“Have you ever wondered why an assassin’s life is so lonely?” Azriel asked.
“It’s not. Not for us anyway. We have each other.”
Azriel traced a pattern between my bare shoulder blades, curling down my spine before stopping at the small of my back. His lips followed suit, bringing delicious chills to the surface of my skin. I buried my face in the pillow, smiling as his tongue teased the area his lips had just been. “True, my love. True.”
He seemed worried, which was out of character for his usually cavalier attitude. Lorik’s father, Vasily Egorov, had finally met his end. And from what Azriel had told me, it hadn’t been a peaceful one. We hadn’t received any postcards for a couple of months, so it stood to reason that Lorik was no longer around to ascend to his father’s seat of power within the mob. I’d never understood why Az cared. And as for work, we’d land on our feet. We always did. Plus we had enough cash and valuables to keep us afloat and living comfortably for a good, long time.
“You’re so very special,” Azriel said as his lips found my shoulder. “But if anyone should find out about you, not even an entire Shaede Kingdom could keep you safe. It’s for the best that Vasily is gone. Lorik as well. Fear not, my love. I’ll protect you until the time is right for your presence to be known.”
I let him speak his nonsense. He had a tendency to talk in circles. I rolled onto my back, and his mouth caressed mine, his tongue sliding warm and welcome through my parted lips. Let the world rot, I thought as his hand cupped my breast. Vasily and Lorik too. As long as I had Azriel, I didn’t need anyone else.
My mind swirled with innumerable thoughts and memories, clouding my focus. Azriel had known all along that once my existence became public knowledge, a shit storm was soon to follow-understatement of the century. Rather than slow down, my world spiraled out of control, rotation upon rotation, problem upon problem. And as I made my way to Reaver’s empty house, I laid out my troubles like strands of thread, each representing a singular nuisance in the braided bullshit of my life.
The Man from The Ring, the raven-haired Shaedes, and the pendulum became a single strand. And next to that lay Delilah, Raif, Brakae-and unfortunately-Fallon as well. The third strand represented Tyler, his strange behavior, the attempts on his life, and an unknown threat-aimed at driving him out of his mind. Somehow, they all came together, weaving in and out, constructing a solid length of rope. But who or what wove them together was lost on me.
Reaver’s house, only a few blocks from Volunteer Park, might well have been considered a mansion by someone who’d never seen Xander’s impressive estate. The residences had one thing in common, though: They both favored old-world elegance. Perhaps it connected the owners to their pasts, to eras they couldn’t reclaim. The Victorian beauty of Reaver’s three-story home struck me as almost too elegant for someone who came off as menacing with the potential for great violence.
After checking the garage to make sure that Reaver had, in fact, gone out for the evening, I hovered near the front door, pacing along the tiled covered porch, sensing the powerful wards designed to protect his property. My body hummed with energy, like an itch just under the skin that I couldn’t scratch. The pendulum in my pocket responded as well, heat pulsing from the emerald warming my thigh. I should have dropped the damned thing in the middle of Puget Sound, but for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to part from it since the falcon had returned it to me.
Wondering if I should trust Fallon’s word, I continued to pace. “You are only one of three people who would be able to pass those wards unharmed…” How did he know? The sound of my teeth grating against one another resounded in my ears. I stretched my neck from side to side, unclenched my fists, and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath to release the tension that pulled my entire body taut. I would find peace only by unraveling the mysteries strand by strand; finding Brakae was the first step.
I decided believing Fallon was my only option, so I closed my eyes, taking a leap of faith as I passed through Reaver’s front door as nothing more than a wisp of darkness. The wards slid over my incorporeal form, like hunting dogs tracking scent. Magic snaked around me, twining and searching, pausing for the briefest moment before retreating and dissipating into nothing.
The air left my lungs in a great rush of breath, and muscle by muscle, I began to relax. Though I felt the presence of the wards, they seemed to ignore me, as if I belonged in the house and posed no threat to the secrets Reaver was trying to protect. Fallon had been right. I could pass through the house without harm. With any luck, he’d tell me why that was, once he had his prize-and I had Delilah.
Five thousand square feet was a rather large amount of space to search for something no bigger than a drinking glass. If Reaver was smart, he would’ve hidden his bauble in a safe, behind a false wall, as I did. But then again, I deduced Reaver’s cocky, deadly attitude, coupled with the wards, might offer him the peace of mind to leave his half of the hourglass on display somewhere that he might look upon it.
I didn’t take solid form, but rather swept the house as a wraith, moving from room to room. Reaver kept an especially tidy house. I doubted dust particles dared to rear their ugly heads in his presence. From the foyer, I wandered through the kitchen, formal and informal dining rooms, the sitting room and the living room. The media room, complete with home theater and a sixty-inch flat-panel TV, led to a library and a small office. Two bathrooms were completely uninteresting, and a coat closet-again, boring-was empty, save a couple of jackets; it wasn’t exactly piled with board games and playing cards. I got the impression Reaver didn’t host many “family game nights” with the neighbors.
A search of the upstairs proved equally fruitless. He kept the six-bedroom second floor as immaculate and uninteresting as he did the downstairs. The master suite, predictably sporting a king-sized bed and attached sitting room, looked Architectural Digest ready. I marked the passage of thirty-three minutes and cradled my head in my hands. I was running out of time, and still I had found no sign of anything more than human, let alone made of magic. Tyler would be back soon. If I wasn’t there when he got home, I doubted I’d be able to keep my plans secret any longer.
Drifting through the floor, I found myself once again on the first floor of the house. I had one more area to search-the basement. Another flight of stairs led from a small door beneath the staircase down to the bottom floor. I expected old and musty and rickety wooden stairs and crumbling concrete walls. What I saw instead blasted me with the force of magical energy. The basement was the only floor of the house that hadn’t been kept true to its period design. Marble stairs and marble-lined walls glowed with silver and gold symbols, the shapes swirling and moving, illuminating my path deeper into the basement.
Magic burned hot and heavy here, the sensation of thousands of tiny feet traveling the highways of my skin driving me to the point of near distraction. The emerald in my pocket blazed, no longer pulsing with warmth but almost searing through my pocket and screaming for me to notice. At the same time, the sound of time quieted within me, and I didn’t need to gaze into the emerald or stand in another world to feel it. Iron butterflies swirled in my stomach, much too heavy and foreboding to be light jitters of nerves. I’d need hip boots to get out of this mess because, as I suddenly realized, I was wading in deep shit.
As I descended lower into Reaver’s basement, my body became corporeal, the sound of my boots echoing eerily on the marble steps. All around me gold and silver light led the way, runes flashing and symbols swirling. The wards that protected the house felt stronger here, mingling with the already present magic and causing my teeth to chatter. But as before, whatever protected the Sidhe’s property paid me no mind.
I took the last step, a feeling of finality stealing my breath as a soft glow of light that seemed to come from nowhere pulsed from the ceiling. Finally, I could see the full scope of the basement, and what a room it was. At first sight, it reminded me of something out of a decadent 1950s reenactment of Cleopatra, or some other epic tale. But as I took in the whole of it, I realized it held to an older tradition, dating to pre-Christian civilization-Celtic more than likely. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe this room. Reverent wouldn’t do justice to the emotions swelling in my chest. This sacred place assaulted my senses, my emotions. I’d never felt so safe, or so right. Somehow, a kinship formed between me and this place; I was meant to be here. I had to stop, shrinking to my knees as I caught my breath and stilled my quaking limbs.
Trees lined the walls. Growing out of nothing, they were yet vibrant and living. Rowan, alder, ash, birch, cedar, and other trees I couldn’t name shot up into an impossibly tall ceiling-too tall not to be an illusion. Like the sky, it twinkled with stars and then changed, showcasing a dark sky and a full opal moon. White candles burned, the wicks never seeming to diminish and the flames unwavering with the disturbance of my passing. A long, rectangular pool ran the length of the room, splitting it down the middle, and sparkling orbs of different colors swam about in light blue water.
As I walked, the false sky changed again, lightening by slow degrees, streaked with pinks and deep burnt oranges. The basement became bright with the light of morning sun, and I could sense the leaves of the trees shifting and reaching toward sustenance. In the full light, I could finally see to the end of the room, its length and width again too vast to be real. And at the end of Reaver’s basement, atop a granite column, sat the hourglass.
It looked like any other, really, except that it was one half of a whole. Grains of golden sand glistened inside it, gathering at the bottom as if they poured from the top half that used to be there. When at last the glass filled, the flecks of gold reversed their path, floating upward and disappearing into nothing. I watched in awe as the cycle repeated itself once more, my hand resting at my thigh, cupping the pendulum in my pocket.
As I stood there staring at the broken-and somehow functional-hourglass, I had an Indiana Jones moment. But I didn’t have a bag of sand to trade with the relic, and I wondered at the possibility of setting off an epic set of booby traps, rolling boulder and all. But I thought of Raif: friend, loyal brother, and wronged husband. I thought of his grief, the lengths he’d been willing to go to find his missing child, and the lengths he refused to go to despite his pain and need for answers. And goddamn it, if someone needed a ray of sunshine in his life, you could bet your ass it was Raif.
Screw it.
I plucked the hourglass from its perch.
Closed my eyes tight.
Waited for the boulder to roll on top of me.
And let out a shaky breath when nothing happened. I mean, no darts shooting from the walls? The ceiling wasn’t slowly shrinking to crush me? No giant swinging axes ready to slice me in two? The whole thing was rather anticlimactic in my opinion.
That is, until I turned around and came face-to-face with Reaver.
The weight of his stare pressed upon me just as well as any shrinking ceiling. And the accusing finger he pointed at me was no less piercing than a poison dart striking my chest. He took a step closer, and the sound of his footsteps rang in my ears like sharp metal cutting me down.
Tyler would be home from his meeting any minute. Fuck, fuck, fuck! My sword sang as the metal scraped against the scabbard, and I held it at the ready, prepared to fight for my prize.
I can’t stop you, Reaver’s voice echoed in my mind. But if you leave with the glass, the damage will be irreparable.
“That’s a neat little trick,” I said, backing away from the granite podium, sidestepping Reaver. The glamour he wore for human benefit slid away, and my jaw sagged-just a little-in awe. No wonder all of Fae-kind wore glamours. Any human would be dumbfounded to gaze upon them in their true forms. Though I can only describe him as beautiful, it didn’t detract at all from Reaver’s masculinity. His once-pale skin appeared deeper now, more bronze with a strange, golden luminescence, as if he held sunlight within him. Eyes, larger than they’d been, slanted in an alluring almond shape, and his ice blue irises ran with veins of the same golden light reflected in his skin. Still tall, still lithe, his limbs seemed even more willowy and graceful, but at the same time, his frame was powerful. Strong. And I knew that if he wanted to, Reaver could have broken me without even batting a lash. With the trees, water, and false sky as a backdrop, he looked like an ancient forest god. And, for all I knew, he was.
You’ll be nothing more than a murderer. But then again, perhaps I should expect nothing less than death from an assassin, and now a common thief.
Somebody was high-and-mighty. I took a step to the side, and then another, putting the rectangular pool between us. He mirrored my actions, taking his place at the opposite side of the water and followed me with matching steps.
Time belongs to no one, least of all me. Yet, I beg you to rethink your actions. I am the Keeper, entrusted for a reason.
“You’re not going to talk me out of this.” Forget the hip boots. I’d been caught in a shit storm of hurricane proportions. Caught in the act and not even denying my role as thief, I was as good as busted. If Reaver decided to turn me in to the PNT Council, I was bent-over-a-barrel-fucked. “I need this thing,” I said, weighing the hourglass in my hand. “I wouldn’t take it if I didn’t think I had no other choice. I’m not a thief-usually. And as for being a murderer…” I was.
You have the potential to do good things for those you love. But you will only cause them to suffer.
He continued to walk, mirroring my movement until we’d reached the end of the pool and the foot of the marble staircase. I can’t say I particularly cared for his threats, not with Tyler already suffering at the hands of malicious magic. “Are you threatening me?”
I’m providing you with the facts. Reaver’s ice blue eyes bore into mine. You’re walking a dangerous path, one that only leads toward destruction. Find your answers elsewhere, Guardian, and leave the glass with me.
Wasn’t gonna happen. His big talk was nothing more than an attempt to get me to return his trinket. This broken thing was my ticket to Raif’s daughter. She was the first piece of the puzzle. Through her, I’d be able to link to recent events. And, maybe, solve the mystery of Tyler’s illness and strange behavior. Reaver would get his glass back over my dead body. I stumbled as Reaver’s words sank in. “Why did you call me a Guardian?” And did he know that my raven-haired antagonist had called me the same thing?
He cocked a brow, and his knowing smile did little to comfort me. False sunlight glittered through the leaves of a birch tree, and I joined its company, fleeing Reaver’s presence for the main floor of the house. When I hit the top of the stairs, I slammed back into my corporeal form with all the force of a Mack truck hitting a wall. Katana at the ready, I looked around for whatever had kept me from traveling unseen. Near the foyer, my gaze found Moira.
Reaver’s sister blocked my path, her lips moving unintelligibly. I don’t know how, but she kept me confined to my solid form. Levi said Sidhe possessed some serious magic, and apparently Moira was a heavy hitter. Her eyes narrowed as she took me in from head to toe, and from behind her back she produced two wicked-looking short swords, the blades forged into a waving pattern ridged with gleaming barbs. Superhuman healing or not, if she managed to cut me with one of those, it was going to hurt like a sonofabitch.
“Is it true you can talk to the dead?” Well, Levi said she could, and when would I get another chance to ask her?
Showcasing none of the elegance she’d displayed at the PNT summit, Moira was dressed for a fight. Her long, fawn-colored hair had been pulled back, and her outfit would’ve had a marine weeping with respect. All the navy blue ensemble needed was a splash of camo and she’d be ready for a black-ops mission. A corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she gave me a head-to-toe appraisal. “Would you like to speak with someone? It’s not necessary. Continue on, and you’ll be joining the dead shortly.”
Well, crap. This was not going to be the cakewalk I hoped it would be. Fighting one handed would be a bitch. I couldn’t set the glass down, and my balance would be shit. I’d just have to wing it. “I’m not so easy to kill,” I said.
“Easier than you think.” Moira’s tone would have dropped a less stalwart warrior. She crouched in a battle stance, rocking her weight from foot to foot, and twirled the crooked swords in her hands. She didn’t wait for me to charge but ran with inhuman speed across the foyer and into the great room, where I stood like an idiot, awed by the graceful ferocity of her attack. Too bad I had to fight against her instead of alongside her.
Moira definitely had the advantage. She swung her arms with practiced precision, leaving me no choice but to parry her attacks. The force and speed of her movements sent me to the floor, and I hugged the hourglass close to my body, using the katana as a shield as she continued to attack. She lunged at me, aiming her blades for my midsection, and I landed a solid kick to her right hip, sending her stumbling back against the wall. While she collected herself, I launched my body from the floor and attacked, slicing my blade across her arm before she could defend herself.
A shriek that should have broken glass erupted from Moira’s throat, and the smug look she’d worn earlier transformed into one of mindless rage. Someone was a sore loser. Maybe that was why Reaver didn’t keep board games in the house. The break in her attack had given me the advantage, though, and positioned me close to the door. I took off running as if ghoulish fiends were chasing me, but that bitch was faster than any undead creature I’d ever seen in the movies. All I knew was one second she leaned against the wall favoring her injured arm, and the next she had me by the hair, dragging me through the open door and back into the house. I used her movement for momentum, slamming her back against a wall, but froze when I felt the cold barbs of her blade resting just below my jaw.
“No!” Reaver shouted from the top of the stairs. “Moira, you can’t!”
Her labored breath caressed my cheek, and her grip on me tightened, the steel biting farther into my skin. I felt the trickle of blood and the fusing of my skin as it healed. Reaver approached us slowly, his arms held out imploringly before him as he calmed his sister with soothing tones.
“Moira, let her go.”
What. The. Hell? My eyes widened in disbelief as I took in the worried expression on Reaver’s face. How could he possibly be concerned for the person who stole from him? If I’d found someone in my apartment stealing my stuff, the fucker would have been toast. Believe it.
“She’s not worthy,” Moira said, her voice shaking with rage. “Let me kill her or we’ll all suffer for her stupidity.”
Not the first time I’d been called stupid in the last few days. I drove my elbow into Moira’s stomach, eliciting a grunt of pain. She tightened her grip, grabbing my hair so hard, I felt strands pulling loose from my scalp. “I want her blood!”
“Get in line,” I seethed. “Let me go and I won’t separate your head from your shoulders.”
“A bold statement, indeed,” Moira laughed, “considering it’s my sword about to draw your blood.”
Reaver might be able to make some ground with his sister. At least, I hoped so, because if he didn’t, I was pretty sure Moira was going to chop me into bite-sized pieces. But before he got his chance, the front door blew off its hinges, and shit really hit the fan.
The force of the impact nearly knocked Moira off her feet, and me along with her. Splinters of wood and shards of glass littered Reaver’s pristine floors-probably the biggest mess the place had ever seen. Tyler strode through the gaping hole he’d left in the front of Reaver’s house, his hazel eyes glazed over with rage and his expression no less murderous.
“Let her go,” he said, power emanating from every syllable. “Now.”
Moira shrank against the wall, her grip on my hair becoming loose and the dagger no longer touching, but still hovering near my skin. “You shouldn’t have come here, Jinn.” Moira’s tone became sharp as a razor’s edge. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“She’s mine,” he growled. “Making this one hundred percent my concern.”
How…in…the…hell did he know where to find me? Then again, I’d always suspected our bond gave him an internal Darian tracking system. God, he was more breathtaking than any avenging angel, standing in the midst of the chaos he’d created, armed with nothing more than his good looks. It might not have been the best timing, but it sent my heart to hammering in my chest, and all I wanted to do was strip him bare and taste every inch of his flesh.
Reaver seemed to share my opinion. His eyes roamed freely enough over Tyler’s body, his interest no longer on his sister or me. He took a step forward and then another. But Tyler raised his palm as if to stay Reaver’s progress across the floor. Another surge of power wafted from the spot where Tyler stood, and Reaver stopped dead in his tracks, unable to take another step forward.
Your lover has skills. Jesus, even his thoughts projected in my mind carried a sensual appreciation for Tyler. But if you want him to come out of this in one piece, I’d get him as far away from my sister as possible.
Agreed. If this was going to boil down to a pissing match between that Sidhe witch and Tyler, I had a feeling I’d be less than happy with the outcome. Reaver gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, no doubt agreeing with my assumption. Too bad Moira wasn’t so agreeable.
She tightened her hold on my hair, forcing my head to tilt back. With deadly purpose, she positioned the blade below my left ear, clearly ready to slice me from ear to ear. My eyes met Tyler’s, and through my fear, my guilt, the bitter taste of my deceit, I sensed his anger, his raw power, his determination to keep me safe. God. I so did not deserve him. I love you, I mouthed, knowing damned well Moira’s blade would take my head right off my shoulders in a matter of seconds.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Tyler said to my captor. “Let her go.”
The teeth of Moira’s wicked blade bit into my flesh, and I closed my eyes, unwilling to see my death reflected in Tyler’s face. But before she could send me to my end, Tyler lashed out with a blast of energy so powerful, it sent us both sailing across the room. I waited for the impact, for the jarring of every bone as I hit the floor. I should have known what would happen next: Tyler caught me before I could land.
He held me close, one arm wrapped around my torso, his grip fierce. “Damn it, Darian.” His voice broke as he spoke close to my ear. “Why can’t you ever ask for help?”
Moira pushed herself up from the floor, a gash in her head spilling blood down her temple. She stumbled as she tried to stand, her knees giving out and sending her back to the floor. “She’ll destroy everything we know,” she said from between clenched teeth.
“Trust in Fate, Sister,” Reaver said, still glued to his spot on the floor. His wolfish gaze was locked on mine as Tyler hauled me toward the gaping hole that had once been Reaver’s front door. “Have faith.”
Moira glared at her brother before turning the full force of her hatred on me-or not. Tyler gripped his head, hissing in pain as he dragged us both onto the front porch. That bitch had aimed her Sidhe magic at Tyler, not me. I felt his anguish as he held me, the confusion swirling in his mind and the pain assaulting his body all at once. I’d never had such a strong connection to him before; our bond seemed to fuse us together in the moment. It had to have been Moira all along. She’d been the cause of Tyler’s weird mood swings and illness. She’d been at The Pit. I knew she’d killed that Lyhtan and tried to kill me. The pieces fit too perfectly together. “Tyler,” I said as he pulled me toward the street. “Ty, wait. I’ve got to go back. It’s her!”
My genie wasn’t having it. He held me fast as he murmured a few unintelligible words next to my ear. “No!” I screamed, fighting against him. “Goddamn it, Ty! She’s hurting you! She’s hurting you!”
“Stop,” Tyler said, pulling me farther back. “Leave it, Darian. I’ve got to get you out of here.” His power snaked around me, that same invisible shield that had kept me nice and cozy in the alley behind The Pit. Damn him and his gallantry. He’d die to protect me, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to stop him.
As he dragged me away, Moira appeared from out of the rubble, but before she could come after us, her brother grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. I sent out a thought I knew Reaver would hear. When I see her again, and I will…she’s going to die for hurting what belongs to me.