had a field day with that one.” He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, making the horn blare as I jumped a few inches out of my seat. Knight came to a stop sign and inhaled deeply before looking over at me. “So, Dulcie, you tell me, what did your father tell you to do? Did he ask you to target me? To make me want you? Did he tell you to make me fall in love with you? To wrap me around your finger?”

Glaring at him, I was no longer okay with having to defend myself against false accusations. “So you think you have this whole thing figured out, don't you?” I asked icily. “And it all fits into a tiny, neat little box called Dulcie's guilty, right? None of it's true—it's just a load of bullshit!”

“Disprove it then, Dulcie,” he raged back at me. “Prove that it’s false. Go on, I'm curious to hear you try and back pedal your way out of this.”

But there wasn't anything that immediately came to mind on how I could disprove it. Instead, I opted for simply telling the truth. “I started working for my father two weeks ago because he forced me to do it.”

“And how did he manage that?” Knight asked, his tone facetious.

“He held your life as ransom,” I snapped at him. “I made the deal with him that I would be his eyes and ears in the ANC, as long as he agreed to leave you alone.”

Knight shook his head and laughed acidly. “I don't believe that for one second, Dulcie,” he said, facing me, his lips tight. “I fell for your bullshit once, and told myself that everything I'd previously thought about you wasn't true, that you really had no idea who your father was, and you really were the girl for me.” He shook his head and bashed his hand into the steering wheel again. “You were pretty good, Dulcie, I'll give you that. You even had my body convinced that you were the one.”

He was referring to the fact that as a Loki, only his body could choose his mate, a woman strong enough to handle his powerful seed, and the one woman to whom he would be dedicated for life. When his eyes first glowed in my presence, it was his body's announcement that I was his woman.

“Knight, that is the truth! I didn't know who my fa ...”

“I don't want to hear it!” he railed at me.

I swallowed hard, suddenly intimidated by the anger and pain in his eyes. But there was also a fire in me that refused to be extinguished, a fire that wouldn't stop burning until Knight learned the truth and realized I was innocent of all of his accusations. “And what about everything we said to each other while we were in High Prison?” I demanded. “What about the fact that I came back to the Netherworld to save your ass? And how do you explain my being imprisoned with you and nearly raped by that Cyclops thug? How the hell have you talked yourself out of the legitimacy of all that?”

He shook his head. “You being imprisoned was just part of the overall act, something that was just a façade but meant for me to drop my defenses and trust you wholeheartedly. Looking back, to your credit, it worked … but now I can see right through it ... and you.”

“And that bit about Cyclops?” I persisted, my lips tight.

“Bad luck. Wrong place at the wrong time. Your father should have known better than to lump you, a fairy, in with the likes of the goblin and a Cyclops. Just goes to show how much he truly loves you.”

I couldn't argue with him about that because he was correct—my father didn't care about me. Not a damn.

“Besides,” he continued, “Caressa said she never took you to the portal. Remember how I caught you in that lie?” Without allowing me to respond, he continued, “Of course, she never took you to the portal because your father released you from High Prison, something which in and of itself was highly problematic, considering you skipped any trial and simply got released. It's good to have a big daddy up high in the ranks, isn't it?”

“I never knew why I was released,” I admitted. “But it's true that Caressa never took me to the portal. Instead, I told her what my plan was where you were concerned and she allowed me to escape.” Knight shot me a disingenuous glance, but I wasn't about to let him deny me my explanation. “Then I went to my father's office and I demanded that he release you. And of course, once he realized he had me right where he wanted me, I ended up in this mess.”

Knight shook his head. “Do you really expect me to believe that trite shit? Fuck, Dulcie, I'm not going to buy into your soap opera.”

“Yes, I expect you to believe it because it's true!” I screamed at him, trying to find some way that I could prove I wasn’t lying. But as much as I racked my brain, I couldn't think of anything that would clear me of this blame. Nothing tangible, anyway. I glanced outside my window, realizing that Knight had driven straight through Splendor and was now merging onto the freeway, headed toward Haven. As I stared out at the darkness, something occurred to me. “Knight, if my father wanted you dead so badly, and I was his liaison, why would I have fought so hard to spare your life? If he really wanted you dead, he had you exactly where he wanted you when you were in the Netherworld. You admitted as much yourself.”

Knight inhaled deeply and frowned at me, clearly not convinced with this fact. “Because he realized my connections to The Resistance, something you've already demonstrated you also knew about. So he informed you to sink your claws into me even deeper than you already had, in order to find out all you could about The Resistance so Melchior could shut it down.”

I realized I'd made a big mistake in admitting I knew about The Resistance. I ransacked my mind, trying to think of something else that didn't ring true, of something else that could help me in my quest to prove my innocence. “If nothing I've said is true, why did you just catch Baron trying to kill me?” I asked. I knew I was reaching, but I had to go for it anyway. “If I was really working for my father, do you think Baron would have come after me, calling me a back-stabbing bitch?”

Knight frowned. “I didn't hear him call you anything and furthermore, he wasn't trying to kill you,” he said. Then he shook his head like I was a great big idiot. “And I think it's pretty obvious what he was after, just seizing a good opportunity to go for it.”

“Okay, then what of Trey?” I demanded, playing every card I could.

“What of Trey?” Knight repeated.

“Don't you think if I'd been working for my father this entire time, that Trey would have picked up on it since he's a sensitive?”

Knight shook his head. “Your father's obviously creative, exemplified by the fact that he forced the Dryads on this little Draoidheil mission to throw off Trey and others like him. It's not a stretch to imagine he'd been doing something similar all along where you're concerned.”

I felt like crying as I realized all my defenses were failing. There really wasn't anything concrete that I could use to prove to Knight that he totally had me pegged incorrectly.

“And speaking of coworkers, is Sam in on this too or did you pull the wool over her eyes also?”

I glared at him. “Sam has nothing to do with this! She's completely innocent!”

He shook his head. “Nice that you're even lying to your best friend.”

I sighed, long and hard, trying to salvage a shred of something that would prove my innocence but my mind was a blank. “Everything you believe about me isn't true, Knight,” I whispered, my voice sounding grainy as tears filled my eyes. “And everything I said to you while we were in prison was the truth. Every last word.”

Knight chuckled humorlessly. “The only one of us who was telling the truth was me ... Something which was blatantly demonstrated when you broke up with me as soon as we returned to Splendor. And then to really rub salt in my wounds, you started dating Bram.”

“I did that to protect you, Knight,” I threw back at him. “And I'm not dating Bram and never have been. I broke things off with you because I didn't want you to find out that I was working for my father.” I briefly considered telling him about my visit to Bram's and how I'd told Bram everything I was now telling Knight but I didn't imagine that would hold any weight because there wasn't any solid proof in it. And, furthermore, I didn't imagine Knight would appreciate the reminder of Bram when the vampire was obviously a sore subject. “I broke up with you only because I wanted to put some distance between us to keep you safe, Knight. That was my only intention.”

He gave me a look which I’ll never forget—his eyes had never appeared so furious, so livid. His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out and I could see his racing heart rate in the pulse thumping in his neck. “I don't want to hear another fucking word from you, got it?”

I shook my head, refusing to be shut down. “I'm the one who told the ANC about this whole thing to begin with,” I yelled at him, my voice shaking. “I went to Caressa and I told her everything about the Draoidheil delivery, as well as every drop-off location. The only reason you aren't addicted to the shit now is because I gave her vials of antidote and told her to make sure all of you took it.” I didn't even want to think about Caressa not delivering on her promise to ensure that Knight was kept far away from Splendor. Somehow, I didn’t blame Caressa for it, as much as I did Knight's iron will, and his insistence on doing whatever the hell he chose to.

He shook his head and glared at me. “Funny, but when Caressa notified the ANC about the deliveries happening tonight, she failed to mention that any of it had come from you.”

And that was because she'd kept her word to me by not associating my name with the information. I was tired and at the point now where I'd exhausted any further means to prove my innocence in all of this. I didn’t know how to prove Knight wrong anymore. I suddenly felt my fatigue gaining on me and gazed out the window, watching the scenery blur by, wishing things were drastically different.

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” I asked, in a defeated tone.

“To jail,” he answered quickly.

I felt my stomach drop at the thought, but I knew he wasn't taking me to the holding cells in the ANC of Splendor because we'd passed them already. “What jail?” I demanded.

He didn't spare me a glance. “One you don't know about, and one where I can ensure your father will never find you.”

Something which was fine by me because I wasn't sure what would happen if or when my father found me. I had to imagine, though, that it wouldn't be a happy homecoming. I said nothing else, as I tried to find a comfortable position. Having my hands clasped behind my back, it seemed comfort was too much to ask. Instead, I focused on the confusion of my own thoughts. I just couldn't understand how things had turned ugly so quickly between Knight and me. Only weeks ago, we'd confessed our undying love for one another, and now he seemed to hate me.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Knight reach for the CD player as he turned the volume up and Pearl Jam's “Deep” filled the SUV in a rich harmony of guitar and drums. The fury of the song seemed to match my mood and I would have bet it matched Knight's as well, only for different reasons. I turned my head even farther away from him, not wanting him to see the tears that were sliding down my cheeks.

I closed my eyes, and scolded myself, telling myself to stop crying. I would find a way out of this and my vehicle was Caressa. Somehow I had to get in touch with her because I knew she'd set Knight straight. Only she could tell him about my release from prison and how she'd been charged with escorting me to the portal. Only she could admit that she really released me to go after my father in order to ensure Knight's safety. And, after that, she could tell Knight that I really was the one who'd spilled the beans about the Draoidheil delivery.

I heard Knight turn up the volume as the words of the song sunk into me: And she doesn't like the view, she doesn't like the view but he sinks himself deep ...

“Tell me one thing,” Knight started, suddenly turning to face me, his voice almost lost in the song. I looked up at him expectantly, hoping the tears were no longer visible on my cheeks. “When Bram's inside you, is it my face you imagine?”

“You son of a bitch,” I spat out at him, shaking my head, and forcing my gaze away from his. I slammed my eyes shut, not wanting to lose control of my tears. I would not cry in front of him!

I'd just never seen this side of Knight before—an icy cold, calculating side. And I wanted to hate him for believing I was ever capable of something so horrendous and awful. I wanted to hate him for not being able to see clearly, for obstructing his own vision. But there was something within me that refused to allow me to hate him, something that wouldn't permit me to throw in the towel.

I would make him see the truth. I would make him realize the picture he was trying to paint of me was entirely wrong.

And I would make him eat his words.

EIGHTEEN

Knight suddenly pulled the Denali over to the side of the road and I had to balance myself against my seat to keep the side of my head from hitting the window. The uneven ground caused my teeth to chatter in my head, and when he hit the brakes to keep us from plowing into an enormous oak tree, I was grateful he'd seat-belted me in.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked with a confused frown.

He didn't respond, but put the Denali in park, not even bothering to look at me. Instead, he threw his door open, leaving the engine on and jumped down to the ground. The SUV beeped angrily at him, warning him the door was open. I couldn't say I was really paying much attention to the incessant beeping though. Instead, I watched as Knight jogged around the front of the Denali. The headlights illuminated his incredibly broad build and the ample swell of his biceps. I was suddenly overcome with fear, remembering the time when Knight and I first met and I tried to fight him. I lost because fairy magic was useless against Lokis. Taking in his impressive physique now, I found myself hoping I wouldn't have to go up against him again.

He yanked my door open and released my seat belt, refusing to so much as look at me. Instead, his lips were a tight line as he grabbed me by my waist and lifted me down. I shivered in the cold night air and worried for a minute that he was going to leave me out here. I glanced around to figure out just where “here” was. I couldn't say I'd been keeping track of where we'd been going because my mind was so consumed by our most recent conversation. As I looked around myself now, I realized we were in the middle of nowhere with rolling fields of untouched land on either side of us, brightened by the beams of the full moon. A few gnarled oak trees dotted the horizon, the lights of the nearest city far in the distance. The only sound to interrupt the otherwise still air was the chirping of the crickets.

All alone with an enraged Loki, a creature created by Hades, the god of the Netherworld, and in his own image, Knight was a soldier by all accounts and well trained in the art of combat, committed to destroy and win. Nearly two feet taller than I, and much larger in both breadth and brawn, (well, triple my size where the girth of his chest was concerned), my magic was utterly useless against him. In essence, I was about as threatening as a little butterfly. I felt myself instinctively avoiding him, trying to seek shelter in the warmth and the light of the Denali. Knight gripped me by my upper arms and jerked me forward, slamming the door behind me. I jumped at the loud sound and felt my heartbeat racing through me, every fiber of my being on high awareness.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, my voice teetering with my own anxiety. I was tense and I couldn't hide it. Knight's eyes narrowed and bored into mine with heated fury.

“Why? Are you scared, Dulcie?” he asked. Suddenly, his mask of anger lifted and he smiled, but it was a smile that said he was enjoying every ounce of my disquietude.

I gulped down my trepidation, but refused to respond.

“Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you?” he persisted, leaning into me until less than two inches separated us. I forced myself not to break his eye contact, straining to hold my own ground. “Kind of like the way you hurt me?” he continued and then shook his head, forcing his face up close and personal with mine. Now no space existed between us and I could feel the kiss of his breath against my mouth. “No, kind of like the way you devastated me?”

He pulled back as I shook my head and opened my mouth, about to deny everything again, while begging him to believe me, to allow me to prove my innocence. Apparently disconcerted at where the conversation was headed, he gripped my cheeks between his large fingers, forcing my mouth into a fish kiss expression. He released my cheeks, his hand then finding purchase around my neck as he pressed me against the Denali, forcing the back of my head against the glass.

“Please don't hurt me,” I whispered, honestly frightened by his wild expression.

He just stared at me for a second or two. His eyes began to glow, that same glow that said I was his and always would be. In that moment, I realized that Knight was as much in love with me now as he always had been.

“Knight,” I said softly, my heart breaking for both of us. If he would just listen to me, just put aside his anger and injured pride, maybe we could get somewhere. “Please just let me explain. I can make you understand how wrong you are about everything.”

“No,” he said and slammed his hand against the door beside my head, dropping his face so I couldn't see the glow of his eyes. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to compel the radiance of his gaze to subside, trying to force himself to believe that I wasn't the woman he thought I was.

When he looked up at me again, the glow disappeared from his eyes. He shifted my hair, half of which had fallen into my face, behind my neck, his fingertips brushing against my skin. I couldn't help remembering how those same fingers once touched me so tenderly, exploring my body in the most loving and gentle manner. I knew my eyes were wide with fright, my body still on high alert, but he just stared at me, appearing hesitant in whatever he was planning to do to me. He rested his hand against my collarbone as he honed in on my neck, his eyes narrowing. I glanced down and saw the line of golden blood that trailed from the gash at the bottom of my neck, the blood disappearing into my cleavage. Apparently Baron had sliced my skin when he threatened me with my dagger. The bastard.

Knight shook his head and took a deep breath as he reached forward and ran the pad of his thumb over the cut, healing it instantly. It was one of his many Loki abilities. “Fuck me for still caring,” he whispered and sighed as his eyes found mine.

Before I could respond, he gripped the back of my neck, wrenching me forward. A single breath later and his mouth was on mine as he snagged a fistful of my hair at the nape of my neck almost painfully. His kiss was hard and impulsive, his tongue plunging into my mouth as he pushed his body against mine. It was as if he were trying to devour me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, regardless if I wanted it or not. And although I loved his kiss, and loved him, this wasn't how I wanted him. Not with all this unresolved anger and baggage between us.

I tried to pull my head back to break the seal of our lips, but his fist at the nape of my neck held me firmly in place. Trying to extricate my body from his, I felt the cold steel of the Denali against my naked back as I turned my head to the side. He pulled away from me and I faced him, glaring at him all the while. “I want you to stop,” I said in a small voice, my eyes begging him to keep away from me.

“Why, Dulcie? Would it upset Bram?” he asked in a lascivious tone, his eyes dancing with ire. “Have you sworn loyalty to him, just like you did to me?” Then he shook his head and chuckled. “The poor, stupid son of a bitch.”

I felt something inside me break at the thought that he actually believed there was something between Bram and me. “You know that's a lie.”

He shook his head, but said nothing, his gaze traveling from my face down to my breasts. He stared at me unabashedly, as if wanting to make me as uncomfortable as possible. It was almost as though he wanted to make me feel like nothing more than a vehicle for his desire, rather than a person. I felt myself inhale deeply. “Please don't do this,” I whispered but I couldn't deny the fact that something was heating within me, something fueled by the expression in his eyes when they'd feasted on my cleavage.

He brought his eyes, which were now alight with desire, up to mine and smiled, but it was a smile of victory. “You know you want me to.”

I swallowed hard because I couldn't argue. It was true that I wanted his hands all over me, his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth and his penis inside me, but I also knew now was not the right time nor the right place. Not when things weren't good between us. I dropped my gaze to the ground, angry with myself for my own duplicitous feelings. But Knight wasn't going to allow me to hide. Instead, he tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

“Please,” I said again, my voice husky with desire.

Saying nothing, he stared down at me and I was sure he realized I wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me, to have him claim me again. I just watched him, my eyes wide as I tried to guess at his thoughts. He continued to stare at me, finally releasing my hair. When I thought he'd back away, he held his ground. I shrank beneath his rigorous gaze.

“Knight,” I said, but lost my train of thought when he touched his index finger to my stomach and traced the waist of my yoga pants. While keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he looped his fingers beneath my pants and tugged, dragging them down my legs, exposing every inch of me, because I wasn’t wearing panties beneath them. He kneeled down until his hamstrings rested on his heels and he was exactly eye level with my navel. Of course, his eyes traveled downward, resting on the triangle between my legs. I tried to shimmy my hips away from him, but his hold on my pants was tight and he simply reached down, slipping my sneaker off and pulled one pant leg free. With my arms cuffed behind my back, I was helpless to stop him.

“Knight, please stop,” I said again, realizing he was lapping up the sight of my nude body, his eyes transfixed. “This isn’t the right place for this,” I started. “I don't want ...”

“You don't want me?” he asked, suddenly looking at me, but obviously not believing such was the case, because a smile turned up the corners of his mouth and his eyes were vibrant and alive. He knew I wanted him.

“I don't want to do this right now,” I stammered, even as something inside me firmly planted its heels in the dirt, invalidating my words. No, the truth was that I wanted to feel him inside me now more than ever before. “Not when things are this bad between us,” I added, my tone of voice so soft that it nearly disappeared on the slight breeze that wafted between us.

Knight chuckled acidly. “Things will never be good between us again, but that doesn't change the fact that I still want this.” With that, he grabbed my ass, pulling me into him, until my lower body was maybe four inches from his face ... and his mouth.

I tried to step away from him, but didn't get far, considering he'd taken hold of my thigh with his vise-like grip. With my arms behind my back, I was basically his for the taking. He stood up and pushed me against the Denali again, studying me, his fingers now beneath my bra. “I don't want to do this,” I whispered, the tone of my voice in complete contradiction to my words.

Knight didn't respond but gripped the cups of my bra and with the strength inherent in his species, simply tore it in half as I gasped out in shock. My breasts bounced with the attack as my heart thundered in my chest. Knight's eyes narrowed as he stared at me, watching my breathing shorten into shallow gasps. His eyes traveled down my face and rested on my bare breasts, my nipples alert and standing at attention. He brought his fingers to one of them and pinched it softly, rolling it between his fingers. I dropped my head back and moaned. I was helpless to his touch.

“Tell me you don't want it,” he whispered, his breath causing goose bumps to dance across my skin. I didn't respond. “Tell me … you … don't ... want ... it,” he demanded much more slowly, pronouncing every syllable of every word in a steely tone. Before I could stop him, I felt his fingers slip between my thighs. I jumped at the invasion as he started rubbing me in gentle circles. Then I threw my head back, unable to stifle another moan from escaping my lips, only this one was much louder.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his fingers suddenly going still. I did and found him staring at me with a hungry gaze. “Funny that you say you don't want it,” he said archly, “when you're soaking wet.”

I couldn't respond because his fingers had resumed rubbing me back and forth, playing with me, torturing me, stealing my ability to form words. “Why,” I started, but when he increased the pressure on my sensitive nub, I had to fight the need to arch against him. “Why are you doing this?” I breathed out finally, insisting my logical side regain control.

He chuckled at that. “Why am I doing this?” he repeated, shaking his head as the smile dropped right off his lips. “I'm doing this because I can.” And then he thrust his fingers inside me as if to prove his point. There was no warning, no warming me up with one finger and then adding another. He simply forced his fingers in me and I could feel myself growing wetter. I was on the brink of an orgasm as he pulled his fingers out and rammed them back into me again, nothing tender about it. I screamed and clenched my eyes shut as I felt myself give in to the tremors that were starting to quake inside me.

“Come on, Dulcie,” Knight taunted me. “Show me what you're feeling.”

And so I let go. I allowed my hips to gyrate against him as I threw my head back and let the orgasm seize me. Allowing it to take hold of me, I screamed until my voice was hoarse. A few crows squawked their protest and flapped away from the tree they'd been resting on, but I was elsewhere. When I opened my eyes, I found Knight's glowing. This time, he did nothing to conceal them. He pulled his fingers out of me and dropped to his knees, grabbing me by the ass as he brought my pelvis forward. He glanced up at me, his expression daring me to stop him and then buried his face between my thighs, lifting my leg up slightly and dropping it over his shoulder so he could slip his tongue deep inside me. I started to whimper with pleasure, my hips undulating as another orgasm gripped me and caused my legs to shake uncontrollably.

My knees were becoming the consistency of jelly, and when I felt like they were going to buckle, he lifted me against the Denali and I wrapped them snugly around his middle. Balancing me against the SUV, he reached down and unzipped his pants, staring at me as he freed himself and rubbed his hardness against me, sighing at the wetness he was about to enter.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips tight. “Tell me again that you don't want this.”

He gripped each of my thighs, spreading me wide. Teasingly, he entered me with the very tip of his penis. I felt myself stretching to accommodate him, preparing for his entry.

“Answer me,” he demanded gruffly.

There was no way I could deny that I wanted him. “I want it,” I said softly. “I want you.”

Knight chuckled, and gripping my thighs, stuffed himself into me, as deeply as he could. I screamed out against the intrusion and bucked against him as he started to drive himself in and out mercilessly. He grasped a fistful of my hair and held it tightly as I opened my eyes and found his on me.

“Lie to me, Dulcie,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “Lie to me and tell me you love me.”

I felt my brows knot in the middle as I focused on his beautiful blue eyes, his face so chiseled and perfect I'd never seen another to equal its beauty. Feeling his body inside mine, there was no one else—there never had been anyone else. “I love you,” I said softly, about to add that it wasn't a lie, but Knight didn't allow me the chance. Instead, he thrust inside me so hard, I felt like I needed to brace myself, which, of course, wasn't possible since my hands were bound behind me. Knight lifted me up higher and slammed me against the Denali, pushing into me as deeply and quickly as he could. We'd never had sex like this before—never anything this bestial and furious.

It was suddenly very obvious that Knight hated himself because he still loved me.

His thrusts were gaining momentum as he bit his lower lip, driving himself into me as hard as he could. He clenched his eyes shut and moaned loudly as he climaxed inside me, grinding his pelvis into mine.

When he opened his eyes again, he didn't say anything, but pulled out of me and lifting me by my waist, brought me to the ground. He reached down and gripped my pants, pulling them up my legs. Glancing at my breasts, he sighed and took hold of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. I couldn't help my gaze, which was fastened onto his chiseled upper body, so broad with sinuous muscle. He draped his shirt over my head, then realizing I was helpless to dress myself, yanked it down to cover me. Grabbing my arm and opening the passenger door of the Denali, he lifted me up and placed me back into my seat. When I looked down at him, his eyes were even angrier than they had been earlier, as if now he was berating himself for not resisting the need to be inside me.

“This changes nothing between us,” he said.

***

The remainder of the ride was silent except for Pearl Jam's album, “Ten,” which was still blasting through the speakers, so loud it was obvious that Knight didn't want any conversation. When we pulled off the two-lane highway and onto a dirt road, I had to summon the interest to pay attention to my surroundings. The terrain hadn’t changed much and looked the same as when we'd pulled over. Unrecognizable.

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked loudly, fighting the volume and the silence between us.

“You'll find out soon enough, won't you?” he responded, glaring at me and making no motion to turn the volume down.

I didn't say anything more, but watched a small structure as it came into view. It was a rectangular shaped, one-story building without windows. It looked so small from the outside that I didn't imagine it could have more than four rooms inside. Knight pulled up in front of it and stopped the Denali, putting it into park. I assumed this building was the jail he'd mentioned earlier.

He turned off the engine and sighed, not making any motion to move. He just sat in his seat, staring straight ahead for another few seconds before he opened his door and jumped down. He walked around the Denali and then opened my door, hoisting me into his arms, only to set me on the ground. Gripping my upper arm, he forced me up the gravel entryway to the nondescript building.

He unlocked the front door and pushed me over the threshold none-too-gently. It was dark inside, but moments later, he turned on a light switch and the fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered as they lit the place in a sickly yellow. The jail amounted to one enormous room with four holding cells, two on each side. The front of the room boasted a table with a phone on it, a small television and a case of bottled waters. There were three fold-up chairs arranged around the table.

When I slowed, not sure where I should go or what I should do, Knight pushed me forward. “Watch it,” I ordered when I nearly tripped over my own feet. He said nothing, but gripped my arm and turning to the first cell, unlocked it, shoving me inside. There was a cot on one side and a toilet on the other, with a small sink beside it. I turned around at the sound of him closing the barred door and locking it.

Then he simply disappeared down the hallway. I could hear him sitting in one of the chairs and throwing his legs up on the table. He turned the television on and the volume blared out. Seconds later, the volume dropped to a mere hum.

***

I'd fallen asleep. I'm not sure how long I was out, but I awoke to the sound of loud voices and heavy footfalls. I stood up and approached the bars of my cell, watching as two men I didn't recognize escorted Horatio into the room. He cursed them left and right, but they just laughed in response and showed him to the cell at the end of the hallway, on the opposite side of mine.

At the sound of more voices, I watched as Quillan walked through the front door, another ANC man behind him. Quill was silent as he stepped into the hallway. The man behind him gripped his arms and pulled him to a stop, making it known that he didn't want Quill to venture any farther. The man holding Quill glanced at Knight and I tried to make out their exchange, but their voices were too muffled. Instead, I watched as Knight took hold of Quill's arms, which were cuffed behind his back, and the other man disappeared through the front door. Then I watched Knight push him forward as Quill glanced in my direction, recognizing me immediately.

“Dulcie!” he said, his voice sounding relieved. Relieved probably because I wasn't dead. Then he looked over his shoulder at Knight, and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle. “If you so much as laid one finger on her,” he started.

Knight glared at him. “You'll do what?”

“If you hurt her,” he started again, a new fire burning in his eyes.

“I didn't hurt her,” Knight responded stonily, his tone implying the hurt was the other way around. Neither of them said anything more as Knight showed Quill to his cell, which was right beside Horatio's. After locking the cell door behind Quill, Knight started back up the hall, refusing to even spare a glance in my direction.

I retired back to my cot and laid down, the fluorescence of the lights suddenly going dim as Knight turned them off. Well, in my part of the jail anyway. It was still bright in the front of the room, the gentle droning of the television supplying the only sound.

“Are you okay, Dulce?” Quill asked, his tone hopeful.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said softly, even as I thought I was far from being fine.

“Everything is going to be okay, Dulce,” Quill said, his tone sounding sweet, but defeated. 'Course, I couldn't say I believed him. Instead, I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.

***

When I woke up, again to the sound of voices, I was pretty sure I'd been asleep for at least a few hours. I had that feeling of dreariness you get when waking up from a deep, REM sleep. I sighed and tried to hone in on the sounds of the voices coming from the front of the room. I recognized Knight's, but couldn't place the other one. It was a woman's, the resonance and tone seeming somehow familiar to me. Yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, trying to decipher what they were saying.

“Are you sure?” I heard Knight's baritone.

“Yes, Vander, I'm more than sure. I heard it from Caressa herself. Now stop being an obstinate ape and let me see her.”

Then the sound of heavy steps—Knight's—and he suddenly came into view. His expression was unreadable. He actually wouldn’t even look at me. But seeing as how he was holding the key to my cell, I had to imagine something was up. I didn't get the chance to further consider what the hell was going on because I suddenly noticed the woman with the long, dark hair who couldn't have been more than five feet tall coming up behind him.

“Christina?” I asked, absolutely shocked.

She smiled broadly. “We meet again.”

I glanced at Knight, wondering why he didn't have her in custody, why her hands weren't cuffed behind her back and, furthermore, why he wasn't escorting her to her own cell. But he just stood there, making no motion to do anything aside from unlocking my cell door and holding it wide open. I stayed put, staring at Christina's pretty face. “But, you ... you work for my father?”

She beamed then and nodded eagerly, as if about to tell me an incredibly exciting story. She stepped inside my cell as my gaze returned to Knight, who just stood there, austere in his silence.

“Yep, I do work for your father, well, that is, I did,” Christina said with a soft laugh as if the whole thing were one big joke. Then the laugh died on her lips and she eyed me speculatively. “I'm also the leader of The Resistance.”

The End

MALICE IN WONDERLAND

Dulcie O’Neil #5

by

H.P. Mallory

Malice in Wonderland

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements:

To my mother: Thank you for everything.

To my editor, Teri: Thank you for always doing such a great job!

To my son, Finn: I am so proud to be your mama.

To all my beta readers, thank you so much for all your help!

To the winner of my “become a character in my next book” contest, Erica Comacho: Congratulations and I hope you enjoy your character!

To Lacie Soule: Thank you so much for entering the contest to name this book and thank you so much for coming up with such a fantastic title!

Malice in Wonderland

ONE

There have only been a handful of moments in my life where I've been struck speechless.

And this was one of those moments. Why? Because Christina Sabbiondo, a woman who was involved in the illegal potions trade, had just informed me that she was also the head of The Resistance. As you can probably deduce from the group's title, The Resistance existed to do just that—resist potion trafficking from The Netherworld and, more pointedly, resist the tyranny of the Head of the Netherworld.

Coincidentally, the Head of the Netherworld also happens to be my father. Lucky me.

“What?” I managed to blurt out, shaking my head as I wondered if maybe I'd just hallucinated the last three hours of my life. I mean, in the past one hundred eighty minutes, I'd managed to foil my father's attempts to introduce an incredibly addictive and even more easily spread narcotic into my neighborhood, I'd nearly been raped by a Titan, only to watch my very recently ex-boyfriend put a bullet through said Titan's forehead. As romantic as that might sound, my ex-boyfriend then arrested me because I was working for my father; (I'm really not a bad person—I was forced into it); and after an exhaustive conversation where I tried to prove my innocence, and he tried to prove my guilt, I found myself behind bars. Then, just like that, Ms. Sabbiondo walked back into my life, professing my innocence, and now here I was.

Christina smiled broadly, her doe-like, brown eyes dancing with merriment—as if she'd been dying to tell me all along that she never really was one of the baddies—that she and I were playing on the same team. And I had to admit that somewhere inside myself, I was rejoicing. Why? Because I’d always liked Christina. Not only was she a fellow Jeep owner, but she was also one of a select number of fairies (just like me), so how could I not like her?

“Dulcie, I'm on your side,” she said, the smile dropping from her lips as she took my hand and faced me earnestly.

“But,” I started, still not understanding how that could be, my brain not functioning on all eight cylinders. “But how did you ... You worked for my father for six years!”

She nodded. “Yes I did, but that isn't to say that I was happy working for him. The Resistance has been a long time coming, Dulcie. It just took a while for people to realize we couldn't continue living under your father's iron rule. It took us five years to develop The Resistance, to organize ourselves and devise a way out of everything your father envisioned, as well as everything he stands for.” She paused to take a deep breath and I was suddenly overcome with feelings of admiration for her. It couldn't have been easy to form The Resistance, and its success spoke of her own personal strength. “It's been a long and difficult five years, Dulcie, but we are stronger than ever before and fully ready to fight.”

I gulped, wondering how long it was going to take me to process all of this. “And my father has no idea that you've been involved in The Resistance all along,” I continued, amazed that she'd been able to keep her double life from my father, Melchior O'Neil, while working in such close proximity with him. If nothing else, my father was a shrewd businessman and careful, well, as far as I could tell anyway. Apparently he wasn't careful enough.

“I imagine he's got a pretty good idea about where my loyalty lies now,” she said and that pretty smile returned to her lips. Yep, right about now Daddy Dearest had to be waking up to the fact that not only did his daughter thwart his nefarious plans to introduce the illegal potion Draoidheil onto the streets of Splendor, Moon, Haven, and Estuary, but was helped by his pet, Christina. Right about now my father had to be suffering a very rude awakening.

I heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and remembered that Knight was standing beside (well, more like towering over) Christina, a witness to everything that had just passed between us. Knightley Vander, aka very recently ex-boyfriend, was also part of The Resistance and as far as I could tell, he was now doing a damned good job of resisting the idea that I was anything but guilty of potions smuggling. His eyes were burning with ire, and the normally beautiful blue of his irises was ablaze.

And that was when it hit me that Knight had been aware of who my father was from the moment he'd met me. In fact, Knight assumed I was working for my father all along. His sole purpose in coming to Splendor was to beat my father at his own game, with me as an expendable pawn. Somewhere along the way though, I managed to convince him I wasn't a soulless potions smuggler, (which was the Hades-honest truth!) and he subsequently fell in love with me. Likewise, I fell in love with him.

At this precise moment, however, feelings of love were not first and foremost in my mind. Instead, I was livid over the fact that Knight had always known who my father was and yet he'd kept it from me. Knight had been concealing an agenda from me all along and that was what hurt the most. Well, the fact that he was now accusing me of something of which I was completely innocent smarted almost as bad. But the biggest kicker of this whole screwed-up situation was that I'd basically sold my soul to the proverbial devil in order to keep Knight safe. I'd put myself on the line to protect him ... and for what?

I inhaled deeply, telling myself to ignore my anger, and let it simmer on the back burner because Knight wasn't my biggest concern at the moment. No, I had far bigger fish to fry.

I watched Christina as she faced Knight and shook her head, as if discouraging his foul mood and inability to believe I was anything but guilty.

“We're moving everyone to Compound Three,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. I assumed she meant the other two prisoners Knight had already taken into custody, Horatio and my ex-boss, Quillan. “We're going to move forward with Plan B,” she finished, facing Knight squarely before adding: “You can drive her, or I can.”

“I'll go with you,” I interrupted, glancing at Christina as Knight continued to scrutinize me. Yep, I had way too many conflicting emotions regarding Knight to try to deal with him at the moment.

“Christina,” Knight started, his baritone rich and velvety. I felt something catch in my throat, but swallowed it down as I reminded myself now was not the time to bemoan my ruined relationship. No, now I needed to focus on our next steps, on planning a strategy to defeat my father. I needed to learn everything I could about The Resistance.

Christina glanced at him and started for the door. Her lips were tight as she narrowed her eyes. “Call Caressa, and find out for yourself, will you?” Then she turned on her heel, and opening the door, walked into the early morning sunlight.

***

I'd never heard of Compound Three so wasn't sure where we were headed, but I also couldn't say I cared. Instead, I found my attention riveted outside as we drove down Highway One in a dark grey Chevy Suburban. Ordinarily Christina sported a black Jeep Wrangler, so I guessed this vehicle was courtesy of The Resistance and, as such, probably untraceable. The more I thought about it, the more I had to wonder if The Resistance had lots in common with the CIA.

Knight followed us in a black Yukon Denali, an SUV which had already left a lasting impression on me considering what Knight and I had done in it ... or, rather, on it. But that was another sore subject I wasn't ready to deal with yet.

At any rate, Knight was tasked with transporting Horatio and Quillan. Both would remain in custody due to their associations with my father. I could have given a rat's ass about Horatio but Quillan was another story.

Quillan Beaurigard was originally the Head of the ANC (Association of Netherworld Creatures) Splendor branch, before Knight replaced him. I initially reported to Quill in my position as ANC Regulator (think law enforcement agent), and he and I became pretty tight. Learning that Quill was working for my father during our entire acquaintance was a hard pill to swallow. Almost as hard as me working for my father. But Quill's reasons for serving as my father's right-hand man were very different to mine. While Quill performed his role in quiet desperation, I never did. I never stopped planning my escape and I never, not even for one second, accepted my fate. Truth be told, I didn't do well with ultimatums.

The only reason I ever agreed to obey my father's bidding was because I was forced into it. Yep, I’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place because my father held Knight's life for ransom, promising to kill him if I didn't do as he demanded. Thus, I managed to lead a double life for the last few weeks as both an illegal potions importer, and a Regulator for the ANC.

I felt a sigh escape my lips and focused on the rolling hills outside my window. The splotchy greens of the quilt-like hillsides peppered here and there by sheep or cows were mesmerizing. There was a slight chill in the air, but judging by the lack of clouds in the sky, I figured it would end up another warm California day.

“He'll come around,” Christina said softly, offering me an understanding smile. Of course, she was referring to my destroyed relationship, but I remained steadfast in my decision not to think about the infuriatingly stubborn Loki, a creature forged from the fires of the Netherworld god, Hades, and created in Hades's own brawny, large, and stunningly gorgeous image.

“Maybe and maybe not,” I responded, taking a deep breath. “But we have lots of way more important stuff to discuss.”

“You're right.” Christina glanced over at me with a quick nod as we exited Highway One and took a right on Frontier Street, then an immediate left onto an unmarked dirt road. There was a fence and locked gate blocking our path, but Christina didn't seem fazed. Instead, she put the Suburban in park, hopped down and unlocked the padlock, opening the gate wide. She nodded her head at Knight, who pulled up just behind us. Then she jumped back into the driver's seat, put the car in drive and started forward again.

“So all along, you were plotting against my father?” I asked in awe, wanting to understand how The Resistance started. I noticed she hadn’t stopped to lock the gate again so I figured Knight must have.

Christina's jaw was tight as her fingers closed around the steering wheel. “Yes. From the moment I was forced into working for him.”

“Then that story you told me about him recruiting you as a college student,” I started, remembering a conversation we’d had in which Christina said how she met my father in the first place.

“Was all true,” she finished. “Well, except for the part about me being okay with it. I was never okay with it.”

“So I guess we were both keeping our cards close to our chests,” I said, remembering that neither of us trusted the other in the earliest days of our acquaintanceship.

She glanced at me and nodded before returning her attention to the empty road before us. “I wanted to believe you were innocent,” she started and then shrugged. “I liked you right off the bat.” Before I could respond, she shook her head and laughed as she added, “To this day, I have never met a Jeep owner I didn't like.”

I laughed, amused that we really did think alike. But the laugh soon died on my lips as I returned to my line of questioning. “So my father bribed you into working for him and you started thinking of a way out. How did Knight figure into it?”

She was quiet for a few seconds. “I never really knew Knight well. I'd heard of him, of course. I mean, everyone in the ANC knows who Knightley Vander is—his reputation definitely precedes him.” She smiled and shook her head, making it pretty clear that she was fond of Knight. I didn't think it was in a romantic sort of way though, more like he was her big brother or something. “When Knight had that altercation with your father and got deported to Splendor, I made it a point to get to know him. Knight was a tough one, though, because he knew who I was and, of course, whom I worked for.”

“I'll bet.”

“But once I mentioned The Resistance and Caressa vouched for me, he was in. After that, things really started rolling.” She smiled at me then. “Knight has single-handedly done more for The Resistance than anyone else.”

I nodded, proud of the Loki, while at the same time, still livid with him. “So you and Caressa are tight?”

She didn't pull her eyes from the road. “Very.”

“And let me guess, she must have told you I was innocent, which was why you just bailed me out?”

It felt like my teeth were chattering in my head as we drove over a cattle crossing grid. I had no idea where we were; I wasn't familiar with this side of town.

“Yep,” Christina replied. “Caressa told me about how you got suckered into working for Melchior and only ever agreed to it in order to protect Knight. And, of course, she also told me about your little flower delivery stunt.” Then she glanced over at me and her eyes were wide with mirth. “By the way, she says you look terrible as a brunette.”

Christina was referring to the time when I had to change my appearance in order to visit Caressa in the Netherworld, so I posed as a flower delivery person. I secretly told Caressa everything I could about the Draoidheil delivery in order to ensure it went off with as many hitches as possible.

I shook my head as I laughed. “Well you can tell her that her left hook needs a little work.”

Christina gave me an expression of “what are you talking about?”

“When I was in the Netherworld the first time around, I managed to talk Caressa into releasing me so I could try to free Knight from High Prison. We knew we needed an alibi to get anyone to believe us. So we came up with the story that I'd overpowered her and escaped. Then we figured a few punches should be thrown in for good measure.”

“Ah,” Christina said, nodding as if she were now on the same page.

“Speaking of Caressa,” I continued, “you told Knight to call her earlier. How are you able to keep in touch with her? I'm sure my father has all the phone lines to and from the Netherworld tapped?”

We hit another cattle grid and the entire Suburban vibrated, but Christina didn't seem to notice. “Yep, that he does. He always has—and he's good about monitoring all calls, especially those of his high ranking employees.” She raised her eyebrows. “Paranoia anyone?”

I smiled, but my mind was still on my unanswered question. “So?”

“All of us have separate, untraceable phones for Resistance business only. The phones are bewitched and if any of us are on a call, the frequency gets scrambled so no one can pick up on our conversations. The phones continue to change color and shape so they are never identifiable, again through witch magic.”

I nodded, impressed. “Seems you've got all your bases covered.”

She took a deep breath. “We try.”

“So Caressa is in The Resistance, then?” I continued, wondering how many people we could rely on in the Netherworld.

“No, she isn't, but that's merely because it's too dangerous for her to be.”

“But you,” I started, finding it hard to see how Christina could have been in The Resistance for five years, during which time she also reported to my father, and not consider that the very definition of dangerous.

She shook her head with a charming smile. “I'm a daredevil by nature. I not only look for trouble, but welcome it wholeheartedly.”

I just laughed, suddenly overcome by the sensation of my strength returning. The void that had been devouring me for the last few weeks was now filling up. It felt as if a huge weight was being lifted from my shoulders, as ridiculous as it sounds. Yes, I absolutely realized what I was now up against, what we were all now up against. But even though our future was far from secure, my improved energy gave me a newly found sense of hope. I had to admit it made me ecstatic to finally be fighting the fight I was destined for. Even though I was now facing a whole new set of obstacles, I was free. I was no longer an indentured servant to the whims of my father. I was now my own person again and it made me want to sing.

'Course, any songs within me were forgotten as soon as I remembered the threat embodied by Melchior O'Neil. My father was a tyrant and delusional, yes; but worse still, he had the entire Netherworld at his disposal. That included ANC officials in the Netherworld, people who were armed and very dangerous. I just had to hope that all Netherworld creatures who lived on Earth were on the side of The Resistance.

“But Caressa is still an ally?” I continued, needing to know exactly how she fit into this picture.

“Very much so. She feeds us information whenever she can, but I'm sure her hands are going to be tied now. We can't rely on Caressa from here on out, Dulcie. She's in the thick of it and it could mean her life.”

I nodded, realizing Christina was right. At the same time, I also bemoaned the fact that we’d basically just lost our most powerful ally. “And Gabriel?” I continued, remembering Knight's friend who helped me while I was in the Netherworld.

Christina shook her head. “We're on our own,” she said simply as she depressed the accelerator and maneuvered over the rocky terrain, coughing up a billowing cloud of dust behind us and obscuring the Denali.

“How many are in The Resistance?” I asked, my mind racing with myriad questions.

“A few hundred,” she responded immediately, braking to ten miles per hour as she took an especially sharp turn.

“And how many support my father in the Netherworld?”

She cocked her head to the side as she thought about it. “We're about neck and neck.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I thought the population in the Netherworld was much larger than the population of Netherworld creatures here?”

“It is, but I'm just talking Netherworldians who might be considered a threat. Most of the creatures in the Netherworld don't fight. Most of them are just too scared to resist your father, but that doesn't mean they don't want to see him overthrown.” She paused for a second or two before facing me and I didn't miss her description of my father being “overthrown,” as if he were a king. For all intents and purposes, he had basically appointed himself sovereign. “That's not to say that your father isn't a threat. For as many that don't support him, an equal number do and then some.”

“You're preaching to the choir,” I said, sighing. “I know exactly how dangerous my father is.”

I didn't say anything more, but watched her downshift as we crested the top of an incredibly steep hill. It was so steep, I couldn't even see the road beneath us as we started down the other side. “So what was Plan B?” I asked, remembering Christina telling Knight we were moving forward with our second plan.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on driving, never taking her eyes from the road. “The portals to the Netherworld are all being closed and guards are on duty to prohibit anyone from coming or going.”

“And the secret portals?” There were two types of portals that connected the Netherworld to Earth—public portals, which basically acted like airports; and the not so public portals which Melchior used to traffic his illegal potions.

“All portals,” she said simply.

“So if there are Melchior supporters here?” I started but she quickly interrupted me.

“They stay here; and likewise, anyone supporting us in the Netherworld stays there.”

“So what about spies and moles? I'm sure Melchior has his special touch points?”

“Melchior has plenty of touch points here, as you're well aware. In answer to that, we've had to do a lot of profiling of all Netherworld creatures here on Earth. Those deemed a threat to The Resistance were incarcerated.”

“So all the Horatios and Barons of the world?”

“Are either locked up or ... dead,” she said with a smile. Baron was the Titan I’d referred to earlier—the one Knight shot through the forehead. “Anyone who isn't loyal to our movement must be taken into custody,” she finished.

“If they aren't with you, they're against you?”

“Something like that.”

We reached the base of the steep hill and she took a right onto another unmarked road, this one overgrown with weeds. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were planning on killing me and leaving my body where no one would ever find it,” I said with a slight laugh as I glanced outside the window.

Christina cocked a brow in my direction. “Good thing for you that you know better.”

I laughed, trying to relax into my chair as I digested all the information I'd just learned. I suddenly felt exhausted down to my core, probably because I hadn't slept well in the last month. I wasn't about to start feeling sorry for myself though. Instead, I focused on how impressed I was—impressed with Christina and The Resistance in general. I’d imagined this Resistance was kind of a grass roots type of organization. But truth be told, they were more advanced and well organized than I’d previously given them credit for. “So what happens next?”

Christina put the car in park and I glanced forward, realizing we were facing the side of a mountain. She smiled, reaching for a garage door opener which was attached to the visor in front of her. She depressed the largest button and the mountain simply opened in half, two doors separating as if it were a garage made to look like a mountainside. When the doors opened, they revealed another dirt road. It led into what appeared to be a compound. The barbed wire fencing and nondescript, white buildings were the first clue.

“What is this?” I asked, looking around myself as I wondered how all of this could have existed, yet I never had any idea about it.

“Welcome to Compound Three,” Christina answered with a smile as she moved forward again.”It's one of four training bases and prisons.” She glanced behind us and saluted to Knight, apparently motioning him forward. Then she faced me again. “Remember how I told you we had lots of people in custody?”

“Here?” I asked, unable to suppress my surprise.

“Yep,” she answered, motioning to the Denali behind us with her hand. “This will be Horatio and Quillan's last stop as well.”

And on that point, I felt my good humor deflate. Of course, Christina didn't know Quill as anything besides Melchior's right-hand man, but I knew he was so much more than that. I could only wonder if, given the option of joining The Resistance against Melchior, what choice Quill would make. Figuring that was a subject for a later day, I decided to shelve it—right next to the Knight-is-being-an-asshole conversation that was still simmering on the back burner.

I glanced around myself, intent on studying my surroundings in order to distract my thoughts. Razor-sharp wire topped the fences around the compound and I found myself facing three square, asphalt yards. A group of ten or so people jogged by us, led by a werewolf who was yelling orders. Inside the three yards, people were either sparring in hand-to-hand combat, or if they were inclined, magical combat. The second yard revealed people lifting weights; and the last had some sort of obstacle course. Seeing them, I felt like I just enlisted in boot camp.

“You guys sure have been busy,” I said in surprised awe, bringing my eyes back to Christina.

She nodded and crossed her arms against her chest, wearing the expression of someone proud. “Yep, you could definitely say that.”

TWO

After a tour of Compound Three, I was even more impressed with The Resistance. They were following the lead of the US military and training civilians who, I imagined, could rival any soldiers found in the Netherworld. 'Course, I didn't know much about the military, but I could say The Resistance seemed as though they knew what they were doing, based on their incredible sense of organization, dedication, and perseverance, as well as their infallible sense of discipline. It probably didn't hurt that The Resistance had also recruited a major general from the Air Force (who happened to be a goblin), a lieutenant colonel from the Army (an orc), and a captain from the Marines (an elf) to lead their soldiers. And that was just at this camp.

As far as Compound Three's prisoners were concerned, there were easily fifty or more Melchior O'Neil supporters already in custody, enjoying life behind bars. As I made my way through the prison, Christina heading the tour, I recognized the majority of the prisoners. They were all thugs who were somehow involved in the illegal potions trade. When we finished viewing the relatively small prison (there were only about twenty or so cells), I followed Christina into the front room again. Knight led Horatio and Quill into a nearby cell, which was already occupied by a gnome. He was busily making obscene gestures at Christina and me. I watched Knight's gaze fall on me and he swallowed hard. Since his eyes no longer looked like lethal weapons, I could only imagine he'd lost some of his anger. Maybe he had made that phone call to Caressa after all; and now was realizing what a complete and total asshole he'd been to me.

Not dealing with this now! I reminded myself as I immediately glanced away. Instead, I watched Quillan following Horatio into the cell. Quill's shoulders were slumped forward, and as the prison guard released the cuffs from around his wrists, and the manacles at his feet, he massaged his wrists as if the heavy metal had rubbed them raw. He looked up, and upon noticing me, immediately smiled. It was a smile that said he was happy to know I was safe and, better yet, free. It was a smile that said he didn't blame me for blowing the cover of the Draoidheil mission and, consequently, landing him behind bars. No, instead, he was proud of me. I could read it clearly in his eyes and the way he nodded at me in silent acknowledgment.

“Christina,” I started, turning toward her. If I were going to say something regarding Quill's predicament, I needed to say it now. No time like the present ...

She stopped walking and faced me, curiosity in her eyes. I motioned to Quill and cleared my throat. “I've known Quillan for a very long time,” I said as I sidestepped her, aiming for an unoccupied hallway on my right. This conversation required some privacy and I couldn't say I felt comfortable under Knight's scrutiny. Besides, that damned gnome was still making lewd gestures with his fingers while undulating his tiny hips, the little bastard.

“And,” Christina prodded as she glanced over at the gnome, lifting an unimpressed eyebrow and shaking her head before following me into the hallway.

I stopped walking, once we were out of eavesdropping range, and took a deep breath as I faced her squarely. “And he was duped into working for my father the same as you and I were.”

I couldn't read Christina's response; apparently, she was good at concealing her emotions. Wanting to give her adequate time to process my statement, I glanced over at the handsome elf, who did his best to separate himself from his prison comrades. Now he stood in the corner of the cell with his arms crossed against his chest as he regarded us. And he wasn't the only one who was eyeing our every move. I could feel Knight's eyes on me, but I refused to look his way. Instead, I focused on Quill.

I had always considered Quill a friend. Well, that is, up until I discovered he was working for the bad guys. But life does work in strange ways because once I'd been forced into the same predicament, I found it easier to forgive him and call him my friend again. In actuality, he was the only friend I had while working in my father's employ. And once I was forced into the same situation as Quill, I saw him in a different, and far less damning light. I guess it is true what they say about walking in someone else's shoes ...

“This isn't him. He's a good person,” I continued, glancing at Christina again.

Her eyes were hard and unforgiving. “He's been Melchior's yes-man for as long as I've known him, Dulcie.”

I nodded and sighed, realizing this was going to be a difficult argument to win. “I know that's how it looks, but I've also worked side-by-side with him for nine years. We were close, Christina. And in nine years, you get to know someone pretty damn well.”

“And yet you never knew this side of him existed until recently,” she finished, her lips a straight line.

“That's true, but I can also tell you that Quill never would have chosen this path for himself. The only reason he did was because he had no alternative.” I swallowed. “Think about it ... if my father was successful in forcing you to work for him, anyone could be forced into it. You know that as well as I do.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, but nodded, exhaling deeply. “You missed your calling. You should have been a lawyer.” Then she eyed me askance.

I smiled, hoping I was on my way to winning the argument, hoping she'd soon raise her white flag of surrender. “I don't know; I've been told I make one damned good Regulator.”

She laughed, but soon the laugh died on her lips and her expression was solemn. “So what do you propose we do?”

I glanced over at Knight who stood a few paces behind us, his large arms folded across his chest and his expression stern. He'd been watching us the entire time and his eyes were still narrowed on me, a void of impenetrable blue. His expression was impossible to read.

I faced Christina again. “I think we need to give Quillan the option of joining our cause.”

She laughed lightly as if I'd just made a joke, but then speared me with her eyes, making me feel all of four years old. “Have you joined our cause, then?”

I was surprised and a little taken aback. I already assumed I was now a part of The Resistance. From the moment Christina granted me my freedom, I’d thought I was on board with her cause. “I thought that was understood?”

“You never said yea or nay,” she answered, her tone serious. I opened my mouth to say “Yea” wholeheartedly, but she beat me to it. “I hope you realize this is no light matter. If you join us, you will be doing so at risk of your life.”

I shook my head as though risking my life weren't a biggie. If the truth be told, I'd been risking my life ever since I first signed up as a Regulator, nine years ago. This was just another walk in a very familiar park. “I'm already living on borrowed time. If I don't join you, I'm a renegade. It's not as though my father would ever take me back and, furthermore, I would never go back.” I took a breath. “If I don't join your cause, I'll have to start my own.”

She laughed. “Then I guess I should say, welcome aboard.” Her laugh died as she turned to consider Quillan, who was leaning against the prison bars, still maintaining his distance from Horatio and the gnome. “As to Quillan, he's still a big risk, as far as I'm concerned.”

I nodded, knowing how much of a risk Quill appeared to be. But I trusted him and I would fight for him. Why? Because at the end of the day, I did consider Quillan my friend and if there was one thing I believed in wholeheartedly, it was protecting those who were close to me. It was only fair and right to give him the option to choose the correct path, to clean his slate, and start over. I would fight to allow Quill the chance he hadn't been offered fifteen years ago when he was first recruited into my father's band of thieves. And I earnestly believed that whatever decision Quill made, he would stick by it. Call me idealistic or just plain stupid, but I believed in Quillan. “All I'm asking is that we give him the option to join us. If he decides to continue to support my father, he stays right where he is—sitting behind bars.”

“And if he decides to join us?”

I held my chin high and returned her barbed gaze. “Then we forgive and forget.” I didn't hesitate, didn't even blink. “Everyone deserves a second chance, Christina. I know Quill well and I promise you, this isn't the life he envisioned for himself. He's been as much a victim as you and I have.”

She was quiet as she faced Quill again, studying him in a detached sort of way. She turned her attention away from him after another few seconds and settled her studious expression on me, the drama of whether or not to trust me playing out on her face.

“He will be your responsibility,” she said finally. “If something happens and he maintains his ties to Melchior, it's your head on the chopping block. One mistake, and you both will be taken into Resistance custody.”

I nodded, feeling relieved right down to my feet. “I'm willing to take that chance.”

“Then go,” she said, motioning to the cell holding Quillan. “And while you're at it, tell him what a lucky bastard he is.”

“Thank you, Christina,” I answered. I turned on the ball of my foot and hurried down the hallway. I could feel Knight's gaze on me as I made my way to Quill's cell. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Knight immediately ask Christina what was going on, and his face took on a definite reddish hue when he got his answer. He grumbled something about this being “unbelievable,” but I couldn't say I cared. Nope, this could just be another instance added to the long list of things Knight had done to seriously piss me off. And the time was fast approaching when I would grant my full attention to that list.

“Dulce?” Quill asked as he neared the prison cells, wrapping his hands around them. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He took a breath. “Did they release you?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” I replied hurriedly as I summoned the energy to relate my news. “Quill, I was able to talk Christina into giving you a second chance.”

His eyebrows knotted as he studied me, his amber eyes beautiful in the low light. And all of a sudden, I remembered how I used to feel about Quillan—how I'd always admired him and, more so, had a strange sort of crush on him. Granted, those feelings were now dead and buried, but the glint in his eyes somehow took me back to another time, when Quill and I were in a very different situation than now, an innocent time that we could never again return to.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone soft, exhausted, and, sadly, defeated.

“You have to make a decision, Quill,” I responded sternly, hoping in the depths of my soul that he would choose the right path, and take me up on my offer so he could turn his life around. More than anything, I hoped I was right about him—that deep down, he wasn't my father's yes-man. Because the truth of it was: if he did decide to continue to support my father, I could no longer be his friend. Being a victim of circumstances I could understand, but once you were offered salvation and the chance to no longer play the part of the victim, the time for empathy was over.

“What are you talking about, Dulcie?” he asked.

“You have to decide, here and now, whether you want to emancipate yourself from my father and join The Resistance, or continue serving him, in which case, you'll remain incarcerated.” I took a breath. “I am giving you the option to join The Resistance, Quill, and to join me.”

He was quiet as he nodded and it felt like years passed as I awaited his response. “Whatever you decide, there is no going back,” I continued as I prayed he would make the right decision. “This is your chance to clean your slate,” I added. “This is your chance to turn back time and make everything right again.” I paused for a few seconds. “My father won't be able to lay claim to you anymore, Quill. You can be free again.”

But when his eyes dropped to the floor and he sighed heavily, I felt my heart plummet and the breath catch in my throat. He glanced up at me, his eyes unreadable. “Dulcie, there is no choice to make.” He sounded beaten, conquered.

Something within me broke.

How could he still maintain his allegiance to my father? After everything he'd been through, everything we'd been through? How could he make this choice?

“Okay,” I started, the timbre in my voice angry. I pushed away from the prison bars and was about to turn around and leave, in favor of some fresh air; but before I could, he stopped me.

“I choose you,” he said resolutely, his eyes more serious than I'd ever seen them. “And I will always choose you from here on out.”

I swallowed back the anger that moments before had been plaguing me and felt a smile break across my lips. I knew the old Quill was in there somewhere. There was still the flame of a fight left within him, smoldering in the ashes of defeat and subjugation. And that was good enough for me because every conflagration started with the smallest spark. My smile broadened and I felt the fires of my own determination and resistance being stoked within me. “Will you join The Resistance, Quill? Will you stand up with me against my father?” I wrapped my fingers around the prison bars.

His lips were tight as he encircled my fingers with his own. His eyes were piercing, never leaving mine and he suddenly seemed years younger. The downcast strain in his features seemed to melt before me as his strength returned to his gaze and the line of his eyebrows. The Quillan I'd always known was back.

He nodded. “Yes.”

I didn't say anything, but held his gaze, and releasing the prison bars, I took both of his hands instead and squeezed them tightly. Moments later, I dropped them and turned toward Christina, eager to tell her of his decision, but his voice grabbed my attention again.

“Dulcie?”

I faced him and felt his eyes boring straight through me.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

I didn't respond, but started up the hallway, my gaze resting on Christina. Knight was still standing beside her, his arms still crossed against his chest and his eyes still following my every move. It was more than obvious that he'd watched everything that had just taken place between Quill and me, and he didn't look happy about it. But I didn't care. I forced myself not to care.

“He's in,” I said simply. I watched as Christina merely nodded and started toward me, the cell key in her hand. Knight shook his head and clasped his hands behind his head as he cracked his knuckles in the process and sighed deeply. I glared at him before returning my attention to Christina as she passed me and walked to Quill's cell.

“I don't know what you think you're …” Knight started and I turned to find him directly before me.

“I don't see how this is any of your business,” I interrupted snidely and propped my hands on my hips, summoning all the willpower I possessed not to deck him right then and there. All it took was for him to open his mouth and I was suddenly infused with anger, raw and irrepressible. It felt as if the blood within me was now burning, bubbling its way through my veins and coloring my vision with red.

“Not my business?” he railed back at me. “I ...”

“Last I checked, Christina was the head of The Resistance,” I interrupted him again. “So as far as I'm concerned, I'll take my orders from her, not you.” Then before he could so much as utter another word, I turned on my foot, and opening the door, walked outside. I felt as if I'd suffocate if I remained one second more.

***

The question of whether or not I would be allowed to return to my apartment was a moot one. I’d already figured that I was kissing my old life good-bye. And, of course, Christina furthered that sentiment by informing me it would be entirely too dangerous for me to even set foot into the place. For as careful as The Resistance was in securing the borders between the Netherworld and Earth, as well as ensuring the loyalty of Netherworld creatures on the Earthly plain, there were still unknowns. And it was better to prepare for those unknowns than to be taken by surprise.

As to my dog, Blue, Christina said he'd already been taken into account, and we would be reunited shortly. I didn't have a whole lot in the apartment that mattered a hoot to me, aside from my computer, which held the only copy of my book, A Vampire and A Gentleman. It was a book I'd written about my “friend,” Bram, and I was in the process of trying to find a publisher for it. I could only hope it would remain safe in my apartment.

But my dog and my apartment weren’t my only concerns. I was worried for my friends from the ANC: Sam, Dia, and Trey. According to Christina, they were already relocated to a safer place as well. It seemed that anyone in the ANC was considered a sitting duck and, thus, had been whisked away into hiding. As to the issue of ensuring that the streets of Splendor, Moon, Estuary, and Haven weren't suddenly overrun by mischief-makers, the solution was the soldiers of The Resistance. They had already started patrolling each neighborhood as soon as the Draoidheil mission was thwarted. All told, I'd made an understatement when I mentioned earlier that The Resistance was organized. They were uber organized.

So now it was a matter of waiting for a ride to some top secret location where I'd be living underneath the radar until things between the Netherworld and Earth settled down. As to what the plan was to ensure that things between the Netherworld and Earth would eventually become less heated, I wasn't in the know. I wanted to approach Christina with more questions on that exact subject, but as I expected, she was more than a little preoccupied. After our little rendezvous through the prison, I didn't see her again.

Instead, she instructed Quill and me to wait in line with five other members of The Resistance for a ride to our new digs. Suddenly realizing I was now high up on the list of most threatened people in the witness relocation program, it was slightly reassuring to know Quill was right alongside me.

“Do you have any idea where they're taking us?” Quill asked as he glanced around, a squadron of ten or so soldiers jogging by us. Quill shook his head in apparent wonder, as if he were impressed. Then his eyes rested on me.

I shook my head. “No, no idea at all.”

At the sound of a purring engine, I turned to my left and noticed Knight pulling up in the black Denali. His eyes were narrowed on me and I knew the time for ignoring him was now over.

“Dulcie, we need to talk,” he said, rolling the passenger window down. Then he reached over and opened the door, signaling that we were to talk in the SUV while en route to Hades only knew where.

Figuring this conversation needed to be broached at some point, I took a step forward, but was stopped by Quill's hand on my upper arm. Glancing up at him, I noticed his eyes were glued on Knight and his entire body had gone rigid.

“Anywhere she goes, I go,” he said simply.

“This doesn't concern you, Quillan,” Knight replied dryly, but his eyes warned Quill not to argue with him.

“Apparently, you don't understand English,” Quill replied as his eyes blazed in response. “Anywhere she goes, I go.”

Before it officially became the war of the elves and Lokis, I pulled my arm away from Quill's grasp and glanced up at him with a warm smile. “It's okay, Quill.”

“Dulce,” he started, shaking his head, and dropping his tone so only I could hear him. “We are in this together from here on out; and your safety is what matters most to me.”

I nodded, but felt something in my stomach instantly sour, not too good with all of this protective stuff. “You know I can take care of myself,” I replied sardonically. “I'll see you soon.”

I turned around and approached the Denali, climbing into the passenger seat as I eyed Quillan and smiled reassuringly. He just sighed and frowned. I made a mental note to remind him not to suffocate me so much. Once I closed my door, Knight turned the SUV around and started for the entrance of Compound Three.

I'm not sure how long before either of us said anything, but I was already committed to not breaking the silence. This was Knight's conversation to start.

“I fucked up,” Knight said finally, his eyes riveted on the road. His voice was deep, and the sound resonated through the SUV.

I said nothing, but nodded, although “fucked up” wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. If he hoped to have a chance in hell at gaining my forgiveness, there was a whole lot more ice to melt.

“All this time, I was convinced you were working for Melchior,” he continued. “I guess I was so blinded by it, I couldn't see the truth.”

“So, let me guess, you finally decided to talk to Caressa and she told you the truth?” I lashed out, not able to maintain my silence any longer. Fury was simmering inside me, made obvious by the acidity in my tone.

He nodded. “Yes, she told me everything.”

“Interesting,” I said angrily. “Funny, isn’t it? How I first told you to call Caressa before Christina ever did and, yet, did you listen to me? No.”

He exhaled deeply. “I couldn't think straight at the time, Dulcie,” he said, referring to a conversation we'd had in the Denali, after he took me into custody. “I was convinced you were playing me all along.”

“Sucks to be you then, I guess.”

He swallowed and then studied me intently. “So this is all falling on deaf ears?” There was an edge to his voice.

I nodded, my anger pouring out of me. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Dulcie, I fucked up,” he repeated. “I should never have doubted you.” He paused for a few seconds. “I don't know what more I can say except ... I'm sorry.”

There were so many thoughts and feelings storming through my head, I felt like my brain was going to implode. My body was rigid and I didn't even realize that I was digging my fingernails into the leather seat until I glanced down and noticed how white my knuckles were.

“Say something,” Knight continued.

I glared up at him and swallowed everything that was rampaging through me, trying to find the ability to form words. “Sorry just doesn’t cut it,” I began, shaking my head in disbelief. “I risked my life for you.” I took a deep breath. “Because I was trying to keep you safe, I became something I disdained, something I could never respect.”

“Dulcie,” he begged, his eyes pools of pain. I held my hand up and shushed him as I faced him angrily.

“Ever since I agreed to work for my father, I've been beaten up and nearly raped more times than I care to say. I can’t remember the last time I actually slept more than two hours. I cut myself off from my friends and everyone else I cared about ... but none of that mattered to me. And do you know why? Because what mattered most to me was keeping you safe.”

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again, his eyes downcast.

“And how do you thank me?” I continued as a shallow laugh fell off my lips. “By throwing me behind bars.” I felt my heart rate increasing. “And let's not even mention what you did to me while en route to the prison.”

He observed me as he shook his head. “I would never have continued, if I didn't think you wanted to.”

I couldn't deny that I had wanted Knight when he took me on the side of the road even though there had been nothing but ugliness between us at the time. Even though the moment had been far from ideal, once I felt his touch, not to mention his hands and lips moving all over me, I more than wanted him. That's how it was between Knight and me—our connection was incendiary. Even now, despite my fury, I wanted him. I didn't believe that would ever change.

“Dulcie, if I knew you sold your soul to Melchior because of me, I never would have allowed that to happen. For as much as I fucked up, you fucked up too.”

“What?” I repeated, shocked.

“You should never have lied to me. You should have told me what was going on so we could have worked through it together.”

I bit my lower lip, enraged that I couldn't argue that issue. Maybe I should have just been honest with him from the get-go. But the time to cry over spilt milk was long gone. “That's beside the point,” I said stiffly. “You knew all along who my father was and yet, you kept it from me.” I continued to vent, not wanting to think about my contribution to the ugliness between us. “From the moment you first met me, you had a hidden agenda.”

“You must understand why I thought what I did?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I can absolutely see why you would have thought what you did, but you told me there was a time when you dropped your defenses and believed in me. You realized you were wrong then, and yet, you never told me who my father was.”

“Dulcie, I'll be frank with you,” he said, eyeing me pointedly. “I never trusted you one hundred percent.”

“Despite your body telling you I was the one,” I snapped, referring to the fact that Knight's body had chosen me as his mate, signified when his eyes glowed.

“It is in my nature not to trust,” he responded. “It's what I do day in and day out. I'm a trained soldier, Dulcie. I didn't get as far as I did in the ANC by trusting people. This is who I am.” He took a breath. “But do I regret everything that happened between us? Absolutely. Do I wish I could go back and make things right again? Yes, and I mean that wholeheartedly.”

I swallowed and stared out my window, trying to avoid the pain in his eyes. I just didn't know how I felt about him now. So much had happened between us, I wasn't sure if the damage was repairable.

THREE

“So where do we go from here?” Knight asked, his expression sullen as he chanced to look my way before returning his eyes on the road. Where we were headed was still unknown to me as I wasn't at all familiar with this area. But wherever we were had to be pretty remote, judging by the weeds popping up through the asphalt and the fact that I hadn't seen another car since leaving Compound Three.

I shook my head and shrugged, answering honestly. “I don't know.”

He nodded as if my reply didn't surprise him, then seemed to zone out, staring at the road for a few seconds before returning his attention to me. “My feelings for you haven't changed,” he said simply.

“My feelings for you have changed,” I said just as simply, trying not to notice the chiseled lines of his face, much less how the ends of his thick, black hair curled up over his collar.

My own feelings towards Knight were infuriating, to say the least. I mean, I was more than mad at him—livid, disappointed, and hurt—all rolled into one big grudge that was currently lodged in my stomach. And, yet, for as angry as I felt, I couldn't help seeing Knight's point. I could understand how he hated my father so much that he would want to exact revenge on his daughter. I could also understand how Knight assumed I was in on my father's plan all along. There was a lot of evidence in support of this conclusion (especially everything that happened over the last two weeks). I could also understand Knight’s anger since I wasn’t exactly truthful about the reasons why I decided to work for my father in the first place. But, given all those exceptions, I also couldn't deny that I was furious that he'd never told me who my father was and, more so, that he wasn't willing to listen to me when I'd told him how and why I was innocent of all his accusations. And those were the sticking points. They were the points that kept jabbing me with their dull blades. Those were the points I couldn't automatically dismiss and which tainted my feelings towards Knight. Basically, his refusal to even listen to me, after I risked my life for him, was the crux of the whole matter.

“So you don't see where I'm coming from at all?” Knight asked, rather astutely.

I nodded quickly, almost wondering if he could somehow read my thoughts as they occurred to me. As a Loki, Knight had numerous abilities and it seemed the longer I got to know him, the more he surprised me with them. “Yes, I do, Knight,” I started, exhaling a heavy sigh of despondency. “Of course I see your point of view; but it doesn't change my feeling that the whole course of our ... friendship was all initially based on a complete lie.”

“A lie?” he repeated, his voice simmering with anger. He speared me with his beautiful blue eyes before returning his icy glare back to the road.

“If I'd known the true circumstances regarding your reasons for coming to Splendor, I never would have allowed things to progress as far as they did.” One of those reasons was him getting kicked out of the Netherworld because he refused to work for my father. In coming to Splendor, he'd intended to track me down and engineer a surprise attack on my father, using me as his vehicle. Yep, Knight had been completely convinced that I was in cahoots with good ol' Dad.

He clenched his jaw and I could see his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that had I known all along you were using me as a vehicle in some sort of vendetta against my father, I would never have trusted you. Furthermore, I never would have been your ... friend.” I was quiet for a few seconds as I re-contemplated it. “Knight, you were gunning for me from the moment you met me. That's not exactly the ideal foundation for real friendship.”

“Stop referring to what we had as a friendship,” he ground out, glaring at me. “You are more than aware that we were much more than friends.”

At his words, I felt myself flush. Yes, I was more than aware what existed between Knight and me was too hot to touch. That was why I purposely labeled it a “friendship,” if only as an attempt to cool my own feelings, which were, even now, heating up. One thing I could say for Knight: the man was sexy with a capital S. Even after everything that happened between us, I couldn't help my irresistible attraction to him. It really stuck in my craw.

“Well, whatever it was, it's done now,” I snapped back at him and immediately regretted the words because they sounded so final, so exacting, and they just didn't feel right.

“Well, then, apparently you've just shown all your cards.” He shook his head and laughed icily but I could see the pain in his eyes. “But I will have the last word as to your point about me wanting to use you against your father. I already told you that I stopped believing you were involved with your father very quickly after I met you.” He returned his attention to the road, his shoulders stiff.

“And yet, you never gave me the benefit of the doubt when it came to my involvement with the Draoidheil import,” I threw back at him. “When I told you I was innocent, you wouldn't listen to me! For someone who trusted me, you had a really funny way of showing it.”

He faced me with raging eyes. “Dulcie, I trusted you up until two weeks ago. Since then, the Dulcie I thought I knew so well was nowhere to be found. I concluded that I must have been duped into believing you were innocent. Obviously, once Christina confirmed your involvement with your father, that was enough for me. “

“But you still could have listened to my side of the story.”

He shook his head as if I were dense and couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then he faced me again, carefully dividing his attention between the road and me. “What did you expect me to think after Christina confirmed that you were absolutely working for your father? I would've been an idiot if I still believed you were innocent.”

I couldn't fault him for that one—especially because Christina hadn't known me from Eve. At the time, she hadn’t known the true reasons for my association with my father. As far as she was concerned, I was just one of my father's people. Well, that is, before she talked to Caressa. At any rate, I knew I couldn’t win this argument, so instead, I turned to the other issues that still bothered me. “That's all fine and good, but before I ever met my father, when you thought I was innocent of all of this, did you ever tell me who my father was? No. And that was when you quote, unquote, loved me!” I couldn't help the shrill sound of my voice.

“I didn't tell you about Melchior because I didn't want to hurt you,” he said earnestly. “I weighed the options and decided it was better for you not to know who and what Melchior was than to know the truth.”

“That's a decision you should have left up to me.” I shook my head, anger now freely pouring out of me. “Sometimes you have this God complex thing going on and it pisses the shit out of me!”

“Please,” he said with a frown. “I'm an alpha male; I have to be in this line of work.”

“Alpha male or God complex, they're both just as infuriating,” I spat back. “Does it ever occur to you that you don't have the right to make other people’s decisions?”

“Dulcie, I didn't tell you about your father because I was protecting you,” he said in a hollow voice. “I didn't want to upset you. Think about it—if you had known who and what your father was, how would it have affected your life? You would have wondered why your mother came to Splendor in the first place and if it was to escape your father (which it was). I'm sure you would’ve always wondered if all of your successes in life had anything to do with you being Melchior's daughter. Not to mention that it would have shattered any idealistic thoughts you might have entertained as to who your father might be. There was no way I was going to take responsibility for any of that.”

Sometimes Knight was spot on. Sometimes it was difficult to argue with him. “I could have handled it,” I grumbled, staring out my window as I frowned. Not wanting to admit defeat, I faced him again. “The point is that it should have been my decision to make, not yours.”

“Just like it should have been my decision to make whether or not you ruined your life by teaming up with your father because of me?” he demanded. “How the hell do you think that makes me feel? Knowing that all the shit you ultimately put yourself through was because of me?” He shook his head and sighed. “We could have figured it out together, Dulcie. You never should have taken all of this on by yourself.”

I didn't respond, suddenly too tired to think. “What's done is done,” I said softly, rubbing my temples as I closed my eyes, fighting the exhaustion that was trying to claim me. I just had too much to think about—The Resistance, what my future held, when I could see my friends again. I really didn't want to add the shriveled remains of my relationship with Knight to the mix. The mix was already dangerously close to precipitating the onset of a complete mental breakdown.

“Yes, what's done is done,” Knight continued, his voice much softer now. “But that isn't to say we can't pick up the pieces, Dulcie.” He reached over, squeezing my knee reassuringly. “At the end of the day, all we really have is each other, right?”

“I don't know.” I glanced down at his large hand that seemed to engulf my knee and felt numb. I lifted his hand and returned it to him, pulling myself closer to the passenger door, suddenly needing more space.

“Dulce,” he started.

“You said some really shitty things to me, Knight.” Those shitty things included some incredibly rude comments about my friend, Bram. Due to an unfortunate string of events, Knight managed to convince himself that Bram and I were ... intimately involved. And he wasn’t discreet about his feelings on the subject. If I remember correctly, he even asked me if I called out his name while Bram and I were having sex! That was followed by a few other, just as colorful, statements and/or accusations.

Knight nodded guiltily and sighed again. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me.” Then he stopped himself short as though something suddenly occurred to him. “Then the Rolex wasn't a gift from Bram?”

I shook my head, keeping my lips tightly sealed as I tried to restrain my temper. “It was a portal compass given to me by Melchior.”

“Shit,” he said. Then, without any warning, he bashed his fist into the steering wheel, which beeped angrily at the assault. “I was jealous, Dulcie,” he said once he seemed to calm down. “I was convinced you were playing me before you moved on to Bram. It even crossed my mind that you were with Bram all along.” As he said the words, his eyes started to light up with a familiar glow, a glow which said I was his. I felt something inside me blossoming receptively, a yearning deep down in my belly. I swallowed down the sudden desire to feel his lips all over me and felt like slapping myself.

“I was never with Bram,” I managed.

Knight nodded, but his expression was unreadable, almost like he hadn't heard me, or like he was reliving his memories. “When I went to No Regrets and saw you leaving his office, he leaned down to kiss you.”

“That's just Bram. He always pulls those stunts just to piss me off.”

He nodded again, but that same empty expression said the memory still enraged him. “When I watched him kiss you, I just couldn't take it anymore,” he said, slowing down. He exited the highway onto “Pineville Street,” which appeared to be just as deserted as the highway. With a strange glance at me, he suddenly stopped the SUV in the middle of the road, turning his entire enormous body toward me. “I've regretted all the shitty things I said to you since I said them. I was overcome by jealousy and I couldn't control myself. I wanted to lash out and hurt you because the thought of you and Bram devastated me.” He swallowed. “The truth is that thinking about you with any other man makes me sick to my stomach.”

And that was when something occurred to me, a thought that left me cold. “Knight, did you ... did you ... do anything with anyone because of what happened between us?” I was thinking in particular of Angela, the bartender at No Regrets, Bram's club. Angela had it pretty bad for Knight; and they’d even dated before things got hot and heavy between Knight and me.

Knight shook his head and laughed, but there wasn't anything happy about the sound. “I thought about it, and to be honest with you, I wanted to. The idea of trying to forget you with another woman definitely appealed to me.” Then he shook his head. “But I couldn't do it. At the time, I was in too dark a place to even contemplate being with another woman.”

I was relieved, incredibly relieved, but my feelings were just as jumbled as before. Everything in my head was in a tailspin, a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and feelings that I couldn't try to begin to figure out. I just needed the proverbial dust to settle so I could sort out exactly how I felt about Knight.

“What are you thinking?” Knight asked.

I shrugged, not quite sure what I was thinking. One moment, I was mad as hell; and the next, I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine. Even worse, I ached to feel him inside me. But then just as quickly, I was livid again. I wasn't sure how to make sense of anything or where I stood. “Things need to be low key for a while,” I said after an uncomfortable silence. “I don't know what to think or how I'm feeling. I've been through a shitload lately.”

Knight nodded and stepped on the gas again, driving down Pineville Street, which, true to its name, was canopied by massive Norfolk pine trees.

“Well, I'll be here if you need me,” he said quietly. “And no matter what happens between us, I will never doubt you again.”

***

For the next ten minutes, we didn't say another word. The silence was nerve-racking and uncomfortable, but I didn't think there was anything left to be said. Since Knight didn't even say boo, I figured he must have agreed. Left with nothing but the deafening silence, I was forced back onto the battlefield raging in my head, a place resembling a war zone.

Now what would happen between Knight and me? Was this really it? Was it really over between us?

They were questions I couldn't answer although I tried, berating myself for even making the attempt. Why? Because I firmly decided (in the last, oh, five minutes or so) that my relationship or lack thereof with Knight would be relegated, yet again, to the back burner. It was more important for me to focus entirely on The Resistance and creating a plan to defeat my father.

Once I firmly entrenched my feelings for Knight in the quagmire known as “I'll visit this later,” relief washed over me. Well, that is, until I realized my future was rocky, if not bleak. Luckily, the drive to Compound One wasn't a long one. I wasn't sure how much of my own pessimism and melancholy I could tolerate at this point. When we reached what I guessed must be Compound One (the heavy gates, topped with barbed wire, and the two guards wielding the latest in automatic weapons were the first clues), I wasted no time abandoning Knight's company, in serious need of my own space.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, jumping down from the Denali with a quick but awkward smile. I just wasn't good at this stuff.

He just nodded, his face still an unreadable mask. I closed the door behind me and stepped back, watching him drive down the road from whence we'd just come. Before reaching the gate guard, however, he took a quick right and disappeared behind the crest of a small hill. I didn’t bother wondering where he was going or what he was up to. Now, more than ever before, I needed “me” time, I needed to get back in touch with myself and return to the Dulcie I used to be.

Compound One looked similar to Compound Three with the barbed wire fencing surrounding the place and a nondescript, three-story white building, which loomed before me. As I glanced around, I realized it was the only building in sight. The only difference I could see between the two compounds was that Compound One didn't appear to house a prison, and maybe it wasn't quite as large, well at first glance anyway. I watched as people milled around, dressed in ordinary attire, and appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be ... waiting. No one was especially busy—I watched two weres stroll by, talking about checking around the perimeter. In the distance, six people were playing flag football, while right beside me, three women lazily read beneath a tree. That was when it occurred to me that Compound One was nothing more than a holding facility for anyone who supported The Resistance, and, as such, required protection.

A few minutes after Knight departed, I watched an unmarked, grey bus pull up in front of the building. As the doors opened, I recognized the people who were waiting in line with me before Knight took on the role of chauffer. Quillan was the last to exit the bus. As he emerged, he glanced around himself, a worried expression on his face. As soon as we made eye contact, however, the worry dropped from his eyes, replaced with a wide smile.

“Everything good?” he asked once we were in earshot of each other.

I nodded, although as far as “everything” was concerned, it now lived in a zip code far, far away from “good.”

“I guess we register in the front office,” someone said from behind us. We both turned to face a squatty elf who had just stepped off the bus. He started walking toward the three-story building, so we followed. I must have taken only three steps before I recognized Sam and Dia walking through the front doors. Trey was just behind them. It felt like centuries passed while I waited for Sam to make eye contact with me. Her eyes rested on Quill first; and with a confused expression, her eyes widened and her attention moved to me. Within a split second, that smile I loved so well lit up her entire face. Dia, who was beside her, was apparently in mid-sentence when she was struck silent as soon as she recognized me. A broad, beaming smile lit up her face as well. Trey was the only one who was still going on about something, focusing his attention on his feet.

Seconds later, I was ambushed.

“Dulcie!” Sam and Dia screamed at the same time as they closed the gap between us. Then I was suffocated by hugs. I pulled myself away from them and took a big breath of air, desperately needing it. Before I could say anything, Sam and Trey took one look at Quill and frowned.

“What?” Sam started as Trey's mouth simply dropped open in astonishment. Or maybe he just couldn't breathe through his nose. Trey was the quintessential mouth-breather.

“It's okay, he's on our side,” I said quickly, offering Quill an encouraging smile. “He joined The Resistance.”

“Sam and Trey, it's good to see you again,” Quill said. He seemed uncomfortable as he cleared his throat. Sam and Trey didn't respond, so Quill turned to face Dia, extending his hand to her. “I haven't had the privilege of making your acquaintance.”

Dia took Quill's hand and smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling as she raked him up and down appreciatively. “Honey, I think the privilege is all mine.” Then she shook her head in appreciation. “There aren't a whole lotta lookers in this damned place, so you are like a ray of sunshine on a very cloudy day.”

I laughed as Quill smiled in response. Dia whistled at him, staring at him wolfishly again before the smile fell right off her face and was replaced with a frown.

“So now that we've gotten past the fact that you missed your callin' as a Chippendale dancer, you better have a damned good reason as to why you're standin' next to my girl, Dulce, and why she's goin' on about you joinin' The Resistance.” Then she fastened her hands on her hips and did something with her neck that only Dia could do, something which resembled a snake preparing to strike. Dia did “diva” very well. She was tall and beautiful with chocolate skin and an infectious smile. She was also one of my closest friends.

Quillan laughed, but seeing her expression, the laugh soon died on his lips. For as wonderful a person as Dia was, you never wanted to get on her bad side. Yep, when her temper bubbled to the surface, it could be legendary. Quill cleared his throat and alternated his gaze between Dia, Sam, and Trey as he explained.

“Dulcie thought I deserved a second chance, so she fought for me,” he started. “And in true Dulcie O'Neil form, she was able to get what she wanted.” Then he offered me a quick wink, to which I just shook my head.

“From here on out, Quill's history is just that,” I announced. “He's made the decision to start over and that's good enough for me. I hope it will be good enough for all of you too.”

Sam nodded and hesitated only momentarily before reaching out and hugging Quill. “It's good enough for me too, big guy.” She pulled away from him, her eyes twinkling. “It's good to have you back.” I was sure Sam was relieved to know Quill was on our side because he was also her boss once upon a time and she used to call him her friend as much as I had.

“It's good to be back,” Quill answered before facing Trey and extending his hand.

“What up?” Trey started, jutting out his chin as he tried to act the part of a baddie, but ended up just looking ridiculous. Truth be told, Trey looked like a chubby ten-year-old, grubby and always grimy to the nth degree. Even though there was stubble in various patches around his face (he obviously wasn't adept at shaving), he still managed to maintain an air of Peter Panism, and never quite grew up.

“Good to see you again, Trey,” Quill said, a small smile pulling at the ends of his lips.

Trey was quiet for a second or two and I wondered how he'd respond. Then a genuine smile broke across his plump face. “You too, Quill.”

Dia took my arm and the five of us started toward the building, ostensibly so Quill and I could check in.

“So, girl, you gotta let me in on somethin',” Dia started as I eyed her, curious to hear her question. “How do you know so many hotties?” I just laughed as she continued. “You an' me need to hang out some more so I can score some of your leftovers.”

I faced her and beamed, feeling somehow rejuvenated. I glanced around myself, at my small group of friends and felt so incredibly lucky. They had become my family. My mother died when I was young; and other than my poor excuse for a father, I didn't have any other family. But I had to say that this adopted family was more than enough for me. I felt like I'd just come home again.

FOUR

“I've been taking care of your dog, Dulce,” Trey said as the five of us sat around a table in a coffee house on base. “Base” was what everyone called this place, and it was pretty fitting because that's exactly what it looked like. Complete with soldiers patrolling back and forth, armed guards at every entrance and barbed wire fences running the perimeter, it was like a military encampment and then some. I was wrong about the registration building being the only building on site—it was merely the biggest. Just beyond the crest of a small hill, stood a crowded cafeteria, a Laundromat, and even a bowling alley. There was also a crudely constructed schoolhouse and an even more primitive fire station.

“Thanks, Trey,” I answered with an appreciative smile. I tapped my toe to Billie Holiday's “God Bless the Child” as it poured out of a boom box in the corner. Besides our table, there were two others in the small room, both crammed with paper coffee cups and clashing elbows of those busily chatting.

“It's no prob,” Trey said as I thanked Blue's and my lucky stars that Trey had a soft spot for animals. Otherwise, Blue could have easily been overlooked in the shuffle of moving folks from Splendor to this camp.

“How is Blue doing?” I asked Trey, deciding to pay a visit to my dog as soon as we finished our coffee. I didn't exactly feel like the ideal dog owner of late. 'Course, none of that was really my fault, considering recent events and circumstances; but still, I needed to reconnect with the yellow lab. The feeling I got from this place was that I'd have plenty of time for reconnecting. In fact, the idea of just sitting around here and waiting for further news or instructions wasn't exactly something I was comfortable with. I wondered how long I'd last before the inactivity caused me to crack. On the flip side, though, a little downtime was probably exactly what the doctor would have ordered where I was concerned.

“He's doin' real good. Right now he's learnin' how to be more sociable,” Trey said.

“What?” I asked with a laugh. Sam rolled her eyes and swallowed a sarcastic comment with a mouthful of iced mocha.

Trey offered Sam a discouraging frown before returning his attention to me. “Elsie noticed he wasn't super friendly with strangers, so she got this wild idea to round up everyone's dogs and start a pet sociability class,” he finished. Elsie was formerly the receptionist at the ANC in Splendor. Apparently, now she could add “dog whisperer” to her list of credentials.

“Good ol' Blue,” Quill said as he shook his head and smiled knowingly at me. “I'd love to see him.” Quill had given Blue to me as a pseudo going away gift when I'd first learned that Quill was working for the bad guys. At the time I'd had no clue that the chief bad guy he was working for was my father, but due to that fact, Quill had deserted his post in the ANC and we'd parted ways.

I just nodded, still uncomfortable with the events of the past and, more pointedly, any reminders about my father. Instead, I directed my attention to other topics, such as what the plan was moving forward. It wasn't like I knew much of anything, so I hoped someone could bring me up to speed.

“So, what's the deal?” I started. “Everyone here is just hanging out?”

“Yep, just waiting and then waiting some more, until we're told what to do next,” Sam answered with a bored sigh. “We're basically in the same thing as witness protection. Everyone who worked for the ANC is now considered a target, I guess.”

“Some of us have already been drafted to fight for The Resistance,” Dia added, raising her eyebrow skeptically as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

“Drafted?” I repeated, glancing at each of them as I tried to make sense of the word.

Trey nodded. “Yep, I think it's just a matter of time for all of us. Once The Resistance decides it needs us, we get drafted into the cause and have to go through some trainin'. I think it's all leadin’ up to the war that's gonna break out with your dad, Dulce.”

“War?” Quill asked, sounding surprised. But, my concern was more with the idea that Melchior was my so-called “dad.”

“Don't call him my dad,” I answered quickly, suddenly irritated that Trey even knew Melchior and I were related. It's not like I ever told him, or anyone else seated at the table either, for that matter. As I glanced around me, and noted everyone's expressions, none of them appeared to be in the least bit surprised. So apparently, Sam, Trey, and Dia were very much aware of my association with my father. I had to wonder what else they knew. “I'm unfortunately related to Melchior O'Neil in name only; but that's it, as far as I'm concerned.” Then I speared each of them with my gaze. “And please tell me how and what do all of you know about that anyway?”

Dia laughed, like my question was a dumb one. “Come on, girl, how could we not know?”

“Rumors spread around here fast, Dulce,” Sam added. “It's not like we have anything else to talk about all day. Just waiting for word on what's going to happen next.”

“When were you all brought here?” Quill interrupted, apparently attempting to steer the conversation into safer waters. It was pretty obvious that if I were anything, it was a private person. I hated having my dirty laundry exposed for everyone to see.

Sam shrugged and glanced at Dia curiously before turning to face us again. “About four days ago maybe.”

Hmm, right before the Draoidheil import had made its way from the Netherworld to Earth. Christina had had this whole thing finely orchestrated, her timing impeccable.

“And just for the record, Dulce,” Sam started, “none of us blames you for the decisions you made.”

Trey shook his head. “We all think you were pretty heroic, actually.” He took a deep breath. “And Knight will ...”

“I don't want to talk about him,” I said firmly, my jaw suddenly tight. “That is one subject that needs to be left alone.” Then I glared at everyone in turn, making sure I was absolutely, one hundred percent understood.

They all simply nodded, but I didn't miss Quill's sigh. It told me he was disappointed that I was still upset about the Loki. Well, Quill didn't even begin to know the ins and outs of Knight's and my relationship.

Dulcie, you aren't going there! I reminded myself, choosing to change the subject, and instead, returning to how my life resembled an open book lately. “So all of you know everything about me working for my father?” Then I speared Sam with a glare. “I thought some people were going to keep their mouths shut.” Although I had told Sam some of what was going on, I hadn't told her the whole story. I'm not sure how everyone got to know the details, but I figured it was best to start with Sam.

“Hey, don't blame me!” she said, holding up her hands in mock offense.

“I had a vision of most everything that happened,” Trey answered sheepishly, glancing up at me through half-lidded eyes, his cheeks flushed.

“Then we just pieced the rest of it together,” Dia answered, with no trace of an apology in her tone at all.

“So much for keeping secrets,” I grumbled, not at all happy that everyone was in the know where I was concerned. I'd get over it soon enough, but it still didn't make the news any easier to swallow.

“Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead,” Dia answered, beaming at me as if she were proud of her witty bon mot.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I mumbled, shaking my head as I drowned my irritation with a mouthful of hot coffee.

“Not me, girlfriend,” Dia answered. “I got good ol' Benny Franklin to thank for that one.” When she grinned broadly, I couldn't help but laugh. Her smile quickly faded into an earnest expression and I knew a “Dia moment of seriousness” was about to unveil itself. She had this uncanny ability to make you drop your defenses with one of her little jokes and then, bam! She'd nail you right over the head with some profound thought.”There's nothing for you to be embarrassed about, Dulce,” she said quietly. “We all love you and we only want the best for you, so don't you worry that pretty little head of yours.”

“None of us judges you, Dulcie,” Sam said before turning to face Quill. “And that includes you too, Quill. We're all friends here.”

Quill nodded with a broad smile. “I appreciate that, Sam.”

“So going back to your comment about a war with my father, Trey,” I started, reminding myself I still had lots to learn and time was ticking away. “What were you talking about?”

Trey shrugged and I noticed he had the remnants of his last sip of vanilla shake lining his upper lip. “There's lots of talk about a war with your da ... father,” he corrected himself.

“Word is that Christina is going to demand Melchior step down from his office as Head of the Netherworld,” Sam started. “She and Knight want to reinstate a democracy in the Netherworld once again.”

“But it's not like my father is just going to say 'okay' and lay down his crown,” I said, shaking my head at how absurd the idea sounded.

“Well, when he doesn't,” Sam continued, “and obviously we’re all betting on that fact, then I guess we declare war on the Netherworld.”

“You guess?”

Sam shrugged. “It's not like any of this has been ratified. It's all conjecture, but based on the word on the street, that's what's going to happen.”

I shook my head, not even imagining how emancipating ourselves from the Netherworld was possible. “We are part of the Netherworld.”

Dia glanced at me, cocking a brow. “But do we want to be? That's the question.”

Sam shrugged. “The United States was once a part of England, right?”

“Thanks for that, Sam,” I grumbled, to which she just offered me a cheery smile.

“So The Resistance is going to emancipate itself from The Netherworld?” Quill asked, surprise and worry evident in his tone.

“Apparently that's the plan,” Sam said, her eyebrows raised in an expression that didn't say whether she supported the idea or not. “At least, that's what I've heard through the grapevine.”

“So we're going to exist as an independent nation then?” I asked, still in doubt. “Because it's pretty obvious Melchior won’t step down just because Christina asks him to.”

“Well, she'll be askin', but at the same time, she'll have the backing of a few hundred Netherworld creatures in Splendor as well as the surrounding cities,” Dia responded.

“And what in the hell does the human government think of this?” I asked, even more shocked than before. Even though we were creatures of the Netherworld, we lived on Earth with humans and they were well aware of just who and what we were. Granted, humans tended to keep to themselves and, likewise, we preferred to keep to ourselves. Splendor, Estuary, Haven, and Moon were all cities with largely Netherworld creature populations—about twenty creatures to every one human.

“The human government doesn't know,” Dia answered quickly. “The Resistance decided it was better to buffer the human populations of the affected cities in a magical cloud of ignorance.”

“So what does that mean?” I continued.

Dia shrugged. “As far as humans go, life's just the same as it always was. They don't see The Resistance soldiers patrolling the streets, and they don't notice that the Netherworld creature-run stores are closed. They're also unaware if the creatures they considered acquaintances or friends are missing. It's just a regular day as far as humans are concerned.”

I nodded, thinking it was a good move on Christina's part because the last thing we needed was for the human government to get involved with our affairs. Sometimes it was good to live in a bubble. I took a sip of my coffee as I tried to digest the information.

“At any rate, it's not for us to worry about,” Sam said quietly. “We're given updates every day or so; and once The Resistance is ready for us, we'll be here.”

“Ready for you?” I asked.

“To fight,” Sam clarified. “That's what it's going to come down to, I'm sure.”

“To fight?” I repeated, my jaw dropping as I contemplated it. “Sam, you can't fight.” Sam was a witch, someone who had always helped the ANC by casting spells or creating concoctions to help us with our cases. But when it came to hand-to-hand combat, she was clueless. She'd never been trained the way I had been—as a Regulator.

“Well, I guess that's where the training comes in,” she said with a frown and fear in her eyes.

I shook my head. “This is ridiculous and what's more, training takes time and it sounds like war might be right around the corner!”

“Well, it's not like I know any of this for sure, anyway,” Sam responded, obviously trying to settle me back down again. “It's just what people are saying.”

Well, I wasn't okay with relying on gossip and hearsay. I'd already made up my mind to pay a visit to Knight or Christina—whomever I could find first—to demand what was going on. Well, that was, after I went to see my dog.

“Hey, don't you think we're kinda like The Breakfast Club,” Trey piped up. I took a deep breath and shook my head, not even beginning to make the connection. “Come on,” he insisted. “Dulce can be that prissy one with the sushi. Quill, you can be that jock dude who dances on the railing; and Sam, you can be that freaky chick who gets the makeover.” He glanced over at Dia as if sizing her up to figure out what part she could play.

“Uh uh,” she said, shaking her head in a most diva-like way. “Count me out.”

Trey shrugged before facing the rest of us again. “An' I'll be that dude who wears the Michael Jackson glove—you know, the rebel.”

“Please, Trey,” Sam piped up. “You'd be the nerd.”

I laughed, the sudden feeling of lightness drifting through me as everyone around me echoed the sentiment, their faces lighting up with broad smiles. In those few, precious seconds, it seemed that none of us carried the weight of the world on our shoulders—that we were boundless and carefree. And as we shared that moment of laughter, a moment free from the angst of worrying about our present, not to mention our future, it was beautiful. I glanced around my circle of friends, suddenly feeling as if everything was right with the world.

***

“So what the hell is going on?” I demanded as I threw my hands on my hips and glared up at the ridiculously tall Loki. He was backlit by the bright yellow of the full moon, and his inky black hair almost appeared blue in the light.

Unfortunately, I'd run into Knight before Christina so, true to my word, I blasted him about what we should all be expecting moving forward. After spending the remainder of the day with Blue, who was so happy to see me he wet himself, I stayed busy in my new room. It was a twelve-by-twelve box at the top floor of the registration building. Luckily, my room was next to Sam's and just down the hall from Dia's. Trey’s and Quill's rooms were on the next floor down, one of the two floors designated for the men. But going back to my room, it was painted a bland beige, and came complete with a cot in one corner that had a pillow and a brown-and-green-plaid comforter. On the opposite side of the room was a toilet; and just beside that, a sink. Next to the bed, I found a trunk packed full of my clothes—something that surprised me, considering someone must have returned to my apartment in order to get my clothes. And I thought my apartment was a no go …

After taking a quick nap with Blue (who relentlessly refused to sleep on the floor and ended up at the end of my cot, his big head sandwiched between my feet), I tried to amuse myself by playing various board games with Trey, Sam, Dia, and Quill. All the while, I continued to grill them about The Resistance. After obtaining no more information than previously, I decided to give it a rest. Instead, I opted for some fresh air along with some “me” time. Trey asked to take Blue to a party that Elsie was hosting for her new canine students; so I found myself alone, which was just as well. My only other option was to play Bingo with the rest of the base and that thought made me want to go back to bed.

“Nice to see you too,” Knight grumbled down at me. There was a small glint in his eye, like he was more than happy to see me. I felt something rising inside me—something that felt happy as well, but I quashed it down. Instead, I kept reminding myself that things between Knight and me weren't resolved yet, and until they were, I wasn't about to sweep the past events under the proverbial rug.

I found him unloading wooden crates of what looked like maple syrup into a makeshift storage facility that was maybe six feet tall and four feet wide. The storage facility was located at the far west of the base, off a one-lane dirt road and under the canopy of an oak tree grove. The only reason I’d actually been able to find him was because I'd decided to take a run around the perimeter of the base and happened to spot the Denali, which wasn't very well hidden on the side of the road. Even so, it wasn't like he was out in the open. Nope, whatever was in the crates had to be something top secret, which was why he was busily unloading it under cover of darkness. Only the moon’s light illuminated his way.

I shivered, despite having just run over a mile, but my current getup of sports bra and stretch pants didn’t place me on the list of best dressed. “I'm sorry if I seem a little pissy at the moment, but no one knows what the hell is going on around here and it’s getting old really fast,” I barked back.

Knight took me in from head to toe and smiled warmly as he leaned against the Denali, apparently not averse to taking a break from his unloading. “Everyone is taken care of,” he said absentmindedly, devouring my body with his eyes again. “You don't have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah, except for the intention of declaring war on the Netherworld in order to excommunicate ourselves.”

He raised both brows, obviously surprised. “Where did you hear that?”

I frowned. “That's what everyone seems to think is going on. As I mentioned before, no one really knows just what the hell is going on.”

He nodded and expelled a pent-up breath of air before hoisting another crate into his arms, and depositing it into the large storage facility at the right of us. “You're welcome for retrieving your clothes, by the way.”

I swallowed down an acid reply, but couldn’t conceal my surprise. “You went to my apartment and brought my clothes back?”

He placed the crate down and dusted his hands together, offering me a boyish smile. His hair was mussed and a few pitch-black strands obscured his left eye, giving him a rakish, sexy look. “I did.”

“I thought there was a reason I wasn't allowed back there, and I assume the same reason applies to you too?”

He leaned against the Denali and wrapped his beefy arms around himself, just studying me for a few seconds. “It does.”

“Then it was pure stupidity for you to do that,” I said pointedly. I didn’t appreciate the wicked gleam in his eye, much less how gorgeous he was. It just wasn't fair.

“You're welcome,” he said, his smile still in place as he locked the door to the storage facility and started for the front of the Denali. Opening his door, he turned to face me. “You getting in? Or do you plan to freeze out here all night?”

I frowned, realizing I'd have to take him up on his offer if I wanted to get any of my questions answered. I started forward and watched him seat himself. He closed his door and reached across to open mine. I hefted myself into the passenger seat as he turned the engine on and put the car in drive. The inside of the Denali smelled like him—crisp, clean aftershave combined with spiciness and ... Knight.

“So are you going to answer my questions or what?” I started, folding my arms across my chest and frowning at him. I watched him turn up the heat and silently thanked him as I rubbed away the goose bumps from my arms.

“I'll do you one better,” he answered simply.

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I'm about to have a meeting with Christina; and wouldn't you know it? She requested your presence too.”

I frowned at him. “Hmm, well then, I guess it's a good thing that I happened to run into you out in the middle of nowhere, isn't it? Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't.”

He glanced at me and smiled innocently. “I would have come to get you.”

I didn't lose my frown and suddenly felt annoyed that he seemed so comfortable, so nonchalant, especially when things between us weren't exactly kosher. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

He faced the road as the Denali strained over the crest of the hill, a dust cloud spreading behind us once we were on the dirt path again. “Because you're naturally suspicious.”

“At any rate,” I grumbled, “what were you up to that required the cloak of darkness? What were you unloading in those crates?” Just call me nosy.

He glanced at me and smiled again, like this was some big game. “Liquid antidote to Draoidheil.”

“Liquid antidote?” I repeated with surprise. Draoidheil, the illegal potion my father had planned on introducing to the streets of Splendor and surrounding areas (the import which I'd flubbed when I'd blown the cover of my father's plan) was the most addicting and potent potion currently available. One whiff caused hopeless addiction, and worse; being airborne, anyone within the immediate vicinity could become instantly addicted. As far as I knew, the only antidote to the miserable stuff was a little white pill. Apparently, however, I was wrong.

“Yep, liquids enter your blood stream faster,” Knight responded.

“I'm aware of that,” I grumbled as my attention returned to the number of crates Knight had just finished unloading. He'd easily unloaded ten crates that held probably twenty jars of the antidote. Obviously, Christina still considered the Draoidheil a big threat. “So you think my father is still going to try and attack us with the Draoidheil?”

He nodded. “It's the best threat your father has up his sleeve, which is why we're doing our best to distribute the antidote to everyone on this side.” He glanced over at me and smiled. “We figured syrup was the easiest way to disguise it.”

“Disguise it?” Then something dawned on me. “You mean you aren't telling people what it is? You're just pretending it’s pancake syrup?”

He shrugged as though it was no big deal at all. “Syrup is just one camouflage. It's also in the creamer, and any of the juices you find on all of our bases. It's even in the baked goods you see around. Apparently, it remains as potent baked as it does raw.”

“Why aren't you telling anyone what they're consuming?”

“Ask yourself that question, Ms. Regulator,” he answered with an expression that said I should already have figured that one out.

I frowned, aggravated that he'd donned his managerial cap. “Because you're afraid of moles.”

He nodded and smiled at me handsomely. “Bingo. Trust no one—that's our motto.”

“Well, you should be more careful about being inconspicuous when you're unloading the stuff,” I replied gruffly.

“Touché,” he said with a little laugh, which faded away as he faced me. “Dulce, I really hope you believed me when I told you I regretted everything that happened between us.”

I shook my head. “I don't want to talk about it.” I had way bigger, more important things on my mind.

“We aren't going to talk about it,” he said resolutely. “I just want you to know that I can't get it out of my head; I can't get you out of my head.”

I swallowed hard and focused on the bleak darkness outside my window.

FIVE

The “conference room,” or so it was termed, wasn't located in Compound One. In fact, just where it was located I had no clue—it was hush-hush, as were the locations of the various other compounds within The Resistance. The fact that I’d even seen another compound (when Christina gave me a tour of the prison on Compound Three) was breaking news, well, according to Knight, anyway. Apparently, Christina took this undercover stuff pretty seriously because she refused to meet Knight and her team of Resistance officials in the same place twice. And, no one knew exactly where she spent her time holed up when she wasn't visiting the various compounds, much less where she slept at night. Knight also inferred that not even he knew where Christina's secret abode lay. According to rumors on base, she never stayed at any one location longer than thirty minutes. But I guess paranoia is survival’s best friend, so who was I to judge?

“So you think we actually have a chance in hell of defeating my father?” I asked, growing tired of the uncomfortable silence between us. It was like there were so many proverbial elephants in the room, er the SUV, that I felt claustrophobic, like I was slammed against the window between three trunks and a huge elephant’s ass, the air in the confined space evaporating into a vacuum.

“If I didn't think we had a chance in hell, I wouldn't be here,” Knight answered rather crassly. I frowned, figuring I deserved that one because my question was a stupid one. Well, excuse the hell out of me for trying to break the incredibly awkward silence.

We were driving along a dirt road that led away from Compound One. We'd been driving for maybe twenty minutes before we hit another dirt road that led to the west of Compound One. After being on that seemingly endless stretch of nothing for another ten minutes, we hit a third dirt road, upon which we were now traveling.

“How do you even keep track of where you're going when there aren't any street names and everything looks the same?” I asked. Now, more than ever before, I was hell-bent on starting some sort of conversation that might prevent Knight from bringing up the “us” conversation again. In the last thirty minutes, he'd already attempted it twice.

“I've been doing this a long time,” he answered tightly.

I was spared the need to respond when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, looking like he forgot something. He backed up maybe five feet and then stopped again, putting the Denali in park as he opened his door. A sudden and persistent beeping blared through the silence, telling us the door was left ajar. He ignored it and walked to the front of the SUV, the headlights bathing him in white light. Turning away from the lights, he held his arms out straight on either side of him, stretching them wide. Then he dropped his head back and closed his eyes. A split second later, he let his arms fall and turned around to face me, beckoning me forward with a wave of his hand. Although I found his display strange, I possessed neither the curiosity nor the energy required to investigate it. I just shrugged and unbuckled myself, jumping down from the Denali and walking toward him.

“Was that your best impression of Close Encounters of the Third Kind?” I asked with an irreverent laugh once I caught up to him.

He offered me an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Scanner just below that tree,” he replied while jerking his head to the right. I followed his gaze and noticed a pine tree in close proximity to us, along with about twenty others. Given his less than precise directions, it wasn't a big wonder that I couldn't locate the so-called scanner.

“Well, if Rand McNally needs new recruits, I'd advise you not to apply,” I said in an irritated tone.

I got the same unimpressed expression, this time with the opposite eyebrow raised. I just smiled pleasantly and waited for him to explain exactly what in the hell he was talking about. But instead of an explanation, he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, until I was standing beside him, in the middle of the headlights.

“Stand here and stretch out your arms like I just did,” he said hurriedly.

“Why?”

Knight rolled his eyes and shook his head as he exhaled a breath of visible exasperation. “Damn, Dulcie, just do it, will you? Do you always have to question everything?”

But I made no move to do anything. It wasn't in my nature to blindly do as I was told. Instead, I glanced up at him and slowly crossed my arms against my chest, giving him a mirror image of the raised eyebrow expression he'd just so graciously shown me.

Knight shook his head again. “To get access to the Conference Room, everyone has to be scanned. It's protocol to make sure you don't have weapons on you.”

“Was that so hard?” I demanded and stepped wide while I hoisted my arms in a perpendicular angle from my body, dropping my head back. I noticed a small lens that was hanging just below the immensely tall pine tree closest to us. It's not as though the scanner was attached to the tree, though. Nope, instead it was just hanging in the middle of thin air, obviously by some magical incantation. The point of using the tree was just to disguise the scanner and it worked incredibly well. The pine needles and branches managed to obscure the thing so perfectly, I had a hard time finding it, even after I knew what to look for.

Apparently recognizing me, the lens started shifting in an up and down motion, while emitting no sound at all. A red light at the very top of the scanner began to flash.

“Hold still,” Knight said, evidently cognizant of the meaning of the red light.

Before I could say “boo,” the red light beamed against my forehead, suddenly spreading wide as if encompassing my whole body. Then it began running the length of my body, bathing me in a wide red laser light, from my eyes to my feet, and then back up again. Once it finished scanning me, it flashed green, which, I supposed, meant I was good to go. I dropped my arms and started forward, but Knight shook his head, holding me at bay.

“Gotta pat you down,” he said in explanation.

“What?” I asked, pissed off that I was about to be subjected to more of this treatment. It just seemed like overkill and then some. I threw my hands on my hips. “Didn't that little scanner just prove I'm not packing anything?”

“Protocol,” Knight answered evasively.

“This whole thing is ridiculous anyway, considering I'm on your side and have no interest in hurting anyone.”

He shook his head. “Procedure is procedure.” Realizing I wasn't buying his explanation, he continued. “I'm the number two guy in The Resistance and you just saw me get scanned, so what does that tell you?” He paused when I didn't respond. “It tells you that we take all this stuff very seriously; and besides, we won't be granted entrance unless we both subject ourselves to these security measures.”

I glared at him, but said nothing. Instead, I just took a wide stance again and held my hands out straight on either side of my body, allowing him to frisk me. I wasn't sure if it was really protocol, or if he just wanted to touch me. As soon as the thought arose though, I realized how silly it was. Knight wasn't the kind of guy to go for cheap thrills. On the flipside, however, I was no dummy, and yes, this might be the usual protocol, but I also wasn't convinced that he wouldn’t enjoy it. I just hoped I wouldn't.

He stood in front of me with his eyes trained squarely on mine, and started running his hands down the tops of my arms very slowly.

“Um, I don't have sleeves, in case you didn't notice,” I said snidely. I was referring to the fact that as I was still clad in my sports bra; it wasn't like I could conceal anything on my upper body.

But Knight didn't falter. He continued running his hands along the skin of my upper arms. “Magic has a funny way of tricking the eye,” he said simply. He had a point—I mean, I could have a grenade strapped to my arm; but in using fairy magic, I'd be able to disguise it as nothing more than skin, silky smooth and uninterrupted—sort of like trick photography. 'Course, the question remained as to why I would even want to do something like that in the first place; not to mention what the point of this whole thing was. But I figured the answer would still remain the same: “protocol.”

Upon reaching my shoulders, Knight rotated my arms around and started patting them, going north into my armpits. Once there, he held my arms up, beside my head, as he cupped each one. I assumed it was because they offered a handy little place to hide something (magically speaking, of course), if I were so inclined. After he seemed convinced I wasn't packing anything, he brought my arms back to my sides and ran the palms of his hands down the sides of my upper torso, to my waist before patting me around the middle of my upper stomach. Then he gripped my hips and gently turned me around until my butt was facing him. I wasn't sure why, but it made me nervous. I felt like a racehorse being sized up before a derby. It was probably just a matter of time before he inspected my teeth. He ran his hands up my legs after carefully patting down my shoes and fishing inside my sneakers as well as my socks with his index fingers. When he reached my thighs, I felt myself shudder and the goose bumps that suddenly arose on my naked skin had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

“I have to pat down your, uh, your butt,” he said apologetically, as if preparing me for it. Or maybe he was preparing himself for it. As uncomfortable as I felt, he didn't look much better.

“I understand,” I replied gruffly, my voice sounding somehow deeper than normal. It seemed like an eternity before he touched my butt. His touch was soft as he ran his hands across my backside, although what erupted inside of me was anything but soft. It felt like a volcano suddenly blowing its top while fiery lava pumped through me. Just at the touch of his hands along my backside, my whole body tensed, letting me know just how much I wanted him, no, yearned for him. I shut my eyes and tried to replace the intense feelings of lust with feelings of anger—trying to subdue my sexual needs with guilt over feeling them in the first place.

It didn't work.

Knight turned me around again. Sitting back on his haunches, he glanced up at me apologetically. “I have to do the same on this side.”

I just nodded while hoping he couldn't read my eyes, which were shouting that I was melting under his touch. He started at the base of my stretch pants, where they met my socks and frisked me quickly, his hands moving upward, to my thighs and then my hipbones. When he reached my middle, he gripped each side of my waist, wrapping his large hands around me until I seemed to vanish underneath them. He didn't move his hands, but tightened his grip around my waist. About that time, I realized this had nothing to do with a weapons pat-down. His touch became heavier, almost as if he knew he shouldn't be doing it, but was unable to resist. The naked skin of my upper stomach, just above my stretch pants, suddenly felt as if it were on fire. It was a reaction to the sensation of his fingers as they brushed against me. The breath caught in my throat and I could already tell my eyes were wide.

Dulcie, wake up! I chided myself. What is wrong with you? Now is not the time for this!

But I couldn't honestly say I was paying any attention. Losing myself, I found Knight's eyes utterly intoxicating as he stared down at me. His hands were still wrapped around my waist and neither of us said anything, not one little, insignificant word. Apparently, neither of us could find our tongues. With our eyes still locked on each other and neither one emitting so much as a breath, I felt Knight's hands releasing my waist. His fingers skimmed my upper waist, to the junction of my arms, where they met my chest. He traced the line of my collarbone and paused just above my breasts. I nearly closed my eyes with the thought that I wanted nothing more than to feel his warm hands on my naked breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples. Thankfully, I managed to keep my eyes open. Somewhere in my overwhelmed mind, a little voice still urged me to keep my cool. But that isn't to say that I could open my mouth and demand Knight stop. For as much as that little, nagging Puritan inside me was still carrying on her one-person mission by decrying everything that was happening, a choir of voices rose up in unison, drowning out her voice by singing in glorious harmony how good this felt and how … right.

Once I felt Knight's palms moving below my collarbone and resting against my breasts, I had a feeling that the time for stopping was dripping through my fingers. He rested the flat of his hands above each of my breasts and stared down at me, his eyes glowing with a whiteness that told me just how excited he was. The glow in Knight's eyes was primitive—an instinctual, animal-like reflex responsive only to me, and to my body. It was his way of broadcasting to the world that I belonged to him—a warning to other men to stay away from me or suffer the Loki consequences.

He pushed against my breasts, cupping his palms around them. I opened my mouth, trying to regain my wits enough to tell him to beat it; but that's not exactly what I said. Well, in all honesty, I didn't say anything at all. Nope, instead I ... moaned.

Even though it was only the very beginning of a moan, and more like a split second of a whimper, or a tiny mouse's squeak, that was all it took. Instantly, Knight thrust me toward him and kissed me. The touch of his lips on mine was like kerosene to fire. Whatever was building inside me broke through the weak dam that was restraining it and now took full dominion over my entire body. Without any hesitation whatsoever, I opened my mouth, allowing his tongue full access. But he didn't need any invitation. His tongue met mine violently and we lapped at each other with an incendiary urgency. He looped his hands around my shoulders and pulled me into him, into his hardened shaft. He was most definitely stirring beneath his pants, pressing against my navel. I met the thrusting of his tongue and we kissed one another with so much fervor, I wasn't sure where my mouth began and his ended.

He lifted me and carried me the few feet that separated us from the Denali and I was suddenly aware of the cold steel of the door against my back. The feel of the Denali beneath me was all it took for me to come to my senses, to come back to reality. It was as if the sharp coldness of the steel completely obviated the sexual waves of bliss that were previously consuming me. Instead, a montage of memories from the last time I got up close and personal with the Denali overtook me. However, those weren't memories that I cherished, by any stretch of the imagination. No, they left me feeling angry and depressed. Although the sex that night was one of the most passionate we'd ever had, it went well beyond angry and turned out to be one of the chief reasons I didn't know how to feel towards Knight.

I brought my hands up to his chest and pushed him away, breaking the seal of our lips as he stared down at me in surprise. “Stop,” I said weakly. “We can't do this.”

“Dulcie, if it feels right,” he started.

I shook my head. “It doesn't feel right.” As I met his eyes, I could see the hurt in their depths as he seemed to realize things hadn't changed between us, that our kiss didn't mean I forgave him for everything that happened before. “There's too much baggage between us.”

I was beginning to wonder if this was going to be a repeat of the last time we found ourselves alone on an empty stretch of road with only the Denali for company. Would Knight be able to restrain himself? What was more, would I be able to restrain myself? As it was, my self-control was hanging by a thin thread. But one thing I knew for sure was that I would never allow myself to have angry sex with Knight again. The pain and guilt afterwards were just too much.

“I don't want what happened last time,” I started but he interrupted me.

“That will never happen again,” he said sharply and I could see the self-loathing in his eyes at the mere memory of it. It was clearly evident that Knight hated himself for what happened. I could see as much in his eyes; he couldn't accept knowing that he lost control of himself and took advantage not only of the situation, but also of me.

Without another word, he pulled away from me, even taking two steps back, as if to assure me that nothing more would happen. His eyes were still glowing, and clouded over with naked desire. It was taking all of my self-control not to surrender to him, and allow him to claim me. Even now my body was begging for it. The yearning deep within me had grown into an endless stinging—something that was becoming painful. Basically, my brain was in an all-out war with my body.

Knight shut his eyes tightly and took another few steps from me.

“Get in the car,” he said gruffly, sparing me the need to question him as he quickly continued. “I can sense you, Dulcie, everything you're ... you're feeling and ... you're not making things easy on me.”

No more explanation was necessary. I completely got his gist. Apparently, this was yet another of his Loki abilities: sensing my desire for him. Maybe he could somehow smell my pheromones or something similar. I could see that whatever it was that he was picking up on, was taking every ounce of his fortitude to resist. As much as I'd been wrestling with my own needs, Knight was doing the same. Judging by his pinched lip expression, his battle was much more difficult than mine was.

He glanced up at me and as his eyes met mine, they glowed fiercely white. He immediately dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. It was as if he was trying to rub the glow right out of them. When he looked over at me again, his eyes were back to their brilliant blue, with only a few specks of white. He took a few deep breaths, his already broad chest inflating until he looked unbelievably large. After exhaling, and apparently regaining control of himself, he faced me again.

“I'm sorry,” he started. Then he seemed to be at a loss, making no motion to do anything.

I nodded my acceptance to his apology, and suddenly felt the urge to sit down. I hurried to the passenger side of the Denali, throwing myself into my seat as I wrapped my arms around my chest and berated myself for losing control. I couldn't look at Knight. Instead, I focused on my knees as they nervously bounced. From the periphery of my vision, I watched Knight settling himself into his seat. He closed his door and turned the heat up as high as it would go. My guilt, confusion, and anger with myself all made me forget that I was freezing cold until the heat enveloped me.

“Dulce,” he started.

“No,” I interrupted. “Let's just pretend that never happened.”

He cleared his throat and sighed, putting the SUV in drive and starting forward. Evidently, the scanner had opened some sort of portal or passageway because as soon as we drove past the pine tree, which housed the scanner, there was a popping sound and the terrain completely changed. Instead of miles and miles of flat, open land, we were suddenly in the center of a city.

“We're going to have to talk about things, Dulcie,” Knight said. “If we're going to continue working together ...”

“As far as I'm concerned, nothing happened,” I answered with steel resolve. “There are way bigger things on the horizon for us to worry about. Whatever is going on between you and me isn't important right now, Knight,” I finished, suddenly realizing how icy my words sounded.

His lips were tight, but his eyes burned. “Understood.”

Although I wanted to tell him that I didn't really mean that our situation was unimportant, I couldn't bring myself to utter the words. I just didn't possess the wherewithal, or the energy, or whatever the hell it was to allow me to open up. Instead I gazed outside my window, losing myself in the cityscape, the blaring of loud horns, and the flickering of skyscraper lights. The gentle hum in my ears told me there was a freeway somewhere close by.

SIX

“Shit, we’re late,” Knight said as he led me down a long hallway with white linoleum floors that terminated in two steel doors. The building was in the center of the city, but just what city I didn't have a clue. And, apparently, Knight wasn't about to tell me anytime soon since keeping it secret was “protocol.” Judging by the intense traffic and the number of people scurrying to and fro in the city streets, I had to imagine we weren't anywhere near Splendor or the vicinity.

But back to this building, there were twenty-two floors and we took the elevator to floor fourteen. What I found interesting was that although there were twenty-two floors, it didn't seem as if the building was occupied. There were no lights on in any of the windows and the whole thing had an unkempt feeling of neglect to it, with cobwebs in the windows, peeling paint and dust covering everything. Once we reached the fourteenth floor, the elevator spat us out into the dank hallway, which smelled like mildew. I immediately noticed two guards, standing in front of each door. They were tall, almost as tall as Knight and nearly as broad. Both were armed with Zoobs, something akin to a machine gun, only these were packed full of dragon blood bullets: instant death to any Netherworlders.

At our approach, each of the guards saluted Knight and started to step aside, ostensibly to grant him entrance through the double steel doors. Once their eyes landed on me, however, they hesitated.

“She’s with me,” Knight grumbled as he reached behind, grabbing my upper arm, and yanking me forward as if to prove it. “She's already passed security.”

The guards just nodded as one of them reached over and opened the door nearest him. The other did the same, but added a licentious smile right after he checked me out from bust to butt and back up again.

“Thanks,” I said acidly as I walked through the doors, now faced with an incredibly large and mostly vacant room. The ceilings had to be twenty feet high; and the stained glass windows emitted fragments of light from the skyscrapers across the way, giving it a churchy sort of feel. Knight started forward, his heavy footsteps sounding like thunder against the ancient, dusty hardwood floors. I brought my gaze down from the ceiling and focused on the conference table in the center of the room. Six people sat around the table, and at our entrance, all of them glanced over at us. I immediately recognized Christina at the head of the table and … Dia sitting just beside her?

“Dia?” I asked out loud as I approached the table, my surprise obvious by my tone.

“Hi, girl,” she responded with a little laugh, pulling out the chair next to her, and patting it encouragingly. “Funny meeting you here.”

I immediately took the proffered seat, not waiting for Knight to offer me one. “What are you doing here?” I whispered. “Did you just get recruited or something?”

Dia laughed as she shook her head. “No, no. I've been a council member of The Resistance for a few months. I just couldn't tell you, especially in front of everyone else. We’re top secret, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, frowning as I attempted to piece together the latest revelation that Dia was part of this team. “I thought you lived on Compound One? Your room is right down the hall from mine?”

She nodded. “Yep, I live on base. I stay in the mix for intel and security reasons.”

I took a deep breath as the surprise inside of me started to fade away and curiosity over what was soon to unfold took over. I glanced around the table, wondering if there might be any other surprises awaiting me. But I didn't recognize anyone else. Sitting at the opposite head of the table, and beside me, was a man. He was older, maybe in his early fifties, and based on my itchy palms, I could detect that he was a Drow.

Drows were in the same family as elves, but where most elves were known for doing good, Drows were known for just the opposite. They were generally regarded to be nefarious in all their dealings so I was pretty surprised to see one sitting here. Similar to their elf cousins, Drows were generally tall and slender and dignified looking with pale skin. This one was dressed in black slacks and a deep purple sweater, which complemented the lavender hue of the dark circles beneath his navy blue eyes.

Knight took the seat on the Drow's other side as he offered Christina an apologetic smile. “Sorry we're late,” he said.

Sitting next to Knight was a woman I also didn't recognize. It took me a second or two to place her heritage, but then it hit me over the head like an anvil. She was a nymph. Nymphs shared the same lineage as fairies—they even had the same pointy ears. And just like my own kind, nymphs were also associated with nature, mainly streams and rivers. But there were also land nymphs and this woman was of the land variety—I could tell by the brown roots of her hair (the rest of her hair was aqua blue). Water nymphs were either blond or redheads. Nymphs were definitely magically inclined but usually only when they were in the natural environment because they had to draw their power from natural resources. Nymphs and fairies alike were always famed for our youth, vitality and good looks, and this woman didn't contradict that reputation. She was young--in her mid to late twenties, if I had to guess--and very pretty with her mahogany brown eyes and short, bobbed hair. The only thing that distracted from her nymph mold was her striking aqua hair. Interesting.

“No problem. We waited for you both,” Christina answered, seemingly not in the least fazed. She cleared her throat and smiled at everyone around the table.

“Who’s the new addition?” the Drow asked while glaring at me as if I were rude and should have already introduced myself. I returned his glare, finding him less than endearing.

“Dulcie, why don’t you do your own honors?” Christina said with her eyebrows raised in a rendition of “good luck.”

I nodded, getting her gist, and took a deep breath as I glanced around the table. All eyes were on me and the only friendly ones belonged to Dia, Knight, and Christina. “I’m Dulcie ... O’Neil.”

The nymph sucked in the air so loudly, she sounded like she was choking, while the Drow said nothing. But his silence definitely wasn't an indication of his disinterest. Instead, his cheeks were well on their way to turning a deep shade of crimson and the tips of his ears already resembled a third degree burn. No one said a word, though, so I just leaned back into my seat and waited for someone to speak, presumably after they made the connection between Melchior and me.

“Seriously?” the nymph started, dragging her angry eyes from Christina to me. “Christina, you didn’t tell us about this.” Once her gaze settled on me, she appeared to get even angrier and maybe I was just imagining it but it seemed her hair turned a darker shade of teal.

“This is an abomination!” the Drow yelled out at last. He slammed his bony fist into the top of the table for emphasis, his skeletal fingers so rickety, I half wondered if they might shatter. “She is our enemy!”

“Hey, don't soil your panties,” I started, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “I'm not working for my father.”

“What the hell? I thought we agreed to discuss this, Christina?” the nymph barked out, clearly uninterested in whatever I had to say. She refused to remove her furious and condemning gaze, just continued glaring at me as if she thought I might melt into my seat, and drip through the floorboards toward certain escape.

“Y'all are overreacting,” Dia started, shaking her head as she held out her manicured hands in a mock display of surrender. I glanced at Knight and found him leaning back into his seat with a smile on his sumptuous lips as if he were enjoying himself ... the bastard.

“She's ... she's his daughter!” the Drow shrieked in response to Dia's comment, his mouth hanging open and his lips shivering with outrage.

“First of all,” I started, standing up when I decided I'd had enough. I smacked both my palms onto the table and leaned over, alternately staring at the Drow and the nymph. “I’m sitting right here so I’d appreciate it if you called me by my name. And, speaking of my name, which seems to offend you so much, I’m related to my father in name only.”

“You worked for your father,” the nymph piped up accusatorily.

“Caressa confirmed Dulcie’s innocence,” Christina said in a tone that brooked no arguments. Her lips were pressed in a straight line, which matched the line of her eyebrows. “Caressa’s word is good enough for me.”

“It’s good enough for me, too,” Dia said in a steely voice. “I can vouch for Dulcie's credibility.”

“It should be good enough for all of you,” Knight said, finally coming to my defense. And it was about damn time. He leaned forward and eyed the two naysayers coldly. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight, giving him a daunting appearance by anyone’s count. “I’ve worked with Dulcie and I know her well. She’s an absolute asset to our mission.”

“The Loki’s got that right,” Dia said in a stern voice, nodding her head in a most diva-like manner. “Anyone who’s gotta problem with my girl’s gotta problem with me.” Then she held her chin up and crossed her arms against her ample chest. “And trust me when I say that you don't wanta have a problem with me.”

“Amen to that,” Knight said with a flirty smile in Dia's direction.

“Thanks, D,” I whispered and glanced at her with a grin. Yep, it was definitely a good thing to have Dia Diva Robinson in my corner. I relaxed and sat back in my seat.

“I got your back,” Dia whispered in response as she winked, offering the same wink to Knight only this time there was something sexy about it. Sigh.

“Anything else you want to say?” Knight asked, spearing the Drow and the nymph with his ferocious stare.

“We should have been consulted,” the Drow grumbled, but dropped his eyes once Knight's gaze landed on him. It was pretty obvious that Knight intimidated everyone.

“Sometimes, I don't have time to consult all of you. Sometimes, decisions have to be made,” Christina responded defensively after pausing for a few seconds. “Anyway, we're moving on from this now,” she finished with a glance at the Drow. “Dulcie, this is Fagan. He's in charge of The Resistance soldiers.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said with a wide and artificial smile. He grumbled something unintelligible, refusing to so much as look at me. I glanced up at Christina and shrugged but she seemed uninterested. Instead, she faced the nymph who was sitting beside her.

“And this is Erica Comacho. She's in charge of the relocation efforts and the safety of all our people.”

I smiled at Erica and was surprised when she nodded in response and offered me a succinct smile, mumbling: “C'est la vie.”

Christina glanced down at Dia. “And you are well acquainted with our diva, I see?”

I laughed, amused that Dia's diva-bility seemed to follow her wherever she went, like a shadow, only way cooler. “I am.”

“Dia is in charge of recruiting any magically sentient creatures to our cause so we can utilize their abilities,” Christina continued. It was a good role for Dia to play because as a Somnogobelinus, or sleep goblin, she was magically sentient herself, being able to invade people's dreams.

“And what are you in charge of?” I reluctantly asked Knight with a frown. We'd made the rounds and he was the only one left and it was glaringly evident that he was waiting for me to ask him that exact question.

“Knight is second in command,” Christina responded, granting him a proud smile. “I don't know what I would do without him.”

I couldn't say I enjoyed knowing Knight was teacher's pet—mainly because it just gave him another reason to be so damned smug all the time. “Looks like a good team you've got assembled here,” I said, returning my attention to Christina.

“It's better now,” she responded with another broad smile. “We're happy to have you on board.”

Well that seemed to be debatable, but I wasn't in the mood to argue. “Thanks,” I managed.

“Now that introductions are done, we’ve got lots to discuss,” Christina continued, referring to a notebook sitting on the table in front of her. It was covered in scribble. She faced the nymph. “Erica, any word on the portals?”

Erica nodded. “Yeah, everything is still secure. There haven’t been any breaches.”

Christina nodded and seemed pleased with the information. “Have there been any recent attempts?”

“At Miller’s Crossing there was a small uprising by a group of O’Neil supporters who somehow managed to slip under our radar.” Erica dropped her eyes to her fidgeting hands and didn't seem especially happy to be the bearer of this news.

“What were they attempting?” Knight asked, spearing her with his disappointed expression.

“They were trying to break through our portal so they could return to the Netherworld,” Erica answered. Seeing the raised eyebrows and frowns around the table, she quickly added, “Anyway, the uprising was stopped almost immediately.”

“Was anyone killed or injured?” Christina persisted, the look of someone concerned.

Erica shook her head. “No one was killed. The worst injury was a broken arm. Other than that, we took the bad dudes into custody and they're now in prison at Compound Five.” She cleared her throat and added. “That was the only incident where any portals were threatened; and our response was swift and successful and...basically awesome.” She definitely had some sort of So Cal girl flair about her.

“Good job. Please extend my kudos to those involved,” Christina said with a nod, apparently pleased with the information. “Any reports on attempts to break through the portals from the Netherworld side?”

Erica shook her head. “None. The Netherworld seems to have gone quiet, like worryingly so. In the first day of the portal closures, there were attempts to break through constantly, but in the last day or so, everything has been pretty silent.” She paused and glanced down at her fingernails, sighing. “I'm pretty sure it's something to worry about.”

Christina nodded and picking up her pencil, bobbed it against her lips as she apparently contemplated it. “We need to make our demands soon,” she said after a protracted silence. “Melchior’s up to something.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded at last, finally feeling like I was caught up sufficiently to where I should involve myself in the conversation.

“We’re in the process of deciding how to move forward with the Netherworld, in terms of how we want to divorce ourselves from it,” Knight answered. “We need to formally declare war on the Netherworld, but in order to do that, we have to demand Melchior step down as Head of the Netherworld.”

“We don't want to invade without due reason,” Christina added. “We want it to be known that we were forced into this position, rather than go on the offensive.”

“And it’s not something as simple as a phone call to Melchior,” Dia continued, as if reading my expression.

“It must be a formal request that every Netherworlder can see, so they know what's coming their way,” Christina finished before facing the others again. “And I’ve decided the best way to move forward with it is with The Netherworlder Today.”

“The what?” I asked.

“It’s the chief newspaper of the Netherworld,” Knight responded. “Think New York Times.”

“So, what, they’ll run an article or something?” I asked, still not completely understanding the point.

Christina nodded. “This is something that the entire Netherworld needs to know about. If we just go to Melchior, he’ll never alert the public, because he doesn’t want them to know what's going on. He'd be too afraid that they might demand that he step down rather than wage war against us.”

“People are too afraid of him; they would never demand that,” Dia said in argument with Christina.

Christina nodded. “I know that, Dia, but Melchior is the type who won't take any risks where his supremacy is concerned. If the Netherworlder Today runs the column, it’s our safest bet to ensure that word gets out about who we are and what our demands are.”

“If my father is some supreme dictator in the Netherworld, wouldn't he be able to censor the newspaper?” I asked, frowning because it seemed so obvious.

“Yes, ultimately, he’s able to censor anything, but if the article runs without him seeing it first …” Christina started.

“And how do you propose to do that?” I interrupted, my voice sounding dubious. It just seemed like a long shot, especially when their whole plan depended on this newspaper to be the sole herald of the event.

“Sometimes it’s good to have friends in high places,” Christina answered loftily. I just smiled and shook my head, figuring my doubts were probably irrelevant. I mean, they knew what was going on way better than I did. And, yes, usually it was good to have friends in high places.

“Your friend's life won't be on the line?” I asked.

Christina shook her head and laughed. “If anyone gets away with anything in the Netherworld, it's the newspapers. Besides, if your father tried to go after them for running the piece, it would only better illustrate his despotism; and that's the last thing your father wants.”

“He's going to be working overtime to convince the Netherworld population that his rule is ultimately better for them,” Knight added and nodded in agreement.

“So let’s say I can make sure our article runs in The Netherworlder Today,” Christina continued, still tapping the end of her pencil against her lips. “The question is: how soon do we run it?”

“Now,” Knight answered as he leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “What else are we waiting for?”

“We could wait for Melchior to make his first move; that way, we’re justified in our retaliations,” Fagan piped up, alternating his gaze between Christina and Knight. “That way it would look like he’s attacking us, rather than vice versa.”

“Oh, geez...What does it matter anyway?” Erica asked. “It’s not like anyone in the Netherworld will stand up to Melchior regardless of whether he attacks us first.”

“She has a point,” Dia said with a frown. “When Melchior goes silent, it’s not a good thing.”

“I think we run the article ASAP, as in yesterday,” Knight announced before leaning back into his chair, and crossing his large arms beneath his head. Then he glanced at me and smiled. I felt my cheeks flush and immediately glanced at Christina, trying to quell the rising tide of heat within me.

Dia glanced over at me after ogling him and fanning herself. “Good Lord, Hades did us all a big favor with that one,” she whispered.

“I'm not sure I'd call it a favor,” I whispered back. Knight glanced at me and raised one eyebrow. It was pretty evident he'd either overheard our conversation or was adept at reading lips. Either way, he was annoying.

“Okay, done,” Christina said, slapping her hands together. “The article runs tomorrow. I'll take care of the preparations today.” Then she eyed her notebook, which I assumed was a list of agenda items, and crossed off the top two. “Okay, the other issue I wanted to talk about is spies. It’s becoming more and more evident that we haven’t done a good enough job at sniffing out the loyalists.” She took a breath. “The incident at Miller's Crossing is just another example that we should be doing our job better. Loyalists are an absolute threat to our cause. They need to be identified and dealt with.”

“Loyalists are the folks who support your father,” Dia whispered to me. “We call ourselves the rebels.”

“That’s an understatement,” Erica pointed out. “Loyalists have been the biggest threat any of us have come across so far. Probably next to Melchior, himself. I’ve been telling people lies just so I can see if the lies get out, and then I track them back to the source. I’ve already caught a crapload of moles that way.” Then she glanced over at me and smiled. “Good times.”

Christina nodded. “Just be very careful. Don’t give out any information to anyone who isn’t sitting around this table. Got it?”

Everyone nodded as Knight rubbed his chin and leaned forward. “Speaking of moles,” he started, settling his gaze on me as his jaw tightened. “I think we need to keep a strict eye on Quillan.”

I felt my heart stop as I glared at him. “Quillan gave me his word, Knight.”

“This isn’t about pinky promising,” he spat back at me, narrowing his eyes. “Quillan was Melchior’s right-hand man for how many years?”

“That’s beside the point,” I threw back.

“Wait, Quillan Beaurigard joined The Resistance?” Fagan asked in a tone that belied his incredulity. “Are we no longer consulted on anything anymore?” he demanded of Christina.

She just shrugged. “It made sense to grant him absolution.”

“Um, how did it make sense?” Erica asked in a loud tone, seemingly irritated again. One thing for Nymphs--most of them were bipolar.

“He was the closest person to Melchior; and, yes, he did work with Melchior during the entire time I did,” Christina started. “So he knows how Melchior thinks.”

“But don't you think Melchior is aware that Quillan is one of us?” Erica asked with a frown as she shook her head, clearly uncomfortable with the revelation. “I mean, hello McFly!”

“No,” Christina answered. “As far as he's aware, Quillan could be rotting in one of our prisons.”

“Which is where he should be,” Knight added, and I made the decision to ignore him.

“Until word gets out,” Dia said and shook her head. “It's just a matter of time before Melchior is made aware that Quill has joined us. And then he'll have to change his tactics 'cause he'll be more than aware that Quillan knows everything about him.” She paused for a second and sighed, glancing down at her fingernails as she buffed them against her bright red blouse. “This could come back to bite us, y'all.”

“It's all the more reason for us to act now rather than later,” I said sternly. “We have to beat my father at his own game and the only way we're going to do that is with timeliness. We have to take him by surprise.”

Christina nodded. “Dulcie's right.”

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Fagan yelled, slamming his fists against the table again. “You talk as though the elf has actually joined us! When he could be the biggest mole among us!”

“So lemme get this right,” Erica started, a frown marring her pretty face. “We’ve been working our asses off trying to separate the loyalists from the rebels and you just decide to bring Quillan on?” She continued, glaring at Christina and then me.

Christina glared right back at both of them. “I’ve informed Dulcie that Quillan is her responsibility. And if she feels he’s worthy of our trust, then I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt. And I refuse to hear another word on the subject.”

“He must be kept under strict surveillance,” Knight said, leaning back against his chair as his attention rested on me again. I refused to look at him. Anger freely flowed through me, but I tempered it. There was no point in reacting because it wasn't like I could ever change Knight's mind where Quillan was concerned. The others, however, I was less sure about.

Christina faced him. “I’ll leave that subject for you and Dulcie to figure out.” Then she turned to the team assembled around the table again. “On that note, you’re all dismissed. We’ll meet again tomorrow after the article runs, in which case, we need to prepare for Plan A immediately. You’ll receive notice of where we’ll be meeting an hour before we meet. Until then, please be very careful.”

SEVEN

I was so angry, I couldn’t even force myself to look at Knight as we drove in the darkness. It wasn't like I was surprised though—I should've guessed he’d never give Quillan the benefit of the doubt. So, really, I wasn't even sure why I was so mad to begin with. This was just another one of Knight's shortcomings—that he couldn’t find it within himself to forgive and forget. Yeah, yeah, I know—that's the pot calling the kettle black, but so what? In this instance, I would play the role of the pot all day long since I still wasn't prepared to forgive Knight for everything that had happened between us.

We'd already driven out of the portal from the city where we’d had our meeting with Christina and team, and were now on our way back to where we'd first come from, complete with a barren landscape against the velvet background of dark blue sky and yellow stars. I'd hoped Dia would have accompanied us, but unfortunately, we weren't going in her direction; so now it was just Knight and me.

As I glanced out my window, I caught a shooting star sailing across the sky. The beauty of the night, however, was lost on me. I was still utterly consumed with how pissed off Knight and the whole Quillan debacle made me; or maybe, it was just leftover resentment about what nearly happened between us in the Denali. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the Denali episode was the primary culprit. I just couldn’t swallow my anger at myself. It was overflowing now, gagging me with a cornucopia of guilt and disappointment.

Why do I always lose control of myself where Knight is concerned? How is it possible that I still find him so attractive while being so pissed off with him at the same time?

It was like both sides of me were in constant conflict. One half kept reminding me that this was what happened in relationships—you'd get screwed over, turned inside out, and left a mere shell of your former self. But the other half of me couldn’t stop picturing Knight’s brooding gorgeousness, his smoldering eyes, and how they seemed to consume me with just a glance. And my first half wanted to murder my second half. But both halves couldn't deny how I longed for the feel of Knight's hands on my body and the taste of his lips. Not to mention how his spicy and clean scent drove me absolutely insane.

“So are you just going to ignore me for the rest of the drive back or what?” the asshole in question asked. He glanced over at me with his eyebrows raised. I had to wonder if during his creation as a soldier of the Netherworld, his incredible good looks were just part of the package. Seduce your enemy with your handsome charm and then … whack! Finish them.

I folded my arms across my chest with a frown. “Ignoring you is less harmful to your health than the other things going through my head.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a hearty chuckle. His eyebrows lifted in what appeared to be genuine amusement. “Well, I’m game, hit me with your best shot, sexy.”

“Okay, Pat Benatar,” I snapped, refusing to look at him because his smile managed to aggravate me to no end. “And don't call me sexy.”

He shook his head. “Ah, Dulcie, you are sexy, so why fight it?” Then he narrowed his eyes as if studying me. “In fact, to this day, I have yet to see another woman who can rival you in the sexiness department.” He allowed his eyes to follow the lines of my body while I slowly simmered with anger. “All that fairy beauty rolled up into one delectable, little package. Sexy, sexy, sexy and then some.”

“Enough,” I said, glaring daggers.

“Hmmm, and you're even sexier when you're angry.”

“If you're trying to piss me off, you're succeeding,” I responded, unable to deal with his impish grin any longer. Instead, I tried to divert my eyes to the view outside my window. It didn't amount to much more than pitch darkness, occasionally punctuated by the halo of the headlights against a tumbleweed or lonely tree.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You win. No more sexy talk.”

I didn't say anything, but tightened my arms around myself as I continued staring outside, wondering how much longer it would take to get wherever we were going.

“Come on then, out with it. What’s got you so pissed off?” Knight pressed.

I glanced over at him and felt my jaw clench. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Are you mad about the Quillan thing?” Without waiting for me to respond, he continued. “Because if you are, you can stay pissed about it. I’m never going to change my mind about him no matter what you or anyone else says. I think he’s a rat and wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“Because you’re jealous as hell of him,” I spat back before even thinking about it. And, after I did think about it, I regretted it. Why? Because I didn't have the patience or the interest, really, in getting into some long-winded argument about whether or not Knight was jealous of Quillan.

Knight remained quiet for a second as he cocked his head to the side and appeared to ponder the thought. Then he frowned. “Maybe I am.”

I was so surprised, I didn't even respond; although Knight also didn't allow me the chance.

“I’m not so sure I’d call it jealousy though. I think it’s more because I don’t believe he deserves your forgiveness, or your kindness.” He glanced over at me then. “He’s like something that just crawled out of the slime compared to you.”

“Getting a little dramatic there, don’t you think?” I muttered, not appreciating hearing him talk that way about someone whom I considered my friend.

He shrugged. “Call it whatever you will, but I'm not going to change my mind.” He took a deep breath and faced me again, apparently not concerned with safe driving. “Dulcie, I know you think he's your friend and you're all about protecting those you're close to, but I think you're wearing blinders in this case.”

“Well, lucky for you, we all have a right to our own opinion,” I answered snidely.

He didn't seem fazed by my comment, though. “That's the beauty about you, Dulce—you want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and you believe in second chances.” Then he paused. “I, however, do not.”

I looked at him, my eyes blazing. “You don't believe in second chances?” I repeated. He nodded, but before he could respond, I added, “Funny, but that's exactly what you're asking me to give you—a second chance.”

He shrugged, then nodded again. “Yes, I guess you could say I am. But, giving me a second chance and giving Quillan a second chance are two totally different subjects.”

“How are they any different? A second chance is a second chance regardless of whom it's for. And, let me remind you that according to you, you don't believe in second chances.”

“Where Quillan is concerned, I don't,” Knight said emphatically. “I don't trust him and I don't like him. I don't like knowing he could rat us out at any second; or that he knows exactly where you are, should your father ever decide to come after you. There are too many unknowns with Quillan and you mean too much to me to ever gamble on Quillan being a decent person. That is a bet I would never take. So go ahead and be pissed off with me all you want, but at the end of the day, your safety means more to me than some insignificant ... elf.”

“Then I guess we can agree to disagree,” I said, falling silent. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, until the quiet began to make me uncomfortable. I reached over to turn the radio on, but Knight grabbed my hand, apparently not in the mood for music. I pulled my hand away.

“So is that why you’re pissed off with me? Because of him?” he persisted, eyeing me with those undeniably beautiful baby-blues.

“Yes,” I grumbled. “I guess so.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Ugh,” I ground out, irritated that he could read me so well. I mean, yes, the whole Quillan thing still bothered me; but really, there was so much more. “There are so many things you do that piss me off, I’d have to start a list!”

He looked at me again with a strange expression, one that didn’t appear in the least bit offended or upset. In truth, he looked amused—like he enjoyed ruffling my feathers. “How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways?” he asked with a boyish grin.

I took a deep breath, suddenly losing the wherewithal to respond. Instead, I focused on my fingers, mindlessly tapping them against my knees. If a genie in a lamp could have granted me one wish, I would have wished that we'd already arrived wherever it was that we were going, just so I could take my leave of the infuriating Loki.

Luckily, I was spared the need to respond when the lights on the dash suddenly started spazzing out, glowing incredibly bright and then dimming away to nothing. They flashed five or six times intermittently before dying altogether.

“What the hell?” I started, alternately looking from the dashboard to Knight's surprised expression.

“Weird,” Knight responded as the humming from the engine suddenly stopped. I half wondered if the car was even still running.

“Did it stall?”

“Shhh,” he answered, holding out his hand just in case I didn’t understand English. Before I could tell him where to stick it, the Denali slowed to coasting, losing all of its momentum as the seconds ticked by. Knight turned the key in the ignition, which resulted in only a clicking sound. Apparently, the thing was dead. He pumped the brakes a few times until we came to a stop, then put the car in park and tried to start it up again. But, as with his former attempts, it clicked a few times and … nothing.

“You’re kidding,” I started as Knight pulled the keys out of the ignition and sighed. Then he relaxed back into his seat. I could read the question of what do we do next? playing over his face. “Did we run out of gas?”

He frowned at me. “Do you really think I'm such an idiot that I'd run out of gas in BFE?”

“I won't answer that question,” I answered as my mind raced with what course of action should be taken next. “Where's your cell phone?” I asked, realizing mine was still in my room on base. Since our business was labeled “top secret,” all cell phones that weren't Resistance-issued were banned.

Knight fished inside his pocket and produced his cell phone (which was Resistance-issued), but after he tapped it and held it up to the windshield, I realized he didn't have any cell service.

“No bars,” he said grumpily.

“Jumper cables?”

He shook his head. “It's not the battery. I think it's the starter.”

“Great, this is just freaking great.”

Hopefully, no one was planning on traveling this road because it wasn’t like we could pull to the side of it. There was no side. Instead, we were stopped dead in the middle of the road. On either side of us lay the uneven terrain of large rocks and dirt. The moon and stars twinkled down at us through the sunroof, almost as if to say, “Hey, at least it’s a nice night.”

“Unbelievable,” I muttered while unbuckling my seatbelt, suddenly feeling the need for some fresh air. Who knew how long we'd be stuck out here? Probably all night, if I had to guess. It wasn't like we were on a well-traveled road and neither of us had any way to call AAA for a jump-start, or failing that, a tow. Nope, we were shit outta luck and then some.

“You’re magical; you can fix it,” Knight said, glancing over at me with a hopeful smile.

I frowned, feeling more irritated because there was no way I could fix it. “In order to fix it, I need to know what the problem is, and I know zip about cars.”

That was one of the limitations of fairy magic—although I could heal myself, defend myself, and sometimes even make things out of thin air, if the task involved required background knowledge of the subject, it made things tougher. And to say I knew nothing about engines was an understatement.

“All you can do is try, right?” Knight asked, raising his brows in question. “Besides, I can guide you. Together, we should be able to fix it.”

“What a shame that you aren't magical,” I said, frowning. In this instance, it was a real shame for both of us.

“I seem to have other tricks up my sleeves,” he said, but there was no humor or playfulness in his tone. No, he seemed worried—I could see it in his eyes. And wondering why he was worried started to worry me. Why? Because there were only a handful of times that I'd witnessed anxiety in the Loki and it wasn’t something that filled me with confidence.

I didn’t say anything more but took a deep breath, guessing he was right. Maybe together, we could figure out how to start the engine again. I leaned over to open my door, assuming we should look under the hood to better understand what the problem might be. When I tried to open my door, it was locked. “Um, in order for me to fix the problem, you need to let me out,” I said, tugging on the door handle, as proof it was locked.

Knight wore a puzzled look on his face and seemed to move in slow motion as he hit the unlock button. When I retried the handle, it still wouldn't open. His frown deepening, he tried his door, but it, too, was locked.

“What the hell is going on?” I started. Watching Knight shake his head, I got a sinking feeling deep inside my gut.

“Use your magic to break the glass,” he said in a serious tone. “Now.”

I didn’t wait for him to explain why. The look on his face told me something wasn’t right, but just what the “something” was was the scariest part. Instead, I shook my hand until I felt a mound of fairy dust slipping through my fingers. Facing the window, I threw the dust at it, and watched the moonlight glint off the shimmering particles as they bounced against the glass. I closed my eyes tightly and imagined the glass busting out, with all the pieces dropping on the ground outside. I was also careful to imagine all the broken shards disappearing, leaving nothing but a safe, clean sill. Opening my eyes, I knew what was coming next, and covered my face with my hands as I heard the sound of glass shattering.

“Go,” Knight said. I glanced over to find him right beside me, clearly ready to climb through the window behind me. I started to push myself through the large opening, but being faced with a big ass potential fall once I got to the other side, I paused. At that same moment, I heard what sounded like the monotonous ticking of a clock. Confused, I suddenly felt Knight’s hands on my back, thrusting me through the window. I blinked, and in that brief millisecond, felt the cold night air against my face. That feeling was soon replaced with the rocky terrain of the road. Hitting the ground knocked the wind out of me. When I felt Knight's body on top of mine, I forced myself up, completely at a loss as to what was happening. When I tried to sit up though, Knight held me down, covering my body with his.

“It's going to blow!” he yelled into my ear.

Before I could ask him what the hell was going on, I heard the explosion. It was so loud, I felt my brain rattling between my ears. For a moment, I half wondered if my eardrums had just been blown clean out of my head. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly in an automatic reaction and felt Knight tightening his arms around me. He pushed my face into the ground as he shielded me with his body. The sounds of flying shrapnel were thick in my ears. Knight jerked against me and I could hear the thrumming of his heart.

“Have you been hit?” I screamed out against the blaring din.

“Don't move!”

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, probably mere seconds, although it felt like hours. The ringing still blared, deafening me. Finally, Knight rolled off me and got onto his hands and knees. I sat up, shaking my head against the dull pounding in my ears that made me think the explosion must have injured my eardrums. It sounded like I was underwater, like there was a dribbling brook nearby. I shook my head again, then brought my hands to my ears, cupping them to see if the sound lessened. It didn't.

Knight grabbed my hand, bringing my attention to his face. “Heal yourself,” he yelled. I didn’t really hear him, but I could read what he was saying.

I nodded, shaking my hand until my fairy dust appeared. I threw the dust over my head, closing my eyes and imagining my ears healing themselves. When I opened my eyes again, the ringing had dissipated and I felt as good as I could hope for, given the circumstances. I glanced at Knight and noticed he hadn't changed positions.

“Are you hurt?” I asked in a tremulous voice.

“My back,” he said. I stood up and walked around him, stopping in shock when I noticed the long and angry gash across his upper back. It spanned the top of his neck all the way to his middle spine. It was so deep, I could see the white bone beneath it; well, that is, through all the blood. The wound must have resulted from the shrapnel—it looked like a piece of something had split his back in a long, clean stroke. I shook my fist until I felt it fill with dust and sprinkled the glittery particles on top of him, like drops of rain. At the same time, I closed my eyes and pictured his wounds healing, weaving themselves closed as if with an invisible thread. But when I opened my eyes, his wound was just as raw as before.

“What?” I started.

He sat back on his haunches and seemed to bend forward a bit, panting as he did so. I walked around to face him, noticing how he winced with pain. He closed his eyes and appeared to be concentrating, his lips tight and his eyes clenched. I peered over his shoulder and watched the angry, red swelling of the cut slowly give way to his tan skin. The skin then seemed to stitch itself together, the seam of the gash slowly giving way to nothing but an uninterrupted canvas of perfect skin. That was when I remembered that he could heal himself, something he'd artfully demonstrated for me when I first met him.

“That'll have to do,” he said, straining to get to his feet. I immediately took his arm and braced myself to support his weight as he used me for his crutch.

“You aren't all the way healed?”

He nodded. “I am, but I lost a lot of blood,” he answered in a shallow voice. When I glanced up at him, I could see the truth of his words. Blood soaked the remnants of his shirt back and his face was paler than usual, beads of perspiration dotting his hairline. His hands were clammy against my body. Only pockets of tan skin peeped through his tattered clothing, which was utterly drenched in blood. Even the backs of his pants were also stained red.

“Will you be okay?” I asked, my voice belying my worry.

He simply chuckled deeply, rubbing my head with his knuckles, like I was a little kid. “Should I take that to mean you're actually worried about me?”

“Just answer the damn question,” I muttered.

He eyed himself, as if assessing the damage, then looked at me, smiling. “Never better.”

I shook my head and sighed. “I should have remembered that you can heal yourself and survive fire.”

He beamed widely but he still looked exhausted. “Forged by the fire of Hades, Dulce. Keyword: fire.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, sighing as we both turned toward the direction of the Denali, or what was left of it. Now it looked like the burnt-out remains of some kind of enormous beast. The steel was so blackened and bent, it no longer resembled a car. “So what the hell just happened?” I asked, looking up at him.

Shaking his head, he attempted to stand up straight, as if summoning all his power. He separated himself from me and then took a few steps forward, stretching his arms above his head as if to check his handiwork on his back. “It was a botched assassination attempt.”

“Botched ... assassination attempt?”

He shrugged and bent forward, stretching his arms out in front of him. I couldn’t help noticing how his muscles bulged despite the bloody remains of his clothes.

“Botched. The thing should have blown from the moment we stepped into the car. Somewhere, someone’s magic went wrong.” Then he glanced up and smiled at me. “Luckily, for you and me.”

“How would anyone know where to find us?” I asked and watched him pick up a piece of debris that looked like it was once a part of the door. He clutched it in his hand and motioned for me to approach him. When I did, he draped his arm around me again and we continued forward, albeit slowly.

“Loyalists. They make it their business to know.” He kicked a piece of metal beside his foot and the metal clanked as it came into contact with another piece of the Denali. “There are spies all over the place. This is just their calling card. The hard part is going to be tracing it back, and finding out who is responsible.”

“Were they targeting you or me?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No way of knowing. Maybe both of us.”

I nodded, realizing there was no point in asking him questions because all we could do was speculate. “So what now?”

He shrugged and smiled down at me. “You up for a little stroll?”

EIGHT

The so-called “stroll” became a four-hour hike with nothing but the moon and a blanket of stars to light our way. The dirt road seemed never ending, comprising miles of flat land on either side with only the outlines of spotty pine trees to break the monotony. It seemed the longer we walked, the colder the air became; and eventually, I could see my breath. Knight helped to keep me warm though, owing to the fact that he was using me as his crutch and consequently, enveloping half of me in his body heat. After we managed to cross all of BFE (or so it felt), we reached an equally desolate highway. While the highway didn't look as though it promised more civilization than the dirt road from which we'd just emerged, at least Knight now had cell phone service. And that was a godsend, as far as I was concerned.

After rejoicing over the single bar of connectivity, Knight managed to reach Christina and explain what had happened over the last several hours. I could hear her shocked exclamations, and from what I could make out, she was in the process of assembling her team for an emergency meeting. Thirty minutes after Knight hung up, a black Lincoln Town Car appeared. I didn't recognize the driver, but Knight did, so I figured we were in safe company. And it was about damn time! My left shoulder felt like it was crushed, after having supported Knight's massive weight for the last few hours.

Once we were seated in the cushy Town Car, Knight didn't say anything to the driver, or to me, for that matter. I wasn't sure if it was due to his exhaustion and pain or maybe he was just in an introspective mood. Not that his silence bothered me particularly. I cherished any quiet time where I could retire into the privacy of my head and get lost in my own thoughts. During the last few days, I couldn't say that I'd had any “me” time at all, so this was just what the doctor ordered.

I relaxed into the plush leather seat and closed my eyes, suddenly feeling fatigue’s claim on me. It threw me temporarily, when I thought how my adrenalin was on overdrive a mere few hours before; but now I wanted nothing more than the solace of sleep. Sleep, however, continued to elude me because there was way too much going on in my mind. My thoughts were a jumbled mix of fear, anger, and concern over what had just happened, and what sort of threat these so-called Loyalists now posed.

Why were Knight and I nearly been blown to smithereens? How could someone have known where we were? And, furthermore, who was that “someone”? If Knight and I were such easy targets, what did that mean for the rest of Christina's “A” Team? Were we just sitting ducks? Each one of us doomed to extermination in only a matter of time? Just how pervasive was my father's authority?

Being so consumed by my thoughts, it took me by surprise when the Town Car suddenly stopped. I opened my eyes and glanced beyond Knight to observe what looked like another military base. The eerie glow of the overhead floodlights illuminated a narrow guard station where several immense, concrete pylons outlined the entry through a pair of huge, wrought-iron gates. I pulled my attention away from the pylons and focused on a man in a dark grey uniform as he approached our vehicle. He was clutching a Quig 300—a weapon most similar to a semi-automatic machine gun.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Compound Two,” Knight answered in a worn-out tone. I didn't say anything, but watched the driver roll down his window as the guard leaned over and stuck his head into the Town Car. First, he studied the driver, then Knight, and then me. Based on the whiff of dog that suddenly rose up into my nostrils, I figured the guard must have been a were.

“Louie,” he said, addressing the driver. Then with a glance back at Knight again, he said, “Vander.”

“Greetings,” Knight replied drolly. “We're in something of a rush, so let's get on with it.”

The guard said nothing as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing something that looked like a cigarette lighter. Knight simply nodded and rolled his window down as the guard approached. The man leaned in and held the lighter directly in front of Knight's eyes. A red, laser-like light suddenly emitted from the front of the object and the guard moved his hand very slowly from left to right, allowing the red of the light to scan both of Knight's irises. The whole thing took maybe two seconds; then the guard gave a nod of approval before returning the laser pen to his pocket. He then faced me.

Who's she?” he asked.

“She's with me,” Knight answered evasively. The guard eyed me once again with a frown.

“She'll have to be checked just like everyone else, Vander.”

Knight sighed like he didn't have the time, much less the interest, in getting me “checked.” “Make it quick—we're on borrowed time.”

“What's he talking about?” I asked in a concerned tone, wondering if I was to be victim number two of the cigarette laser scanner. Not that it looked painful in the least, but anyhoo ...

“Don't work yourself up,” Knight answered as he further reclined into his seat. He smirked at me as if he were extending an invitation to climb onto his lap. “It's best to remain calm. Breathe in slowly and breathe out slowly. The more your heart rate increases, the harder it is for the Magreew to confirm your innocence.”

“The what?” I repeated, frowning as I narrowed my eyes at him. Before I could demand an explanation, I heard the sound of my door opening. I immediately turned to find the guard standing in front of me. There was a black box in his hands. It appeared to be about two feet long by a foot wide.

“Please stand up,” he said in a monotone.

“What is that?” I asked, making no motion to stand as I folded my arms against my chest and did my best to appear nonplussed.

“Dulcie, it's policy,” Knight said as I glanced over at him. “Just trust me, okay?” He smiled that charming boyish smile of his, which I supposed he thought would put me at ease. It didn't work.

I didn't respond, but after considering how limited my options were, I stood up and took a step toward the guard and the black box. Apparently accepting my silence as acquiescence, the guard opened the box and reached into it, producing what looked like an enormous slug. The thing was puke-green and the length of my forearm. It glistened in the moonlight, slime covering every inch of it. It looked like Slimer's smaller cousin.

“What. Is. That?” I asked with undisguised revulsion.

“That's a Magreew,” Knight responded from behind me, making no attempt to conceal the chuckle in his tone.

The bastard.

“This will only take two minutes,” the guard said, clearly observing my disquietude. Two minutes never sounded so long.

“What will only take two minutes?” I asked. My attention was riveted on the nasty thing as it rolled its head from side to side, its banana-shaped body slithering across the guard's hand and leaving a trail of bubbly green goo that looked like baby snot.

“Extend your hand,” the guard demanded. I wasn't sure if I imagined it or if he actually avoided looking at the creature. I mean, he had to be just as grossed out by it as I was. The abomination was the unabridged definition of disgusting.

“There is no way in hell I'm letting that thing anywhere near me,” I said, eyeing it suspiciously. “It's repulsive.”

The thing cocked its head (I think it was a head, but since both ends looked exactly the same, it was hard to tell). I had to wonder if it somehow understood me.

“You can wash your hands afterwards, Dulcie,” Knight said, still sounding amused. “It's just a little ectoplasm, so grow some balls and let's get this show on the road.”

“Yeah, says the guy who only had to deal with the laser pen,” I barked back. He chuckled in response as I took a deep breath in preparation for the slug’s application. “If this thing has teeth, I'm out,” I said, glaring at the guard.

“No teeth,” he answered evasively.

Figuring I wasn't going to advance beyond this point if I didn't submit myself to the ministrations of the slug, I said nothing more. Courageously, I thrust my hand out, palm open and facing upward. The guard brought his palm onto mine and the Magreew slid one of its ends (I still had no idea which end was head or tail) onto my hand. It seemed to sniff my palm—one end moving up and down as it inspected me. Then, it simply slid off the guard's hand and into mine. It was incredibly warm and strangely heavy, feeling incredibly dense in its wet heat. In fact, its weight surprised me so much that I nearly dropped it. Gripping my wrist, I held my hand up straight again as I eyed the abhorrent creature curiously. It began to roll its body slowly from side to side, which reminded me of one of those paper-thin, plastic fortune-telling fish. It stopped rolling and seemed to flatten itself against my palm, while bubbles of hot goo fizzled up from underneath it.

“Um, what's it doing?” I asked in tremulous wonder.

“It's reading you,” Knight answered. “It's figuring out what your intentions are and whether you're any threat to The Resistance. It's a sympath.”

So the odd creature did possess a high level of intelligence. Sympathetic creatures were very rare, and in the wrong hands, could become dangerous. They could read a person's character just by touching the person in question. This one must have been imported from the Netherworld as I'd never seen one before.

It continued to gyrate against my hand, becoming warmer and warmer until it actually became pretty hot. “Um, this thing is getting really warm,” I said in a concerned tone.

“It's okay,” the guard answered. “It's almost finished.”

I glanced down at it again right before it suddenly went cold and stopped fidgeting. It simply lay still in my palm. “Yeah ... I think it just ... died?”

The guard didn't say anything as he nodded and reached for the vile thing. He rolled it back into his palm before opening the black box and depositing it inside.

“It's not dead,” he answered at last. He closed the box and reached inside his pocket, wiping his hands on what looked like a hankie before offering the same one to me. I accepted it, figuring it was better than wiping the gooey remnants on my clothes. 'Course, right about now, I also considered wiping my hand right across Knight's smug face, but figured that probably wouldn't go over too well. “Thanks,” I grumbled.

The guard opened my door wider for me, tacitly urging me to return to my seat. I did so and glanced over at Knight glumly. He was beaming from ear to ear.

“Now was that so bad?”

I cocked a brow and regarded him coolly. “I'd say it ranked right up there next to the botched assassination attempt.”

“Dulcie, Dulcie, Dulcie,” Knight chided as he shook his head, adding. “Oh, I'd advise you to wash your hands once we get inside the compound. Those things don't ... smell very good.”

I didn't even have the wherewithal to respond.

***

An hour later, we (as in Christina's Team) were all assembled in what I assumed was a library. Upon further inspection, though, the books were all fake—mere facades to make it appear that the owner of the library was well read. Whoever owned it and where we were remained mysteries to me. I knew we'd arrived in Compound Two, but upon entering the only building in sight, I guessed we must have traveled through a portal because we were now in a house, or so it appeared.

“We” was comprised of Knight, Christina, Dia, Erica, the still foul-mooded Drow, and me. The Drow sat next to Erica while Dia sat on the opposite side of the room. She kept herself busy by inspecting one of her many fabulous earrings she was renowned for making. These were huge, colorful circles with feathers attached at the bottoms. Christina stood right beside her, pacing back and forth as if in obvious distress.

“So sounds like you guys nearly met your maker?” Erica piped up from across the room. Her hair was now canary yellow, but still short and bobbed, and still super cute. She had one of those faces and skin tones that could get away with just about any hair color.

“Hi to you too,” Knight said, frowning at her in a playful sort of way.

“No need to get your feathers ruffled, handsome,” she threw back with a knowing grin. “You know, I think you're the sexiest creature south of the Netherworld.”

“Oh, here we go,” Dia muttered, but seconds later erupted into a giggle as she faced me. “That nymph's got it somethin' bad for your Loki, Dulce.”

The Loki glanced over at me with the expression of “Yeah? So what are you planning on doing about it?” pasted on his face. I just frowned, facing Erica. “He's not my Loki, so have at it.”

I didn't miss Knight's frown or the way his eyes narrowed in obvious offense. But there was something in his eyes that gave me cause for pause, something that hinted to the fact that my comment really bothered him—a lot. I felt a moment's twinge of guilt before I shook the feeling loose, irritated with myself. I mean, I never said I'd forgiven Knight for everything that transpired between us, and as far as I was concerned, I still hadn't forgiven him. Besides, it wasn't like I'd actually even had the time to think through my confusing thoughts to arrive at a decision regarding Knight anyway. Nope, it just became one of those subjects relegated to the back burner, where it could boil and bubble, just like every other subject that had the misfortune of being back-burnered in my overwhelmed mind.

“Loyalists were responsible for the near deaths of Dulcie and Knight,” Christina started. She faced everyone in the room as she propped her hands on her hips, only to bring them to her head and clasp them behind her hair as she started pacing again. “I've called Henrietta to join us so she can tell us more.”

“Who's Henrietta?” I whispered to Dia, getting dizzy from watching Christina making the rounds of the room again.

“She's a witch,” Dia responded out of the corner of her mouth.

“No,” I piped up, facing Christina as I felt myself standing. “The only witch I trust is Sam.”

“Henrietta is one of the best,” Christina started as she stopped walking and turned to face me.

I adamantly shook my head. “If a witch is going to be involved in something that happened to me, I want that witch to be Sam. And while you're at it, Trey should be brought in as well, because he can be just as useful as Sam is.”

Christina was quiet for a second or two before she nodded and picked up her cell phone, speed dialing someone. “I need Sam and Trey from Compound One.” She was silent for a few seconds before she nodded. “Yes, they are to be brought through the portal to the library.” She paused again. “Yes, standard security protocol.” Then she hung up and faced us again. “They'll be here shortly.”

I nodded and smiled as I imagined Sam's expression upon arriving at the security gates to this compound. I could just picture her repugnance when she found herself up close and personal with the Magreew.

***

I didn’t know if portal travel merely occurred from Point A to Point B, or if it also meant manipulating time; but within ten minutes, Sam and Trey walked through the double doors of the library. They were now facing all of us curiously and both of them seemed not only surprised, but concerned.

“Dulce?” Sam asked as soon as she recognized me. “What's going on?”

I stood up and approached them both, putting my hands on each of their shoulders as soon as I reached them. “Everything is okay,” I started, but frowned as I thought about the comment. “Well, as okay as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, eyeing me askance. Trey didn't mutter a word, and instead just focused on the people assembled in the room, as if memorizing their faces.

“Welcome to The Resistance,” Christina said with a warm smile as she approached us.

“The Resistance,” Trey echoed as he eyed everyone again and looked, for all intents and purposes, star struck.

“Then this is The Team?” Sam asked, glancing first at Christina and then at me before her eyes searched the room and landed on Dia. “Dia?”

“Hi, girl,” Dia called back with a little wave.

“I requested that you both come,” I started as I led them to the center of the library where Knight stood up. He offered his chair to Sam, doing his best impersonation of a gentleman. Sam took the proffered seat and I took the empty one next to her. She glanced around, as if taking stock of the room, the fake books, the furniture, and everyone in it, before facing me again.

“Why do you need Trey and me?” she asked as she chewed on her lower lip. “And are you part of The Resistance too?”

“Yes, I am,” I started, taking a deep breath as I tried to figure out where to begin. “Knight and I were nearly killed yesterday.”

“Nearly killed?!” Sam exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“There was an explosion in the Denali that was meant to kill us, but failed to detonate in time,” I said quickly, not wanting her to worry unnecessarily. I mean, Knight and I were still alive...

“Oh my God,” Sam cried, her mouth dropping open.

“We need for you to determine whether there were any potions involved in the explosion,” Knight added, alternating his gaze between the two of us. It seemed his strength had finally returned as he was able to walk around unsupported. Good thing for me because my shoulder was still aching like a son of a bitch.

“Of course,” Sam started, looking at me with her doe-eyes. Then she threw her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. I could feel the heat of her tears against my skin.

“I'm okay, Sam,” I whispered as I patted her on the back, uncomfortable with being the center of everyone's attention. Some situations call for a little privacy and this was certainly one of them.

She looked up at me with watery eyes. “You were nearly killed, Dulce, that's far from being okay.”

I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. Why? Because Sam was right. Things were far from okay. Things were more in the realm of super fucked up and probably quickly on their way to getting worse

“Sam, can you detect any residual signature or anything else on this?” Knight asked as he held out a piece of debris from the Denali. Sam nodded and dragged her shirtsleeve across her nose as she tried to get herself in order. “Take as much time as you need,” Knight added in a soft voice with an encouraging smile.

“The library has everything you might need,” Christina said. “This is an alchemist's library,” she finished.

Sam nodded and gave Christina a smile of thanks before reaching for the piece of metal in Knight's hand. She glanced down at it and sighed before taking her seat again and running her finger down the length of the cold metal. Searching the room, I noticed everyone had broken up into smaller groups and were making idle conversation, probably to allow Sam and me some privacy.

“I need a white out,” Sam said, addressing me. I looked up at Knight in question, obviously not knowing enough of our location to even begin to try and find the tincture, which would announce whether or not a potion had been involved in the detonation of the Denali.

“White out, white out,” Christina repeated as she scanned the myriad of bookless spines along the wall. “Aha,” she called out as she pushed the spine of one very beaten-up book that was written in what appeared to be Latin. The book facade popped forward, revealing a shelf behind it. On the shelf were several vials of white powder. Christina reached for one of the vials and handed it to Knight, who then gave it to Sam.

Accepting it with a nod, she opened the vial, depositing a small mound directly onto the metal. Then she recapped the vial and spread the white powder across the surface of the metal as we all looked on in silent anticipation. The white powder began to bubble within seconds.

“Yep, it's charmed,” Sam said with a sigh. She glanced up at Christina. “I need some Renneen One, if you have it.”

Christina nodded and started scanning the book spines again as Erica stood up and approached her, offering to help. Smiling in response, she and Erica started searching the bookcase on the opposite side of the room.

“Looks like we've got Renneen Two,” Erica called out. “But I don't see Renneen One.”

“Two will do,” Sam answered.

Erica nodded and pushed against the book spine, which then plopped open, displaying a large chunk of what looked like butter. There was a small knife next to it and about four baggies beside the knife. Erica picked up the knife and cut a small slice of the stuff off, bagging it immediately. As soon as she dug the blade into the mound of buttery stuff, it began to ooze out a green liquid, almost as though it were bleeding.

Erica handed the bag to Sam and Sam opened it, smearing some of the buttery-like stuff against the piece of the Denali. The butter melted into the metal, which began to glow with a pinkish hue in the areas where the butter stuff dissolved into it.

“Looks like it could have been a Maegon bomb or possibly a Jaffroodi,” Sam said. “It's definitely an illegal concoction, but I'm just not sure which one.”

Knight nodded and approached her, his eyes on the metal. “Maegon or Jaffroodi could mean the difference between an East Coast Loyalist or a West Coast one. Can you be a little more specific?”

Sam paused for a second or two and eyed the piece of metal as she thought about Knight's question. Not finding an immediate answer, she turned to face Trey. “Trey, can I borrow you for a sec?”

“Sure thing,” Trey answered, peeling himself off the wall where he'd been watching Erica. He smiled at her apologetically before trotting over to us. Glancing over at Erica, I just shook my head as I realized she was probably Trey's newest crush.

Once Trey reached Sam's side, she turned to face him. “Can you see if you get any feelings about this?” she asked, handing the piece of the Denali to Trey. “See if you can get any sort of hint as to where the potion might have come from.”

He nodded and opened his palm as Sam dropped the twisted hunk of metal into his hand. Closing his fingers over it, he shut his eyes. His pupils began to race side to side behind his eyelids, like someone experiencing REM sleep.

“The potion definitely didn't originate on the East Coast,” he said softly. “I'm not getting much from it, but I can tell you it's a Maegon.”

“Then it's West Coast,” Knight said, never pulling his eyes from Trey.

“Wait,” Trey said as he held up his hand. “I'm sensing that it wasn't a potion on the black market, but a home concoction.”

No one said anything; we all just waited to see if Trey was going to receive anything else about the strange potion. The fact that it was a home concoction was definitely an interesting point. It wasn't common to come across homemade potions. Why? Because illegal potions were relatively cheap and plentiful on the black market and what was more, they were highly dangerous to create. But going back to this particular potion, I chewed on the fact that it was apparently created in someone's backroom. The question was why?

After another few minutes, Trey shook his head and opened his eyes. “I got nothin' else,” he said simply.

I faced Knight, only to find him already staring at me. “So?” I asked.

He cocked a brow and continued to study me before his sumptuous lips broke into a solid line, a sure indication that he was frustrated. “I'd bet my ass that someone we know is behind this; not some random Loyalist.”

Christina stepped forward, as her eyes narrowed and her jaw grew tight. “Why?”

Knight pulled his gaze from me and faced her. “Someone had to know what car I was driving and more importantly, where the car was located. A Maegon potion won't keep long, which means that once he'd created the potion, the perp had maybe two hours to dust the Denali with it.”

“How do you know the perp is a 'he'?” I asked.

Knight faced me and swallowed hard. “I don't.” He took a deep breath. “But what I would bet my ass on is that it's ANC.”

“Let me guess ... the ingredients for Maegon are sitting in the vault of the ANC?” I asked as I tried to make sense of his comment.

Knight nodded.

“And Maegon ingredients are near impossible to find on the streets,” I continued, shaking my head against the fact that someone in the ANC could have done this.

“Yes and no. You can find the ingredients, but it's incredibly difficult to do so; and, yes, there was a shipment sitting in the ANC vault which was never destroyed, owing to everything that happened within the last twenty-four hours,” Knight finished.

“Not only that, but Maegon is very difficult to make; and as part of our potion training, only highly ranking ANC Regulators and officials have the knowledge,” Christina added. “So it would seem someone in the ANC was involved for sure.”

“Doesn't this seem way too convenient though?” I asked as I shook my head again, eyeing everyone in the room. “Whoever did this would be more than aware that we would be able to figure out it was a Maegon and then trace it back to the ANC. I really have a hard time believing that someone could be so stupid.”

Knight raised his brows and shook his head. “Criminals don't necessarily have to be smart, Dulce.”

I rolled my eyes and grumbled something under my breath because I was convinced there was more to this situation than what was so readily apparent on the surface.

NINE

After our impromptu meeting ended, Christina informed me that it wasn't safe for me to continue living on base. She was convinced that whoever tried to kill Knight and me was one of her people and also an ANC employee. Apparently, the idea that the perp was a Loyalist had been quickly abandoned because there was just too much evidence pointing to the fact that this must have been an inside job. As an inside job, it meant the would-be killer could be living in any of The Resistance compounds or, worse yet, he or she could even be part of Christina's Resistance Team. Either way, Christina considered me a walking target if I continued to proceed as if nothing happened. This was quite artfully demonstrated by Knight's and my near fatalities in the Denali. So I had to be relocated, but as to where I would soon be spending the majority of my time, I didn't have a clue but figured I'd find out shortly.

Christina ordered Knight to re-test the loyalty of all residents of the compounds, as well as her own team members. If paranoia were Christina's second cousin, it now became her sister and for good reason. All those loyal to The Resistance movement had to be subjected to rigorous lie-detectors, which involved incantations and spells from our resident witches. Once that task was completed, everyone would next be subjected to the application of the Magreew. The final gauntlet was a human polygraph. In so doing, Christina figured she had all her bases covered—magic by way of witchcraft, sympath, and no magic at all.

As expected, Christina insisted her team of officials undergo the tests first. It took two hours to assemble our team, the witches, the Magreew, and the polygraph. We also had to determine a proper location to perform the tests. After a couple of hours, during which time we sat in the library in complete silence, I felt like I was playing the real-life version of Clue. Our wait in the library felt like an eternity, especially since no one said much to each other. We just eyed one another as if sizing each other up as we wondered if someone present in the room was responsible for the murder attempt on Knight and me. While my natural instinct was to point my finger at the Drow, given his obvious aversion to me from the start, I didn't imagine he was guilty. Why? Because the reason for his distrust was solely due to my being Melchior O'Neil's daughter. 'Course, he also could have been a good actor ...

Moving my eyes from the Drow to Dia, I shook my head as I even considered her involvement. There was no way Dia could have plotted Knight's and my assassinations. Of that, I was more than sure. Excluding Knight, since I didn't imagine he wanted anything to do with a suicide bombing, that just left Christina and Erica. As the leader of The Resistance, I had to imagine Christina's loyalty was obvious. So that left Erica.

What did I know about her? Nothing really. She seemed to emphasize the Drow's anger when she first found out I was my father's daughter ... Yeah, but what could that mean? Maybe she was just playing the part of concerned Resistance team member to throw us off the fact that she was really working for my father?

I sighed at the realization of how completely useless this task was, not to mention how wrong it was. Rule number one in the ANC: Do not point accusatory fingers at people before knowing all of the facts. And furthermore, I couldn’t imagine the verdict being as simple as a big, red flashing sign above someone's head announcing his or her guilt. No. Whoever this person was, he or she had to be good. I mean, none of the sympaths (Trey included) picked up anything out of the ordinary. That was a sure sign that the perp had somehow manipulated the magical force field that allowed sympaths to pick up on feelings and visions of situations and events.

After another hour, each of us was shown into separate rooms where we underwent the prescribed tests of our loyalty. Even though it certainly occurred to me, I didn't point out the non sequitur of testing Knight and me for our loyalty—I mean, it wasn't like either of us planned to blow ourselves up. But, as Erica would say, C'est la vie.

The room was small—maybe ten feet wide by twelve feet long and incredibly dark, owing to the fact that there weren't any windows. The only light was afforded by a yellowed, old light bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a wire. It looked like the setting for some hideous torture scene, or maybe, an interrogation, guerilla-style. Swallowing my own sense of foreboding, I forced myself to take a deep breath and banish my morose thoughts. Instead, I glanced around the room and noticed that there were two plastic chairs with a small school-style table between them. I took the chair closest to me and started to fidget, my knees bouncing with nervous anticipation of what was to come.

I was alone for probably another five minutes before a witch I didn't recognize entered the room. She looked like a Soccer Mom. Her hair was very short—that asexual, boyish haircut women often relegate themselves to once they hit forty. Apparently the big four-oh made women feel like they had to eviscerate all signs of being women. But back to the witch, she was tallish—five foot six or so, and maybe thirty pounds overweight. She wore dark jeans and a pink, amorphous T-shirt that made her look even boxier. She carried what looked like a bowling ball bag, but when she plopped it on the table and zipped it open, it was not a bowling ball, but rather an enormous hunk of crystal. It was close to the size of my thigh. The bottom was milky white, which slowly yielded to long and lustrous clear crystals.

She didn't so much as offer me any form of greeting, not even a smile. She simply dropped the bag on the floor and, lifting the crystal, took a seat, while placing it on her lap. Then she closed her eyes and held her palms up towards the crystal as her lips moved. She was chanting something, but given her Soccer Mom appearance, to me it looked more like she was singing the lyrics to some Justin Bieber song. She opened her eyes and focused on me, but remained silent. Reaching for my hand, she folded it beneath her fleshy fingers, and resumed her incantation, which now sounded foreign—something like what I imagined Latin might sound like. Well, for all I knew it could have been pig Latin.

After finishing incantation number one, she opened one eye briefly, glanced at me and then immediately shut it again. She started chanting something else, her grip on my hand tightening. As she finished her Bieberesque humming, she opened one eye again, almost as if she were checking to make sure I was still there. Apparently pleased that I hadn't made like a bird and flown away, she performed a third charm on me, which was in English. It described a whole lot of mumbo-jumbo about nature and the goddess and the seasons. Before I could say “hocus pocus,” she grabbed the index finger of my right hand and speared it with the tallest point on the crystal.

“Shit!” I yelled out in shock and pain as I withdrew my injured digit into the haven of my chest and glanced down to appraise the damage. My finger looked like the victim of a hole punch. “You could have at least warned me!” I lashed out with a frown. It still hurt like a son of a bitch and blood coursed down my finger, pooling into the palm of my hand. She handed me a tissue from her pocket and I quickly staunched the blood flow, but I didn't say thank you.

She sneered at me like I was overreacting (which I probably was), but said nothing. Instead, she returned her attention to the crystal on her lap. I watched the gold drops of my blood run down the rough edges of the crystal, where they dissolved into the base entirely, as if they'd never been.

“You passed,” the Soccer Mom witch said simply.

“Great,” I grumbled with a fleeting glance at my still bleeding finger. I shook my palm until a mound of fairy dust emerged. Then I sprinkled the dust over my wound and watched as the blood dried up and my skin began to sew itself back together. Eventually, the wound vanished into my skin.

The witch stood up and collected the gargantuan crystal into her bowling bag, saying, “Wait here for the Magreew.”

With that, she simply waddled to the door and closed it behind her. I sighed as I thought about reuniting with the Magreew. While I couldn't say I was looking forward to it, at least it wouldn't make me bleed.

***

Forty minutes later, I'd successfully completed all three trials to test my loyalty to The Resistance. I'd braved the spells of the witch, suffered the slime of the Magreew, and tolerated the unsophisticated polygraph machine, and I'd passed. To my surprise, at the conclusion of my polygraph test, I was told to remain in the dismal little room. Why? I didn't have a clue, but I didn't argue. Instead, I just stayed put. Yep, I was doing a damn good job of being a team player.

The next time the door opened, which was maybe ten minutes after the conclusion of my polygraph test, I was relieved to see Knight.

“Congratulations, it appears you weren't behind the plot to assassinate yourself,” he said with a cocky smile.

“Ha ha, Mr. Comedian,” I replied grumpily. “Thanks for making me wait ten minutes just to deliver that surprising news.” I stood up and started for the door, having already decided I'd had enough.

“Not so fast, Speedy Gonzalez,” he said, adding a chuckle. “Unless you plan to walk yourself to your new hideaway.”

I turned around slowly, shaking my head as I cocked a brow and let him know how unamused I was. “Let me guess, you're my chauffeur?”

With a nod, he smiled that devil's smile. Even in the relative darkness of the room, he was exquisite to behold. The shadows played with his features, darkening his already tan skin, the whites of his eyes in stark contrast. His handsome, albeit rakish, smile gave him the look of an absolute rogue. As much as I dared not admit it, in the entire course of my history with Knightley Vander, there was never a moment when I felt the longing to kiss him more. Somehow, though, I managed to subdue my more carnal, primitive urges in favor of appearing more civilized.

“We've got a smart one,” the Loki said in a suggestive sort of way.

“Okay, so what now? Where are we going and how long will it take? Do I have time to get my things?” I asked, throwing my hands on my hips. I had to discourage myself from noticing how broad his shoulders were, and how his hair was the exact same shade as his black T-shirt. I definitely didn't want to draw my attention to the swells of his biceps, which his T-shirt did a terrible job of covering. Never mind his long legs and incredibly tight ass …

“To answer your montage of questions—yes, I'm your chauffeur. I can't tell you where we're going, but it will take about an hour or so to get there. Your things have already been packed for you.”

“You can't tell me where we're going?”

He cocked his head to the side and studied me for a few seconds. “I could.”

I sighed, long and deep. “So?”

“But then I'd have to kill you,” he finished, smiling even more broadly.

“I keep wondering if one of these days you might actually grow up.”

“Nah, growing up is for adults.”

“Exactly.” I took a deep breath, wondering if I'd be able to get anything out of him. “So what can you tell me about where we're going?”

He shrugged. “I can only tell you I'm taking you somewhere Christina believes you'll be safe. I couldn't tell you where exactly because I actually don't even know, myself. But once we get to wherever it is we're going, you'll need to get some shut-eye.”

I hadn't even thought about sleeping, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I hadn't slept in ... a while. My body suddenly appeared to deflate with just the mention of sleep. It became clear that I was beyond exhausted. “Okay, then what?”

“Then you wait for further notice,” he answered simply with another shrug. His rebellious smile was still fully manifested. It was a smile that characterized Knight all too well; and the perfect example of how cocky he was. He seemed incapable of taking no for an answer, and could undress you with a simple glance.

“And what about you?” I insisted.

“What about me?”

I shrugged, thinking the question was obvious and he was just delaying answering. He was just playing with me. “If I'm being relocated to a safer place, I hope you're also considering your own safety? It's not like you can go back to any of the compounds. I mean, I wasn't the only target when the Denali blew.”

He smiled even more broadly, his eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth. “Wait a second, did I hear you correctly?” He pretended to clean out his ears. “So, does this mean you really do care about me?”

I shook my head and sighed, glancing down at the floor as I rubbed the back of my neck and felt sorry for myself. Why were things always a pain in the butt where Knight was concerned? Why couldn't things be easy?

When I looked up at him again, I wore the expression of someone far from amused. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?”

His smile faltered, instantly replaced by a frown as he folded his large arms against his chest. “Well, remembering how you told Erica to ‘have at me,’ I'm confused about where you and I stand ... and understandably, I might add.”

I was in no mood to argue, nor to discuss the hot mess otherwise known as what in the hell is going on between Knight and me. “We're not getting into this right now,” I answered, showing my intent to prove it by walking past him.

I didn't get far. He grabbed my upper arm and stopped me, his eyes imploring. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, but stood there with his fingers wrapped around my arm. I didn't say anything either. It was as if his touch had completely stolen my ability to form words. There was something between us. It was as obvious as the nervous energy working its way up my stomach.

He relaxed his fingers from around my arm and dropped his gaze from my eyes to the skin of my upper arm, gently stroking it as goose bumps erupted. When he glanced up at me, his eyes were dark pools, bottomless in their depths.

“I know I made a huge mistake and I know I hurt you,” he said in a soft voice. I shook my head. I could hear a loud voice shouting that I didn't have the time or the stamina to get into this right now. But he interrupted me. “I know that whatever happened between us can't be wiped away, Dulcie; and believe me when I tell you that I regret it more than I've ever regretted anything in my life.” He dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head, sighing as he thought about it.

“Good, I'm glad,” I said and pulled my arm from his grasp, trying to convince myself that this air of detached indifference was really and truly how I felt. But I was smart enough to realize I wasn't detached or indifferent where Knight was concerned. Instead, there was something inside me that kept screaming at me to never trust Knight again, to never ever find myself in this position again. There was something inside me that insisted the only person I could truly rely on was myself.

“Something has to give, though, Dulce,” he said, bringing his face up close to mine, so close that I could feel his breath fanning against my cheek.

“Nothing has to give.”

“I know you don't hate me,” he started.

“No, I don't hate you.”

“And there are moments when I can tell you aren't thinking about the past—moments when you and I are just ... us.”

I couldn't deny the truth in his statement. I mean, it wasn't like I was constantly rehashing the past, and reliving everything that ever transpired between us. I didn't even think that was possible. “There's a lot that's going on right now, Knight. I've got lots more on my mind than nostalgia from the past.”

He nodded as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. I felt something within me thawing, and I had to keep myself from touching him. I had to tamp down the thoughts that raged inside my addled head, thoughts that urged me to reach out and feel how hot and smooth his skin was ... thoughts that told me to touch his lips, feel the hot wetness of his tongue ...

“God, just being around you does something to me,” he whispered. His eyes started to glow a fiercely possessive white. “I hope you know that this ... this silence between us is killing me.”

I gulped, propping my hands on my hips. I was suddenly overcome with anger because I didn't like awakening old urges and needs. Just as something primal and passionate was emerging from him, it was also emerging within me. Even now, it seemed as if I were drowning in my own sea of need.

“I don't know what to tell you, Knight.” My voice was harsh and cold.

“Tell me we can move on,” he said quickly as he reached out to touch me again. Knowing what that meant, I took a step back. His hands dropped to his sides. “Tell me things between us can be the way they were before.” He paused for three seconds and just stared at me. “I will never doubt you again, Dulcie, and I swear to you that I will never hurt you again.” He swallowed. “Tell me you forgive me.”

I hesitated, but then shook my head, knowing I wasn't ready for this; I still hadn't fully examined my own thoughts on this subject. “I can't.”

He started to say something, but thought better of it and cleared his throat instead. Suddenly, panicking and nauseous, I couldn't fight the urge to flee, to get as far away from this room and Knight as I could. With my heart in my throat, I lurched forward again. I felt the cold of the doorknob on my palm, feeling like I was in slow motion as I turned it. I could think about nothing but escaping.

Knight's voice stopped me.

“I will make this up to you, Dulcie. I will prove to you that you can trust me again.”

“Knight,” I started, but he shook his head, his eyes hard.

“I love you.”

It felt like my feet were suddenly mired in heavy tar. My breathing had been escalating so quickly that I started to hyperventilate and now I couldn't catch my breath. I felt suddenly light-headed, my chest constricted and tight. I closed my eyes and released the doorknob, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in my palms as I dug my fingernails into them. Without another word, I extricated my feet from their invisible binds and forced myself through the door.

TEN

Not surprisingly, the drive to my new digs was quiet and completely uncomfortable. I mean, I’d just attempted that whole escape act after hearing Knight tell me he loved me, so things weren't exactly cheery in the Dulcie-Knight camp. To defend my actions, though, I never wanted to get into the conversation in the first place. There was still just too much up in the air regarding The Resistance and my father. And let us also not forget that in the course of the last six hours or so, I'd been the unfortunate victim of the Denali detonation in which I came way too close to turning into a fairy shish-kebab, only to learn that the killer was one of our own. So as far as my guilt was concerned, if the truth be told, I wasn't really feeling any mainly because there wasn't any more space in my already overwhelmed head.

Luckily for me though, Knight didn't say another word. He just sat behind the steering wheel and looked ... glum. Yes, something within me told me I should have said something, or at least made small talk. But at this point, I figured small talk would be more of a slap in the face than silence, so I chose silence. Besides, I had a splitting headache and wasn't in a talking mood anyway.

Instead, we both quietly listened to the navigation in the Suburban as it barked out, “take a right turn here” and “take a left just ahead.” How it even knew where we were was a shocker in and of itself, considering we were still in the middle of BFE. Furthermore, the locations of these Resistance compounds were on a need-to-know basis only and I couldn't imagine Garmin or Tom Tom needed to know. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, though, I realized that the navigation unit was no doubt “charmed” as were most things supplied by The Resistance.

We'd left the library about an hour earlier and were now driving down an unmarked highway that seemed to stretch into oblivion. As we crested the only hill yet, I noticed the highway T-boned into a dead end. We had to go right or left. The nav unit ordered us to make a left turn, so we did. Once we took the left, the entire car wobbled like a tightrope walker in a high wind on a faulty wire. Seconds later, we were no longer on the lone highway that stretched for miles with nothing but the early morning sun to greet us. Instead, we were suddenly plunged into the midst of a dark forest, complete with traces of moonlight that lit up the interior of the car through the heavy branches. It took me a second or two to realize what just happened, but before I could speak, Knight did.

“That must have been a portal,” he said simply, as if it were no surprise at all and the news was so humdrum that it didn’t even require commenting.

“So what do we do now?” I asked as I glanced around myself and realized I couldn't see anything beyond the trunks of the seemingly never ending trees. The moonlight cast eerie shadows that soon became great, hulking trolls and monsters.

“Looks like driving is out of the question.”

I agreed, considering there was now a huge pine tree directly in front of us that even a forty-point turn couldn't allow us to weave our way around.

“So?”

He didn't respond, but faced the navigation with concern all over his face.

“You will finish the remainder of your journey on foot,” the thing said in that same highfalutin’, accent-free sort of way. “Step out of the vehicle. Walk forward three paces; make a ninety-degree turn to your right, and walk forward six paces.”

Knight reached forward to remove the navigation device from its holder, which was suction-cupped to the windshield. Turning toward me with a sigh, he raised his eyebrows in a rendition of “What other choice do we have?” I nodded as I undid my seatbelt. I tried to open the door, but found it butted up against another tree, leaving me maybe two feet of clearance to wiggle out. Luckily, I was small enough to squeeze my way through.

“You could have crawled out on my side,” Knight offered as soon as I worked my way free of the door and jumped to the ground in front of him.

“And miss that daring adventure?” I asked, forcing a smile even as I wondered if things between us would ever again feel comfortable. I wasn’t at all okay with how things now were, but I also couldn't imagine things improving—not anytime soon anyway.

Knight didn't say anything, but glanced down at the nav again. The moist smell of the forest infiltrated my nostrils as I leaned up on my tiptoes and eyed the device in his hands. It revealed a road map view of a forest, which I figured was the forest we were now in, and the X in the center must have marked our current position. There was a red arrow pointing straight ahead, which then veered to the right.

The sounds of crickets and frogs were thick in the air as I took a step forward, my shoes squeaking against the mossy undergrowth. “Three paces, huh?” I asked with a slightly hesitant smile.

“Guess so,” Knight answered, and together, we took three steps forward, just like the nav instructed.

“Prepare to make a ninety-degree right,” the voice called out, apparently satisfied with our obedience.

Neither of us said anything as we turned to our right and took six steps forward. Knight's gait was obviously much longer than mine, so I did my best to keep up with him before the thought occurred to me that maybe the six strides specified were referencing a normal-sized person, not a shrimp like me, or a giant like Knight. But, I guess I'd just have to find out the hard way if and when the portal didn't open.

“You will now have exactly three seconds each to cross over,” the navigation said with detached authority.

Knight glanced at me and nodded, a dark smile on his lips that seemed to match the muddied expression in his now navy blue eyes. “Ladies first.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled, thinking in this case, I'd prefer ladies second. But I didn't argue and, instead, thrust myself forward, just like I'd done every other time I had to travel via portals. I felt the difference in the air almost immediately. The now familiar feel of balmy air that was both thick and heavy, hugged me like an old friend. Before I could take another breath or blink, I felt myself slipping through the air. A second or so later, I unceremoniously landed on my ass, shrouded in cold. I caught a glimpse of my surroundings—a smallish room, painted black with thick, black carpeting to match. A yellowish glow emitted from a floor lamp in the corner—the only furniture in the room. The scent of something foreign, but clean and crisp, stung my nose, but before I could take stock of anything else, I remembered Knight. I managed to roll out of the way just as he came through the portal, landing in exactly the same spot I'd previously occupied. Talk about a close call!

“Well, well, well,” came the aristocratic voice from behind me. “Look what the portal dragged in.”

I turned to see him, although I recognized his voice before he came into view.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Knight said as he lurched to his feet and he settled his eyes on Bram.

“I am quite overjoyed to see you as well, Vander,” Bram said with a polished smile as he slapped his hands together artfully, and approached us from the far side of the room. Glancing around, I realized my first hunch was correct—there wasn't any furniture in the room aside from the floor lamp. I figured the room must have been dedicated to portal travel, given how landings could sometimes be ... unpredictable, and furniture might prove to be dangerous.

Knight ran his hands through his hair as he cracked his knuckles and scowled at our vampire host. I managed to stand up, my heartbeat in my throat. It took maybe another few seconds for the shock to wear off and as soon as it did so, the reason for why we were here dawned on me.

“What the hell was Christina thinking?” Knight continued, still glaring at Bram, even though the question was directed at me ... I think.

“It makes total sense,” I said simply, although I was awed and amazed by how smart this move actually was. I turned to face Knight and noticed him studying me quizzically. “If the offender is one of our own, Christina figured that I'd be safer somewhere they would never expect to find me.”

“Yes, quite so,” Bram said, nodding vehemently as he eyed Knight, as if he presumed the Loki were slow. “As I am neither a member of The Resistance nor a foe,” (he said as his eyes rested on me), “you would do well to find yourself under my roof, Dulcie, sweet.” Then, narrowing his eyes at Knight, he added, “And please note, my dear Loki, that my invitation of hospitality only extends to the fairer of our sex.”

Knight frowned. “Of course it does, Bram.” He gritted his teeth. “But as to whether or not I'll accept your invitation on behalf of our fairer sex—it remains to be seen.”

Bram held his long fingers in front of him as he appeared to inspect them, something he always did for added drama, and something which absolutely drove me nuts. He didn't say anything, though, so I took the opportunity from him.

“Knight, I can take care of myself,” I spat out, suddenly angry. I wasn’t sure whether I was more irritated by Knight's display of machismo or Bram's obsession with his damned nails. Men could be so frustratingly exhausting.

“Well said, my dear, well said,” the vampire finally spoke before turning his stringent gaze on Knight and addressing him pointedly. “You would not want to contradict any command from your superior, would you?”

“Enough, Bram,” I snapped before turning to face Knight. “I'll be fine here. It's short term, anyway.”

“I'm not convinced you're going to be fine,” Knight answered. “We could be making a big mistake. You have no protection here—no soldiers patrolling, no barbed wire fencing, no guards, nothing.”

“None of those things mattered a damn anyway,” I argued. “I had all of those things on base and look what good it did! Someone still managed to sabotage the Denali.”

“And as to Sweet's protection, I am most certainly considered a formidable ally, but an even more formidable enemy,” Bram piped up, apparently insulted by the idea that Knight had little faith in his skills.

“Against an army of Melchior's men, you are nothing,” Knight spat back at him, his eyes raging.

“It might please you to know,” Bram continued, in a level tone as he faced me and turned his back on Knight, “your leader has graced my quarters as an estimable guest, more than once.” Then he turned to face Knight again. “And I do believe if the leader of The Resistance finds sanctuary beneath my roof, it should be deemed safe by anyone else’s accounts!”

I couldn't say my mind was focused on Bram's question, though. Instead, I was still stuck on the point he made about Christina staying with him. I had to wonder which quarters he was referring to—a random room in his house or his own private bedroom quarters? Somehow, I didn't want to know the answer.

“That doesn't change the fact that I don't trust you, Bram,” Knight spat back.

“And yet you trusted me enough with our Dulcie sweet while we were in the Netherworld on your business?”

“It was hardly Knight's business,” I grumbled but Knight interrupted me, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tight.

“I had no choice in the matter. I was in prison, if you recall.”

Bram made a big show of exhaling a pent-up breath, as if he were too busy to bother himself with the mundane, trivial details of Knight's whereabouts in the Netherworld. “At any rate, I was given express instructions to ensure that Sweet receive a comfortable shelter and bed on which to lay her pretty head in preparation for tomorrow's activities,” Bram finished.

“What does that mean?” Knight demanded, his tone becoming increasingly agitated.

Bram simply shook his head and dropped his eyes onto his fingernails again. “It is not for me to repeat, Loki,” he said simply. “That information must come from your leader, herself.” Then he turned to face me with a polished smile. “Now, if you will excuse us, I must insist on showing Sweet to her bedchamber; and rest assured, I will protect Sweet and guarantee her safety in whatever way becomes necessary.”

Knight stepped toward the tall, gallant vampire until the two were maybe three inches apart. Apparently sensing Knight behind him, Bram turned around slowly. Knight was fuming and Bram seemed slightly ill at ease, which was no surprise, given that he had an incensed Loki staring him down.

“If you so much as lay one finger on her, you'll have me to answer to,” Knight sneered. “No, scratch that, if you so much as look at her with anything other than respect, I’ll make sure you regret it. Got it?”

“Affirmative,” Bram answered acidly.

“I don't trust you and I don't like this arrangement one bit. I'm counting on you to keep Dulcie safe and I don't want her to have to worry about trying to fend off your advances on top of everything else we have going on.”

“Knight, it's fine. I can take care of myself,” I started, although neither one seemed to hear me.

“As I understand, you no longer have any claim on our Sweet?” Bram teased, egging Knight on.

Knight was about to say something, but his words seemed to dissolve on his tongue. As for me, I was shocked because I didn’t know how Bram could have found out about Knight's and my falling out. I guess it came down to bad news traveling fast. One thing I could say about Bram was that he was a nosy bastard. He made it his business to know everyone else's.

“Dulcie's and my relationship isn't any of your concern,” Knight said at last, taking the final step separating them until they were nose to nose. “Touch her and you won't be happy with the consequences.”

Bram stepped away from Knight and narrowed his eyes at the larger man before turning to face me, a false smile of bravado pasted across his handsome face. “My goodness, it seems your caveman has snapped his tether.”

“Take that as a warning, Bram,” Knight continued before turning to face me again. “If you need anything, call me, Dulcie.” Then, addressing Bram again, he added, “I want her room in the most remote section of this house. There should be more than one exit point; and I want a guard posted outside her door, day and night.” He took a big breath. “Her door should not only lock from the inside, but also have a deadbolt. I'll send Sam over to charm the place and make sure it's as safe as it can be.”

“No need, my good sir,” Bram answered. “My entire home and estate have already received the benefit of multiple witches’ charms.”

“I don't care. I'm only interested in Dulcie's safety.”

Bram frowned. “Sweet's bedchamber has been charmed three times by three different witches to ensure its safety.” It was Bram's turn to narrow his eyes and assume the role of someone ticked off. “I believe the sky is the limit when Dulcie's safety is concerned.”

“Okay, I've had enough of this now,” I barked out, holding my head because it was beginning to throb. I'd have to magic the pain away as soon as Knight left. But at the thought of him leaving, I felt my stomach drop. “Where are you going to go?” I asked in a shaky voice as I again realized he was as much of a walking target as I.

“I don't know,” he answered simply. “But I do know that you need to save your strength for whatever Christina has planned. I have a feeling it's going to be something big that will have to come together quickly.”

I simply nodded before I approached him. “Be careful, Knight.”

He seemed surprised by the worry in my voice, but simply smiled down at me. “I will.” Then he started for the portal again, turning with one final boyish grin. “I'll see you soon, Dulce.” I watched him study Bram purposefully, his eyes issuing a silent warning before he turned toward the portal and vanished.

With a new sense of niggling worry in my gut, I faced Bram, intent on making him understand that Knight's warnings were legitimate. “Don't think I'm going to grant you any sexual favors just because I'm staying under your roof. My coming here is only as a last resort and I don't want you to turn it into an opportunity to benefit yourself.”

“Sweet, you cut me to the core,” he said in mock offense, dramatically bringing his hand up to his heart. “Although I might remind you that you still have yet to deliver on your end of our agreement.”

I rolled my eyes just as I realized the truth in his statement. Our “agreement” was comprised of Bram's list of demands which he'd created in exchange for serving as my guide to the Netherworld. My part of the agreement, which I still hadn't upheld, amounted to five dinner dates. Hades be damned.

“Perhaps you do not recall the stipulations regarding our agreement?”

“No, Bram, I haven't forgotten,” I started, still shaking my head at the injustice of it all. I mean, I was just so exhausted and the thought that I could relax, at least for one evening, had been music to my ears. Music that had now soured.

“I shall enlighten you regardless,” he said, holding his chin up high as if he were an orator about to captivate his audience. “You consented to dine with me five separate times upon our return from the Netherworld. If you also recall, I stipulated that each of those occasions would require that you dress in something no longer than three inches above your knees. Furthermore, the upper garment, blouse or the northern end of your gown must plunge into a very low “V”, thereby fully displaying your breasts, thereby permitting me to appreciate your ... assets.”

“Obviously you aren't taking Knight's warning seriously,” I muttered, irritated because I knew he had me. We did have an agreement and I still hadn’t held up my end of it.

“I care not for the Loki, much less his silly warning.” He paused for a few seconds before a villainous smile took hold of his entire face. “All I do care about, Dulcie sweet, is our dinner this evening. I will escort you to your accommodations, where you will find a suitable gown hanging in the closet.” He sighed deeply as he studied me, clicking his tongue against his teeth in apparent appreciation. “Until then, I must leave you as I have some personal business to attend to.” Without pulling his gaze away from me, he added, “I will send for you in three hours.”

“Didn't Christina tell you I needed my rest also?” I muttered, even though I started following him out of the room.

“Yes, of course, my dear; and you would do well to enjoy your brief respite now as you and I have an evening engagement awaiting us.”

“You're impossible to argue with,” I grumbled.

“Yes, I am quite aware, sweet, so why even start?”

And that was the twenty million dollar question.

ELEVEN

Just as I'd expected, the “gown” Bram had so generously donated wasn't exactly to my taste. As I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my makeshift accommodations, heat was already warming my cheeks. And it wasn't the type of heat that comes with gratitude or excitement. Nope, this heat was completely dedicated to the fact that I was mortified over being seen in the horrid thing but, more so, that I was pissed off Bram had the gall to expect me to wear it in the first place!

I gritted my teeth as I faced myself, almost not believing my own eyes. For one thing, the dress was cut in a low “V” just as Bram had promised, although he hadn't been very forthcoming with just how low “low” was. This thing plunged clear down to my navel and the “straps” coming back up barely covered either of my nipples, let alone my breasts. Unfortunately, I could clearly see the swell of both sides of my breasts beneath the narrow strips of gold fabric. The way the material shimmied against my skin, I had a feeling it wouldn't be very good at staying put over both of my nipples, which was probably exactly as Bram intended. I tied the two straps behind my neck as tightly as I could, hoping and praying I could somehow secure the fabric tightly enough to where there was very little, if any, wiggle room.

As to the rest of the catastrophe known as Bram's taste in women's clothing—the “gown” was short, just as Bram had instructed in his original list of demands. The fabric dusted the tops of my thighs and bending over was completely out of the question. The gold of the dress matched the honey gold of my hair as well as the room perfectly. Yes, the entirety of my room was “gilt” with dark gold chenille wallpaper meeting hardwood floors that were almost a yellow gold. The floral pattern of the drapes was in hues of yellow and orange curlicues while the molding along the ceiling looked as if it were actually made from gold—especially how it reflected in the low light of the burnished bronze candelabras on either side of my massive Louis XIV bed which was, yes, also sculpted out of gold. And knowing Bram's expensive tastes, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn the bed was constructed of solid gold. 'Course gold was known for being less than strong so maybe it wasn't solid. At any rate, it was expensive and it was ... gaudy.

With a defeated sigh, I heaved my mass of hair over one shoulder, so I could better see the shoes Bram had intended for me to wear, which he'd left just beside my bed. I stepped into the ridiculous heels, which were a coppery color, and had to be over six inches high. The laces crisscrossed clear up to my knees and gave me a sort of Roman look. Yep, the shoes accompanied with the dress that was so small it looked like it was intended for a Barbie Doll, made me look like a Roman whore. Once I'd fastened the shoes to either of my feet, it took me a second to find my balance, and once I did, I attempted to walk, all the while afraid that I might trip and break an ankle. Fashion and crime fighting weren't exactly bedfellows.

“Are your accommodations to your liking?” came Bram's voice from behind me.

I twirled around so fast, I lost control and had to stabilize myself against the handrail of my poster bed. “My accommodations aren't occupying my mind at the moment,” I grumbled in response.

Bram smiled handsomely and showed himself into my room, eyeing me from head to toe as he did so. Then he shook his head and his eyes narrowed, filled with something that resembled passion. “I have never wanted to undress a woman as fiercely as I do now.”

I raised my eyebrows at the same time that I made a show of fending him off with my palm, making sure to keep my other hand firmly locked around the bedpost because I didn't trust myself on my stilts. “Save it, Romeo. This is not my idea of a good time,” I mumbled, taking a few unsteady steps in his direction. “And nice work with this hankie,” I finished, glancing down at myself in obvious distaste.

I expected him to at least laugh but he didn't—instead, he continued staring at me as if he were a deer caught in the death grip of a car's headlights. “I hand selected that gown and had it flown in from Florence, Italy,” he said at last, his tone affronted. “Not to mention that I returned the dress five times until I deemed it adequate to grace your lovely skin.”

“Tell your tailor he forgot the rest of it!” I snapped, in no mood to seem in the least bit gracious ... because I wasn't ... not in the least bit.

Bram just continued to stare at me, his gaze roving over my breasts as his fangs visibly lengthened until they were indenting his lower lip. He held his hand out and with his index finger, appeared to outline the swell of my breasts in the air, looking like a conductor who'd lost his baton.

“The lines are exquisite,” he said breathlessly. “Rossi managed to capture your body flawlessly.” He continued tracing the dress or my body, I wasn't sure which, in the air. He looked ridiculous. “It is a work of art. The way the gown reveals the swell of your lovely breasts and hints at your stomach just beneath, only to obscure the admirer's view with the skirt which then hints at your muscular thighs, leaving your stunning legs as a cornucopia of sexuality on which I can feast my eyes.”

“I just threw up a little.” I frowned as I tried to hobble forward again, feeling like I was on ice skates.

Bram arched an unimpressed eyebrow and scowled at me. “Sometimes I do wish you would refrain from speaking, Sweet.”

“Ditto,” I replied grumpily before throwing my hands on my hips at the reality of how much time and thought went into creating this “dress” in the first place. “So how did you figure out what my size is, anyway?” I eyed him narrowly as I further considered it. “Did you steal something of mine?”

Bram chuckled and shook his head, looking at me as if I were dumb. “It is not so simple as your size, my dear sweet. And, no, I have never stolen anything in my life and do not plan to start. The simple answer is that I have memorized your body—the flow of your neck to your shoulders.” Then he drew a line in the air which I supposed represented the line of my neck to my shoulders. “The flow of your breasts to your stomach, your stomach to your hips ...”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Dr. Grey. I don't need an anatomy lesson.”

He dropped his fingers from their escapade into air-writing and faced me squarely. “You do realize you are the only woman who refuses to adhere to my ... sensuality.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “Adhere to your sensuality? What, like a piece of tape or maybe some glue?” I laughed even more loudly, finding his comment and this whole situation increasingly funny. Maybe I was just at the point of losing my mind because it did feel as if my grip on sanity was slowly fading.

Bram frowned, crossing his arms against his chest. “I fail to see the humor in my pointing out how delectable you are and how I desire you, though it pains me to admit it.”

“Come on, Bram, this whole thing is ridiculously funny if you think about it.” Then I started for the door again, feeling like I was going to face plant at any second. “I'm dressed like a bimbo on stilts, which somehow, and I still don't understand how, seems to sexually frustrate the hell out of you. And the cherry on this completely screwed up cake is that we're probably about to go into war with the Netherworld.” I started to laugh even harder. “Now that is the best damn punch line I've heard in a while.”

Bram regarded me coolly, one of his brows drawn in admonition. “Dulcie Sweet, sometimes you are quite bizarre.”

I shook my head and sighed, thinking the only people who seemed to really get me were Sam, Dia, Trey and, okay, Knight.

Bram held out his arm and I took it, figuring my balance needed all the help it could get. He led me from my bedroom, down the stairs, and into his dining room, although it took us probably twice as long to make the trip because I had to cling to the banister with one hand and his arm with the other. When we reached his dining room, a goblin dressed in black and white was waiting for us and hurriedly opened the double doors, revealing the most enormous table I'd ever seen, sitting atop an enormous black rug that matched the black of the walls perfectly. The only lights in the room were offered by a chandelier made of elk or deer horns which looked as if it were fifteen feet wide and nine feet tall. The table was easily the size of my apartment, a place setting at each of the chairs.

“Um, are you having a party tonight?” I asked as Bram motioned for his butler (I supposed the hairy goblin was, anyway) and the man shut the double doors behind us, leaving us to our privacy, much to my chagrin.

“Yes, Sweet,” Bram said simply and eyed the room as if he were bored.

“How many people are you expecting?” I asked, glancing down at the table as I tried to get a place setting count. It was futile because my brain didn't work that fast. Especially now when I'd had such little sleep.

“One,” Bram said simply and turned his broad grin in my direction. “You, Sweet, you are the extent of the diners to fill my evening.”

“Then why all the place settings?” I asked, facing the enormous table again.

Bram shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “I was not certain as to where you'd prefer to sit.” Then he started around the table, glancing forward and side to side as if to judge which position offered the best view.

“Um, overkill anyone?” I asked, shaking my head. “You didn't have to go to so much trouble, Bram, I'm fine sitting anywhere.”

He nodded and pulled out a chair in the dead center of the table. “This seat offers the best view of the room, I do believe.”

I said nothing but took the proffered chair and felt Bram push it up to the table as my eyes fell to the wall directly across from me. Staring back at me was Bram, only this Bram was memorialized in oil. The painting had to be ten feet high and when I took the whole thing in, I had to keep myself from laughing. It was Bram dressed in what appeared to be armor although it wasn't the type of armor commemorated in cartoons and the like. Instead, it looked like something ancient—something real for lack of a better word. Next to the knightly Bram, who wore a steel expression in his eyes and an almost obscene smirk (like he was going for the Mona Lisa but never quite made it), was a black horse. But what really tickled my funny bone wasn't the morose expression of a Bram whose shoulders were actually much broader than they were in real life or whose jaw was a bit more square and whose nose was a bit more Roman. No, what was even now making me clear my throat so I wouldn't erupt into a fit of giggles was the fact that the oil painting depicted Bram with one foot on the decapitated body of a dragon, the beast's head hanging from Bram's hands.

“So this is the best view in the room, is it?” I asked, turning to face him with unconcealed humor.

But his attention wasn't on me. It was on the painting. “Astonishing, is it not?” he asked in a faraway voice. “An absolute masterpiece.”

“Um, Bram, you're dressed like a knight and you're holding a dragon's head.”

My statement seemed to pull him from his reverie and he shook his head, as if just waking from a deep sleep. “Yes, I was known as the dragon slayer.”

I suddenly felt exhausted—so exhausted that I didn't even want to get into the whys and hows of Bram's days as a dragon slayer. Sometimes there was just a point where life became too much to deal with and I was now at that point.

“Would you prefer I sit beside you, Sweet, or across from you?”

“Across from me,” I answered automatically.

“Very good, as I prefer to view all of your lovely face as opposed to just your profile.” Then he started the long walk around the table, taking even longer to work his way up the other side, pausing just before the painting so he could admire it ... again. Everything Bram did was for show—it didn't matter who he was with or who he wasn't with. I was almost convinced that he thought he was constantly being videotaped or something—like he thought he was on his own show with a myriad of viewers just dying to find out what Bram was about to do next. He never seemed as if he wasn't “on.”

Once he reached the seat opposite mine, he pulled the chair out slowly and made a show out of seating himself and pulling his chair back up to the table again. Then he eyed me purposefully, saying nothing for at least three seconds.

“You surprise me, Sweet,” he said at last.

“Why is that?” I answered with a yawn, double checking my breasts to make sure the straps, which amounted to Band-Aids, basically, were still in place. They were. Phew.

“This is the first you've seen my house and yet you have not commented?”

I cocked my head to the side as I digested his comment. Yes, this was the first I'd seen of his home. I'd always understood that he'd lived in the building that housed No Regrets, but learning he'd bought a house wasn't exactly thrilling news. “It's a moot point anyway,” I started, shrugging.

“And why is that?”

“Because whether or not you have a house doesn't concern or interest me. It's where this house is located that I might find even mildly interesting. The moot point is that I doubt you'll tell me our whereabouts?”

Bram laughed. “You do know me well and, no, I will not divulge such information.”

“Then I'll save my comments for another day.”

He eyed me as he tapped his manicured fingernails against the mahogany table. “It is for your own good, Sweet. Your leader chose to station you here for a reason, privacy and safety being her foremost concern.”

“I understand,” I said simply.

Bram eyed me for a few more seconds before he stopped drumming his fingernails against the table top. “In other news, I am working on a painting of you as we speak.”

“What?” I barked. “What the hell are you talking about? You are painting a picture of me?!”

“No, I am not the artist,” he said and shrugged. “Although I am commissioning the painting so I choose to refer to it as my own.”

“Okay, all of that is beside the point. The better question is why you're commissioning a painting of me?”

“I choose to surround myself with objects of beauty, hence that incredible painting.” Then he glanced up at the Bram-Dragon canvas again, as if worried it had melted into the wall. He turned to face me again and smiled widely. “You, my dear Sweet, are the most beautiful woman I have the fortune of knowing, so naturally I should want to memorize your understated loveliness by way of oil.”

“Did it ever occur to you to ask my permission first?” I asked, somewhat put out as I tried to imagine a portrait of me hanging in Bram's home. It definitely wasn't an idea that thrilled me by any stretch of the imagination.

“I do not care for permissions, Sweet,” Bram said and then raised his eyebrows loftily. “I have hired the best oil artists from France to do your honors, my sweet, and I am told the masterpiece known as the 'Fairy Law' will be finished shortly. We shall have an unveiling party, if you would oblige me.”

As long as it would take care of another of the outstanding dates I still owed him, sure, I was game for anything. And as to insisting Bram divorce himself from the undertaking of the “Fairy Law,” that was another moot point because as far as I knew, there weren't any laws disabling people from painting other people. Damn it to Hades.

“So moving onto more important subjects,” I started, but Bram interrupted me by shaking his head and ... pouting.

“Sweet, you wound me.”

“Here we go again,” I grumbled, mostly to myself. “What did I do now?”

Bram glanced behind his shoulder at the atrocity known as the dragon slayer. “Are you not even in the least bit curious as to the story behind the painting, my dear?”

I took a deep breath, feeling exhausted all the way down to my toes, but by the same token, I had to admit that somewhere inside me I was interested in the story that had born the hideous painting—at least a little bit. “Okay, shoot.”

He shook his head. “No, if you are uninterested in the particulars, I do not care to brow beat you into listening.”

I shook my head, tired of playing Bram's idiotic games. “Stop acting like a five-year-old taking your ball from the sandbox and tell me the story ... please,” I added. “I would love to know, really, I would.”

Then he beamed like a child on Christmas morning and turned his chair to the side so he could take turns gazing at me and then at the painting. “It was the latter part of the eighteenth century in England. And plaguing the countryside of the village in which I lived, was a band of murderers, thieves, and rapists,” he started.

“This was in London?” I asked, trying to seem actively involved even as I doubted London could be referred to as a “village” even in the eighteenth century.

“Just outside of London, Sweet. At any rate, I disposed of this band of troublemakers and I am quite certain you can imagine how,” then he winked at me like it was a big secret, but his fangs were fully lengthened as if to offer a very obvious hint. “Needless to say, I was considered to be quite the hero among my kinsfolk and to show their gratitude, the townspeople hired the most famed portraitist of the time to paint the masterpiece you see before you.”

I didn't say anything for a few seconds because I wasn't sure if that was the end of Bram's story or not. Once the discovery that it was the end of the story dawned on me, I couldn't help frowning. “That's it?” I blurted out. “That is the worst story ever! You completely forgot the part about why you're wearing armor and, hello, what about the dragon?”

Bram shook his head and sighed as if he were agitated. “The dragon and the armor were merely symbolism, my sweet. Both were symbolic of the fact that I possessed the fierce determination and courage of a dragon slayer, that I rid my village of a threat no less than a dragon, himself.”

I didn't say anything else because I really didn't know what to say. I mean, not only was the painting ridiculous in every aspect of the word but, more so, it was a complete sham. I'd thought I'd at least get a hilarious dragon story out of it, but nope. “That's great,” I said simply.

Bram didn't say anything else but clapped his hands together and the goblin reappeared within seconds. I figured he'd been waiting just behind the double doors. The man was short—maybe five foot six and solidly built. He wasn't handsome but nor was he unattractive—just had a bland sort of nothingness about his face. He was someone you wouldn't remember.

“What do you care to dine on this evening, my sweet?” Bram asked and offered me a sugar-coated grin that revealed the very tips of his fangs.

“What's on the menu?”

Bram shook his head. “There is no menu. Whatever you desire is at your disposal.”

Talk about being put on the spot. I wracked my overwhelmed brain but nothing seemed to come forward. Finally I just settled for a filet of salmon and a Caesar salad. Not exactly a culinary delight, but I was too tired to come up with anything fancier.

“Very well,” Bram said and then eyed the goblin who very quickly retired through the double doors again. “So you find yourself under my roof, my sweet,” Bram said and eyed me speculatively.

“Don't get any ideas,” I reminded him again to which he just laughed heartily.

“I have been getting ideas, as you call them, about you from the moment I first laid eyes on you in your tight, little ANC uniform.” He grew quiet then as if he were stuck in his memories. “How long ago was that, my sweet?”

“Too long,” I answered and took a big gulp of water once the goblin returned with a large jug of ice water with lemons and poured me a glass.

“At any rate, you and I have been friends many years, my dear.”

“Are we friends, Bram?” I asked, suddenly wondering where this conversation was headed. And, really, that was the ultimate question. Were we friends? I'd always considered Bram an acquaintance, definitely, but our relationship had never firmly traveled to the land of friendship mainly because Bram also maintained ties with the less savory members of Splendor society.

“I have always given you the unpleasant details of those who live and work in the Underground, have I not?”

I nodded. “Yes, you have, but sometimes I wonder if it's because you prescribe to the idea of keeping your enemies closer than your friends.”

Bram eyed me suspiciously almost. “Very advantageous words to live by.”

I smiled, suddenly feeling fuel behind my fire. One thing I could say for Bram was that I could always speak my mind with him. “Why do you insist on playing the middle ground, Bram?”

“Middle ground?” he repeated, feigning ignorance, but I was more than aware that he was simply buying time. Bram didn't care for conversations such as these because he didn't like demonstrations of the errors of his ways, as most narcissists don't.

“Yes, you walk a tight line between doing good and doing not so good.” I took a breath. “I always find myself wondering if and when you will ever cross over and if you do, which way you'll cross.”

Bram laughed and started drumming his fingers against the table again as I wondered if maybe he was nervous. “I am a businessman, first and foremost, Sweet. And as all good businessmen do, I hold my cards very close to my chest.”

I nodded but I wasn't placated. “There will come a day, Bram, and that day is coming closer and closer, where you'll have to take a side.”

“Against your father?”

I nodded. “The margins are slimming. You're either with us or against us.”

Bram smiled more widely. “Is not your sitting at my table an example of where my sympathies lie?”

I smiled just as broadly. “It wouldn't surprise me to know you harbored Loyalists in the very next room. That's the thing about you, Bram, you're unpredictable.”

“That I am, my dear,” he said, eyeing me pointedly. “But is unpredictability not the very measure of mystery and is mystery not the very measure of intrigue?”

I leaned forward. “I don't want to mince words here, Bram, but your tightrope walking days are going to come to an end ... very soon.”

He just watched me, appearing amused. “Then I daresay it will be an interesting moment when you learn which side I shall choose, will it not?”

I leaned back into my chair and nodded. “As long as you choose correctly, Bram.”

TWELVE

After my dinner with Bram, which was beyond exhausting, I was more than pleased to retire into the “comfort” of my temporary room. Bram accompanied me up the stairs and down the hallway. I noticed a guard stationed outside my door and greeted him with a quick nod. Apparently, Bram was taking this safety and security stuff pretty seriously, which was reassuring. After saying good night, Bram loitered in front of my door for a few minutes, obviously waiting for an invitation to enter. When he didn't receive one, he bid me a quick and unenthusiastic “Good evening,” before retiring to wherever he kept himself occupied. I didn't waste any time in closing the door behind him and dead bolting it as I eyed my bed with sincere appreciation, even though it was way too ostentatious for my taste.

Because my clothing hadn't yet arrived from the compound, I was left with no other option but to search through the only chest of drawers in the room. It matched the Louis XIV bed with its intricate detailing and brash gold color. Not surprisingly, I found an assortment of women's clothing, which, upon further inspection, were of various sizes and diverse tastes—a rainbow of choices as I'm sure Bram maintained a rainbow of variety when it came to his dalliances with the opposite sex. Some men kept track of their “scores” by way of “notches” on their bedposts; Bram appeared to “notch” by keeping random articles of women's clothing. Yep, of one thing I was certain regarding the handsome vampire, was that he was a total and absolute man slut.

I searched drawer after drawer, looking for something that resembled pajamas or even a loose T-shirt, but after finding only a slinky, red negligee and an even slinkier black-lace teddy, I opted to sleep in nothing but my panties.

Trying to beat down my second wind, which was just now making itself known, I approached the enormous windows on the opposite side of the room, curious to see what lay beyond them. The curtains were thick, heavy, and difficult to open, but once I managed, I was rewarded by a beautiful view of a wrought-iron balcony just above Bram's enormous pool. The moonlight reflected against the dark water in ripples. I thought about standing on the balcony for a while, just to feel the touch of the breeze against my skin, but in this instance, I ignored the urge, figuring it would be too cold anyway.

Instead, I gazed out at the moon, which was full, round, and shining like a son of a bitch. Thoughts began circling my mind regarding Bram. Our conversation tonight had really sparked questions and the more I considered just how Bram fit into the larger context of Loyalist vs. Rebel, the more I had to wonder about Bram’s allegiance in all of this. I mean, at what point was it no longer okay to remain uninvolved and detached? At what point would Bram realize he needed to make a decision as to what side he favored? Furthermore, what did it mean when he said he was a “businessman, first and foremost”?

Everything was coming down to the wire and the time for choosing sides was long past. Thinking more about it, I had to wonder whether Bram could really be considered a friend to The Resistance, especially if he was, to use his own words, primarily a businessman? Was he referring to the business of running the biggest nightclub in Splendor? Or was there more to this picture?

Ultimately, when it came down to it, what did I really know about Bram?

I mean, I knew he owned and operated No Regrets, and that he definitely held hands with the criminals of Splendor as often as he held hands with the ANC. Yep, I'd always been able to rely on Bram for juicy tidbits regarding the less than law-abiding citizens of Splendor. But I could only imagine that while he fed me information about the goings on in the streets of Splendor, he also fed criminals information about the ANC. Otherwise, he could never have been able to remain in the middle, regarded as neither a model citizen nor a criminal by the ANC and the law breakers alike.

I also couldn't ignore the fact that Bram had been in business with my father once upon a time. Of course he'd also said that he'd come to Splendor to escape my father's tyranny, but who knew if that story was entirely accurate? And furthermore, Bram did have his own portal to the Netherworld ... Granted, Bram's portal looked as if it hadn't been used in over one hundred years (which was also the story Bram gave me), but just having a private portal to the Netherworld that was still operable had to mean something. Right?

Now I wondered if maybe Bram wasn't as innocent as he professed to be. But what exactly did that mean? Did I think Bram was responsible for the Denali explosion? No, I couldn't wrap my mind around that one. As much as I couldn't imagine Bram shedding a single tear over Knight's demise, I also didn't think he would voluntarily plot my assassination. Besides, Bram was no insider of The Resistance so he wouldn't have had any way of knowing the whereabouts of the Denali, or Knight and me ... unless, of course, he had an informant.

But regardless of whether he had an informant or not didn't change my belief that Bram didn’t want to see me dead—not after the way he went on and on about his interests in me. As much as I never wanted to admit it, Bram was obsessed with me. But didn’t obsession lead to crimes of passion and violence? Wasn’t everything fair in love and war?

I shook my head, because it just didn't ring true. If Bram wanted me dead, he'd already had many opportunities to see his goal to fruition, especially after taking it upon himself to become my guardian in the Netherworld. No, if Bram was guilty of anything, it sure wasn't planning my end.

My brain continued to find reasons for Bram's innocence or lack thereof, and I was suddenly reminded about Bram's statement that Christina had stayed with him on more than one occasion. What did that mean? With all certainty, I believed in Christina's innocence, since she was the leader of The Resistance. But maybe the answer wasn't so complicated. Maybe the answer was as simple as Christina falling in love with Bram? And if she were in love with him, maybe she was feeding him information without even realizing what she was doing. How many times did I hear that love was blind? Well, maybe love was blind! Maybe in this case, Christina's blind love for Bram was responsible for her blabbing information she otherwise would not have. Maybe she trusted Bram because she loved him and failed to see the danger involved by trusting him?

Thinking more about it though, I didn't buy it. Why? Because one thing I'd learned about Christina during the course of our association, was that she was one bad ass chick. And last I checked, bad ass chicks didn't fall head over heels in love with candy ass vampires. Not only that, but I couldn't imagine there was a chance in hell that Christina, even playing the devil's advocate and accepting that she was in love with Bram, would ever give up any information about The Resistance, since she held it so close to her heart.

Hmm, so if a love tryst between Bram and Christina didn't seem likely ...

What if Christina, knowing that Bram walked the fine line between good and bad, didn't trust him and as part of her distrust, stationed me here, under his roof on purpose? What if this move on her part wasn't so much to secure my own safety as it was for me to keep an eye on Bram? Maybe it was an attempt to get up close and personal with the goings on behind Bram's closed doors? And, finally, to get to the bottom of whether or not Bram was somehow involved in the assassination plot, and more pointedly, somehow involved with my father?

That made sense. Christina, being my father's pet before all of this Resistance stuff hit the fan, would have known those who were closest to him. Moreover, Christina would have all the background history between Bram and my father. And, knowing that history, she'd want to make sure Bram didn’t pose a threat. Or maybe it was even simpler than that—maybe Bram was involved with my father all along, and Christina was also aware of it?

'Course, if Bram had been in cahoots with my father recently, then he would know about Christina's fall from my father's grace. Moreover, she'd also be fully aware that Bram knew. And if they were both aware of what happened, there wouldn't be a need for the two of them to play games. Instead, Christina could have simply taken Bram into Resistance custody, or Bram could have fled Splendor for the Netherworld a long time ago.

As far as I could tell, Christina and Bram seemed to be dancing around one another. Bram wasn't a member of The Resistance, but seemed to be considered a friend. Toward that end, Christina paid her own visits to Bram, just as Bram admitted. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that those visits weren’t social calls. No, Christina was trying to decipher whether or not Bram could be considered friend or foe. After all, Bram was a wild card and Christina couldn't count on a wild card in her deck. It was just too dangerous. So, rather than come right out and let Bram know she was sizing him up, she'd orchestrated the genius excuse of my needing protection. In doing so, she was putting me directly in his lair where I could watch his comings and goings, and keep track of him in order to decipher if he really was a threat.

Aside from not appreciating being left to my own defenses in the enemy's lair (if that was, in fact, what Christina considered Bram to be), I didn't fail to see the beauty of the arrangement. The only risky part for Christina was betting that I would experience this epiphany in the first place. But then again, it must have been a bet that Christina was willing to take. And, not to toot my own horn, but given my ANC record for weeding out the facts, I was the perfect candidate for this job. Not only that, but I believed Bram trusted me. I'd never given him any reason not to.

Hmm, so Christina might be suspicious of Bram continuing some level of involvement with my father. While I couldn't say I wholeheartedly wrapped my brain around the idea, I also couldn't deny it. Thinking about it, though, upset me. Granted, although I never considered myself to be close to Bram, at the same time, I always enjoyed our awkward relationship. When it came down to it, I didn't want to believe Bram was guilty of associating with my father and supporting his cause. I wanted to believe Bram was innocent, but I'd also been trained well enough to leave my personal feelings out of it. As an ANC Regulator, I had to focus on the facts, to focus on the cold, hard truth, the black and white ... just as I'd always done.

One thing I did know, though, was that if Bram was a Loyalist, in cahoots with my father, and (for the sake of argument) partially responsible for the detonation of the Denali, there had to be someone else involved. Why? Because Bram was too separated from The Resistance itself in order for him to even get an inkling of information about the internal goings on. That could only mean one thing—someone was feeding him information.

My mind was swimming with “what ifs” as well as feelings of anger, betrayal, and sorrow if the “what ifs” were actually valid. Deciding to sleep on everything, I closed the curtains and started for the bed. Yes, it did occur to me that if Bram was behind the Denali detonation, I was now basically as good as dead. But I abandoned the thought because I imagined Bram wouldn't show his hand quite so quickly. Besides, Christina and Knight knew the location of my whereabouts, which meant there would be too many witnesses. Nope, Bram would opt for stealth if he were behind the attacks. Killing me now would be too convenient and way too obvious.

Besides, I wasn't wholly convinced of Bram's involvement in any of this anyway ...

I removed most of the pillows from the headboard, noticing how much bigger the bed appeared when it wasn't overflowing with fluff. Then I crawled under the covers, while a yawn seized my entire body. I closed my eyes and felt the luxury of sleep invading me.

***

It was one of those dreams where you realize you're dreaming, but you can't wake up so you end up just going with the flow. In it, I saw myself lying in an enormous and god-awful golden bed. It took me a second or two to realize it was the same bed I'd gone to sleep in and my room was also the same: an ornately overdone gold bedroom.

I felt as if I were floating at the top of the room, glancing down at the enormous bed where I could just make out the top of someone's head. Her hair was a wavy, honey-gold and when she turned to her other side, I immediately recognized her profile. She was I and I was she. As soon as the thought occurred to me, I felt a great swoosh of air against my face, as if I were in a wind tunnel. When I opened my eyes, I noticed my vantage point had changed and I was now no longer floating along the ceiling, but firmly planted on a bed, with my cheek against a satiny pillow.

I've been sucked back into my body.

At the revelation, a sudden wind gusted from an open window at the far side of the room. It was a window that hadn’t been open when I went to bed. The gust of wind blew out the candle beside the bed which was concerning since I didn't recall going to bed with the candle lit, or, for that matter, a candle even being on the bedside table. The drapes rustled in the cold breeze and I felt myself sitting up, my eyes swollen with sleep. I watched the curtains dance suggestively with the breeze and didn't feel threatened in the least, even though I imagined I should have, considering windows couldn't open themselves. Instead, I enjoyed the feel of the cold night air against my cheek. I yawned and urged myself to stand up in order to close the window and the drapes, but somehow couldn't quite motivate myself to do it. Instead, the breeze against my cheek felt icily delicious and I pulled my knees into my chest, loving the fact that I felt so warm beneath my covers.

Forgetting the window and the drapes, I closed my eyes again and willed myself to go back to sleep. Almost immediately, the temperature in the room dropped until it became painfully cold, like an ice locker. I rolled onto my back, trying to convince myself to get up and shut the window, but my body was still completely in Morpheus' grip and I couldn't wake myself up.

Dulcie, close the window! I yelled at myself.

I opened my eyes, feeling irritated that I'd have to leave the haven of my warm covers in order to brave the freezing room on an errand that I still hadn't convinced myself was even worth it. I noticed the moonlight streaming in through the window, where it highlighted the gold of my coverlet until it appeared to glow. Following the rays of the milky moon, I watched the curtains while they danced this way and that, as if in the throes of a passionate affair with the wind.

I felt my eyes growing heavy as I watched the heady dance of the curtains. I thought it must have been an optical illusion, but as I watched, the air just at the end of my bed began to grow opaque, almost as if mist were rising up from the floor. As I watched, the mist grew slowly denser and thicker. What was more interesting, it now embodied the shape of a man. I could clearly see shoulders, a head, arms, and legs.

I wasn't sure why, but the manifestation of the mist didn't frighten me. Instead, I just stared at the outline of the man in awe. And somehow, I felt it staring back at me—as if we were both in the throes of a dream-like stupor, where warning and worry don’t enter into the equation. The mist seemed to grow even more opaque. What were once mere wisps of smoke, now became a thick fog.

I watched the fog man moving toward me, his legs losing their outline as if someone turned a fan on them. I could see him resting his fog hands on either end of my bed, and even though he didn't have eyes, I could clearly feel us staring at one another. The fog man seemed to reach forward and as I glanced down, I noticed my coverlet hovering over me, as if being picked up by invisible fingers. When I glanced back up at the apparition, it was gone.

My gaze dropped to the end of the bed and I watched the covers continue to ripple, growing taller as if covering a large rock. I watched as the last wisp of mist dissipated outside the covers, and I was suddenly aware that the mist now lay beneath the bed sheets. Somehow, I still wasn't frightened, though. Instead, I felt myself giggle as the fog moved past my feet, tickling me with its airiness.

The cold mist traveled up my legs, encircling them playfully. The covers continued to move this way and that, looking like a giant snake was beneath them, coiling and uncoiling its massive body. The fog reached my knees and encircled them as goose bumps invaded every inch of my being. Before I could wonder what the fog was going to do next, I felt my legs being pushed apart, as if hands were on the insides of my thighs, pushing outward at the same time that hands on the outsides of my thighs pulled.

With the realization that the fog was now intent on knowing me intimately, I felt nothing but a sense of aching excitement in the pit of my stomach. As soon as the feeling struck me, I felt the fog release its hold around my knees as it began to fill the space between my thighs. The air between my legs grew even colder until it felt as if I were sitting on a block of ice. Somehow, though, it wasn't painful.

When I felt a weight on top of my panties, I arched my back and felt a sigh forming on my lips. I could feel the fingers of air, only somehow tangible, somehow heavier, as they massaged me. Next the fingers of mist gently peeled away the fabric of my panties until I was bare. In response, something exploded deep down from inside me, something repressed and carnal, something that caused a moan to escape my lips.

The fingers of fog paused a moment, as if studying me, or staring at me in all my nudity. Then before I could so much as breathe, I felt the mist rubbing me with its coldness. I moaned in response and felt the fingers traveling down toward my entrance. They skimmed my opening and then died away, as if teasing me. In response, I arched my back again, moaning. I clenched my eyes shut tightly as soon as I felt the fog lapping at me with what I could only characterize as its tongue. I could feel fingers touching me, delving inside me and out again. First one, then two.

My nipples suddenly perked almost painfully when I felt the mouth of the mist instantly on them, caressing and stroking with a tongue made of air. At the moment that I reached orgasm, I screamed out, waking myself up.

Realizing what just happened, I sat bolt upright, surprised to find I was completely alone in the dark room. I glanced down at the bedclothes and didn't notice them moving with a faceless fog.

I had dreamt the entire thing.

I shook my head against the very idea that I'd imagined everything. It had just seemed so real! I glanced up and noticed the curtains fluttering in the breeze of the open window.

“That was quite delightful, my sweet,” came the English accent. I turned to glance at Bram, who smiled down at me from where he was standing beside my bed.

THIRTEEN

I was so shocked, angry, and mortified at the thought that Bram was standing there the entire time I was having that horrible dream, and, worse still, that he was present to witness my orgasm, that I threw the covers aside and stood bolt upright. My pride had fallen somewhere around my feet and as soon as I realized I wasn't wearing anything other than my skivvies, whatever pride I might have held in reserve was suddenly nowhere to be found at all.

“I believe you were created merely to tempt me,” Bram said in a soft voice, filled with desire as his gaze rested languidly on my breasts. Instantly, I crossed my arms against my chest and tried to staunch my pounding heart.

This was just so damned ... embarrassing!

“There are moments when I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot have you,” he finished. His voice and words were razor sharp, but his tone was gritty, and almost earthy in its rawness.

I closed my eyes, so completely humiliated and angry, I didn't know which emotion to focus on first. My cheeks were flooded with mortification, and so hot, it wouldn't have surprised me if I spontaneously combusted right there.

I opened my eyes and fixed my gaze on Bram, who was still standing beside my bed, silhouetted by the moon. “What the hell was that?” I finally managed.

Bram's fangs were clearly elongated as he held his chin up and opened his mouth. It looked as if he were tasting the air, or catching a scent on the wind, like cats do. I wasn't sure if he was deliberately ignoring my question or if he hadn’t heard it. He closed his eyes, his fangs aglow in the dim light as he continued ... mouth-breathing for lack of a better word.

“Bram!”

“Your scent is in the air,” he replied, his voice low and almost painful in its delivery. “Your smell is intoxicating, so sweet, enticing like the harpy's song.”

“Stop it,” I responded, still so confounded by the whole situation that I didn't know whom to blame. Did Bram have something to do with the dream? Or did I simply fabricate the whole thing? One thing of which I was sure, however, was that my current state of undress wasn't helping things. Reaching behind myself for the top sheet, I gripped the satiny material and yanked as hard as I could to free it from the mattress. I wrapped it around my torso, and underneath each of my arms, tucking it back into itself. Bram was visibly disappointed.

“I'm not going to ask you again, Bram, what the hell just happened?”

Bram seemed to have gotten ahold of himself again because his fangs were back to their usual size and he no longer lapped at the air like a cat in heat. His eyes, though, still maintained a sense of otherworldliness, like he'd just taken a big bong hit or something. But, glassy eyes I could deal with. It was the elongated canines and weird breathing that weren't so easy to ignore.

“I regret to say that I can be of no assistance,” he answered, still somewhat breathlessly.

I threw my hands on my hips, but thought better of it and tucked my elbows back in, afraid my bed sheet might come undone. “You don’t really think I'm going to buy that?”

Bram glanced down at me and seemed to study me for a few moments. While there was still something strange in his eyes, something that told me he was still caught in passion's lustful grip, a smile began to form on his lips.

“It appeared to me, my sweet, that you quite enjoyed your brief repose,” he said, his smile now a fully-fledged grin.

“Don't screw around with me, Bram,” I spat out, narrowing my eyes. Feeling the resurgence of heat burning my cheeks, I remembered everything that happened, everything Bram witnessed.

He shrugged, still playing the part of the innocent. “What should cause you to think that I was in any way involved, Sweet?” He licked his lips. “Your accusations hurt me, as I was merely a bystander.” The smile vanished from his lips as his canines began to lengthen again, presumably because he too was recalling what he’d seen.

I couldn't imagine ever living this one down.

I glared at him, still completely mortified that he'd seen my ... XXX-rated dream, but I wasn't dumb enough to actually believe he was “merely a bystander.” No, somehow he had to be involved. He had to be. I mean, when was the last time, if ever, that I’d had a dream that felt so real, my body actually responded ... in the way it had?

Um, never.

“Why do I think you were involved?” I repeated, shaking my head. “Oh, I don't know, maybe because here you are, standing in my bedroom, watching me sleep. Plus, you're a three-hundred-year-old vampire, which means your powers could now include the ability to infiltrate other people's dreams; and, finally, vampires regularly transform themselves into fog.”

“Fog, Sweet?” he asked, cocking his head to the side as if the very word confused him.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, fog.” He retained his confused expression so I figured I'd spell it out for him. “The fog was in my dream—a, uh, fog man.”

He nodded as if everything now made sense. “Well, perhaps this is a good sign, after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You dreamt of a 'fog man,' as you called him.” He paused a few seconds, just smirking at me. “It pleases me to know you dream of men. There are times when it occurs to me that you might possibly be asexual.”

“Really?” I asked facetiously. “We're really having this conversation right now?” Concluding very quickly that he wasn't going to answer my question, I continued. “I'm not asexual, Bram, and you already know that.” I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the facts. “What did you do to me while I was sleeping?”

He crossed his arms against his chest before bringing one of his hands to his face and tapping one index finger against his lower lip while he studied me. Finally, he shrugged again and his eyebrows reached for the ceiling as if he were saying, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I did nothing to you, Dulcie sweet,” he said at last.

“Then who the hell did?”

“As we are the only people in this room, I cannot find the slightest evidence of this so-called fog man you keep referring to. As to your accusations that I was somehow involved, I believe I can accurately say that you were merely the recipient of an unfortunately realistic dream.” With a shrug and a twitchy smile, he added, “Or a fortunate one, depending upon whom you ask.”

But I refused to believe that no one was responsible for the dream. It felt so real. 'Course, lucid dreaming wasn't a stranger to me. Months earlier I found myself the unwilling victim of a somnogobelinus, a goblin that attacks people while they sleep. In order to take the perp down, I’d learned how to experience lucid dreaming. Maybe this newest dream was just my body telling me it hadn’t forgotten the lucid dreaming skills I’d picked up? Maybe I had actually dreamt the whole thing completely on my own and was now falsely blaming Bram?

Either way, I didn't expect to get any answers from Tall, Dark, and Dead. “What were you doing next to my bed in the first place?”

He smiled again, his eyes roaming over my sheeted form before returning to my face again. “I was simply en route to my library, Sweet, to catch up on some of my ledgers with outstanding balances, when I heard a sound coming from your room.”

“A sound?” I repeated, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he continued. “However, looking back upon it now, I would better describe it as a moan.”

“Holy Hades,” I grumbled as I dropped my eyes, unable to watch the mirth in his any longer. He had to be eating this up—savoring every inch of my disquiet.

“Feeling concerned for your safety,” the vampire continued, “I decided to poke my head in to ensure that you were, in fact, unscathed. When I found you in your ... condition, well, my dear, how could I leave?”

“If you were a gentleman, I'm sure you would have found a way,” I muttered.

“I sincerely doubt that even a paragon of chivalry would have been able to avert his attention from you, Sweet. Unless, perhaps, such a gentleman preferred the company of his ... own sex.”

I didn’t feel like debating whether or not gay or straight gentlemen would have watched my XXX-rated dream. “So you had nothing to do with my dream?” I asked, even though I realized there was no point in asking Bram anything. He would just insist on his innocence, as he did with most things.

Bram shook his head purposefully. “I assure you, Sweet, that I had nothing to do with it at all. In fact, I swear to you.”

I sighed in exasperation and tried to come to grips with the fact that the dream was my own. True, I'd never had an actual orgasm in my sleep before, but I figured there was a first time for everything. 'Course, I also wasn't a great believer in coincidence, but I knew I couldn't expect anything more from Bram, so it was basically a moot point. Yep, it was better now to just sweep the dream under the proverbial rug so I could attempt to find my pride again and move on.

Then something else occurred to me. “So why is my window open? And how were you able to get through my door when I dead bolted it last night?”

Bram shook his head again and made a big show of shrugging. “I have a master key,” he said simply. “And as to the open window, perhaps it was a spirit who visited you. I have heard more than once that my home is haunted.”

“It wasn't a freakin' spirit!” I yelled, but stopped once I realized what a complete and total waste of words this conversation was. “Anyway, what time is it?”

“It is nearly dawn, Sweet,” the frustrating vampire responded. “I am en route to my bedchamber, but please make yourself comfortable. The manor is surrounded by guards to ensure your safety. Feel free to peruse my library, or if you prefer to watch the telly, there is one in the theater.” He paused as he eyed me for a few seconds. “My home is your home,” he said at last, seeming to stress each word. It was a strange thing to say, or maybe the strangeness was more in his delivery. 'Course, Bram was the epitome of the word “strange” so when it came down to it, nothing he said or did ever really surprised me.

“How long am I supposed to stay here?” I asked, sounding annoyed.

“Until your leader tells me otherwise,” Bram answered, scowling. I supposed it was because my question hinted that I wasn't exactly thrilled at playing the part of Bram's hostage. “I shall bid you adieu, my sweet, until we reconvene later this evening.” He paused with a lofty smile. “You shall find another gown in your wardrobe for tonight's festivities.”

Before I could respond, he simply turned around, and taking long strides from the room, left me to my own defenses.

***

I took Bram up on his offer to make his home my own by deciding to engage in a little recon, yes, a little snooping. I still couldn't abandon the thought that maybe Bram wasn't as squeaky clean as he tried to make me believe.

Once he left my bedroom, I immediately got dressed in my clothes from the day before. Then I waited for the sun to saturate everything in its bright yellow rays, which meant there was no way in hell Bram could still be out and about. Well, that is, unless he had a death wish and planned to go out dramatically as a pile of ash.

I started for the door, opening it cautiously, because I expected the guard on the other side would probably quiz me about why I was venturing away from my room. I’d already planned to say that I was hungry and in search of food, but when I opened the door, there wasn't a guard in sight. Figuring that was a good sign, I started down the hallway. Bram's library was probably the best place to start my search for any clues about exactly what sort of business Bram was involved in.

Now if I could just locate the library ... I figured it was down the hallway from my bedroom, since Bram said he was en route to his library when he heard me moaning ...

Hades be damned, I didn't imagine I'd ever let myself live this one down.

Forcing my thoughts back to my quest, and what I was after, I wasn't really sure. I just hoped I might find something that would shed some light on whether Bram really was involved with the Netherworld and more precisely, my father. I figured if I could find his ledger books, they would be a good place to start.

I hurried down the hallway leading from my bedroom to what I hoped was the library. I passed two bedrooms along the way, both of their doors wide open. The third door, at the end of the hall, however, was closed. With my heart in my throat, I reached for the knob and turned it, only to find it locked. Dammit. 'Course, a trifling, little lock couldn't keep a fairy who knew what she was doing out. I simply shook my hand until a mound of fairy dust appeared in my palm. Then I held my palm above the doorknob and opened my fingers, watching the spray of glitter dust the knob. At the same time, I imagined the locking device unlatching and the door opening. Seconds later, the door did as I commanded.

Bram's library was in one word—impressive. Every wall had floor to ceiling books and all the windows were meticulously covered by thick, damask curtains. I closed the door behind me and locked it from the inside as I started forward. The wood of the bookshelves was stained black to match the lush black carpet, for which I was incredibly thankful as it muffled the sound of my footsteps. In the middle of the room was a large desk, also stained black, with a behemoth leather chair just behind it. I hurried around the desk, quickly scanning the desktop for anything that could be of interest to me. But, it appeared Bram was a tidy vampire and there wasn't a thing out of place—not even an errant hair. I opened the first drawer of his desk and found pens and paper. The next drawer held a calculator, rolls of packing tape, boxed pencils and pens—nothing of interest to me. The next drawer down was locked. And a locked drawer meant I wanted it open.

I shook my fist until I could feel my fairy dust and dumped it hurriedly on top of the drawer, bending down until my eye was at the keyhole. I carefully blew the falling dust to make sure some of it actually entered the keyhole. Then, in the same way I imagined the library door unlocking, I envisioned an invisible key turning in the keyhole as I watched the drawer open itself. Inside was a notebook with a piece of paper folded in half on top of it. I picked up the piece of paper, unfolded it, and read:

I have chosen sides.

My heart stopped beating for about two seconds as Bram's message sunk into me.

He's already chosen sides? What? But which side did he choose?

The answer suddenly became abundantly evident. Bram had left the note for me, which meant he expected me to go snooping, which was also probably why he’d dropped that little hint about heading to the library to work on his ledgers. He must have figured that I would try to get to the bottom of whether or not The Resistance could trust him, and therefore, he’d, more or less, led me here. I couldn't imagine any other reason for this sudden turn of good luck. Yep, Bram was offering me the information I otherwise would have had to work for myself. And thank Hades for that because it wasn't as though time was on my side. Not when a war with the Netherworld still hung like a pendulum over all of our heads.

Knowing Bram wouldn't want his letter discovered, I folded it and wedged it into my sock before grabbing the notebook directly underneath it and sifting through the pages. What I saw made me nearly choke on my own tongue.

February 23, 2009

Hemogrophit.................................3 lbs, $500,000..................................Sawyer Peninsula

Grondelbit.....................................16 oz, $20,000...................................Frazier St.

Ruthsbane.....................................2 oz, $75,000.....................................Holden Hall

It was a list of illegal potions, along with the weight of each potion, the money charged, and the various locations for each proposed drop off.

I had to look away from the ledger as I summed everything up in my head and tried not to gag on the information. So Bram had been involved in the illegal potions trade all along? It was a rhetorical question. The answer was as obvious as the ledger I gripped in my hands. I glanced down at the date again.

Two thousand nine! This has been going on for at least three years and I’ve never even realized it!

While I felt my whole being deflate on itself while gauging the extent of Bram's deceit, I refused to allow myself the luxury of dwelling on my own anger and shock. Nope, I couldn’t—I didn’t have the time. Instead, I focused on the fact that there had to be a reason Bram wanted me to find this. There had to be a reason he’d led me here, sacrificing himself in the process. Something was going on that was more of a worry to Bram than giving up his own game. And that thought scared the shit out of me.

I flipped through twenty or so pages of the notebook and found similar entries, only more recent. Flipping to the back of the notebook, I found nothing but blank pages. Backtracking, I saw the most recent entry was exactly one week ago, when Bram noted a potion delivery of Arson Flower to the loading docks near Splendor.

So why suddenly decide to come clean with all of this? What changed Bram’s mind? I mean, he’s been lying to me all along—ever since I first became involved with the ANC. Even when he accompanied me to the Netherworld, he told me he’d stopped working with my father more than one hundred years ago. So why break his silence now?

I glanced back at the drawer, but it was empty. Now on a mission, I shut it and opened the top drawer on the opposite side. There were nothing but Post-It note packs. Nothing was written on them. I closed the drawer and opened the next one down. A filing drawer. I opened a few of the first files, but found nothing more interesting than Bram's car insurance, some leather bound book club he’d signed up for, and various permits to run No Regrets. Nothing I could use.

Opening the next drawer down, I hit the jackpot. There, staring up at me proudly was Bram's cell phone. And just like the note and the ledgers, it was blatantly obvious that he’d left it for me to find. I picked it up and thought I might pass out when I clicked the power button and was greeted with a password prompt. All my hopes and dreams of solving the riddle of why Bram would lead me on this quest died with the prompt for his password.

Shit, I whispered to myself. Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit!

Then I realized there was no way Bram would have taken me this far just to have me come up empty-handed. He had to have left me a clue. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something.

Facing the phone, I entered “sweet,” and when that failed, “Dulcie,” “Dulce,” and “ANC,” but none of them worked. I tried “dear” and “my dear” without success. Then I re-entered each of the words again, trying with caps and without caps. Still, no go.

Then I remembered the strange way Bram had said the words “My home is your home.” I figured it was worth a shot, especially since I didn't have anything else. I entered the word “home” into the phone. Nope. I entered “your home.” Nada. No good. “My home” still no go. Fearing that I was soon going to lose my mind if I didn't get the damn thing unlocked, I entered: “MHIYH”, the first letters of each word.

I felt my breath catch as the phone unlocked itself. Immediately, I clicked on the phone icon and discovered a short list of “numbers dialed.” Grabbing Bram's folded note from my sock, I reached for a pen from the top of his desk and wrote down every number I could see: a total of four. Then I clicked on the “received calls” button and wrote down the five numbers I found there. As soon as I wrote down the last number received, the phone began to vibrate and I nearly dropped it. A text message popped up on screen that said:

Tonight. Midnight. Culligan's.

I quickly wrote “Culligan's” down next to the list of phone numbers. Then below that, I wrote the number from which the text had originated. I clicked on the icon for text messages, but noticed Bram had already cleared them out. Returning the phone to its drawer, I shut it and turned to my list of numbers.

Picking up the cordless phone on Bram's desk, I dialed the first number in the list of “numbers dialed.” There were a few beeps before the operator's voice came on to tell me the number was changed or disconnected. Crossing the number off my list, I tried the next number. Same thing. Third number started to ring.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

“Bram?” a female voice answered.

I immediately hung up and tried to squelch the shock that fluttered from deep down within me. Why? Because Christina was the woman on the other line.

So what? I chided myself. Bram admitted that Christina visited him on more than one occasion, so what does it matter that they exchanged phone numbers? It could be totally meaningless. In fact, it probably is totally meaningless …

After deciding I had a good point, I turned to the fourth number on the list and dialed it, only to find it was also disconnected. I crossed it off my list and turned to the list of phone numbers received. Four of the numbers were the same ones that were now canceled. The other two were Christina.

I sighed long and deep, trying to fight the feeling that there was something ominous about Bram and Christina being close enough to receive calls from one another. Maybe the reason the information bothered me so much was because neither Christina nor Knight ever hinted to Bram being involved in any of this Resistance related stuff. And Knight was absolutely pissed when he found out that Christina had arranged for me to stay with Bram.

Hmm, there was no use in speculation. I didn't know all the facts, and until I did, there was no point in jumping to conclusions. I turned back to my list of phone numbers and noticed the only one I hadn't checked was the number from the text. When I dialed the number, it just rang.

After five rings, I hung up. I folded my sheet of paper again, wedging it back into my sock. Then I started to leave Bram's library, all the while wondering how Christina figured into all of this.

FOURTEEN

The gown that Bram proposed I wear this evening was just as bad as the one from the night before. While the wine-red color was slightly better than the garish gold of the first gown, little else recommended it. This dress was just as obscenely short—disabling me from bending over in the slightest, all dropped dinner utensils be damned. Not only that, but the dress was so tight, I could see the lines of every mound and valley of my body. To make matters worse, the fabric itself was beyond revealing; the intensity of the light determined whether or not you could see right through it. And I’m sure every detail of the dress was not by accident, but rather, by design. With the hem of the thing barely covering my ass, the bodice was no more than a strapless tube. And as any woman with ample, natural breasts will tell you, tube tops are “the girls’” worst nightmare.

Even now, I struggled with the top, irritated with the weight of my breasts, because they kept causing the top to roll back down again. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I heaved a sigh of quiet desperation.

“I look like a freakin’ shrink-wrapped sausage,” I muttered, shaking my head at the outright indecency of the whole damned thing. “Son of a bitch!”

Hearing a knock on my door, I gripped the top of the dress and re-hoisted the girls with all my might, gaining maybe three millimeters more fabric. Before I could wrestle with it any further, the door opened, revealing my vampire host. Seeing him, handsomely attired in a navy blue, three-piece-suit, indignation suddenly overcame me.

How could he have lied to me all along? How could he have been involved with my father from the get-go, but sworn he wasn’t? How could I have trusted him!

That was the biggest kicker of the whole damned situation; I’d trusted Bram. I couldn’t help surrendering to the tide of disappointment as well as raw anger now flowing through me. I felt my hands fisting and my fingernails digging into my palms.

Get a hold of yourself! I screamed internally. Regardless of the past, Bram is on your side! And there must be lots more you don’t know, which he wants you to discover, so don’t blow that chance!

I took a deep breath and stretched my fingers, reminding myself that as a good ANC Regulator, I had a duty to focus on the cold, hard truth without getting sidetracked by my own emotions. I’d managed as much with Quillan, so I could do it again, with Bram.

One thing you know for sure: Dulcie O’Neil is one tough chick! And what’s more, she’s fanfuckingtastic at her job, I reminded myself.

Yep, I was right. There was no way in hell I would miss out on whatever information still awaited me. Not when the weight of the Netherworld rode on my shoulders. Instead, I was resigned to play into Bram’s game and let him lead me to the truth. I wouldn’t rest until I understood exactly what was going on; and the real reason why I was being shielded under Bram’s roof.

I glanced up at the vampire, who didn’t make any motion to say anything. Instead, he seemed to be searching for the right words. When he opened his mouth to speak, our eyes met and the words faltered on his lips. It was as if he’d suddenly been struck dumb. Thinking more on it, he’d probably just realized the same thing I had—that things between us could and would never be the same.

I shut my eyes and ignored the sudden urge to lash out at him with words as well as my fists, but I knew that would be a mistake. I was on the brink of discovering something significant and the last thing I wanted to do was screw the whole thing up. I glanced down at myself again and tried to prioritize my thoughts. First things first, I needed a safe subject.

“This thing,” I started, while shaking my head with obvious distaste over my attire, “sucks.”

Bram’s eyes widened in surprise only momentarily before he apparently realized there would be no long winded conversations about “why?” Then, as if reading my mind and, specifically, that I had no time for explanations or apologies, he assumed the role he always had. Doffing a devil-may-care attitude, he faced me squarely. His eyes, vapid pools of nothing, scanned my body from head to toe with undisguised appreciation.

He smirked, “It suits you, Sweet.” He was back to his starring role, as both of us knew he had to be.

“I vehemently disagree,” I snapped, attempting to heave the tube top up again. Finally, admitting defeat, I headed for the door, and nearly tripped over the ridiculously narrow and high stiletto-heeled boots Bram had left for me to wear. Yep, it looked like I was very successfully channeling Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

Bram didn’t reply as he openly eyed me from head to toe again before stepping behind me, and repeating the process.

“I believe one of my favorite parts of your body is this line here,” he whispered just above my ear. He reached down and outlined the top of my thigh, all the way up to where it met my butt. I spun around, taking a step back as outrage burned my cheeks.

“You keep your hands off me,” I chided, although he didn’t respond. Apparently it hadn’t been a difficult feat to drop back into the role of the perverted vampire.

“The mounds of your biceps femoris, where they attach to your gluteus maximus, are something of a delicacy.”

I shook my head, unable to staunch the irritability flowing through me. I still had so many questions I wanted answered, but I had the distinct feeling that Bram didn’t intend to answer them. Not yet anyway.

“And your adductor magnus,” he started again. This time, he traced the outline of my inner thigh until I smacked his hand and stepped away from him, fuming with indignity.

“I hope you know these cheap thrills count as the equivalent of two dinners of the four I still owe you,” I grumbled. “And the only reason I even wore this ridiculous outfit in the first place is because I’m contractually obliged to do so.”

Then I thought, given Bram’s blatant involvement with the illegal potions industry and my subsequent anger over it, that I could renege on our agreement altogether. But after further consideration, I decided an agreement was an agreement. And, what was more, I needed to get more information from him, so I figured I’d have a better chance if I played by his rules.

So here I was, shrink-wrapped to the nines. Farmer John be damned.

Bram didn’t say anything more as he offered his arm, apparently striving for gallant. I took it and we started down the hallway.

“I trust you found ways to occupy yourself while I slept?” he asked with an expression that suggested there was a double entendre in his statement.

I nodded, but the thought occurred to me that maybe we weren’t quite as alone in Bram’s house as it appeared. Knowing Bram was in cahoots with my father, as well as my father’s general paranoia, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least to discover the whole house was bugged.

“I spent a lot of time in the library,” I answered simply.

Bram didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but stopped walking when we reached the stairs and turned to face me. His eyes were inscrutable as he studied me.

“Very good,” he said at last, licking his lips. “And I daresay you … found something to interest you?”

Based on the way he wouldn’t come out and ask me what he really wanted to know, I figured either his house had to be bugged, or maybe he was bugged. Otherwise, I couldn’t imagine why he found it necessary to talk in code.

“Yes, I did,” I answered, studying him meticulously. At my words, Bram’s jaw tightened and I could only imagine he must’ve believed his plan—that I’d found not only his ledger book, but also his cell phone—had worked. I could see the epiphany in his eyes when he realized everything he’d been keeping from me for so many years was now out in the open. And, more so, that I now knew him to be a lying piece of shit.

He gave me his elbow again and after I beat down another round of anger over this whole situation, I took it with a frown and we started down the hallway, which terminated at the double doors of the dining room. The same goblin butler from last night opened the door nearest us and we entered the ornate room. I noticed an assortment of covered dishes already on the table.

“So you didn’t wait for me to order this time?” I asked, my stomach growling in anticipation. I’d been so overwhelmed by everything I’d discovered earlier that I hadn’t found the time, much less the interest, to eat.

“Alas, chefs live to show off their cuisine, do they not?” Bram asked. I shrugged, assuming his chef was probably less than thrilled with my order of salmon and Caesar salad from the previous night. So this time around, they’d left me out of the dinner arrangements. It didn’t matter to me, really. With everything else going on in my head, I didn’t have the energy to slap a dinner menu on top of it.

Bram said nothing more, but led me to the first seat just adjacent to the head of the table. He pulled my chair out and pushed me back up to the table once I sat down. The goblin followed quickly behind him and placed my unfolded napkin neatly on my lap.

Bram took the chair at the head of the table beside mine. When the goblin started to fuss over unfolding Bram’s napkin and placing it in his lap, the vampire shooed him away with a wave of his hand and the expression of someone aggravated by his very existence. The goblin apparently got the message. Leaving Bram, he started removing the domes from all seven platters on the table.

The first dish was rolls of buttered bread. Without asking me, the goblin lifted my bread plate and used a pair of incredibly shiny silver tongs to place a roll on the plate. Turning to the next dish, he heaped a huge helping of what appeared to be chicken casserole onto my dinner plate. By the time he made all the rounds and returned my plate to me, it was piled over four inches high with what looked like … slop.

“Thanks,” I said unconvincingly.

The goblin said nothing as he exited the room. I turned to Bram, who shook his head, sighing deeply. “Good help is not what it was two hundred years ago,” he said as he eyed the smorgasbord on my plate forlornly.

“It’s fine,” I answered while poking around the plate with my fork, trying to find something I recognized. I settled on a grape, which I speared with the fork and brought to my lips. My stomach continued to grumble with hunger, and it seemed the more I ate of the various dishes, the hungrier I got.

After polishing off maybe a third of my plate, I pushed it away and downed my glass of water. I was eager to find out what more Bram had up his sleeve, but wasn’t sure how to go about getting there. Bram still seemed to be talking in code, and I had the distinct feeling it was because we didn’t have the luxury of privacy.

“Do you enjoy classical music, Sweet?” he asked after a protracted silence, during which he swirled the mouth of his water glass with his index finger lazily. Like the evening before, Bram didn’t eat anything. He simply watched me curiously—as if he were trying to recall what food tasted like. He never rushed me, though, instead, seeming to enjoy the ritual of eating.

I shrugged in answer to the question of whether I enjoyed classical music. I couldn’t say I did or didn’t. It was one of those subjects I’d never really considered before because I always had more important subjects on my mind. “As well as anyone, I guess.”

He nodded, and must’ve taken my response as a “yes” because he reached for a little, silver bell that sat beside his table setting. He rang the bell twice, the tinny sound echoing through the immense room and summoning the goblin instantly.

“Sir?” the squat man asked. His fleshy arms were folded neatly behind his back as he faced Bram with a pleasant grin on his round face.

“Please prepare the ballroom; we would like to enjoy some music,” Bram ordered.

The goblin nodded and turned to accomplish the task when something appeared to occur to him, and he pivoted on his toes to face his vampire master again. “Any special requests, sir?”

“Hmm,” Bram said while considering the question carefully. He tapped his index finger against his chin and narrowed his eyes at me. He seemed to be deciding what type of music he thought I might prefer. His lips curled into a slow smile and I figured he’d made his decision.

“Bach,” he said at last, facing the goblin.

“Very good,” the man said. With a hurried nod, he disappeared through the double doors.

“Shall we dance?” Bram asked, his eyes narrowing as soon as I shook my head. That was when I got his gist—there was much more to his question than he’d let on. Even though I absolutely didn’t care to dance, especially to classical music because it wasn’t like I had any clue what to do, I was about to have a change of heart. With a simple nod and a subdued smile, I acquiesced.

Bram rose quietly, placing his folded napkin on the table beside his empty plate. Taking my chair, he pulled it out from the table and offered me his arm. I stood to accept his arm, allowing him to lead me into the ballroom.

The ballroom was adjacent to the dining room. It was a great expanse of incredibly high ceilings, with floor to ceiling stained glass windows and the most intricate crown molding I’d ever seen. The never ending, polished hardwood floors made it look like a room bedecked for a queen. The only pieces of furniture were several ornate, antique sofas which stood against the walls and were upholstered in black chenille. There was also an enormous, black, baby grand piano in the corner. As soon as I laid my eyes on the piano, the keys began to depress and a bevy of melodious notes sounded in the once quiet room. The keys continued to play, in a flourish of sweet music.

“Fancy,” I commented. “A piano that plays itself.” Or maybe it was the ghost to which Bram had alluded earlier.

Bram smiled at me in response. “Yes, Sweet. At times, even I feel lazy.”

I had no idea that Bram could play the piano, but I also couldn’t say it surprised me. I mean, as far as he wanted everyone to believe, he was an accomplished man … er, vampire.

I didn’t recognize the song playing on the piano, but assumed it was Bach, per Bram’s request. Bram walked toward the center of the room, and with one arm behind his back, bowed toward me before extending his other hand, gesturing for me to join him. I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn’t regret attempting to dance, but figured there had to be a reason why Bram was so intent on us doing it in the first place. I approached him and he wrapped his right arm around me, with his hand coming to rest on the middle of my back. Then he took my right hand with his left and extended them both out, perpendicular to our bodies. I put my left hand on his shoulder and away we went!

Bram moved his left foot forward so I stepped backwards, lest my foot be trampled. Taking Bram’s lead, I stepped out to the side with my left foot, mirroring his right. We continued on in this fashion, silently, of which I was grateful. I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing before any conversations could ensue. Otherwise I didn’t imagine I’d be able to concentrate on anything else. After another few minutes, during which we danced in “boxes” all around the floor, Bram leaned down and pulled me closer into him; so close, I could feel his lips against my ear.

“Speak to me very softly,” he whispered. “I cannot guarantee this house has no eavesdroppers.”

I nodded, having already assumed such was the case. Taking a deep breath, I tried to organize my thoughts. “What exactly is your involvement with my father?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper. Good thing that vampires have excellent hearing …

Bram seemed taken aback by the question, and I wasn’t sure why. As far as I was concerned, he should have expected it. He paused for a few seconds before finally answering.

“As you have already deduced, your father and I were involved for many years.”

Even though I already knew the truth, my stomach dropped in disappointment at hearing the words on Bram’s lips. Somehow, it just made it all the more real. Part of me wanted to demand the reason why he’d lied to me for so long but the more I thought about, the more I realized there was no point. Time was of the essence now and that conversation would have to wait.

“Why did you lead me to your library to find your ledger and cell phone?” I continued, now hell bent on getting as much information out of Bram as I could.

“You told me to choose sides, Sweet. I merely did as you instructed,” he said, shrugging like it really wasn’t a big deal at all. Then, apparently realizing his response was a lame one, he added: “And I knew the time for playing between the lines had passed.”

I nodded, satisfied. “How does Christina figure into all of this?”

He was quiet for another few seconds. “That you must learn for yourself.”

“How?” I interrupted, my voice coming out anxious and edgy.

“I daresay you received the text on my mobile phone?”

“Yes.”

“It might behoove you to follow that clue, Sweet.” His breath against my ear caused goose bumps to cover my skin as the chill reached the back of my neck.

“Culligan’s at midnight?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, in what sounded like a snake’s hiss. “After tonight, many of your questions will be answered.”

“How far is this Culligan’s place, anyway?”

“Perhaps one half hour,” he responded quickly. “There is a fleet of automobiles in my garage, Sweet. I will leave the keys in the Carrera.”

“What is Culligan’s? I have no idea where it is or how to get there,” I started, my voice sounding panicked.

“Calm yourself,” Bram purred into my ear. “The address will be programmed into the navigation in the Porsche.”

“Okay,” I said and took a deep breath.

“After this evening, you will not return here again, as it will no longer be safe.”

“Okay,” I whispered, finding his words ominous. If it weren’t safe for me, would it be safe for him? It was something I couldn’t worry about, though, not when I had much bigger fish to fry. Besides, if Bram was good at anything, it was preserving his own neck. “Did Christina know about your connection to my father all along?” I asked, wondering how he could have been in business with my father and Christina not know about it.

“No,” he crooned into my ear.

“What about Quillan?” I demanded. “He must have known you were in cahoots with Melchior all this time?”

But Bram shook his head. “No one, other than your father and a few of his henchmen, knows about me, Sweet. In all my business affairs, I have realized the valuable lesson that it is much safer to maintain one’s secrecy.”

“How has Trey never picked up on any of this?” I asked, amazed because there was very little that got by Trey.

“I imagine you can guess that answer to that question.”

“Magic?” I asked, my jaw tight. “Were you able to deflect the truth by buffering it with magic?”

Bram simply nodded. “There are ways around every obstacle, Sweet.”

Somehow that bit of information relieved me because I couldn’t imagine that Quill could have known about Bram’s duplicitous ways and yet not alerted me to them. “Were you responsible for the Denali explosion?” I continued with my line of interrogation, hoping and praying his answer to this question would also be a resounding negative.

“Of course not!” he said indignantly. “It wounds me to think you would even consider such a thing!”

“Really?” I asked facetiously. “It’s not like you were honest with me about anything else.”

“The attempt on your life was one of the paramount reasons I have exposed myself to you. “ He pushed me away from him so I could see the truth in his eyes. “I would never harm you.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I believed him.

“After tonight, all will be revealed to you and everything that appears cloudy now will make sense,” he finished with a twinge of indignation still evident in his voice.

“In choosing the side of The Resistance, you do realize what that means for your relationship with my father?” I asked, even though it was a stupid question. Obviously, he understood.

“Of course,” he said simply. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Thomas Jefferson.”

“Nice,” I answered, wondering how he came up with this stuff. “Then we can count on you?”

He paused another few seconds as he whirled me around into another box step.

“First you must identify whom, among your own, you can count on, Sweet.”

FIFTEEN

Later that evening, I was overjoyed to remove the horrid red gown and wear my own clothes. Granted, I’d worn my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt yesterday and the day before, but I’d also laundered them so it wasn’t quite as gross as it might otherwise sound. And, yes, I’d already tried to create a new outfit for myself, but apparently, Bram had ensured that no magic could be conducted in his home because every time I tried my fairy dust, nothing came of it. I did recall being able to rely on magic to open the door to the library and the drawer where Bram kept his ledgers which just spoke to the fact that Bram must have really wanted me to find them, otherwise I didn’t imagine I’d be able to use my magic anywhere in his house. Regardless, I couldn’t really say my mind was on magic anyway, not with the nervous energy coursing through me when I thought about what was going to happen at midnight tonight.

After tonight, all will be revealed to you and everything that appears cloudy now will make sense … Bram’s words echoed in my mind as I strove to understand what they could mean.

Was Christina double-crossing The Resistance? Could she have somehow maintained her ties to my father even while acting as the head of The Resistance? Bram never had indicated just what Christina’s role in this whole situation was. He’d simply told me that everything would make sense after this evening. Well, I hoped he was telling the truth because right about now, I felt more than a little confused over whom to believe and whom to trust.

As I threw my sneakers on and tied my shoelaces, I heard a knock on my door. As was customary for Bram, he didn’t wait for me to answer before opening it.

“Sweet,” he greeted me with a grin. He was dressed in charcoal grey slacks, a black shirt, and a black jacket. With his dark hair brushed back and his devil’s smile, he was the epitome of handsome. At that moment, I wondered if I might ever have developed feelings for Bram, if Knight hadn’t been in the picture. But then I figured it was a waste of time to even consider because I’d never know the answer. Why? Because Knight was still in the picture. Despite being the most frustrating Loki I’d ever laid eyes on, I still had an incredibly difficult time whenever I tried to banish him from my mind.

“Bram?” I asked, after realizing neither of us was talking.

He smiled and his fangs gleamed in the low light. “I am leaving now for Culligan’s.” He stopped talking for a few seconds and I wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, he beat me to it. “Please wait ten minutes before doing the same.”

I nodded, feeling suddenly dizzy as my heart began to pound. There was just so much riding on this evening, so many questions I wanted answered. Not only that, but I was also worried—both about Bram and myself. “Okay.”

“When you arrive, please be very careful to disguise yourself. No one must know that you are present, do you understand?”

His lips were tight and his eyebrows creased in the middle, giving him the expression of concern. It was an expression that seemed new to him somehow. Ordinarily he was the maddeningly irritating vampire with nothing but sex or himself on his mind.

I nodded again. “Yes, I understand.” I took a deep breath before facing him again. “I hope you know I … I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

His eyebrows arched as if he didn’t follow, so I continued.

“I don’t know where I’m going, or what to expect tonight. And after you so artfully illustrated that you’ve been lying to me the entire time I’ve known you, I’m not sure if I should trust you now.”

“You have my word as a gentleman that I would never willingly put you in harm’s way,” he said in a steely tone.

“I better not be making a huge mistake.”

Bram shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor before looking back at me. When he did, his eyes were burning with a fire that surprised me, and his fangs started indenting his lower lip. “I know I was not honest with you regarding your father’s and my … association, therefore I understand your hesitance to believe anything more from my mouth.” He paused, never taking his eyes from mine. “But I will make you this promise, one which I will forever keep.” He was quiet another few seconds. “I would instantly lay down my own life in order to save yours.”

While I couldn’t say I believed him (Bram exaggerated like nobody else), there was something in his eyes that made me want to trust him, something that told me I’d be safe with him. I didn’t say anything more and the two of us just stood there in silence, both at a loss for words. It was a moment I doubt I’ll ever forget—Bram’s gaze was so intense, I felt as if he was staring right through me.

“Point taken,” I said at last. Bram nodded, but before he could comment, I interrupted. “Are you in trouble?”

He shook his head, laughing lightly. “I have managed to remain alive these three hundred years by more than just accident, my dear.” Then the laugh died on his lips. “Trouble does not frighten me.”

I wasn’t sure, but figured he meant “yes.” But whether or not Bram was in trouble, there really wasn’t anything I could do to help him, especially after he’d informed me that I couldn’t return to his home after tonight. And, really, it was silly to worry about Bram—he was a vampire; survival seemed to be hard-wired into him. As to the other person who was absolutely in trouble, I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do after tonight. But I’d have to figure it all out later. Now, I had too much on my mind.

“Be careful,” I started, feeling as if a heavy weight had descended on me. I just hoped all of us, Bram included, would be able to resist my father’s power, that we’d be able to beat him at his own game. Even though Bram had lied to me about being in business with my father all these years, I still considered him somewhat a victim. And, furthermore, there was something within me that insisted Bram wasn’t a bad person, and I trusted that instinct. Knowing my father’s affinity for imposing his own will, I could see how Bram might have been forced into a business relationship with him, just like most of us had.

Shit, maybe I was going soft.

“I will, Sweet,” Bram said.

Then with a modicum of levity, I added: “Because you know, I’ll have to arrest you once this shit with the Netherworld is figured out.”

Bram threw his head back and laughed heartily before returning his gaze to mine. The mirth on his lips was replaced with a simple smile. “You do not know the joy you have brought me over the years, Sweet.”

I was only half kidding about arresting him—I mean, part of me had absolutely decided that Bram should pay for his transgressions. But then I figured since we were basically on the brink of war and Bram had gone out on a huge limb to help me, bygones should be bygones. Who knew what our fates entailed anyway? Maybe we’d all be wiped out by my father and all of this wind up a moot point.

Just call me the harbinger of optimism.

“I’ll see you in,” I started, glancing at the clock before looking at him again, “forty minutes.”

He nodded and we both stared at each other for another few seconds before he disappeared from the doorway. I glanced at the clock again and felt my hands go clammy as I stood impatiently, in the same spot Bram left me, just staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. At the end of the ten minutes, it felt like I’d been standing there for ten hours. My body switched to autopilot as I ran from my bedroom, into the hallway, and took the stairs two at a time. I glanced around to make sure no one was ready to waylay me while I was en route to Bram’s garage. Not encountering anyone, I hurried to the front door and opened it a smidge, peeking outside to make sure everything was clear. It appeared to be.

I started forward, with the cold air of the dark night assaulting my face. I could see the four-car garage in the distance and jogged across the courtyard that separated the house from the garage. One of the garage doors was already up, revealing Bram’s black Porsche Carrera. Seeing it now made me smile wistfully as I remembered all the times I’d gone to No Regrets in search of information. I only ever stopped in when I saw his Porsche gleaming in the parking lot, letting me know Bram was in.

Somehow those days seemed so long ago.

I reached the driver’s side door and opened it, eyeing the seat and looking for the keys. They weren’t there. Leaning into the car, I spotted them hanging from the ignition, so I got behind the wheel and closed the door. That was when I realized my feet were miles from the pedals. I adjusted the seat and the steering wheel before turning to the mirrors. After adjusting the rearview and both side mirrors, I turned the key in the ignition, the happy purr of the engine like music to my ears. The center console lit up, revealing a navigation screen. Even though I had no clue how to operate it, after a few minutes, I managed to find “saved destinations.” There was only one destination listed as “saved” so I figured it had to be Culligan’s. I hoped so anyway.

With a shrug, I clicked the start button and watched the navigation respond by bringing up a map of what I imagined was my current location. Figuring that was my cue, I started in reverse. As I was pulling out of the garage, the navigation advised me to travel west on Myrtle Street, which I presumed was the street Bram lived on.

At the end of Bram’s street, the navigation was suddenly interrupted midstream when the air popped and fizzed around me. In the blink of an eye, I was deposited onto a freeway onramp, thankfully going in the proper direction. Obviously, I had to have just traveled through a portal.

“Take the 101 South for twenty-two miles,” the navigation said, without missing a beat.

“Okay,” I answered and stepped on the gas, more than aware I’d already lost too much time by adjusting the seat and mirrors, as well as screwing around with the navigation.

The stars twinkled at me from the safety of the sky while I remembered being in High Prison in the Netherworld with Knight. More specifically, I recalled how I’d nearly been raped by one of the two guards. Cyclops, the guard in question, was incredibly determined, not to mention strong. Just when I thought my fight was at an end, Bram intervened. But that wasn’t the part that was causing my disquiet. It was the expression of the guards upon seeing Bram, how they’d both appeared to recognize him, even if they were also surprised to see him. At the time, I didn’t understand how either could have recognized him, since I was still under the mistaken assumption that Bram hadn’t been to the Netherworld in over one hundred years. But now the puzzle pieces were finally falling into place. No doubt, the guards recognized Bram because they’d dealt with him while in the employ of my father.

Well, shit, for all I knew, the guards could have been working for Bram! Furthermore, just how close was Bram to my father? Did Bram work for Melchior? Or were they partners, just as before, over one hundred years earlier? How much clout did Bram carry in the Netherworld?

“Take the next exit and then turn right,” the navigation announced. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was in the way before crossing the two lanes and finally veering onto the off-ramp. At the stop sign, I made my right and then another “pop” and “click” in the air signaled my crossing through another portal.

“Drive five hundred feet and your destination will be ahead on the left,” the navigation said as I hit the brakes, not wanting my arrival to be so obvious. Looking around myself, I found I was on another empty street, this one residential. Checking the clock on the dash, it was five minutes to midnight. I pulled the Porsche over and parked as I glanced down the street again and wondered how in the hell I was going to locate Culligan’s when I didn’t even have an address for it. Referring to the navigation screen, I noticed there wasn’t an address listed there either. Great, just great.

Remembering Bram telling me to disguise myself, I shook my hand until a mound of fairy dust appeared. Then I dumped the dust over myself, imagining my long hair suddenly short and black, with thick bangs to frame my face. Looking down at my outfit, I pictured a long-sleeved, black T-shirt and black jeans. Then, figuring I might need them, I pictured twin daggers strapped to the tops of each of my thighs. When I felt the cold metal against my skin, I grinned. Sometimes it was damned good to be a fairy. Yes, I could have tried for an Op 6 or 7 handgun, but I wasn’t convinced of my magic ability when it came to more complicated weapons. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I hoped no one would recognize me as I started for the door. Then, thinking longer on it, I imagined a ball cap, for good measure.

I secured the hat on my head and left the keys in the ignition since you never know when you’re going to need a quick getaway. Then I closed the door behind me and started down the street, checking the street numbers, while still trying to figure out where I was supposed to go. There was no one anywhere to be seen, which was good because the last thing I wanted was to be noticed or recognized. After passing the second house from where I’d parked the Porsche, I decided I was taking too big a chance by being out in the open and moved to the rear of the house.

My feet were nearly silent on the wet grass although I did come close to slipping. Hoisting myself against the rough stucco of the house, I peered around the corner and noticed a small graveyard right in front of me. It was adjacent to the house and at the end of the cul-de-sac. The graveyard was maybe twelve feet wide by fourteen feet long, and enclosed by a decrepit iron fence. There were maybe a dozen tombstones, all cracking with age.

At the sound of voices, I hung back in the shadows and watched two people walking into the graveyard to meet a third, who’d already been standing there. All three wore long, black cloaks that dragged in the dirt, their faces obscured by their hoods. If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought they were a trio of monks.

Eyeing the entry to the graveyard, I noticed the wrought-iron fence stretched maybe ten feet high above the double iron gates at the entrance. It looked like cursive writing in the curlicues of the ironwork. Even though it was written in reverse, I could make out the name “Culligan” on the gate. So I was in the right place. Well, right place or not, I needed to get much closer, but I couldn’t find anything to hide behind. After watching a fourth hooded figure enter the graveyard and join the other three waiting at the rear, I realized time was slipping through my fingers.

I shook my palm until I felt my dust, then as I dumped the particles over my head, I imagined myself shrinking to the size of a pixie (or a baby carrot) and sprouting wings in the process. I suddenly felt light-headed as my magic did its job and transformed me into Thumbelina. I felt my wings catching on my shirt, so I simply imagined the shirt ripping in order to allow for them, and the fabric complied.

Once I was Mini-Me, I tried flapping my wings and felt myself lifting into the air before fluttering to a nearby tree branch. I was still too far away from what now appeared to be giants in the center of the graveyard, so I flew to the iron fence post closest to me, concealed in the shadows. Still not able to eavesdrop adequately, I took a deep breath (flying was damned hard exercise!) and fluttered to a tombstone. Not wanting to call attention to myself, even in my mini form, I drifted down to the base of the stone and hid behind it. Poking my head out, I could still see the goings on of the four cloaked people who were now only twelve feet from me.

“Mr. S, I presume?” one of the cloaked beings began. He reached out his hand to the other man, who refused to take it.

“Yes,” came Bram’s succinct reply. Hmm, he must have been Mr. S. Why? I had no clue, but I prepared myself for quite a few rude awakenings where Bram’s history was concerned.

“Thanks for comin’,” the other man responded. I didn’t recognize his voice. It was deep and sounded like he had a mild lisp.

“Where is O’Neil?” Bram asked. It was Bram’s voice like I’d never heard before—there was no trace of flirtation or levity. He was all seriousness—lethal and dangerous.

“He decided it wasn’t safe enough for him to come,” the man with the lisp responded. “He sent us instead.” He motioned to the taller of the two figures standing behind him.

Bram didn’t respond right away. I had the gut feeling that he wasn’t happy with this news because I guessed he was expecting my father.

“Is she with you?” Bram asked. I could tell by the way he inclined his head, that he was studying the smallest cloaked figure, who was standing just behind Mr. Lisp.

The taller figure, whom Mr. Lisp had referenced earlier, suddenly stepped forward. In the moonlight, I could only see the lower half of his face, his lips too narrow for his ample cheeks. I watched his mouth part into a smile, revealing uneven and yellowed teeth. He tugged the cloak of the smaller person who was beside him.

“She’s right here,” the man said in a raspy tone. It sounded like a voice subjected to too many years of cigarettes and alcohol.

The small woman in the cloak stumbled as she was tugged forward. The black cloak fell off her face, revealing long, dark hair and big, brown eyes that I would know anywhere. It was Christina.

Anger began gnawing at me.

Here she was, standing right in front of me, representing my father’s side. She’d lied to everyone! She’d somehow managed to maintain ties to my father even while she pretended to be completely invested in our cause.

Why? I had no clue. I just couldn’t understand how we’d never picked up on it, on something! As soon as the anger flared up inside of me, though, I focused on Christina’s face and felt my ire begin to subside.

Something was wrong with her. She looked, for all intents and purposes, like she was in a daze. Even though she was standing on solid ground, she kept wavering as if she were drunk, and staring straight ahead, but focusing on nothing. She looked as if she were sleepwalking.

“Since we’ve got her right here, we should just kill her and put an end to it,” the man who was standing closest to her said.

“You are a fool,” Bram responded. “She has much more value to us alive.”

I felt a sigh of relief hearing Bram’s words. I wasn’t sure what I could do if they tried to kill Christina right here and now. I’d definitely blow my cover, of that much, I was sure. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about it, at least not yet.

“There are many questions she can answer for us,” Bram said as he approached Christina. He held out his hand, taking hers. As soon as their skin touched, she faced him, her eyes still hollow and nearly lifeless. She stared up at him, with no sign of recognition in her deep brown eyes, just continued to study him as if she’d never seen him before.

“How was the Netherworld informed of a war between O’Neil and The Resistance?” Bram asked her, his voice soft.

Christina didn’t respond right away, but when she did, her voice was flat. “The Netherworlder Today,” she said. “I contacted them to run the article.” Her voice was almost unrecognizable. There was no inflection at all—it sounded robotic.

“Bitch!” the man closest to her yelled out as he held his hand up as if to strike her.

“Watch yourself!” Bram growled and the man dropped his hand, but the grimace on his face remained, the upper half still concealed by his hood.

“Why don’t you tell Mr. S what happened with the car explosion,” the man continued, obviously mocking her. “Why don’t you tell him how you can’t do one fucking thing right!”

At the mention of the Denali explosion, I felt myself stiffen. Was Christina responsible for it?

Christina didn’t shift her almost sightless eyes from Bram. She just continued to stand there, wavering, opening her mouth and answering in a monotone. “I obeyed my orders.”

Bram glanced at the man beside her. “Explain this explosion.” His lips were tight, and his posture even more rigid than usual.

“O’Neil told me to get rid of Vander. So I gave this little bitch the Maegon and told her exactly what to do with it. ‘Course the little idiot just fucked the whole thing up.”

Christina didn’t respond, but continued staring straight ahead. She seemed oblivious to everything going on around her.

“Why was I not informed of this?” Bram demanded, his voice suddenly furious. He frowned and his fangs lengthened, the moonlight reflecting against them.

The man shrugged but took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. Apparently, he’d detected Bram’s fangs as well. I noticed the other man also taking a step back.

“Ask O’Neil. He tells me to shit an’ all I say is, ‘where, boss?’”

“This is between you and O’Neil,” the other man said. “We just follow orders.”

“I brought the fairy to you as you instructed,” Christina suddenly piped up, as though programmed to announce it. She didn’t address anyone, though, so I wasn’t sure who the statement was aimed at, although I imagined it must have been Bram. I also guessed she was talking about me.

“Very good,” Bram said with a nod as he offered Christina a slight smile.

“You got O’Neil’s daughter?” Mr. Lisp piped up.

“I do,” Bram answered. “And unless O’Neil prefers I drain her lovely, little body of all its blood, he better start playing by my rules.”

“I ain’t gettin’ in the middle o’ this,” Mr. Lisp responded. “All I was told ta do was get this bitch on the Blueliss, and tell her what the hell ta do with the Maegon. An’ that was it! The rest is between you and O’Neil.”

Suddenly, everything was crystal clear. Blueliss was an illegal narcotic, which I hadn’t seen nor heard of in the past five years, at least. I actually thought we’d wiped it out of existence, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. Blueliss was incredibly dangerous because it basically cleaned the user’s brain of all of her memories. Victims had no idea who they were, where they lived, whom they knew, nothing. The biggest kicker, though, was that whoever provided the potion to the victim could imprint his or her will upon the victim. The effects usually took about an hour or two to wear off, allowing the victims to return to being themselves again. Except they’d have no idea they’d ever been drugged in the first place.

So somehow, Melchior was able to track Christina down, but rather than killing her, he’d decided to turn her against herself. By forcing the Blueliss on her, he could also force her to tell him everything The Resistance was planning. As to the Denali explosion, even though Christina had been the one responsible for attempting to kill Knight and me, she’d been drugged into doing it and, furthermore, had no memory of it. And when she’d forced all of us to take the tests which would confirm or deny our loyalty to The Resistance, the only person she hadn’t tested had been herself, for obvious reasons.

I suddenly felt nauseous as I wondered how long my father had been using Christina as his puppet. It didn’t seem like Bram knew anything at all about The Netherworlder Today running Christina’s article. Maybe that meant she hadn’t been under my father’s influence for very long? Or maybe Bram just wasn’t as much in the know as he purported to be?

As to Bram being the mastermind responsible for keeping me under his roof, he must have thought it was the safest place for me to go, after realizing that Christina had become a well-planted bomb that could go off anytime. In bringing me to his home, Bram had been looking out for me, just like he promised he always would. But he’d also had another purpose—to provide me with the clues that would eventually lead me here, so that I could understand exactly what was going on.

“What the hell do you want us ta do with her now?” Mr. Lisp suddenly piped up, facing Bram.

Bram approached Christina and took her by the arm, pulling her closer to him. “Leave her with me. I will inform O’Neil of our subsequent steps.”

“You hopin’ for a threesome or what?” the other guy spat out, laughing. “Lucky bastard’s got O’Neil’s hot ass daughter an’ now this hot one. Maybe we should invite ourselves, Donahue.”

“You will not be invited,” Bram replied coolly.

Then he simply started forward, with Christina right beside him. I watched him walk through the gates of the cemetery to the sidewalk where a black limo suddenly pulled up. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I recognized the goblin driver. Bram seated Christina in the back before spotting the two men who still remained in the middle of the cemetery. He said nothing to them as he removed his hood and sat down before closing the door behind him. I watched the limo as it rolled down the street, and the red taillights disappeared into the darkness.

I wasn’t worried for Christina any longer. I knew Bram would keep her safe. Now, I had to worry about my own neck.

SIXTEEN

After my father’s stooges left the graveyard, I super-sized myself from Mini-Me and hurried back to Bram’s Porsche. Once inside, I magicked my hair from bobbed and black to its natural honey-gold. I knew I was back to myself as soon as I could feel the soft tendrils tickling my elbows. Then I turned on the engine, all the while figuring out a plan to move forward.

Shock still consumed me as I considered the fact that my father was aware of what was going on in The Resistance for Hades only knew how long. I sincerely hoped it wasn’t that long. The more I thought about it, though, the more convinced I was that my father couldn’t have known for very long. Why? Because I had to imagine he would’ve acted on whatever information he’d mind-picked from Christina much sooner than he had. For example, he never would’ve allowed the article in The Netherworlder Today to run if he’d known in advance such was her intention.

The other thing of which I was convinced was that my father would have waged an attack against us by now if he’d been in the know longer than I imagined he was. Really, with only a bit of choice information coerced from Christina, Melchior could have easily wiped out whatever threat Christina, Knight, and I might have posed, and basically shut down The Resistance, at least temporarily.

’Course, I guess, Melchior did try to off Knight and me with the detonation of the Denali; but considering how it failed, my father must have become more desperate to dispose of us. That meant things were probably about to get very ugly. Along those same lines, it would only be a matter of time before word got back to my father that Bram was AWOL and had taken Christina with him.

Recalling Bram’s warning not to return to his home because it wouldn’t be “safe,” I could only hope he would also follow his own advice. Knowing how smart Bram was, though, I figured he probably had a secret lair somewhere in which he and Christina could lay low. Either way, I couldn’t concern myself with Bram or Christina any longer. I had too much to worry about now where the entire future of The Resistance was concerned as well as The Netherworld and Melchior O’Neil.

And, yes, I was repulsed by how my father could so easily try to kill his own biological daughter without blinking an eye. But as soon as that feeling tried to rear its unwanted head, I silenced it. I refused, under any circumstances, to bemoan my father’s wish that I were dead because I wouldn’t so much as flutter an eyelash if the tables were turned. Just as much as he wanted me dead, I wanted him dead. Guess we did have something in common, after all.

Returning my thoughts to the future of The Resistance, I realized I had to come up with a plan and quickly. With Christina now out of the way (since it was too dangerous for her to participate after compromising the whole plan), Knight was now in command. First things first, I had to find Knight, whom I desperately needed. One major downside: I had no clue where I was. After traveling through two portals on my way to Culligan’s, who knew if I could travel back through them to get to Knight, wherever he was? Furthermore, I had no idea what part of California I was in—Southern, Central, or Northern.

I glanced at the map on the navigation screen and tried to zoom out, hoping I might recognize some of the streets or landmarks, but I couldn’t get the thing to work. After figuring it was taking too long to try to fix it, I took a deep breath and decided I had to find a phone and fast.

I checked the center consul of the Porsche, searching all the cubbies, but didn’t find anything. Then I reached over to open the glove box and pulled out the owner’s manual along with a folder of auto insurance and registration information. I tucked both back into the glove box and closed it, leaning over as I searched under the passenger seat, still to no avail. As I sat up, though, I caught the gleam of what appeared to be glass from a cubby in the passenger door. With my heart pounding, I stretched my fingers as far as I could, feeling my way along the cubby. When I came to something rectangular, I pulled it out and recognized Bram’s cell phone.

Thank Hades! I sang to myself as my entire body became giddy with the discovery, and a wide smile curled my lips.

But, I didn’t celebrate too long because now I faced a new problem: I had no clue what Knight’s phone number was to his Resistance-issued cell phone. The only number I did know was his private cell phone, which probably wouldn’t help me. And if Knight was anywhere near a Resistance compound, he couldn’t answer anyway since personal cell phones were forbidden. But I refused to give up … not yet anyway.

Left with no other alternative, and aware that Bram’s phone could be bugged, I dialed Knight’s personal cell phone number anyway. I knew I was taking a chance, but I was now at the point where I had to take the chance because I needed to get in touch with Knight ASAP.

The phone rang once, then twice and I felt my stomach constricting with anxious butterflies as I hoped and prayed Knight would answer. Another ring. Then another.

“You son of a bitch!” Knight yelled into the phone, apparently thinking it was Bram calling him. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you for the last two days looking for Dulcie, dammit! You better have a fucking damned good reason as to why the hell you haven’t been answering your phone! And you should consider yourself lucky that I have no idea how to find you, otherwise I would’ve shown up a long time ago! And Dulcie better be okay or there will be absolute hell to pay!”

“Knight,” I said, once he found it necessary to take a breath, and in the process, gave me the option to speak. I couldn’t help grinning because I suddenly felt like everything was going to be okay. It was a ludicrous thought, really; but just hearing Knight’s voice, even while yelling at me, gave me relief, in and of itself.

“Dulce?” he asked after pausing for a second or two. “Are you okay? Where are you? And why are you using Bram’s phone?”

“I don’t know where I am,” I answered quickly as I glanced around myself. I decided I should drive away from the area, just in case anyone from the graveyard happened to still be around and, more so, happened to recognize me. I balanced the phone between my ear and my shoulder and shifted the Porsche into gear, rolling forward. When I made it to the end of the street, I took a left and tried to backtrack as far as I could remember.

“Dulce?” Knight prodded after I didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Way too much shit just went down, so I can’t explain it all to you right now,” I started, thinking that I should find my way back to the freeway pretty soon. “But you need to come get me, or else tell me how to find you. The problem is that I have no idea where I am.”

“I will come to you,” he said immediately. “I can track Bram’s phone and find you.” He paused for a second. “Where is that bloodless bastard anyway?”

When I reached the freeway onramp, I figured I should get on it, if only to get as far from Culligan’s as possible. “I can’t explain any of it now, but Bram isn’t with me.”

“Are you driving?” Knight asked. “You sound like you’re in a car and you seem distracted.”

“Yes, I just got onto the 101, but I’m not sure where I am. I definitely went through two portals to get here, so I’m not sure how easy it’ll be to find me.”

“It’s okay. I already have a feed on this phone line, so I should be able to pinpoint your exact location in a few more minutes.”

“If you’ve got a feed on it, could anyone else have one too?” I asked, unable to conceal my concern.

“Hard to say,” Knight answered quickly. “But don’t take any chances. Just exit the freeway and go someplace public, or at least where there are more people around.” He paused for a second and then added: “We have to end this call.”

“Okay,” I said, taking the next off-ramp and finding a Vons supermarket at the top of the street. “I’m pulling into a Vons and I just exited on Parker Street.”

“Yep, just got the feed. We’re good,” he said. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “Just sit tight and I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as I maneuvered the Porsche into a spot just in front of the double doors to the supermarket. “Thank you.”

Knight hesitated for a second or two. “At least tell me if you’re okay, Dulce?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I answered quickly, watching as two men walked into the store and a woman came out. At least there were some folks milling around, considering it was so early in the morning. As soon as that thought occurred to me, I checked the time on the dash. It was nearly one a.m.

“I’m leaving now and I’ll be there soon … don’t worry, Dulce; everything’s going to be fine.”

I could only hope he was right.

***

Maybe thirty minutes later, I saw a black Suburban drive into the Vons parking lot. I recognized Knight in the driver’s seat immediately and stepped out of the Porsche, waving to him. He smiled and nodded to let me know he saw me before parking in the spot next to the Porsche.

I’d been incredibly consumed with angst while I waited in the Porsche, worried that Knight wouldn’t be able to find me. Or, worse yet, that someone had tapped Bram’s phone line, in which case, I’d suffer a rude awakening when someone other than Knight came looking for me. At the realization that Knight had found me, though, I was overcome with relief and gratitude. My cheeks ablaze with heat, I couldn’t keep the smile off my lips.

Knight left the engine running as he opened his door and jumped down from the driver’s seat. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a long-sleeved, white T-shirt, which made his naturally olive complexion even sexier. His hair was in disarray, like it hadn’t seen a brush for a few days. He had the overall look of someone who hadn’t slept well for some time. But to me, he was just as stunningly handsome as he always was.

It was strange, but staring at him in the early morning darkness, with only the moonlight reflecting on him, made time feel like it was suddenly standing still. I was faintly aware of a car driving past with two people in a heated discussion somewhere behind Knight, but they blended into the periphery. Somehow, I couldn’t unfasten my eyes from him, or find my voice, so I just stared at him. He did the same. As soon as I witnessed that charming, boyish grin that was so uniquely his, something inside me burst.

Feelings of liberation and happiness washed over me, and before I knew it, I was jogging the few steps that separated us and flinging my arms around him. The impulse to be next to him was too urgent to deny. I wanted to inhale his crisp, clean scent and languish in his arms. When I hugged him, the surprise on his face was palpable; but moments later, he wrapped his arms around me tightly. Then he lifted me up, holding me so close, I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

“Dulce, are you okay?” he whispered.

I nodded with fresh tears stinging my eyes. I wasn’t sure why, but I seemed to be on the verge of a total breakdown. Maybe it was the fact that I’d dealt with so much lately—so much that I’d been stockpiling in my head, with the intent to deal with it all later, that I suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and had to crack. Or maybe it was just the immense relief of Knight finding me and the subsequent overwhelming feelings of safety his arms promised. Or, better yet, maybe it was just because I was so damn happy to see him.

“I’m fine,” I said, relishing the warmth of his strong arms. His lips grazed the top of my head as he kissed my hair.

“Let’s get you in the truck so you don’t freeze to death out here,” he said softly, showing me to the passenger side of the Suburban. “And then you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“What about Bram’s Porsche?”

“It’ll be fine here for the time being,” Knight answered dismissively.

Knight opened my door and I stepped up onto the running board before turning to face him again. Without any warning, he leaned forward and pulled me into him. Dropping his head toward me, I closed my eyes and tasted his lips on mine. The kiss was sweet and soft at first. Then I felt his tongue suddenly trying to thrust past my lips as his embrace tightened.

I closed my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, meeting his thrusting tongue. I was overcome with the need to be close to him more than I’d ever felt it before. That was when it hit me that although Knight and I had had our differences and our miscommunications, Knight had only ever done what he thought was right and, what was more, he’d been able to see the error in his ways. Even though he’d been led down the wrong road in believing I was guilty of being in cahoots with my father, he’d also realized his mistake and repented for it.

And, what was more, Knight was really the only man I could turn to, the only man I’d ever been able to turn to. Quillan and Bram had both disappointed me by involving themselves with the illegal potion industry and worse still, with my father. But Knight was always true to himself. Granted, we still were at odds on some subjects, and I couldn’t say I condoned his keeping my father’s identity from me; but now I understood that he thought he was just protecting me. And even when he’d arrested me for working under my father, it was just another example of how he refused to compromise his values and beliefs of right and wrong. He did the only thing he thought was right. Plus, he did what I would have done if I were in his shoes, and believed he was importing illegal potions.

At the end of the day, Knight was the same person now that he was when I first met him. He was just as confident, caring, and determined to see good prevail. To be honest, Knight was exactly the same person now that he was when I fell in love with him, many months ago.

I pulled away from him and smiled, even as I realized there was entirely too much on both of our shoulders at the moment for us to try and pick up the pieces of our relationship in order to put them back together again. But I supposed it was a good omen that somewhere in my over-crammed and overwhelmed head, I was sure that I wanted things between Knight and me to go back to how they were before. I wanted us to be … us again.

“We have lots to talk about,” I said simply as I hoisted myself into the passenger seat. Knight nodded and closed my door. I put my seatbelt on and watched him open his door as he focused his eyes on me.

“It’s about an hour’s drive to get back to Compound Four, so we’ll have a little time,” he said. He took his seat and put the Suburban in drive, exiting the Vons parking lot.

“Knight, you’re now in charge of The Resistance,” I began, figuring it would take me at least an hour to tell him everything. Never mind the myriad questions Knight was sure to have.

“What?” he asked incredulously. I saw a look of worry in his eyes before he returned his attention to the road that led back to the freeway. “Christina?”

“She’s fine,” I said quickly, while shaking my head, realizing how awful my statement must’ve sounded. I explained about Christina and the Blueliss and told him I learned the truth at Culligan’s graveyard. I finished by insisting that I believed Christina was safe with Bram.

“So, Bram’s been working for your father all this time?” Knight asked, his lips drawn into a tight line.

“Yes, but that’s not important now. What matters now is what we do to move forward.”

“The little bastard,” Knight said as he shook his head. Taking a deep breath and sighing loudly, he began to nod, saying, “You’re right, we need to concentrate on our next steps.” Glancing at me, he added, “And for whatever it’s worth, it did mean something to know that Bram wanted to make sure you were safe. I guess, in the end, he isn’t as much of a little bastard as I’d like to think.”

I nodded my agreement, watching us merge onto the 101 North. Getting my thoughts in some semblance of order, I turned to face him. Our next steps were suddenly as clear as day to me. “Knight, there’s no time for us to wait any longer. Where The Resistance is concerned, the time for talking is over.” He eyed me and chewed his lip as he considered my statement. When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “My father knows too much now and it will only be a matter of time before he learns he can’t count on Bram or Christina, which means he can’t discover anymore of our secrets. Then he’s sure to get desperate, and things will go from bad to worse.”

“So, my second in command, what do you propose we do?” Knight asked with a slight smile on his lips.

I returned the smile and nodded. I knew what our next steps should, no had, to be. “We need to rally our troops and invade the Netherworld … now.”

Knight didn’t say anything for a second or two, but just stared at the empty freeway ahead of us. Then he smiled at me.

“Melchior O’Neil, here we come.”

The End

Keep Reading for the Bonus Short Story,

A GHOULISH VALENTINE

Bonus: A Dulcie & Knight Short Story

A Ghoulish Valentine

by H.P. Mallory

For all of you who couldn’t find the anthology, Kiss Me, Kill Me, with the Dulcie and Knight short story, I’ve included it for you here!

It was Valentine’s Day, or night, to be exact. And I actually had a date. (It’s not like I’m a heinous troll who couldn’t get a date if she tried, I just choose not to. Furthermore, there’s nothing trollish about me—I’m a fairy.) Now, before you start telling me how great your garden is and how your lilies are in full bloom or what an awesome movie Peter Pan was…I’m not that kind of a fairy. I don’t have wings and I’m not the size of a humming bird (i.e., I’m not a pixie). While, I’m not tall, at 5’1”, I’m like a giant compared to a pixie. And rather than buzzing around with the bees from flower to flower, I work in law enforcement. I help keep the Netherworld creatures on the straight and narrow—or, at least I try.

So, tonight I’d overridden my usual indifference toward my love life and actually accepted Knight Vander’s invitation to dinner and a movie. Knight Vander is a Loki—a creature forged from the fires of Hades. As far as I know, he’s the only Loki in my town of Splendor, California. And as to a description of the Loki who happened to be my date, here goes…Knight is in one word—gorgeouscockyfrustratingsexyoverbearing and he’s a detective who was sent from the Netherworld to work at our headquarters, the Association of Netherworld Creatures (ANC).

“Was it so bad?” Knight asked, peering down at me with his bright blue eyes. With his longish black hair curling over the top of his button down shirt, his tan complexion, strong jaw and Roman nose, Knight could have graced the cover of GQ.

“What?” I asked innocently, keeping my hands snug in each of my pockets so he didn’t attempt to hold one. It’s not that I disliked Knight—well, sometimes I did—but, it’s more that I just didn’t want to get involved with him. He’s too cocksure, proud, demanding and argumentative. Yes, he’s beautiful but that doesn’t amount to much in my books. Hmm, maybe I wasn’t being entirely honest—Knight was wrong for me on all levels but I couldn’t help my attraction to him even against my better judgment. And that was why I wanted nothing more than to keep him at arm’s length.

“Going on a date with me,” he answered with that boyish smile, revealing bright white teeth that almost glowed in the moonlight.

I glanced away from him and took in the beauty of the night. We were walking down Belfry Street and there was the lightest breeze disturbing the otherwise still air. The scent of honeysuckle was thick in the air and seemed to dance through my long honey gold hair, lifting the tendrils up to caress my cheeks. Belfry Street was on the better side of Splendor—it was replete with expensive restaurants and eclectic stores. We approached the end of the street which emptied into the oldest cemetery in Splendor, Green Pastures. Course, to the locals it was known as Daiseyville.

“I guess it wasn’t so bad,” I responded. The date actually hadn’t been bad at all. Knight had been good company, filling me in on all the adventures he’d had in Splendor since moving from the Netherworld. I knew he wasn’t staying in Splendor for the long haul, but he’d be here a while, since there was lots of ANC work to keep him busy.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I actually felt a little bit guilty about my less than thrilled response. I mean, Knight had shelled out a pretty penny on dinner and must have asked me five million times if everything met my approval. Then the movie we’d seen had been one I’d been dying to see for at least a few weeks.

“Everything was really great, Knight,” I added in a small voice.

He beamed like a proud kid who’d just gotten an A on his book report. I shook my head.

Knight stopped walking once we reached the decrepit gates of Daiseyville and studied me. I felt the heat of embarrassment staining my cheeks because I knew where this would lead. A kiss. Knight wanted to kiss me and it was as obvious as the fact that I was trying to convince myself I didn’t want him to kiss me. The breeze started up again and seemed to be pushing me into him, encouraging me to sample his lush and full mouth. Granted, I’d kissed Knight before but it had been solely because we had to maintain the façade of a couple hot for one another—otherwise our alibi would have been shot and our case jeopardized.

But, now there was no alibi and no case to jeopardize. It was just Knight and me—alone. I didn’t actually feel myself do it, but I took a step nearer to him and he closed the remaining distance between us, never taking his eyes from mine. He bent down and held my neck between his large hands, heat searing the tender skin on the back of my neck. Yes, I was going to let him kiss me, and furthermore, I was going to enjoy it.

Just at the moment when he closed his eyes and opened his mouth to come in for the home run, I happened to glance behind him and caught the image of a skeleton lazily leaning against the fence of Daiseyville, watching us with hollow, sightless eyes.

“Son of a freaking bitch!” I seethed.

Knight jerked away from me like I’d just bitten him and apparently realizing my Tourette’s Syndrome moment hadn’t been aimed at him, exhaled. “What?” he asked.

“Turn around,” I called to him behind my shoulder, already closing in on the ten feet separating me from the graveyard.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Knight said, apparently catching sight of the lounging skeleton. He jogged a few paces and caught up with me. “What do you think happened?”

I glanced at the graves, uneven with age—half had crumbled into the earth while the far side of the cemetery sported newer cement tombstones and neatly trimmed grass. But whether old or new, both were cause for alarm. I watched as the dirt of each gravesite began to bubble up as if someone were digging in reverse, from below. Skeletal fingers shot up from the ground like macabre flowers growing on fast forward—some still had flesh hanging from their appendages. I shifted my gaze from the dead who were in the process of unearthing themselves to the oily puddles of darkness that decorated each grave; slime spreading in a slow infestation of the graveyard. The puddles reflected in the moonlight, throwing prisms of color around the cemetery… something that might have been considered pretty if the spectrum of light hadn’t also illuminated the rotting flesh of the recently deceased or the smooth bones belonging to the long dead.

“Some asswipe spilled Gorm all over the cemetery,” I bit out. Gorm was an illegal potion. If you were alive and took it, you’d feel more alive than ever before—you’d basically be on Cloud 9 for about three hours before you suffered the worst of all come downs, starting with a migraine and ending with the feeling that the world was ending. Some creatures couldn’t handle the come down and took their own lives—it had taken twelve deaths before the ANC had declared Gorm an illegal narcotic. If you were dead and some jerk Gormed you, you’d come back to life—also for about three hours. But, you’d no longer be considered human, nope—you would have passed into the realm of the ghoul.

In the three hours of Gorm-induced re-life, ghouls became an absolute menace to society. They sought only to escape the confines of the cemetery to basically attack the living, searching for life sustenance. Good thing for Splendor that it had Knight and me.

“Looks like our work is never done,” Knight said with a sardonic smile. It was a smile that announced he was more than thrilled with the turn of events. Knight thrived on action and enjoyed nothing more than his position of detective for the Netherworld.

I was a little less enthusiastic. “I need to protect myself against their funk,” I said and nodded over my shoulder towards the dead, many of whom were out of their graves and hobbling around like newly born giraffes.

As a fairy, I’m endowed with certain powers—I can create dust and then use that dust to make basically anything I want (physical or otherwise). But, I also have limitations. And one of those limitations is the fact that dead and/or rotting ghoul flesh is like acid to my skin. One drop of the nasty stuff burns a hole that never heals. Kind of like the bite of a brown recluse spider on crack. So, protecting myself against the funk of a newborn ghoul was at the top of my list.

I glanced down at my outfit and said a silent prayer of thanks that I’d worn the longest jeans I owned, protected underneath by knee high black leather boots—the kind with a square heel since I can’t walk in stilettos. Thank Hades for a functioning wardrobe! I was less excited about my top. I couldn’t combat ghouls with my current black leather jacket—it was just too bulky. Underneath it, though, I had on only my red halter top, exposing a landscape of unprotected skin. I reached underneath my top and fingered the Op 6 pistol which I wore strapped to my waist. Pulling it out, I eyed the dragon blood bullets loaded in the chamber.

“How many you packing?” Knight asked.

“Six. A full house.”

“Not enough.” He reached into the waist of his jeans and pulled out a gun I’d never seen before. It almost looked futuristic with its super short barrel and palm sized grip. Maybe it wasn’t so much the shape that made it seem so foreign, but the color—neon green. It almost looked like a kid’s water pistol.

“Um, what is that?” I asked, trying to shield a laugh.

Knight scoffed. “Don’t laugh—this is a KG and the thing has major kick. It’s a new toy a buddy of mine from the Netherworld sent over.”

“Where’s the magazine?” I asked, noting the gun didn’t appear to have ammunition. The walls were see-through and it looked like it was filled with water—or something that kept sloshing against the interior sides of the gun every time Knight moved his hand.

Knight brought the KG into his line of sight and seemed to target a ghoul that was in the process of shaking the gates of Daiseyville, apparently hell-bent on escaping. “There isn’t one. It’s loaded with intestinal fluid taken from the Kraken.”

“KG for Kraken Gun?” I asked with a smile, pleased with my stellar ability of logical deduction.

He returned my smile. “Hey, it didn’t have a name and that’s all I could think of.”

“Real original there, Knight.”

Not offended by the slight, he faintly depressed the trigger and then released it again. “You depress only halfway so the gun can take stock of how far away your target is. Then you’ll see a red light. Once you see the red, pull.” Just then, he must’ve seen the red because before he’d even finished his statement, he squeezed the trigger and what looked like a dart of bright yellow liquid shot out of the gun and hit the ghoul square between the eyes. Once the Kraken fluid met the ghoul, it seemed to turn from a liquid into a gel and suddenly exploded into streams of fluorescent beads, disappearing into the ghoul’s eyes, nose and mouth.

“The Kraken fluid is engineered to enter the ghoul’s body—to get back into the intestine,” Knight announced. “Once it does, if there is any intestine left at all, it’ll start recreating the Kraken which the ghoul’s body won’t be able to tolerate or host.”

“So it’ll kill the ghoul?” I finished.

“Yep.”

“And if there is no intestine?” I asked, glancing at the skeletons that littered the graveyard, some so old their jaws, femurs or other large bones refused to stay intact.

“The process will just happen much more quickly.”

I glanced at the recently KG’d ghoul and noticed it looked…confused—that’s the best description I could think of for the non compos mentis thing. It had stopped attempting to escape and now just aimlessly meandered around the graveyard, taking no notice of its surroundings. It tripped over a gravestone and didn’t get back up.

“Needless to say, don’t get any of that Kraken shit on you. I have no interest in bedding a Kraken,” Knight announced and handed me the KG.

“As if you’d get the chance to bed me at all, Kraken or not,” I said with a frown. “All you think about is sex.” I accepted the gun and aimed at the next ghoul in line, pressing the trigger as Knight had shown me. At the red light, I depressed it entirely and watched the line of slime make contact with the ghoul. “Ew.” It was all I could manage.

Knight raised a brow. “Once you run out of dragon bullets, use the KG. There should be enough Kraken in it to last the evening.”

I eyed the KG and suddenly had the very concerning image of the nasty intestinal fluid coming into contact with my skin and turning me into a Kraken. “Um, where should I put it so I don’t come into contact with the fluid?”

Knight shrugged. “There are no traces of fluid on the gun. There’s a one-way chamber that shoots out only so you’re safe. Just put it in your holster.”

I eyed him squarely. “You’re sure?”

“I already told you I have no interest in bedding a Kraken. You’re safe.”

I decided to ignore that last comment and instead turned to the fact that Knight had just given me his weapon so what in the hell was he planning on defending himself with? “What are you going to use?”

He smiled. “I was going to ask you if you’d mind magicking me a sword?” He paused for a moment and narrowed his eyes. “I’m thinking something long, 100% silver with a thick blade.”

I threw my hands on my hips. “Would you like fries with that?”

“Get on it, Dulce,” he said and motioned toward the graveyard, as if reminding me I had better things to do than construct smart ass retorts. I shrugged and shook my palm until a mound of dust emerged. Then I opened my palm and blew the ethereal particles at Knight, closing my eyes as I imagined a sword to the specifications he’d just mentioned. When I opened my eyes, Knight was holding the impressive sword, slicing the air with it as he tried it on for size.

“Not bad.”

Now, back to the problem of protecting myself against the ghoul funk to which I now added the Kraken funk as well. Before I had the chance to ponder creating another fistful of fairy dust, Knight was suddenly disrobing. I watched him in amazement, wondering what the hell had just gotten into him that he would start stripping. He unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled off his undershirt and handed them both to me. I tried not to focus on the ripples of muscle that echoed his movements and instead glanced at him with questioning eyes.

“Um, what the hell are you doing?”

“Put my shirts on—they’ll protect you against the ghoul slime.”

I started to shake my head. “I was just going to magick myself a long sleeve shirt. Thanks for the offer though.” I cocked a brow. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

He smiled and it was a smile that overflowed with self assuredness. “I can’t catch anything. Put the shirts on—they’ll protect you better than anything you create for yourself.”

I glanced at the shirts in my hand and tried to make sense of his statement. A light blue button down and a white tee-shirt—they looked like regular XL shirts to me, but, for all I knew, maybe they were reinforced with ghoul repellant. “What, does Loki sweat protect against ghoul slime?”

He nodded. “Something like that.”

One more thing I forgot to mention about Knight and his being a Loki is that I have no idea what powers Lokis possess since Knight is the only one I know of. Furthermore, Knight finds it amusing to keep all the powers he does possess to himself so it’s like a treasure hunt trying to discover them all. And now I had one more talent I could add to the ever growing list.

I shrugged and tore off my jacket, dropping it into a heap at the base of the Daiseyville gates. I pulled Knight’s tee-shirt over my head and glanced down at myself with a frown. It looked like I was wearing a dress. Well, I wasn’t going to win any fashion awards tonight but no matter, if I could manage to keep the ghoul funk off me, I’d consider it a good night.

“And the button down,” Knight reminded me. “Never can be too safe.”

I nodded and pushed my arms through the sleeves while Knight started rolling up the cuffs so the thing fit me better. Once I’d buttoned up the shirt and he’d rolled up both sleeves, he studied me for a moment or two, his eyes dancing.

“I like the sight of you in my clothes.”

I frowned. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas.” Before he could respond, I glanced at Daiseyville which was now overrun with ghouls—all bumping into one another like a bunch of drunks. I looked back at Knight and watched him lean over and dig a fistful of dirt from the ground. He stood up and I was about to question him when he shook his head and appeared to be moving his cheeks like he was swishing mouthwash.

“What in the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

He didn’t say anything but continued swishing and then finally leaned over and spit a wad into the dirt, mixing it into a nasty dirt-spit paste. That was when I realized what he intended to do with it.

“No way,” I started, backing up.

“Dulce, your face is unprotected and so are your hands.”

He had a point but still, a mask of mud and spit? No thanks. “I’ll think of something else.”

“We don’t have time.”

Realizing he had a point, and that I had to let him mud me, I opened my eyes again and frowned. “Hurry the hell up.”

Knight laughed and began pasting me with the spit mud, until I’m sure I looked like a dirt demon. He stepped back as if admiring his handiwork and then set to dirtying up the tops of my hands. After a few more seconds, he wiped the excess on his jeans and faced me with a big smile.

“You ready to get this ghoul show on the road?”

I returned my attention to the graveyard and watched a skeleton and a ghoul attempting to climb on top of one another to make it over the fence. “Roger that. Looks like our tenants are getting restless.”

Knight smiled. “After you, my incredibly sexy lady.”

I swallowed down a retort and fingered the Op 6 in my palm. I wasn’t nervous although adrenalin was coursing through me. I hadn’t done any ANC business for a while; hopefully my skills weren’t rusty. We both approached the graveyard and stopped just outside the gates.

“Might as well take these guys out first,” Knight said and without further ado, he began walking along the fence, hoisting his blade above his head and repeatedly decapitating both the ghouls and skeletons alike. The bodies tumbled to the ground and the next line of undead replaced them, receiving the same treatment at the end of Knight’s blade. I figured I’d just wait for him to finish up before I wasted my dragon bullets.

After the third line of ghouls and skeletons were decapitated, the remaining thirty or so had apparently gotten wise to Knight’s scheme and headed for the center of the graveyard, away from us. That was our cue to go after them. Knight grabbed hold of the fence and hoisted himself over, looking like some legendary warrior going to slay the enemy, wearing only a pair of worn blue jeans and a smile. When he safely landed on the other side, he perused his surroundings and, apparently convinced there were no ghouls immediately threatening, leaned his sword against the fence and motioned for me to come.

There was no way I, with my 5’1 frame and short legs, was going to be able to leap the fence like freaking Sea Biscuit. So, much as I didn’t want to, I accepted Knight’s help. He grasped my waist and lifted me over the fence as if I weighed nothing at all, depositing me on the ground in front of him. He didn’t remove his hands but, instead, pulled me close and smiled down at me.

“I’ll have you know that I will still get that kiss from you.”

“Oh my God, would you get over yourself?” I demanded. “You have a graveyard full of ghouls to kill or have you forgotten?”

He released me and reached for his sword. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Dulce, but I also keep a tally on things owed me.” He paused a minute and seemed to be scanning the graveyard before him. Seemingly pleased with the number of ghouls retreating to the western end of the graveyard, he started in that direction and I followed him.

“You wanted to kiss me, I could see it in your eyes,” he continued.

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to focus right now?” I demanded. “I really don’t want to end up a ghoul’s dinner.”

He glanced back at me and shook his head. “You won’t be—not on my watch.”

A ghoul appeared to be hiding behind a craggy oak tree just before us and Knight walked around the tree, hurling his sword in the air before bringing it down. I grimaced at the sound it made—like a hammer hitting a watermelon. The ghoul’s head rolled out from behind the tree and I nearly walked into it.

“And, anyway, I’m a multitasker,” Knight said with a smile, resting the enormous sword against his shoulder as he continued on like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “I can decapitate and engage in sexy talk at the same time.”

“Well, I’m not and won’t,” I snapped and sensing movement near an imposing tomb just beside me, I threw my back against the tomb wall and tried to detect where the sound was coming from. Knight followed suit. The tomb was high—maybe ten feet tall by ten feet wide and the sounds of rustling in the undergrowth and the uneven hobbling of the undead interrupted the peaceful quiet of the graveyard. The cold of the cement sunk through both of Knight’s shirts and chilled me to the core. I tried not to shiver but couldn’t keep it at bay.

“They’re at the other end,” I whispered even though I didn’t have to—ghouls have terrible hearing.

“You go one way and I’ll go the other and we’ll circle them,” Knight answered and I nodded, starting forward. I crept around to the back of the tomb, trailing my hand against the cold wall. I paused momentarily as I held my Op 6 out before me, then pivoted on my toes and faced the four ghouls and one skeleton at the same time Knight did. The ghouls just stood there dumbly while the skeleton limped back and forth, holding its foot in its hand. It must have been the one that had been making the hobbling sound. Knight didn’t allow the ghouls any time for reaction and hefted the sword from his shoulder, arcing it before bringing it down in a clean, fluid motion. He cleaved off two of the ghoul’s heads while I fired at the other two, taking them both down. That just left the skeleton and before I had the chance to say “boo”, Knight had decapitated him too.

“It’s a shame about the skeletons,” Knight said as he wiped the entrails of ghoul goo off on his jeans. I checked myself and was relieved to see no goo or funk had made its way near me.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “They don’t pose much of a risk. They don’t leak toxic goo everywhere. If anything, they’re just guilty of being unpleasant to look at.”

I nodded. “You have a point. Anyway, they’ll be dead soon enough. They have maybe another two hours of life left. So, maybe we focus on the ghouls and just ensure the skeletons don’t escape.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He paused for a moment and appeared to be studying me. “That mud is staying nicely.”

I’d forgotten about the spit mud all over my face. “Thanks for reminding me.”

He didn’t respond but started forward, the moonlight reflecting against his hair until it looked like it was almost blue. Knight was by far the deadliest creature in the graveyard and I was suddenly very pleased that he was on my side. With his immense height, broad stature and Loki abilities, he’d easily defeat me. Shaking off such thoughts, I started after him when I heard a ruckus from just behind me. I glanced around and felt my stomach drop as a shard of fear traveled through me. There were maybe twenty ghouls and skeletons standing just behind me, separated by five paces.

“Knight,” I whispered, turning to face him before realizing he was nowhere to be found. “Knight!” I screamed louder and apparently awakened the ghouls because they scattered. Ghouls and skeletons aren’t capable of reason but it seemed as if they were capable of reason enough to realize I was alone because they suddenly stopped their scattering and looked at me. They watched me for a few seconds, as if unsure what to do next. Then a largish ghoul who looked like he could have been a football player in life, elbowed his way to the front of the crowd and started forward, moaning and dragging his foot behind him. The others followed suit and began making their uneven way towards me, rotting flesh dripping off their bodies. It was enough to make me retch right there. The skeletons continued to wander, tripping over tree roots and gravestones in their blind migration.

I held the Op 6 up against my face and then aimed, shooting Mr. Quarterback in the chest. He fell and three others surged forward. The Op 6 took them out easily with the dragon blood bullets. Dragon’s blood is lethal to any Netherworld creatures. And to the undead, Dragon’s blood is even more powerful—the ghouls dropped to the ground and any life in them dissipated instantly. Good as that might have been, I was out of ammunition so the Op 6 was basically useless to me. I tossed the gun to the ground and grabbed the KG from my waist holster. My hands shook as I aimed it, pulling the trigger. The yellow liquid squirted angrily and missed the ghoul before me by mere inches. That was when I remembered I was supposed to hold the trigger down only partially, so I could get a read on how far away the ghouls were. Problem was, I didn’t really have the space nor the time to get a read. I had to get them dead.

I backed up and held the gun out before me, aiming at two ghouls and depressed the trigger only halfway. At the sign of the red light, I depressed it fully and they both went down. Two down and a crap load more to go. It seemed as soon as their brethren fell, three or four suddenly replaced them. I needed to get to higher ground where I could take them out, one at a time.

Glancing behind me for something that might offer the benefit of height, the white of the tomb’s walls stuck out like a vampire at a blood bank. But how to get up on the roof? I eyed the skeletal outline of a dead tree nearby and figured if I could climb the tree, I could jump atop the tomb and take out as many ghouls as I pleased. It sounded like a good plan but I didn’t have the time necessary to run to the tree and climb it—not when I had fifteen or so ghouls closing in on me. I needed to create a diversion—something to keep them at bay and I wasn’t going to be able to do that with the KG. Nope, I’d need some good ol’ fashioned fairy dust.

I shook my palm until a mound of dust appeared then I opened my hand wide, blowing the glittering particles from left to right in front of the ghouls. The ethereal particles shimmered in the moonlight and caught the attention of the ghouls who just stared at them intently, no doubt captivated by the sparkle. Not wasting any time, I imagined a flame lighting the particles and was rewarded when a blast of light signaled the fact that the particles had caught fire, burning an arc of safety around me. The ghouls reeled back against the fire, just as I imagined they’d do. I turned around, bolting for the tomb while ramming the KG into my waistline. Reaching the bedraggled tree, I grabbed hold of the highest branch while hoisting myself up. My foot found purchase on the rough bark and I glanced back at the ghouls, noticing my fire was slowly dwindling and dying into reddish embers. The ghouls started forward again, making the strangest growling sound—like tires driving over rocks.

I grasped another tree branch and pulled myself up, until I was maybe another foot from the roof of the tomb. The ghouls surrounded my tree, grasping at the tree bark. Some fell down and the others appeared to use them as stepping stools, reaching their rotting flesh closer to me. One ghoul attempted to grasp my pant leg so I kicked at it, managing to knock it down. The others just stomped on it, their groans growing increasingly louder. They were nearing the end of their Gorm induced re-life which meant their need for life sustenance—for live flesh—was becoming more urgent.

I reached the top of the tree and pulled against the branch that would allow me to drop onto the top of the tomb. Even though the tree was long dead, the branch still seemed strong enough to support my lithe weight…or so I hoped. I took the branch in both hands and propelled myself forward until I was hanging between the tree and the tomb. There was a definite cracking sound and I glanced at the junction of the tree and my branch, noticing the bark beginning to split away. Dammit, I’d been wrong. The branch couldn’t support my weight and was probably seconds from falling off and dropping me to the hungry ghouls below. I began swinging my feet, the top of the tomb so close I could feel it with my toes. I needed to get to end of the branch—that way I could just swing myself to the tomb. But, the farther I went out on the branch, the more unstable and precarious my position. I glanced down and watched the ghouls staring up at me, as if realizing their dinner was currently playing the part of monkey in a tree. Fall and I was as good as dead.

I edged myself down the tree branch, my legs flailing in the air. Hearing the unmistakable sound of tree branches cracking, I swung myself again and my knees struck the top of the tomb just as the tree branch gave way and landed on the ghouls below. I felt my cheek smack against the top of the tomb and was momentarily stunned, bright lights dancing before my eyes. I shook my head, hoping the damage wasn’t permanent. Able to shake the stars out of my vision, I reached inside my holster and grasped the KG. I aimed at the ghouls below, depressed, caught the red light and fired. One went down. I repeated the process and another went down. Followed by another and another until every last one was down.

I leaned back against the roof and breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call. A large shadow making its way underneath a nearby tree caught my attention and I felt my heartbeat starting to race. It slowed once I recognized Knight.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, glaring down at him, the beginnings of a headache pounding through my temples.

“Fighting ghouls—nice of you to hide up there!” he yelled back at me, leaning his sword against the tree that had very nearly failed me.

I shook my head and turned to the task of getting myself down from the tomb. “I wasn’t hiding.”

Knight glanced down at the heap of recently undead before looking back up at me with an appreciative smile. “Nicely done.”

“Yeah, no help from you,” I muttered before reaching the conclusion that there was no way I was going to be able to get down. “How about helping me down from here?”

“Drop your legs off the edge and I’ll grab you.”

I dropped to my stomach and tried to grab onto the sides of the tomb but there really wasn’t anything to hold onto. Instead, I maintained my balance with my waist against the tomb’s roof and dangled my legs over the side.

“Gotta drop lower.”

“I can’t,” I yelled. “There’s nothing to hold onto.”

“Just trust me. I’ll catch you.”

Famous last words. I muttered something unintelligible even to my own ears and pushed away from the tomb, hoping this little stunt wouldn’t result in catastrophe. The headache coursing through my head was pain enough. I dropped for maybe a second before I felt his large hands around my waist as he caught me and hoisted me down to my feet.

“We make a good team,” he started, his hands still encircling my waist.

I gave myself a second or two to catch my breath. This had been a long ass night. “Let me guess…”

“I still want that Valentine’s Day kiss you owe me,” Knight finished, the smile gone from his lips.

I laughed. “As if I owe you anything.”

He shrugged. “You say potato; I say I want my kiss.”

I could feel mirth welling up inside me. Oh, he was going to get his kiss alright, a kiss that just happened to be from someone covered in mud and spit. I grabbed his head and stood up on my tip toes as he bent down. His mouth was warm and his lips so incredibly soft as they touched mine. I opened my mouth and his tongue was hot, demanding in the way it mated with mine.

I pulled away and smiled up at him. “Consider that payment in full.”

Then I tapped him on the chest and walked away, leaving him in the middle of the graveyard, covered with ghoul slime while a skeleton limped toward him and tripped over his foot.

The End

FOR WHOM THE SPELL TOLLS

Dulcie O’Neil #6

by

H.P. Mallory

For Whom the Spell Tolls

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements:

To my mother: Thank you for everything you do.

To my editor, Teri: I always appreciate your fantastic edits! Thank you.

To my son: Thank you for making me laugh every day.

To my beta readers Evie from Paromantasy and the Eaton sisters, thank you!

To the winner of my “become a character in my next book” contest, Rachel Wallace: Congratulations! I hope you enjoy reading about yourself!

To Mary Stadter: Thank you so much for entering the contest to come up with the title for this book. I really love it!

For Whom The Spell Tolls

ONE

The decision was made.

And now that the decision was made, I could somehow think a little more clearly. It was like the proverbial fog was lifted from my eyes, revealing the reality that we were going to invade the Netherworld.

The decision to invade the Netherworld was both complicated and not-so-complicated. The not-so-complicated part was that the decision had been made so now it was just a matter of planning the strategy for the invasion. The complications arose with regard to invading the Netherworld, itself, because we, The Resistance, intended to dethrone my father, who was not only the head of the Netherworld, but also a ruthless tyrant. Given our father-daughter relationship, some people might have considered the whole situation complex but as far as I was concerned, it wasn’t.

“You good with this?” Knight asked as he sat behind the wheel of a Chevy Suburban. He kept alternating his piercing blue gaze between the road and me.

I nodded immediately. “I’m good with it.” And that was the Hades-honest truth. I mean, only moments earlier, I’d announced that we needed to stop wasting time and invade the Netherworld now. Truth be told, I was concerned that we’d waited too long already. Why? Because I’d just discovered that my father had tricked the head of The Resistance, Christina Sabbiondo, into revealing many of our secrets which had, in turn, completely compromised everything we were planning. At this point, all we really had on our side was the element of surprise. And from where I stood, banking on the element of surprise wasn’t necessarily a good bet.

Knight offered me a smile. Even though he simply raised the corners of his lips—not even into a full-fledged grin—it caused butterflies to rise up into my stomach all the same. Maybe it was because Knightley Vander’s photograph could have been posted beside the headline “So incredibly gorgeous, it feels sinful just to look at him” in good ol’ Webster’s Dictionary. Or maybe it was his personality—the quintessential flirt who could basically undress you with just a glance. But he was also incredibly dedicated and devoted to people and ideas he believed in. All in all, Knight might appear the rogue and, in many ways he was, but he was also a good guy. A really good guy.

“You realize what this will mean?” he continued, eyeing me with his black eyebrows drawn together in an expression of speculation. His pitch-black hair and olive complexion imbued him with a certain Mediterranean air, but those crystal blue eyes muddied any hunches about his ancestry. I knew what he was though—a Loki, a creature born from the fires of Hades and created in Hades’s own burly, large and stunning image.

“What what will mean?”

“Dulce, we’re going against your father with the intention of bringing him down, no matter the costs.” He took a deep breath and seemed to zone out on the road before he returned his gaze to me. “And the costs could be your father’s life.”

I felt my jaw tighten at the mention of my father, Melchior O’Neil. Glancing down at my clenched fingers, I found my knuckles were white. I relaxed my hands and shook them out as I turned to face Knight. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a father.”

Knight took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “He’s all you have left.”

Unfortunately, Knight was right—my father was the last of my kin. My mother had died a long time ago and my father had only come into my life recently. But it definitely wasn’t a family addition that I welcomed or invited, by any stretch of the imagination. Melchior O’Neil, my father, was basically Enemy Number One, as far as I was concerned. He’d created an illegal narcotics Utopia in which street potions from the Netherworld were transported to my city of Splendor, California, (as well as many neighboring cities) through portals. My father had been importing these street potions for centuries. As an elf, he had the ability to control his own aging, and in the process, he was able to grow incredibly wealthy, thereby gaining even more power. The irony of the whole damn situation was that I’d dedicated myself and my life to fighting crime as a Regulator for the Association of Netherworld Creatures (ANC) here in Splendor. Funny how life sometimes kicks you right in the nuts … well, if you have any, that is.

“He’s not all I have left,” I countered. “Sam, Dia, Quill, Trey and … you … you’re my family. And you all are way more family than Melchior ever was to me.”

Even though Knight and I had experienced our fair share of issues during our relationship, there was no denying that we were absolutely in love with each other and always had been. Despite trying to talk myself out of being in love with him on numerous occasions, it was a complete waste of time. When it comes down to it, you just can’t rationalize emotion, much less try to control it.

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that I couldn’t convince myself not to be in love with Knight. Every time the man so much as looked at me, I felt my insides melt. What was more, a fire began to brew in my core—a fire that felt very much like yearning. It was a sexual ache the likes of which I’d never experienced with another man. But that was no surprise because sex with Knight was, in one word … addictive.

When confronted with my own thoughts, I felt heat burning my cheeks and shifted uncomfortably, trying to clear my own mind. Thinking about sex with the Loki wasn’t going to solve the issue of invading the Netherworld. All it would do was get me flustered, which was something I really didn’t need to add to the overwhelming list of emotions already plaguing me.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Knight said thoughtfully. He didn’t look at me, but continued driving. “I admire you more than words can express.”

“Hey, you aren’t so bad yourself,” I said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. I wasn’t really comfortable with compliments and mushy stuff. I never had been. It was one of the things I envied about Knight—he didn’t have a problem balancing his funny, sociable or tough side with his caring, romantic and emotional side.

He glanced over at me and there was no expression on his face. It was just a blank canvas of male beauty. “I am your family,” he said simply. “And I would gladly give my life if it meant saving yours.”

I swallowed hard, not able to face the truth in his eyes. I didn’t want to think about him trading his life for mine because it was a trade I would never accept. I would never allow Knight to die for me or in my name.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said softly, hating the image of him still and lifeless. I crossed my arms against my chest and felt my chin starting to jut out in defiance. “We’re going to take my father down and that’s that.”

Knight nodded with a slight smile as he studied me. After another few seconds, he glanced back at the road, as if to make sure we weren’t veering into oncoming traffic. When we were safely traveling in our traffic lane, he looked at me again. This time, there was something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—a certain twinkle like he was pleased to know something I didn’t.

“One thing I do know for sure,” he started, but seemed to swallow his words. Instead, he just wetted his lips with his tongue.

“What do you know for sure?” I asked, sounding less than interested.

“Once this shit with Melchior is figured out,” he continued, sparing a few seconds for the road before returning his intense gaze to mine, “I’m locking both of us in my bedroom for at least a week; and at the end of that week, you won’t be able to walk.”

My stomach dropped down to my feet as the butterflies that were already causing a quiet flurry inside me suddenly intensified, feeling like a flock of angry crows. The yearning I mentioned earlier became an all-out conflagration of need, so intense my heartbeat raced and my breath started coming in short gasps. Yep, this was exactly what Knightley Vander did to me. At the mere mention of sex, I became a slobbering dog.

“Oh … okay,” I said dumbly. But it wasn’t my fault—words had completely escaped me.

“I need to taste you, Dulcie,” Knight whispered, and his eyes began to glow like they did whenever he was turned on or … jealous. He shook his head and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Meanwhile, I felt like my insides were succumbing to an avalanche of craving. “I keep replaying a memory of you in my mind and I think it’s slowly driving me crazy.”

“A memory?” I repeated in a mousey voice as I felt my own hands gripping the leather seat more tightly.

I could see his eyes flaming white, their glow his way of telling me that his body had selected me as his mate, and I was his for the taking. It was something innate to Lokis—in order for a Loki to procreate, the woman with whom he mated had to be strong enough to bear his seed. And Knight’s body had illustrated the fact that I was strong enough by glowing whenever Knight and I were being intimate or if another man ventured anywhere near me.

“I’m on top of you,” Knight started in a deep, but breathy voice. Thank Hades he wasn’t looking at me, and instead watched the road, because I feared I’d melt into a sticky mess if he so much as even glanced my way.

“You’re naked and your hair is spread all over my pillow and all over your breasts,” he continued, still staring straight ahead. “I wrap my hands around your tiny waist, trying to force myself to go slowly with you, to savor every inch of you. But there’s something primitive in me that keeps yelling at me to … to plunge myself into you as hard and deep as I can, to make you realize you’re mine.”

Without any warning, he suddenly slammed his hand against the steering wheel. I instantly realized that whatever this primitive thing inside of him was, he didn’t like it. He finally pulled his attention away from the road and looked at me with what appeared to be anger in his eyes. “There’s something in me, Dulcie, something I’m always at odds with. I think of it as a sort of instinctual beast and the beast tells me to take what I want. Most of the time, I can keep it in check, but with you, I’m always teetering on the edge.”

He paused and I could see his jaw visibly tightening. “Um, go on,” I whispered, thinking to myself that I wanted nothing more than the beast to make its appearance. At this point, Knight was teasing me as much as himself, and even though it was torture, there was no way in hell I would let him stop.

“I remember pushing my finger into you and you arching up against me and moaning.” He stopped talking and faced forward, the glow of his eyes obvious, even in his profile. “The beast nearly took complete control of me then, Dulcie. I wanted nothing more than to spread your legs wide and thrust myself into you. I had to close my eyes and force it back.” He took a breath and chuckled. “And then you told me you needed me inside you.”

I remembered this particular incident—it was probably one of the most intense sexual episodes Knight and I had ever experienced together. It was relatively early on in our relationship and I was over at Knight’s house. We’d just taken a shower after an especially long motorcycle ride. As soon as we were out of the shower, Knight had carried me to his bed and the rest was history, as they say.

“I couldn’t control myself once you said those words,” he continued, the chuckle dying on his lips. “The beast took over and I had to be inside you.” He was quiet for a second or two and when he started talking again, his voice was suddenly raw. “I remember looking down at your beautiful body while I spread your legs and wondered how a woman could turn me on so much.” He shook his head as if he still didn’t have an answer to his question. “And the feel of your tight slickness when I pushed into you ...” His voice trailed into soft quiet again as I silently begged him to continue. I’d never been so turned on by words before. But it wasn’t that surprising because this was how sex with Knight was—completely mind-blowing.

“What’s funny is that the memory is so clear, it’s like it happened yesterday.” He chuckled again. “Maybe it’s because I’ve replayed it so many times in my head, it keeps its novelty.” He paused as he appeared to contemplate it, finally shaking his head. “I don’t really know why.”

“Tangent,” I snapped, surprised by the irritation in my voice. “Back to the point.”

Knight gave me a raised brow and a smirk that was, even now, broadening. “Excuse me, Ms. Demanding.”

“Ahem, back to the story, please,” I corrected myself, adding a pleasant smile.

He suddenly pulled the Suburban to the side of the road, and the uneven terrain caused my teeth to chatter in my head. A few rocks pelted my door as a dust storm circled the car, manifesting the fact that Knight was driving too fast. He turned to face me, making no motion to do anything other than stare at me, but it felt more like he was staring right through me.

“The part I can’t erase from my mind and the part that I keep replaying over and over again is the feel of you. How wet and tight you were when I pushed myself into you. I remember a voice inside my head telling me to take you even faster, to push into you harder and deeper. I couldn’t fight the beast, Dulcie. As soon as I watched your beautiful breasts bouncing up and down, the beast won. Even though I wanted to close my eyes and fight my urges, I couldn’t stop staring at your stunning body. I couldn’t stop staring at myself going in and out of you.” He sighed long and hard. “The only other time I lost myself to the power of the beast was that time in the Denali on the side of the road.”

That was another incident when our sex got rough. At the time, Knight and I weren’t getting along. Even though I told him things were too ugly between us for us to have sex, he could read my body language, which shouted that I wanted him … badly.

“I think the beast needs to be released every now and then,” I whispered, following his gaze to my breasts. I noticed the line of my nipples standing out against my shirt in an obvious broadcast of my own arousal.

Knight reached over and took my right nipple between his thumb and middle finger, pinching it slightly. There were a good few seconds where I completely forgot to breathe. I couldn’t help it as my gaze drifted south to his lap. And, just as I imagined, he was already straining against his jeans, the outline of his penis more than obvious. I felt a stinging between my thighs and knew my body was preparing itself to receive him.

He didn’t say anything more, so I brought my eyes from his erection back to his face, only to find him staring at me.

“I’m about a second away from tearing off your pants and burying my face between your legs,” he said with calm resolve.

“Um,” I responded, but again lost the ability to form words.

“But I’m not going to,” he finished, dropping his hand. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then his side mirror, and finding the coast clear, pulled back onto the road, leaving another cloud of dust in his wake.

There was a definite sense of disappointment welling up within me. “Why?” I asked the obvious.

“Because I’ve got a team meeting to orchestrate,” he said with a lofty smile. Then without waiting for my response, he pressed a button on the steering wheel and said: “Dial Dia.” The sound of dialing filled the car as I tried to put a lid on the intense desire to jump him.

“You are such a tease,” I muttered to which he smiled a broader grin. The bastard was proud of himself!

“Unless you’re callin’ to tell me you’ve decided to take a ride on the goblin train, I’m not interested,” Dia’s voice rang out.

Dia, a somnogobelinus, was a specialized type of goblin who could influence people’s dreams. If that doesn’t sound especially impressive, Dia’s abilities allowed her to insert herself into people’s dreams and if she harmed or killed them during sleep, they would also die in real life. But, luckily for us, Dia was more interested in rescuing people. She headed the Association for Netherworld Creatures in a neighboring city of Moon and was also one of the board members (for lack of a better word) of our Resistance team.

The Resistance team comprised five Netherworld creatures who were specially chosen to help our former head, Christina, plan an attack against my father. But now Christina was no longer a viable leader because my father had subjected her to an illegal potion which forced her to divulge any and all information regarding The Resistance. As such, Knight was now in charge, and I was his second in command.

Knight chuckled. “I need everyone at the cabin, pronto.”

“Roger that,” Dia said with a hearty laugh. It was one of those contagious giggles where you can’t help but smile or laugh yourself.

“Everyone needs to arrive in less than twenty minutes,” Knight added with authority.

“I want Sam and Trey there as well,” I interrupted.

“Hi, girl,” Dia piped up. “Phew, I’m glad to know you’re with the Loki ’cause I was gettin’ worried.”

After my father tried to assassinate Knight and me, I had to go underground with a “friend” of mine named Bram. At the time, I didn’t know Bram was in cahoots with my father for the past couple of centuries. But, as with most Netherworld creatures living on Earth, Bram also wanted to renounce his ties to Melchior. According to Bram, he was now firmly entrenched in The Resistance camp.

“Hi, D,” I answered. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Amen ta that, sistah!” Dia said with a laugh. “Okay, Sam and Trey, I’m on it.”

Samantha White was my best friend and an incredibly gifted witch. She worked alongside me at the ANC and I considered her a devoted ally both to the ANC and to The Resistance. Trey also worked with me at the ANC as a fellow Regulator. He was a hobgoblin, who had the ability to see the past, present and the future in dream-like vignettes that had helped us crack many cases. Just as he was a boon to the ANC, I knew The Resistance could also benefit from his talents.

“And Quillan needs to be involved too,” I added, even as I realized my comment wouldn’t go over well with Knight.

Knight immediately shook his head, but I was steadfast in my belief that Quill should be part of our preparations to invade the Netherworld. “He was my father’s right-hand man, Knight,” I argued. “Quill knows the way my father thinks and without him, we’d be doing ourselves a huge disservice.”

“I don’t trust him,” Knight answered, his jaw tightly clenched. I noticed he refused to even glance my way and, instead, kept his eyes trained on the road ahead of us.

“Your fairy’s got a point,” Dia said. “Quill could help us, Knight.”

“And what if he still maintains ties to Melchior?” Knight demanded. “What then?”

“He has nothing to do with my father anymore,” I said in a soft voice, knowing Quillan was a sore subject where Knight was concerned. It wasn’t just because Quill once worked for my father, either. Quill had been my boss at the ANC before we discovered he was working for my father. And once upon a time, I’d even had a big crush on him, a crush which he’d returned and now made no attempts to hide. If the truth be told, I believed Knight was a little jealous over my friendship with Quill. “He took the tests of his loyalty to The Resistance just like everyone else did,” I argued. “And what’s more, he passed every single one of them.”

Knight swallowed hard, sighing deeply as his left eyebrow arched in what could only be described as a lack of enthusiasm. “Quillan too,” he said simply.

***

The “cabin” was a fitting name. Ensconced in myriad enormous, snow-decked Linden trees (which sort of look like poplars), the lodge was completely constructed from hewn logs. It took Knight and me about ten minutes to get here, during which time we traveled through three portals. Not surprisingly, we were the first to arrive.

I opened my door and shivered in the cold wintry air. “Where are we?” I asked, glancing around to find we were in the middle of basically nowhere. There wasn’t another cabin, house or lodge within view, just the refreshing smell of ice and earth permeating the otherwise still air. A few lone birds sang out dolefully, and the snow flurries dropped from the boughs overhead to find a final resting place on the ground.

Knight reached behind his seat and produced a black, down coat, which he handed to me. “Here, this will keep you warm.”

I accepted it eagerly and threw it on, zipping it up as I realized it was a woman’s coat and also my size. “Do you always carry around random women’s clothing?”

Knight chuckled. “I know your size, silly.” Then he looked me up and down appraisingly. “And, no, I don’t just carry random clothing around. I knew we’d be coming here.” He smiled from ear to ear. “I planned.”

“And where is here again?” I reminded him of my first question as I tried not to notice how his grin lit up his entire face.

“Southern Germany, in Bavaria,” Knight announced, almost proudly. “The town is Garmisch.”

I shook my head in wonder as I took in my surroundings again. It looked like we were at the base of the Alps, the mountains beyond the trees incredibly steep by anyone’s account. “Ten minutes to Germany. Portal travel is the way to go,” I said.

Knight laughed and started for the door to the lodge, unlocking it and opening it wide. From my viewpoint, I could make out dark wood floors and a fireplace that occupied one entire wall. Knight stepped over the threshold and faced the fireplace, as flames began to erupt in the firebox. Then he eyed me as if seeking praise for a job well done.

“Another of your Loki abilities?” I grumbled, sounding less than thrilled. It was an ongoing joke between the two of us—as a Loki, Knight had myriad abilities, abilities which he kept under lock and key. The only reason I knew he was capable of anything at all was because I simply stumbled upon them the more time we spent together. What number this latest ability was, I had no clue—I’d lost track a long time ago.

“Forged from the fires of Hades,” he answered with a self-impressed smile.

I was spared the need to respond when the sound of wheels crunching snow caught my attention. I turned around and watched Dia arriving in a scarlet red Cadillac Escalade, complete with spinning rims. I could hear the beat of Rihanna’s “Diamonds” blaring, even though the windows were all rolled up. Sam was sitting beside Dia and I could make out Trey and Quill in the backseat.

“The party can now officially start, y’all,” Dia shouted as she opened her door.

Dia is very tall and curvy with the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. Her skin is the color of hot chocolate and paired with her fire-engine red snow jacket, she was a sight to behold.

“Dulce, you’re okay!” Sam said as she stepped out of the car and hurried toward me, with Trey and Quill right behind her. Sam threw her arms around me and beamed happily. “It’s so good to see you.” She hugged me again. “I was so worried since no one heard from you and Knight couldn’t reach Bram.”

I started to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of another car pulling up. I turned and watched someone I didn’t recognize pull up in a silver Land Rover LR4. Sitting beside her was Erica Comacho. I didn’t know Erica well, but what I did know of her, I liked even though our relationship hadn’t exactly begun on good terms. It was sort of hard not to like her because she was so closely related to me, ancestry-wise. As a nymph, she was separated from fairies by just a few branches in the evolution tree. Layman speaking, she was a distant cousin. Similar to fairies, nymphs also possessed magic, but only when they were in the natural environment because their magic came from natural elements. Given how natural this environment was, I imagined Erica was going to have a field day with her magic.

The driver killed the engine and opened the door, stepping outside. She was strikingly pretty and looked like she was in her late twenties. She wasn’t much taller than I was, maybe 5’3 if I had to guess. What sun there was lit up the caramel highlights in her otherwise brown hair which was maybe two inches past her shoulders. Her brown eyes had a sweetness to them and with her plump lips, she was definitely a looker. She was dressed in tightly fitting blue jeans and a tighter black sweater, both of which revealed her naturally curvaceous body. A pair of nude, platform peep-toe heels peeked out from beneath her jeans.

“MJ!” Knight called out from beside me as the woman faced him with a huge grin. They instantly threw their arms around one another as I was left wondering how in the hell they knew each other.

“It’s great to see you, Vander,” she said to him, once they’d separated.

Knight glanced at me and motioned for me to join them, so I walked over, trying to force jealous feelings from my gut. It would just have been so much easier if Knight decided to surround himself with women who were less than attractive. Really, was that too much to ask?

“Dulce, this is Rachel Wallace,” he said as he glanced back at his “friend” and smiled at her. “MJ, this is Dulcie O’Neil.”

Rachel extended her hand and smiled at me warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said with a grin. “It’s really great to finally meet you.”

“You too,” I said and forced a smile. “Though I’m not sure how you and Knight know each other?”

She started to color a bit and dropped her chin as if she was embarrassed.

“We used to date,” Knight answered as I felt my eyes widen and the jealousy that had been threatening me earlier suddenly amplified tenfold.

“Oh,” I said, not really knowing what else there was to say.

“That was a long time ago,” Rachel added quickly, as if to assure me that neither of them had feelings for one another anymore. Something which waited to be seen…

“Oh, I found MJ for you, Knight,” Erica said as she faced Knight with a smile.

“Thanks,” Knight said, before turning to face me. “MJ worked for me as a Regulator before I came to Splendor.”

Hmm, so I wasn’t the only employee he’d ever dated. Interesting. Not so much interesting, actually, as it was irritating.

“She was a very good Regulator so I thought it would behoove us to have her on our team,” he finished, obviously realizing it was important to explain exactly why he’d decided to include his ex-girlfriend.

“The more, the merrier, right?” I said with a forced smile. “So should I call you Rachel or MJ?” I asked, facing her.

She blushed. “Most people call me Rachel. MJ is just a nickname I’ve had since I was little.”

“Ah,” I said and nodded. “What does it stand for?”

“Minnie Jean,” she said with a quick smile.

Not wanting to focus on the fact that Knight and she had been close enough for him to refer to her using her nickname she’d had since she was a kid, I instead decided to focus on Erica as she took a deep breath and grinned broadly. Her red hair stood out in stark contrast to the snow-covered ground. The first two times I’d met her, her hair was aqua blue and then canary yellow. Today, it was still cutely bobbed and just as red as Dia’s jacket.

Erica closed her eyes and held her hands up on either side of her, inhaling deeply. When she opened her eyes again, they appeared to be backlit green. She opened her palms wide and a glowing white light appeared in each of them. The tail of the light seemed to push up from the snow-covered ground, through her palms, and shattered into a beautiful display of prismatic light. She threw her hands upward and the air suddenly responded with a deluge of falling snow. It landed on all of us and looking at the horizon, I realized it was snowing as far as I could see.

I glanced at Erica again and she dropped her hands as she smiled. “It’s good to be a nymph,” she said simply. Then she turned back to face the Durango and frowned. “Dude, Fagan, get a move on!” she called to the man still sitting in the backseat. What in the hell he’d been doing back there was anyone’s guess.

She faced me again and rolled her eyes as Fagan obediently opened the door and stepped outside. He appeared less than pleased when the snow starting dusting his head and shoulders. Fagan was a Drow, and just as his species dictated, he seemed forever in a bad mood, a scowl tightening his otherwise blasé features. Drows were in the same family as elves, but more like their grumpier cousins.

He took a few steps forward, looking austere but regal with his immense height (he was probably six feet, four inches, if I had to guess) and his navy blue sweater. He was incredibly skinny and the dark rings beneath his eyes along with his sallow complexion gave him the overall look of someone malnourished.

“Where the hell have you been?” Quill asked, grabbing my attention as he intercepted Sam and me. He grabbed both of my shoulders and I could see the pain in his eyes. Quillan Beaurigard was probably tied with the second most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. Tied only with Bram. First place was still reserved for Knight. Quill was tall, though not as tall as Knight, but his dark golden hair and amber eyes that matched the olive tone of his skin, definitely made him a looker.

“Hey,” Knight warned, glaring at Quill as he took a step forward. “Take your hands off her.”

“It’s fine,” I started, spearing them both with my less-than-thrilled expression.

“Do you really think I’d hurt her?” Quill asked, frowning at the Loki.

“Boys, boys, boys,” Dia interrupted. “There is plenty of the fairy to go around, so just cool yer britches.”

“She is so damn lucky,” Erica said to Dia, her eyes plastered on Knight. “What I would do with that much deliciousness all rolled into one hot ass Loki …”

“Get in line, honey,” Dia responded. “Right behind me.”

I just shook my head as I faced Sam and Quill again. “I’m fine,” I said, smiling apologetically. “I’ve been with Bram the last couple of days.”

“Whoever came up with the idea to leave you with Bram was a fucking moron,” Quill spat out, his gaze resting on Knight. I didn’t have the wherewithal to inform him that the idea wasn’t Knight’s but Bram’s. Apparently, Knight was also past the point of useless conversations because he didn’t say anything either. He merely eyed Quill with daggers.

“This sistah’s goin’ inside, y’all,” Dia sang out in her melodious voice. “I’m about ta freeze the diva outta me!”

TWO

“Nice digs,” Erica said as she glanced around the inside of the lodge and chomped on a piece of what smelled like strawberry bubble gum. She took a seat on one of two brown-and-grey upholstered chairs in the living room, while Fagan grabbed the matching chair beside her. Rachel sat on the arm of Erica’s chair, both of them obviously friends.

I shivered as a cold wind forced itself through the front door, wrapping its icy fingers around my body. Trey closed the door behind me as I looked through the windows and noticed a dark grey sky attempting to obscure the otherwise snowy white horizon. The longer I watched, the darker it became until I realized dusk was already falling upon us. The flurries of snow increased and came down faster. I wasn’t sure if Erica might have somehow affected the natural progression of daylight with her little magical stunt that she’d performed earlier, but it definitely seemed like dusk had arrived too soon. Or maybe the incredibly shortened day had something to do with our traveling through portals? Either way, the daylight hadn’t lasted as long as it normally did.

Abandoning my curiosity as to why evening was fast approaching, I turned my attention to Knight. He was standing in front of the daunting floor-to-ceiling fireplace, leaning one beefy arm nonchalantly on the mantel while he waited for the rest of us to take our seats. Both sides of the enormous hearth were flanked by twin, knotty alder bookcases. Along with the two lounge chairs, there was also a tan leather couch placed in front of the fire, where Dia and Sam sat. Trey had already plopped himself on the hearth beside the fire, at Knight’s feet.

“Girl, there’s room here,” Dia sang out when it became apparent that I still hadn’t found a place to rest my butt. She made an exaggerated show of moving to the far end of the couch and patting the empty space between Sam and her encouragingly.

“Thanks, D,” I said with a smile as I took the proffered spot. Sensing someone behind me, I glanced up and noticed Quill. I gave him a quick but friendly smile but he didn’t return it. Instead, he just gazed at me, wearing an expression I couldn’t place.

“Christina sure knows how to live the high life,” Erica commented as she eyed her surroundings again before blowing an enormous pink bubble.

“You can say that again,” Rachel agreed.

“I own this place,” Knight corrected them. I couldn’t mask my surprise since I had no idea that Knight had even been to Germany, let alone bought a cabin (or was it termed a chalet?) here. The Loki cleared his throat, which I assumed was a sign that he wanted our meeting to commence.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, I’m subbing for Christina,” he said.

“I can’t believe Melchior fed her Blueliss,” Erica whispered to Rachel, who shook her head in agreement to the latest revelation. Blueliss was an illegal narcotic capable of voiding the user’s memories. In the process, Melchior managed to imprint his own will upon Christina, thereby coercing her into revealing all our secrets.

“I’m afraid to say that the time for staging a game plan is over,” Knight continued. “It’s now time to take action.”

“What does that mean?” Fagan inquired accusatorily.

“It means we must invade the Netherworld now,” I answered.

“Balls!” Trey exclaimed, his eyes wide as he shook his head in apparent surprise.

Dia nodded while Sam’s mouth dropped open and Erica’s gum bubble snapped against her lips.

“Are we ready for this?” Fagan continued.

“We have no other choice,” Knight replied, his lips in a steel-like line and his eyes discouraging argument.

“MJ and I can rally our soldiers as soon as we need to,” Erica offered. Seeing as how she’d stopped chomping her gum, I half wondered if the shock of Knight’s announcement made her accidentally swallow it.

“I believe an enforceable draft should be demanded of all eligible creatures,” Fagan added, holding his chin up high in a rendition of “I’m right and no one better argue with me.”

“A draft?” Dia repeated.

Fagan nodded. “Anyone of age, who can use his or her magic must be recruited; otherwise, we have no chance in Hades of defeating Melchior.”

“When this meeting is dismissed, Erica and MJ, please rally the soldiers,” Knight said, then turning to Fagan, he continued, “A draft should be instituted immediately.” Knight took a deep breath. “And I agree; any creatures of age who are capable enough should be recruited.”

“When are you planning this attack?” Quill suddenly piped up from behind me. At the same time, I could feel his hands on my shoulders as he began massaging them. I was so surprised, I didn’t even react.

Knight didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes settled on Quill’s hands like a hawk on a field mouse. Half a second later, his eyes narrowed and a familiar, whitish glow started to eclipse his irises. I could see his hands closing into fists.

I managed to wiggle my way out of Quill’s hold and leaned forward a bit in an effort to deter him from touching me again. It was a strange show of affection on his part, since he’d never rubbed my shoulders before. It just felt awkward and forced—like he was deliberately going out of his way to piss Knight off. I glanced back at Knight, who was still glaring at Quill, and cleared my throat, urging Knight to get on with it.

He dropped his murderous gaze from Quill and seemed to study the floor for a second or two. Then, after apparently remembering what he was in the middle of discussing, he glanced back up again. This time, his eyes returned to normal and his hands were no longer balled into fists.

“We have two days,” he said simply.

“Two days!” Fagan exclaimed in disbelief.

“That’s not much time,” Rachel said, eyeing Knight with worry.

“Double balls!” Trey choked, a definite look of trepidation in his eyes.

“Two days isn’t enough time,” Quill protested. He walked around the couch and took a seat on the armrest, just beside Sam. “You’re planning on fighting the Netherworld Guard. Do you have any idea of the threat they pose?”

Knight continued to glare at the elf. “I am very aware of the threat they pose. Let me remind you that I spent the majority of my life training in the Netherworld.”

Quill quirked an unimpressed brow. “Then it should be obvious that this is a complete fool’s mission.”

“Quill, we have no other choice,” I said and swallowed hard, seeing how this wasn’t going exactly well. “Melchior already knows too much. The longer we wait, the greater the risk for us.”

“We act now,” Knight repeated with fortified resolve. “And if you aren’t with us, you’re against us, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Lose the attitude, beefcakes,” Quill shot back. “I’m on your side.”

At the term “beefcakes,” I winced because I knew Knight wouldn’t appreciate the title.

“For your information, Beaurigard,” the Loki started as he took a step forward. His tone of voice was frostily reserved. “The only reason you’re here is because Dulcie insisted on it. If I had things my way, you’d still be behind bars.”

I could only eye Quill’s profile from where I sat on the couch, but I distinctly saw his furrowed eyebrows, which only intensified the scowl on his face. “Well, then, I guess I have Dulce to thank, don’t I?”

“Enough,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “These conversations are tiresome, and they don’t get us any closer to our goal.”

“You’re both manly men, okay? We get it,” Erica added, shaking her head in frustration. She turned to Rachel and added, “Men! Chicks never pull this much crap.”

“I guess some things don’t change,” Rachel said as she glanced at Knight and shook her head. Yep, the familiarity between the two was definitely irritating to say the least.

“Woo-hoo is there some testosterone in the room!” Dia said with a smile as she fanned herself with her hand. Then, turning to Quill, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sexy Elf, but my money’s on the Loki.”

“As I was saying,” Knight continued, even though he slipped Dia a quick smile, “we have two days to rally the soldiers and get the draft into effect. It shouldn’t be too great a feat, Fagan, considering everyone is already assembled in the Compounds.”

“Don’t concern yourself with the particulars,” Fagan replied stonily. “I was aptly chosen for my post, and you will have your drafted participants when you require them.”

Knight didn’t say anything more, but simply nodded.

“Quill, we’re going to need you to help us too,” I said in a soft voice, glancing at my old friend. “You need to teach us to think like my father thinks.”

He looked at me and smiled warmly, lending his handsome face a soft expression. “I will help you however I can. You know that, Dulce.”

I nodded. “You play a big part because you know my father better than any of us. That’s why I insisted on your participation.”

Quill sighed as he rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. “Well, I do and I don’t know your father well. Yes, I’ve been working for him for many years, but your father is a master in the art of surviving and that’s not by accident. He knows how to keep people close without letting them get too close.”

I was spared the chance to respond when there was a loud knock on the door. I immediately eyed Knight, since I had no clue who would be calling, especially so late at night. But the Loki also wore a blank expression. When I scanned the other people in the room, I noticed everyone shared the same general look of bewildered surprise. As far as we knew, with the obvious exception of Christina, The Resistance team was already present and accounted for. Furthermore, we were assembled out in the middle of nowhere, so who in hell would be visiting now?

I stood up, intending to answer the door, but Knight’s voice stopped me. “No, Dulce,” he said in a tone that forbade me to argue with him. Then he walked past me, to see to our visitor himself. Abandoning any argument, since it wasn’t worth waging, (hey, it was his house) I just sighed and watched him open the door.

“What a shame that I was not invited to your little rendezvous,” Bram’s accent rang out. The dashing vampire sidestepped Knight and showed himself into the living room. He was wearing black slacks and a navy blue, knitted sweater that looked especially impressive next to the pitch black of his hair. As soon as he entered the room, a draft of air followed him, which enveloped me in Bram’s unique scent. It was something very clean, but with a hint of earthiness.

“How the hell did you find us?” Knight asked in an acid tone. He closed the door behind him, though, so I figured he figured Bram’s visit wouldn’t be a short one.

Bram took turns smiling at each of the women in the room, his eyes settling on Rachel a little longer than was polite, before addressing the furious Loki. “Quite simple, my brutish friend.”

At the mention of Knight as Bram’s “brutish friend,” I had to laugh. Hearing Sam and Erica also giggling from the corner of the room, I wasn’t the only one to see the humor in Bram’s description of Knight.

“I tracked my phone, which still resides in our lovely fairy’s possession,” Bram finished. He extended his manicured hand, inspecting his nails as he smiled with visible pride.

Damn, I’d forgotten about the fact that I’d put Bram’s cell phone in my pocket. I reached down to feel the lump in my jeans pocket, the sure reminder that it was really still there. And, yes, it was.

“You aren’t welcome here,” Knight said.

“I realize you and I do not run in quite the same circles,” Bram answered with a phony smile. He turned away from Knight and began approaching all of us. When he strode past Erica, she wolf-whistled to Dia, who just nodded her silent agreement that even though Bram was more than aware of it; he was pretty hot.

Bram walked over to the fireplace and pretended to warm his hands in front of the fire. It was really all for show, because as a vampire, he was perpetually cold. No amount of outside warmth had any impact on his internal temperature. He stopped walking when he was just beside Trey. The hobgoblin remained seated on the hearth, gazing up at Bram with what appeared to be admiration.

“Hiya,” Trey said with a bucktoothed smile.

Glancing down at Trey, Bram half-smiled, doing little to conceal his distaste. He then patted Trey on the head as though he were a trusted, St. Bernard wearing a little, red, emergency tankard of Schnapp’s secured to his collar. I rolled my eyes at Bram’s nerve, but spared a comment when his piercing eyes found mine.

“I have information that all of you will, no doubt, find useful,” he said, his English accent sounding particularly heavy. He again allowed his gaze to settle on Rachel, his expression one of: “How you doin’?”

“Where is Christina?” Fagan demanded with a skeptical frown, making it more than obvious that Bram wasn’t surrounded by any supporters.

Bram arched an irritated brow in Fagan’s direction before facing me again. “Your leader is safe, you may all rest assured. She is recuperating from the effects of the drug Melchior forced upon her.” Then, shaking his head like the whole situation was a big shame, he pretended to give a damn about Christina’s well-being.

“Don’t think any of us trusts you for one second,” Knight continued, his eyes narrowed and angry. “I have a mind to tell you just what I think about you working for Melchior this entire time.”

“With Melchior, kind sir, not for,” Bram corrected him immediately, wearing a placid grin although his eyes burned. “I have never worked for anyone, save myself.”

“Regardless, Dulcie trusted you, and you not only lied to her the whole time, but you lied to all of us,” Knight continued, studying the vampire with undisguised aversion. “The ANC doesn’t regard liars and manipulators well.”

Bram averted his eyes from Knight’s less-than-thrilled countenance and looked at me again. “I have always valued Dulcie’s trust in me, and I have never harmed my sweet,” he replied. “And as to the ANC, I come here now with my proverbial tail between my legs.”

“Ha! Your tail between your legs?” Dia laughed as she shook her head. “That’ll be a fine day when Bram’s tail goes between his legs.”

Yep, I had to agree. If there was one thing I knew about Bram, it was that any and everything he did never included his tail between his legs. It was more appropriate to say that Bram didn’t participate in anything that didn’t suit his own ends. He was and always had been a narcissist, around whom the world revolved, in his opinion anyway.

“I realize the time for choosing sides is now upon me,” Bram continued and winked at me, hinting to the fact that I was the one who forced him into finally revealing his cards and choosing which side he was on—ours or my father’s. “My appearance here this evening, I hope you all realize, is testimony that I have chosen you.”

“What the hell does …?” Knight started, but Bram interrupted him.

“And now, as I strive to benefit my brethren from the Netherworld, I come bearing gifts—gifts in the form of privileged information.”

Beware of Bram bearing gifts echoed through my head.

“Then out with it,” Knight said. “Whatever the hell you have to offer us, you better get to it because I’m not a patient man.” He took a deep breath, and his lips curled angrily. “And when it involves spineless, manipulative bloodsuckers, I’m even less tolerant.”

Bram smiled at Knight as if the Loki had just announced Bran won the title of “Sexiest Man Alive” (or Not Alive in Bram’s case). Then slapping his hands together with an eager expression, he faced me again.

“Very good, my dear, sweet Dulcie, please accompany me.” He held his arm out as he approached me. At the same time, Knight stepped between both of us, confronting Bram. Less than three inches of air separated the two, and they were about the same height, although Knight was definitely broader.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Knight spat out. “Whatever you have to say, say it now and make it quick. You’ve already overstayed your welcome.”

Bram chuckled lightly before tsking and shaking his head. “As the information I possess remains mine, I shall divulge it, when, how and to whom I see fit.”

“Knight, just let him tell me whatever he needs to tell me,” I argued dejectedly. Bram was about pomp and circumstance and the sooner everyone realized the only way to get what they wanted from him was to play his game, the better.

“No,” Knight said, shaking his head. “I’m tired of allowing him to play his little games.” He faced Bram. “You’re in my house now and you’ll play by my rules.”

“Your home, is it?” Bram looked around himself, with a feigned mask of surprise. “Although I find it a bit barbarian for my taste, it certainly seems to suit you nicely.”

“Enough!” I said for the second time that evening. I shook my head in exasperation because both men were, in a word, maddening. “Bram, whatever you have to say to me, say it quickly. I’ve had to deal with more machismo than I can handle today.”

Bram nodded and sidestepped Knight, offering me his arm again. “Please allow me to escort you to the door, my dear.”

Knight grumbled something indecipherable as I walked with Bram to the door. When we were out of earshot, Bram stopped walking and held the doorknob as he faced me. “You continue to breach our contract,” he started.

I sighed long and hard, remembering the contract we’d made prior to visiting the Netherworld. I’d pledged to dine with Bram five times in return for his accompaniment (and protection) in the Netherworld. I still owed him three dinner dates.

“You want to do dinner?” I asked with a frown since I didn’t feel like I had enough time period, let alone wasting it on Bram.

“Yes, my dear, I would like that very much.”

As he glanced down at my jeans and long-sleeved shirt, his expression turned to one of repugnance. “Unfortunately, I failed to remember to procure a gown for you. I suppose that … outfit will have to suffice.” Then another idea occurred to him and he suggested, “Unless you would prefer to dine naked?”

“Holy Hades no,” I grumbled, shaking my head. Yes, I could have created anything Bram wanted with my magic but if he didn’t remember as much, I wasn’t about to remind him. “When do you want to leave?”

“Now, Sweet. I hunger for your … company.”

I turned to Knight who was fast approaching me. “What does he want?” he asked, glaring viciously at the vampire.

“I have to go to dinner with him.”

“What?” Knight ground out. “What the fuck for?”

“Because I agreed to do it a long time ago and if I don’t, I’m in breach of contract.”

Knight shook his head. “Who the fuck cares? As far as I’m concerned, any pacts you made with that bastard aren’t worth shit.”

“And he has information for us that he won’t give us any other way,” I reminded him, throwing my hands on my hips.

Knight shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck the way he did whenever he was frustrated. He sighed as he walked past me and addressed Bram. “You touch her and the only thing left of you will be your fangs.”

“You are so poetic, my primitive friend. I ardently assure you I hold Sweet’s safety in my uppermost regard.”

“Dulcie, keep that phone on,” Knight said, before he returned his full attention to Bram. “You have one hour, bloodsucker, and if she’s even half a second late, there will be hell to pay.”

Bram nodded. “Very well. Sweet, it seems you must eat rapidly.”

As he offered his arm again, I accepted it with stoic resignation.

***

I took my seat across from Bram in the closest “restaurant” we could find, something that reminded me of a diner, only German-style. The plastic booth seats were red, to match the red, black and yellow tablecloths, the colors of the German flag. Due to our severe time constraints, we’d ended up here, but it was so busy, we had trouble getting a seat. After relying on his vampire persuasion, Bram accepted the hostess’s offer of the only available booth in the place. It happened to be in the corner of the restaurant, on the way to the kitchen. Consequently, Bram was inadvertently nudged in the shoulder twice by the hurried wait staff. After a bowl of scalding hot soup was nearly dumped over Bram’s head, the hapless waiter brought him an extra large serving of Spaetzle, and announced it was on the house.

Of course, Bram, as a bloodsucker, was unimpressed by the Spaetzle. Instead, he began picking and examining it as if he were a finicky five-year-old inspecting a bowl of asparagus. For me however, I took great pleasure in witnessing the pretentious vampire crammed into a plastic booth with the sounds of Oompah music in the background. The icing on the cake, however, was the diner sitting at the table nearest us. Our tables were so close, the woman was less than five feet away from Bram. She looked like an Amazon: so tall, she dwarfed her chair, the table, and her dining partner, who was a small, mousey woman. She was easily the tallest woman I’d ever seen, and also incredibly broad. Her colossal size (I would have bet she was even taller than Bram) was owing to large bones and strong muscles though, and not from fat. Her platinum-blond hair was confined to a bun behind her head, pulled so tightly, it appeared to slant the corner of her eyes up. She had the look of someone whose hair had gotten caught in a pair of double doors.

What pleased me to no end, however, was when this mammoth woman decided she liked Bram. She kept smiling and making doe eyes at him, stealing glances his way whenever the opportunity arose. As Bram continued to pick at his Spaetzle, and for all intents and purposes, ignored the enormous woman, I watched her lean forward and whisper to her female acquaintance.

“Ich wette er wuerde lieber meine Spaetzle essen.”

Being unfamiliar with the German language, I figured Bram, who was very cultured and refined, probably understood. “You speak German, right?” I whispered.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and eyed me with a drawn brow, revealing an overall expression of someone less than enthusiastic.

“So what did that woman just say about you?” I asked in another whisper, unable to hide my growing smile.

Bram sighed, looking like a tragic Shakespearean hero, and answered, “She told her friend that I would prefer eating her Spaetzle rather than this one.” He glanced down at the dumplings and frowned as he added, “And on that subject, I most vigorously assure you that such is definitely not the case.”

I erupted into a fit of laughter, which only further irritated Bram. I just couldn’t help it though and I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard. As soon as I regained my self-control, the German woman glanced over at Bram. With a diminutive wave, she batted her eyelashes profusely. I took one look at Bram, who was now pretending extreme interest in his Spaetzle, and burst into another fit of euphoria.

“It pleases me to no end that you find this situation so entertaining,” he said, still frowning. “I envisioned our evening quite unlike what it has turned out to be.”

“Sorry,” I replied as sincerely as possible. When another eruption of laughter threatened to emerge, I wasn’t sure how, but I managed to subdue it. Taking a deep breath, I turned to the question of why we were sitting here in the first place. “Okay, no more humor at your expense. I apologize.” I took another deep breath. “So what’s this information you have for me?”

Bram was spared the need to respond when the waiter returned and brought with him my dinner—bratwurst with a side of fried potatoes. I thanked the man and cut a piece of my sausage, spearing it on my fork before bringing it to my mouth and chewing, all the while thanking Hades I wasn’t a vampire because German food was damn good.

“Have you agreed upon a strategy as to how you will invade the Netherworld, Sweet?” Bram asked as he leaned back into the booth and stretched his long legs out so they butted up against mine. Clasping his hands behind his neck, he studied me purposefully as the woman beside him giggled and gushed to her companion. For all the ennui he pretended to assume, I was more than sure that he was lapping up all the attention.

“I guess we’ll have to force our way through the portals,” I answered non-committedly. I honestly wasn’t exactly sure of the best way forward. I considered it a problem for Knight to figure out because it wasn’t like I knew much at all about portal travel to and from the Netherworld to begin with.

“Sweet, do you honestly believe Melchior would not have guards posted at every portal entrance to the Netherworld?” He didn’t wait for me to answer his question and instead shook his head as he tsked me. “Come now, Sweet, your father is no fool.”

“I never said he was,” I barked back. “And as to your question, no, I don’t know what defensive measures Melchior has taken, because last I checked, I wasn’t a mind reader.”

Bram nodded, his expression one hinting that he hadn’t taken my words as a slight. Instead, his attention moved to the foot of the German woman who was feebly attempting to play footsie with him. Instantly, he sat up straight and pulled his legs back from under the table, refusing to so much as incline his head in her direction. Meanwhile, she giggled as she whispered to her companion something about him “playing hard to get.”

Now focused on my face, Bram seemed to be attempting to remember where our conversation was headed. Seeing the perplexed expression in his eyes, I said in a hushed tone, if only to foil any would-be eavesdroppers, “You asked me how I intended to invade the Netherworld; and I said we would try the portals, to which you responded by tearing my answer apart.”

“Ah, yes, now I recall. To answer your admission that you have no idea what defensive measures your father has taken, I do possess that knowledge, my dear. I am more than well aware of the obstacles that lie before you in the Netherworld.”

“So what‘s the answer then, Bram?”

“The answer, my sweet Dulcie, is to use the element of surprise to your distinct advantage.”

“Which means what?”

Bram arched a brow, frowning at me as if the answer was apparent. “Enter the Netherworld via a portal at which Melchior will not have guards posted,” he finished. He acted as if it were no big deal at all to find some random portal that my father either didn’t know about, or didn’t post guards to, for some unknown reason.

“I hope you’re also going to tell me you know the locations of these portals?” I asked and then paused to chew my food, which I swallowed down with a hefty swig of beer.

“Not locations of existing portals, my dear; but yes, I do have a suggestion for you.”

Spearing a potato with my fork, I took a bite, feeling my tolerance level for Bram nearing its limit. “So what’s the answer?”

Bram didn’t respond right away, but reached inside his pants pocket and produced something that looked like a can opener. It was maybe four inches tall and an inch wide, and made from some sort of metal that gleamed in the low light. He handed the gadget to me and I was surprised by how little it weighed.

“What is this?” I asked.

“This, my dear, is a portal ripping device.”

“A what?” I demanded.

Bram smiled, even chuckling slightly as if to show his amusement. “This handy little tool will allow you to cut a portal anywhere you desire.”

I glanced at him in disbelief for a second or two, trying to understand just what he meant. “So if I wanted to, I could use this thing to create a portal right here?” I asked, inclining my head to include the immediate space around us. Bram simply nodded. “And that portal would take me to the Netherworld?” I finished.

Bram nodded again. “This ripping device will cut a portal wherever you intend it. You simply program it to the location of wherever you desire to go.”

“How?” I continued.

Bram smiled that patronizing grin of his and opened his hand in a charade of “give it back to me and I’ll tell you.” I dropped the can opener looking thing into his palm and watched as he thought to himself and hummed annoyingly.

“Well?” I demanded.

“I am just deciding on a location, my dear,” he answered. “Perhaps something arbitrary,” he said more to himself than to me. Then he turned what appeared to be a handle on the devise clockwise four ticks and then counter clockwise five ticks.

“What was that?” I insisted.

“I programmed it forty degrees north by fifty degrees west,” he answered smugly. Then he glanced down at the implement, smiling at it as if impressed, before returning his gaze to me. “If this were not a tutorial, I should simply rotate the device so the edge is furthermost from me and then I would draw it toward me as if I were slicing through the air.” He smiled more broadly. “And then a portal would appear between here and there.”

He then turned the handle a few more times, apparently clearing it before handing it back to me again. “So I just program it with my location and then slice the air and that’s it?” I asked doubtfully.

Bram nodded. “Quite simple. You must always begin with the northern or southern coordinates. Turn the handle clockwise for north and counterclockwise for south. Once you have entered those coordinates, you enter the western or eastern coordinates. Clockwise for east and counter for west.”

“And the number of clicks dictates the degrees?” I asked.

He nodded. “You simply multiply the number of clicks by ten. Two clicks equals twenty, four clicks equals forty and so on.”

“What if my coordinate is forty-three?” I asked, sharing the first example that occurred to me.

“You would click forward four times and then turn the handle one click in reverse before proceeding to the three clicks which would symbolize forty-three.” Then he grinned boyishly.

I glanced down at the portal ripper in my hand, replaying Bram’s directions in my head to make sure they were committed to memory. Once I was satisfied they were, I looked up at him again. “Where did you get this?”

Bram shook his head. “That is unimportant.”

“Does Melchior know you have it?”

“No, this is a mere prototype. Melchior does not even know it exists.”

My eyes grew wide as I realized what this portal ripper could mean for us. “When you mentioned the element of surprise earlier,” I started, but Bram interrupted me.

“I was not speaking in abstracts.” He leaned forward and eyed me purposely. “This tool could be the single advantage leading to victory over your father.”

THREE

When Bram and I returned to the lodge, I noticed Dia’s red Escalade and Rachel’s Land Rover were nowhere to be seen, so I figured the meeting was adjourned. Knight’s Suburban still sat in the driveway, only now it was covered with maybe two inches of snow. Bram pulled up beside it, in one of his many vehicles—this one a black Lotus. After killing the engine and making a big show of opening my door, he insisted on walking me to the front door, like he was sixteen years old and trying to make a good impression on my folks. We said our good-byes, but when he attempted to kiss me on the cheek, I pulled away. It wasn’t that I was particularly opposed to a pretty harmless kiss on the cheek, but I imagined that such a seemingly innocent act could, and most probably would, inflame Knight. And that was a situation I wanted to steer clear of by all means. Apparently realizing that kissing me anywhere near my face was a no-go, Bram reached for my hand. He bowed in a great show of affected and outdated gallantry before bringing his ice cold lips to the top of my hand.

“As always, I have enjoyed our time together, Sweet, however short it had to be and,” he cleared his throat, frowning “fraught with … distractions.”

I laughed and assumed he was referring to the German woman who’d taken a shine to him, which turned out to make my evening. Speaking of the woman, after eating as much of my dinner as I could, Bram paid the bill, and we both stood up with the clear intention of leaving. What happened next is forever etched in my mind, albeit shrouded in hilarious infamy. As soon as Bram stood, the woman also shot to her feet alarmingly quickly (after lazily making idle small talk with her mousy companion, both of whom had already finished their food at least ten minutes earlier). In her rapid response to our departure, she nearly knocked her table over. Just as expected, she towered over Bram (who was tall, in his own right, well over six feet). Then she theatrically announced she had to find the “toilette,” evidently assuming Bram was en route to the lavatory because she made it a point to brush against him. Well, “brushing against him” doesn’t accurately describe what happened. Really, it was more fitting to say she pretended to trip and chose Bram to break her fall. With arms flailing, she thrust her enormous breasts into his face while he looked on in absolute horror. Then her boobs simply engulfed Bram’s head as his face disappeared into her doughy mounds of flesh, lending him an uncanny resemblance to the headless horseman, minus the horse.

The only thing that crossed my mind at that moment was the line “That’s a huge bitch!” from Deuce Bigalow.

It was an evening I doubt I could ever forget.

I felt a smile curling my lips at the recollection of Bram’s adventures with the German woman, but managed to dispel it. I figured it wasn’t something he would want to recount anytime soon. And besides, he had supplied me with the portal ripper …

“Thanks, for … uh, everything, Bram,” I said and offered him a genuine, heartfelt smile before raising my hand to knock on the front door of Knight’s lodge, lest I freeze to death on the doorstep. Before I had the chance to make contact with it, the door opened on its own accord, revealing a very unhappy Loki looming before us.

“You’re a minute late,” he grumbled at the vampire, crossing his arms against his chest and looking pretty pissed off.

Bram’s eyebrows reached for the sky in a practiced but feigned expression of surprise. “How odd. According to my timepiece,” he said as he fished out a pocket watch from another era, “I am a minute early.” Then he shrugged, smiling broadly. “I suppose we should respectfully split the difference and assume I was on time.”

Knight muttered something I couldn’t understand while holding the door wide open for me. With a wave to Bram, I squeezed past the Loki, and relished the warmth of Knight’s house as it settled into my bones, thawing the cold harshness of the elements.

“We shall soon be in touch, my dear,” Bram called out behind me. “And I should appreciate it if you would put in a good word for me with the brunette.”

I just shook my head, forever surprised by his nerve. I took off my down jacket and draped it over the chair Erica had formerly occupied, turning to face Knight as he closed the door behind him. Seconds later, the lights from the Lotus reflected through the windows and I heard the sound of the engine purring as Bram backed up, his tires crunching the snow. Moments later, he faded away down the driveway.

“How was your date?” Knight asked with a scowl as he approached the fireplace and stepped onto the hearth.

“It was hardly a date,” I answered, figuring he was going to start a game of twenty questions. “You heard him, he has the hots for MJ,” I said her name in a dreamy-like way. “Apparently he’s not the only one.”

Knight raised his eyebrows at me, smiling. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Well, when one of your ex-girlfriends randomly shows up, it’s a little off-putting.”

Knight chuckled. “I would hardly call MJ my ex-girflriend. We dated very briefly and ended up being much better friends.”

“Oh, and why was that?” I asked, my hands on my hips.

“Because she was in love with someone else who she ended up marrying,” he finished with a smile.

“I see,” I said and couldn’t help feeling stupid. “But it sounds like you were into her?”

Knight shrugged. “At the time, yes I was. But that was before I met a feisty little fairy who made me stop thinking about other women altogether.”

I couldn’t help but smile at him. Sometimes he knew exactly the right things to say.

“So going back to your date with Bram,” Knight started.

“It wasn’t a date!”

Knight had never liked Bram, and at one point in time, he’d been convinced that I was dating the vampire, something which I never had, nor ever would. Although not exactly his nemesis, Knight definitely wouldn’t call Bram a friend.

Sitting on the leather couch, I reached down and untied my shoelaces. I took off my shoes and socks to make myself comfortable because I had an inkling this lodge would probably be our refuge for the remainder of the evening. Propping a pillow against the arm rest of the couch, I curled up against it, and stretched my legs out.

“Tell that to Bram; he clearly thought it was a date,” Knight continued with tightened lips and eyes still narrowed. But as angry as he appeared to be, he managed to keep his temper and/or jealousy in check—owing to the fact that his eyes weren’t glowing. Well, not yet, anyway.

“Bram would call coasting through McDonald’s drive-through a date,” I answered.

Knight smiled at my joke, but it was a rushed smile hinting that he was keen on acquiring more information. “So was it a complete waste of your time? Or did he actually come through on that information he promised earlier?”

I stifled a yawn, feeling increasingly tired with my full belly and the radiant warmth from the fireplace. “He delivered,” I said simply, reaching into my pants pocket, where I’d placed the portal ripper for safekeeping. I withdrew the small instrument from my pocket and offered it to Knight. He took the few steps separating us and grasped it in his large hand, flipping it as he examined it curiously. It was obvious that he’d never seen one before.

“What is it?” he asked finally, continuing to study the tool in the low firelight.

“Bram called it a portal ripper,” I answered and sat up, afraid I might accidentally surrender to my body’s need to sleep if I remained sprawled on top of the couch.

“A portal ripper?” Knight repeated absentmindedly as he continued to rotate the device in his hands.

“Apparently, it can cut a portal to the Netherworld wherever we want it to,” I told him. “Bram said it could be the single advantage for defeating my father.”

“And Bram also exaggerates,” Knight was quick to respond as he placed the portal ripper on the mantel and faced me squarely.

“I don’t know, seems like a handy gadget to have, if you ask me.”

He nodded. “Yes, it seems handy, but that’s if you buy what Bram is selling.”

“What do you mean?”

Knight shrugged, as though I should have instantly followed his line of reasoning. “Considering Bram worked for your father …”

“With my father, not for,” I chided him with Bram’s own words, but added a sly smile.

“As I was saying,” he frowned, giving me the feeling that he wasn’t in a very good mood. I was already more than certain it was because of my “date” with the vampire. “Since Bram worked with your father all those years, it seems a no-brainer to distrust him. Who’s to say that he’s not setting us up?” He took a deep breath. “As far as we know, he could be your father’s newest mole.”

“At this stage of the game, my father would prefer to have us assassinated if he or someone who worked for him knew where to find us. To Melchior, we are worth a lot more dead than alive.” I took a deep breath. “Once you, Christina and I are out of the way, there goes The Resistance.”

Knight nodded as he ran his hands through his hair, and eyed his boots before bringing his attention back to me. “You make a good point, but I still don’t trust Bram.”

I shrugged and sighed, having already considered the question of whether or not Bram could be trusted. “I can’t say for sure if Bram is completely truthful.” I sighed, looking at the fireplace and watching the flames dance along the log before consuming it. I brought my eyes back to Knight’s, and was awed as the firelight reflected in his beautiful blue eyes, making them appear almost red. “But I also know that sometimes you have to take a chance in life. Without Bram, we could be headed down a one-way street with no chance of escape. “

“Then it’s a chance you’re willing to take?” Knight continued, narrowing his gaze on me as he cracked his knuckles.

I shrugged. “I think the answer to your question is pretty obvious.”

“You’re going with yes, you do trust him,” he said, exhaling a pent-up breath. “Then I guess it waits to be seen.”

As if to signal the termination of the conversation, he lifted the fire iron and poked the log in the fireplace, which crumbled into embers. Reaching for another large log, he bent over and plopped it onto the fire grate, stoking it with the iron. Standing up, he wiped the debris from the log on his pants before holding his hands behind his back to warm them. The flames of the fire fanned and flickered behind him, creating an aura that silhouetted his swollen deltoids, broad shoulders, and accentuated his trim waist and shapely thighs. I suddenly flashed on the sexual torture he’d inflicted on me in the Suburban while we were en route to this lodge.

Maybe it’s time to prove just how much of a bitch payback can be, I told myself. It probably also didn’t help that the embers of jealousy were still smoldering inside me.

Silently, I came to my feet. I could feel Knight’s eyes on me and saw the question in their depths, as if he insisted on finding out what I was up to. But I just stood there, staring at him boldly, with no trace of bashfulness or shame in my gaze. Then, as seductively as I could, I grabbed the top of my long-sleeved shirt and simply pulled it up and over my head, allowing the tendrils of my hair to snake back around my shoulders, and fall across my collarbone, adorning the black lace of my push-up bra.

“You’re not the only one who can replay memories of us in our more … carnal moments,” I said quietly, with a cunning smile.

Knight chuckled, but there was a fire in his eyes that burned even more brightly than the fire behind him. I watched his eyes travel down to my breasts, where they loitered on my cleavage. After a few seconds, he brought his attention back up to my face again.

“Is that so?” he asked, another chuckle dying on his lips, but leaving a slight smile in its wake.

“It is,” I said simply.

“So tell me all the naughty thoughts swirling around in that head of yours,” he demanded.

“All in good time.” I unbuckled the button of my jeans, pulling the zipper down as slowly as possible. Knight’s eyes never left my body as I slid the jeans down the lengths of my legs. I felt his gaze penetrating my black lace underwear and a blush started to creep across my cheeks. Refusing to allow any timidity or hesitation to consume me, I forced the anxiety aside, and chose instead to channel my inner femme fatale.

I approached him, adding an extra sway to my mostly naked hips. I stepped onto the hearth and glanced up at him, the top of my head only grazing his shoulders. Somehow, the fact that he was so much taller and bigger than I was, not to mention that he could snap me like a twig if he wanted to, turned me on … a lot. There was just something about him—he just made me feel so feminine. I ran my fingers up his shirtfront, dipping my index finger into the recess of his clavicle. With a simple shake of my hand, I could feel a pile of my fairy dust already manifesting in my palm. I opened my hand and allowed the dust to rain down Knight’s shirtfront. At the same time, I walked my index finger down the center of his chest, while imagining the fabric of his shirt separating beneath my fingers. I watched as the image I held in my mind played itself out in reality as Knight’s shirt divided in two, revealing his stunning chest.

Knight’s chest never failed to impress me with its deep valleys and sumptuous peaks of pure muscle. His exceptionally broad shoulders are definitely something to write home about and his biceps are probably the size of my head. Sinking my face into the ropey muscles of his lats below his arm, I kissed a soft trail, feeling him wince when I touched an especially ticklish spot. Somehow, knowing this enormous man was ticklish—someone who was bred to defend the Netherworld and exterminate any would-be threats—was sexier than sexy.

“My daydreams always begin with a memory of this,” I said as I spanned my hand across the soft skin of his naked chest. I outlined the pale pink, raised scar that started at his collar bone, and crossed all the way down through his right pec. He’d told me a long time ago that he’d earned the scar in a battle with a werewolf, and although some might consider it a blemish on his otherwise flawless chest scape, to me, he couldn’t be any more perfect.

He started to reach out to touch me, but I shook my head and firmly pushed his hand back down to his side. I intended to assert my own right—I was in charge now, and just like he’d formerly done to me, by teaching me the true meaning of sexual frustration, I was anxious to return the favor. But I was going to one-up him.

“Your rules, huh?” he whispered.

“My game, my rules.”

I stepped away from him and unclasped my bra, letting the straps drop down my arms. I crossed my arms against my chest, cleaving my breasts together so the mounds appeared even larger, but I shielded my nipples with my arms.

“No fair,” Knight whispered.

I smiled as I dropped my hands to my sides, the bra falling until it landed unceremoniously on the floor. I glanced up at Knight, and relished the fact that his eyes were riveted on my breasts. To be able to possess such power over him gave me a rush, in and of itself.

“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen,” he said in a hushed tone. I could feel my nipples hardening as he scrutinized them.

“That’s nice,” I answered, trying to sound as indifferent as I could. I had to remind myself not to get too caught up in my own lustful thoughts, since the whole point of this game was retribution. I brought my fingers to my breasts and outlined my alert nipples, feeling goose bumps starting as my nipples hardened even more. I pinched one rosy bud between my index finger and my thumb, rolling it gently. “Whenever I think about your fantastic body, something… happens to me,” I continued, remembering I had a story to tell.

“Something happens to you?” he repeated, his voice coming out incredibly breathy. I could see the outline of his penis already straining against his pants. I had to resist staring at it because every time I glanced at it, my giddiness exploded and threatened my delivery, my payback.

“Something that makes me want to … touch myself,” I finished, savoring every second of the control I had over this incredible man, this unparalleled creature. As a soldier created in Hades’s own image, Knight was the strongest they came. He was brawny and powerful and now this enormous beast hung onto my every word, unable to tear his eyes away from me. And it was so painfully clear that any power he might have had was useless against my own—the age-old wisdom of womankind.

“Where does it make … you want to touch yourself?” he whispered.

I cocked my head to the side, pretending to ponder his question. “Here,” I said, lazily looping my index finger around my nipple. “And, maybe here too,” I added, encircling my other nipple. “But, mostly down here,” I finished as I slid my finger down my stomach before rubbing the outside of my lace panties. Feeling the soft lace, a stinging sensation started from deep down within me.

Knight’s eyes fastened on my panties. I continued to graze my fingers across the lace, gasping whenever I strayed too close to the sensitive nub cresting my thighs. Suddenly anxious for more than playful wandering, I pulled my panties to the side, baring myself to Knight. I watched him inhale deeply as the pulse quickened in his neck.

I slid my finger down my vagina, feeling how wet I was. As soon as I skimmed my nub, I moaned out in response, while my knees threatened to collapse. I snatched my finger away as if I’d just been scalded and inwardly chastised myself. I was getting too caught up too fast, too turned on.

“I want to taste you,” Knight ground out.

“Hmm, that sounds like a personal problem,” I said with a haughty laugh, never having imagined I would so enjoy playing the role of the dominator but the truth of it was that I did.

Knight’s eyes narrowed. “You’re deliberately trying to torture me.”

I didn’t say anything right away as I backed up until the leather couch touched my calves. With my eyes still locked on his, I hooked my finger through one side of my panties and drew them down my naked thighs, letting them fall on the floor. Stepping out of them, I sat down on the warm leather.

“You’re getting me back for the car ride, aren’t you?” he inquired with a powerful stride forward as he stepped off the hearth.

I cocked my head to the side. “Maybe, and maybe not.”

Then, prepared for the grande finale, I took a deep breath, and seeing that his eyes were still locked on mine, I opened my legs. Even though it was a simple act—a mere parting of the thighs, I sensed my own power emanating through me. It was as if the single motion of spreading my legs wide open and allowing Knight to behold my naked flesh channeled the enticement of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, herself. I felt like I alone possessed the key to Knight’s libido. His eyes traveled the length of me before resting on the space between my legs, and I could see them change. They seemed to go from being sexually charged to ravenously hungry.

At that moment, I had complete mastery over Knight.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” he panted, “I give up. You win.”

Closing my thighs, I laughed, savoring the command I had over him. “That was easier than I imagined.”

I started to sit up from the couch, but he was instantly in front of me, his eyes glowing in that weird and wonderful way. Putting his hand against my shoulder, he pushed me back down onto the couch.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easily,” he grumbled. Removing his shirt, he let each side slowly slide down his muscular forearms. Dropping to his knees, he faced me again, and the irises of his eyes were completely eclipsed by the white glow.

“Feeling slightly threatened by Bram?” I asked, even while wondering if I was taking this game too far.

Knight narrowed his eyes at the mention of Bram and I wasn’t sure but it looked like they burned a little more brightly. “Not threatened,” he answered. “But let me remind you that I have something Bram doesn’t …”

“And what is that?”

“The beast,” he answered with a low, animal growl. It was as if the beast were speaking through him. I felt myself throbbing, my sensitive parts swelling at the thought of the beast within Knight and what it was capable of. I didn’t say anything, but noticed the rise and fall of my chest increasing as my heartbeat began to race.

“And it might be more fitting to say you’re the jealous one,” Knight continued.

“What?” I replied, pretending offense.

“So what’s MJ to you,” he mimicked, even going so far as to use a girl voice. I threw a sofa pillow at him. He caught it and threw it on the floor, the smile dropping from his face. “Spread your legs,” he commanded in a voice that told me not to argue.

With my former power diminishing, I simply obeyed his demand and opened my legs to him. I watched his eyes shift from my own as they settled on my swollen female flesh. The pulse in his neck sped up to match his shallow panting.

He didn’t say anything as he studied me, but simply allowed his eyes to devour me. Despite the sensation of being vulnerable, almost like I was being displayed to him in the most exposed fashion, the sexual goddess within me allowed me to vanquish the feeling immediately. Once again, I savored the intensity of the power I still held over him.

With another growl, he buried his face between my legs and the feel of his tongue sucking and pulling at me was almost too much for me to endure. Just when I thought I was about to orgasm, he pulled his tongue away before plunging it deep inside me, causing me to moan out.

“I can never get enough of this,” he groaned. His tongue again found my nub and he thrust two fingers inside me as I arched up against him, screaming out my surprise. He pulled his mouth away, but continued plunging his fingers inside me, burying them as high as he could.

“Open your eyes and watch me feel you,” he commanded.

Even though it was difficult, I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. Then he averted his gaze to his busy fingers and together we watched as he pushed them in and out of me. I felt him curving his fingers to follow my inner channel as he drove his hand deeper inside me, deeper and faster. That was when he found my G spot. I grew wetter as the smoldering ember deep in my gut turned into an incendiary. My legs were trembling and I clamped my eyes shut tightly, knowing an orgasm was imminent.

“Look at me or I’ll stop,” he barked.

I opened my eyes just as blissfulness exploded within me and I ground my pelvis against his hand. I cried out, as he impaled me even harder. Without another word, he pulled his fingers out and ripped off his pants, his erect penis bouncing behind them. Grabbing both of my legs, he positioned them above his shoulders as he coaxed himself to me. I felt the head of him at my opening and wrenched myself away in an effort to retain some sense of control. Glancing up at me, he growled again before gripping my thighs and pressing my hamstrings against him. He leaned forward until I could feel him at my opening as he smiled down at me. Ultimately, he knew we’d both won. With that recognition, he thrust inside me as deeply as he could. I screamed out as I buried my nails into his back, feeling him pull out of me again. Gripping his taut rear cheeks between both of my hands, I sunk my nails into his soft skin at the same instant that he penetrated me again. This time he seemed to delve in even deeper than before. He wrapped his hands around my ankles and widened my legs further above his shoulders, pulling slightly away from me so he could watch himself entering me. He put his fingers on the nub between my folds of feminine flesh and started rubbing it back and forth, and then in circles.

“You’re going to come for me again, do you understand?” he asked, but it was more like an order.

I simply nodded, at a loss for words. While his fingers continued dancing against me, he put his other hand on my right nipple and pinched it. There was only a slight pain before something began blossoming in my stomach, and I cried out in the throes of another orgasm.

Knight chuckled and pulled out of me. “Get on your knees.”

I dutifully turned over and felt him gripping me by my upper thighs as he yanked me backwards. Seconds later, he slammed himself into me as I screamed out.

“I could stare at you like this forever,” he said in a tight-lipped voice.

His thrusts suddenly gained momentum as he pushed himself into me as deeply as he could. I bucked beneath him so he wrapped his arm around me to anchor me in place, while reaching around to touch my sensitive spot again.

“Third time’s a charm,” he whispered into my ear.

His wish became my command and I bucked as another orgasm seized me. As soon as I came down from the high, he thrust into me with renewed vigor. He clutched a handful of my hair and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck as his breathing came in short gasps. A few moments later, he arched against me stiffly.

Now relaxed, he pulled out of me as he collapsed on the couch with a wide grin.

“You are temptation’s finest,” he said, panting softly.

FOUR

One night gone, one night to go. Then we would invade the Netherworld.

For the first time since deciding on a plan, I could feel my stomach tightening with anxiety and I felt sick. I had no idea why these feelings of apprehension and uneasiness hadn’t hit me earlier, but now it seemed like they were trying to make up for lost opportunity.

“Great, good job,” Knight said out loud, speaking to Erica through the Bluetooth in the Suburban. We’d already left the lodge in Garmisch and traveled through two portals, so I had no idea where we were now. I glanced outside my window to view miles of rolling hills, complete with white picket fences and nondescript houses. Since we were still driving on the right side of the road (well, according to American custom, anyway) we could still have been in Germany or maybe we were now back in the States.

“Everyone is motivated and ready,” Erica continued. Her tone was so chipper, she might as well have announced that her kindergarten class was ready to put on the school play. “I’ve moved all the soldiers to Compound One, and all the civilians are currently staged at Compound Two. Fagan is also orchestrating the draft so all eligible recruits will be relocated to Compound Four.”

“What are we doing in terms of weapons for those creatures who are less than magically inclined?” Knight asked, concentrating on the road ahead of him. I studied him, trying to get any sort of indication as to whether this whole thing was making him nervous or not. But there was nothing in the inflection of his voice nor his posture that even hinted to fretfulness. Instead, he appeared as always—calm, cool and collected, like the serene Loki I knew so well.

“Well, we’re supplying all the weres, elves and goblins with Op 6s and 7s,” Erica’s sing-song voice rang out. “We debated doing the same for the vampires, but concluded it would ultimately be a waste of time since they can retain their speed as well as their strength in the Netherworld.”

“Yep,” Knight said as he nodded. “All creatures will become stronger in the Netherworld, but don’t forget the Netherworld Guard is about as strong as they get.”

“I know,” Erica answered, with an inflection that said she didn’t appreciate lectures.

“What’s the count so far?” Knight asked. He depressed the accelerator and took a right on a street whose sign was obscured by a nearby tree, maybe a poplar or something of that sort.

I heard the sound of shuffling paper coming through the Bluetooth and guessed Erica was searching through her notes for an answer to Knight’s question. “Um, let’s see … our top Resistance soldiers number roughly about three hundred. Last I heard from Fagan, he managed to draft another two hundred able-bodied civilians. So that puts us at around five hundred in total.” She took a breath. “Not too bad considering you only gave us the go-ahead yesterday.”

“Not too bad,” Knight agreed, but I couldn’t read his expression to detect whether he was pleased with the information or not. “At last tally, the Netherworld Guard numbered well into the upper four hundreds, which tells me this will be a difficult battle for us to win.”

“But we can win it,” Erica interjected quickly. “We outnumber the Guard when you look at the totals. Besides, the Netherworld civilians won’t fight so that’s another plus on our side.”

Knight cocked his head and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. “I guess it remains to be seen.”

“So what does that mean?” Erica asked, sounding somewhat crestfallen. “If you don’t think our odds are good, we shouldn’t even try to invade the Netherworld.”

Knight sighed. “I didn’t say the odds are against us. I just meant it’s not going to be any picnic.” She didn’t say anything more so Knight continued. “Good job with everything, Erica. Check in with me when you have more information.”

“Will do, hot stuff.”

He chuckled as he pressed a button on the steering wheel, thereby disconnecting the call. The resulting quiet became pervasive, but since Knight seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, I didn’t think I should interrupt him with mine. Once he started to shake his head though, my curiosity to know what he was thinking grew impossible to subdue.

“What are your thoughts?” I asked, almost afraid for his answer. I didn’t want to hear him say we should abandon our plan, or abort our mission to dethrone my father.

He tilted his head as if he were pondering my question and took a few seconds to respond. “Our soldiers are just as capable as the Netherworld Guard, but we have much smaller numbers.”

“But what about the soldiers Fagan drafted?”

He nodded halfheartedly. “Depending on what types of creatures they are, that could be meaningless. If they possess their own magic, that’s great; but if we’re talking about a bunch of inexperienced, eighteen-year-old wolves, that’s something entirely different.” As he glanced over at me, he reached for his cell phone, which lay in the cubby hole beneath the CD player. “Do me a favor? Text Fagan and ask him what the breakdown of all the creatures that he drafted is, will you?”

I nodded and took his phone, doing as he instructed. “If he gives you an answer you don’t like, what will that mean?”

“It won’t mean much of anything. We’ve set our wheels in motion and we need to act soon. But, at the same time, I need to know what my team is comprised of so I can make sure I prepare them as best as I know how.”

I finished texting Fagan and put the phone back into the cubby as an idea occurred to me. “Do you really think we need to regard this as an invasion?” I asked, turning to face him.

He eyed me quickly before returning his gaze to the road. We were on a single, paved lane in the middle of nowhere, with what looked like endless miles of verdant farmland on either side of us. A few cows and sheep punctuated the otherwise monotonous green.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” he asked.

“No,” I quickly responded just as Knight’s phone began to beep. I picked it up and recognized Fagan’s name on the screen. “Vamps, warlocks, witches and wolves,” I read Fagan’s text out loud.

Knight shrugged. “I guess that will do.”

“Okay, going back to our previous conversation,” I started as I put the phone back in its cubby. “Just hear me out for a second.” I took a big breath, hoping the thoughts circling through my head would make sense when put into words. “The Netherworld Guard answers to my father, right?”

“Yes.”

“And from my understanding, it seems the civilians of the Netherworld don’t intend to fight either for or against my father; but at the same time, they aren’t exactly thrilled with having him as the Head of the Netherworld, right?”

“Yes, most won’t fight. But whether or not they would like to see your father deposed? That’s anyone’s guess.”

“Okay, so my point is, why risk the safety of our soldiers and civilians, when all it really takes is the removal of my father from his position as Head of the Netherworld?”

Knight glanced over at me, furrowing his brows. “You mean someone to assassinate him?”

I nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. If we successfully dethrone him, who is next in line to command the Netherworld Guard? And furthermore, would whoever is next in line try to quash us?” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “Who is second in command?”

Knight narrowed his eyes as if he weren’t following me, or didn’t think I was on the right track. “Caressa is second in the hierarchy, but that’s only for show. As to how much power she actually wields … she really has none.”

“But that’s only because my father won’t allow her to fulfill her role in the hierarchy.” I cleared my throat, excited by the fact that I thought I had a very good point. “Think of it like this, if my father’s office is usurped, the Netherworld population will expect Caressa to assume power, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, that’s how it’s set up.”

“So Caressa steps in, and since she abhors everything my father represents, she obviously won’t allow his legacy to continue.”

Knight nodded, but his eyes remained narrowed, which meant he wasn’t completely in accordance with the idea. “It makes a lot of sense in theory. In practice, however, there would be a whole lot of potion smugglers and thugs just chomping at the bit to overtake Caressa and slip into your father’s place, which puts Caressa’s life in imminent danger …”

“So we beef up the Netherworld Guard to protect her.”

He shook his head. “Half, if not most, of them are already involved in the potion smuggling rings.”

“Then we throw them in jail and protect her with our own soldiers.”

“Again, it sounds good in theory.”

“Why not in practice?” I interrupted snidely. To me, the answer was so crystal clear, he was just being pig-headed by refusing to try it my way.

He frowned. “First of all, how are we going to find your father?” He didn’t wait for a response but quickly continued while barely glancing at me. “It’s not like he’s going to be sitting around, waiting for us to come for him. Second, wherever he is, he’s definitely surrounded by the best guards. It won’t be as simple as just showing up and pointing a gun at him.”

I nodded, having already considered this point. “What if we create a diversion?”

“How so?”

I shrugged. “First off, my father has no clue as to when we’re going to act, right?”

“Yeah, but now that Bram and Christina are missing, he’ll no doubt figure we’re going to act soon, so we can’t entirely rely on the advantage of surprise.”

“Good point, but I think my idea still could fly.” I took a breath and swiveled my entire body around to face him, pulling the seatbelt out to give me more space. “Let’s say we create some sort of diversion at one or more of the portals that currently exists between here and the Netherworld—like the main one at the airport. What’s the first thing that would happen?”

“You got me.”

I frowned. I was well aware that he knew where my idea was going, but the anal manager in him insisted that I spell it out detail by detail. “Obviously, Melchior would send the Netherworld Guard to investigate.”

Knight nodded and offered me an encouraging smile, even though his eyes quickly dropped to my bustline.

“Pay attention!”

He chuckled. “Okay! Yes, you’re right, Melchior would probably send the Guard, but he wouldn’t send all of them.”

I nodded, having already assumed that much. “Of course, he wouldn’t send all of them. But the goal of the exercise is to reduce their numbers and give us a better chance against them, right?”

“Get to your point, Dulce.”

“My point is: if we create a diversion and get maybe a third or so of the Guard involved in it, we can use Bram’s portal ripper to create entry points wherever we need them. Then we can use the element of surprise to our distinct advantage.”

Knight was quiet for a few seconds. I could see the wheels spinning in his mind. Finally, he turned to face me. “There are some holes.”

“Okay, lay them on me.”

“The biggest obstacle is that we don’t know exactly where Melchior is. It will only be a matter of time before any secret entry points that we create with Bram’s portal ripper are discovered, which would put us on a huge time crunch.” He was quiet for a couple more seconds. “The only way your plan could work is if we know where Melchior is before we go in. Then we simply cut a portal into the Netherworld, take him out, and be done with it.” He cleared his throat and looked over at me. “But I’m sure you’ll agree, that’s a huge ‘if.’”

I nodded. “That’s where Quillan comes in.”

“How?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Quill.

“He knows precisely where Melchior’s homes are, as well as his hangouts, and what’s more, Quill knows how Melchior thinks.”

Knight shook his head. “Your father won’t be that stupid. Whatever Quill knew has already been invalidated by your father. I’m sure he realizes that Quill is no longer a trustworthy ally.”

“My father still doesn’t know Quill joined our side,” I argued. “All he knows is that Quill got arrested during the skirmish with his men when you busted the Draoidheil delivery.” I took a breath. “That’s it.”

“Don’t you think Quill’s loyalty would have been one of the first questions your father demanded of Christina when she was on the Blueliss?” Knight asked, frowning at me.

“We don’t know that for sure,” I said, even though I had to admit (if only to myself) that Knight did make a pretty good point.

“The point is that your father makes it his business not to trust anyone, which is the primary reason why he’s stayed in business for so long.” He shook his head. “And besides, he’s also well aware that Quillan is in love with you. Because of that alone, he knows that Quillan’s ties to you are stronger than they are to him.”

I shook my head with a sigh, feeling frustration all the way down to my toes. “Quill is not in love with me.”

Knight eyed me with raised eyebrows. “Keep telling yourself that.” He faced forward again just as a sucking sound interrupted the air, shaking the Suburban as if we’d just driven over a cattle grate. It was the sure sign that we’d just traversed another portal.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked, frowning because I was annoyed he still didn’t see the beauty in my plan. Sometimes he was just so pig-headed.

Knight smiled at me. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, my sexy, love kitten.”

“Really?” I asked, cringing at the appellation.

With another quick smile, Knight sighed. “Going back to our conversation: your father isn’t an idiot and creating a plan in which you must rely on his trust in Quillan won’t fly.”

I nodded, since I knew he had a point—about Quillan’s loyalty, that is, not about Quill being in love with me. “Okay, what about Bram?”

“What about Bram?”

I shrugged. “Maybe Bram knows something about my father’s whereabouts.”

“What makes you think Bram would have that information?”

“Because Bram knows a lot more than he ever lets on. He gave us the portal ripper, and he knew about my father forcing Christina to confess our secrets. Bram is our wild card.”

“I won’t be placing any bets on him.”

Just as I was about to respond, Bram’s phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, which said “Private Caller.”

“Is that Bram’s phone?” Knight asked, regarding it with disdain.

“Yeah, I wonder who’s calling,” I answered, unable to mask the surprise in my voice. Who would be calling and why? I had no clue. The phone rang again, and after wondering if it might be Bram, I decided to answer it. “Hello?”

“Guten morgen, Sweet,” Bram’s English accent purred into the receiver.

“What are you doing awake?” I asked immediately with a quick glance up at the sky. Although it was still early morning, and the sun had not quite risen to the center of the sky, it was still undeniably daytime.

“I am in the Netherworld, my dear, where I do not fear any hour of the day.”

“You’re in the Netherworld?!” I repeated incredulously. Knight speared me with a pointed expression, but I refused to acknowledge him, since it was more than obvious that Knight wanted nothing to do with Bram. But what he didn’t realize was that Bram was the answer to my plan and I needed him. Scratch that, we needed him.

“What the hell is he doing in the Netherworld?” Knight demanded.

“What are you doing in the Netherworld, Bram?” I asked, suddenly sincerely worried for his well-being. “Are you in trouble?” I took a breath. “Are you sure it’s safe to talk? What phone are you calling me from?”

Bram chuckled for a few seconds, sounding as if he had all the time in the world. “I appreciate your concern, my pet. As to your questions, no, I am not in trouble. And, yes, I am quite certain the line is safe.”

“What are you doing in the Netherworld?” I asked finally, my tone of voice sounding harsher because I wasn’t in the mood to play detective.

“I have more information for you, my dear,” the vampire responded. “I am contacting you to request the privilege of your presence this evening so I can reveal my latest findings to you.”

“Tonight?” I repeated. This was my last night to spend with Knight before we invaded the Netherworld. Was it too much to hope for one last romantic evening?

“What the hell does he want?” Knight commanded.

“Just a minute, Bram,” I said, muffling the receiver in my shirt as I turned to face Knight. “He says he has more information for me and asked me to have dinner with him tonight.”

“Like hell you’re going to have dinner with him again,” Knight said, with a tight jaw and rage in his eyes. “Whatever he has to tell us, he can tell us right now over the phone. I’m sick to death of playing by his rules.”

I shook my head. “You know he will only ignore our demands, Knight. If we want information from him, we have to play by his rules.”

Knight took a deep breath. “Give me the phone.”

Assuming I had no choice, I handed the phone to Knight and watched his whole demeanor stiffen as he prepared his side of the argument that was destined to ensue. “What game are you playing, Bram?” he asked in an acid tone.

“Ah, my brutish friend,” I heard Bram reply. “It surprises me to hear your voice when I thought the lovely fairy was speaking to me.”

“Cut the crap. What information do you have for us?” Knight demanded.

I could hear Bram chuckling. “Forgive me, but I have no information for you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Do us both a favor and …”

“I repeat that I have information for my sweet, which will no doubt benefit The Resistance.” After a few moments of silence, he added, “However, I do have something to say to you. Your fair leader has been purged from the toxic effects of the Blueliss and now wishes to reunite with you.”

At the mention of Christina, I realized Bram was firmly on the road to getting his way. “Give me the phone, Knight,” I said with steely resolve. “We’re going to play this his way.”

Knight said nothing as he passed the phone to me. In reading his frown and furrowed brows, it was pretty apparent he also realized Bram had won, at least, for now anyway.

“You say the kindest things, Sweet,” Bram said as soon I held the phone up to my ear.

“Where are we meeting and what time?” I asked just as something else occurred to me. “And you better not expect me to come to the Netherworld.”

Bram chuckled again. “Of course not, Sweet, of course not. I realize the Netherworld is not yet a safe destination for you. I shall arrive to pick you up at eight o’clock.”

“I don’t even know where we’re going so how will you?”

“I can always track my mobile phone, in case you forgot,” Bram responded.

There was a sudden feeling of concern that welled up within me at his words. Bram could track us anywhere as long as I carried his phone …

If Bram or Melchior wanted you dead, you would already be dead, I reminded myself. Bram’s partnership with your father is history, and he’s trying to help you now. You have to trust him.

“Eight tonight,” I repeated, suffering pangs of angst in my gut.

***

I met Bram at exactly eight p.m. in the lobby of the hotel Knight booked for us. After traveling through two more portals, we arrived in Lucerne, Switzerland. We checked into the Hotel Des Balances which looked like something out of a period French movie. The hotel was beautifully located right on the river, Reuss. Knight reserved one of the suites, which was an enormous room, with a living room area off to one side. The other half of the room was dominated by a king-sized bed in the center, surrounded on three sides with a chiffon curtain. Adjacent to the bed stood a lone bathtub, along with a bottle of champagne chilling in a stand beside it. The room boasted views of the ancient city from one window, and the river from the balcony.

It was by far the most romantic hotel I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t dislodge the sorrow in my stomach over the fact that Knight and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy our stay here like the other couples would. Instead, I had to go on a date with a vampire, and when I could reunite with my Loki, I knew we’d both be occupied by daunting thoughts of the impending battle.

“Sweet, how lovely you look this evening,” Bram said as he turned from where he’d been pretending to warm himself by the lobby’s fireplace.

Glancing down at my jeans, sneakers and sweatshirt, I was far from looking lovely, but I figured that was a conversation for another day.

“Where are we going?” I asked as soon as he offered his arm. He proudly escorted me to a white Rolls-Royce that awaited us beyond the double entry doors.

“For a nice drive, if it pleases you,” Bram quickly responded.

I didn’t say anything as I allowed him to open my door and took a seat in the ridiculously expensive vehicle. Neither of the valet attendants came anywhere near us or the car which didn’t surprise me too much since I figured Bram had probably just warded them away either with a few snippy words or his vampiric powers of persuasion.

As he sat down in the driver’s seat, he glanced over at me and smiled, reaching behind my seat. He produced a white box about three feet long and two feet wide that was tied with a wide, red satin ribbon. He placed the box in my lap as he pulled out of the hotel driveway.

“What’s this?” I asked, already dreading what lay beneath the lavish wrapping.

“A gift for you, my dear. I would like you to wear it for me this evening.”

I grumbled something unintelligible, but figured I had to play by his rules, so I might as well comply. I pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it. After wrestling with the tissue paper, I reached inside and felt the silky material rubbing across my fingertips. It was a floor-length, electric blue, satin gown with a cleavage-exposing halter top bodice. I was surprised to find it floor-length since Bram was so explicit that I wear only short dresses. Well, my surprise diminished when I further inspected the gown and found a slit straight up on one side, so high as to bare most of my upper thigh.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“You are most welcome, my dear, most welcome,” Bram answered. Then the car began to shudder and the air popped, signifying that we’d just crossed through a portal.

“Where are we going?” I asked, unable to conceal my anxiety.

“We shall dine in the French Alps, Sweet,” he answered dismissively. “At one of my favorite homes.”

“I didn’t realize you owned a home in France.”

Bram glanced at me and chuckled. I guess I should’ve realized he was wealthy enough to own property anywhere and everywhere. A silence descended on us when we traveled through yet another portal. Moments later, we found ourselves atop an incredibly steep mountain. Far below us appeared to be a tiny village. The lights flickered and glowed through a mist of fog imbuing it with the appearance of a backdrop to some horror movie. How ironic that I should be on a date with a vampire …

The road continued to climb the incredibly sheer cliff side until it leveled at the top before starting back down again. The road finished in a cul-de-sac at an ornate, wrought- iron gate, complete with inlaid lilies and curlicues. Bram depressed a button near the sun visor of the windshield and the gate opened inward automatically. The Rolls’ headlights revealed an ancient-looking, cobbled driveway.

The “driveway” could have been called a road really, because it stretched in a serpentine pattern farther than I could see. On either side of us, an ancient wall surrounded the drive, its vanilla-colored stucco peeling in some places, while in others, it was completely obscured by lush vines. Beside the manicured olive trees that were planted equidistant at twenty-foot intervals, were sculpted, white rose bushes. They hugged the wall, and it soon became pretty obvious that this place was going to blow my mind.

Although I was semi-prepared for it to blow my mind, my jaw involuntarily dropped open on its own accord when we started over a bridge to a moat that protected the front of the estate. The cobbled driveway circled back across the moat and continued into the same winding entrance from whence we’d come.

As to Bram’s estate, it was unparalleled. Awe-inspiring couldn’t describe it. It had to be four stories high, and looked like something straight out of a story book. It reminded me of Sleeping Beauty’s castle at Disneyland. The façade of the building was rough, cream-colored stone, which gave it a medieval-looking finish. There were black shutters on each enormous, beveled-glass window. As to how many windows it had… I lost count after the first bazillion.

Bram parked in front of the mansion, but I didn’t give him the chance to open my door. Instead, I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped out as I dropped the box with the blue gown on the passenger seat. Then I simply stared at my surroundings, rapt in complete and total wonder.

There was a courtyard in front of the estate, with a fountain that featured a Rubenesque, life-sized woman holding a bucket of water over her shoulder. The water trailed over her naked breasts, and pooled into the V of her thighs, before trickling down her legs suggestively. The fountain was illuminated with white lights that reflected off the water like the twinkling stars overhead.

“You live here?” I asked, barely able to find my voice.

Bram chuckled as he held out his arm, inviting me to walk with him. “I live nowhere, Sweet.”

“You own this?” I corrected myself, accepting his proffered arm and allowing him to lead me to the front of the house. He, however, changed course and we followed a grass pathway, flanked by peach rosebushes on either side, at the right of the house.

“I do own this chateau,” Bram answered simply. “It has belonged to me for over two hundred years.” Then he sighed longingly. “I do not spend as much time here as I would prefer, though, Sweet. I am certain you can deduce the reason why.”

I thought the reason was because he didn’t want to alert the townspeople that they were living alongside a vampire. Even though most Netherworld creatures were out of the so-called “closet,” in remote areas such as this, it didn’t matter. Small town people were much more narrow-minded and quick to judge when it came to anything supernatural. In places like this, it wouldn’t have surprised me to hear that witch hunts still occurred. And I could just imagine what they’d think about Bram.

“I hope you will join me for a walk around the garden before retiring into my home?” Bram asked, smiling at me hopefully. The moonlight enhanced the whites of his eyes and teeth, imbuing them with a glow.

“As long as you tell me why you brought me here,” I started.

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, waving his hand impatiently. “I give you my word that we shall spend the majority of our time together discussing business. For now, however, I prefer to enjoy your company amidst the beauty of nature.”

I didn’t say anything more since I knew I could and would humor him for as long as necessary if it meant getting his privy information. I also couldn’t deny being curious to see the rest of the incredible establishment he called his home, which to me looked more like a dream.

FIVE

“So what were you doing in the Netherworld earlier today?” I asked Bram. We’d just finished his tour of the “garden,” which equated to a sprawling four-acre (well, the ground we covered anyway; Bram made a point to tell me the entire estate sat on thirty acres) horticulturist’s dream. There were various orchards, an ornately hedged maze, a thirty-foot-wide walkway, which included an overhead pergola that was woven with wisteria, as well as a fish pond the size of a swimming pool.

And the interior of the marvel, which Bram simply referred to as his “French countryside home,” was just as extraordinary as the exterior. Every room featured original distressed walnut floors, the planks of which had to be more than a foot wide. The family room, which Bram termed a “great room” (which was fitting since it was pretty great) was dominated by a limestone fireplace that stretched from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling. The ceiling was edged with elaborate white crown molding that looked like it belonged in the Vatican. The library took the walnut floors a step further, by adding antiqued walnut doors and floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all constructed of centuries-old walnut. When our tour came to an end in the dining room, I found it just as impressive as the rest of the house with distressed paneling that ran halfway up the walls, a grand stone fireplace, and a wine cellar at the north end. The wine cellar came complete with a terra cotta tile floor, massive stone arches, vaulted ceilings, and hand-hewn, wrought-iron light fixtures. The irony? Bram didn’t drink wine.

After our tour of the incredible grounds, I begrudgingly changed into the gown Bram so thoughtfully supplied for me and met him in the foyer of the chateau. When I walked through the stone archway, en route from the restroom, Bram turned to face me. He was speechless for a few seconds, and just gazed at me as if he’d never seen a woman before. As for me? I couldn’t say I was exactly comfortable in the shrink-wrap that he referred to as a gown. Just as I’d expected, it was skin tight and slit so high up on my leg, if it happened to shift to the side, my hoo-ha could be visible to anyone who cared to take a look. The bodice was also ridiculously tight, as in corset tight, with a plunging (think: bungee jump plunging) neckline. The halter top amplified the swells of my breasts to such a degree, it looked like I’d chewed one of Willy Wonka’s experimental sticks of blueberry gum, and was beginning to inflate like a balloon, boobs first.

“Your loveliness never fails to amaze me,” Bram said finally. His tone was low and his expression pensive.

“Well, at least one of us is impressed,” I grumbled as I attempted to walk the few steps separating us. Due to the constraints of the dress, however, I only ended up waddling side to side like a penguin.

Bram offered his arm and I accepted it. I allowed him to “walk” me into the dining room as I inch-wormed alongside him. “You didn’t answer my question,” I pointed out as we crossed the threshold to an enormous wood table that was stained a rich, dark chocolate and dominated the room. Bram pulled out the chair closest to me and I plopped myself down on the velvet seat, which was the color of fresh milk.

“And thus begins our business discussions?” Bram asked, peering at me in a disappointed manner. He took the seat beside me at the head of the rectangular table that looked like it could seat about forty people.

“Yes, I kept my end of the bargain and now it’s time for you to keep yours.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Instead, he just kept staring at me in a bizarre, almost vacant manner.

“Earth to Bram,” I muttered, waving my hand before his eyes to regain his attention.

“I have forgotten what your question was, Sweet,” he admitted with an unapologetic smile. “I must confess that your beauty has captivated me, and unfortunately, mere words were lost on me.”

It was more fitting to say he was so taken aback by my cleavage, that he space-cadetted out, but I didn’t feel like arguing. Not while we still had lots of business to discuss and I still wanted to make it back to Knight at a reasonable hour. I definitely needed some one-on-one time with my Loki. “I asked you what you were doing in the Netherworld,” I repeated.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Then he took a big breath. “Before we begin our adventure into business discussions, would you care for something to eat?”

“No,” I answered quickly, hell-bent on sticking to the subject. “I’m not hungry.”

“Very well,” he said, with tightened lips. “I am quite hungry, myself.”

I felt my left eyebrow arching of its own accord. “I’m not on the menu.”

He chuckled, his eyes revealing the fact that he hadn’t been lying: he was hungry, ravenously so. “I am quite well aware of that, my dear.”

“So stop procrastinating and answer the question.”

Bram leaned back into his chair and tapped his long, perfectly manicured fingernails against the tabletop. “I was visiting a friend of mine.”

“A friend?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. It immediately occurred to me that the only person Bram would have visited in the Netherworld would have been my father, owing to their prior business relationship. If such were the case, however, I could only wonder on what side Bram was truly allied? Was Knight right that I shouldn’t have trusted the vampire? Maybe Bram was still working for my father? If he were, I was as good as dead now … “Were you visiting my father?” I demanded, stifled anger emanating through my words.

Bram shrugged as if the answer were of no great consequence to him. He seemed much more interested in just staring at my breasts all night. “I paid him a short visit; yes.”

I stood up quickly, banging my knee against the apron of the table. Before I could protest, Bram dismissed my concern with a frown as he reached for my arm, pulling me back down into my chair again.

“Before you conjure up mistruths and fantasy, allow me to explain.”

“Why the hell are you still in contact with my father?” I snapped. “You said you were on our side!”

“I am on your side,” he answered in a monotone. “But if I suddenly discontinued my role as your father’s business partner, you and your cause would both be doomed.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged as if the answer were obvious, even sighing, like he lacked further interest in the topic. “I cannot afford any suspicion where your father is concerned, my dear. He must believe that my allegiance remains with him, rather than to you or The Resistance.”

“Then my father doesn’t know you’re AWOL?” I asked, frowning while trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. The one thing I knew about Bram was he was an excellent liar, which I guessed made sense, given he’d had hundreds of years to perfect the skill.

“AWOL?” he repeated curiously. His eyes clouded with confusion as his eyebrows furrowed. “I am unaware of the meaning of the term.”

“What I want to know is: does my father know that you’re not on his side any longer?” I corrected myself. “Does he have any idea you’ve joined The Resistance?”

“I did not join The Resistance,” Bram answered haughtily.

“You told me you were allied with us.” My voice sounded steely.

“I am allied with you, my dear,” Bram answered with another well-rehearsed grin. “However, I do not wish to dirty my hands. Battling one’s nemesis is not in my best interest. Therefore, I prefer to remain on the periphery; but I most assuredly am your ally, as I can provide you with something no one else can.”

“Oh, really? And what is that?”

“Information, of course,” he said with a smug smile.

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter whether Bram actually fought beside us or not. He was right—privy information was worth much more than magical brawn. But, as to him pulling the proverbial wool over my father’s eyes, I couldn’t say I completely had my mind wrapped around that one yet. “If my father is still clueless as to your true allegiance, how did he react to what happened between you and Christina? I mean, you basically kidnapped her to get her off the Blueliss, not to mention that you never returned her to Melchior?” He started to answer, but I interrupted him as something else occurred to me. “Speaking of Christina, where the hell is she, anyway?”

“Calm down, please, Sweet. Your litany of questions makes me feel something I imagine you would call anxiety, and I do not appreciate the sensation.” He paused for a few seconds and dramatically breathed in for a few counts before breathing out, which was ridiculous since he was already dead, and thus, couldn’t breathe. After regaining some sense of serenity, he smiled at me vacantly as if he’d just undergone a lobotomy.

“Okay, I won’t ask another question,” I muttered. “So answer the ones I already asked.”

“As to your leader, she is safely nestled in one of my estates. We shall retrieve her when we return to Lucerne.”

“And my father?”

He frowned at me. “I was approaching that discussion, if you would cease interrupting me.” He revealed an expression of mild discontent, so I didn’t say anything more.

He cleared his throat. “Your father trusts me as much as his nature allows,” he started. “And that one arrow in our quiver cannot be jeopardized.” His eyes narrowed as his lips grew tighter. “The moment that your father ceases to trust me is the moment of peril for you and your cause.”

“So what did my father think when you absconded with Christina?” I asked again.

Bram smiled at me broadly. “Very impressive vocabulary, my dear,” he said in a patronizing tone. I honestly thought he thought he was paying me a compliment. Seeing my impatient frown, though, he continued, “Your father showed little or no reaction, as he assumed I was just … borrowing her.”

“Borrowing her?”

Bram eyed me knowingly before sighing again, as if he were bored with our conversation and had more important places to be. “Borrowing her for carnal activities, Sweet.”

“Oh my God,” I said in disgust, shaking my head as something else occurred to me. Glaring at him, I could feel my jaw tightening. “If you laid one finger on her …”

“Sweet,” he smiled, shaking his head and holding up one hand to silence me. “I give you my word as a gentleman that I was nothing but.” Then his gaze dropped to my bust again and he licked his lips. “Where you are concerned, however, gentility abandons me.” Then he shrugged. “But no one ever accused a captivated lover of gentility, or did they?”

I had no clue what in the hell Bram was going on about and I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled. “So you actually believe my father thinks there isn’t anything weird going on with you?”

“That is my belief; yes,” he finished succinctly.

“My father is more than a little paranoid,” I continued, wondering if Bram was simply deluding himself into believing that Melchior wasn’t in the know. “He has his own people followed, as well as their phones tapped.”

Bram nodded as if this were old news. “Yes, he does.”

I raised my eyebrows in a rendition of “Well?”

“I am not one of his people,” he answered while shaking his head as if I were slow. Well, call me slow, but I wasn’t going to allow this conversation to end until I fully understood exactly where Bram stood with regard to Melchior O’Neil.

“Then what are you to him?”

Bram cocked his head to the side as he pondered my question. Then he faced me again. “To understand our partnership, it is best to explain from the beginning.” He cleared his throat as his eyes focused on something behind me. Pausing another few seconds, he glanced at me again as he sat up straighter, dropping his hands to his sides and clearing his throat again. He looked like he was about to deliver a soliloquy.

“I met your father long before he came into power,” he started, and his English accent suddenly sounded more aristocratic. “Melchior and I were first introduced as business associates, something which eventually grew into a partnership. In the beginning, we merely dabbled in importing and exporting, but it later turned into illegal potions smuggling after your father decided to become head of the ANC.”

“My father was the head of the ANC?” I asked in surprised disbelief. The connection between the ANC and street potion trafficking was pretty obvious—the ANC was supposed to stop potion smuggling and confiscate all contraband, relinquishing it to ANC custody. My father, as head of the ANC, would obviously have had unlimited access to all the contraband, which he’d obviously chosen to recycle.

Bram nodded. “Of course, Sweet. One cannot become the head of the Netherworld without first becoming the head of the ANC.” After another theatrical breath, he continued, “Once your father achieved his dream as frontrunner of the ANC, he grew quickly bored with it, and later affixed his sights on becoming the leader of the Netherworld.”

“So how do you figure into all of this?”

“Once again, you interrupt me, Sweet. I was about to segue into that very subject.” He frowned at me, but continued his narrative, thank Hades. “I was already a very wealthy man in my own right, long before I met your father. The truth is that your father never intended to create a partnership with anyone, but he needed my money, and we were both well aware of that fact. Hence, the partnership began and, as the years went by, we both became increasingly well-to-do, although I accumulated much more wealth than he.”

“Why was that?” I asked, realizing I was interrupting him, but not really caring.

“Because as an established businessman, and a prudent one at that, I withheld my investment unless I received a larger share of the entire pie.”

It was starting to make sense. Melchior needed Bram more than Bram needed Melchior. So while Melchior did all the legwork necessary to rise to the top of the ANC, before becoming head honcho of the Netherworld, Bram simply relaxed and profited from the illegal potions money rolling in. Yep, Bram wasn’t lying when he said he was a prudent business man.

“So after becoming leader of the Netherworld, why didn’t my father just do away with you?” I asked the obvious.

Bram laughed at the idea, shaking his head as if the question were absurd. “It is not so simple to ‘do away with me,’ as you so artfully phrased it.” His subsequent frown told me he didn’t find my question particularly polite.

I, however, couldn’t have cared less. “Okay, so from your story, it sounds like you were and still are in the perfect situation,” I started, eyeing him narrowly. “So why end it by aligning yourself with us, with The Resistance? Why put an end to something that’s obviously benefitted you so nicely?” I finished, glancing around myself and taking in his exquisite home. “I mean, this gorgeous estate, all your cars, No Regrets, all your women … why would you want all of that to end?”

Bram sighed and looked away from me. He tapped his fingernails against the table again as he zoned out on the dark night beyond the window. I followed his gaze and watched the stars twinkling alongside the crescent moon.

“I suppose you might say I turned over a new leaf,” he said softly.

“How so?”

He shrugged as he returned his attention to my face. “Yes, this is all fine and well, but even I can be subjected to bouts of … remorse.”

I frowned at him, taking a deep breath and shaking my head in disbelief. “You really don’t expect me to believe that you feel guilty now, so you want out?” I didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Because I don’t buy it, not for one second.”

Bram chuckled. “I do not know why I bother speaking anything but the truth to you, Sweet.”

“Neither do I.”

His chuckle faded as he stared at me for a few seconds. Then his jaw tightened and his lips formed a solid line. “I believe your father has grown too hungry for power. He is becoming a threat to everything we worked for,” he said finally, with no mirth in his expression. “That is the primary reason I will assist you in his removal from office.” He paused for a moment or two. “That and I will never forgive him for the abuse of his sole offspring.”

“Here we go with the lying again,” I said, unable to conceal the anger in my tone. “You were much more believable when you admitted the sad truth of your own greed, Bram. Don’t try to glorify your intentions by throwing me into the mix.”

Bram shook his head adamantly, even pounding his fist on the table top. It was a rare display of anger on his part, so very rare that I’d never seen him act like this before. I felt my eyes widening with surprise.

“I apologize,” he said instantly as he uncurled his fist and allowed his hand to drop to his side. He leaned back into his chair and studied me. “But on this topic, I have spoken nothing but the truth. Had I been fortunate enough to father offspring of my own, I would never have neglected him or her so carelessly, nor treated my child so cruelly as your father did you. And for that, I shall never forgive him.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent. There was something fervently intense about the way Bram had spoken and the way his eyes darkened at the mere mention of my relationship with my father.

“The truth is, Sweet, that you have become quite dear to me.”

I wanted to call his bluff, but I couldn’t—not when there was something so sincere in his eyes, something that insisted he wasn’t lying to me, that there were no tricks, no riddles, nothing I had to discern from his words. It was a rare moment in which I thought Bram was actually baring his innermost soul.

“The gravity of it quite took me by surprise, I am loath to admit,” he continued. “I found myself constantly looking forward to your impromptu visits at No Regrets. So when you approached me and asked me to escort you to the Netherworld, I felt such anticipation as I have not known for, oh, a hundred years or more. Yes, of course, I have often said that I would love nothing more than to bed you, but I also must confess now that our … bizarre acquaintance is one of the few joys in my life.”

Bram had never been so candid with me, and for the first time ever, I actually felt sorry for him. It suddenly dawned on me, as never before, that living for such a long time had made Bram an island unto himself. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no one he was close to—no one he considered his friend.

Except me. Yes, I had to admit that in our own limited and unique way, Bram and I were friends.

“At the expense of turning our last evening together into a maudlin scene, I shall ask that we change the subject, if it pleases you,” Bram suddenly said. He cleared his throat and his posture stiffened. “I must confide my unease with anything that defies logic and reason.”

I got his gist. Like most men, he wasn’t comfortable when facing his inner emotional child. But, to be fair, I wasn’t either. “I understand,” I said simply.

“Have you no curiosity as to the other person with whom I paid a visit while in the Netherworld?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I answered, glancing at him with renewed interest.

Bram smiled smugly as if our last conversation were now a distant memory, something to be locked away in his psyche. I had no idea if we would ever discuss it again. Why? Because Bram had said all he needed to say, and that was that.

“I believe you are acquainted with Caressa Brandenburg?” he asked, flashing me a raised brow expression.

“You visited Caressa?” I asked as shock welled up inside me.

“Yes, does it surprise you that Ms. Brandenburg and I have enjoyed quite a long friendship?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He seemed to like my answer and grinned more widely, apparently enjoying the role of news anchor. “She is quite an attractive woman, do you not agree?” he continued, eyeing me suspiciously.

I could see right through him though. He was obviously trying to make me jealous and it wasn’t going to work. “Yes, Caressa is very attractive. No arguments there.”

“Are you curious whether I have known her in the way I should like to know you?”

I shook my head and sighed deeply. “For Hades’s sake, Bram, get to the damn point!”

“Answer my question, please,” he answered with his chin stuck out defiantly.

“No, I’m not curious; and no, I don’t want to know about your sex life, or lack thereof, at all!”

He frowned momentarily. “Ms. Brandenburg has informed me that the Netherworld is up in arms regarding a newspaper article your leader ran in The Netherworlder Today,” he started.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I, too, noticed many handwritten signs posted along roads and highways that supported the fall of the current regime.” He cleared his throat as he smiled at me. “By all appearances, the Netherworld seems ripe for rebellion, Sweet. And as such, your father grows more desperate each day. I am certain we both know what Hippocrates had to say about that?”

No, I had no clue Hippocrates had anything to say about it, but I sensed where Bram was going with his point. “Desperate times call for desperate measures?”

“Exactly, Sweet,” Bram said and nodded. “Exactly right.”

“Then you still think we can win even though the Netherworld Guard outnumbers our own soldiers?”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Yes, I believe your side can prevail, if you proceed cautiously and correctly.”

“I need to know precisely where my father is,” I interjected quickly, realizing my father’s whereabouts were the crux of the entire matter. “We won’t have a chance in hell if we don’t know where to find Melchior.”

Bram chuckled. “Sometimes I believe you can read my mind, Sweet.”

He reached into his pants pocket and produced his pocket watch, handing it to me. I accepted the expensive-looking timepiece as I brushed my fingers against the face of it. I wondered why he’d handed it to me and glanced up at him with curiosity in my eyes.

“Long ago, I found it necessary to my well-being that I track your father’s comings and goings,” Bram said softly. Pointing to the watch, he added, “This pocket watch will allow you to do the same.”

“How?” I asked, glancing down at it again.

“It is a compass programmed to pinpoint your father’s location at any given moment.” He took it from my hand, placed it flat in his palm, and lifted his palm to eye level. The hour hand began turning counter clockwise before it settled onto the twelve o’clock position. Then the area at the bottom of the watch, which previously showed the date, displayed what appeared to be GPS coordinates.

“West, one hundred twenty-two degrees, by north, thirty-seven degrees,” Bram read aloud. Then he faced me with another smile. “It seems your father is close to Splendor, only in the Netherworld, of course.”

I dared not believe my own good luck. I’d known Bram would come through and in providing the answer to the problem of finding my father, he’d come through with flying colors, and then some. “Thank you,” I said earnestly.

Bram said nothing more as he stood up suddenly. “If it pleases you, there is one more item I would like to unveil to you before your departure this evening.”

I figured the business portion of our evening was now finished. And that was fine—there really wasn’t anything more I needed to know. “Sure,” I said as I clutched the timepiece in my palm, and warned myself not to leave it anywhere. That was the huge bummer about wearing gowns—there wasn’t a damn place to put anything.

I followed Bram through the dining room and into the wine cellar where I immediately noticed a painting, covered by a tarp, hanging on the wall. Bram strode up to it, but stopped short before unveiling it. Then he turned to face me with a broad smile.

“I do hope this will please you, Sweet.”

He grabbed the tarp and pulled on it gingerly, exposing the portrait he’d had painted of me. At first, I didn’t know what to say or think. Maybe it’s natural to feel shock when you see yourself reflected back at you in anything other than a mirror. But, I could only say that as far as the artist’s ability, he was more than simply talented. The painting looked exactly like me. It was the state in which I’d been represented that threw me for a loop.

SIX

It was a full-scale rendition of me, from head to foot. I was standing on a stretch of grass spotted with bluebells, a forest of pine trees behind me in the distance. The sky was an cerulean blue, interrupted by a few whimsical clouds that looked like white cotton candy. On one side of me was a lake, interrupted by a waterfall that coursed down the face of a craggy mountainside. On my other side, two deer, an owl and a few squirrels looked on curiously. But it wasn’t the Winnie the Pooh surroundings that struck me as completely baffling. Instead, it was the fact that nothing about the painting screamed ANC Regulator or law enforcement in general, which was something I’d expected given the title.

“I thought the painting was supposed to be titled ‘Fairy Law’?” I asked doubtfully, turning to face Bram who stood in silent appreciation of the portrait, his arms crossed against his chest.

“It is,” he insisted in a less-than-interested tone and then proceeded to point to the monogrammed silver plate inlaid at the top of the dark oak frame. The plate proclaimed the “masterpiece” to be The Fairy Law, just as I’d intimated.

The information reinforced, I refocused my attention on the painting, trying to glean some connection between it and the title. It was a little off-putting at first—seeing yourself reflected back at you and in a way that completely defies your own perception of just who and what you are. After a few seconds of trying to make a judgment regarding whether or not I liked the thing, I was left not knowing what to think. I mean, it was me clearly—the artist was obviously a good one because he’d been able to capture everything that made me me pretty well. But, at the same, time, there were definitely details that weren’t so much me. For one, my hair was totally off. Even though my hair is naturally long—ending at just below my elbows—and while I do have some good hair days when it adopts an inkling of a wave, my hair as pictured in the portrait was anything but mine. It trailed down to my butt in bouncy waves of full, golden curl—the shade a lighter gold with less honey tones than my natural color. Not only that, but the strands were interlaced haphazardly with rose, daffodil and lily blossoms, a baby pink ribbon snaking in and out of the tresses, like some slithering sea creature.

The Dulcie O’Neil I knew and loved so well would never do flowers in her hair and would never, ever, under any circumstance, do baby pink. Ever.

The expression on my face was neither happy nor sad but merely contented, the ends of my lips slightly lifted as if I was going for the Mona Lisa. There was an overall youthful naiveté to my face—my cheeks were round which made it look like I was all of eighteen years old. My eyes were wide and could have portrayed surprise if not for my eyebrows, which weren’t raised but sat idly above my eyes, appearing haughty with the way they arched so perfectly. As to the color of my eyes, they were much more of an emerald green than in real life and my lips were plumper, my nose a bit more pert and upturned.

But what really attracted my attention was the portrait me’s clothing. I was dressed in a lemon yellow gown (that had more in common with a negligee than a dress) that seemed like it was made out of chiffon, the material was so delicate and almost see-through. The dress was very short, ending at my upper mid-thigh and edged in fine white lace. My arms appeared to be clasped behind my back, one hand delicately reappearing at my upper thigh where I inched the hem of the dress up to the V of my torso. Even though the viewer wasn’t able to see anything he shouldn’t have, based on the angle of where I was holding the dress, it was pretty obvious panties hadn’t been of concern to the artist. And the fact that the portrait me’s arms were pulled back behind me, in turn, pushed my chest forward and allowed the viewer’s attention to wholly focus on my incredibly alert nipples which protruded from the translucent material and were the first things to grab the viewer’s attention. I felt myself coloring with embarrassment at just the thought that I was basically unable to stop staring at what were supposedly my own nipples.

As to the rest of “my” breasts, they were in a word: gargantuan. They had to be at least twice their actual size of a full C (which isn’t anything to scoff at!). The rest of the “dress” was painted so as to appear clinging to my curves, being both sleeveless and plunging in the front, revealing the swells of each side of my ample breasts. The empire waist flared into a short skirt which, again, was obscenely tiny over one leg. With the way “my” face portrayed a youthful sensuality and the fact that “I” was nearly baring my feminine fruit, it appeared as if the portrait me were beckoning to the onlooker, teasing him seductively. I could just imagine that the follow up to this stunning piece of art would reveal an image of this woman on her back with a man between her legs while the forest creatures continued to look on nosily.

As to the link between the painting and the title, I was still baffled. “I give up. There’s nothing about this picture that in any way says law enforcement,” I said, shaking my head as I attempted not to be rude because, I mean, it was a portrait of me which in and of itself was supposed to be flattering. ’Course, I also couldn’t say the sexual way in which I was represented was in any way pleasing, but I also couldn’t say I was surprised. I mean, this was Bram we were talking about …

The vampire chuckled, facing me with an arched brow of amusement. “You misunderstood, Sweet.” Then he glanced at the painting again. “The title refers to the law of nature, my dear, not the law of man.”

“I don’t get the law of nature from it either,” I grumbled, deciding I wasn’t a fan of my portrait. “I look like a woodland prostitute.”

Bram chuckled again but it didn’t appear his attention was in any way focused on me, the real me. Instead, he seemed fully enraptured by and with the painting. The chuckle died on his lips, not even leaving the ghost of a smile in its wake. “It is an absolute masterpiece, the finest specimen of art on which I have ever had the fortune of laying my eyes.”

“Then it must also be the only painting you’ve ever seen period.”

But Bram shook his head, still unable to pull his attention away from the portrait. I glanced up at it again and sighed. “Instead of titling it the ‘Fairy Law,’ you should have called it ‘Fairy in need of a bra,’” I finished, deciding I’d now had enough of the painting and of Bram for the evening. Nothing like ruining an evening by being forced to confront a barely clothed rendition of yourself.

“I have stood and admired your portrait more times than I care to remember,” Bram said in a level, serious tone. “I must admit I am wholly transfixed by the beauty of the subject, how she teases me and flaunts her feminine loveliness, showing me just enough but not too much.”

“Holy Hades, it’s getting late, Bram …”

Finally he turned to face me and seemed to study me, as if he were comparing me to the painting. He glanced at my portrait and then at me again, his eyes narrowing. “I will admit the portrait does lack your edge, your feistiness. It is what I imagine Sweet would be had she not experienced the ugliness that exists in this world.”

“How poetic,” I said with a quick but unconvincing smile. “But I fail to see how that picture has anything in common with me.”

Bram didn’t shift his gaze, just continued to stare at me as if he could see through me to the other side of the room. There was no expression on his face. “She is the absolute embodiment of you,” he whispered.

I shook my head, throwing my hands on my hips as I forced my attention back to the Forest Slut. “She is not. For one, she’s coy—I don’t do coy. Second, her boobs are bordering on an E and third she looks like a whorish version of Rapunzel because her hair is so ridiculously long. And my eyes are nowhere near that shade of green.”

“Then you fail to recognize your own splendor,” Bram muttered, unmoved. “She is you and you are she.”

“Then I guess we’ll agree to disagree,” I said quickly, taking a few steps away from the portrait and toward the door in a charade of “I hate that painting and let’s get going.”

But Bram made no motion to accompany me. Instead, he stood rooted to the same spot. “I have lost count of the evenings I have stood here alone staring into her intelligent and glorious eyes, bemoaning the fact that I do not possess magic, otherwise I should have magicked her into reality, created my very own creature such that Mary Shelley dreamt of.”

“A monster Dulcie, that sounds really nice,” I grumbled, shaking my head.

“Far from a monster,” Bram said sadly and took the few steps that separated us. His lips lifted into a strange smirk that wasn’t a smile but hinted that there was something going on in the gray matter between his ears.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked, my voice coming out almost hesitantly. There was just something about his eyes that seemed … different somehow. Really, it was his whole disposition—something was off.

“There have been many moments when I have wished she would inch up her gown just a fraction more, allow me to feast my eyes on her forbidden fruit.”

“I’ve heard enough,” I said grumpily, not wanting to point out the fact that he was starting to sound like he was losing his grip on sanity—I mean, there was no way a painting could lift up her skirt but I wasn’t in the mood to point out the obvious because I didn’t want any part of the direction this conversation was headed.

Bram didn’t say anything but continued to stare at me, his eyes boring into mine. What was strange was that I couldn’t pull my attention away from his gaze, it was as though I was a deer, locked in the headlights of Bram’s eyes.

“It’s getting late,” I said softly, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.

I was scarcely aware of Bram taking another two steps toward me and I wasn’t sure how many seconds it was until he stood a mere breath away from me but it felt like a split second in the same time that it felt like an eternity. There was just something about his expression, about the way his eyes seemed like deep holes of vivid blue. Even as I stared into them, they began to darken. He said nothing but reached out and took hold of both of my upper arms, as if forcing me to stare into his eyes. His grip was tight but not uncomfortable.

“Wha—” I started but then couldn’t finish my sentence. Words failed me because it seemed his eyes had somehow changed color, that their ordinary blue had blazed into a dark navy with specks of gold and those specks appeared to be swirling in a circular pattern. They began to move so quickly, I couldn’t see the individual specks any longer, but just a ring of yellow around his eyes.

“Show me your magic,” he whispered and although I could recognize the words, I had a difficult time attaching any meaning to them. Unable to do anything else, I just stared into the void of his eyes helplessly. I could feel the cold of his breath against my forehead, but I couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t pull my eyes from the golden glow of his.

“Create your magic for me, Sweet,” he whispered again. Even though I couldn’t register his words, my hand suddenly moved of its own accord, my fingers closing into a fist. Without giving myself the direction, I shook my fist until I felt the glittery fragments of my fairy dust in my palm.

“As she is you and you are she, become her for me, Sweet.”

I didn’t understand what he was asking of me. But it didn’t matter because it was as if my body was on autopilot. I felt my arm raise up above my head as I released my fingers and the shimmering dust fell about my hair and face like an ethereal curtain. My eyes shifted to the painting behind Bram and narrowed as I took in every detail of the golden-haired woman who now seemed as if she was smiling. It felt like a swirl of warm air that started at my toes, twirling itself up my legs, my waist, my breasts and higher still, to the crown of my head. I blinked and in the span of that split second, I felt the tendrils of my now incredibly long hair snaking around my body, the kiss of flower blossoms against my cheeks.

Something is wrong! I heard the voice inside my head but, again, couldn’t understand the meaning of the words. Instead, I found my eyes stapled to the vision of the man before me. He stared down at me and a smirk lit up his face, a face that was so beautiful, I had never seen its equal. I desperately wanted to reach out and run my fingers across the velvet of his skin, sink my index finger between his lips and feel the wetness of his mouth.

“Remarkable,” the deity before me proclaimed as his gaze traveled from my face down to my breasts and down still to my legs, only to arrive back at my eyes again. “You are real.”

No! That voice rang out within me. Fight him!

But a moment later, the voice was forgotten. Instead, I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the blue void of the eyes of the magnificent creature before me. He gazed at me and I felt something warm bubble up from within me, it was a feeling of complete happiness, as if nothing could ever harm me, as if I were ensconced in a safe haven. I felt as if I was right where I was meant to be.

“Perhaps I do possess a magic of my own,” the being spoke and brought his finger to the side of my cheek. I closed my eyes as soon as I felt his touch and pushed my face into his caress, wanting him to understand how his touch sent shivers down my spine and made it almost difficult to stand.

Dulcie! That angry voice sounded within me and I felt my eyes pop open in response.

The creature smiled as he gazed into my eyes, his canines lengthening. And then the voice was a simple memory, something intangible and, as such, unreal.

“Please,” I said, surprised by the words coming off my tongue. The immortal before me seemed to understand my need, as much as I wasn’t able to explain it myself. He bowed low and pulled me into him, angling my head back and staring into my eyes as the gold of his irises began to spin even faster, ensnaring me in his web. He brought his lips to mine and I felt my eyelids fluttering closed once I felt the lush softness of his lips and how tender his kiss was.

Knight! The word flashed through my head but I didn’t understand the meaning. There was a blankness in my mind that I didn’t fully comprehend, something that felt numb and incapable of rational thought. While the void of my thoughts continued to plague me, I felt the deity, the god’s, tongue suddenly infiltrating my mouth, mating with my tongue while the points of his fangs indented my lip, not breaking my flesh but threatening to. And I suddenly wanted him to break my flesh, to sink his fangs into me so I could provide his sustenance, so I could, in some way, give back to him the feelings he was engendering in me. I wanted to become his vessel from which he could drink and, what was more, I wanted to become the vessel with which he could vent his masculine need.

Something blossomed within my gut, a feeling I recognized. It was as if a trove of butterflies had suddenly become airborne in the deep recesses of my body, fluttering their gossamer wings in unison until a great maelstrom brewed within me. But there was a sharpness to their wings, a sort of stinging need, a yearning that flooded me deep down in my core. And I knew the only answer to this deeply seated need was to become one with this god, to allow him entrance into my body.

The deity pulled away from me and even though he didn’t say anything, I opened my eyes obediently, as if he had silently issued the command.

“You do desire me, after all,” he whispered, a broad grin on his face. Then he stepped away and took me in from head to toe again, panting as he did so. All I could do was focus on the deep blue of his eyes, finding the once gold circles were now a deep purple, mesmerizing in the way they circled around his irises so quickly.

Even though I didn’t shift my gaze from his eyes, I could see his hand reaching toward me and the touch of his fingers brushing the yellow fabric just above my nipple, was almost too much. I closed my eyes and breathed out.

“Look at me,” he said and I immediately opened my eyes again, losing myself in the velvet of his gaze. I felt him brush the strap of the dress down from my shoulder and then his fingertips against my naked breast. He grazed my nipple and I felt the yearning, stinging sensation between my thighs begin pounding, demanding some form of release. He captured my nipple between his thumb and index finger and pinched until I feared I might pass out.

“Dulcie, you must fight me,” he breathed but I didn’t understand his words, couldn’t see through the cloudiness that was consuming me. He brought his other hand to my opposite shoulder and brushed the strap of my dress down my shoulder, baring my other breast as his eyes feasted on it.

Dulcie! That inward voice screamed out again. Fight!

“Do not give in to me,” the creature said softly as his mouth found my breast and his tongue circled my nipple.

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t understand. Why would I fight him when I wanted nothing more than to give in to him? “You don’t want me?” I felt the words leave my mouth.

He pulled away from me and his gaze seemed to strip me down to my very core. “You do not understand,” he breathed. “I desire you more than I have ever desired anyone or anything.”

“Then take me,” I crooned, grabbing his hand and placing it on my breast again. “I am yours to do with as you please.” The words ricocheted through me, spreading my desire to every corner of my body. “I belong to you.”

He didn’t say anything but just stared at me, no expression on his face. Then he gripped the back of my neck with one hand and with the other, lifted my body with his incredible strength until I was straddling him. As soon as I felt his tongue in my mouth, the yearning within my belly became an all out fire, consuming me with its fingers of fiery desire. I felt a wind swirling around my legs but couldn’t focus on the fact that there were no open windows in the room. Instead, I marveled at the feel of his tongue on my nipple as the wind began whipping up my legs, circling around and around as it danced its way up to my thighs. I undulated against him, rubbing my pelvis into his stomach, wanting him to understand that I was his.

“Dulcie,” his voice interrupted the carnal feelings of need ricocheting through me and when he set me on my feet, taking a step back, I felt suddenly cold and empty.

“I do not want you like this,” he said almost angrily.

“No,” I demanded and grabbed his hand, trying to force it between my thighs. “Touch me and you will want me,” I whispered.

He pulled away and clasped both his hands behind his back, as if afraid I might go after them again. “Use your strength and fight me, dammit,” he ordered.

I threw my head back and felt a moan break through my lips as the wind suddenly forced its way between my thighs and circled my most sensitive area, breathing against me with a force that made my knees go wobbly. I started to fall and felt his arms suddenly around me but he didn’t force me upright, instead he held me at an angle, both of us watching as the wind forced my dress up to my navel. I glanced at his face and found his eyes glued to the feminine flesh between my legs.

“Take me; I am yours,” I whispered.

Dulcie, fight his power! The voice rang through my head, this time stronger and clearer than before. I started to glance up at him but the voice stopped me. Do not look into his eyes!

The wind seemed to build in intensity and I could feel it pushing my legs apart, intent on burying itself within me.

“Show me your strength,” the creature holding me demanded, his tone of voice constricted, almost pained. “I cannot fight this much longer,” he finished, shaking his head as he started to trail his fingers down my stomach.

“Don’t fight it,” I responded, at the same time that pain lodged itself right between my eyes and I had to clench them shut to force it away.

“My desire for you is beginning to cloud my judgment,” he whispered.

Dulcie, for fuck sake! The woman’s voice inside my head screamed at me. It took me a second or two to recognize it as my own.

I locked my thighs against the power of the wind and clenched my eyes shut tight, the feelings of bliss and harmony slowly beginning to bleed away. I shook my head as dawning realization claimed me. My breathing escalated as the wind began to die down. Even though there was still an overwhelming sense of need within me, something that begged me to open my legs and let the magnificent creature above me take me or, failing him, let the wind take me, there was also something else that rebelled.

Remnants of need and bliss diminishing, I forced myself upright, out of his hold and bent over, with my hands on my thighs as I tried to catch my breath. I shook my head, trying to clear the illusion from my mind and eyes. Within seconds, my grip on sanity returned and with it, the liquid heat of anger. Once I felt like I could stand on my own feet without the risk of falling over, I stood up and turned around to face Bram, who watched me with narrowed but inquisitive eyes. He was panting, his canines indenting his lower lip.

I took the few steps that separated us and without saying anything, unleashed my fist against his face. To his credit, I was more than sure that he saw the blow coming, given his vampire quickness, but he still allowed me to cold cock him.

“You son of a bitch!” I screamed at him, but feeling like I was about to pass out, due to the fact that his vampire glamour still hadn’t passed out of my system, I had to lean against the wall and catch my breath.

“You are lucky I have the strength of mind that I do,” he said as his canines rescinded. “A lesser man would have succumbed to his more primitive nature.”

“I’m lucky?” I laughed acidly. “You just tried to force yourself on me and I’m the one who’s lucky?”

Bram shook his head. “I would never force myself on any woman,” he argued. “This was merely a test of your strength and power,” he said simply and then frowned at me. “And you nearly failed it.”

“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again,” I seethed, still finding it necessary to lean against the wall.

“I did it for your own good,” Bram ground out, offering me a raised brow expression that said he was surprised by how I was taking it.

“My own good?” I demanded, trying to find the strength to stand up. I glanced down at myself and found I was still dressed in that awful yellow dress from the painting, only the thing was around my waist, both of my breasts hanging out. Immediately I balled my palm into a fist, sprinkling dust over my head as I imagined myself dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers.

“The Netherworld Guard will include vampires nearly as practiced as I am,” Bram said stiffly, apparently not appreciating the fact that I’d just denied him access to my nudity.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to keep the stars from clouding my vision. With his ability, he could have permanently damaged my mind because his glamour was so potent. I’d heard of women who had become vegetables after being the unfortunate victims of a centuries-old vampire’s glamour.

“What is of greater concern to me, my dear, is that you very nearly gave in to me. Had I not encouraged you to fight me, I am quite certain I would still be enjoying your body as we speak,” he ground out, his fangs suddenly lengthening again.

I glared at him. “Do you really expect me to believe that you wanted me to fight you?”

He returned my glare. “Do you not recall me using those exact words?” Then he chuckled deeply as if the whole thing were of no consequence to him at all. “I have had many opportunities to force you into my bed, Sweet. You must ask yourself why I have never sought to glamour you until this moment?”

“Maybe because you know there’s a good chance I won’t survive this attack on the Netherworld so you figured this was your last chance.” I paused. “And weren’t you the one to remind me that desperate times call for desperate measures?”

He glanced at me and raised a brow, appearing offended. “As I said earlier, this was a test of your strength. Had you not passed it, I would have attempted to talk you out of joining your brethren in this battle.”

“The chances of any vampires three hundred or older in the Netherworld Guard are slim.”

Bram nodded. “Quite true, Sweet, quite true, but why take the chance? I decided I should do you the favor of practicing your resistance against the oldest of my race.”

I swallowed hard, somehow surprised but not all that surprised to find out Bram was the oldest “living” vampire. “I want you to take me back to the hotel. I’ve had enough of you and your games.”

“Very well,” he said matter-of-factly. “Though I will continue to insist upon my innocence in this instance.”

And that was when I lost my temper again. “Bram, did you or did you not kiss me, feel me up and basically see me completely naked?” I demanded, coloring as I remembered the incident with the wind trying to get between my legs while my dress was bunched around my middle. “And I’m also convinced the wind and that fog earlier, were both of your own design.”

“I am guilty of all of the above, Sweet,” he said and took a few steps closer to me. “And believe me when I tell you that I shall repeatedly replay every memory of your touch and your smell.”

“And believe me when I tell you that if you ever touch me again, I’ll have your three-hundred-year-old balls mounted on my wall.”

SEVEN

Bram frowned at me, raising his brows in a sarcastic expression, and letting me know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t keen on having his balls mounted on my wall. Well, I wasn’t too keen on being glamoured by a horny vampire, so I figured that made us equal.

“As you are so anxious to return to your hotel, I shall endeavor to please you,” he said stonily, his frown still evident. “Before we embark on our journey, may I suggest one recommendation?”

I glanced at him and sighed heavily, wondering when he was going to give this charade a rest. “Go ahead,” I answered in a tone of unconcealed ennui. There was only so much of Bram and his incessant sexual innuendoes that I could put up with, and I’d definitely had my fill.

The vampire held my attention for a few more seconds before he finally decided to say whatever was on his mind. I wondered if, at some point in his ridiculously long career, he’d ever worked as an actor. All of his dramatic pauses as well as his overall flair for the histrionic suggested he probably would have been a good one.

“Your first attempt to enter the Netherworld should occur at eighteen degrees north, and sixty-three degrees west,” he said quickly, as if I had a clue as to what the hell he was talking about.

“What? Wait a second,” I started, shaking my head as I held up my hands to tacitly protest “Um, you lost me.” But recognizing his calculations as coordinates, I started searching the room for something to write on. I had to admit it more than surprised me that Bram actually had something serious to talk about. I assumed this latest conversation would be merely another bold attempt to woo me into having sex with him.

Unable to find a pen or a piece of paper, I shook my fist until I felt my fairy dust leaking through my fingers. Then I unclenched my fist over my other hand, while imagining a blank piece of paper and a black, ballpoint pen. Within seconds, both appeared in my outstretched palm and I glanced up at Bram again. “Would you please repeat that?”

He did as I requested and I hurriedly scribbled the coordinates on the sheet of paper before looking up at him again with another question. “So why do you think we should enter the Netherworld there? And more importantly, where is ‘there’?”

“Those coordinates, when programmed into the portal-ripping device that I already gave to you, will transport you into Squander Valley.” He paused and remained silent, apparently presupposing that I would know what in the hell Squander Valley was. I didn’t.

“What’s that?”

Bram raised his left brow like he was in the process of judging me, and I was coming up short, but I couldn’t say I cared. Sometimes his expectations were impossible to meet. I mean, how many times had I been to the Netherworld? All of once.

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Bram, I thought to myself.

“Squander Valley was the original site for a proposed community,” Bram started. “It was a project that had to be aborted once it was discovered that the entire area was sitting atop a Bregone swamp.”

“A what swamp?”

He shook his head as if he’d just emerged from the realm of being disappointed at my ability to understand him and was now downright exasperated. “I must remind myself that you have not traveled much in the Netherworld,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. He brought his eyes to mine and shook his head. “I find it quite tiresome to play the role of teacher at every turn.”

“Moving on,” I grumbled.

“A Bregone swamp is hazardous to the health of any creature unfortunate enough to be within proximity of one. They emit Brigonnia fumes, which cause immediate death.”

“How?”

“I was about to tell you,” he muttered with another arched brow. It was a good thing that as a vampire he remained the same age as he was when turned. Otherwise, his forehead would have been one wrinkly mess, given all his frowns of exasperation. “Once the victim inhales the rancid air of the Bregone, the toxin travels through his body, instantly petrifying his organs. Moments later, the deceased organs decompose into nothing but an inky, black mess, which the victim then regurgitates during the final throes of death.”

“Sounds fascinating,” I said with obvious distaste. “And whose great idea was it to build a community on a Bregone swamp?” I asked, trying to banish any further images of death by Brigonnia fumes from my mind.

“I do not know for certain, but I do know that it is incredibly difficult to detect a Bregone swamp, as they exist within the crust of the earth. An unknowing passerby would not realize he was anywhere near one without proper detection. And even worse, the Brigonnia fumes emit no smell. Once you realize you have crossed into the boundaries of one, it is usually too late.”

“Thanks for the Bregone swamp 101 lesson, Bram,” I said as I dropped my hand holding the pen and piece of paper to my side while I gaped at the vampire before moving to my second inquiry. “I think the question now remains why the hell would I want to send my soldiers to a horribly painful death? I’m trying to defeat my father, not lose the battle before it’s even begun, remember?”

Bram shook his head, apparently vexed that I wasn’t following him. I had a good idea that all this irritation was really stemming from his sexual frustration. Well, he could go on being sexually frustrated for another twenty minutes or so. By then, I was more than sure he’d find some willing woman to appease his frazzled male nerves.

“You would not be sentencing them to death as long as each of them is protected by a gas mask,” he said as if the answer were as clear as he was horny. He could have been the horniest person I’d ever met. Well, I guessed Knight could also be in the running for that title …

“As to the reason I advised entering the Netherworld via Squander Valley,” the vampire continued, “Squander Valley is a ghost town, and as such, it is safe. The Netherworld Guard does not patrol there despite being relatively close to one of the Guard’s training bases.”

“You want us to attack their base,” I finished for him, smiling. I was beginning to recognize the beauty of his plan. One thing I could say for Bram was that he was smart, even if he drove me crazy, most of the time.

“Ah, behold the Regulator whom I have heard so much about,” he said with a patronizing grin. It quickly turned into a lascivious, full-body stare.

“How many soldiers are on that base?” I asked, ignoring his jibe along with his roaming eyes for the moment.

“It is the largest training base in the Netherworld,” he answered. Glancing up at the ceiling as if the answer to my question lay there, he replied, “I would estimate perhaps two hundred soldiers live and train there on a regular basis.”

“To defeat them, I would need at least two hundred of my own soldiers,” I said. The sinking feeling in my gut started to churn as I thought that maybe this sounded a little too good to be true.

“Not if you are the superior strategist,” Bram said, crossing his arms against his chest and regarding me coolly. “A few men with the proper artillery could go far.”

He thought we should bomb the base—at least, I figured that was his gist. “So we take out this training compound, then what?”

Bram shrugged. “I cannot answer all of your questions, Sweet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I replied saucily. “But you know the landscape of the Netherworld way better than I do; and because you rubbed elbows with my father, you also know the structure of the Guard as well as the ANC.” I grinned broadly. “Bram, I know you well enough by now to realize you know more than you’re letting on.”

“The phrase ‘never look a gift horse in the mouth’ comes to mind,” he said, regarding me with effrontery.

I eyed Bram again, wondering if I should tell him about our plan, and how we intended to stage a fake surrender of Loyalist Netherworlders through the airport portal in which I’d first traveled to the Netherworld. But then I decided against it, thinking it was smarter to keep some things under wraps. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Bram; but I couldn’t say I completely trusted him either. Something in the back of my mind kept niggling at me to be careful where my trust was concerned—that same voice inside my head that previously cautioned me not to put all my eggs in Bram’s basket.

“If you use multiple entry points simultaneously and manage to wipe out the largest of the Netherworld Guard’s training bases, I believe you would have the advantage,” the gallant vampire finished. Then he eyed me pointedly. “Of course, one of your targets should be your father, himself.”

I didn’t say anything, but simply nodded and Bram continued. “Slay the puppet master and all his puppets shall inevitably fall, do you not agree?”

I swallowed hard, but kept my poker face. So Bram thought along the same lines as I did regarding the assassination of my father. Interesting. And now that I possessed Bram’s “Melchior O’Neil GPS timepiece,” I expected the job might be entirely easier than what I’d previously imagined.

“Of course, it sounds good in theory,” he continued, his words echoing Knight’s. At the thought of my Loki, I felt anxiety bubbling up inside me. I had to get back to the hotel and tell Knight everything Bram said, minus the whole glamouring incident, of course. It wasn’t that I was trying to protect Bram by not telling Knight, it was because I believed we, The Resistance, still needed Bram. And giving Knight one more reason to despise him wouldn’t exactly assist us in our goal of making everyone get along.

Speaking of the vampire, he glanced at me with eyes as sharp as glass. Remembering what happened the last time I dared to gaze into his eyes, I chose to avert mine to the ground.

“It sounds good in theory, but nothing is as easy as it sounds,” I finished for him. I could feel my jaw tightening as I realized the enormous battle that awaited us. When I looked up at him again, I found his gaze somewhat less intimidating.

“If removing your father were an easy task, it would have undoubtedly been achieved before now,” Bram concluded.

I agreed with a nod that he had a good point. My father was a master at surviving, so really, it didn’t matter how many advantages we employed, deposing him would be no easy feat. ’Course, I’d never really managed to convince myself it was easy to begin with, but anyhoo ...

“That is all the advice I have to offer, Sweet,” Bram said with finality. He slapped his hands together as if he were ready to move on to bigger and better topics.

“Thanks,” I started before he took a few steps towards me. The look of hunger had returned in full force.

Don’t look into his eyes! I reminded myself and immediately centered my attention on my shoes. I heard him chuckle, obviously finding it humorous that I preferred not to play the part of lovesick victim again. He didn’t say anything, though, but reached forward, taking a tress of my hair between his thumb and forefinger, and rubbing it together as if enjoying the tactile sensation. I started to pull away, but he prevented me from doing so by placing his palm in the small of my back.

“Didn’t we just go through this?” I snapped, finally focusing on his face.

“Fear not,” he quickly responded, dropping the tendril and releasing his hand so that it surreptitiously brushed past my butt before finding its place at his side. He was definitely an opportunist. “I could not abide your death, Sweet,” he said softly.

“Well, we both have that in common.”

“Perhaps you should leave the fighting to those who are not so indispensable?” he asked, cocking his head to the side as he studied me. “However, if you do decide to fight and if your little uprising fails, I am more than happy to provide you with shelter and a safe haven from your father.” He paused a moment or two. “I could promise you protection, Sweet.”

I ignored “the little uprising” statement, but the rest of it couldn’t be dismissed so easily. “Thanks for the offer, Bram, and I’m sure our soldiers would love to know you consider them dispensable,” I started, shaking my head. It irritated me that he was now trying to discourage me from doing what had to be done. My father had targeted me so it was only fair and just that I set my sights on him. “But this is my fight, and there’s no way I’m going to back out of it.”

Bram didn’t say anything for a few moments, but continued staring at me in an off-putting way that was uniquely his. “I do not know how I would tolerate you losing your life,” he began, studying me again as if I were on the auction block. “Although, one part of me might consider it a relief.”

“Thanks for that,” I said with a frown. I started for the entry to the dining room, having decided there was nothing more that needed to be said. Within a split-second, I felt my cheek slamming against his chest as he materialized directly in front of me, something he only rarely did. I stepped away from him, trying to conceal the shock that was already pumping through me. He gripped each of my wrists and held me in place, staring down at me with an urgency I’d never before seen in his eyes.

“I know you are drawn to me,” he started, his voice deep and throaty.

I didn’t want a repeat of the whole vampire glamour incident. “Let me go.”

“You can no longer pretend not to be attracted to me,” he continued. “For we both know the truth.”

“Um, let me remind you, fangs-for-brains, that you glamoured me! Whatever the hell you thought I was into had nothing to do with the real me. It was all your own doing.”

Bram smiled, revealing his fangs seductively. “Yes, I glamoured you, Sweet, but in order to glamour my prey, she must first come to me of her own free will.” He paused for a few seconds while I tried to decide if he was full of shit. Was I truly attracted to Bram? I mean, I had to say he was incredibly good looking, and yes, even sexy on occasion. But when it came right down to it, I had no interest in sex with Bram whatsoever. Especially not when I compared it to the almost bestial appetite I had for Knight.

“It is not possible to glamour someone who does not want to be glamoured, my dear,” he continued, smiling like he knew he had me.

“Let go of me, Bram,” I repeated in an icy tone.

“Give me one evening, Dulcie,” he ground out, his fangs sparkling in the low light. “Allow me to experience your body just this one evening and I will forever refrain from seducing you again.”

“No,” I said quickly, “and there might not be an again.” I shook my head as I realized this was his last ditch effort to shag me, since it appeared he wasn’t wholeheartedly convinced of my survival skills.

“Your body reacted to my touch,” he continued, his eyes traveling down from my face to my breasts and lower still. He brought his eyes back up to mine and they appeared to darken into navy blue again, his passion overtaking them. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, refusing to succumb to his powers again.

“I observed you, Sweet, the twinkle in your eyes, the way you bit your lip. I watched your body respond to me, how you arched your back, how your nipples hardened at my touch.” I opened my eyes as he brought his gaze to my face again. “I heard the heaviness of your breathing, and I could smell your desire.”

I shook my head emphatically. “You manifested those reactions from me, Bram, and you’re damn well aware that none of it was real. You tricked me into feeling what you wanted me to feel.”

He shook his head, his eyes now pleading. “Your words only betray you, Sweet. You know as well as I do that you long for me to make love to you.”

I closed my eyes, refusing to ponder the possibility that I might have wanted him, as he kept intimating that I had. Was it possible? Was there truth to his insistence that he could only glamour a willing victim?

You know yourself, Dulcie, I thought. You know yourself well enough to know that if you are attracted to Bram at all, it’s only on the surface and you would never act on it if you were in your right mind.

“Allow me to make love to you just this once,” he crooned in words almost as quiet as a whisper.

I gulped down the fear that this situation might go south in a hurry. Was Bram the sort of person to force himself on me? I didn’t know. ’Course, he’d sort of come close just a few minutes ago with the whole glamouring incident, but I guessed since he hadn’t gone through with it, and I remembered him telling me to fight him, maybe he wasn’t the sort?

Well, it looked like I was about to find out.

“No,” I said simply, but every fiber of my being was on alert, ready to fight him if he so much as breathed in a way I didn’t approve of.

Bram didn’t release me right away. Instead, we both just stood there, staring at each other as if we were preparing to duel. Then, just when I began to wonder what he was going to do, and if I could really fend off the advances of such a powerful vampire, he simply released my wrists.

“Very well,” he said softly while stepping aside, allowing me more space. I didn’t say anything as he headed for the archway that led to the dining room, so I did the same. I followed him through the dining room, down the hallway and into the entryway. His steps were hurried and the silence between us was more than uncomfortable.

He reached for the doorknob on the front door before turning around and regarding me with what I can only describe as utter disappointment.

“I wish you much luck,” he said as he opened the door and allowed me to walk through it. He closed it behind us and beeped the Rolls-Royce unlocked. Saying nothing, he opened the passenger door wide as I seated myself.

“Thank you, Bram,” I said softly with an encouraging smile, not knowing what else I could say or do. After basically admitting that I wanted nothing to do with him romantically, much less sexually, I could only imagine how badly I’d wounded his masculine pride.

He nodded and we both just stared at each other for a few seconds before he broke the silence. “I hope you prevail against your father, Sweet.”

***

After traveling through three portals, we arrived at another of Bram’s estates, this one more modern and sitting atop a large hill in Hades only knew where. Bram hadn’t managed to say one word to me so I wasn’t about to make small talk. Instead, I just wanted to get in, get Christina, and get back to the Hotel Des Balances where Knight was awaiting us.

“I shall return shortly,” Bram said as he pulled up in front of the four-story, Spanish styled villa and left the Rolls running. I figured he was going to get Christina so I’d patiently wait for his return. Trying to find something to do, I played with the radio stations but didn’t encounter much other than static so eventually turned it off.

When Bram appeared at the front door, he was carrying Christina bride style and she appeared to be either asleep or passed out. I immediately stood up and opened my door, fearing the worst. “What’s wrong with her?” I called out as I watched him carry her across the olive-tree lined entryway and up to the Rolls. He opened the car door and plopped her in the backseat. She breathed out heavily and then returned to her previous state.

“There is nothing wrong with her,” Bram said quickly as he closed the rear door and opened his door, seating himself. He glanced over at me and frowned. “She is merely in a deep sleep as the Blueliss works its way from her body. She will be fully restored by morning.”

And that was apparently all he had to say about that because he turned the key in the ignition and we were off. It seemed only moments later that we pulled up to the hotel. Bram put the Rolls in park and then proceeded to act every ounce the undead gentleman. He not only opened my door, but then heaved Christina into his arms and walked us both through the lobby to the elevator.

“I previously made room arrangements for Christina,” he announced and then fished inside his pocket, handing me a room key.

“That was nice of you,” I said quickly.

Bram didn’t respond but simply started down the hallway as soon as the elevator beeped open. I was left with no choice but to follow him and glancing down at the key in my hand, read “304.” Christina’s room was at the end of the hall and Bram stood outside the door, patiently waiting for me to open the door. Once I did so, he deposited Christina on the bed, covered her with a nearby blanket and then retreated back into the hallway, being careful to close her door behind him. Then he glanced at me and offered me a quick smile before bowing low and kissing my hand. Even though he played up his customary role of gallant vampire, there was definitely something different between us now. That easy affability and informality that used to characterize our relationship was gone, leaving in its place something aloof and awkward. I couldn’t allow myself to worry about it though because I had way too much on my mind already.

Tomorrow we would attack the Netherworld and there was still so much information I needed to tell Knight. Not only that, but I was more than sure he had plenty of updates for me too.

Glancing at the clock at the end of the hall, I saw it was nearly two a.m., which meant the dawn was only a few hours away. I gave Bram one last smile as the elevator dinged, announcing it was headed downstairs. Bram wasted no time in entering it and seconds later, the doors closed and I was alone. A moment or so later, my elevator arrived and I entered it with a heavy heart. I expected Knight wouldn’t be too happy about the length of time I’d spent with Bram. In my defense, though, Bram had definitely provided more than useful information, but I was sure that Knight was about to read me the riot act.

The elevator doors opened with a “ding” and I hurried down the corridor to our room, knocking on the door sheepishly. Within seconds, the door flew open and an unhappy Loki stood peering down at me.

“Two o’clock in the morning?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. Even though he was obviously pissed, just the image of him standing there in his dark jeans and white T-shirt with his hair in disarray was enough for me to want to throw my arms around him and kiss him until my lips hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I said with an apologetic smile.

Saying nothing, he held the door open for me and I entered the room, without a word. Instead, I kicked off my sneakers and walked over to the windows, noticing the reflection of the streetlamps on the river. When I heard Knight close and lock the door behind us, I turned to face him.

“Christina is in a room on the third floor, sleeping off the Blueliss,” I started. “And I’ve got a lot of other good information for you,” I continued, but I could tell Knight’s attention wasn’t on that. Instead, he was busily scrutinizing my clothing.

“Why are you wearing a different outfit than you were when you left?” he demanded as he crossed his arms against his broad chest and regarded me angrily.

I gulped, striving to prove my innocence. “As part of our agreement, I have to wear a gown every time Bram and I dine together.”

Knight regarded me coolly, but his jaw was so tight, it seemed like he was about to shatter his teeth. “So why not change back into the clothes you were wearing before you put on the gown? Or, better yet, why not wear the gown home so I could enjoy seeing you in it?”

I cleared my throat, unsure of what excuse I could find to explain why I didn’t do exactly what Knight was asking. Unfortunately, I was a terrible liar.

“Dulcie, sometimes I can’t help but wonder what is going on between you and the vampire,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I want to believe you when you say he means nothing to you, but when these situations arise, I find my faith in you challenged.”

I knew I had to confess the truth of what happened, whether it meant Knight might hold a grudge against Bram or not. The way I looked at it, the truth was better than having him believe I was having an affair with Bram. “The truth is that Bram glamoured me and his power was so intense, I nearly succumbed.”

“What do you mean he glamoured you and you nearly succumbed?”

I took another deep breath, fully aware of how bad my words sounded. “I mean, Bram tried to assert his will on me to prove whether or not I was strong enough to resist him. He claims the vampires in the Netherworld Guard are older than three hundred, and will use their powers of persuasion to throw us, and if we aren’t prepared to resist them, we’ll lose.”

Knight glared at me for a few seconds, his cheeks and the tops of his ears flushing. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you weren’t strong enough to resist him, meaning you had sex with Bram?” His eyes began to glow as he dropped his arms from his chest and cracked his knuckles.

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” I protested, throwing my hands on my hips as I grew angry that this whole situation wasn’t exactly going as I planned.

“Then get to the point and get there quickly.”

“Bram had a portrait painted of me,” I said with steely reserve, not appreciating the look of condemnation in Knight’s eyes. “He glamoured me into using my magic to dress myself in the same fashion as the portrait. Because of his glamour, I was forced to use my magic to change into this,” I finished, with a quick glance at myself.

“Then he didn’t try to use his powers and force you into his bed?”

I shook my head, before I nodded. “Sort of. He glamoured me into believing I wanted to be with him, but at the same time, he told me to fight his power. So, to make a very long story short: yes, he glamoured me, and yes, I was eventually able to fight his power. But no, I didn’t have sex with him. End of story.”

“Did he kiss you?” Knight continued, his eyes now fully white.

I felt my cheeks coloring. “Yes.”

He took a step closer to me. “Did he touch you?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Where?”

I felt my eyes widening the closer he came. “He touched my breast.”

Knight didn’t say anything but stood merely an inch or so away from me, just staring down at me as I stared back up at him. To avoid letting him think that I’d brought any of this on myself, I decided to further explain. “When I found out what he’d done, I punched him,” I whispered, my heart racing as I wondered if he believed me. Not only that, but the way he was staring at me and his close proximity created butterflies in my stomach.

Knight reached forward and ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “If anyone ever touches you again without your permission, he will answer to me.” He paused a second or two. “And as for Bram, he and I have unfinished business.”

“He was testing me, Knight,” I started in Bram’s defense. “He was trying to prove that if I wasn’t strong enough to defend myself against him, I shouldn’t be fighting the Netherworld Guard. It was just his way of trying to dissuade me.”

“There are other ways he could have tested you,” Knight said. When he shook his head, I realized he made a good point. “He took advantage of you when you weren’t in the right frame of mind to defend yourself. It’s a wonder the bastard didn’t take full advantage of the situation.”

“At any rate,” I started, choosing to change the subject, “I’m sure there are way more important subjects for us to discuss. First off, what is the plan for tomorrow?”

Knight shrugged. “We’ve put the invasion off until ten p.m. tomorrow night because Fagan still needs a little more time with the draft, and we wanted to appease our nocturnal faction.”

I figured he meant the vampires. While vampires could be out and about at any time of day or night in the Netherworld, such was not the case here. And since we still had to travel from here to there, it made sense to do so under the cover of night.

“Okay, I have information on where we should enter the Netherworld, and Bram gave me this,” I started, fishing for the timepiece inside my pocket. I handed the pocket watch to Knight and watched him study it quizzically. “It’s programmed to locate my father’s whereabouts at any given second.”

Knight’s eyebrows rose as he shook his head and brought his gaze to mine. “Bram must really want to see your father taken out.”

I nodded as I wondered just why that was.

EIGHT

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, hitting me squarely in the face. I shielded my eyes, opening them just a sliver as my pupils adjusted to the light. Yawning, I sat up and stretched, immediately feeling Knight’s big arms encircling my waist as he pulled me into him and planted a chaste kiss on the back of my neck. I glanced down, smiling, and covered his hands with my own, realizing I was still naked.

“Maybe you and I aren’t going to make it as a couple,” he grumbled.

I frowned. “And why is that?”

He smiled, the grin lighting up his entire face, and reflecting in his piercing blue eyes. “Because you’re a morning person and I, most definitely, am not.”

“Silly man,” I scolded without making any motion to move. I just sat in the bed of our hotel room and admired him. I could only hope Christina wasn’t a morning person either because I wanted a little one-on-one time with my Loki.

He leaned up on one elbow while I continued to gaze at him. The blankets fell all the way down to his midsection, baring half of his incredible body. I traced the line of a deltoid, down to his bicep and further down his forearm, relishing the feel of his wiry arm hair and the way it tickled my fingers. Even though Knight’s unparalleled beauty was a diversion from my overwrought mind, that’s all it was—a diversion. I sighed, dropping my hand as I tried to think of happier times, but my all-consuming thoughts centered entirely on our impending future.

“You’re nervous,” Knight said softly.

I nodded; there was no reason to try and hide my feelings. Today could possibly be the last day of everything as I knew it. Tonight we would invade the Netherworld, and who knew what that meant? Tonight I could lose my life, or Knight could lose his, or my father could lose his. Maybe all three of us would pay the ultimate price, or maybe none of us would. Really, only fate dictated whether we rolled an ace or a deuce. Anyway I looked at it, though, after tonight, nothing would be the same again. And those words weren’t easy to think in any way, shape or form.

“Dulcie, we don’t have to go through with this,” Knight started. He reached over and tilted my chin up until we were eye to eye. “We can remain in hiding while we continue planning. We don’t have to act now if you don’t feel like we’re ready.”

I shook my head, refusing to comprehend his words for even one second. “No, we have to do this and we have to do it now. You know it as well as I do.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything for a few moments, and instead, just gazed at me. He secured a stray piece of my hair behind my ear and picked up my hand, intertwining my fingers in his. “I just hate to see you like this.”

I smiled and tried to appear more hopeful, attempting to camouflage my insides, which were roiling with fear, anger and worry. “The situation is what it is.”

“I want you to know something,” he started, clearing his throat when it sounded like his morning voice snuck in. “You are my number one priority; and no matter what happens, your safety is the most important thing to me.”

I adamantly shook my head. “You can’t think that way.”

“I can’t help it,” he started, but I brought my fingers to his lips to silence him.

“I’m not the most important person in this and you have to convince yourself of that. The most important thing is our freedom as well as the freedom of all Netherworld creatures. They are the reason we’re all willing to put our lives on the line.” I took a breath, holding his gaze. “I’m a soldier just like the rest of us; and if that means risking my life, I’m doing it.”

Knight dropped his eyes to the bed and spanned his fingers across the linens, his mood suddenly more somber. But only seconds later, he eyed me again and the former anxiety and concern that was present merely moments ago totally vanished. “You’re right. We need to focus on the positive,” he said resolutely. “We need to center all of our energy on our plan of attack.” He sighed deeply and then nodded. “Just like you said, we’re soldiers, first and foremost.”

I nodded as I smiled at him, loving him with every fiber of my being. He stood up, gloriously naked; but before I could bask in his male allure, he pulled on his boxer shorts, turning away from me. He approached the giant windows, opening the blinds and stared at the still river. My attention immediately settled on the scratches covering his back. A blush filled my cheeks when I remembered making love to him the night before. At first, in a mutually ravenous impulse, we tore each other’s clothes off. He’d pressed my body against the wall and taken me right there. The scratches on his back reminded me of how I’d allowed my inner wild child to surface. After our first foray of animalistic, sexual instinct, we took a half-hour breather. Then, after crawling on top of him, our love making became much quieter and more serenely intense.

“What’s on that beautiful mind of yours?” Knight asked, turning to face me. He stretched his arms above his head and bent over before pushing his palms onto the floor to stretch his hamstrings.

I headed for the bathtub that sat in the middle of the room, and turned on the faucet. Taking a seat on the lip of the tub, I relished the feel of the water running over my toes. I glanced up at him and purposely allowed my eyes to travel down his exquisite form before answering. “Our evening last night flashed in my mind once I saw the scratches all over your back,” I said with a smile. “Sorry I got so rough, by the way.”

Knight chuckled and shook his head, amused. “Hmm, if I remember correctly, you were like a wild animal.”

“Moi?” I asked with mock offense, pointing to myself, as if to say we couldn’t possibly be talking about the same person.

Taking the few steps that separated us, he smiled before coming up behind me. His stomach felt warm when he brushed up against my back and I leaned closer to him, shutting my eyes and luxuriating in his warm skin on my back and the hot bathwater, which was now up to my ankles.

“Yes, you,” he breathed into my ear. He rested his lips against my neck and cupped my right breast.

“You were the one who was the animal,” I laughed. “I mean, aren’t you the one with the ‘inner beast’?” My eyes opened of their own accord when he gently squeezed my nipple between his fingers.

“Hmm, you don’t have to remind me; but weren’t you the one begging for it ‘deeper and harder’?”

“I guess you have a point,” I said, laughing. My laugh died instantly when his fingers descended from my breast to the sensitive area between my legs. He rubbed my nub in tiny circles as I sighed and leaned against him, opening my legs to grant him more access.

“That’s right,” he whispered into my ear. When his finger entered me, I bucked in response.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound interrupted our sex-capade. It sounded as if it was coming from the top of the dresser, which occupied the corner of the room. With a quick glance, I noticed Knight’s cell phone flashing like it was jealous I was getting all of his attention. Knight sighed. The call must have been important, though, because he answered it.

“Sam,” he said into the receiver, turning to face me again.

I could hear her voice on the other line, but Knight was too far away for me to make sense of her words. Instead, I just watched him as he continued to stand there quietly. He didn’t say much, just listened to her, nodding here and there, although his eyes never left me.

Open your legs, he mouthed. I reached around to turn the water off, but only after realizing it was already dangerously close to overflowing. Remembering his request, I looked at him again and watched as he arched his eyebrows as if to say, Why aren’t you doing what I told you? I smiled and twirled my hair around my finger as I pretended to feel unhurried or undecided as to whether I should obey him.

He frowned and was about to mouth something else when his attention was redirected to his phone conversation. “Sure, that sounds good,” he said to Sam as I made his concentration a bit more difficult by parting my legs, and spreading them wide.

I watched his eyes narrow as he focused on the soft flesh between my legs. He approached me and leaned over, never pulling his gaze from mine as he ran his fingers over me. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, arching against his hand as he pushed two fingers into me.

“Yep,” he said into the phone. “Good, I’m glad to hear Fagan’s got it under control.”

He was quiet for a few more seconds so I opened my eyes, only to find him staring at me. He pushed his fingers deeper inside me and I gasped while he smiled, obviously pleased at the results of his technique.

“Interesting,” he said. “Yeah, that sounds fine. Okay. I’ll see you in about forty minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, he placed it carelessly on the floor and stood up. Then he pulled his boxer shorts down, revealing his erection.

“Sam is coming in forty minutes?” I asked, watching as he grabbed both of my ankles and positioned me so my butt was resting on the edge of the tub. He released my ankles and pushed against the insides of my thighs, spreading my legs apart. Then, holding me close, he rubbed his swollen head against my opening.

“Sam and Trey,” he corrected. “Apparently, Trey had a vision, which he wants to discuss with us.”

I nodded while pushing against him, enticing him to enter me. He pulled himself away, but smiled, tsking at me for my impatience. “And no word from Christina?” I asked as innocently as possible.

He shook his head. “I expect we have a little time to spend by ourselves.” Then he smiled wickedly, and retreated from me when I pushed my pelvis forward, pleading for him to enter. “And I plan to spend it wisely.”

“Fagan is all finished with the draft?” I asked, undulating my hips against him, still determined to get my way.

“As far as I understand,” he said. Then, without another word, he pushed his entire length inside me. I moaned my surprise and pleasure as I began grinding my hips against him, relishing the rhythm as he pulled out and plunged back in again.

The fleeting thought that this could be the last time we made love shattered my bliss like a sharp blade. I had to forcibly ignore it. I refused to focus on the scary what-ifs that dangled before me. Yes, our future was uncertain; and yes, tonight would mark the end of my familiar world, at least as I knew it; but that didn’t exclude one last tryst in the here and now.

As far as I was concerned, here and now were all we had left.

I swallowed down my feelings of fear and despondency, choosing to focus on the beautiful man in front of me. His eyes began to glow as he stared at me and leaned down, grazing my lips with his incredibly gently. Then he pushed inside me as deeply as he could while I gasped with pleasure.

“Everything is going to be all right,” he whispered as he pulled his lips away from mine.

Saying nothing, I nodded, all the while hoping and praying he was right.

***

About an hour later, Sam, Trey, Dia, Christina, Fagan, Erika, Rachel and Quillan arrived at our makeshift living room. It was comprised of a two-person couch and two side chairs in the hotel suite. Because there wasn’t ample seating space, Trey and Christina sat Indian-style on the ground, while Sam and I relaxed on the bed, and Quill and Knight occupied opposite sides of the room, both standing and neither one making eye contact.

During the reunion between Christina and her team, everyone asked her a bazillion questions, including what happened with the Blueliss, as well as Bram and my father. I didn’t know who would take over from here on out, Christina or Knight, but I wasn’t exactly surprised when Knight cleared his throat, intimating his position as first in command.

“As I understand, Fagan, the draft is complete?” the Loki asked, folding his arms across his chest as he faced the Drow who looked less than happy to be present and accounted for. And I didn’t think Fagan’s lack of enthusiasm was in response to this meeting—it appeared that was just how he was all the time—miserable.

Knight nodded with an expression of curiosity as he turned to Erika, who was busily chomping a wad of gum. This one smelled grape-flavored. Before Knight could inquire as to where she stood with regard to her responsibilities, she began anxiously nodding, like she was listening to her favorite song.

“All my soldiers are ready and waiting for the go ahead,” she said, smiling broadly. “We had a pow-wow this morning where I gave an awesome pep talk and now everything is cool beans.”

Knight nodded as he gave Fagan and Erika a congratulatory smile. “Good work. “ Then he turned to face the rest of us. “Dulcie and I have uncovered some new information that will be of interest to all of you,” he started. Pulling the portal ripper from one of his jeans pockets and Bram’s pocket watch from the other, he began explaining what each did. After the oohs and ahhs, Knight then informed everyone of Bram’s advice regarding using the portal ripper to create a passage to Squander Valley.

As expected, no one seemed enthused about the Bregone swamp part; but once I assured them that wearing a gas mask would ensure their safety, they seemed more on board.

“So that leads us to the next agenda item, which is … Who would like to lead the unit into Squander Valley?” Knight asked.

“I’m going after my father,” I said adamantly, not wanting anyone to think that particular job was up for grabs. To me, it all started with my father and that’s where it would end.

“It’s too dangerous,” Quill commented while shaking his head.

“Quill,” I started, but he silenced me by holding up his hand, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he intended to voice an opinion on this subject.

“I’ve held my tongue this whole time, Dulce, but I can’t any longer. You make it sound like offing your father is an easy task,” he began.

“I never said that,” I interrupted, sensing the anger as it churned in my stomach. I’ve always had an aversion to people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. This time, I was steadfast in my mission to take down my father.

“It’s not a matter of cutting a portal with some cool kitchen gadget that Bram gave you,” Quill continued. “Your father will have bodyguards, as well as other thugs surrounding him. And these guys don’t pussy-foot around. They kill first and ask questions later.”

“No one can talk me out of this,” I said with steely resolve.

“I’m not arguing that your father shouldn’t be taken out,” Quill continued. “I am fully onboard with that, but not with you risking your life.”

“I appreciate your concern …”

“Between your life and his, Melchior won’t hesitate to sacrifice you,” Quill interrupted. “Those are odds I’m not comfortable with.”

“My mind is already made up,” I answered.

Quill shook his head, his eyes showing as much determination as mine. He glared at me while I glared back. “Sometimes you are so fucking stubborn,” he whispered. Without waiting for my response, he turned to Knight, who hadn’t budged from his position on the opposite side of the room, and was watching us with piqued interest.

“And what about you?” Quill demanded, turning his glare from me to Knight.

“What about me?” Knight asked defensively.

“You supposedly care for her …”

“There’s no ‘supposedly’ about it,” Knight rebuffed, his eyes glowing as a warning.

“Then explain to her that what she’s doing is insane, and it’s only going to get her killed. You said you were familiar with Netherworld politics, so you must know what Melchior’s capable of.”

Knight nodded. “I’m more than aware.”

“So why the fuck are you sending Dulcie to her death?” Quill railed back at him.

Knight didn’t respond right away. His jaw seemed incredibly tight and his knuckles turned white, indicating he was probably only seconds away from erupting. “Dulcie is more than capable of taking anyone out,” he said icily. “She’s the best Regulator I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not debating her abilities as a Regulator. She worked for me longer than she worked for you. Believe me, I am more than aware of her skills.”

Knight’s eyes glowed even more brightly and he folded his arms against his chest in an apparent attempt to keep his temper under control. When he didn’t say anything, Quill continued.

“Melchior O’Neil isn’t just anybody,” he finished.

Knight shook his head as he looked at me. I could see the angst in his eyes and realized that he agreed in part with Quill. Part of him didn’t want me to fight at all—he wanted to ensure that I was safe. But the other part understood that I had to go after my father. I had to make him pay not only for what he’d done to me, but for what he’d done to every other Netherworld creature as well.

“I respect Dulcie; and for that reason, I support whatever decision she makes,” Knight said finally. I nodded at him, revealing my appreciation.

Despite outward appearances that I was nonchalantly grateful for Knight’s words, inside me was another story. Knight’s verbal endorsement, despite the fact that I was sure he concurred with Quillan, was one of the reasons I loved him as much as I did. Why? Because Knight always encouraged me to be me.

“And you do realize that you could lose her?” Quill continued heatedly. “That we all could lose her?”

Knight simply nodded as Quill shook his head angrily. Turning to face me, Quill sighed, then started for the door. “I need some fresh air,” he said, throwing the door open and disappearing behind it.

I swallowed hard as I weighed whether or not Quill was right. Maybe my pigheadedness would cost me my life; but on the flipside, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it would cost my father’s life. And those were the odds I was willing to take.

“So who will volunteer to command the attack on Squander Valley?” Knight asked again, eyeing each of us in turn.

“I’ll do it,” Christina piped up. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“But you’re…” Dia started, no doubt intending to remind Christina that she was the head of The Resistance, and thus immune from volunteering.

But Christina shook her head, with a beaming smile at me. “This fight belongs to all of us. What good is it if we don’t fight?”

Dia nodded as she faced Knight again. “Christina’s taking Squander Valley, and Dulce is going after her father; so where do you want the rest of us?”

After a few minutes of conversation, we agreed that Christina and Dia would lead the attack on Squander Valley; while Knight, Quill and I would take the most highly trained Resistance soldiers and go after my father. Yes, Knight was less than thrilled to have Quill onboard, but I insisted he take part. I knew Quill could help us find and take down my father. Erika, Rachel and Sam planned to stage a fictitious surrender at the Netherworld airport to create a distraction and draw the Netherworld Guard away from our co-occurring attacks. Finally, Fagan and Trey would lead a raid on the second largest Netherworld Guard base in Tipshaw, only a few hundred miles from Squander Valley.

“So we’re good?” Knight asked, looking at each of us pointedly.

I started to nod when I noticed Sam shaking her head. She faced Knight and sighed. “There was something Trey and I wanted to talk to you all about,” she said in a despondent voice.

Knight nodded. “That’s right—you said as much over the phone. I’m sorry. It escaped my mind.”

Sam waved away his concern with her hand and turned to face Trey. “Okay, Trey, the floor is yours,” she said. She smiled at him as if he were a five-year-old about to appear in his first play.

As expected, everyone’s attention focused on the hobgoblin, who sat on the floor, holding his knees to his chest. His face was pale, beyond its usual pasty white. I suddenly realized that in the course of our discussions, Trey hadn’t said one word. Instead, he’d just sat there, holding his knees to his chest while rocking back and forth.

“I, uh … I had a vision,” he said softly, exhaling a pent-up breath, and sounding anxious about something. I knew Trey well enough to recognize whatever vision he’d had wasn’t a happy one. Trey’s visions often stressed him out because they came without warning. Many times, he even channeled the perspective of the evil-doer, which resulted in even more anxiety.

“Are you okay, Trey?” I asked with a reassuring smile.

He shook his head, and his eyes dropped down to his untied sneakers as he rocked back and forth, seemingly to try to console himself.

“What happened?” Knight asked, glancing first at Trey and then at Sam. “What vision?”

Sam shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me; he just asked me to call you to see if we could come over,” she said. Facing the hobgoblin again, Sam said, “Trey, you can tell us what happened, what you saw.” She flashed her best “mom” expression, which usually coaxed him into confessing. He glanced at her and swallowed hard before facing Knight as well as me.

“I got a vision of something I didn’t like,” he said, biting his lip.

“What was it?” I asked.

“It wasn’t so much a vision,” he corrected. With a shrug, he started rocking back and forth again, wobbling like an unbalanced rocking chair.

“Was it more of a feeling?” Sam asked. He nodded, but still made no motion to say anything, and his eyes were filled with worry. It was never easy when Trey got into such moods. Usually, it took days to console him, and even longer still before he resumed his normal, jovial personality.

“Yeah, it was more of a feeling,” Trey nodded. “It hit me early this morning. I woke up and everything felt normal, well, as normal as it could feel, considering what’s going on,” he started. As he continued, his eyes got wider and I could see his hands beginning to shake. “All of a sudden, I just started to feel this really bad feeling in my stomach. At first, I thought the eggs and bacon I had for breakfast were bad or something, but this feeling was different. It wasn’t like the stomach ache you get when you’re gonna hurl.” He took a deep breath and paused for a few seconds before glancing up at me again. “It was a feeling of … like … a really bad dread. Like something bad is gonna happen.”

“But we sort of already know that, right, Trey?” I asked, trying to sound sympathetic. “I mean, invading the Netherworld isn’t going to be easy, and people will inevitably get hurt.” I paused for a few seconds. “Bad stuff is going to happen. There’s no way around it.”

He shook his head like I wasn’t getting it. “The feeling wasn’t anything like that,” he said dismissively. “It wasn’t anything in general. It was way worse than that …” his voice faded as he looked away.

“What, Trey?” I prodded, straining to understand what he appeared to be keeping from me.

“It was like I suddenly had this knowledge, like someone let me look into a crystal ball to see the future, only it wasn’t something I could see with my eyes. It was something I could feel; and it was this horrible feeling of … loss, like something very important to me was ripped away.” When he faced me again, his eyes seemed hollow, wide and filled with fear. “And I knew what it was almost immediately.”

“What was it?” Rachel asked.

“It was death,” Trey answered softly. “It was an intense feeling that someone is going to die.”

Then he became quiet again as he started rocking back and forth, leaving all of us to wonder exactly what his words meant. I was a little baffled because death in wartime shouldn’t have come as any surprise. It was expected—if we attacked the Netherworld, creatures would die. That was all there was to it.

Trey brought his pained eyes to mine and at that moment, it was as if the ground beneath my feet suddenly gave out. I instantly understood what he was so reluctant to say.

“You felt it about me,” I said softly.

Trey simply nodded, dropping his attention to the carpet as he started rocking back and forth again.

NINE

The whole room became eerily quiet. Maybe the silence wasn’t much of a surprise, though, after Trey’s announcement regarding the vision he’d had of my death. Although I agreed with everyone else in the room that Trey’s news was unnerving, I chose to discount it … slightly. Why? Because it wasn’t an actual vision, only a “feeling”; and to me, a feeling didn’t carry as much weight as a vision did. Or maybe it was just my wishful thinking. Either way, there definitely was a void building within me that acted like a bulwark, buffering me from any information I preferred not to hear. When it came right down to it, it made no difference whether Trey had a vision of my death or just a feeling about it—my determination to see my father taken down was unaffected. And the more I thought about it, the more steadfast I became. My father had to be removed as Head of the Netherworld; and that’s all there was to it.

“Explain this feeling you received,” Knight said to Trey in a steely voice, his lips in a tight line, all of his attention focused on the hobgoblin.

Trey sighed, his hands shaking with anxiety, as he glanced from Knight to me, and back to the Loki again. Then he shook his head and chewed on his lip before clearing his throat. “I don’t think it’s right to talk about it with her standing right there,” he said in a small, sad voice. Then, refusing to look at me, he pretended extreme interest in the carpet.

“Trey, I need to know what you saw or felt,” I said calmly, but with undeterred emphasis. I didn’t want to give the impression that Trey’s news in any way disturbed me, because I was afraid any hint of fear on my part would keep him from telling me more. Yep, I had to go for cool, calm and collected, but when I suddenly stood up without even realizing it, it became fairly obvious that I wasn’t as untouched by the news as I pretended to be. “Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I finished, more as a reminder to myself.

“We can handle it,” Knight corrected with a quick smile. Even though he wanted to appear encouraging, I could see the storm clouds of apprehension brewing in his eyes. I’ve only seen Knight visibly bothered a handful of times, and based on those outcomes, I’ve learned to dread them.

“Dulce,” Sam said. She stood up and faced me with pained angst in her eyes, but I shook my head. I couldn’t give in now. No matter the consequences, I had to fight for what I believed in—freedom from my father’s tyranny.

I nodded at Knight, trying to implant the idea that I could handle whatever Trey had to tell me. “If I don’t know what to expect, I won’t be able to change it.”

Trey remained silent for a few more seconds. It was obvious he was ensconced in a battle of whether to tell me, and it continued to rage inside him. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and faced me, his eyes shiny. “I just have this feeling in my gut that something’s gonna happen to you, Dulce. It’s real hard to explain, but it’s like this big ol’ rock dropped right into my stomach with your name on it.”

“How did you know it was a feeling about me?” I asked, trying to decipher whether or not his vision really posed a threat. “I mean, you’ve never had feelings about anything in the past, just visions, so what makes you think you’re actually channeling something this time?”

“Because the feeling came from nowhere. It was just like when I get a vision. I was busy minding my own business, doing my own thing, and it just crept up on me like a bad dream.”

“That still doesn’t really mean much,” I said with a half-assed smile, trying not to belittle his abilities.

Trey dropped his gaze to the ground and rocked back and forth, still clutching his knees to his chest. “I felt you,” he answered. “Knowing it was you completely filled me. It was like I could see you, hear you and smell you, but I didn’t actually see, hear or smell you, if that makes sense.”

“Not really,” I started, but hesitated when he started shaking his head.

“I’m pretty sure I was channeling the future, Dulcie. And it was warning me about something bad that was centering around you, even though I couldn’t actually see anything.” He took a deep breath and turned sad, cow eyes on me. “Maybe I’m wrong. I hope to Hades I’m wrong, Dulce. Maybe my mind is so mixed up from all the stress and worry about going to war with your father that I just dredged up some crazy thing that’s totally wrong.”

Knight shook his head. “When have you ever been wrong, Trey?”

Trey gulped. “Never.” Then he nodded with consternation before offering me a consoling smile, as if apologizing that his visions never erred.

“Then you can’t go,” Sam said in her worried, motherly voice as she brought her big, brown eyes to mine. “There’s no other decision to make. “

I turned to face her and shook my head. “I have to go, Sam,” I said softly. “This is something I have to do, no matter the consequences.”

“But Trey just said,” she started, her voice cracking.

“Girl …” Dia started while shaking her head.

“Dulcie,” Knight interrupted as he motioned to the corner of the room, obviously begging me for some time alone. I said nothing, but followed him, glancing out at the river, and suddenly wishing I could be as free as the water. If only I could simply flow over rocks and under bridges, carving out my place in the world without conflict, as easily as water shapes the land.

“I know it’s important to you to go after Melchior,” Knight started. His eyes were fixed on mine, but his expression didn’t reveal any of his thoughts.

“Knight, please don’t try to talk me out of this.”

He took a deep breath and expelled it, running his hands through his hair. He was frustrated and worried—I could now see as much in the furrowed lines between his eyebrows. “You won’t be dissuaded?”

I shook my head. “Instead of fighting me, give me your assistance.”

“You know I’ve always had your back and I always will.”

He said nothing more so I figured there was nothing more to say. Knight would back me just like he always had. I smiled my appreciation and decided to start in on the others again, figuring if I swayed Knight, I now had a room full of people on which I had to do the same. I eyed Trey, who was zoning out on the carpet, before bringing my gaze back to the others. “Whatever Trey felt could just be one version of the future. Maybe I can change my own destiny based on the choices I make.” I knew I was definitely grasping for straws, but nothing else came to me so I had to go with it. “Or Trey could have just channeled my feelings and maybe I’ll just get hurt in the battle, who knows? It could be that he just channeled my feelings regarding someone else.”

“Or maybe Trey channeled exactly what’s going to happen,” Sam frowned at me, revealing that she most definitely wasn’t buying what I was selling.

“My point is that none of us knows for sure what’s going to happen, including Trey,” I continued, feeling my jaw tighten as I tried to defend my stance. “Either way, I’m not changing my mind and I would appreciate it if all of you would drop the subject,” I finished with undeterred resignation.

“You’re going to be fine, Dulce,” Knight said assuredly, staring at me as his eyes narrowed. “I will make sure nothing happens to you. I’ll be at your side the entire time.”

I nodded, but was spared the chance to respond when the door opened and Quill sauntered in, returning from his mission to get some fresh air. His eyes were trained on mine, and when we were in earshot of one another, he held his hand out, already turning on his heel toward the door. “Can we talk, Dulce?” he asked with a fleeting look at Knight. “Alone.”

I didn’t say anything and neither did Knight. I saw the Loki’s eyes shift from Quill to me. He simply nodded as if to say he wouldn’t put up an argument. Even if he did, I would’ve insisted on making up my own mind anyway. I firmly believed the only person who should make decisions for me was me.

I took Quill’s hand and allowed him to lead me through the hotel room and out the door. Once he closed the door behind us, he didn’t falter in his breakneck stride, but led me down the hallway, taking a right, and after another fifteen feet, we T-boned into a large window, overlooking the river below. At the window, he pulled me in front of him so I was parallel with it before taking a deep breath and dropping his attention to my hand, still clasped in his. He just gazed at our hands in silence, and then ran the pad of his thumb across my knuckles.

“Dulce, I heard everything Trey said,” he admitted softly, bringing his beautiful amber eyes to mine.

I couldn’t say his comment surprised me, even though he wasn’t in the room when Trey said what he had. I guessed Quill just used his elfin magic to eavesdrop on the conversation. “So you’re going to try to, once again, talk me out of it?”

His eyes seemed to bore right through me, as if he could see the very depths of my soul. He shook his head in frustration. Well, “incensed frustration” might have been more fitting to say. “I don’t understand how you would even want to go through with this after what you just heard Trey say.” Taking a deep breath, he blew it out loudly, shaking his head again. “You worked with Trey for years, Dulcie, you know his visions are never wrong.”

I held my chin up high before answering, “I’m aware of that.”

“Why are you still going through with this? Are you trying to prove something?”

“No, I’m not trying to prove something,” I snapped.

“So have you completely lost your mind?”

“No, I haven’t lost my mind!” I railed back, propping my hands on my hips defiantly. “And I have to admit I’m surprised that you know my father as well as you do, yet you still act surprised that I want to see him taken out.” I took a breath and faced him squarely. “You might better ask me how could I not go through with it? Especially after everything my father has done! Not only to me, but to you and Christina, Caressa, Knight … shit, to the whole Netherworld population!”

“Yes, your father is an asshole, Dulce, and yes, he deserves to be removed from office and thrown in prison or even killed,” he yelled at me. “I’m not arguing that! What I am arguing is that your life isn’t worth his!”

I shook my head. “I’m not fully convinced that Trey’s ‘feeling’ was necessarily a vision,” I started, but once Quill began vehemently shaking his head, I quickly got to point number two. “And even if he is right, it still doesn’t change my mind.”

“Why?” Quill demanded angrily.

“Because it’s a moot point, that’s why.”

“I don’t even know how you can consider self-sacrifice a moot point,” he said, glaring at me.

“It’s a moot point because when I first agreed to join The Resistance and fight, I knew there was a good chance I could lose my life by doing so,” I said and sighed. “My sacrifice is no more noteworthy than any other soldier, willing to fight and risk his or her life.”

“Dulcie, none of those soldiers knows what’s going to happen them. But you do!” Quill raged at me. “That’s the difference! You know what you’re in for! You know that if you go through with this, you will most assuredly die!”

I shook my head again, still unconvinced. “I don’t know that for sure, and no one can say it’s definitely going to happen, not even Trey. If you remember, Trey said he didn’t see anything. This so-called ‘vision’ was only based on feelings, Quill, and feelings aren’t anywhere near as concrete as images. Maybe he was channeling my sadness about someone or something else? Maybe he had it all wrong to begin with!”

Quill shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “You’re kidding yourself, Dulce, but I’m not going to fall for the same crap. If you’re going to go through with this, you need to be honest with yourself about the consequences. This could mean your death.”

“Could,” I repeated skeptically. Quill glared at me and breathed out deeply, but before he could say another word, I interrupted him. “Nonetheless, I’ve included you in the mission to depose my father so you can act the part of bodyguard too,” I finished hastily, aware of how disingenuous my words sounded.

“I’ll do my best,” Quill answered, but I sensed how disheartened he was in his tone of voice and expression. “I just don’t get you, Dulce, I guess I never did.” The anger diminished in his eyes and we were left just staring at one another, our long friendship and shared years of common history hanging between us by invisible threads. He reached for my hand again and squeezed it.

Looking up at him, I smiled, wanting to make amends. Now that the last hours before we invaded the Netherworld were upon us, I didn’t want anything ugly between us. “I know where you’re coming from with all this, Quill. I know you’re just trying to protect me because you care about me.”

Quill shook his head and dropped his attention to my fingers. He brushed the tops of them with his own tenderly. When he brought his eyes to mine again, they seemed softer somehow, delicate. “It’s more than that, Dulce,” he said, his voice growing weaker. He smiled, but it was bittersweet. “Yes, I care about you; and yes, I’m scared to death for you, but I’m not just saying this as your friend. What I feel for you transcends the boundaries of platonic friendship.”

“Quill,” I said in a tone that cautioned him not to go there. I didn’t want to go down that road, especially since I couldn’t return the sentiments I knew he was on the cusp of revealing to me. Not only that, but I was also on the verge of losing it. I had so many conflicting thoughts raging through my mind: what-ifs and fears that were beyond stressful. I certainly didn’t need to add this conversation to the mix.

But he shook his head again, as if to let me know he wouldn’t be placated so easily. “I have to get this off my chest, especially now.” He took a deep breath and I imagined he figured we probably wouldn’t have a chance to have this conversation again. I didn’t say anything, but swallowed down the sudden urge to flee. I forcibly held my feet in place. Yes, I wasn’t in the right mental state to have a deep conversation where I would undoubtedly disappoint him, but it looked like I had no other choice.

“I know you’re with Vander,” Quill said gently, almost apologetically. His eyes suddenly appeared downcast, their usual striking amber now the color of autumn maple leaves. “But that doesn’t change the fact that …” he started, bringing his eyes to mine, “I love you, Dulcie.”

My eyes dropped to the ground, and I felt incredibly hollow and dejected because I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. Most of all, I didn’t want to see any pain or disappointment in his eyes. He tilted my chin up and smiled at me.

“I don’t expect you to tell me that you love me too, Dulce, in fact, I don’t expect anything from you.” He smiled more broadly, as if trying to emphasize his sincerity. “This is something that I want to get off my chest because I’ve never told you how much you mean to me, which I now realize was a mistake.” He shrugged. “Well, the truth is, I’ve known it was a mistake for a long time, but I’ve never admitted it. So I’m going to make up for lost opportunities now.” He inhaled deeply before facing me earnestly. “I want you to know that you are the only person who has ever really been there for me.” With a deep breath, he added, “I know we went through some difficult times when you first found out about my involvement with street potions.”

“I never stopped caring about you,” I said quickly, finally comfortable enough to admit to something. Although I didn’t love him the way he wanted me to, I still cared about him as a friend and I always would.

“I know,” he answered, grinning from ear to ear as he tightened his grasp on my hand. “You’ve always been there for me, Dulce, and I want you to know not only how much I appreciate it, but also how much I appreciate you.”

“Thanks, Quill.”

He nodded, but when he didn’t release my hand, I figured there was more on his mind. He smiled again. “I also want you to know that there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t kick myself for not snatching you when I had the chance.”

The time he referred to was so long ago, it didn’t even feel like part of my past anymore. When I worked full-time as a Regulator of the ANC in Splendor, Quillan was my boss, and I had a huge crush on him. That was, of course, before Knight ever wandered into my life, capturing my affections forever. Now that I remembered it, yes, Quill was probably right—if he had shown his feelings for me then, I would have no doubt returned them and then some.

But that time was long past, a fleeting memory that seemed alien to me somehow, like I’d seen it in a movie or something. “How come you never …?” I started.

“Because I knew you would hate me once you found out what I truly was,” he interrupted me, shaking his head as he expelled a pent-up breath. “I couldn’t stomach the idea that you would eventually find out that I was working for your father.” He inhaled again deeply and frowned, his eyes glazing over with what appeared to be pain and frustration. “I just never wanted to see the expression in your eyes if you ever found out who and what I really was.”

Well, he was right about that. If we were romantically involved and I found out about Quill’s ties to my father, I never would have forgiven him. “I guess we were doomed before we ever even started,” I said with a mirthless laugh.

Quill nodded, reflecting the same disheartened expression I gave him. “Yeah, we were.” Then he grew quiet as his eyes took on a faraway gaze, like he was recalling places, people and events now long gone. “Just having you in my life was enough for me then,” he said gently. “Because it had to be.” He nodded and the smile on his lips suggested he was still living in his memories. “Just being able to come by your apartment after work, or bring you dinner when you were sick filled me with so much happiness, Dulcie. Laughing with you about Trey, and working so closely together got me through the reality of the nightmare I was living. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had your friendship, or if you hadn’t entered my life. Now that I look back on it, you were everything to me, Dulce. You still are.” He sighed, but quickly smirked as if something amusing suddenly occurred to him. He glanced at me with a boyish twinkle in his eyes. “And when I found out you were writing a romance novel about me …”

“Holy Hades,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassed smile with my hand as I shook my head. The book was a romance novel about a pirate and his lady. I’d fashioned the character of the pirate after Quill, even using his real name in my word document, with the intention of changing it later. Well, as luck would have it, Quill happened to be over one day and the word document was up on my computer screen, so yep, you guessed it—he saw his name. I turned every shade of red then and even now, my cheeks flushed at the memory because the worst part was that the scene I was writing about him was an explicitly sexual one.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Quill said with a small laugh. “I was honored. I’m still honored to think you ever had romantic feelings for me, that you ever would have considered the things you wrote about … with me.”

“I definitely did, Quill,” I said, shaking my head, mortification still coloring my cheeks. “You don’t even know the half of it,” I finished, smiling up at him as thoughts about my writing career resurfaced in my mind. Yes, once upon a time, before all this shit with the Netherworld and my father hit the fan, I hoped to become a full-time author, and leave my days in law enforcement far behind me. My pirate romance novel didn’t get very far, though, so I ditched it. After putting the kibosh on the Quillan pirate book, I wrote one about Bram that managed to attract the attention of a huge literary agent in New York. Then this mess with my father and the Netherworld fell on my shoulders, and I hadn’t even thought about writing for the last month, at least.

If I survive this attack on my father, I promise to pick up where I left off in my writing career, I vowed, suddenly relishing my renewed sense of determination.

“No matter what happens tonight,” Quill continued, “I will be with you every step of the way, Dulce, and I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe.”

“Thank you, Quill, that means a lot to me,” I answered, glancing up at him while tears started in my eyes.

“Don’t get all emotional on me now,” Quill said with a chuckle as he wiped the pad of his index finger across my eyelids.

I took a deep breath and clenched my eyes shut, willing the tears back. If there was one thing I hated, it was crying with an audience. “I’m okay,” I said as I managed a quick smile.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Dulcie,” he whispered before pulling me into him, and kissing the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around him and felt his chin on the top of my head as he held me. His crisp, clean scent filled my nostrils and mind with nostalgia. It reminded me of the old days at the ANC, when things were substantially simpler than they were now. That was when the only dilemma that occupied my thoughts was whether it was wise to have a crush on my boss.

How far I’d come.

TEN

I wasn’t sure how Quill and Knight were feeling, but I sensed a cold numbness that welled up from deep within me, an overwhelming vacuum that consumed my entire being. I wondered if someone cut me, would I even feel it? In my newly vegetative state, all worries and fears of my impending future were banished from my head until my brain resembled a barren moonscape. And maybe it was a good thing that I felt emotionless at the prospect of ripping a portal opening into the air in order to confront my father, because who knew what that little task might entail? Death was the quick answer, but whose death? Now that was the clincher. Either way, the moment of reckoning was merely seconds away.

Those final seconds slipped through my fingers like cold honey, slow and painstakingly gluey, as if time itself didn’t want to pass. But pass it did, and I soon found myself preparing to rip the portal for Erica, Rachel and Sam to stage their mock surrender at the Netherworld airport. Amongst them were nine civilians who would play the parts of innocent victims.

“Good luck,” Knight said as he engulfed first Erica, then Rachel and then Sam in a bear hug. Erica just nodded, her meditative mood in complete contrast to her Hawaiian Punch-colored hair. Taking a deep breath, she faced her comrades. She studied them for a few seconds before turning back to us. A gentle wind whipped through her hair until the short strands splayed across her cheeks, looking as delicate as the gossamer threads of a spider web.

“We’re ready,” she said simply. I couldn’t help noticing her usually buoyant personality was definitely turned down a notch or two. In its place was a pensiveness I’d never witnessed in her before, not that I knew her that well but anyhoo … A general somberness remained hanging in the air, which wasn’t surprising, given the enormous question mark hovering over our heads with regard to our impending future.

“Dulce,” Sam said softly as I turned my attention from Erica to my best friend. It was as if I could suddenly see Sam for the first time. Was it because this could be the last time? Her beautiful, brown eyes were wider than usual and her skin appeared whiter, suggesting her nervousness. Her brown hair was pulled off her face in a low ponytail and she was wearing khaki pants and brown polo shirt. She looked more like a model for a Gap ad than a witch confronting an unknown future.

“You’re going to be just fine, Sam,” I said softly, grasping her arms. “No matter what happens, you just play dumb, okay? As far as you know, you’re surrendering to my father and that’s it.”

She nodded and I could see wet pools filling her eyes. “I’m not worried about me, Dulcie.”

“Don’t worry about me either,” I insisted, with a smile that hopefully conveyed a sense of calm and control. “I always come out on top; you know that,” I finished jokingly.

Sam smiled and a soft, sad laugh escaped her lips. But only seconds later, her lower lip began to tremble as the tears that were welling in her eyes only moments earlier overflowed and began coursing down her cheeks, soaking into her collar. I pulled her forward and wrapped my arms around her as she rested her cheek against my head because I was so damn short.

“You really do always come out on top,” she said with another bittersweet laugh. But the laugh was cut short by a sob.

“Don’t cry, Sam,” I whispered when her body began to shake slightly. “Everything is going to be fine, and in just a few hours’ time, we’ll all be reunited again like one big happy family. Except my asshole father will be in custody or, better yet, dead.” Obviously, I had no idea what I was talking about and a few hours sounded so optimistic as to be ridiculous, but I wasn’t good when it came to soothing people, so what else could I do?

Sam wiped her sleeve across her eyes, drying her tears before smiling again, her lower lip still trembling. “Good luck, Dulce, and make sure you keep those two at your side the entire time,” she motioned to Quill and Knight who were standing behind us.

“We’ll be like her shadows,” Quill said with a quick smile as he approached Sam and hugged her, whispering in her ear, “You’ll be fine.”

“Whatever happens with the rest of us,” Knight started, facing Sam, his expression serious. “You, MJ and Erica just play out the whole surrender thing; you got it?”

Sam nodded and I took a deep breath, feeling some relief at Knight’s words. It did sound promising that Sam, Rachel, Erica and their posse could just play at surrendering to Melchior’s forces if the rest of us failed in our attempts; but I couldn’t help worrying that my father would eventually realize it was feigned. As soon as he put together that all three attacks happened within minutes of one another, he’d know what we were up to. But, since that thought only managed to depress me, I decided to abandon it. After all, wasn’t it better to hope for the best, even if the best meant being blissfully ignorant?

“You take care of her,” Sam said to Knight as she inclined her head in my direction.

“I will guard her with my life,” Knight answered sternly, his eyes reinforcing the statement.

“Girl, you take care of yourself,” Dia piped up. She threw her arms around Sam and then followed suit with Erica and Rachel, who stood just behind her. After tears were shed and good-byes were exchanged by all, I held the portal ripper in my hand and followed Bram’s directions. As I pulled the device toward me, the air sliced open beneath my fingertips. It looked like I’d ripped clear through one landscape, revealing another. In a manner of speaking, that was exactly what happened. The ripper silently crossed the line between this dimension and the next, blasting a gust of frigid air against my skin in the process.

“No time to waste,” I said quickly. Erica nodded at Knight and me while Rachel offered us both a smile and the two simply stepped directly through the portal, and disappeared right in front of us. Three of the recruited civilians quickly followed them. Sam took a deep breath as she offered me a reassuring smile.

“I love you, Dulce,” she said softly.

“I love you too,” I whispered back and watched as she too disappeared into the Netherworld, just like that. One second she was beside me, and the next, she wasn’t. Refusing to dwell on my own emotions, I immediately turned the portal ripper upside-down and “stitched” up the opening to prevent any uninvited travelers from passing through. Once the portal was sutured together, I took a deep breath and thought whatever Sam’s fate, I’d just sent her straight into it.

Something inside me broke and all the bravado I’d put on for Sam’s benefit dissolved inside me. In no time, the rampart that held back my tears failed as an impenetrable wall and became more of an enthusiastic net.

“Dulce? You okay?” Knight asked, peering at me with concern.

My hands fisted involuntarily and my nails dug into my palms. “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, more to fortify myself than to answer him honestly. I took a deep breath and clenched my eyes shut tightly, insisting that I keep it together. I had to be strong—I couldn’t give in to my true feelings and collapse into a sobbing heap. If I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to emerge from it. What I needed most now was a clarity of purpose that would allow me to operate like an automaton.

Get in and get out, I told myself. You need to be calm, cool and collected, not clouded by emotion.

I opened my eyes to find Quill and Knight staring at me. “I’m fine,” I repeated, this time with real authority and even a tinge of anger.

The surrender at the airport was currently underway. Now there were three more portals to rip and three more attacks to stage. Christina stepped forward, with Dia right behind her and one hundred of our soldiers along with one hundred fifty new recruits. They stood in rows of ten creatures across, twenty-five rows in total and looked like a marching band, minus the brass instruments. Instead, they all clutched black gas masks to protect them from the fumes of the Bregone swamp.

“Got your radio?” Knight asked Christina. He motioned to his black walkie-talkie, which he held up to prove his was present and accounted for.

“I do,” she answered quickly. Her huge smile suggested just how prepared she was for what was about to ensue. In her expression, I could read the weariness of all the trials and tribulations she’d endured fighting in the name of The Resistance. Everything she and Knight had prepared for was about to unfold, and no matter what the consequences, the twinkle in her eye promised that she intended to fight with sword, tooth and nail.

“Let’s do this!” she called out.

Knight chuckled and opened his arms wide. She fell into them and hugged him tightly. “Thank you for everything, Knightley,” she said softly while gazing up at him. Then pulling away, she took a deep breath before glancing over at me. “You got yourself a good one.”

I nodded with a quick smile first to her and then to Knight. “I know.”

“Girl, you be careful when you go after that excuse you have for a father,” Dia said with a great big grin and that Diva-esque thing she did with her neck. She wrapped her arms around me, suffocating me in the scent of one of Victoria’s Secret’s body lotions.

“I will, D, you be careful too,” I said softly. I could feel the frog returning to my throat as Dia released me. She smiled down at me as if she were my mom and it was my first day of school.

“Now don’t go doin’ anything heroic, you hear me? Just stay alive,” she said confidently, but I could see the trepidation looming in her eyes.

“No heroics for me.”

Dia nodded as I took in her bright red pants and purple shirt and hair that settled around her head in myriad sausage curls. With her flame-red lipstick and silvery eye shadow, she looked like she was headed to a dance club rather than an uncertain fate. I shook my head and laughed. “Always the diva.”

She nodded and offered me a raised-brow expression, rubbing her nails against her shiny shirt. “Girl, just ’cause you gotta fight, doesn’t mean you can’t do it lookin’ good.” Then she glanced down at herself and nodded. “Uh huh, an’ if it’s one thing I know how ta do, it’s lookin’ good.”

I just smiled at my friend and watched her approach Knight. She gave him the once-over while clicking her tongue against the top of her mouth. “Even when we’re headed off into some screwed-up battle, you still look like you should be warmin’ my bed,” she said with a shake of her head. “If we manage to survive this adventure, you’re rewardin’ this sistah with a kiss,” she finished. Then she inclined her head to me and added, “I’m just sayin’.”

Knight chuckled before looking at me curiously. “You’ve got my blessing on that,” I called back, honestly hopeful for Dia to get that kiss since it would mean our victory.

After everyone said their good-byes, Christina faced her soldiers and took a deep breath. “Masks on. Everyone needs to cross into the portal in formation, with all your artillery or magic at the ready.”

“That’s your go-ahead, Dulce,” Knight announced, indicating the portal ripper in my hand. I simply nodded as I strode confidently to the front of the assembled soldiers. They were busily covering their faces with the gas masks until they looked like a troop from the apocalypse. Holding the portal ripper out in front of me, I secured it in place while Christina stood off to one side of her soldiers and Dia the other. Christina nodded, her tacit permission to start ripping the opening to Squander Valley. I rotated myself around so my front was facing the gadget and I started backing up, slicing the air in front of me as I retreated. This task wasn’t as quick as the last one, since the portal had to be the width of ten men. But I prevailed, and once the portal was open, the soldiers proceeded immediately, disappearing instantly. After all of the soldiers crossed through, I watched Dia and Christina bring up the rear until they too, vanished into the ether. Without a second thought or word, I sewed up the portal just as I had after Sam’s group passed through.

“Fagan and Trey,” Knight summoned the Drow and the hobgoblin, who both stepped forward. Fagan looked like he always did—as though a permanent stick up his ass prohibited him from doing anything besides frowning. But I wasn’t concerned with Fagan. Instead, I faced Trey, someone who had been a loyal ally of mine for many years.

“You’re going to do fine, Trey,” I said softly with a smile. I clutched the portal ripper in my palm as he wrapped his pudgy arms around me.

“It’s you I’m worried about, Dulce,” he whispered against my ear. He pulled away from me, but wrapped my free hand in his own, his skin warm and clammy against mine. If not for the beads of perspiration starting along his hairline, I wouldn’t have realized how anxious he was because his hands were perpetually moist. He seemed reserved which was out of character for him. The same sense of foreboding and apprehension was taking hold of everyone.

“Whatever is going to happen will happen,” I said, and firmly believed my words, right down to the very depths of my soul. “I can’t change the outcome of the future so I’m not going to worry about it. Neither should you. Just do what you came to do. End of story.”

Trey nodded, but his eyes remained downcast and his shoulders sagged, telling me he didn’t exactly buy my derring-do. “You’re a survivor, Dulce, I know that. I’ll see you soon.” Then, turning to Knight and Quill, he simply nodded at each of them before facing forward. Fagan flanked the opposite side of the rectangular formation of the two hundred soldiers. I didn’t fail to notice that Fagan hadn’t bothered to say good-bye to anyone. Well, who knew? Maybe that was the better way to go.

Walking to the front of the soldiers, I ripped open the portal just as I’d done for Christina’s troop, and watched the rows of creatures stepping forward. They vanished through the portal that would take them to the second largest Netherworld Guard training base of Tipshaw. Once all had crossed through, I zipped up the portal opening with the ripper once again. Then I turned to face Knight, Quill and the forty-one remaining soldiers assigned on our mission to wipe out my father.

“Ready?” I asked, alternating my gaze between Knight and Quill.

“No time like the present,” Knight responded with a slight smile. Quill didn’t say anything, but simply nodded.

I reached into my jeans pocket until I felt the warm metal of Bram’s pocket watch, the navigation unit for my father. I pulled it out and held it at eye level. Then I watched the two hands begin spinning counterclockwise. The hour hand eventually started to slow until it reached the twelve o’clock position, where it stopped, indicating north. The base of the watch, which previously displayed the date, now had new numbers.

“North twenty-nine degrees,” I called out.

“What’re the coordinates?” Quill asked.

I shook my head to say that I didn’t have an answer for him as I faced the watch again. It began to spin counterclockwise again and settled on numeral nine. The numbers at the bottom of the watch’s face read eighty-nine. “Twenty-nine degrees north by eighty-nine degrees west,” I called out. I dropped the watch back into my pocket while withdrawing the portal ripper from my other pocket.

“Those are the coordinates for Willoughby House,” Quill said.

“What’s that?” I asked while turning the handle of the portal ripper clockwise to input my first coordinate as north. Then, moving the handle in a circular direction two clicks before rotating it counterclockwise for one click, I proceeded counterclockwise again for the count of nine.

“One of Melchior’s many homes. It’s located in Southern Netherworld, where the state of Louisiana sits,” Quill responded.

“Then you’ve been there?” Knight inquired. I continued programming the portal ripper with the western coordinates.

“Many times,” Quill said, without confidence in his tone.

“Then you’ll know the ins and the outs,” I said hopefully, adding a quick smile.

“Maybe,” Quill started, shaking his head. “One thing I can say for certain is that Willoughby House is the largest of all your father’s homes. It sprawls over twenty acres or more of swampland and most notably, it’s infested with all sorts of horrible creatures.”

“Then we’d better get moving,” I said, giving him a smart ass smile. “I wouldn’t want to keep my father waiting too long.”

When neither Knight nor Quill said anything more, I took their silence as approval. I tilted the portal ripper and began slicing the air in front of me. Once the hole was big enough to fit our troops, I put the device back into my pocket while double-checking my other pocket for Bram’s watch. Thankfully, both were there.

“Let the soldiers go in first,” Knight said with his hand on my arm, just in case I tried to argue. I simply nodded as Knight gave the go-ahead to a werewolf who was lined up closest to us. The man started forward, with the rest of the troops moving in kind. They started through the portal, and the sounds of their boots hitting the ground matched the thumping of my heart. Once the last one was through, I faced Quill and Knight.

“We all go in together, side-by-side, with Dulcie in the middle,” Knight said with authority.

He stepped up beside me, while Quill did the same. I already knew there wouldn’t be anyone to close up the portal on the other side once we went through, but we didn’t have any choice. We had to keep the portal ripper in case we needed it. Besides, maybe we’d make a quick getaway through the opened portal, if need be.

With Knight and Quill on either side of me, we stepped through the portal. I felt the familiar, soft mushiness of heavy, wet air just as I did every time I traveled through a portal. My dizziness soon gave way to an overwhelming sense of nausea, but I swallowed the uncomfortable feelings. I blinked a few times as I faced a scene entirely different from the one we’d just left.

All around us were miles and miles of grassland, encircled by an old, rickety, wooden fence that looked as if it had survived centuries. The grassland was enclosed by a forest of pine trees, in which we were now submerged. On the side directly opposite us was the gravelly mouth of a large lake. Looking around myself, I saw that all our soldiers were well hidden by the massive trees of the forest.

“Where’s the house?” I whispered to Quill before my feet suddenly levitated and I was rudely reminded that when in the Netherworld, I had wings. Luckily, I was prepared for my wings and wore a halter top with the back cut out. Speaking of my wings, they weren’t as cool as they might sound. Why? Because they really weren’t that useful. Instead, they seemed like a neurotic lap dog that acted up for no apparent reason, and went into bouts of mindless energy. Sometimes, they flapped maniacally, while at others, they hung as lifeless as a man’s spent appendage. At the moment, however, they were anything but languid. They batted against each other repetitively as I continued to rise into the air. I felt a hand on my arm when Knight pulled me back down again.

“Just over that rise of grass,” Quill whispered back. He motioned to a hill that was maybe one hundred feet in front of us. He put his hand on my arm to help anchor me to the ground. “There are cameras covering the grassland perimeters as well as the beach, so we can’t go that way.”

I nodded and whipped out Bram’s pocket watch, intent on locating my father. I held the thing out before my eyes and watched it immediately settle on numeral three. The matching coordinates appeared at the bottom of the watch. “Looks like Melchior’s off to our right,” I said to Quillan.

“We need to talk to the men,” Knight interrupted. I was unable to ignore the feelings of awe and admiration that hit me as soon as I allowed my eyes to feast on him. As I’ve mentioned before, Netherworld creatures, when in the Netherworld, appear differently than they do on Earth. I, for one, get wings, but the most unfortunate part for me in the Netherworld is that my magic doesn’t work. Oh, yeah … There’s also one more clincher—fairies are like sexual crack in the Netherworld—most other creatures have an irresistible sexual response to me, which, in one word, sucks.

As with most of his abilities, I didn’t know how Knight’s powers varied in the Netherworld; but one thing I could say about the Loki was: despite how gorgeous he was in Splendor, he was even more so in the Netherworld. His skin took on a golden glow, and he appeared even taller and broader than usual. His black hair became a deeper, glossier shade of black and his eyes sparkled like blue prisms.

Looking at Quill, I found the same thing with him—his skin seemed tanner and the amber of his eyes was a deeper gold, and the same color as his hair, framing his face in short, spiky waves. Even though he wasn’t as tall as Knight, nor as broad, he appeared powerful in his own right. The swelling of his muscles was readily apparent through his T-shirt.

“I need to tell our soldiers what the plan is and then we have to go after O’Neil separately,” Knight finished.

Quillan agreed and we both watched Knight turn around and take the ten steps or so that separated him from our envoy. He brought back a young man, who faced us expectantly.

“The grass isn’t safe because it’s covered with cameras and so is the lake,” Quill started. “If you stick to the forest, you’ll find it wraps around the front of the house. There are cameras there as well, but you can avoid them by staying at least a few feet inside the forest. The forest surrounds the house on all but one side.”

“So assemble the soldiers in the forest, as far around the house as you can,” Knight interrupted, still facing the man. “Then wait for my go-ahead and move in.”

The man nodded as he took a deep breath. “Got it. Will wait to hear from you, sir.”

Knight turned to face me. “Where is Melchior?”

“Looks like he’s in the east wing of the house,” I reiterated what Bram’s pocket watch had revealed to me. Then I eyed Quillan to see if he wanted to elaborate.

“He’s probably in his library,” he answered quickly. “It’s the only room he frequents on the eastern wing of Willoughby.”

“Do you think he’s alone?” I asked.

Quill shrugged. “Inside the library, maybe, but there are always two or three guards posted outside, in the hallway.”

“We can deal with them,” Knight said emphatically.

“What about Dulcie?” Quill asked, his frown marring an otherwise handsome face.

“I can take care of myself.”

I pulled the portal ripper from my pocket and programmed it with our coordinates, quickly slicing the air open. Then I lodged the tool back into my pocket, Knight and Quill by my sides, as we stepped through.

When we came out on the other side, I had to find my bearings. I was prepared to land inside a house and was slightly taken aback to find the sun shining down on me as a chill whipped through the air.

“We overshot!” Quill said angrily.

As far as I could see, we were surrounded by swamp. Luckily for us, we’d landed on a stretch of land; but unluckily for us, the land was situated in the middle of the swamp, aka an island. I turned around and noticed a row boat moored to a makeshift dock maybe three hundred feet away.

“We need that boat,” I said softly, facing Knight. “I can easily fly to the other side to get it.” My wings were already flapping so quickly, I probably looked like an oversized hummingbird.

“It’s too dangerous,” Quill said, shaking his head.

“My wings are amped and raring to go,” I said with a frown. I wasn’t sure how else he intended to get across. I, for one, refused to go swimming in some algae-infested swamp with Hades-only-knew-what lurking just beneath the surface.

But, that was just me.

ELEVEN

“There are all sorts of horrible creatures in the swamp and monsters roam the skies,” Quill said to me pointedly, releasing my arm from his grip. “In case you didn’t notice, there aren’t any nets here.”

He was referring to the nets that blanketed the skies of most Netherworld cities. The nets discouraged gigantic, winged monsters that soared through the air from preying on Netherworld citizens. Yes, Quill made a good point warning us about the lack of nets in Willoughby House, but I also wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought about what might lurk beneath the swamp. Being stuck on such a small stretch of land didn’t fill me with warm, fuzzy feelings.

“How else do you plan to get across the swamp if I don’t go after that boat?” I asked with a frown, motioning to the row boat just across the swamp.

Quill didn’t say anything, which meant there wasn’t any other way across. “Exactly,” I muttered as I freed myself from Knight’s hold. I immediately started to ascend again, but this time, Knight did nothing to tether me. I effortlessly floated up and in an easterly direction until I was floating over the middle of the swamp, nearing the shore. As I floated nearer the shore, I noticed a mass of oak trees, covered with Spanish moss, just before me. They also housed a whole slew of the biggest, ugliest spiders I’d ever seen. Most of them were perched in large, white webs that stretched from tree branch to tree branch. The spiders were nearly as large as my hands. Their spindly legs were striped brown and cream, and they had orange crests on their abdomens.

Fly yourself around the spiders, Dulcie, I said to myself in an effort to convey the message to my wings. Instead, they flapped with reckless abandon and drove me right into a spider web. The unsightly behemoth briefly took refuge on my face before jumping down to my shoulder and shooting itself off my arm. Meanwhile, I uncontrollably sailed through the remainder of its web. Fearing the creature’s sticky, spindly legs landing all over my skin, I felt myself breaking out in goose bumps, as a shiver raced up my spine. But, it hadn’t bitten me so I figured things were better than they otherwise could have been.

After escaping the spider webs, I got scratched by a few oak branches and suffered some minor scrapes before freeing myself from the canopy. Now, a new problem faced me: I was quickly floating up into the sky with no visible way of descending. My wings were flapping on fast forward, and even though they were small, they were powerful in their own right. I tried to tell them that I needed to float down again, especially after overshooting the boat by ten feet or more. But my wings refused to listen and I continued to drift higher.

“Lean over and reach for the tree in front of you!” Knight called out to me, the tone of his voice concerned. But my wings continued to beat incessantly, carrying me even higher.

“Tell yourself to slow your wings down!” Quill yelled, as if I was so dumb I hadn’t already told myself exactly that.

As I passed by another oak tree, I reached out, aiming for one of the branches to simply pull myself into the tree. Then I could just climb down, spiders and all. It was probably a long shot, but it was also the only solution I could find.

Leaning toward the tree branch, I suddenly started floating in that direction until I was able to grasp the branch. Then I hand-walked myself down the branch, watching the large, brown, fuzzy spiders disappear into the overgrowth of the trees as I pillaged their webs. Luckily for me, they didn’t appear to be territorial.

When I reached the tree trunk, I glanced down and noticed how high up I was. It was probably the equivalent of being on the fifth floor of a building. As soon as I cast my eyes down, though, I felt my wings begin slowing their frantic beating. Hoping to test them, I released my hold on the branch and began to float down toward the ground. So, somehow, my addled brain managed to reach my wings.

“Just take your time!” Knight yelled, he and Quill now fully indoctrinated as the peanut gallery.

Once I hit the ground, I checked my wings once more and then, convinced they weren’t going to start up again, I ran the distance separating me from the row boat. I unwound the rope from the dock, pushing the boat into the murky water as I climbed aboard, all the while hoping there wasn’t anything larger than my boat lurking beneath the lily pad-covered water. With only a solitary oar that I found in the bottom of the boat, I began paddling first over my left shoulder, then my right. The boat cut through the water and I managed to make it back to the island within a few minutes, despite the infernal aching in my shoulders.

Knight and Quill grabbed the boat’s bow and pulled it onto the shore. My wings started to beat again so I gripped the side of the boat as tightly as I could while Knight jumped over the edge and grabbed hold of my arm. Quill hopped over the other edge, and taking up the oar, started rowing.

“The main house is just around the bend of this swamp,” he informed us.

I nodded as I reached into my pocket, producing Bram’s watch. When I held it up to eye level, the two hands pointed to numeral three, which meant we had to bear to the right, since that’s where Melchior was. And, coincidentally, that’s also where a gigantic … thing perched on the banks of the swamp, watching us.

The creature was no less than twenty feet tall. Its back was covered with long, broad, brown feathers, and its belly looked like the same rough skin of a crocodile. The thing had been watching us for Hades only knew how long, but as soon as I made eye contact with it, its hunched body sat up straight and it eagerly devoured a midday snack. Stretching out two immense wings that were lined with downy white feathers, the much larger brown feathers comprised the flipside. Whatever had been unfortunate enough to become its lunch was now reduced to red, raw, dripping tissue, the shreds hanging from the creature’s talons. It had an ominous, hooked predatory beak and two beady eyes that glowed an eerie yellow.

“Don’t look at it,” Knight warned softly. “Very slowly, get down on your belly in the bottom of the boat. Dulcie, you go first, and Quillan, you cover her with your body.”

Without a word, I moved as slowly as I could, feeling Knight’s hand on my back to keep my wings steady, which would, no doubt, only attract more attention. Getting on all fours, I lowered myself down onto the rough, splintery wood, which grated against my cheek. Quillan immediately came behind me and covered my body with his own, but squished me in the process.

“You okay?” he whispered into my ear.

“You’re too heavy,” I gasped. “I can barely breathe.”

He rolled off me until we were lying face-down, side-by-side. Then he draped his arm over me, in order to keep my wings confined. As soon as he did, Knight withdrew his hand from my back, and started to row again. For a few seconds, the only thing to occupy my mind was the sound of my shallow breathing as I tried to get my breath. I just couldn’t banish thoughts of the horrible bird creature coming after us. But images of becoming snack number two were disrupted when I felt Quillan’s hand as it began to explore my back, following the line of my spine. When he reached the waist of my jeans, he pushed his hand beneath them and started rubbing the top of my butt.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, despite facing the opposite direction.

“Dulce, I’m having a hell of a time fighting your pheromones,” he said painfully. His words sounded like he was saying them through gritted teeth. His probing fingers splayed across my backside while his other hand slipped underneath my shirt. Then he rubbed my stomach, coming dangerously close to the bottom of my bra.

“For Hades’s sake,” I started, fully aware of what was going on. It was just another irritating drawback as a fairy in the Netherworld. Yep, Quill couldn’t help falling for my sexual “fairy crack” and there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. If I made too much of a ruckus, or sat up, the feathered monster would take notice. I knew Quill was helpless to my feminine power anyway; and now that he was basically on top of me, I was more than sure his resistance was rapidly waning. Reaffirming my suspicion, I felt his hand dip between my thighs on the outside of my jeans.

“I can’t fight it when I’m this close to you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Knight instantly reached back and forcibly yanked Quill’s hand away from my butt. Then, without another word or action, he turned back to rowing again. As far as I could tell, Knight wasn’t obeying his own advice regarding taking cover. Instead, he was still sitting up, with no protection or refuge from the daunting monster bird.

“Knight, why aren’t you taking any cover?” I whispered.

“Because someone needs to get us to the other side,” he whispered back, talking out of one side of his mouth.

“But it’s going to see you,” I persisted, just as Quillan’s hands found my butt again. This time I didn’t bother to reprimand him, as I was far too concerned for Knight’s safety.

“It’s already seen us,” Knight responded. “It shouldn’t attack me though. It should recognize what I am.”

I just sighed and chalked it up to yet another of Knight’s mysterious abilities. How many more, I wondered, has he failed to inform me about? Then, I reached around and ruthlessly removed Quill’s hand from my backside.

“Your smell, Dulce! It’s driving me crazy,” he whispered. “I can’t be this close to you and not touch you.”

“Control yourself, Romeo,” Knight spat out, “or you’re going overboard.” From the corner of my eye, I could see him glaring at Quill. “I feel it too, but I’m controlling myself.”

Quill didn’t get the chance to respond. The loud shriek of the creature’s squawking shattered the stillness of the air. It sounded like the screech of a cat being tortured—something that assaulted my ears and made me wish to Hades I never had to hear it again. The creature’s high-pitched yell was even more discouraging when accompanied by a swishing sound, which seemed to be getting closer and closer.

“What’s it doing?” I demanded.

“It’s flying,” Knight said calmly. He didn’t sound especially concerned. “It’s telling us that this is its territory.”

“Can you tell it that we want nothing to do with it or its territory?” I snapped back.

Knight chuckled, but didn’t say anything more. He continued to paddle through the encumbering swamp while Quill started to gyrate on top of me. At least he was keeping his hands to himself …

The creature continued to squawk and carry on, the flapping of its wings becoming increasingly louder. I could feel my heartbeat race as images of myself as the creature’s dinner flashed through my mind.

Could Trey have been channeling this moment when he had his vision or feeling? I wondered. Could I possibly meet my end in the jaws of such a horrible beast? I closed my eyes tightly to force my brain to eject them at once. However I would die, I refused to let it be in the beak of a gargantuan bird.

Hearing another screech, as a shadow passed over our small boat, I realized the monster bird was swooping down closer to us. I wondered why it never even attempted to snatch Knight since he was obviously more accessible than either Quill or I. But I also figured it was one of those things I probably would never know the answer to—maybe it was just a Loki thing.

A large “thump!” sounded against the bottom of our boat, next to my cheek that felt as if someone threw something very heavy against it. My heart stopped beating for at least two seconds.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “What the hell was that?”

No one responded, but Quill stopped gyrating against me. I held my breath and tried to convince myself that whatever whacked the bottom of our little boat was no more than a tangle of reeds, or a dirt mound that we’d passed over. It definitely wasn’t something as hideously ugly and terrifying as the thing that was currently making its rounds in the sky.

But whatever made the thump wasn’t reeds or a random dirt mound because it rammed into the hull again, only this time with more speed and power. It hit us right where my throat lay against the wood. The blow was so jarring, it rocked the entire boat, wobbling it back and forth unsteadily. I started to pull myself up, if only to escape whatever was charging at us from underwater, but Knight shoved his hand onto my back, forcing me back into the boat.

“Knight!” I started.

“Don’t say anything,” he countered. “It’s trying to make you sit up so the Kegogog can pick you off. Don’t move at all. Just stay the hell where you are!”

I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t. My heart rode up into my throat and its frantic beating pulsated throughout my entire body. Then another, even stronger wallop sounded from beneath us. This one hit my collarbone and the entire boat rocked even more violently. Whatever warred beneath us was getting impatient and hence, more forceful in its strategy. Strangely enough, it definitely seemed that the water beast and the bird monster were in cahoots. If I didn’t think it impossible, I would have believed the screeches from the bird monster were its way of getting help from the swamp monster to compel Quill or me to sit up.

“Just hold still!” Knight called out. “We’re less than twenty feet from the shoreline; and once we make it into the forest, nothing will come after us!”

I swallowed hard and wondered how far it was from the shoreline to the forest. Then I wondered if the thing beneath us could run as well as it swam. ’Course, if the thing below us didn’t get us, the thing above us might. The water monster suddenly slammed into the side of the boat, sending the small vessel into a tailspin. Knight’s breathing as well as his cursing accelerated as he struggled with the oar to keep us on our trajectory. Nausea began to churn my stomach as the boat circled round and round, but I resisted the urge to heave. Knight finally managed to stop the boat; and with a loud groan, he started rowing forward again. I wasn’t sure if it was just my own wishful thinking, but it seemed like the boat was suddenly moving faster.

“Once I give you the go-ahead, you run as fast as you can into the trees; you got it?” he said to both of us. “Quillan, you have to sit up so Dulcie can get out.”

“Just tell me when,” Quill answered.

Knight didn’t say anything else, but continued to paddle. The water beast went eerily quiet. The sudden serenity unnerved me because I knew its attacks were far from over.

“Okay, Beaurigard, sit up and be prepared to jump out in about ten seconds,” Knight ordered.

Quill wasted no time in pushing himself off me. A few moments later, I felt the boat skidding on land as we hit the shore. Quill jumped over the side at the same moment the swamp creature charged us full bore, ramming into the stern of the small boat. I was instantly yanked backwards as Knight gripped me by the waistline of my jeans. Just as he wrenched me backwards, the boat exploded and splintered into a thousand pieces. The creature’s jaws devoured the boat, and splinters of the wood gouged its gums. Blood filled its mouth and the rows of countless serrated, miniature teeth, mixing with saliva and water, only seemed to cause further outrage in it. Maybe it was the pain inflicted by the splinters of wood, or the taste of blood that sent it into a tizzy, but it made a horrible wailing sound. Then it opened its mouth wider, revealing even more layers of jagged, razor-sharp teeth, all stained red with blood. If Knight hadn’t snatched me back when he did, my head would have been inside the creature’s bloody mouth.

“Run!” Knight called out as I turned to face Quillan. He was watching the scene in abject horror, but he turned around and ran for the forest line. Knight hoisted me over his shoulder and jumped down from the bow of the boat. We landed on the shore just as the swamp creature vanished under the water.

“It’s coming around the boat!” I screamed. The creature swam for the shore, hoisting itself up out of the water onto its two short flippers. Its head looked like a prehistoric dolphin—dark grey with tiny eyes centered in the middle of its forehead, which was huge. Its forehead dominated the upper part of its face, making its small eyes appear sunken and dead, and even more dreadful. But its massive mouth captivated all my attention. From what I could see of its body, it was mammoth—as in the size of a minivan. It definitely couldn’t move as quickly on land, but it managed to swivel back and forth like an alligator, using its small fins to gain traction. Knight was too fast for it, though, and dove for the tree line just when it seemed the thing was ready to strike.

When my face hit the ground, my cheeks stung as my skin met the sand. I braced my arms around my head for protection, but luckily, didn’t hit anything. Instantly, arms encircled my waist, pulling me upright as I opened my eyes and blinked a few times. Wiping my arm across my face, I attempted to dislodge the grains of sand, which seemed to be caught in my hair as well as my eyes, ears and nose. Once free from as much of the sand as possible, I gazed up into Knight’s broad smile and realized we’d made it to the forest and were now bathed in the cover of the tree branches.

“And that, my friends, is the main reason why it’s best to avoid swamps when traveling through the Netherworld,” Knight said with a hearty chuckle. He acted like everything we’d just gone through was nothing more than an awesome roller coaster ride and now he wanted another turn.

I couldn’t even find it within myself to respond, so I didn’t. Knight dusted me off as he inspected me.

“Is she okay?” Quill asked, coming up behind me.

“Looks like some minor lesions to her face, but she’s a trooper; aren’t you, Dulce?”

I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to regulate my heartbeat. Then I turned to face Quill, before spitting out a mouthful of sand, spit and plants.

“Where to now?” I demanded in a rough voice.

Quill smiled at me and sighed deeply. He appeared to be relieved. He motioned through the trees to the side of Willoughby House, now only thirty feet in the distance. Even though my vantage point didn’t allow for much, it was fairly obvious that my father’s home was colossal. This particular wing must have been four stories high, with a turret that imbued it with a castle-esque quality. I could see a matching turret on the other side of the house in the distance. As far as my father was concerned, he really did fancy himself a king—well, that is, if Willoughby House was the standard.

“The library is on the third floor in that tower,” Quill said, pointing up at the turret.

“We must have been caught on camera?” I started. Seeing how the beach dominated this section of the property, and after Quill’s comment that my father had cameras pinned to the grassland as well as the beaches in general, it was the obvious conclusion.

Quill shook his head. “Your father raises those creatures,” he started. His expression said just how troubled he was by the information. “He believes they do a better job at deterring unwanted guests than cameras do; well, on the swamp side of the house anyway.”

I just looked at him vacantly, traumatized that my father would breed the winged aberrations of the sky. I’d already witnessed one taking out a tourist in line at the airport during my first trip to the Netherworld. Then this one nearly ate us for lunch. Before I could react, Knight’s walkie-talkie began buzzing, its white and red lights flashing through the fabric of his jeans. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

“Christina,” he said in greeting, “over.”

“It failed,” she said between gasps. She sounded as if she’d been running and was now taking a breather. She panted for a few more seconds. “Somehow, the Netherworld Guard were tipped off that we were coming for them. They were fully prepared for us when we attacked.” She took another breath. “Over.”

I felt my heart sink as I put the pieces together and realized the gist of what she was saying. Bram had basically backstabbed me. Why? Because he’d instructed us to attack the base at Squander Valley. He’d set me up. He’d set us up. And I’d stupidly walked right into his trap.

“Where are you?” Knight demanded, turning his back on both of us. “Over.”

“I … I don’t know. I could only get out with about twenty of our soldiers. We made it through Squander Valley and now we’re in some nearby forest, just trying to keep ahead of them.” Her voice sounded seconds away from becoming panic-stricken.

“You took your gas mask off?” Knight demanded to which Christina coughed, as if on cue.

“It’s okay,” she said finally. “We’re far away from the Bregone swamp and its fumes, otherwise this forest wouldn’t be able to survive.”

“Okay, listen to me very carefully, Christina, you need to find water—optimally, a river—just anything flowing. Once you find one, follow it downstream. Whatever direction the water flows, follow it. And make sure you’re on your own, or at least don’t have more than one person with you. You’ll be harder to find if you’re separated from the group.” Then he paused for a few seconds. “Where is Dia? Over.”

The silence on the line lasted so long, I wasn’t sure if Christina was still on the other end. “I don’t know,” she answered finally, her voice sounding pained. “Over.”

I felt my entire body deflate on itself once I heard that Dia wasn’t accounted for. And as soon as that news landed in my lap, I concluded that I was the whole reason for the failure of our mission. I should never have trusted Bram. I should have known better. As soon as he’d said he was always in cahoots with my father, that should have been the end of my liaison with him. I should have cuffed him right then and there and taken him to jail where he could have rotted until Kingdom Come.

Knight warned you time and time again that trusting Bram was a mistake! I railed at myself. Now you could have cost Dia’s life. How could you have been so stupid? How could you have gone for Bram’s bait so blindly?

What was more, I was certain that he and my father were sitting back now, laughing as they watched everything crumble that we, The Resistance, had fought so hard for.

“This isn’t your fault, Dulce,” Quill said softly as he patted me on the back. I turned to face him, but shook my head, unwilling to see the truth in his eyes. Knight wasn’t the only person who had warned me about Bram. Quill had many times too. And, yet, I’d insisted the vampire only wanted to help us. How completely stupid I was! All Bram had ever wanted from me was confidential information so he could feed it back to Melchior. Well, information and sex. At least, he hadn’t gotten the latter.

“I trusted him,” I responded, casting my eyes onto the ground, in absolute disgust of both Bram and myself. “Like a total idiot, I trusted him! Now, because of me, who knows how many of our soldiers are dead? And … maybe even Dia.”

“How much battery life do you have left on your radio? Over.” Knight continued talking to Christina, as if Quill and I were irrelevant.

“Maybe a few hours.”

He nodded and didn’t say anything for a while. Then he turned around and finally faced Quill and me. Well, it was more fitting to say he finally faced me. When he did, I was surprised not to see any anger or condemnation in his eyes. Instead, his gaze held no semblance of emotion.

“We’re going after Melchior,” he said with determined resolve. Although he was actually informing Christina, his eyes remained fastened on mine.

“What?” she blurted out on the other side.

“Whatever happens, I’ll try to check in with you in a little while, okay?” he continued. “Over.”

“Knight, do you think that’s a good idea?” she started. “He obviously already knows about our plans. Over.”

“We have no choice,” Knight said in a hollow tone. He shook his head as he diverted his attention from my face. “We’ve already made our bed.”

Christina sighed heavily and after a protracted silence, she took another deep breath. “Be careful,” she said at last. “I’ll look forward to your next call.”

“You too. Just follow the water downstream and you’ll eventually end up in a city somewhere. Stay under the cover of the trees whatever you do, and look out for smolls. Over.”

“I’ve got an Op 6 and a 7 so I’m good to go,” she responded. I wondered what in the hell smolls were but didn’t have the strength to ask. “Bye, Knight.”

“This isn’t good-bye,” he responded stonily. “We’ll be talking again soon.”

Turning off the radio, Knight’s eyes bored right into mine. I couldn’t read anything in his expression and half wondered if he would yell at me or embrace me. “This isn’t your fault,” he said at last.

I gulped down my response because at this point, I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Whether or not it was my fault didn’t help things. We had to focus on the tactics that would. Knight was right: it was too late now to turn back. We had to push forward and take my father out, even though it was now quite obvious he knew we were coming for him.

TWELVE

“So how much does Bram know?” Knight asked, turning to face me as we hid in the cover of the forest that bordered Willoughby House. I gazed out at the swamp from which we’d narrowly escaped death, and saw the monster bird flying through the air, squawking and screeching as if protesting that its lunch escaped into the forest. There was no sign of the swamp monster.

Facing Knight again, I had to gulp down the burning taste of acid that started up my throat when I thought how easily Bram stabbed me in the back and, worse, how I practically helped him do it. Knowing my anger could only deter me from achieving my goal of going after my father, I tried to answer Knight’s question as to what Bram did and did not know. “Obviously, he knows we’re gunning for my father, which is why he gave me his pocket watch,” I started. “So I predict it’s safe to assume he knows we’re coming after Melchior.”

“And that means it’s also safe to assume that Melchior now knows that as well,” Quill added while I nodded in agreement.

Knight didn’t say anything more as he pulled the walkie-talkie from his pocket and tried to reach Fagan again. As soon as Knight hung up with Christina earlier, he kept trying to reach Fagan through the radio, but the Drow never responded. This time was no closer to being a charm, as there was still no response from the other end. Knight shook his head in obvious disappointment and returned the radio to his back pocket, turning to me again. “When Bram gave you the portal ripper, he instructed you to go after the Netherworld Guard base at Squander Valley, right?”

I nodded while wanting to throw up because the taste of acid creeping up the back of my throat was becoming toxic. “Right, so Bram obviously must have helped plan the Netherworld Guard’s response.”

“Did he know anything about our other attacks?” Knight continued, eyeing me directly. I still couldn’t find any anger in his features. And, for some reason, knowing he didn’t blame me for trusting Bram, despite his repeated warnings not to, made me feel even worse. It was a guilt I’d never experienced before—it made me want to drop to my knees and cry, while tearing my hair out in mute frustration.

I shook my head and heaved a sigh as I tried to banish the self-disgust from my mind. I just couldn’t accept that I, Dulcie O’Neil, was so stupid as to trust the vampire so blindly. I rarely trusted anyone; and it usually took years, sometimes decades, before I allowed someone into my inner circle.

And, yet, you’ve known Bram for years, a small voice reminded me. Bram played you like a pro. He waited all these years, pretending to be your ally and your friend, while planning to pull the wool over your eyes at the very end.

“Bram didn’t know anything else about our other strategy,” I said finally, concentrating on the subject at hand. “I didn’t tell him about staging the phony surrender at the airport, or our proposed attack on Tipshaw.”

“So maybe both the airport surrender and Tipshaw went off without a hitch,” Knight started as Quill began firmly shaking his head.

“Melchior is a smart man. He would have assigned reinforcements at Tipshaw as well as all the bases in the Netherworld as soon as he learned about Squander Valley,” he rebutted, frowning at Knight and then at me. A shadow passed over his face as the bird creature from the swamp flew over the trees.

I nodded at him, reminding myself that the monster bird couldn’t find us in the dense forest. And, even if it did, there was no way it could reach us beneath the thick canopy of trees. ’Course, all that did was remind me of all the creatures in the forest that could get us …

“Right,” I said. “I think it’s safest to assume that my father has all his bases covered, no pun intended.”

Knight turned his attention from the sky, where he was watching the flying obscenity, to me. “So Bram has no idea how many soldiers we intended to take with us when we came after Melchior?” he asked.

“I never told Bram anything about our numbers,” I started. I cocked my head to the side as I considered whether that was a benefit or a hindrance to us. “Bram not knowing our numbers could be good, but it could also be bad.”

“How so?” Knight inquired, ever the eager manager.

I shrugged. “Maybe Melchior thinks we’re coming with lots more backup than we really are, in which case his battalion here could be huge, leading to our brutal defeat.”

Quill shook his head and crossed his arms against his chest. “So far, from what we’ve seen, there doesn’t appear to be much going on here. If Melchior had a whole battalion of soldiers at Willoughby, they’d be assembled everywhere—on all the beachfronts and the forest bordering Willoughby. So far, I’ve yet to see one soldier.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t in the house,” I pointed out, and then frowned because it was never a good practice to make assumptions.

Quill nodded. “Your father would have instructed guards to patrol the house, and the property too. My point is, I don’t think Melchior stationed more soldiers here than usual simply because we haven’t seen nor come into contact with any.” He took a breath. “Something I find strange.”

“Beaurigard’s got a point,” Knight piped up as my wings, which lay previously in repose against my back, suddenly started beating furiously. Both Knight and Quill had to grasp hold of my arms to keep me in place. “That issue we had in the swamp would have alerted nearby soldiers if there were any,” Knight finished.

I couldn’t help smiling at Knight’s reference to the swamp situation as an “issue.” The word was such an understatement to what truly happened. But any feelings of levity quickly vanished as soon as I reminded myself of our current predicament. Really we were stuck between an enormous rock and a hard place, because it was never a good idea to begin an assault without first knowing what you were up against.

“I think it’s safe to assume that your father doesn’t think we’re coming here with much backup,” Quill finished. “Because it’s not as though he could hide a squadron of soldiers.” He shrugged as his eyebrows reached for the sky. “But why doesn’t he have an army of reinforcements here? That’s the question to which I have no answer.”

Knight nodded before turning to face me, his blue eyes flashing. The trees shook with a small breeze, allowing the sun to penetrate the branches in prismatic rays of yellow light. “Does Bram know the total number of our soldiers?”

I figured he meant how many soldiers and recruits we’d managed to corral. “No,” I said, frowning and inhaling deeply as something else occurred to me. “But don’t forget: Bram had Christina in his custody for a couple of days when she was still on the Blueliss.”

Knight nodded, his eyes sparkling with something that resembled anger as his jaw twitched. “Right, so he could easily have discovered our numbers from her, which he probably did.”

Quill faced Knight. “But at that time, The Resistance was only comprised of the three hundred or so soldiers, right? Wasn’t Fagan still in the midst of drafting the others?”

“Right,” I answered, crossing my arms against my chest as another breeze coiled around my body in an icy embrace. “Which means Bram probably thinks we’ve only got three hundred soldiers to the Netherworld Guard’s four hundred. And, if he does, it’s all the better for us since we would still have the element of surprise.”

Knight shook his head and arched a brow at me as if disappointed that I hadn’t considered some other angle. “But don’t forget Squander Valley and Tipshaw equated to four hundred fifty soldiers and recruits, so Bram and your father would be well aware that our numbers exceeded three hundred.”

“Well, based on however many creatures they were able to consign,” I corrected him as my wings suddenly stopped beating and simply hung there, now exhausted. Knight and Quill released my arms as I remembered Christina mentioning over the radio that many of her group were able to flee from Squander Valley. Since our soldiers hadn’t all been caught, Melchior wouldn’t know for certain how many of us there really were. Maybe the same thing happened with the attack on Tipshaw. Or maybe I was underestimating us, and our forces had decimated the Netherworld Guard in Tipshaw. Until we reached Fagan, we’d never know.

“At any rate, Melchior must be aware our numbers are larger than three hundred,” Quill said.

Knight took a deep breath and shook his head, frowning as he alternated his stoic expression between the two of us. “None of this matters anyway. This discussion is doing nothing, but wasting our valuable time,” he said forcibly. “We either go after Melchior now or we have to surrender. It’s too late to beat a path back to Splendor and regroup.”

“He’s right,” I said, facing Quill.

“We have two options,” Knight continued. “We either go in now, not knowing what we’re up against, or we surrender. That’s it.”

“We go in,” I replied robotically, swallowing hard as I searched Knight’s stunning eyes for an answer as to where he stood on the subject. It felt like time stopped as I waited for his response. If he and Quill chose to surrender, I didn’t know what I’d do. For my part, I intended to go after my father and that’s all there was to it. Whether that meant going in with Knight and Quill was beside the point. I was going in. Period.

“Agreed,” Knight said with his jaw tightened and his eyes calculating. “I will never surrender to Melchior. I’d rather die fighting his minions.”

I rewarded him with a big smile before turning to face Quill, who was already looking at me. He frowned and I figured his answer wouldn’t be quite as clear-cut as Knight’s. After a few seconds, he began nodding. “We’re here; we might as well go through with our original plan. If we retreat to Splendor, your father would assume he still maintained authority and he’d, no doubt, come after us.”

“Either way, there’d be a confrontation,” Knight finished.

Quill glanced at the horizon for a few seconds before facing us again. “And, for whatever reason, it seems your father is not very well protected here, which only strengthens our upper hand.”

I couldn’t agree with them more and nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, I glanced first at Quill and then at Knight. “Our soldiers are already surrounding the house and they’re waiting for your word to move forward, Knight.”

“Right,” the Loki answered. “So we give them the go-ahead, and when they attack the house, all of Melchior’s men will be focused on defending the house and its perimeters.”

“And we go after my father at the same time,” I finished as my heartbeat began to race with peaked adrenaline.

“Your father will have guards surrounding him,” Quill cautioned.

“How many?” I demanded.

Quill shrugged. “Probably three. He’s always got Manga, Angus and Herrod hovering around him at any given second.”

“What are they?” Knight asked.

“Thugs,” Quill responded, but seeing Knight’s frown, he continued. “Manga is a goblin. He’s maybe six-two and he fights street-style.”

“Goblin means he has no magic,” I said quickly. “We can defeat anyone who doesn’t have magic.”

“Angus is a warlock,” Quill threw back at me. “He doesn’t have brawn, but he makes up for it with witchcraft and he’s damn good.”

“I can take him,” I answered quickly, resting my hands on the two Op 6s strapped to my waist, beneath my T-shirt.

“Dulce, your magic won’t work in the Netherworld,” Quill reminded me.

“I’m aware,” I snapped back. “But my Op 6s will.”

Knight chuckled behind me as Quill grinned, shaking his head. “Yep, they will,” he finished. “It’ll help that we’re all armed,” he added, patting the band of his waistline where he kept an Op 8 loaded and ready to go. “But don’t forget that Melchior’s men will be armed as well.”

“This is nothing new,” I said quickly. “We’ve dealt with this same scenario a thousand times at the ANC.” I said it mostly to beef up my own confidence.

“And what is Herrod?” Knight asked, facing Quill.

“Herrod is all brawn. He’s a werewolf, but he’s bigger and badder than any wolf you’ve ever seen.”

“That doesn’t intimidate me,” Knight said matter-of-factly.

“Well, maybe their artillery will,” Quill shot back. “Each one will be armed with Op 7s and 8s, not to mention automatic machine guns filled with dragon’s blood bullets. And that’s just what you’ll be able to see. They’ll also have blades strapped to their bodies beneath their clothes. The main thing to remember is that they’re Melchior’s thugs for a reason; they’re exceptional at what they do.”

“Good to know,” Knight said, not sounding particularly concerned. “But Dulce is right. It’s just another walk in a very familiar park.” Then he turned to face me. “When we go in, we go together.”

“And how do you propose getting to the top floor of a windowless turret without going through the entryway of the house?” Quill asked, sounding irritated.

Knight replied with a smug smile. “Last I checked, we had a portal ripper.”

I nodded, pulling Bram’s pocket watch out to pinpoint my father’s exact position inside the house. Before I attempted anything, though, I glanced up at Knight. “You realize my father’s going to know that we know where he is?”

Knight nodded, not looking especially concerned. “Hopefully, we haven’t kept him waiting too long.”

***

After Knight gave his lead soldier the go-ahead to enter Willoughby house, I cut a portal into Melchior’s library. Neither Quill, Knight nor I said anything; and the silence hung ominously between us. Standing on either side of me, the three of us stepped forward, entering the portal.

The feelings of wet, balmy air hit me immediately, and I clenched my eyes tightly, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. Moments later, though, the nausea disappeared and the air became frigid. I opened my eyes and felt myself falling. My wings immediately started flapping wildly to stop me from hitting the ground. Knight and Quill weren’t as lucky. Knight smashed into a large, black desk that occupied the center of the room; while Quill fell against a bookshelf in front of the desk.

I didn’t have the time nor the wherewithal to take in much, but I scanned the perimeter of the small room anyway. I took in the bookshelves that lined the walls, as well as the desk that Knight so adeptly snapped in two. In only a split second, I realized we weren’t alone in my father’s library. My eyes focused on a beefy man, looming in the doorway, right behind the bookshelf Quill had bashed into.

“Quill, behind you!” I screamed as I watched the man turn his scowl toward Quill. My ability to differentiate creatures didn’t work in the Netherworld, so I wasn’t sure if this was the wolf or the goblin. Either way, he was enormous—well over six feet. With his unshaven face and longish, greasy, matted hair, he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His nose was incredibly wide and uneven, probably broken too many times, and one half of his right ear was missing.

“Beaurigard, you double-crossing son of a bitch,” the man bellowed as he rushed forward from maybe ten feet away. Silver daggers shone from both of his hands, and he was missing a finger on his left hand. Quill turned in a split second, though he was still sitting on the floor, and pushed against the ground with his heels, trying to put some distance between the man and himself. Careening into the bookshelf behind him, Quill pulled his Op 8 from the holster around his waist. He fired twice and both bullets hit the man in the center of his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I continued to hover, unable to convince my wings to allow my feet to touch the ground. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything close at hand that I could use to tether myself. Instead, I just snapped my head to the left and right, trying to get a quick recon of what we were up against. There was no sign of my father, and as far as I could see, only these two thugs, one down and one to go. The one to go was already brawling with Knight. The two looked pretty well matched when it came to brawn, both huffing rhythmically as they faced one another with contempt. From the looks of the shiner already forming underneath Knight’s eye, he’d obviously suffered a blow. I wondered why he didn’t just pull his Op 8 from his holster, but decided he must have wanted to fight the old-fashioned way.

I scanned the room again for any sign of my father or the warlock Quill warned us about. But it seemed there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Looking above me, I noticed the library had a second floor that overlooked the first, with more rows of bookshelves lining the walls. But the second floor was also clear.

Somehow, my father must have been forewarned of our attack. He must have known we were coming and fled. I reached inside my pocket for my Melchior GPS device, but before I could pull it out to locate the bastard, I heard the sound of fists meeting flesh. I glanced at Knight, who fell into a bookshelf behind him, after sustaining an incredibly powerful blow. The shelf snapped beneath his weight, sending him, as well as twenty or more books, tumbling onto the floor.

Regarding the thug, I assumed he was the were, Herrod, because he seemed especially hairy and unkempt. More so than the previous thug was. This guy was also immense—built like a wall, thick and wide. Within a split second, he validated my hunch as the man’s face began to change. His eyes started to migrate to the center of his face while widening and their color changed to a jaundiced yellow. His nose stretched, growing darker and wetter as it morphed into a snout. Fur began covering his cheeks and chin, overtaking the rest of his face. His human teeth fell onto the floor and much larger, sharper canines replaced them. But that was just his face. Observing his body, I noticed his rib cage seemed to double in size as the sounds of snapping bones accompanied the transformation. His back began to hunch, forcing his abdomen upward and inward. Then a bushy tail emerged from his already shredded pants. His arms elongated while his hands and feet stretched. Razor sharp claws materialized on his fingers and toes. The remnants of his clothing lay in shredded fibers at his feet.

Knight didn’t waste any time waiting for the werewolf’s change to finish. Instead, he pummeled the were’s face and sent the abomination flying into the back wall. It fell into another bookshelf, spraying splinters and books through the room like a tornado. As soon as the creature pushed itself up, it had morphed completely into a wolf.

“Come and get me, you ugly son of a bitch,” Knight taunted. He held his hands out by his sides and stared at the gargantuan beast with no trepidation in his eyes. Reaching for my Op 6s, which were strapped to my waist beneath my shirt, I watched the creature jump on Knight. When Knight gripped its arms and rolled over, I realized I couldn’t get a clean shot—if I tried, I could just as easily miss the wolf and nail Knight instead.

I eyed Quill, who was already on his feet and staring at me, no doubt trying to figure out how to get me down. It seemed like slow motion as he reached for me, when he suddenly pulled back and gripped his throat like he were choking on something.

“I,” he started, still staring at me. “I can’t breathe!”

Clawing at his neck, he fell back against the wall as if something were stuck in his throat preventing him from catching his breath. His face started to grow paler as his eyes widened first with fear, and then, panic.

“Quill!” I screamed out, suddenly feeling my wings beating as they took me further and further away from him.

Quill continued to tear at his throat and then leaned over, his hands on his thighs. A few seconds later, he collapsed onto the floor, the color completely drained from his skin. I realized then that he was under the influence of magic. And magic could only mean one thing—that bastard sorcerer was somewhere in the room. Looking back at Quill, I noticed his arms hanging limply by his sides. The need to assist him infiltrated me with an increased sense of urgency and I desperately tried to figure out how the hell I could descend from my ridiculous altitude. I glanced at Quill again. His eyes were closed. Panic spiraled up inside me as I searched for any sign of the warlock, Angus.

Dropping my hands to my waist, I palmed my Op 6s, and pulled them from their holsters, still searching the room. But I couldn’t see anything. I wheeled around to my right and left, but found only a destroyed library. My wings continued to beat wildly, carrying me even higher.

Suddenly, a stinging sensation began brewing at the base of my neck. It felt like a very bad sore throat. It soon began to penetrate the entire length of my neck, no doubt the same discomfort that had attacked Quill, rendering him either unconscious or dead. The burning started to dissolve, but left me feeling that my neck was swelling, and restricting my airway. Dropping both of my guns, I didn’t even comprehend what I was doing as I brought my hands to my throat instinctively. The guns banged against the ground, and I recognized my mistake instantly, but all I could do was grip my neck, and try to squeeze some air into my lungs. My throat was swelling so much that I could only rasp, and even that ability was quickly dissipating. My wings finally slowed their incessant beating and only flapped every few seconds, allowing me to slowly float to the ground. I continued clawing at my neck, and opening my mouth wide to inhale, but it was useless. When my toes touched the ground, I collapsed against a nearby bookshelf. Then I was confronted by a large-skulled, bald man with a pencil neck and shoulders that were narrower than mine. He must have been invisible earlier, but was now clearly out in the open, and standing before me. He was also clearly the warlock.

“A beautiful fairy,” he said with elation, while holding his hands (palms facing me) before him, emitting his power.

His eyes were huge, like disks in his otherwise smallish face, and his nose was long and pointy. It matched his sharp chin. His body was the size of a ten-year-old and he was probably no taller than I was. He narrowed his eyes while he studied me, his face finally lighting up with jubilance.

“A fairy,” he repeated again, his eyes glazing over with passion. “It’s true what they say about your kind.”

While I wasn’t sure what “they” said about my kind, I was reminded of the power I carried in the Netherworld. Yep, I still had sexual fairy crack that I could turn to. Not that I wanted to, but when I noticed my guns lying uselessly on the floor, I realized they weren’t my only option to defend myself. Regardless, I didn’t possess enough strength to reach for them. Even if I tried, I knew the warlock would, no doubt, fortify his magical attack, and where would that leave me? Probably dead. I looked past him and saw that Knight was still involved with the were, although neither one looked to be gaining any ground.

“He can’t help you,” the warlock announced in a nasal, high-pitched voice. “He can’t even see us.”

So, my hunch was right. The little bastard had made himself invisible before and now he was doing the same, only to both of us. Yep, any way I looked at it, I had no choice but to use my fairy crack. I forced my hands from my neck and ran them through my hair, offering the warlock my best bedroom eyes. His eyes widened as he continued to stare at me, hunger dripping from his expression. He was very obviously about to become ensnared in my trap.

Don’t give up now, Dulce, I thought to myself. You’ve almost got him!

Strangely enough, my next thought was of Bram, and how he’d manipulated me by using his powers of vampire persuasion. I remembered how expertly he’d made me do and be something I wasn’t. And even though I hated Bram, I recognized the valuable lesson he’d taught me. I realized that I now had the power to do the same.

“I,” I gasped, trying to talk even though I couldn’t get any air. My voice was barely a whisper. I trailed my finger down to my lips, hoping I had enough air left to maintain my charade. If I passed out, it would all be over. This bastard would do whatever he chose to with me, and then who knew what would happen? No, I absolutely had to stay alert so I could see my plan to fruition.

The warlock continued to gaze at me as I stared into his eyes, running my tongue across my lips. I used my best body language to say, “I want you to make love to me.” His hands began to drop, even though his fingers were still actively splayed and his magic was still in effect. The strangulation in my throat began to ease slightly, even though I still couldn’t take in a full breath. Once the warlock dropped his hands a little lower, I managed to catch a shallow breath.

Seeing the little bastard’s eyes glued to mine, I pursed my lips before running my finger across them. Nearing the grand finale, I dipped my finger inside my mouth, staring at the hideous creature sensuously. The warlock stared at me with ravenous hunger in his eyes and dropped his hands to his side. As soon as he did so, I inhaled fully and I took in so much oxygen, I thought I might pass out. Trying to stay conscious, I continued to gaze at the man, knowing the game was far from over. I had to maintain my act, lest the little cretin snap out of it.

“What do you want?” I whispered, tracing the outline of my breasts above my shirt as I batted my eyelashes at him.

He laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked in his nasal tone. “I want you, my little sexpot.”

I giggled, or did my best version of one, because as a rule, Dulcie O’Neil didn’t giggle. Hoping the time for giggling would soon be over, I glanced out of the corner of my eye to inquire how Knight was faring. I could see the shape of the wolf, lying in a heap on the ground, and Knight standing above him. The Loki turned to face me and we made eye contact which meant the warlock had ceased his invisibility charm. Knight just watched me for a few seconds, as if trying to understand what the hell I was doing. But then he apparently got it, because he began approaching us stealthily, as if trying to be as quiet as possible.

“If you want me,” I continued, spearing the warlock with my full attention. “Tell me what you want to do to me.” I finished, trying to channel Marilyn Monroe. I had to keep the little bastard’s attention while Knight came up behind him.

The warlock chuckled again, but the laugh soon died on his lips as his eyes narrowed first on my face and then on my bust. “I’m going to tear those clothes off you,” he said, his eyes roaming my body.

I giggled again and ran my hands all over myself, attempting to appear turned on. “I like it rough,” I said coyly.

“You’re going to get it rough as soon as I get hold of you,” he said before he jumped at me. He managed to grip my collar before Knight bashed him in the side of the head with the butt of his Op 8, before tucking it back into the waistline of his pants. The warlock collapsed in a heap at my feet.

“Are you okay?” Knight asked as he faced me with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine, but I’m not so sure about Quill,” I said, motioning to Quill’s still form, where he lay in the corner of the room.

“He isn’t dead,” came the voice from above us. Looking up, I saw my father standing on the second floor of the library, leaning on the balustrade lazily and smiling down at us as if we were revered guests. I felt my stomach sour instantly. On either side of him were three guards, each pointing guns at us.

“But Beaurigard’s life is most definitely on the line, should you decide to fight us,” came an English accent from the opposite side of the room. Glancing over my shoulder, I faced Bram.

THIRTEEN

“Throw your weapons on the floor in front of you,” my father said, his stern expression warning us we’d better comply.

I noticed Knight’s face was blank, almost like he’d gone into automaton mode. The longer I watched him, the more I realized how well he’d perfected the art of the poker face. It was almost as if his lack of anger, sorrow and defiance was a defense mechanism—something meant to throw my father off in the same way it had thrown me off. Still wearing the façade of someone detached, he reached inside his waistband and produced an Op 8, which he tossed on the floor. Then he faced my father with a look that said, “Okay, what next?”

My father turned his beautiful green eyes from Knight to me as he arched his left brow, and appeared anything but amused. In fact, as soon as his eyes settled on me, he looked disgusted, repulsed and even appalled to see me. “And yours?” he demanded.

I simply pointed at the polished hardwood floors where my two Op 6s lay idly, still in the same place they’d fallen when the warlock magically choked me and I, inadvertently, dropped them.

At the sound of Bram’s chuckle, my attention flashed from my father and landed squarely on the haughty vampire. He stood in front of Knight, his expression one of mirth as he regarded us with interest. He was dressed for an elegant soiree, or a funeral. His expertly tailored Italian suit matched the midnight pitch of his hair perfectly. His black ensemble was only interrupted by a charcoal gray dress shirt and the sparkling azure of his eyes. Yes, despite being enraged with him, even hating him with all my being, I couldn’t deny what a handsome bastard he was.

“All of your weapons, Vander,” he said, picking up Knight’s Op 8 from the ground. He stood up and faced the Loki again. “Allow me to remind you that we have our own ways of disarming you.”

Knight didn’t say anything, but reached inside the waistline at the back of his jeans and withdrew an Op 9, which he then threw to the ground. “That’s it,” he muttered.

“Very good,” Bram said before daring to assault me with his arrogant grin. Stepping right up to me, until we were my face to his lapels, he smiled as if we were old friends, reuniting after years of separation. I felt my eyes narrowing as my jaw tightened so much, I was afraid of shattering my teeth.

“You backstabbing bastard,” I ground out at him. I still found it difficult to speak after basically being strangled by the warlock’s magic. My throat and neck still throbbed and stung.

The vampire just chuckled with indifference, as if my trust was immaterial and his betrayal was of no consequence. Instead, his eyes seemed alight with humor, as if it thrilled him that I now knew he’d been playing me all along.

“What did you expect, Sweet?” he asked while shaking his head at my supposed stupidity. “You, yourself, remarked that my situation behooved me, so why should I want to upset it?”

Rage brewed inside me and I could feel my hands fisting at my sides as I glared at the vampire whom I’d been thoughtless enough to believe in. But, even now, I couldn’t help the surprise that registered within me, just beside the anger. Bram had just seemed so genuine when he’d given me the portal ripper and his pocket watch. Everything he’d told me about his feelings towards my father had seemed so authentic, so honest.

Honestly bullshit! He’s just a good actor, you moron! I chided myself. But as ridiculous as it sounded, there was still a part of me that refused to fully believe it. Why? Because there was still one piece to the puzzle that didn’t make sense. That piece was the reasoning behind why Bram hadn’t just killed me or turned me over to Melchior when he’d had the chance. And he’d had numerous opportunities. Furthermore, if Bram was truly allied with my father, why had he returned Christina to us? And why wean her off the Blueliss?

They were unanswerable questions, and after struggling with them, I remembered that Bram enjoyed making things difficult for people in general. Being linked to my father didn’t mean he would hand The Resistance to him on a silver platter. No, Bram had always made me work for my information, and I was sure he’d do the same to my father, and anyone else, for that matter. That was just the way he was.

Seeing him smiling down at me, rage began building within me until it erupted into a volcano of anger and accusation. When my cheeks flushed, my jaw tightened, and I lurched out at him, pummeling my fists into his face. But I never made contact with him due to the superior speed inherent to his race, which allowed him to easily sidestep me. Losing my balance, I had to ricochet off a nearby wall rather than crash into it.

Once I regained some stability, I heard the sound of weapons being cocked coming from the second story. I kept my attention on Bram, though, who continued to chuckle, while shaking his head like I was making a big mistake.

“You should rein in that famous temper of yours, my pet,” he said. Before I could respond, my ears were assaulted by a cacophony. It was impossible to locate the source at first, but it seemed to be coming from right outside the house, or maybe just inside the entryway. The longer I listened, the more I realized it was the noise of battle—bullets being fired and derogatory epithets being yelled. I quickly concluded our soldiers must have invaded Willoughby house and were now in active combat with my father’s guards. I wasn’t sure if I’d failed to hear the sounds before because I was so focused on defending myself against the warlock, or if our soldiers had just now made their move. Looking up at my father, I noticed the expression of surprise in his widened eyes. Hmm, so maybe he hadn’t been expecting us? Maybe our soldiers had just begun their attack. Either way, it didn’t really matter because Melchior had us exactly where he wanted us.

“I’m tired of prolonging this charade,” my father called out hastily, seemingly alarmed by the sudden surge of our soldiers. “Vander, call off your men off or I will shoot my daughter on the spot.”

Shifting my murderous eyes from Bram’s smug countenance to my father, I had a fleeting thought that Bram’s immediate reaction to my father’s words was angry shock. Instead, I reminded myself that Bram didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone besides himself, and least of all, me. Once I’d settled that score in my head, I bit my lower lip as I faced the monster that was my father. His eyes were riveted on mine and we just stared at one another for a few seconds, each of us reading the truth in the other’s eyes. In my father’s eyes, I saw that Quillan had been right—I was nothing to Melchior, but a tool—potentially an arrow in his quiver, but now gone astray. My father didn’t know the meaning of having a daughter because he didn’t possess the ability to love. Consequently, all people were disposable to him, even his own kin.

As easily as I could read the truth in my father’s eyes, I genuinely hoped he read the truth in mine … that as much as I loathed Bram, I despised my father even more. Just in taking in his expertly tailored grey suit and expensive black leather shoes, I wanted to throw up. Maybe the biggest disappointment of all, though, was that I could see him reflected in me. I had the same wavy honey-colored hair and the same emerald green eyes that were now alight with fire. Yes, my father absolutely was a stunningly handsome man, but to me he was nothing more than a heartless monster. Much worse than either the bird predator or that thing living in the bottom of the swamp.

“I will call off my men,” Knight said, his lips a straight line. As I watched him look at my father, I could see the hatred burning behind his eyes. And it was a hatred born from long association, from experiencing just what type of man my father was and despising him for it. Given his boundless loathing for my father, it suddenly surprised me that Knight could love me, especially when the physical similarities between my father and me were so blatantly obvious. I didn’t understand how Knight could look at me and not think of the connection between father and daughter every time he saw me. But somehow he didn’t, which just spoke to his own magnanimous personality and his strength of character. Not to mention the power of love.

“Yes, you will call off your men,” my father stressed, seeming to savor each word. “And then you will remain in my custody, residing in my own personal dungeon, where, I trust, you will not suffer for long.”

“You won’t touch him!” I screamed out. My father’s thugs took a few steps forward, warning me I was the target of their artillery. But I didn’t care. There was no way I could stand by and say nothing after my father’s words. “No one touches him!”

“It is more than obvious that you and your cabal have been defeated,” my father chided, eyeing me hollowly. “I expected so much more from you. I must admit this little uprising has thoroughly disappointed me.” Then he laughed heartily, shaking his head as if The Resistance were no more than an anticlimax. “You really believed you could remove me by attacking Squander Valley and then waltzing in here?”

I found it curious that he didn’t mention Tipshaw, or the surrender at the airport, but made no comment. Instead, I watched him say to the man on his right side. “Take care of Beaurigard, will you?”

The man nodded before disappearing through the doorway of the second floor. It led to a spiral staircase that connected to this one. The man took the stairs two at a time, and reaching Quill, he bent over and hoisted Quill’s still body over his shoulder and left the room. Where he took Quill, I had no clue but I intended to find out.

“What are you doing with him?” I demanded of my father. “Where are you taking him?”

“He and your Loki can rot, for all I care,” my father spat back at me, his eyes livid. Turning to Knight again, he suddenly smiled, as if he’d completely lost his mind. Who knew—it was probably as close to the truth as anything else. “Believe me when I tell you, Vander, that I will absolutely revel at your death,” my father managed between gritted teeth. “You have caused me nothing but trouble, between your silly Resistance and that blasted Sabbiondo.”

Hearing my father’s words, Knight didn’t respond or react. His expression remained completely unchanged. He simply continued to stare at my father, his face a blank slate. “Whatever your gripes with me, I don’t care, O’Neil,” he said at last, taking a deep breath. His voice sounded heavy, but as melodically beautiful as it always was. “I just don’t want Dulcie harmed.”

I felt tears stinging my eyes and shook my head, trying to deny the thought that this precise moment was all because of me. Had I never trusted Bram, maybe we never would have gotten into this situation.

If Knight dies, it will be on your conscience, a nasty voice inside me admonished.

I clenched my eyes tightly against the tears welling up because I refused to cry in front of my father. No matter what happened, I wouldn’t allow the bastard to see one tear. Once my torn emotions were back under control, I opened my eyes and looked up at my father. Turning to his left, he ordered the man standing there to take Knight into custody. The man came down the same staircase as the previous man, wasting no time in apprehending Knight. As soon as he did, he motioned for Knight to turn around so he could cuff him, but Knight looked at my father instead, with a raised brow expression.

“Do you really think this is necessary, O’Neil?” he asked, holding his hands up as if to say, “I’m surrendering, so why the dog and pony show?”

“I don’t want any games, Vander,” my father replied matter-of-factly.

Knight laughed dryly. “There are no games to play, O’Neil. You’ve won.” Looking over at me, he shook his head sadly, before returning his attention to my father. “You won as soon as you threatened the life of the woman I love.” He took a deep breath and I felt my heart sinking. “Do you really need to rub salt in my wounds by forcing my men to see me in shackles?”

My father looked unimpressed as he shook his head. It appeared he couldn’t care less about any of us, which was probably the truth. “Call your soldiers off,” he said with ennui, before facing the man beside him. “Assist Taurus in leading the Loki to the holding facility in Belgate Tower,” he said. “There’s no need for cuffs unless he refuses to go willingly.” Then he faced Knight. “And you won’t refuse to go willingly, will you, Vander?”

Knight shook his head. “Guarantee Dulcie’s safety and I won’t fight.”

“I give you my word as her father,” Melchior replied as if his word meant a damned thing. It didn’t—especially after he’d already made it very apparent that I meant nothing to him.

“Do us both a favor and give me your word as the Head of the Illegal Potions Trade,” Knight rebuked, his lips a tight line. Apparently, my father’s vow offended him as much as me.

“You have my word,” Melchior responded with more irritation.

Knight then turned to me and smiled. He seemed to be trying to reassure me, as if he thought this was just a small “blip” in our lives, and we’d be together again soon. “Just stay alive, Dulce, don’t do anything stupid that could get you killed … please.”

I swallowed hard, my tears threatening to fall again. I just didn’t know what to do or whom to turn to.

There is no one left to turn to! I railed at myself. We’ve lost!

We had lost. The words echoed through me, leaving nothing but intense feelings of depression in their wake. The words continued to assault me until they were nothing more than the most devastating words in the English language. We had lost and now there was nothing left for me, but learn what fate my father had in store for me. There appeared to be no other alternatives. As to the here and now, Knight and I were vastly outnumbered, and who knew what was going on outside? The fleeting hope that our men were defeating my father’s guards suddenly crossed my mind, but I had to ignore it because the battle was already over. Why? Because Knight and I were in custody, and Christina was lost in a forest somewhere, if not captured or dead. Either way, without a leader, there was no Resistance left.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re spared,” I whispered to Knight, although I felt the futility of my words right down in my bones.

But there was something in Knight’s eyes that threw me, something that seemed out of place. Not worry, rage, disillusionment, or fear, but a jubilance that was inappropriate to the situation. “I just want you to take care of yourself,” he said softly, but emphatically. “Whatever you do, whatever decisions you’re forced to make, consider only yourself, Dulcie.”

I shook my head, unsure why and how he could be thinking of my future when his was so uncertain, or maybe it was more fitting to say his was certain—certainly bad. “Knight,” I started, my voice cracking.

“Enough!” my father ordered. Facing the two men on either side of Knight, he added, “Once his men have surrendered, put them all in High Prison. Vander will make his home in the dungeon.” Then he took a deep breath as something else occurred to him. “Throw Beaurigard down there too, for that matter.”

“Yessir,” the man closest to him replied. They each took one of Knight’s arms and started to lead him out of the room.

I couldn’t even hug him good-bye, or kiss him one last time? I thought as I felt my heart sink. As he walked away, something in his stride caught my attention. His steps were confident and purposeful. And confidence just seemed so out of place considering the situation. In watching him leave the room, it felt as if something inside of me was being trampled to death, as if half of my soul was being ripped apart. Knight turned around and faced me just before he reached the doorway and mouthed “I love you.”

Before I could respond, my father’s men forced him into the hallway and they disappeared around the corner. I was left with nothing but cold numbness in my gut. Even with an all-consuming sense of loss and desperation, there was still a glimmer of hope deep inside me that defied logic. While I recognized the situation for the piece of total shit that it was, there was something else inside me that still rebelled, something that refused to be silenced. Why? Because Knight hadn’t acted defeated. There was a hop to his step and a fire in his eyes that said our fight was far from over. I’d read in his gaze as clear as day the fact that he refused to go down so easily. As to his plan though, I didn’t have a clue. I reminded myself of his parting words to me: for me to think only of myself. It was something you’d say to someone if you had a plan for yourself, but were still worried about theirs. The subtle feelings of hope began to surface inside me until they ignited a conflagration of optimism. We hadn’t lost. Not yet anyway.

“We find ourselves in an unfortunate situation,” my father started. He and the only remaining guard walked down the spiral staircase, taking their sweet ass time. Hearing my father’s voice, I sensed his delusional feelings of supremacy and pride. For the second time in the past twenty minutes, I felt like I wanted to throw up.

I ignored my father and turned my attention to Bram, who was approaching me quickly. His eyes were pools of mystery when he closed the distance that separated us and we were only two inches apart. Instinctively, I wanted to step back, preparing for whatever he was planning to do or say to me. I just couldn’t define the look in his eyes and my Spidey senses went on high alert. I’m not sure why I didn’t step back, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood my ground and watched Bram reach for my hand. I narrowed my eyes, but allowed him to take it all the same. Then I watched as he slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out Knight’s Op 8 that he’d retrieved from the floor only moments earlier.

He leaned into me, his eyes twinkling like sapphires as he smiled, his fangs in full effect. At first, I feared he was going to bite me, but the look in his eyes wasn’t one of hunger. It was the look of victory, or triumph. He brought his lips to my cheek, as if he were going to kiss me, but instead, whispered. “Not everything is as it seems, Sweet.” Feeling the cold steel butt of the Op 8 in my palm, I wrapped my fingers around it tightly.

And then I understood.

What happened next seemed as if it took place in a series of still photos. It was as if time stopped and allowed each second to exist as an image snapped by a camera. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds of heavy footfalls on the hardwood floors of my father’s library as my father and his bodyguard approached us. My body went into autopilot as I opened my eyes and pivoted on my right foot, turning in my father’s direction. I felt a swoosh of wind against my face as Bram dematerialized from where he’d been standing in front of me and reappeared behind me.

My body stayed on autopilot as I did what I’d done hundreds of times before as a Regulator in the ANC. When it came to pure mechanics, this situation was no different than the countless busts I’d made on myriad criminals. Sure, the background was different along with the players, but my response was the same. Strangely enough, I began channeling a moment long ago when I was a lowly cadet, working for the ANC in Splendor and Quill first taught me how to shoot a gun. Remembering his instruction, I placed my feet and hips shoulder-width apart with my knees slightly bent. I raised the Op 8 to my dominant eye, aligning the crosshairs on my father. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I squeezed the trigger. I never did get to see his response. Instead, my brain alerted me that there was still one threat remaining—my father’s bodyguard. With cool ease, I watched the man reach for the pistol sitting in the holster around his waist. I took another breath and simply aimed the Op 8 at him, waiting until I had him in my sights and squeezed the trigger again, watching him go down.

After firing the second shot, time seemed to speed up again and the dreamlike landscape dissolved into cold reality. I dropped my arms to my sides and did nothing but stand still for two seconds, merely allowing my heartbeat to calm as I tried to regulate my breathing. Then, remembering my training, I held the Op 8 out in front of me again and approached the still figures of the two men I’d just shot. Training my gun on the guard, who was closest to me, I bent down onto my knees and reached out to check his pulse. My eyes settled on the enormous bullet hole in his gut, his blood already turning purple after making contact with the dragon’s blood my bullets had released inside him. He was pulseless, dead.

Seeing my father, I felt emotionless, which surprised me. Even though I didn’t expect to feel any sort of daughterly love toward him, because I never had any, I thought I might feel something. But there was nothing—not even any residual anger, not even relief. It was as if firing that bullet not only released the toxin of the dragon’s blood into my father’s body, but also wiped out any feelings I had for him. I had nothing left but empty pages toward Melchior. Seeing his pale skin and closed eyes, I assumed he was dead. He hadn’t moved and the bullet looked like it entered his heart. Even though I was more than sure he was no longer alive, I reached over and checked his pulse anyway. It was part of my training. I pulled my hand away when I didn’t register his heartbeat.

“All is fair in love and war, is it not, Sweet?” Bram said softly, coming up behind me. He offered me his hand so I took it, and allowed him to pull me up from my knees. I shook my head as I looked at him, still trying to figure out his enigmatic persona. I was completely at a loss when it came to his motives. “Why did you rat us out?” I started.

He smiled widely. “I had to maintain appearances, my dear,” he answered quickly. “I had to make your father believe I was on his side until the very end. I knew Squander Valley would be a fairly easy blow to suffer, as it was truly the smallest of the Netherworld Guard stations rather than the largest, as I told you.”

I felt my eyes widen once Bram mentioned that Squander Valley was the smallest base. Then I remembered my father acting surprised that we would have chosen to attack it. Now his surprise made sense. “Then my father didn’t know about Tipshaw?” I asked, unsuccessfully trying to conceal the surprise from my tone.

“No, Sweet, your father knew of no other attacks.”

“And you never told him about the pocket watch or the portal ripper that you gave me?” I continued. I was amazed at how thorough Bram was in his subterfuge, even going so far as to convince me he was against us. I didn’t allow him to answer my question, though, because I’d already figured out the answer for myself. “Which is why he was surprised when we showed up here and why he didn’t have more guards,” I finished. “How many guards are there here anyway?”

Bram shook his head. “Perhaps ten or fifteen. I am uncertain. Vander is in the process of arresting all your father’s soldiers as we speak.”

“Knight,” I started, still processing Bram’s words before something occurred to me. “Wait. How do you know Knight’s arresting …” but I was never able to finish my sentence. Instead, the sound and acrid smoke of a gun firing in the immediate vicinity overtook my senses. I felt the bullet’s sting immediately as it entered my lower back and thrust me forward with its impact. My heartbeat began pounding through my ears, sounding like a bowling ball bouncing against a steel wall. As I collapsed, I saw the shock in Bram’s eyes. Moments later, my cheek hit the floor and my vision began to blur. In the fuzziness, though, I could make out the smile on my father’s face as well as the gun lying beside him. Moments later, I felt wind brushing past my cheek and watched Bram materialize at my father’s side. He leaned over Melchior and sunk his teeth into my father’s carotid, stealing any whisper of life that remained.

Bram then stood up and approached me, his eyes despondent. “Sweet,” he started, as he leaned down and ran his fingers down my face tenderly.

I felt my body began to shake as the poison of the dragon’s blood traveled into my bloodstream. I knew I had only a few seconds left before the poison would steal my life away and in those few seconds, I thought only of Knight and how much I would miss him. The blurriness of my vision gave way to black and the last thought to go through my head was that Trey had been right.

FOURTEEN

Despite being shrouded in darkness, I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I couldn’t register any feelings at all. Instead, I simply existed in a vacuity of space. Inside the void, I was floating, sailing through the atmosphere as if I never was, nor ever would be. I was carefree, boundless, infinite. There was an undeniable buoyancy in my body—the laws of gravity no longer applied to me. Along with the incredible sense of weightlessness, I could feel freedom flowing through me, as if it originated in my very soul and billowed through me in a bubbly cascade of limitlessness.

“Dulcie.”

The soft timber of the woman’s voice surprised me. In disbelief, I also felt immense happiness as her voice stoked familiar fires deep inside me. Even though I hadn’t heard her voice for many years, hers was one I had never, and could never, forget.

“Mom?” I asked, my voice tinged with awe and amazement. As soon as I said the word “Mom,” the darkness surrounding me faded and I was bathed in a pure, white light that was so bright, I blinked a few times, and yet still had to shield my eyes. When I was able to see clearly, the feelings of weightlessness were still in effect, although the darkness was gone. Instead, I found myself standing on the top of a mountain, overlooking an immense valley of green. A crystal clear stream flowed through the valley but I lost sight of it when it meandered into a forest of tall pine trees. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed I’d been transported to the Swiss Alps. All around me was the green of hillside, punctuated with delicate, bell-shaped, white flowers that blew this way and that in the gentle wind that caressed my cheeks. But where was my mother? I turned around, hoping she was standing behind me, but nothing besides the pristine beauty of the natural world stared back at me.

I shook my head, wondering if I simply imagined her voice, or if it was a trick of the wind. Feeling a renewed dejection, I faced forward again. That was when I saw her. Standing directly in front of me, she embodied the exact picture of how I remembered her before fate snatched her from me so long ago. Her long, platinum blonde hair blew about her face in perfectly straight, silken strands. Seeing the gentle smile on her lips brought fresh tears to my eyes. She was wearing the same, threadbare grey sweatpants she always wore when she returned home from work, along with an oversized T-shirt that proclaimed her “#1 Mom.” I’d given her the shirt when I was twelve years old and she’d worn it so often, the fabric was frayed. She wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup but she also didn’t need to. Her skin was the color and texture of alabaster, warmed by the natural coral blush on her cheeks and the deeper pink tones of her lips.

My mother was just as beautiful as I remembered. Her understanding, light brown eyes were a few shades darker than her hair, framed by eyebrows the color of coffee with cream, and deep, brown eyelashes. I, fortunately, inherited the soft lines of her jaw as well as her high cheekbones and pert, upturned nose. Even though my eyes reflected the same verdant green of my father’s, their almond shape belonged exclusively to my mother. The more I studied her, the more I realized how much I was my mother’s daughter. And it made my heart sing.

“My beautiful, Dulcie,” she said softly. She held her arms out to me and the smile I’d always loved so well deepened into a laugh of pure delight. I fell into her arms instantly, drinking in her scent—something gentle and breezy with whiffs of Tide and Jergens Body Lotion. I held her as tightly as I could, allowing the little girl who had missed her mother so much to surface from my heart. Right then and there, I promised myself I would never lose her again. By some trick or gift of fate, she’d been restored to me and it was a gift I cherished with all the essence of my being.

“Mom? Is it really you?” I whispered, suddenly fearing she might be a hoax created by my mind. Maybe she was really a dream, hallucination, or just an apparition visiting me.

“Yes, it is really me,” she reassured. As if to prove it, she ran her hands through my hair just like she’d done a thousand times before. My heart swelled as I snuggled into her embrace and felt blissful tears streaming down my face.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mom,” I whispered.

She kissed the top of my head. “And I’ve missed you more than you will ever know, my little Dulcinea.” When she said her nickname for me (borrowed from Don Quixote), a sob surged in my throat. She pulled away from me and studied me for a few seconds, her eyes glowing with pride.

“Why did you have to leave me?” I asked, choking on another sob.

“It was just my time,” she said softly. “But I have always been with you, Dulcie, even though you couldn’t see me.”

I nodded although I didn’t understand how she could have always been with me without me ever having seen her or heard her. But there were so many moments when you felt her, I thought to myself. I smiled as I realized the truth in my own words. My mom really had always been with me.

I wrapped my arms around her more tightly. “I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

“You must be strong, Dulcie,” she whispered, her voice suddenly sounding pained.

I pulled away from her and regarded her in question, not understanding what her words meant. “Strong?” I repeated.

She simply nodded and dropped her eyes to the grass below our feet. She sat down and patted the grassy spot beside her, asking me to sit next to her. I did and leaned into her when she put her arm around me.

“Where are we, Mom?” I asked as I allowed my eyes to feast on the cornucopia of beauty that surrounded us. I relished the feel of the cool breeze as it toyed with our hair and stirred up the monotony of the otherwise warm, sunny day.

My mother’s smile faded slightly. “We’re in a place where time stands still,” she said gently, running her fingers through my hair as she started to hum the melody of “Golden Slumbers” by The Beatles. It was the same song she used to sing to me when she tucked me in at night.

“Once there was a way, to get back home,” she sang.

I wanted to close my eyes and succumb to the beautiful tones of her voice. I wanted to return to a time as a child when she rocked me against her and sang this song to banish whatever nightmare had just awoken me. But I couldn’t comprehend her comment that this mountain paradise was somewhere that time stood still. I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

She pulled me into her embrace again and I rested my head against her chest. I took a deep breath so I could inhale as much of her wonderful “Mom” scent as possible. “Dulcie, it’s not time for you to join me yet.”

“But I want us to be together again,” I responded, my voice cracking as I gazed up at her. It felt like all the years that separated us were now dissolving into the ether, as if they’d never been. “I’ve missed you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”

She smiled down at me, her eyes shining with adoration and unshed tears. “We will be reunited again in time, but now isn’t right.” She traced the outline of my face, just like she did when I was a child, upset over something.

“Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,” she sang. “And I will sing a lullaby.”

I closed my eyes, loving the feel of her index finger traveling along my hairline and then dipping down to the bridge of my nose, only to outline my lips. As my mother sang to me, I realized how much pain I’d been storing inside all these years. I’d never dealt with the feelings of abandonment and heartache after my mother was snatched from me. Holding her now, though, somehow wiped all the pain clean away and I could feel nothing but jubilance.

“You still have a full and rich life to lead, Dulcie,” she whispered. “And as always, I will be by your side and I will continue to watch over you.” She paused for a few seconds, both of us happy to be snuggling against each another. “I am always with you, Dulcie.”

I opened my eyes and pondered her words as dawning reality began to creep into me. I had to catch my breath as images of a library of ransacked books flashed through my delirious mind. They were replaced by one of my father, standing on the second level of his library, leering down at me. I felt a sharp pain in my lower back as I recalled the event that brought me here, the event that had reunited me with my mother.

“I died. My father killed me,” I said in a hollow voice. I glanced up at her with shock on my face. “Am I dead now?”

She shook her head. “You haven’t traveled into the Forever Valley yet, Dulcie,” she said, eyeing the horizon where a forest of trees dominated the landscape.

“Is that the Forever Valley?” I asked. My eyes followed hers and settled on the trees, which seemed so far off in the distance, yet close enough to travel by foot. It was like an optical illusion.

She simply nodded. “I’ve come from the Valley to help you get back to where you belong, Dulcie.”

I sat up and shook my head, suddenly afraid to leave my mother’s side. “But what if I don’t want to go back? What if I want to stay here with you?”

“We can’t stay here,” she said quickly. “This is simply the land between here and there.”

“Then take me to the Valley with you.”

She shook her head, but smiled at me consolingly. “I can’t do that yet, Dulcie.”

“Why not?” I asked, my tone sounding desperate. “I can’t lose you again, Mom,” I started shaking my head as tears pooled in my eyes. “Please don’t make me go through it again.”

My mother silenced me by holding her fingers against my mouth. “You never lost me, Dulcie. I am, and will always be with you.”

But I didn’t want that sort of relationship with my mother. I wanted the relationship that we had right now—a physical one, where I could see and smell her, hug and laugh with her. A relationship where I could talk to her. “I just want us to be together again,” I said, my voice breaking. The tears started pouring from my eyes.

My mother nodded. “We will be together again, but right now, you still have unfinished business that is calling you back.”

“Why?” I demanded, suddenly angry. I couldn’t understand how fate would return my mother to me, only to yank her away again. It wasn’t fair.

“Because he needs you, Dulcie.”

“He?” I repeated. At my confused expression, she settled her attention on the ground and ran her palm across the grassy earth between her feet. I watched as the ground began to peel apart beneath her hands, leaving a blackness, an inky abyss of nothing. But after a few seconds, the inky blackness began to brighten and colors started to form against the darkness. The colors morphed into objects and people. I realized I was seeing a picture of another place and time. It was almost like watching a movie. I stared at the images unfolding before us and leaned closer, recognizing the scenery.

It was a library, but the books were strewn across the floor haphazardly, and all the furniture was broken and in disrepair. It looked like the scene after an earthquake, or maybe a burglary. But I didn’t get the feeling that either of those events had taken place here. Instead, my memory flashed images of exactly what happened. I shot my father and believed I’d killed him, but my attempt was unsuccessful. Instead, he managed to survive long enough to fire the bullet that entered my back, the dragon’s blood poisoning me and bringing me here.

The images playing out on the grass in front of us didn’t focus on my father, though. Instead, they zoomed in on the figure of a gallant, handsome man dressed in black. He leaned over the still figure of a woman lying prostrate on the ground, while her honey-gold hair fanned out behind her head and looked like a halo.

“Bram,” I whispered as I turned my attention to the woman and recognized her as myself. Icy coldness overtook my entire body and I had to hold back my tears again. I couldn’t help but notice the gold of my blood arcing out beneath me, like a river of molten lava. My gaze moved from the puddle of blood to the paleness of my skin. I was as white as the cottony clouds which dominated the sky in this place where time stood still.

I watched the vampire drop to his knees as he hovered over my body. Blood dripped from his mouth, trickling down his chin and vanishing into his neckline. It was my Melchior’s blood. Then I remembered how Bram had bitten my father after he’d shot me. Even though I still didn’t know my father’s fate, I was confident that he was dead and it wasn’t just a hunch. It was as if someone inserted the information in my head.

“Melchior,” I started, turning to face my mother.

She simply nodded. “He is gone.”

“Has he gone to the Valley?”

She shook her head. “He has gone to another place, which we won’t discuss.” Then she simply motioned to the image of the handsome vampire again. I watched as he leaned over and ran his fingers down the woman’s, down my cheek. I could hear him whispering the word, “sweet” as if it were an apology. He shook his head in despondent frustration before leaning over and kissing my forehead.

“You do not know how much I will miss you, my sweet,” he finished. “May you forever rest in peace, and shine your light wherever you now are. As much as I shall ache from your absence, I also envy you.”

I glanced at my mother and shook my head, confusion ringing through me. “But you said I wasn’t dead? You said it wasn’t my time to go?”

She nodded and offered me a reassuring smile. “You were in the throes of death, Dulcie, but as we are now where time stands still, you have been given a gift. Your gift is the ability to make your choice.”

“To make my choice?” I repeated.

“Yes, whether you care to return to your own space and time, or prefer to voyage on to the Forever Valley with me.” She took a deep breath and shook her head when I started to open my mouth. “But,” she interrupted, “before you make your decision, you need to see more.” Then she looked back at the images displayed before us and I refocused my attention.

I watched the gallant vampire as he stood up, averting his eyes from my face. At that moment, the door to the room burst open and a man stood there. His hair was mussed up and his face bore the scars of battle. His clothing was torn, tattered, stained and ripped. He wore a smile of victory, though, as if his bruises and cuts meant little or nothing to him. He seemed to shine from inside out and the smile that beamed from his face made me smile, in turn.

He was the most stunningly beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

“Knight,” I whispered, looking up at my mother as the puzzle pieces began to slide into place.

She faced me and smiled knowingly, with a slight nod. “He needs you, Dulcie.”

I didn’t respond as I watched the images unfolding against the background of the earth. I watched Knight’s eyes drop to the floor, where he saw my lifeless body. Instantly, the smile vanished from his face. He hesitated in the doorway, his chest expanding and contracting with his labored breathing.

“Dulcie,” he ground out.

“I am sorry,” the vampire responded, shaking his head to let it be known that I hadn’t survived my wound.

A cry of tortured grief came from Knight’s mouth as he ran across the room, throwing himself to the floor. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into his embrace, staring at me with eyes that revealed how horrific his loss.

“There was nothing I could do,” Bram added softly. Sensing the futility of the situation, Bram showed himself out of the room. Knight never took his eyes off mine.

“Dulcie, no,” he moaned into my hair as he rocked back and forth, holding me against him. My arms hung limply by my sides. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, shaking his head as he kissed the top of mine. As soon as his lips touched my hair, he buried his face in it and his shoulders began convulsing with sobs. A few moments later, he pulled his face up and strands of my hair stuck to his tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t do this to me!” he railed out, in an angry, pained voice. Looking upward, his expression was enraged and threatening. “Don’t take her from me!”

Of course there was no response. Dropping his eyes back down to my face, he gingerly placed some strands of my hair behind my ears. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. When he brought his lips to mine, he kissed me so softly, I could barely feel it.

With the thought that I had barely felt his kiss, in the here and now, I ran my fingers across my lips and glanced up at my mother in shock. “I felt his kiss,” I said in utter surprise.

She laughed lightly. “Of course you did. You are still there, Dulcie, but only a very small part of you. Your fight isn’t over but if you decide to return to that space and time, you will have to fight for your life.”

Instantly, I knew that there was no decision or choice for me to make. Why? Because it had already been made for me. My mother was right—Knight needed me and I needed him. “I have to leave you,” I said softly. My tears choked me as I realized I wouldn’t see my mother again for Hades only knew how long. The very thought tore my heart out and snapped it in two right in front of me.

“I know,” she said gently, her voice wafting into the breeze as her own eyes filled with tears.

“I love you, Mom,” I told her as my voice cracked and a deluge of tears flooded my eyes.

She held me tightly in her arms and we both wept as we hugged one another. Finally, she pulled away from me and rubbed her sleeve against her eyes. “I love you so much, Dulcie,” she said. “And you have no idea how proud I am of you, and everything you have accomplished so far.” She cleared her throat. “Just remember that I’m always here if you need me. You might not be able to see me or hear me, but I’m always with you, right here,” she finished. She leaned over and brushed her hand against my heart.

I clasped her hand and squeezed it tightly, knowing I couldn’t waste any more time. Now that I’d made my choice, I had to move forward. I had to fight for what was rightfully mine—my life. I now knew that I did have a lot more to do, especially now that my father was out of the picture. A brand new life awaited me just beyond the horizon. Really, a new life awaited all of us. And I didn’t want to miss out on any of it.

“You need to go to him now, Dulcie,” my mother said with a bittersweet smile. “It’s time for you to leave this place.”

I nodded as I stood up and beheld my mother one last time before I was shrouded in darkness again, just as I was after my father shot me. My body still felt strangely buoyant as I floated through the darkness. I tried to sort through the blackness to find the way back to myself, and back to Knight.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I saw the tiniest glimmer of light, barely the size of a grain of sand in the distance, far, far away from me.

Go toward that light, I heard the words but was unsure whether the command issued from my own mind or someone else’s. I forced my arms to swim through the nothingness surrounding me, but it was a difficult chore. I found myself getting nowhere, while the light stayed just as far off as ever.

I closed my eyes and flapped my arms and legs even harder. I focused only on reaching the goal, placing every ounce of energy in my body toward achieving it. Opening my eyes again, I found my effort was useless. To my horror, I was beginning to float even further away, disappearing further into the ether and nothingness that already had a claim on me.

“No!” I said out loud. Tightly clenching my eyes shut, I screamed at myself to resist the darkness and find the light.

My hands flailed as I gritted my teeth and kept swimming through the vacuum surrounding me. Despite being unable to see the light, I imagined it in my mind’s eye and moved stridently toward it. With Herculean effort, it felt like trying to swim through thick sludge. My arms suddenly became incredibly heavy, as if weighed down by anvils, but I still forged my way forward, ignoring my intense exhaustion.

You are almost there! Hearing my mother’s voice in my head was all it took. I bit my lip as I concentrated solely on reaching the tiny speck of microscopic light. The weights on my arms and legs were now excruciating, but I didn’t care. Throwing whatever strength I still possessed into my fight, I refused to fail. This was a fight I had to win. My entire future depended upon it.

When I opened my eyes again, I was surrounded by light, just as when I first saw my mother. I blinked and found myself staring up at Knight.

“Dulcie?” he asked as a tentative smile illuminated his tear-stained face. He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe I was alive, as if he thought he was just imagining me. “Dulce?” he repeated.

The sudden heaviness I felt gave me cause for pause. It was so different from the buoyancy of my spirit, which I experienced earlier. I was speechless for a few seconds, and could only look up at the Loki I loved with all my being. I smiled.

“I … I don’t understand how you,” he started, shaking his head as if the reasons really didn’t matter. He pulled me up to him and enveloped me in his large arms. I could hear the acceleration of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body made me want to close my eyes and just absorb his heat. He pulled away from me, but continued to hold me in his arms. He just stared down at me as if half expecting me to vanish.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice pained and his eyes glassy. “I thought I’d lost you and the agony was so terrible, I didn’t think I could go on.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to go on without you.”

“I’m here now,” I managed, still finding it difficult to speak. Tears leaked from my eyes and tickled me as they trailed into my hair.

He held me to him again and I relished the feel of his soft hair as it brushed my cheeks. I inhaled deeply, feeling suddenly drunk on the scent that was so uniquely his. He pulled away from me and just smiled down at me. “I love you, Dulcie.”

I felt myself beaming as a bright light just behind Knight’s head arrested my attention. It was maybe the size of a small plate and glowed incredibly brightly before it simply disappeared into nothing.

Thank you, Mom, I thought to myself before I brought my gaze back to Knight’s stunning sapphire eyes.

“I love you,” I whispered and then closed my eyes as he kissed my lips.

FIFTEEN

Three hours later, I felt a block away from as good as new. Maybe two blocks away. Yes, I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and my lower back ached like an SOB, but at least, I was alive. And being alive made me want to celebrate. As to why I was alive, I had no clue. It wasn’t within the realm of fairy magic to die and see your deceased mother who offers you the chance to live again, then “poof!” you’re alive. I just chalked it up to another of life’s many mysteries, the answer to which I would never know.

Even now, part of me half wondered if the whole Mom thing was a hallucination, while the other half firmly believed I had a vision of the afterlife. Either way, a sense of bittersweet contentment grew inside me, which wasn’t there before. Whether my mind fabricated her or she actually came to me was beside the point. All that really mattered was that I could finally make peace with my emotions. My former feelings of anger, depression and abandonment at losing my mother were all stripped from me.

The other situation which gave me an inordinate sense of pride, accomplishment and relief was that we defeated my father. The Resistance prevailed and the time for a new Netherworld order was currently underway. That single feeling, in and of itself, was enough to put the wind back into my sails.

Speaking of my father, we managed to capture all of his remaining thugs, along with the few Netherworld Guard soldiers who happened to still be on my father’s estate. Afterwards, we secured them in the holding cells of my father’s dungeon, intent on delivering them to a longer term prison in the near future.

Meanwhile, Knight phoned Caressa and informed her she was now officially the Head of the Netherworld. In order to ensure her safety, Knight arranged for fifty of our remaining soldiers to travel to Caressa, lest she become the victim of an assassination attempt. She, however, assured Knight that there were Netherworld Guard forces under her command who weren’t corrupt. And she would be quick to instruct this loyal Guard to fan out and infiltrate the various bases throughout the Netherworld, informing everyone of the new order. Anyone who questioned or defied her authority would be instantly arrested with no questions asked.

“Dulce, maybe you should rest for a little while?” Knight suggested as he glanced over at me with concern knitting his brows. After agreeing to use Willoughby House as our ad hoc base, we turned to the enormous task of rallying the rest of our troops, triaging the wounded from the dead from the unharmed.

Knight sat behind an immense desk in the drawing room, with Sam and Erica on each side of him. The three of them examined a list of the names of our soldiers and recruits. They had the unfortunate task of notating next to each name whether that person was wounded, dead, unharmed or simply unaccounted for.

At last call, the only people from The Resistance still unaccounted for were Rachel, Fagan and Trey.

I leaned against the pane of the window seat on which I was sitting, directly across from Knight’s desk. “I’m fine,” I said with a look that warned him not to argue with me. Then I flashed Sam the same expression as soon as I saw her making “Mom” eyes at me. Usually, those eyes meant a batch of her famous chocolate chip cookies, but now all they said was that I should go to bed and rest. And for me, that was no bueno.

Knight glanced at Sam who looked back at him, both of them wearing the expression of “gotta love her but she’s stubborn as hell.” Turning his indescribably handsome face back toward me, he smiled as he stood up and walked around the desk. He motioned for me to bend down so he could check the bandage he’d affixed to my lower back. I leaned forward, groaning involuntarily, but allowed him to play nurse.

“Looks good,” he announced before fluffing the pillow behind me. He was careful to avoid my sore side as he helped me get comfy again. Since my gunshot wound, my wings hadn’t flapped once. I actually hoped the bullet might have severed whatever was telling my wings to go Tasmanian Devil all the time. But maybe that was too much to hope for.

“Is Quill conscious yet?” I asked. After my father died, our soldiers quickly removed Quill from the dungeon of Willoughby House. And just as my father mentioned earlier in the library, Quill wasn’t dead. He was merely in a trance, a victim of the warlock’s magic. Sam did her best to break the warlock’s spell and later informed us that Quill would be fine. He just needed to sleep it off.

Knight nodded with a sigh. “Quillan is fine, Dulce,” he said, but added hurriedly, “however, you are in no shape to see him. So get that thought out of your mind until your health improves substantially.”

I frowned at him, but felt a burning sensation as I shifted and my lower back demonstrated his prognosis. Honestly, I doubted if I could have walked the distance to the doorway, let alone to wherever Quill was recuperating.

“I second that!” Dia called out. She walked through the drawing room entry, her hands on her hips while her neck moved in that diva thing, which meant I better not argue with her. “Girl, you need ta take care of yourself, you hear me?”

Luckily, our soldiers had been able to locate Dia about two hours ago when they started their recon missions to recover our missing soldiers. Dia wasn’t too far from Squander Valley and had about twenty soldiers with her. As for Christina, she’d managed to get in touch with us over the radio. That was maybe twenty minutes ago. Now Dia was on her way to retrieve our leader. Well, that is, Dia and the jaw-droppingly sexy man who had been by her side from the moment the two were located.

“Don’t you have someplace to go?” I grumbled, not liking the idea of one more person playing the part of advice giver. Although I knew I could put Sam and Knight off, when it came to Dia, I wasn’t so sure.

“Seems to me that someone got shot on the wrong side of the bed, y’all,” she said with a frown, alternating her gaze between Knight, Erica and Sam before she looked back at me as her frown deepened.

Hoping to change the conversation, I drew her attention back to the sex god who stood beside her. “So are you going to introduce me to your stunningly handsome friend or what?” I groaned.

Dia eyed the man standing beside her and flashed him her huge smile, a smile which lit up her entire face as her eyes settled on his. “Oh, him,” she said dismissively. She even waved at him with indifference before pretending to examine her fingernails.

“Yeah, him!” the man threw back at her, a smile cresting his sumptuous lips as his eyes told her in no uncertain terms just what sort of carnal appetite he had for her.

Dia grinned at me. “He’s just some hot Loki I happened to pick up somewhere along the way,” she said, sighing as if it were no big deal.

“A Loki?” I asked with a smile and then looked over at Knight. He wore the same amused expression I did.

“That’s right, girl,” Dia continued, alternating her gaze between Knight and me. “I mean, there’s only so long a girl can wait, an’ that Loki (she pointed at Knight) was takin’ his sweet ass time.” Then she said to me. “This diva was gettin’ hungry!”

I just shook my head and started to laugh before my back began to ache and I had to swallow the rest of my amusement. Meanwhile, Knight smiled at the man beside Dia. “Cannon,” he greeted him with a friendly tilt of his head.

“Vander,” Cannon replied, giving Knight a duplicate of the nod Knight had just given him. On a list of hot men, Cannon would easily have been at the top. As a Loki, he was on the tall side, maybe as tall as Knight, with broad, powerful shoulders and equally striking legs. His skin was almost as dark as Dia’s. Whereas Dia’s round, chocolate eyes lit up her entire face, Cannon’s eyes were a crystalline green. They were so remarkable, I had a hard time prying my attention from them. His face was a blend of chiseled lines. His square jaw, lush, plump lips and high cheekbones almost looked sculpted.

Cannon’s back was still toward Dia, and she began fanning herself when her eyes settled on Cannon’s perfectly formed butt. After taking Cannon in from head to toe one more time, I returned my attention to Dia. With a simple nod, I let her know she was right on the money. Yep, she’d landed herself a hottie.

“Ms. Robinson,” Cannon said as he turned to face Dia again with a sexy grin. “Don’t we have places to go and Resistance team leaders to find?”

“Honey, how many times have I told you not to call me Ms. Robinson?” Dia piped up with her hands on her hips. “Diva will do just fine.”

Laughing her contagious giggle, she started for the door, wiggling her hips as Cannon came up behind her and swatted her on the butt, their laughter drifting through the hallway as they disappeared around the corner.

No sooner did they exit than one of our soldiers poked his head in the door. “Sir,” he said, addressing Knight, who sat on the desk, still trying to reach Fagan through the walkie-talkie.

“Yep?” Knight answered.

“Where would you like us to put the rest of the wounded? The dining room is filled to capacity,” the soldier answered.

The living room was our first makeshift ward for the wounded, then the dining room. I could only wonder how many soldiers from each side were wounded because they just kept coming. Although I preferred not to think about it, the dead were temporarily sheltered in the guesthouse, across from the main house. My vantage point at the window seat allowed me to watch body after body being taken inside the house. Not only were we laying our dead soldiers there, but my father’s as well.

“Which rooms are still empty on the first floor?” Knight asked.

“There are two bedrooms next to each other at the end of the hall, sir. Also the kitchen and two bathrooms.”

“Start filling the two bedrooms,” Knight answered as the soldier nodded and left the room. Knight returned to his walkie-talkie, but eventually placed it on the desktop with a defeated sigh, still receiving no response.

A sense of worry brewed inside me while the question of where Trey was continued to gnaw at me, just like it had been for the past three hours. Yes, I was worried about Fagan too, but to a much lesser extent (it wasn’t like the Drow made it easy to like him). Regardless, I had to know if Trey was okay, which was why I couldn’t adhere to the advice of Sam, Knight and Dia and get some rest. I knew I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t know where my friend was. Furthermore, I didn’t understand how we’d been able to locate the majority of Trey and Fagan’s soldiers while both of them remained unaccounted for.

Yes, our attack on Tipshaw was successful, but it had also taken the heaviest toll of our soldiers. It was, after all, the largest of the Netherworld Guard’s base camps. Even though we’d suffered our largest losses at Tipshaw, the dead soldiers on my father’s side still exceeded ours. Really, all of our attacks had been successful. Even at Squander Valley. Despite the Netherworld Guard being prepared at Squander Valley, our soldiers were quick to realize they had the upper hand by virtue of their sheer numbers. So they continued to fight, even after many others retreated. In the end, they were victorious.

Christina had rounded up the remaining soldiers who fled Squander Valley. Then they basically made the same decision we had: that nobody was going down without a fight. Refusing to surrender or hide out in the forest, Christina and her soldiers marched on and attacked the base of Granttree. They took control of it in less than one hour, which was right about the same time Knight prevailed at Willoughby. That reminded me of something.

“Knight, “I asked, getting his attention without hesitation. The only good thing about being injured was how much more responsive Knight was, much more so than usual. “How come it didn’t faze you when my father’s men apprehended you and he insisted you call your men off?” I asked.

He smiled, self-assuredly, as if he couldn’t wait to answer my question. “Because I knew Melchior was bluffing. He had fifteen soldiers here at most; we had forty. End of story.”

“But how did you know he only had fifteen?” I continued.

“Bram told me.”

“What do you mean ‘Bram told you’?” I asked, frowning. “I was there the whole time and I don’t recall Bram saying one word to you about how many soldiers my father had.” So what if I sounded a little more irritable than normal? I mean, I had just died before miraculously returning to life. Who said that would be easy?

Knight smiled more widely and gave me a smug expression, hinting that there was something he knew that I didn’t. And more, he valued any information he was privy to that I wasn’t. “Bram told me in a manner of speaking,” he started. “When in the Netherworld, Lokis and their vampire brethren have an interesting relationship.”

“Here we go,” I muttered, shaking my head, because I’d already guessed the answer was probably “it’s just another Loki skill.” But when he didn’t tell me what exactly, his relationship with Bram was, I had to prod. “So?”

“In the Netherworld, Lokis and vampires share the same telepathic wavelength. If Bram wanted me to know something, all he had to do was think it.”

“Really?” I asked, sounding annoyed. It was just unfair that Lokis possessed cool abilities in the Netherworld, while fairies had to deal with reckless wings and sexual crack.

“Really,” Knight responded with a boyish grin.

I sighed. “And what did Bram tell you?”

Knight shrugged. “Pretty much the truth. Your father had no security at Willoughby, and as long as I didn’t end up in shackles, I could easily lead our rebellion. So that’s what I did.”

I remembered Knight asking my father not to allow his men to see him handcuffed. I also remembered the hop in his step and how he wasn’t the least bit concerned about spending the remainder of his days in my father’s dungeon. My father must have been clueless as to how many forces we’d brought with us because if he’d known how vastly overpowered he was, he’d never have agreed to anything Knight requested.

I nodded and my thoughts turned to Bram and the last time I’d seen him, when he believed I was dead. “Any word from Bram?” I asked, facing Knight, a knot of worry tightening my stomach.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I imagine he’ll show up sooner or later though.”

I just nodded and hoped he was right. I had to see Bram again, if only to thank him for everything he did for me, for us. But mostly, I didn’t want him to think I was dead. I wanted him to know that I’d survived. After witnessing the pain in his eyes when he’d believed me dead, I wanted to correct him. I had to let him know he didn’t have to grieve on my account. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever get the chance.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I heard a woman’s voice coming down the hall and recognized Rachel when she appeared in the doorway, surrounded by our soldiers. Her hair was a mess, blood covered half of her face and dirt colored her entire body. She looked like she’d been crawling through a muddy sewer.

Knight glanced up and immediately smiled with relief. He stood and hurried toward her, gripping her shoulders as he inspected her. “MJ, are you …?” he started.

“I’m okay,” she said again, her voice softer this time. She smiled up at Knight, matching his expression of relief. Then she shook her head, implying she’d had one hell of a trip.

“Everything is okay now,” Knight said as he opened his arms and she fell into them, wrapping her arms around his waist. They hugged for a few seconds before she looked up at him curiously.

“Is everyone accounted for?” she asked.

Knight shook his head and exhaled a pent-up breath of frustration and concern as he stepped away from her. He looked at his radio, as if hoping Fagan or Trey might call at any moment. “Everyone except for Fagan and Trey. We’ve recovered most of their squadron, but have yet to locate either of them.”

Rachel just nodded and gulped, saying nothing. “I hope you find them soon,” she said finally.

Knight sighed. “Me too.”

“Was Tipshaw a success?” Rachel asked, her eyes lighting up with hope.

Knight’s smile was broad and beautiful. For the first time since everything had gone down, I realized just how much weight was now off his shoulders. He’d waited for this moment for so long, building The Resistance with Christina and taking their time to ensure everything was just so. And now that he’d seen his dreams to fruition, his pride and overarching happiness was beyond obvious. What was more, I was incredibly proud of him—of all that made him him.

“Everything was a success,” he said softly.

Rachel studied him for a second or two, astonishment and awe visible in her features. “You mean we won?” she asked in a mere whisper. “We defeated O’Neil?”

Knight smiled and I watched Rachel’s shoulders shake as she lost control of herself and started to cry. Knight wrapped his arms around her and held her, patting her on the back while she tried to regain her composure. He eyed me too, I figured to double check that it was okay for him to comfort her. I smiled back because I was more than just okay with it. The bonds between Knight and me had grown too strong for the threat of jealousy to snap them. What pleased me even more, however, was that Knight could be there for Rachel, who clearly needed him.

“Rachel?” Hearing a voice, I looked up to find a striking man standing in the doorway. His eyes bore the expression of someone who’d been incredibly worried. But now, his worry began to vanish as he laid eyes on the woman he, no doubt, loved. He was very tall, maybe six-four, with brown hair and blue eyes. I sensed a kind of sweetness in his disposition. Since we were in the Netherworld, I couldn’t determine exactly what type of creature he was. If I had to guess, though, I thought maybe he was an elf—he just had a sort of regality about him.

“Mike,” Rachel said as she released Knight and caught the man’s gaze for a few seconds. Tears began to build in her eyes again as she ran across the room, before throwing herself into Mike’s arms. She continued to cry as he held her tightly. Glancing back at Knight, I found him looking at me. As soon as we made eye contact, he smiled and I could see his love for me gleaming in his eyes.

Neither of us said anything. I just watched him return to the desk where he picked up his radio again and tried to reach Fagan. As with the first zillion attempts, this one was also in vain.

Looking outside, I watched two of our soldiers carrying a cot with a covered body into the guesthouse. Moments later, the soldiers walked outside again, before disappearing through a portal. They were, no doubt, collecting more of the wounded and dead. Exhaling a sigh of despondency, I tried to discourage myself from looking in the direction of the guesthouse again. Observing all the death and destruction of war only depressed me.

“Dulcie,” I heard Knight’s voice and looked up at him expectantly. His expression was unreadable, but his prior elation was now nowhere to be seen. I brought my attention from Knight’s face to the soldier who stood beside him. It seemed like the young man was playing the part of messenger because Knight nodded to him in thanks as the man turned around and left the room. My attention fell on Erica and Sam, who were still busily hovering over the list of soldiers’ names. They were in the midst of deep conversation.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when I brought my attention back to Knight. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. I had to immediately gulp down the rock of apprehension that started climbing up my throat. Knight didn’t respond, but approached me, his stride heavy. When he was directly in front of me, he glanced down and there was a gravity in his eyes, which struck me. It was an expression I’d only seen once before—when he’d held me in his arms and thought I was dead.

“They’ve located Fagan and Trey,” he said softly, his tone and words giving nothing away.

I sat up, ignoring the ache in my back. Somehow, I already knew what Knight was about to tell me; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. And it was a feeling I absolutely detested. But even though I was convinced I knew the truth, I still needed to hear it from his lips. “And?” I asked in a hollow voice.

“Fagan was badly wounded,” Knight said, swallowing hard. “Our men are transporting him here now.”

There was a dreadful silence that clung to the air. I knew I needed to ask about Trey, but I dared not. I was afraid what Knight would tell me. “And Trey?” I asked finally, my voice breaking.

Knight dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head. I had to catch my breath while my entire body felt like it was collapsing. When Knight looked back up at me, there were unshed tears in his eyes. “Trey didn’t make it.”

I shook my head in denial. I couldn’t believe that Trey was really gone. A hollowness began to build within me that seemed to fill my entire being. My stomach plummeted to the floor and I couldn’t breathe. I also couldn’t think, couldn’t form one cohesive thought in my head. Instead, it felt like an enormous rock had just flattened me and stolen my ability to breathe, let alone form words.

“I’m sorry,” Knight said as I brought my eyes to his. I shook my head, still having a hard time accepting the truth of his words. The horrible feelings of loneliness and grief reminded me of a time long ago … my mother’s untimely death. Now as they returned anew, it seemed like I was time-traveling back all those years. My heart was in the process of ripping in two, just as when I’d learned the awful truth about my mother.

At the sound of Sam laughing with Erica, I glanced over at them. My best friend smiled at Erica, completely unaware of Trey’s fate. The thought of having to tell her that Trey had been killed remained something I couldn’t even conceive of. Why? Because as close as I was to Trey, Sam was even closer. I looked up at Knight again and found his eyes already on mine. As soon as I met his gaze, tears began to flood my eyes, and my body shook with the weight of my sorrow.

Knight immediately dropped to his knees and wrapped me in his strong, capable arms. He was very careful not to disrupt my bandage. “I’m so sorry, Dulce,” he whispered.

I shook my head and pulled away from him, blotting my eyes with my arm as I stared up at him.

“Dulce?” Sam asked as she walked up behind Knight with a maternal look of concern. “Are you okay?”

I glanced at her and felt the tears returning again. I shook my head, taking a deep breath, and answered, “Sam, Trey didn’t make it.” I said it as softly as I could, hating the words as they left my lips.

Sam didn’t respond right away, but just stood there, wearing a blank expression. A few seconds passed, during which time I watched the emotions of shock, disbelief and finally anguish overcome her. Then she simply shook her head. Jutting out her lower lip, she lost the battle to restrain her tears. I opened my arms and she fell into them. We clung to each other, both of us grieving over the death of our friend.

SIXTEEN

Three Months Later

We were all very busy. Beyond busy, actually.

After my father’s death and our victory, the Netherworld did a complete one-eighty. Caressa took charge of The Resistance, and just as I expected, proved to be an outstanding leader. Strong and confident in her decisions, she also strove to be a direct representative of the Netherworld people. And that wasn’t just my opinion. The people already had multiple parades throughout the various cities of the Netherworld, lauding the new order. It didn’t hurt that Caressa’s first task in office had been rounding up all the flying abominations in the sky created by my father with the purpose of terrifying the public. She’d promptly relocated the creatures to various far off destinations, where there was no chance they could return.

It had been a celebratory day when the nets came down.

As to the illegal potions rings, although they weren’t entirely destroyed (something I imagined would never happen, anyway) Caressa was able to curb the amount and availability of street potions brewed in the Netherworld and distributed on Earth. Upon establishing her new position, she insisted that all ANC contraband be destroyed on site. Not only that, but she appointed loyal Netherworld Guard soldiers to make sure the orders were followed.

Now that the Netherworld borders were open again, Knight did quite a bit of traveling back and forth. He still managed to man his post as head of the ANC in Splendor, while also filling the role of second in command to Caressa, with Christina picking up his slack. Together, they were like the A-Team. My part paled in comparison to that of Knight and Christina, but I still did my best to be useful. I accepted Knight’s offer to return to the ANC in Splendor, where I basically ran the office in his absence.

Because Knight was so busy organizing the new democracy of the Netherworld, I had quite a bit of downtime on my hands, along with plenty of lonely nights. Although I managed to occupy them with visits from Dia and Sam, I relished my alone time. I guessed it was because it had been such a long time since I had any.

I also kept my promise to continue my writing, and even contacted my agent to pick up where we’d left off. Apparently, one publisher was interested in my Bram books, a revelation which pleased me no end. And the vampire who told me so many colorful stories for my books? I hadn’t heard from nor seen him since that final moment in my father’s library when he’d left me for dead. I thought about Bram frequently, however, always wondering where he was and what he was doing.

Every time I drove by No Regrets, seeing the “For Sale” sign always made me feel hollow inside. It seemed like Bram had packed up and moved on with his life, which, for all I knew, was the case. Wherever he was, I wished him the best.

When not writing, I spent a lot of my time in quiet repose, just thinking. My thoughts always returned to Trey and I remembered funny situations we’d found ourselves in, along with the various cases we’d worked together while at the ANC. Mostly, though, I recalled all the laughs we shared. My thoughts also centered on my mom, thoughts which brought a contentedness that made me smile. Even though I still missed her, feeling her presence lessened the pain of losing her.

“Dulce, you ready?” Sam called from her living room where we’d been getting dressed for the last two hours. “The party starts in like ten minutes!”

We were on our way to the Netherworld where Caressa was throwing a masquerade party for everyone involved in the defeat of my father. A masquerade to celebrate the removal of a tyrant might sound like an odd pairing, but Caressa was determined to focus on the positive moving forward. She was convinced a masquerade would be the most festive.

Looking down, I shook my head, chiding myself for letting Sam talk me into wearing such a ridiculous costume. It was her idea for both of us to go dressed as Ladies of the Court from the Rococo period. It sounded fine and good, (albeit, a little random) in theory. In practice, however, fine was not the word I would use to describe my getup. I was dressed head to toe in layers of blue and green bows, mint-green netting, blue satin, white lace, and petticoats. Together, they felt like they weighed more than forty pounds. With my enormous skirts billowing out from beneath me, I looked like a very colorful, upside-down mushroom.

Sam was dressed in pretty much the same fashion (only hers was pink and purple), but she seemed to actually enjoy it (she’d primped and preened for over an hour). Our hair was piled high atop our heads (skyscraper-high), with sausage curls and braids to adorn it. Mine was finished off with a little, white, doily-looking thing and an ostrich feather. Sam’s had myriad roses and lilies, which matched the print on the parasol she carried with her. I preferred not to carry anything. I was afraid I might collapse beneath the weight of the costume, if anything else was added to it.

“You need some more blush,” Sam announced. I was currently trying to fit through her hallway frontwards, but ended up having to go sideways. Even so, I still managed to get caught.

“Some help please,” I muttered. Sam giggled and helped me free one of my bows from where it was stuck on the door kick. As soon as she released the fabric, she reached for her blush brush and began dusting my cheeks, the top of my nose, and, finally, my cleavage.

“Anymore blush and I’m going to look like a burn patient!” I railed at her, feeling the itch of the contraption Sam invented to keep my wings under control.

“Maybe you need another beauty mark,” she said while studying me. She narrowed her eyes and bit one side of her mouth.

“I already have two!” I protested, glancing down at my cleavage where Sam had penciled in a black wart. She’d already painted its twin on my upper lip.

“Okay, I guess we’re ready then,” she said finally. Holding her palm open, she smiled when I dropped Bram’s portal ripper into it. I watched her program the ripper before slicing an opening in the air, obeying my instructions to the last “T.”

“You catch on quickly,” I said with an approving smile.

“Not as quickly as Knight’s fingers will get you out of that costume,” she teased. I didn’t miss her wink or lascivious smile.

Knight had no clue what to expect from Sam and me, as far as costumes went. It was Sam’s idea to make it a surprise. I had no idea what Knight’s costume was either, but figured it would be fun to find out. “I’m sure he’ll find this extremely amusing,” I said with one last look at myself and a sigh. I doubted Knight would find the outfit sexy, except for my ginormous cleavage. Other than that, my costume just looked like a huge waste of fabrics.

“Then we’ll agree to disagree,” Sam said as she extended her arm. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I answered, taking her arm in mine, and stepping through the portal.

Seconds later, we entered the Netherworld and, more precisely, Bellingvue, the estate Caressa chose to live in after taking on her new role. The place was sprawling and huge, though not quite as expansive as Bram’s home in the French Alps. Bellingvue was a two-story, well-appointed home in the style of Cape Cod. The outside was a dark grey with white trim, and the shutters were a charcoal grey. Surrounding the estate were rose bushes of every hue and variety along with enormous poplar trees that made it look like a park.

We landed on the back porch of Bellingvue and as soon as we inhaled the Netherworld air, I felt my wings awaken. I had to smile when they struggled to beat, but stayed restrained, thanks to Sam’s creation. The essence of roses perfumed the night air and made me inhale so deeply, I nearly got giddy on the aroma. It was pretty warm with a cool breeze that ruffled the lace of my bodice. Only a few people milled about on the porch, oohing and aahing over the garden; most everyone else was inside.

“Let’s go in,” Sam said, picking up her skirts. Looking like Marie Antoinette, she forced herself forward, people getting out of her way so as not to trip over her skirts. I walked directly behind her, taking advantage of the path she carved. As we walked inside, many people dressed in costumes passed us, remarking on our costumes while we commented on theirs. So far, the detailed outfits ran the gamut—everything from princesses to knights in armor to wild animals.

“Sexy ladies!” Dia’s voice rang out above the harmony of voices, laughter and music. How she managed to spot us in a crowd of one hundred plus costumes was beyond me. Sam and I turned in unison to find Dia standing before us, dressed in a bright red, fitted gown, with glittering red rhinestones that covered its entire surface. She’d paired that with a real diamond tiara and the highest heeled shoes I’d ever seen.

“What are you supposed to be?” I asked, eyeing her quizzically.

“Girl, I’m not supposed to be anythin’,” Dia sang back with one of her broadest smiles.

“Then what are you?” Sam asked, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she appeared to be guessing. “’Cause you don’t look like the normal Dia.”

“I’m a diva, of course,” Dia answered like we both should have already reached that conclusion. When she did that neck thing again, it almost looked like she was doing an interpretive dance. While she completed her best impersonation of Cleopatra, I saw Cannon slicing through the crowd of people behind her. Carrying two glasses of red punch, one in each hand, he handed one to Dia and smiled at Sam and me in greeting. He wore dark black slacks and nothing above besides a white collar (a la Chippendale dancer) on top. Well, except for the bling-bling he wore around his neck: an enormous pendant that said: “I’m with the diva.”

Looking at Cannon’s chest (I mean, the pendant) I eyed Dia with a laugh. “Really?” I asked.

“Hey, if you got it, flaunt it, honey,” Dia answered with a pretty smile. “That’s my motto.”

Sam appraised Cannon up and down and whistled before saying to Dia, “I’d say you got it.”

Dia nodded as she patted Cannon’s stomach. She slid her hand up his chiseled abs and settled it on his defined pecs. “I got it in spades, girl, in spades.”

“Dulce!” I heard Quill’s voice and glanced behind me to see him decked out in black breeches, an olive-green overcoat, tall black boots and a cravat around his neck. Beside him stood Christina, wearing something similar to Sam’s and my costumes only less frilly, way less frilly. I had to admit I was more than a little surprised to see the two of them together. The more I thought about it, though, I decided they actually would make a good couple. But who knew if they’d come here as platonic friends or more …

“Who in the heck are you supposed to be?” Sam asked as she faced Quill skeptically, her brows furrowing in the middle of her forehead.

Quill shrugged as Christina frowned before giving me a raised brow expression that hinted at her lack of enthusiasm regarding their costumes. “We’re George and Martha Washington.”

“What?” Sam croaked, a wide smile on her lips.

“George and Martha Washington?” Dia repeated with disbelief. She shook her head and raised one brow like she’d just seen or tasted something really bad. “Uh-uh. That is just wrong, y’all.”

“The stock was limited at the costume store. I guess I waited too long,” Quill apologized as Sam and I started laughing.

“Why didn’t you just magick something?” I asked Christina, who seemed the polar opposite of Martha Washington. Being a fairy, she possessed the same abilities as I did. She could have easily become any character she chose.

“Because Quill already paid for them,” she said, shaking her head like it was a big waste. Then she gave him a warm smile as he wrapped his arm around her. My previous question as to whether or not they came as friends was thusly put to bed. Maybe even literally. While their mutual show of affection surprised me initially, I was happy for Quill. He deserved a good woman and Christina had definitely earned my stamp of approval.

Getting antsy about where a certain Loki was, I looked past Sam and scanned the mostly masked faces of Caressa’s guests, with no clue which one was Knight. I caught the image of Erica, who was fittingly dressed as a nymph. Her hair was now purple to match her floor-length gown. She and the handsome man next to her, who was costumed as a Scottish Highlander, might as well have been alone for all the attention they were paying to everyone around them.

I watched the crowd began to disperse, each faction retreating to the walls as Caressa entered the middle of the crowd, dressed as a cheetah. She was strikingly pretty: long, blondish brown hair flowing around her shoulders and cute little cat ears on top of her head. She’d painted a pink nose and whiskers on her face, and worn a skin-tight, brown spotted body suit with a long tail pinned to the back. She looked exactly like a cat. A pretty fitting costume, considering as a shifter, she took the form of a cheetah.

“Thank you all for coming,” she called out, a beaming smile on her lips. “I cannot even begin to tell you how exciting it has been for me to see all the positive changes happening since O’Neil was deposed.”

Hearing that, the crowd cheered while Caressa laughed and had to hold up her hands to quiet them. “I am forever indebted to all of you for making this dream, which we all shared, a reality. We owe it to your strength and courage or we would not be here this evening.” She took a deep breath and her eyes dropped to the floor before she addressed the audience again. “And for those who fought and died in this endeavor, all of us will forever be indebted that they gave the ultimate sacrifice.”

Thinking of Trey, I felt Sam’s fingers interlacing mine, so I looked over at her. Eyes shining with unshed tears, she looked back at me and I smiled, tightening my grip on her hand. We both faced Caressa again when she said, “In honor of our fallen comrades, I would like to observe a minute of silence.”

I dropped my head, but continued to hold onto Sam’s hand as the entire room went quiet. I closed my eyes and thought of Trey.

Wherever you are, Trey, I thought to myself, thank you for giving everything you had and for being the wonderful friend and ally you always were to me.

I opened my eyes and saw someone handing Caressa a glass of something fizzy. She held the glass up and smiled. “I toast all of you for personally improving the Netherworld and making it safer for all.”

There was a round of cheers that rippled through the crowd as everyone downed their libations. Caressa drank the rest of whatever was in her glass, then smiled and the crowd clapped in approval. “Now it’s time to get those dancing shoes of yours on!” she called out. Behind her, a band started up, their first song was “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. A handsome man wearing a Superman outfit walked up to Caressa and asked her to dance, to which she happily complied.

“Where’s Knight?” Sam asked. She pulled her hand from mine and scanned the crowd, looking high and low for the Loki.

“I have no idea,” I answered as I watched Quill bow low before Christina, who laughed and then accepted his invitation to the dance floor. Meanwhile, pointing to Cannon with her index finger, Dia beckoned him forward. Turning, they started for the dance floor, while she rested her hand on his taut behind and gave it a little squeeze.

Sam and I eyed each other with surprise before we both started laughing at Dia’s nerve.

“Well, she definitely puts the D I A in diva,” I said as I shook my head, still smiling.

But Sam’s attention wasn’t on me. Instead she focused on someone standing right beside me. I turned in the direction she was looking and found a very tall man, wearing the costume of death. The costume included a long black cape, a black hood that obscured his face, and a scythe. He said nothing as he extended his hand to me. I looked at Sam, frowning.

“Looks like you found your Loki,” Sam said. She smiled at me with a shrug, as if to say she’d find her own dancing partner.

I stared at Knight, unable to make out his features, and just sighed. “Nice costume, but it’s a little macabre, don’t you think?” Accepting his proffered hand, I allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.

Without a word, he simply leaned his scythe against the wall before pulling me into him and resting his other hand on the small of my back. I shuddered at the icy cold of his touch.

“Okay, clearly you aren’t the person I thought you were,” I started. Anxiety was just beginning to build within me. I peered up at him, trying to make out his features beneath the hood. But the darkness absorbed everything, revealing only shadow.

“You are exactly the person I thought you were,” Bram responded.

Relief washed over me—just to know Bram was my dancing partner not to mention he was safe and accounted for. I swallowed hard and pulled myself closer to him, to avoid anyone overhearing our conversation. He chuckled when I pressed myself against him, and his hold around my waist tightened. “Where have you been?” I whispered.

“Were you worried about me, Sweet?” the vampire inquired. His icy breath brought goose bumps to the skin on my neck.

“Yes,” I answered quickly. “I was very worried about you, if you want to know the truth.”

“Touching,” he responded in a sincere tone.

“Bram, why did you close down No Regrets?” It was easy to follow him as he paraded me around the dance floor since Bram was an expert dancer.

He took a few seconds to answer. “I felt it was time for me to move on.”

I didn’t know what to make of his response. Instead, I brought up the subject of what Bram planned to do now that there was a new Netherworld order. “With Caressa in charge now, will that impact you and your … business?” I asked, hoping the answer would be that he wanted to turn over a new leaf and abandon the ways of his old life.

He chuckled deeply and twirled me around in time with the music. “I suppose I shall have to clean up my act,” he said in jest, which pointed to the fact that he would do anything but.

“I guess it was too much to hope that you would end up being a good guy,” I muttered without much surprise. Since Bram had never been a “good guy,” I wasn’t sure what made me hope he’d start now. He’d always lived right on the edge, so I figured that’s how his life would continue.

“Ah, but if not, where would the thrill be for you, my pet?” he said with a hearty chuckle. “What is light without the dark, what is good without the bad?”

“I wouldn’t call you a bad guy, Bram,” I whispered.

“I am not all bad, no,” Bram responded slyly. “But as you have often noticed on more than one occasion, I prefer the boundary lines and always avoid choosing sides.”

“That I can’t argue,” I admitted. “I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part to hope that you might have changed your ways.”

“I am a creature of habit, Sweet,” he said without remorse. “I have lived this way for hundreds of years. I doubt my stripes will change to spots in the near future.”

“Well, regardless,” I started with a sigh, shaking my head. Some things never did change. “I want to tell you how much we appreciated everything you did for us.”

“No need to thank me, Sweet,” he answered quickly. He deftly twirled me around again, this time sending my skirts higher on either side. “I only did what I hoped would benefit my own interests,” he continued. “It was lucky for you that this time our needs intersected.”

“Then I think it’s safe to say you’re going to continue doing what you’ve always done?” I asked, meaning that he would continue exporting illegal potions. I felt the truth in my stomach like a lead weight. Even though I expected as much deep down, it was still a disappointment that Bram would never fully be on our side.

“It is all I know,” he answered noncommittally.

“And thus begins the game of cat and mouse,” I muttered. This was the moment I always knew might come, and now it was happening. Although Bram always provided me with useful information, now it was very clear that we were at odds. “You must realize that if our paths cross again, it will be my duty to arrest you?” I asked.

Bram chuckled again. “If you manage to catch me, my pet, only if you manage to catch me.” The song finished and Bram released me. He artfully bowed before reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips. He then glanced up at me and I could make out the subtle white of his eyes as he stared at me. “And on that note, I believe our game has begun,” he said, eyeing me hungrily. “Until we meet again, my sweet.”

I couldn’t respond because he dematerialized into the atmosphere, leaving nothing but his scent in the air. It took me a second to get my bearings, and as I did, I just stood in the center of the dance floor. I probably looked completely dumbfounded because that’s exactly how I felt. Finally, I shook my head and smiled, because deep down I knew Bram and I would cross paths again.

“What is such a stunning creature doing all alone out here?” Knight’s voice sounded from behind me. I turned on my heel and smiled up at him, taking him in from head to toe. He looked like Henry VIII, with an oversized red coat that ended at his thighs. It gave his shoulders a square shape. Beneath the coat, he wore a long-sleeved white shirt, which matched his white billowing shorts. On the top of his head was a flattish hat with a long feather. Even though he was wearing tights, they were anything but comical. Instead, they only accentuated the incredible muscles of his thighs and calves.

“Is it wrong for me to find your tights so incredibly sexy?” I asked, shaking my head in wonder as I laughed.

Knight chuckled. “I was already devising an opportunity to crawl under your enormous skirts.”

Quirking a brow at him, I couldn’t hide the smile from my lips. It had been quite a while since I felt Knight inside me. “So, do you expect me to believe that you just happened to dress up like that and we just happened to match?”

Knight shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, right?”

“I think it’s more accurate to say Sam has a big mouth.”

Knight chuckled and offered me his hand. “Dance with me?” I nodded my acceptance as he pulled me along and kissed my cheek before whispering in my ear, “I made a special request.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the band started playing “Golden Slumbers.” I faced him, my eyes wide. “How did you know?” I asked in amazement.

Knight just shrugged, the answer to which I chalked up as just another of his Loki abilities. He seemed very pleased with himself. I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against his chest, and closed my eyes as I inhaled his scent. His clean, crisp smell suggested something spicy and completely Knightley Vander.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away so much,” he said as he held me. Our feet glided over the dance floor seemingly of their own accord.

“It’s okay,” I said, opening my eyes to find him staring down at me. “I know how busy you are.”

Knight nodded as a pensive expression overcame his face, and I knew that something was on his mind. “Caressa offered me the position of being second in command,” he started, taking a deep breath. “If I accept, it will mean that I’d have to live permanently in the Netherworld.”

I glanced up at him and my stomach dropped. I’d never considered that all this business with Caressa might possibly lead to Knight moving back to the Netherworld permanently. For my part, I couldn’t imagine living here—it was just too different from what I knew and what I was comfortable with. Even though Splendor wasn’t exactly Utopia, it was all I’d ever known. Besides, I was happy there. I loved having Sam close by and I enjoyed working at the ANC. Simply stated, I didn’t want to move.

“I understand if you want to accept the position,” I said softly with a small smile. The Resistance had been his dream for so long, that I knew I had to be supportive and put his needs before my own.

He smiled back at me and shook his head. “I already turned it down.”

“What? Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as I studied him with a frown. “I know how much this new democracy means to you, Knight,” I started. “And I know how hard you and Christina worked for it.”

But he shook his head again. “Yes, it means a lot to me, and yes I’ve worked very hard for everything that has happened.” Then he smiled at me and ran his fingers down the side of my cheek. “But nothing means as much to me as you do, Dulcie,” he finished.

“Knight,” I argued, since I didn’t want him to abandon something that was so important to him. “We could make it work. It’s not like we’d break up if you took the position.”

“I know that,” he said immediately. “But I don’t care. I prefer our own life. I like my position as Head of the Splendor branch of the ANC.”

“Are you sure?” I repeated. I had to make sure he wasn’t just telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. “Because we can work around it if you do decide to take the position.”

“No,” he said with more authority. “I want the next chapter of our lives to be about us, Dulce. I want to focus on you and me together, and our future.” He took a deep breath. “I told Caressa I would always be here for her, should she need me, but I also emphasized that now my focus was entirely on us.”

“Wow,” I said, surprised.

“And what’s more, I’m hoping you’ll move in with me,” he finished with a large grin.

I swallowed hard, thinking about this next step. Was I ready to move in with Knight? My first and last thoughts were that the more I thought about it, the better the idea felt. “You really expect me to leave my shithole of an apartment I call home?” I asked, not able to keep from laughing.

“Well, I thought I might be able to convince you if I promised lots of long, lovemaking sessions, massages, and I’ll even cook for you, since we both know your cooking leaves something to be desired.”

“Hey!” I said in mock effrontery as I playfully swatted him. “Massages and lots of sex?”

“More sex than you can handle,” he replied. His eyes began to glow, which automatically started a fire in my core.

“How can I turn that down?” I asked in a breathy voice.

“You’d be a fool to,” he answered.

We both quietly attempted to rein in our sexual appetites for one another, which seemed on the verge of becoming out of control.

“Then it’s decided,” Knight said at last.

“What’s decided?”

He chuckled at my inability to follow the conversation. “You are moving in with me and, to that end, I also already recommended Christina for the position as second in command to Caressa.”

“And?”

“And Christina accepted it.” He wore an amused smile. “Apparently, Quill accepted a position to work at the ANC in the Netherworld, as well.”

I felt my eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “When did this whole dating thing happen between the two of them?” I asked, shaking my head. “Because I totally missed it.”

Knight shrugged. “It seems to have taken everyone by surprise.” Then he paused for a few seconds and studied me. “Are you … okay with it?”

“Okay with it?” I repeated, like I was amazed he would even ask. “Of course I’m okay with it. I think Christina is great for Quill and vice versa.”

I rested my head against his chest again, savoring his warmth as it seeped into me. I watched the throngs of couples surrounding us talk amongst themselves and hold one another, just as Knight and I were. Rachel and Mike moved past us; she was dressed as a bride and he as a groom. When she caught my attention, she smiled and I returned it. I couldn’t help but think about how incredibly lucky I was to hold the man of my dreams while an exciting future awaited us.

“Hey, Dulce?” Knight asked softly.

“Hmm?” I answered.

“One thing I never could figure out,” he started, clearing his throat as he smiled down at me. “How were you able to come back after your father shot you? I felt for your pulse, but you didn’t have one.”

My mother’s image flashed into my mind and I felt myself smiling inwardly. It took me a few seconds to answer. “Oh, you know, it’s one of my fairy abilities,” I answered nonchalantly, even adding a shrug. “Stick around and you might find out what else I’m capable of.”

Knight chuckled and pulled me closer into him. “Oh, I plan to, Dulcie O’Neil, do I ever plan to.”

The End

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Angel

My Five Kings Series #1

by

H.P. Mallory

(read on for a sample)

ONE

Eilish

Mortal Realm

I shiver.

Drops fall from the sky, big ones that make it difficult to see the road.

I don’t know where I am. Or how I got here.

My stomach rumbles and nausea threatens to send bile up my throat—a throat which already feels strangely raw. It stings like I’ve been repeatedly vomiting.

A second wave of chills shoots through me, shaking me from head to toe, thrashing me forward and then back again. Heaving, I’m forced to bend over as my body does its best to eject the contents of my stomach… now just acid.

You have to run, a woman’s voice yells at me.

I glance around, but no one’s there.

Run, Eilish, the voice insists.

I don’t recognize the name but since the voice seems to be addressing me, I figure it must be mine.

Go, now, Eilish, run! The voice grows more insistent, panicking even.

I don’t know where it’s coming from, if someone I can’t see is talking to me or if the voice is just in my head. Or if I’m just imagining the whole thing.

“I can’t… run anymore,” I say out loud, panting with the exertion it takes to speak. My voice sounds strangely foreign—high pitched and terrified. Inhaling, I shake my head as I face the road ahead of me—asphalt that stretches for what seems like miles, with only the loneliness of a dark forest on either side to keep it company. And the occasional broken-down car, mostly reduced to a skeletal, rusted frame.

It’s coming, the voice warns.

I can hear it. Tree limbs snap behind me, accompanied by growling and the sound of something sniffing, catching my scent on the wind.

Move, Eilish!

My heart beats like a frightened bird trapped in a tiny cage. The chills are growing stronger now, refusing to let go. Beneath my armpits, my sweatshirt is soaked, and still more beads of perspiration bleed from my hairline. I’m so exhausted, the idea of continuing on makes me want to pass out.

If it finds you, it will rip you to pieces, the voice cautions.

A long stream of snot drips from my nose, and I wipe it on the sleeve of my torn sweatshirt. The drops of rain come down harder now and I stand up, forcing my fatigued legs forward. The chills continue to throb, echoing the pain that envelopes my entire body.

Move, Eilish, the voice commands. Move now!

“There’s… nowhere to go!” I sob, wiping away tears. Ahead of me, I see only empty highway. Who knows where it leads? Who knows if there might be more of them up ahead? Who knows anything...?

More breaking branches in the distance. It’s getting closer.

Take that path, the voice orders as soon as I turn my head to the side and notice a narrow aisle leading between the trees, weaving a barren trail between the foliage.

I won’t make it, I think as more panic begins bubbling up inside me—or it might be the sickness. The nausea. The vomiting.

Move faster!

Seizing the cresting wave of hope that swells through me, my energy surges. I make a furious run down the path, forcing whatever drive I still possess to my aid. The sounds of the forest around me heighten, as if my hearing is suddenly amplified.

Branches break in the distance, the heavy sound of footfalls of someone or something in pursuit. And the grunting of something big, something angry.

The trail bifurcates at an enormous pine tree, the path splitting ways around the trunk. I could go right, or I could go left. Right or left.

RIGHT OR LEFT?

At the sound of grunting, my blood freezes. When I turn around, I feel my heart start thundering again, but I see nothing there—only the dark outline of the skeletal tree trunks that surround me. But I can still hear the snapping of branches underfoot. Whatever is after me, it’s even closer now.

I face left and follow the trail around the tree, then down a small hill of loose dirt. I lose my footing and start to stumble, but right myself on a large rock before continuing forward. The trail is interrupted by a small trickle of water, but picks up again just beyond the stream and parallels it. I jump over the water and follow the path.

It’s still behind you. You haven’t lost it, the voice tells me.

I keep going, trying to keep my balance even as my worn tennis shoes sink into the mud at the side of the stream. Once I’ve reached the bottom of the hill, I notice the path takes a sharp right, disappearing around an enormous boulder. I follow it, doing my best to keep my shoes from being sucked into the mud. As soon as I turn the corner, around the boulder, I’m greeted with a massive gate constructed of sheet metal, barbed wire looped across the top.

Above the wire is a crudely erected outpost, jutting out beyond the line of the tall gate. Rusted vehicles are piled high, flanking either side of the entry. And on the platform someone is dressed in military fatigues. The someone is also armed with a large weapon, and he’s wearing a helmet so I can’t see his face.

“Help me!” I yell as I emerge from the forest and stand before the gate, waving my arms. I suddenly feel lightheaded.

You have to remain aware, the voice insists.

I focus on the platform above me. From my standpoint, I can’t tell what type of creature the soldier is. All I can hope is that he’s friendlier than whatever’s behind me.

“Who are you, an’ which precinct you comin’ from?” the soldier asks.

At the question, the shadow that shrouds my memory lifts enough that I can confidently tell him who I am. At least I know my name, anyway. Or, at the very least, I know the name the voice keeps calling me.

“My name is Eilish,” I answer. My tone of voice is bordering on frantic. As to precincts, though, I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“What you doin’ here?”

“Something is following me!” I yell, feeling lightheaded again. I have to drop my attention back to the ground, because my knees are starting to sway and my vision is blurring again.

“What precinct you comin’ from?” the soldier repeats.

“I don’t know!” I admit before glancing behind me, certain I hear the sound of something coming. But nothing is there. Whatever it is, it’s still in the forest. I face forward again. “Please, open the gate!”

The soldier turns to another one who appears on the platform and the two speak. The second one shakes his head, and the one I briefly interacted with shrugs as he turns back to face me.

“We ain’t gonna let you in unless you tell us what business you got here,” he says.

“Something is following me in the woods!” I scream up at him. “Please!”

“You got currency?” the other one chimes in.

“What?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Coins. Somethin’ to make it worth our while?”

I thrust my hands into my pockets and come up with nothing. Not even a stray piece of lint. I look back up at them and shake my head.

“We can’t help you,” the first soldier finishes and starts to turn his back on me.

Take off your hat and show them your hair, the voice instructs me.

With no alternatives, I follow the directive and reach up, only just now realizing I’m wearing a hat. I pull it off and a mess of matted white hair, complete with leaves, seeds and other forest debris, falls down around my shoulders.

“It’s an angel,” I hear the original guard yell to the other one.

Just then, the sound of metal against metal screeches through the air, and my attention is drawn forward as the gates begin to open.

***

Silvanus

I watch the female disappear behind the man-made gates of the precinct and curse my bad luck. I am too late.

I do not know how it is possible that she moved as quickly as she did, owing to the foreign intoxicant that bubbles within her veins and causes her confusion. It should have been easier to overtake her.

Morrigan must have emblazoned her with enough power to outrun me, I think. Never mind, the female will be in my custody soon enough. I will see to it. And when she is, I will make up for lost time.

When I hear myself snort, I realize I am still assuming the shape of the boar. Shaking off the creature’s likeness, I return to myself.

It will be more difficult to reach her now that she is within the precinct, but I will not give up.

She can only hide for so long.

***

Eilish

“Get Anona,” the first guard says to the other one, who obediently takes off. I turn around to make sure whatever was following me isn’t still there. But, no, the gates are nearly closed, operated by two guards on either side of them. As I watch them slam shut, the gates suddenly seem farther away than they were, like I’m looking at them through a thick glass lens.

I shake the visual away and face forward. Once I realize I’m safe, my knees give out and I collapse to the ground. Inhaling deeply, I spread my fingers in the wet dirt and feel like kissing it.

I’m panting. My heart’s racing and I feel lightheaded and… strange. My eyes are still blurry and it feels like the rain is coming down harder, which makes them even blurrier.

Someone grips me by the upper arm and hoists me to my feet. I look up to see the first guard from the platform. His face is still covered by his helmet, a broad iron covering that only reveals his black eyes. I look at his hand where it’s wrapped around my arm, still trying to decipher his nationality, but his leather gloves hide his skin.

“Where… am I?” I ask, but the words barely make it off my lips. They feel heavy and thick in my mouth. I try to make my feet work, but my legs feel like jelly. The guard has to drag me up the dirt path that leads into a town… of sorts.

“You’re in Precinct Five,” he answers, his voice deep and throaty.

Precinct Five means nothing to me.

“What you doin’ out there by yourself?” he asks as he continues to pull me along the dirt road. On either side of us are buildings—some as high as three stories. A few are still intact, but the others bear the signature of the bombs that went off a decade or so earlier. Even so, the insides appear tidy enough—all evidence of the Singularity has been removed. Now, the remains of the buildings just look like empty caskets.

The Singularity…

The word repeats in my mind and I suddenly don’t know what it means or how it got into my head. I’m not even sure how I know what the Singularity is, but the information sits in my brain all the same.

“You hear me?” the guard demands, and I remember he’s just asked me something. “What you doin’ out there alone?”

“I don’t know,” I admit as I try my best to remember, try to understand the events of the last hour. But there’s nothing but a black void inside my head.

“What? You got memory loss or somethin’?”

“Something,” I answer, then take a deep breath and try to force the vertigo away. I feel sick to my stomach. Weak.

“You’re lucky we let you in,” he continues, seemingly determined to make conversation. I’m grateful he opened the gates, but I’m not in the mood for small talk. I’m not in the mood for any sort of talk, actually.

There’s a pounding right between my eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was but I was so panicked I didn’t notice it.

“Why did you let me in?” I ask, craning my neck upward to look at him. It’s the first time I notice how massive he is. Maybe nearing seven feet, and his girth is almost as wide. He’s probably a demon.

How I know any of this, I can’t say.

“You’re an angel,” he answers with a shrug, like the reason should be obvious. Well, nothing is obvious to me.

An angel. The word holds no meaning to me. It’s as foreign as my name, this stranger, Precinct Five, the voice inside my head…

“Did you check her for the markings?” A woman’s voice sounds from in front of us, and I glance up and into the face of an Opalite Demon.

How do I know what she is? I ask myself as I study the pearlescent quality of her skin. I don’t have any answers.

The woman is wearing form-fitting pants, combat boots, a sleeveless camouflage t-shirt, and a machine gun strapped across her chest. The only hint at her lack of humanity, aside from the fact that humans are extinct, is her eyes. Her orange pupils aren’t pupils at all—they take up the entirety of her eyes.

The guard mumbles something unintelligible and the woman responds with a frown, grabbing my arm and forcing me to stand in front of her. She’s tall, though not as tall as the demon guard. But she’s still a head or so taller than I am. And she’s uncommonly thin, with a long, narrow face, a generous nose, and wide lips.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” she asks, her triangular tongue coming out to swipe at her lower lip.

“Eilish,” I answer calmly. The pounding in my head is making me sick again.

“I’m Anona,” the woman responds. “And welcome to Precinct Five.” She takes a breath and studies me with a curious smile. Then, she rotates me around so quickly, I feel dizzy. “I just need to check you’re legal, otherwise we can’t have you here. But you already know that.”

I don’t know that, but I also don’t respond. Instead, I just stand there as she pulls my loose shirt up from my waist, all the way up until my stomach is in view. I pull it down to my belly button so I won’t risk flashing my breasts to no one in particular. The guard is still behind me. Anona runs her fingertips across the skin of my upper back, then drops my shirt back down and she wheels me around so I’m facing her again. She nods.

“You’re legal, which means everything’s okay,” she says with a clipped smile. Thunder breaks out overhead as another onslaught of rain comes down even harder. She looks upward, appearing to notice the inclement weather for the first time.

“Let’s get you out of this rain,” she adds with a polished smile.

I can’t even feel it. “Okay,” I answer, allowing her to pull me up the now muddied road and into one of the handful of buildings that hasn’t been blasted into oblivion. The demon guard follows us.

I want to ask her what she meant by my being legal, but I can’t seem to open my mouth. It’s like my brain isn’t communicating with my body. Instead, the headache increases and pulses inside my head, feeling like larvae ready to pop out of my eyes.

“How did you end up here?” Anona asks. She holds the door open, and I walk into the dark room. A second or so later, a lightbulb flickers overhead and bathes us in artificial halogen light. I take stock of my surroundings and find a wooden table in the center of the room with four chairs. Anona motions to one of them and I sit down, feeling exhausted all the way to my toes. In the corner of the room is an unattended cot and a dirty-looking pillow. There are no windows.

“She don’t know anythin’. Her memory’s gone. Probably wiped so she can’t tell us nothin’,” the guard says from where he stands beside Anona. She looks at him with a discouraged expression before she sits down across from me and tries to smile. It looks more like a grimace.

“You don’t remember anything at all?” she asks, and I shake my head. She continues, “You don’t know why you were on the road or how you got there?”

I shake my head and wince as the pain behind my eyes becomes intolerable. “I… do you have anything for a headache?” I shield my eyes from the suddenly blaring light overhead.

“Hmm,” she mumbles, reaching forward and gripping my arm. She pushes my long, tattered and soaking wet sleeve all the way up to my elbow and nods once she spots the veins in my wrist, which travel up my arm in glowing neon-green branches.

“She’s going through withdrawals,” she announces to the guard, who doesn’t say anything. I don’t know when he did it, but he’s taken off his helmet so I can clearly see him. Not that I want to. With his scaly red skin, underslung jaw, beady black eyes, and the ten or so horns protruding from his head, he’s an ugly son of a bitch.

“Get the Atacomite,” she orders. He nods and turns around, hulking out of the doorway and disappearing into the pounding rain. “We’re going to get you fixed up real soon, gorgeous,” she says as she turns her attention back to me.

But I can barely register that she’s even there. Even though she’s sitting right across from me, it’s like I can’t concentrate on her—can’t see her. But I can see everything around her. Until the room starts spinning, and the headache along with it. I drop my head into my hands and squeeze my temples, trying to will the pain away. Or maybe I’m trying to shove my fingers through my skull so I can shred my brain.

“Just a few more seconds and the pain will be gone, gorgeous,” she assures me.

I don’t respond.

TWO

Flumph

Mortal Realm

“Flumph! More wine!” Anona yells. Then she lean back in her wooden chair, all casual-like, an’ plops her feet up on the table in front o’ her like she think her shit don’t stink. She stretch her arms out an’ laughs. I can’t stand the ugly bitch but she’s in a good mood, which is good for me.

“Comin’ right up, mistress!” I say as I fly up to the counter an’ grip the bottle o’ wine, my arms barely circlin’ it. My little wings beat like crazy an’ I’m airborne for a few seconds while I get near Anona’s table. Then, I’m all strugglin’ to get the damn bottle (which be the same size as me) up in the air agin, but I does an’ I get to refillin’ the ugly bitch’s glass without spillin’ a drop.

“You see that?” I say with a big-ass smile as I put the bottle on the tabletop an’ cross my arms ‘gainst my chest, real proud-like. “Didn’t spill a drop!”

“Refill me too, winged pig,” Dravon say, slammin’ his fist into the table while he face me.

Dick.

I glare at him, ‘cause he know I hate bein’ called a “winged pig.” I ain’t no pig. Maybe I’m a little chubby, but still… I ain’t no pig. An’ definitely no winged pig. I’m a sprite, an’ a damned good tavern-keep, too.

Dravon, the ugly bastard, is gonna pay for that one. Maybe I’ll take a ripe piss into his wine—or maybe I’ll ask Godwin to take a ripe piss into it, ‘cause everyone knows there ain’t nothin’ ranker than ogre piss…

‘Course, I’m not sure how I’m gonna get my todger anywheres near Dravon’s wine when I’m floatin’ right in front o’ him an’ he’s askin’ for a refill. Really, the only place you can piss in someone’s drink be behind the counter.

“Winged pig!” Dravon shout. All the ugly bastard has to do is reach ‘cross the table, lift up the bottle, an’ refill his glass hisself. But nooooo. He doin’ this on purpose.

Anus face.

I lift the bottle an’ float over to the fucker. Then I refills his glass but I ain’t careful ‘bout it an’ end up spillin’ some on his lap.

“You little shit!” Dravon rail, but I’m already flyin’ back ‘cross the main room o’ the tavern an’ Dravon is so damn slow, there ain’t no way he gonna keep up with me. I land safely on my counter with a big ol’ smile. Dravon look at me real angry-like, an’ I stick my tongue out an’ then flip him the bird.

That’s what you get, dick.

Anona reach out an’ put her hand on Dravon’s arm, like she tryin’ to calm him. But calmin’ a demon ain’t no easy feat. Especially one as stupid as Dravon.

“No time for yelling,” Anona say with a laugh. “Not when our luck has turned so much for the better.”

Dravon grunt an’ turn away from me toward his mistress. He down the glass o’ wine in one gulp an’ slam it into the table with a thunderin’ echo. He be the ugliest of all Anona’s men: scaly red skin, little black eyes, an’ shitloads of horns coverin’ his head an’ face. An’ he smell like a fresh goblin shit.

“Dravon, do you realize what this angel will mean for business?” Anona continues while Dravon shake his head real slow-like. “An angel beneath this roof, Dravon. Do you understand the money she’ll command?” She take a breath. “And she’s the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.”

Not that she seen many angels. None o’ us have. Angels be rare ‘round these parts. An’ for good reason—they been rounded up ever since Variant took control o’ things. Rumor got it that all them girl angels are bein’ purposely put on the extinct list. Same thing happened to the boy angels a long-ass time ago, an’ there ain’t none o’ them left.

“Then you ain’t gonna turn her over to Variant?” Dravon ask in his big, dumb voice that matches his dumb expression. I hope he chokes on his tongue.

Anona laughs, but it’s a cold sound. “Turn her over to Variant?” she repeat an’ shake her head like Dravon gotta be the biggest idiot she ever met. He definitely the biggest idiot I ever met.

“And forego the fortune I’ll make on her? Why would I even consider such a foolish thing?”

Hmm, not turnin’ the angel over to Variant would be considered an even foolisher thing. Variant ain’t someone you want on your bad side. An’ he don’t exactly like Anona as it is. For reasons jist like this one. Anona’s always tryin’ to ride the line ‘tween doin’ what Variant orders an’ doin’ whate’er she want.

“Ain’t it the law, mistress?” Dravon ask.

“She’s legal,” Anona tells him as she downs another gulp o’ wine an’ then belches real loud. She ain’t much o’ a lady. “She has the markings on her back. That’s all I care about.”

“But, mistress, Variant’s edict says all angels gotta be turned over to him, markings or not.” He pause for another second before he open his big, ugly mouth agin. “An’ ain’t you worried that once our customers realize what she is, word gonna spread and get back to Variant anyways? Or maybe someone goes to him direct to tell him we keepin’ an angel?”

“It would be in every one of my customers’ best interests to keep their mouths shut if they want to continue enjoying her, right, Dravon?”

“Yeah, but gossip still gossip, mistress. An’ gossip get out.”

Anona shrug. “Even if Variant were to find out I had an angel, I doubt he’d do much. We have a long history, Dravon. Perhaps he’d even allow me to keep the girl, if he knew she was no threat to him.”

Dravon look like he don’t believe a word she sayin’ which show he’s smarter than he look ‘cause Anona talkin’ all kinds o’ shit. “Seem like a risk ta me, mistress.”

Anona wave her hand in Dravon’s face like she tryin’ ta say Variant can go fuck his edict. “Your conversation bores me, Dravon.” She downs her wine an’ pounds the glass on the table. That’s my cue to refill it, which I do. While I float past Dravon, I let out a rippin’ fart which, owin’ to my size, sounds more like a zipper openin’. But the smell ain’t gonna be good; I spent my mornin’ eatin’ farringer mushrooms.

Hahaha, the twat.

“But what ‘bout all that ramblin’ the angel was sayin’ ‘bout someone or somethin’ followin’ her? It coulda been Variant’s soldiers after her?” Dravon ask, turnin’ his head to the right an’ then to the left, sniffin’ real hard an’ suckin’ my fart up through his nose.

Got you, ugly prick!

Then I think ‘bout what the dickhead just said. Someone was followin’ the angel? Interestin’. Maybe Variant’s emissaries were after her, or maybe the bounty hunters? Or maybe just some hungry-ass creature wantin’ a little meat?

“You told me you saw no one and nothing following her,” Anona answer him with a shrug. “Those were the ramblings of an addict, Dravon. You saw how bad her Atacomite withdrawals were.”

“Bad,” Dravon confirm with a heavy nod. “And now?”

Anona smile real broad like an’ motions to the top of the stairs. “Now, she sleeps like a babe. And sleep, she’ll need, because her vacation here ends tomorrow.”

“Vacation?”

“Tomorrow, she goes to work,” Anona say. “Tomorrow, she starts making me my fortune.” She take a deep breath an’ stands. “And on that note, I’ll check on her.” She take a step forward an’ face me. “Flumph, prepare our guest a plate of food.”

“Yes, mistress,” I answer.

***

Flumph

I float behind Anona while she take the stairs. I’m busy balancin’ the plate o’ radishes an’ stewed beef she got me carryin’ ‘tween my small hands. When Anona reach the hallway, she stride forward an’ pull out a skeleton key from her pocket. Then, she rattles with the lock ‘til I feels like I’m ready to drop that heavy-ass plate! Finally, the stupid bitch unlock the door an’ walk inside, me flyin’ jist behind her.

I heard Anona’s got a great ass but far’s I can tell, it look like anybody else’s. I ain’t exactly an ass connoisseur though ‘cause as a sprite, I’m asexual. It’s a damned good thing too, ‘cause I seen plenty o’ males with female problems an’ I want none o’ that shit.

I put the plate down on the rickety-lookin’ chair next to the cot where the girl be. That’s when I look at her. She’s passed the fuck out, but now I get why Anona be in such a good mood. The girl real beautiful. Easily the most beautiful girl I ever seen. An’ that be sayin’ a lot since I’m asexual, ‘member?

“Rise and shine, gorgeous,” Anona say, but the girl don’t move. Her veins are thrummin’ with the bold, green lines of Atacomite. That mean it probly gonna take a while to wake her up.

Anona lean over the girl an’ put her hands ‘neath the girl’s armpits, liftin’ her into a seated position. The girl’s head flops forward like she ain’t conscious.

“We need to get you cleaned up for your busy day tomorrow,” Anona goes on, mostly to herself. “Once word gets out about you, you’ll have a long wait list.”

The angel don’t open her eyes. Anona frown an’ inhale real deep—it’s what she do when she feelin’ impatient. She shake the girl ‘til the girl open her eyes. An’ her eyes are like two crazy blue jewels glowin’ in her face.

“Flumph, order her a bath,” Anona bark at me, an’ I dutifully fly out the room an’ stall over the railin’.

“Godwin!” I yell, but ‘cause I be so damn small, my voice don’t carry over the noise o’ the tavern. I float a few feet forward an’ yell for Godwin agin. The bastard’s hard o’ hearin’.

Someone on the floor tells the ogre I’m hollerin’ for him an’ the enormous creature appear a few seconds later. He look up at me with a dumb expression. His body be so big, it take up the whole door frame, but he also got this ridiculous little pin-head on top. He look like a giant tick.

“Fill a tub an’ carry it up to the middle room,” I command. “An’ don’t go sloshin’ none o’ the water out.”

“Yessir,” Godwin say in his dopey voice.

I turn ‘round an’ flap back into the angel’s room. By this time, Anona got the girl standin’, though she don’t seem too stable on her feet. Anona’s holdin’ her upright with a hand on each o’ the girl’s hips. They both facin’ a mirror on the far side o’ the room. The girl’s eyes are barely open, an’ she swayin’ from one side to the other like she’s tryin’ to get her footin’.

Poor thing’s so high, she probly thinks she’s on a ship somewheres.

“Yes, you’re quite the sight to see, aren’t you?” Anona ask as she release one o’ the girl’s hips in order to brush her matted an’ filthy white hair away from her face. It one o’ them faces you don’t forget. Her skin’s pale an’ the shape o’ her facial bones is a perfect heart. Her eyes be large, fringed with black lashes that match her arched eyebrows. Her nose be real small, an’ her cheekbones look like they’d stick out when she smile. I ain’t seen an angel before soze I can’t comment on what the others look like, but this one kinda reminds me o’ a faerie. Her mouth’s the color o’ a rose an’ she got some plump lips. Even with the dark circles ‘neath her eyes, she be stunnin’.

“We’ll get you fixed up in no time,” Anona prattle as Godwin appear at the doorway, carryin’ the metal tub o’ warm water. “In the middle of the room,” Anona say to him an’ he obediently place the tub to her specifications. Then, he look from Anona to the angel an’ it like his brain just stop workin’.

He standin’ there, lookin’ like a bigger fool than I already given him credit for.

“You can leave, Godwin,” I tell him as I push ‘gainst the back o’ his tiny, dumb head, an’ he finally remembers hisself an’ trudges toward the door.

Meanwhile, Anona busyin’ herself with removin’ the girl’s ripped an’ dirty clothin’. Once the girl is nekked, Anona jist look at her in the mirror, a small smile turnin’ up the corners o’ her mouth. It’s a smile, sure, but it real ugly-like. She cup each o’ the girl’s big titties an’ nods.

“These will make your clients very happy,” she say. “My clients very happy. How lucky I am.” Anona’s eyes follow the shape o’ the girl’s stomach ‘til they rest on the thatch o’ white hair ‘tween her thighs. Anona bite her bottom lip an’ look like she thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ real hard. “I wonder just how far my luck extends,” she say as she move her hand from the girl’s titty down to her thighs.

The girl, meanwhile, is comin’ in an’ out o’ awareness. Just now, her eyelashes drift down an’ her head slouches forward, like she be asleep. Or dead. Hopefully not dead.

“If you’re intact,” Anona continue. “We’ll have an auction for your virginity.”

Usin’ her index finger, Anona parts the girl’s lips an’ inserts her finger inside. The girl don’t even flinch. The smile on Anona’s face drop a little when she pull her finger back out.

“Seems someone has already gotten to you.” She look put-out. “Oh, well, you’ll still command a mighty sum.”

She lead the girl to the bath an’ help her settle into the water. Then, Anona turn to me. “Flumph, bathe her and do something about that hair. I want her stunning for tomorrow morning. Trim the hair over her mound, as well. Feed her by hand if you must, but see to it that she eats every last bite on that plate. Then, she needs her beauty sleep.”

“Yes, mistress,” I say as Anona start for the doorway. I flutter ‘round to watch her leave an’ notice she shut an’ lock the door behind her. I ain’t worried ‘bout bein’ locked in, my hands’re small enough to fit inside the lock an’ I be a master locksmith.

When I’m alone with the girl, I take a deep breath an’ begin washin’ her, feelin’ sorry for her all the while. Yeah, Anona saved her from whatever the hells was followin’ her but now, her life will be this—bein’ whored out to whoever bids the highest. Day in an’ day out. I wonder if, once she be coherent, she’ll wish she was dead. If she ever get coherent...

What happen next shock the livin’, lovin’ hell outta me, an’ I still can’t really believe it happened. I dunno if I hit a magic button or what, but no sooner do I think ‘bout the misery o’ this girl’s new life than fuckin’ wings sprout out her back!

White, feathered wings twelve feet long! An’ they sprout right where the markings are! Markings that supposedly reveal she had her wings burned off. But burned off they ain’t! ‘Cause they be flappin’ right in front o’ me, sure as mine are flappin’ right back!

“Thunder butterfuck!” I say as my heart start poundin’, an’ I look back at the door to make sure no one comin’ in. Anyone see this angel with wings an’ it’s an immediate death sentence for her, right here an’ right now!

“You gotta put them things away, girl!” I whisper right into her ear. Her wings jist beat back an’ forth like a dumb dog excited to meet me. “Girl!” I insist. “You gotta hide them things or you gonna get killed!”

I dunno if she hear me or if it jist be coincidence, but as soon’s the last word is out my mouth, the girl’s wings fold up an’ disappear into her back, leavin’ jist the dark black tattooed markings.

When I float back ‘round to the front o’ her, I notice her head’s slouched forward an’, by her breathin’, it seem like she sound asleep. I just hover in the air for a minute whiles I try to figure out what the fuck shit I should do.

If I tell Anona ‘bout the girl’s wings, she’ll kill her ‘cause she knows that edict ain’t something she can mess with. Or maybe she’ll try to burn the wings off herself, which’ll jist mean a longer an’ worser death for the poor thing.

I sigh when the answer come to me like one o’ them nasty burps that remind ya o’ what ya ate for lunch.

I gotta go to the Shadow King an’ tell him we got ourselves a real angel down at the tavern in Precinct Five.

Fuck me.

THREE

Dragan

Shadow Realm

“What do you want, sprite?” I ask the irritating creature as it flits before me, buzzing incessantly like a bloody mosquito. At its full height, it stands just above my ankle.

Frankly, I’m shocked as fuck to see it here, in the dark realm and in the middle of my throne room. But here it is, all the same.

“I… oh shit… I got me some big… I got big news,” it answers in a tinny voice, its breathing so erratic it can barely get the words out. Its wings beat madly, creating a hissing sound and causing the tiny thing to shift up and down, back and forth.

The news must be big considering the sprite came here, to the Gorge, to the land of Shadow filled with Shadow Magic. Creatures such as this one are not found in this realm of darkness—nor are they welcome.

“Spit it out,” I say, leaning back into my throne and observing the silly creature with disinterest. “I’m a busy man.”

The sprite looks around, appearing anxious when its gaze rests on the centurions posted along either wall. Gargoyles. Their complexions are as stony as the rock from which they’re made. They appear as lifeless statues, perched along the perimeter of the room. Some are larger than others, some hunched over and others standing up straight. Some maintain their mortal forms, appearing carved from stone, while others reveal their gargoyle form—underslung jaws with pronounced canines, beady narrowed eyes, and round, misshapen heads.

To the untrained eye, they pose no risk, similar to empty armor lining the walls of a corridor. But, in this case, the untrained eye becomes the dead eye.

Yes, they’re stone, but such stone is capable of animation, such stone rescinds into the warmth of flesh and blood. Such stone isn’t stone at all. And such stone is deadly.

“They won’t harm you,” I assure the sprite as it returns its attention to me. “Without my order.”

The creature clears its throat nervously. “Lord o’ the Shadow Lands,” it starts, clearing its throat at least another three times in quick succession.

“Call me Dragan.”

It nods and takes a deep breath before proceeding to blast me with so many words spoken at once and at such extreme speeds that I can’t make out what the bloody idiot is trying to tell me. “Again,” I say, shaking my head and doing my best to dampen the swelling tide of anger that’s beginning to crest inside me. “I couldn’t understand a fucking word.”

The sprite immediately closes its mouth and nods, then takes another deep breath. “I came here from freakin’ Precinct Five ‘cause I couldn’t think o’ no one else to come to.” Apparently realizing I could choose to be offended by its comment, the sprite pauses for a moment before opening its mouth to speak again. “Wait. That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is that I couldn’t think o’ no one to give this information to who would be powerful enough to actually do somethin’ with it. But you’re the only person I’m aware o’ who possesses Arcane Magic. Soze I’m here.”

Precinct Five. Interesting. “Does Anona know you’ve come to see me?”

“Fuck no!” the sprite nearly shouts, and its wings begin to beat double-time. “I snuck out quick as I could. Word get back to Anona an’ she’ll have my balls served on a platter.”

“An unimpressive meal, to say the least.”

“Right,” the sprite continues, clearly unoffended by my low opinion of his testicles. But, truly, given the creature’s size, his testicles would be little to make note of. “Anyways, Anona probly hasn’t even noticed I’m gone yet. But it only be a matter o’ time ‘fore she do, soze we gotta make this little visit real quick, Demon Lord.”

“I’m not a demon.”

“Whatever. Shadow Lord.”

“Call me Dragan… for the second time.”

“Yeah, that’s easier to ‘member.” It takes another deep breath and faces me with eyes too large for its small face. “Anona got herself a real angel, Lord Dragan.” Its voice is haunted.

“That’s what you’ve come to tell me?” I shake my head with a mixture of surprise and irritation while I stand up, letting my wings fan out behind me and arch up to ten feet in either direction. The sprite’s eyes go even wider. “You’ve risked your bloody life—albeit a useless one, but your life all the same—to tell me Anona’s keeping a fucking angel as her newest pet?”

The sprite nods, then shakes its head and its wings beat even more madly, presumably over my display of bad temper. “No, Dragan Shadow, you don’t understand…”

“I understand you’re a fool, sprite,” I announce as my wings begin to beat back and forth and the immense current throws the creature back two or so feet in the air.

His own wings beat furiously as he attempts to remain airborne. “I ain’t no fool.”

I shake my head. “Even down here, I know about Variant’s edict that all angels are to be returned to him, but I don’t give a fuck, sprite. So, if you’ve come here thinking I’ll reward you for backstabbing your mistress, you’re sorely mistaken. She can keep her fucking angel and deal with the consequences when Variant finds out.”

“This ain’t got nothin’ ta do with Anona!” the little creature rails at me, apparently forgetting its place. “An’ the girl’s not jist an angel,” it yells against the current I’m creating. Losing interest and not wanting the thing to drop dead from exertion, I stop beating my wings and watch as the sprite inhales a much-needed breath.

“Does she bear the markings?” I ask, irritated to be further wasting my time. I’ve half a mind to feed the bloody sprite to the demons, imps, ghouls, and goblins that roam the dark mists beyond the walls of this fortress.

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Then you are wasting my time.” I inhale deeply as I motion to the two centurions closest to me to escort our winged guest out. “Allow him to exit through the Pyre of Shadows and see to it that he leaves unscathed,” I add. The Pyre of Shadows is the portal in and out of the Gorge, my realm. Although maybe I should call it exactly what it is—the realm to which I’ve been banished for over a century now.

The sprite’s annoying and has wasted my time, yes, but I don’t care to have the creature’s blood on my hands. Especially if he belongs to Anona. Our truce is an unstable one, and anything untoward is likely to set her off. I don’t have the interest nor the wherewithal to fight that battle.

“No!” the sprite yells as the two guards shed their stone exterior to become animate. “Listen, Lord Darkness! She ain’t jist a marked angel! As Satan’s your keeper…”

“Satan isn’t my keeper.”

“She has wings!”

“Halt.” I hold up a hand and each of the guards immediately stops walking, taking their stone form again. The sprite is now captured between them, its tiny hands clasped in the stone of the guards’ hands. The creature’s wings stop beating and it slumps forward, obviously exhausted and no longer finding it necessary to keep itself airborne.

“What did you just say?” I demand with renewed attention as I close the few steps that separate us.

“The angel got wings, Dragan Lord,” the sprite repeats nervously, apparently ill at ease with being so close to the King of Gargoyles, the King of Shadow, the master of Arcane Magic.

“That’s impossible,” I say as I continue to study the creature narrowly. “You know as well as I do that all angels’ wings were removed from them long ago.”

“I know it sound crazy,” the sprite tells me, nodding emphatically. “But I’m tellin’ you, this one still got her wings. I saw ‘em for myself.”

“You saw them?”

“Sure did,” it confirms. “I was tryin’ to give her a bath, an’ that angel was so outta her mind on Atacomite that her wings jist sort o’ blasted right outta her! I don’t even think she realized what the hell was goin’ on.”

“But you said she had the markings?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. I don’t understand how this could be true. If it is true, it’s an oversight—and Variant doesn’t do oversights.

“Yeah, she do! Someone marked her, but that same person musta left her wings intact. Maybe on purpose, maybe not, I dunno. All’s I can tell you is that angel’s got her wings an’ that’s a pretty big deal, righty-oh?”

I shake my head. A “pretty big deal” doesn’t even begin to describe it, should this sprite’s information be accurate. “If what you’re saying is true…”

“It be true. All o’ it.”

“Then the fake markings were no oversight,” I finish as something important occurs to me. “Did Anona see the angel’s wings?”

“Negatory. That be why I came to you, Lord Shadow,” the sprite manages.

“Why didn’t you tell Anona?”

“I couldn’t. You know Anona.”

“I do.”

“Well, if you do know Anona, then you knows that angel’s in trouble the longer she stay in Anona’s care. The tavern’s the wrong place for an angel. ‘specially one with her wings.”

“Is Anona whoring her out?” I ask, knowing Anona and her opportunism all too well. Angels, as rare as they have become, are the most beautiful of creatures and, as such, they’re highly sought-after. But one with her wings intact… I can’t even comprehend what her street value would be.

“That be Anona’s plan,” the sprite responds. “Startin’ tomorrow. That’s why we gotta free her tonight, Dragan Shadow Master.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I answer him immediately as I cross my arms against my chest and try to decide what the fuck I should do. If the sprite speaks the truth and there really is an intact angel at the tavern, then I have no choice but to go after her. “I take orders from no one.”

“Right, right. Forgive me for my insolence, Shadow Demon,” the sprite says, then takes a deep breath.

“And stop with the titles.”

“Time’s of the essence, Dragan Lord. An’… an’ that angel needs yer help.”

I’m quiet as I consider what this means. If the sprite’s telling the truth and the angel really does possess her wings, she could be the answer to the imbalance between shadow and light. She could be the only weapon against the power and madness of Variant. A power and madness that’s quickly changing life as we know it—and not for the better.

But if the sprite’s lying or has his facts confused, this will be a colossal waste of my time. Not to mention, Anona isn’t someone I want as my enemy.

“If you’re lying to me,” I begin as I stare him through.

He interjects quickly “I ain’t, you gotta trust me. I’m tellin’ you the truth.”

I maintain my expression. “If not, your ending won’t be a pleasant one.” Then, I turn away from him and face the ten or so soldiers who line the room. “We have an errand this evening,” I explain. “Thoradin.” I address the head of my centurion guards.

“Yes, my liege?”

“Assemble another ten or so men. We’ll be paying a visit to Anona in Precinct Five.” Thoradin nods as I face the guards still holding the sprite. “Release him,” I order before starting down the long expanse of stone that leads from the throne room. My centurions take formation behind me. Seconds later, the sprite floats up beside me.

“What’s your name, sprite?”

The creature beams from ear to ear. “Flumph, Your Shadow Highness.”

This is going to be a long evening.

***

Flumph

“How did you get into the Gorge, sprite?” Dragan, the Demon Shadow Lord or whatever the hells he calls hisself, ask me. I don’t notice ‘til now that his eyes be as gray as the stone surroundin’ him.

He’s definitely an evil-lookin’ guy with his longish black hair, heavy eyebrows, an’ the way he snarls at me whenever he talks. He wear this long ass black cloak over his shoulders an’ it trail on the ground. He ain’t got nothin’ underneath it ‘cept for a pair o’ black pants an’ his shoes.

I heard tell he’s a gargoyle which I dunno much ‘bout, but what I can say is he’s freakin’ huge. He’s got muscles bigger than my body which, I guess, ain’t sayin’ much.

“The keeper of the Well of Shadows owed me a favor,” I tell him with a shrug.

The Well of Shadows be the only way to reach the Gorge an’ it’s guarded by Keepers—creatures whose sole purpose is to guard the comin’s an’ goin’s o’ visitors to an’ from the Gorge. For good reason. In general, this ain’t the type o’ place you wanna go on vacation. It be cold as warlock balls, an’ shrouded in mist so it’s real hard to see. That, an’ it’s always dark. Guess that makes sense, though, ‘cause it be the Shadow Land.

I follow Dragan through the dark hallway, doin’ my damndest to keep up with him but his stride’s so fast, my wings feel like they gonna rip right outta my back. Not that Dragan takes no notice. That bastard’s as cold as his goddamn castle. An’ he arrogant, too.

Dick.

Either side o’ us are his gargoyle soldiers, who look like rocks come to life. Rocks with real bad attitudes, anyways. An’ that’s basically what they are. Dragan animated the stone gargoyles with his Arcane Magic. Or at least, that’s how the story been told since I was a young’un.

None o’ them soldiers look at us, they just stare straight ‘head as they march through the castle, or whatever the hell this place is called. Whatever it is, it’s real big an’ it’s real cold. It be like four stories high an’ made outta stone. The stone match the soldiers an’ the king o’ the place, so maybe the castle’s made outta them too an’ comes ta life? I don’t really know but it wouldn’t surprise me. An’ there ain’t no comfortable furniture, neither. Dragan’s chair-thingy he was sittin’ on was the only piece of furniture I’ve seen yet an’ that was made outta stone, too. I’m guessin’ he suffers a bad back. An’ probly a sore ass.

An’ he definitely don’t get many visitors down here. But that’s how Variant wants it. Dragan an’ his militia o’ gargoyles was banished into the Gorge way long ago, when Variant broke the Oath an’ decided he didn’t want to share power no more with the other three protectors. Since then, life as we know it’s been a hell o’ a downer.

“How we gonna make our way outta here?” I ask, ‘cause I been wonderin’. It be true that the keeper o’ the Well of Shadows owed me a favor, but that got me a one-way ticket into the Gorge. I ain’t sure it’s gonna get me back out agin.

I don’t get no response, soze I look up at Dragan an’ he’s seriously like the biggest fuck I ever seen. Like, even bigger than Godwin, an’ Dragan ain’t got a little, shrunked-up head. An’ he’s gotta back that’s like the width o’ a wall an’ his hands are as big as I am, probly.

I’ve heard tell that he’s handsome, or used to be before Variant took control an’ banished Dragan an’ his gargoyles down here. Now, this guy has a chip on his shoulder the size o’… hisself. The whole time I been here, he ain’t smiled once. Makes me half wonder if he even got any teeth.

Dick.

We march outta Castle Death, Dragan in the middle o’ all his stone soldiers an’ me flyin’ right next to him. I notice his wings only show up sometimes. Like right now, as we’re walkin’, you’d never guess he had none. Maybe they only come out when he’s pissed off or somethin’?

“When we arrive at Anona’s,” Dragan start an’ his voice be super deep, so deep it kind o’ sounds like rumblin’ thunder. “I’ll proceed by myself,” he continue. “The rest of you will keep sentry around the tavern in case I require your assistance. As you’re all aware, we only have an hour from the time we step foot into the Mortal Realm.”

No one say nothin’, but I figure they hear him loud an’ clear ‘cause he jist shut his mouth an’ keeps walkin’.

“Why’s you only got an hour?”

He look at me like he angry at me for existin’. “After an hour, we turn to stone.”

“Huh?”

“When Variant banished us here, he knew I’d attempt to escape. He took care of that little problem by ensuring that once we leave the Shadow Realm, we have one hour before we’re forced to shift into our gargoyle forms.”

“What happen once you take yer gargoyle form?”

“We can’t shift back until we’re returned to the Shadow Realm.”

“Soze we got an hour?”

“We’ve got an hour. No more questions.”

My wings are gettin’ real tired, soze I float over to his shoulder an’ try to take me a seat on one o’ them enormous things but he flick me away with a big finger right to my gut. Which make me feel like all those mushrooms I ate this mornin’ are gonna come back with a vengeance!

“Don’t do that,” he warns with a glare.

Well, excuse the fuck outta me for gettin’ tired an’ lookin’ for the nearest bench! I don’t say nothin’, though. I just start up flyin’ again, feelin’ real sorry for myself.

Part o’ me feels like callin’ him out on bein’ a prick but then I’m thinkin’ he might flick me harder if I does. Plus, he sort o’ doin’ me a favor, I guess. Well, more like he doin’ the angel a favor. But I know this ain’t for her, neither. Dragan ain’t exactly the charity type. Soze it’s really more like he doin’ hisself a favor, ‘cause he must realize this angel could be the answer to overtakin’ Variant.

Not that I think Dragan’s all bad. One thing I hears over an’ over agin ‘bout the King o’ Shadow is that he be honorable. An’ before Variant took control o’ the three realms, it was common knowledge Dragan was the most powerful o’ the four o’ em. I just hope he’s still got some o’ that power left—an’ I really hope he got some o’ that honor left, too.

We walk through stone hallway after stone hallway ‘tils we reach a wide-open room o’, you guessed it, more stone. In the center o’ the stone floor’s a whole bunch o’ branches all piled up, like the God o’ Kindling just airdropped Dragan a gift.

Soon as Dragan walk into the room, the branches suddenly start consumin’ theyselves in fire. The flames engulfin’ the branches ain’t really burnin’ the wood, though. It’s like they’re ghost flames, ‘cause while they lappin’ at the wood, they ain’t burnin’ it. An’ the flames are blue which is kinda weird, too.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“The Pyre of Shadows,” he answer like I should know what the hell that mean.

No sooner do he say the words than I watch his guards start shufflin’ toward the pyre in single file. They’re walkin’ at a good clip, like they ready to jump over it or somethin’. ‘Course, the pyre’s pretty high. Like, it would reach their waists easy, soze I dunno what they’re thinkin’ but they definitely ain’t gonna make it if they try ta jump. They’ll have some deep-cooked balls though, that be for sure.

They keep walkin’ closer to the pyre like they ain’t too worried ‘bout their gonads. As soon’s the first one touch the flames, he disappear! Like “poof,” he gone!

“Where’d he go?” I ask as I turn to face Dragan, who don’t look too concerned.

“The flames transported him to Anona’s. Once all of them go through, we’ll follow.”

“An’ the pyre ain’t gonna burn me?”

“Did it burn the others?”

“I dunno. I can’t see ‘em, ‘cause they be on the other side.”

“You won’t be harmed,” he answer with little interest.

Dick.

ANGEL

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About the Author:

H. P. Mallory is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author who started as a self-published author.

She lives in Southern California with her son and two cranky cats, where she’s at work on her next book.

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