Blood Challenge

FORTY-SIX

RULE was examining the way the bars had been fitted into the rock when their next visitor arrived. He was a husky man with black hair streaked dramatically with white near one temple. His long white robe looked striking next to his deeply tanned skin.

He was most definitely not an elf.

“I do hope this isn’t a bad time,” Friar said, smiling.

Rule barely glanced at him. “That’s a new look for you, Robert. You’ve grown quite daring in your fashion choices.”

“I would have dropped by sooner, but I’ve been preparing for the ceremony. They’re almost ready for me.” He bared his teeth in another smile. “If you crowd up to the bars, you’ll be able to watch.”

“What ceremony is this?”

“One in which I am consecrated to her.”

Friar sounded suddenly different—fervent and sincere, like a bridegroom aching for his wedding night, or a jihadist yearning for martyrdom. Rule stopped pretending interest in the bars and looked at his enemy. “She’s converted you, hasn’t she? Or rather, messed with your mind so you have no choice but to serve her. You’re no longer your own man, Robert.”

The barb slid off, unable to penetrate Friar’s zealotry. “Any man would change, faced with such purity. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? Neither her purity, not what it is to be a true man.” Abruptly the naked longing was gone, hidden behind the man’s usual sophisticated gloss. “You’re wasting your time with those bars, you know.”

“Oh? You could just give me the key.”

Friar chuckled. “There is no key. The bars are set with magic, not cement. And it takes magic to open the cell. You are well and truly trapped.”

The words flicked Rule in the place where panic waited. He gave himself the space of a breath to be sure it didn’t show in his voice. “But alive. Were you disappointed when you learned you weren’t allowed to kill me?”

“At first. I admit it. At first I didn’t care for that at all. She deserves full tribute. But I’m only human, sadly shortsighted compared to her. You will keep your life.” He smiled maliciously. “But you will lose everything else. Already you’ve lost your freedom. And your father.”

Rule lifted one brow. “Sure about that, are you?”

“My men went hunting out near Hole-in-the-Wall. If he survived his fight—you call it a Challenge, I believe—if that didn’t kill him, a bullet in the brain will have done the job by now. Tell me, is Lily waiting for you at your clanhome?”

“I’m sure she told me her plans. Pity, but I can’t remember at the moment.”

“I hope she’s gone to see her parents or one of her sisters. I doubt it, but I would prefer that she live awhile longer. I was quite disappointed she wasn’t with you, but the poor thing is injured, isn’t she?”

Anger flowed into Rule—cold anger, settling like ice in his veins. He didn’t speak.

Friar took a step closer. His eyes gleamed with malice and pleasure. “While you’re lying in some other cell in some other realm—no doubt in pain, for you won’t bend easily, will you? Though you won’t be able to hold on to your pride too long. Not with what Rethna can do. He’s got plenty of gado, and he’s learning how to tailor it to his needs. He doesn’t want you unable to Change, you see. He wants you to Change on his command. And fight at his command— dance, kill, fuck—he’ll control you utterly.” Friar paused, savoring the moment. “What, you’re silent? No witticisms?”

“You were speaking of Lily,” he said softly.

“So I was.” Friar smiled. “Such a pretty thing. If she isn’t at your clanhome, I’ll be bringing her here. Have you heard of a drug called Do Me? I have a nice supply. I’ll fuck her right there in that cell. And over on the furs the elves enjoy sleeping on. And anywhere else I want, and she won’t object. She’ll be quite desperately eager, in fact.”

The icy anger built to a flood, washing away the last traces of claustrophobic panic, bringing clarity. He was sliding into certa. A battle state. What Friar said was data, no more and no less. “And if she’s at Clanhome?”

“Ah, well, then, I won’t have the pleasure of getting to know her as intimately as I’d like.” Friar pulled something from the pocket of his loose, robelike dress. “This is a radio transmitter. It won’t transmit well from down here, of course. But after my consecration, I’ll return to my house to celebrate. I’ll push this little button.” He showed it to Rule. “And boom! No more Clanhome. No more Nokolai.”

Toby. Toby was at Clanhome. That one thought loomed so large there was room for no other thought at all. Rule stared at his enemy in silence.

Friar dropped his gaze. It was a quick, involuntary reaction, and he caught himself and looked at Rule again. “I’ll stop by to see you again after the ceremony. You may find me … powerfully changed.” He chuckled at his cleverness and walked away.

As soon as the man was well out of earshot, Rule turned to Benedict to make sure he’d noticed that Friar, in his eagerness to cause maximum suffering, had said too much. First, he didn’t know where Lily was. That was excellent news. Second, if the bars couldn’t be bent or loosened and the lock required magic to open, that left one potential weak spot in their cage. They could concentrate on that.

He subvocalized. “The hinges.”

WHAT kind of a paranoid idiot puts wards at both ends of his secret tunnel?

Lily leaned against the wall of the tunnel, frustrated beyond belief. Cullen had snaked ahead on his belly to examine the ward he’d seen … right at the well-lit exit from the tunnel.

Beyond that, she saw a rocky cavern. And an elf.

The elf had long, flowing hair the color of bluebells. He—or maybe she—wore loose trousers in buttercup yellow with a white sleeveless top. The sword he carried was pretty, too. The four feet of blade she saw was made of some shiny metal—did elves use steel?—and was held steady at his side. Lily couldn’t see his face because his back was to her. He was watching something out of her line of sight.

Rule’s cell, according to Arjenie, who was pressed to the wall beside her. According to the mate bond, too. Lily could feel him there.

Plan A was for Cullen to take down the ward. They’d sneak in, with Cullen and Lily using cover from a couple of boulders near the tunnel. Arjenie would use her Gift to approach the guard nearest the tunnel and knock him out, if she could. Lily would shoot—or shoot at—the blue-haired elf while Cullen raced to the cell, which had to be unlocked magically.

If Cullen couldn’t take down the ward, they’d use Plan B—which looked a lot like Plan A, only without the sneaking in. Arjenie would have to go first. As soon as she knocked out the nearest guard, Cullen and Lily would rush in.

Lily suspected that either way, their plan would fall apart pretty fast. But you go with what you’ve got.

Lily and Arjenie were in deep shadow. Cullen was all too visible up at the tunnel’s mouth. The light in the cavern flashed brighter for a second, turning orange. It had been doing that for a while, changing colors, as if someone was setting off silent fireworks.

There were seven elves in there and one human—Robert Friar. The good news was that none of them seemed to have projectile weapons, according to Arjenie—unless they were really good at throwing knives. More likely they were good at throwing spells. That wouldn’t affect Lily, but Cullen and Arjenie would be vulnerable.

At the moment, Rethna and four of the elves were busy with a major ritual that was supposed to give Friar big magical mojo. That’s what the light show was about. One of the remaining two was the blue-haired guard Lily could see. The second was on guard, too—standing between the mouth of this tunnel and one about twenty feet away.

Lily’s arm ached. Her head ached. Arjenie had been eager to tell her everything, both in whispers and directly. She’d gotten a little “loud” in places.

The elf lord who held Rule and Benedict and the others was one of the ones Arjenie’s father had warned her about. One who dealt in slaves. That’s what he planned for his captives. That’s what he’d be only too happy to do with Arjenie, if he got his hands on her.

Lily wanted to kill him.

That desire was stark and clear in her mind. It wasn’t the muddy wish that some bastard would drop dead, or even the urge to violence, the impulse to strike back, to hurt. She wanted to kill Rethna.

Part of her found this eminently logical. She’d expected to be dealing with Friar and his militia goons. Humans, in other words, who used human weapons and were susceptible to the same, and to human law. This Rethna was near the top of the elf food chain, power-wise. Even away from his territory—sidhe lords drew on their land, their territory, for power—Cullen couldn’t handle him. He’d said so. Not without gambling on mage fire.

Since they didn’t know if any of that RN40 was stored in the cavern, fire was a no-no.

Rethna wasn’t human. As the law stood, Lily could deal with him as if he were one of the creatures that had been blown in by the power winds during the Turning. She could step out there and shoot every elf in the place.

Except, of course, that she couldn’t. Even if she’d been willing to go down that road, she’d be shooting left-handed. Good luck with that.

Did elves know what a gun was? Human perps would see her drawn weapon as a threat. Elves might not. Even if they knew intellectually what a gun did, they hadn’t been watching crime shows and the news all their lives. They wouldn’t react to her weapon viscerally. Made it hard to bluff.

Cullen began wiggling back, staying flat on the ground. Lily waited. Her mouth was dry. Funny. She didn’t feel afraid, but her body thought she was.

Endless seconds later, Cullen reached the shadows where they waited and stood. He whispered, “Looks like we’re going with Plan B.”

Lily looked at Arjenie. It was too dark to see much but a pale blob where her face was. Very softly she whispered, “You okay to do this?”

Arjenie might have nodded. The pale blob moved anyway. “I’m pretty sure I won’t set the ward off.”

Lily leaned close to whisper, “Pretty sure?”

“It’s a really strong ward and I’m a little tired.”

Lily looked at Cullen, but couldn’t see his expression. What choice did they have, though? They had to act before Rethna finished his big ritual. Cullen said that sort of major working could not be put on pause while the elves dealt with intruders. Not quickly, anyway—they’d have to either finish it or ground the energy, which took time.

And it was a lot of energy. They were working directly with the node. “Got your rock?” she whispered at Arjenie.

Another movement of the pale blob.

“Okay. Good luck.”

Cullen wished Arjenie luck his own way, by planting a sudden kiss on her mouth. He whispered something in her ear that Lily couldn’t hear. Then Arjenie was walking toward the tunnel opening. The closer she got, the better Lily could see her. It was hard to believe no one would notice her. She clutched a good-size rock in one hand.

She’d armed the woman with a rock, for God’s sake. But Arjenie had never shot a gun, so—

Arjenie stepped out into the cavern—in a dazzling flash of light.

Shit. No sneaking for anyone—go for surprise. “Go,” Lily said, slapping Cullen on the back. He shot off at a run. Lily was right behind him, her SIG out and ready.

The ward flashed again as Cullen crossed it. It was hellish bright, but she thought he’d veered right. Lily ran straight through it, each footfall sending a bolt of pain from arm to brain. And stopped without taking cover.

She couldn’t shoot straight. She couldn’t fight one-on-one. But she made a damn fine target for spells.

The plan had already disintegrated. Arjenie jogged toward the blue-haired guard, looking scared and determined. Lily didn’t dare try to shoot him—too much chance of hitting Arjenie. She swung her gaze to the other guard just in time to see him doubled over and Cullen’s locked-together fists landing on his neck. He collapsed. She looked at the node-end of the cavern.

Magic prickled over her skin, hot and tight like a sunburn.

Five elves—one in front of the gate, back to the room, arms held out as if embracing the air. His long black hair streamed back as if a wind were blowing. The other four were arrayed on either side of him, two and two. The nearest two knelt, thumping the ground rhythmically. The two closer to the gate stood stock-still, their eyes closed, lips moving.

Friar was in the gate. He hung there, spread-eagled a good foot off the ground, as if he’d been stuck to the air with superglue. Wavy ripples of distortion flowed over him. Lily couldn’t see his face clearly, but it looked like he’d frozen in midscream.

Light lanced from the up-thrust hands of the black-haired elf directing the show. Blue light this time. He made a perfect target, standing there motionless with his back to her. She couldn’t accept that invitation. Kill him now and there was no telling what would happen with all the power he was handling.

A thud-rattle sound came from the barred cell twenty feet or more to her left.

The two sitting elves stood smoothly, in unison. One pointed off to Lily’s side. One pointed at her.

She pointed back with her gun. “Freeze!” she yelled, even as a creepy-crawly sort of magic swept over her and she sited … squeezed …

Off to her right, Cullen screamed. Her hand jerked the tiniest bit as she snapped off the shot. The blast of sound was ungodly loud. Her target didn’t fall. She darted a glance to her right. Cullen was on the ground, body and face contorted in pain.

The other elf was still pointing at him. Shoot that bastard, then. Lily moved her arm smoothly. Thirty feet wasn’t all that far. She could do this. She squeezed.

Hot damn. She hit him. He looked as surprised as she felt as his hand dropped and red bloomed just below his collarbone.

“Behind you!!” Rule yelled.

Lily spun. Blue-hair was almost on top of her, with four feet of shiny sword swinging through the air right at her neck.

She ducked and damned if she didn’t hear that blade swoosh through the air way too close to the top of her head. She backed up fast, bringing up her gun up, but Blue-hair was almost as quick as a lupus, sliding toward her in a loose, slinky way, his sword moving in a blur as—

Arjenie tackled him from behind.

He went down face-first, still clutching the sword. Arjenie went down, too, clutching his legs. He must have noticed her finally, because he kicked her off, his foot catching her in the shoulder. Lily darted in and stamped on his sword-hand. Something crunched. She kicked the sword away. He rolled. She aimed. “Freeze, asshole!”

Faceup now, he pointed at her, muttering something through lips white with pain. That prickly-sunburn magic rolled over her again. She ignored it and kicked him in the ribs. “Back on your belly.”

His eyes went wide. He stared at her in disbelief.

Shoot him. But she didn’t. Couldn’t put a bullet in his brain with him staring at her. She swung the muzzle to point at his shoulder, squeezed. That would keep the bastard from pointing at people, anyway.

She caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and spun.

The elf she’d missed had raced across the cavern while she dallied with Blue-hair. He bent smoothly as he ran, grabbed the sword from the ground, and spun as he brought it around.

“Gesundheit!” Cullen yelled.

The elf sneezed. And sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed. Lily took aim, but in spite of the paroxysm of sneezes, he kept moving—not all that smoothly anymore, but he wouldn’t hold still. And he kept hold of the sword. He couldn’t see well because his eyes were red and streaming, but he moved too fast for her to risk a shot, and then he was between her and the cage where they’d locked up Rule and the others. And then she couldn’t shoot, dammit.

Behind her, Cullen cursed. She couldn’t look over her shoulder to see what was wrong, not with elf-boy twirling that sword at her. Sunburn magic prickled over her again and she knew one of the other elves was trying for her. Dammit, weren’t any of them staying up front to help Rethna with his magic?

She backed up, wanting to get where she could see the other end of the room, but sword-boy came after her, using his blade to steer her. She caught a glimpse of Arjenie a few feet away rising to her knees, clutching her shoulder, tears streaming. Sword-boy kept himself between her and the cage so she couldn’t shoot. He’d figured out guns way too fast.

Behind him in the cage, Benedict crouched in a miserably bent-over way to avoid the low, low roof—and landed a perfect side-kick where the gate was joined to the bars. Thud-rattle. She realized she’d been hearing that sound repeatedly as she ducked a sword stroke, danced back, and watched Benedict do it again.

Something snapped. Rule and Paul and Lucas seized the door then, grabbing it and twisting, and the metal shrieked—

“Lily!” Arjenie screamed.

She glanced quickly to her right. A yellow-haired elf ran at her with a big knife. She snapped off a quick shot—missed, dammit, but he’d swerved—swung her gun back around to the sword-wielding elf—

Who collapsed beneath two hundred pounds of snarling wolf, who seized his neck between his jaws and twisted. Blood flew.

The cage’s gate lay on the ground. Wolves poured out. One—Rule!—it was Rule—launched himself at the yellow-haired elf. The other three raced for the front of the room.

Cullen’s voice came from behind a tumble of rock. “If they point, get the hell out of the way!”

Lily stood there and panted, suddenly aware of how winded she was, how much her arm hurt, and how shaky and tired her left arm had grown. She let it fall to her side. Couldn’t shoot now … and wouldn’t have to. There was only one elf left, chanting silently in support of Rethna, who still stood with his back to the room. To the wolves racing for him.

Friar collapsed to the ground and lay motionless.

The chanting elf’s eyes opened.

Rethna turned.

Two wolves leaped for him. He held out both hands as if his palms could halt them.

They did. The wolves halted in midair—hung there for a split second—then sailed backward several feet to land hard. He waved at the third wolf, a casual flick of his hand. That wolf—she thought it was Benedict—froze as if he’d been turned to a statue.

Rethna started toward her. He should have been swaying, exhausted from such major magical work. He looked dewy fresh.

Good news. Now she could shoot the bastard. Lily lifted her weapon.

Rethna smiled and twiddled his fingers. The metal turned instantly red-hot. Lily cursed and dropped the gun.

A ball of fire zipped out of a tumbled piled of rocks. Dammit, Cullen, we agreed—but before Lily could finish the thought, Rethna’s upheld palm stopped the fireball in midair. Rethna kept walking. The fireball quivered—then started inching toward him again.

Rule and the wolf who’d killed Sword-guy streaked toward Rethna, zigzagging unpredictably.

Rethna continued to hold one palm up to the fireball. His other hand flicked the air in the general direction of Rule-wolf. He froze in midstride. The other wolf leaped.

Rethna’s one remaining attendant shouted something, his hands flying through some spell. The wolf burst as if he’s swallowed a grenade, blood and gobbets of flesh flying everywhere.

Rethna looked back at the other elf, frowning. The elf fell to his knees, babbling what had to be an apology. Blood and nasty bits stuck to Rethna’s pretty clothes. Maybe he didn’t like getting dirty. He spoke in that musical language, then glanced at the fireball still creeping closer. He snapped his fingers.

It vanished.

Lily’s heart pounded so hard she felt sick. She started toward Rethna.

His eyebrows rose. “You must be the mate. A sensitive, I’m told.” One of the wolves he’d sent tumbling stirred. Flick. The wolf froze. That left one wolf unfrozen, still lying motionless where he’d fallen. Just to be sure, Rethna aimed a flick at him, too. “Friar wants you. I’ve forgotten your name. What is it?”

“Call me Dirty Harry’s best friend.” Her SIG lay behind her on the ground. Her clutch piece, though, was in her sling—the snub nose Isen had loaned her. It wasn’t accurate at a distance. She wasn’t accurate at a distance, and the frozen Rule-wolf statue was too close to Rethna for her to take any chance of missing. So she’d get nice and close. She rubbed her right arm as if it hurt—it did—and slid her hand just inside the sling, still rubbing. Now if someone—anyone—was still able to move and distract him—

A reddish wolf raced out from the tumble of rocks, moving so fast the eye could scarcely track him.

Rethna glanced that way. Flick. Cullen froze.

Lily shot the elf lord.

The black stone on his chest glowed. He kept walking. “You’ve cost me quite a bit. Fortunately, you’re worth quite a bit. Sensitives are—”

She squeezed the trigger again. Again. The black stone flashed with each shot, and Rethna kept coming. Then her gun flashed hot, crazy hot, and she had to drop it and he was only five feet away now, smiling faintly as if it amused him to be shot at.

“—extremely rare,” he said, stopping. “Or I may keep you and sell your blood and breed you. Unless she requires you, in which case you will be very unhappy for a long time.”

Lily glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. She kept looking straight ahead. “Do you know where sensitives come from?”

“No.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Dragons.” It was Arjenie she’d glimpsed—a grim and battered Arjenie who limped heavily, had one arm hanging down as if disabled, and held a nice, big rock in her other hand. “My grandfather won’t like it if you take me away. I’m studying with him.”

“You bluff poorly. There’s no dragon who—”

Arjenie smashed that rock on his head.

He swayed. Staggered. Saw Arjenie—his eyes widened—and backhanded her. She fell next to a rock the size of a hassock, nearly hitting her head on the stone. And as he struck and Arjenie fell, a tiny woman with purple black skin sprang out from behind that rock and latched onto his leg. And bit him.

His eyes went big with fear or astonishment. “Dya,” he said. Oh, yes, that was fear in his voice. He said a couple more words in that liquid tongue before his eyes rolled back in his head. His knees buckled. As he sank to the ground the tiny woman—no more than four feet high—clung tightly to his leg with her arms and mouth.

The last elf still standing shrieked and shrieked again. He started in with the gestures. As he did, reality split sharply into other behind him. Where a wolf had stood frozen, a man—naked and snarling as if he were still wolf—stood.

But only for a split second. Then Rule leaped at the lone elf and seized his head in a two-handed grip and snapped his neck.

Lily breathed. Just breathed for a moment, her heartbeat still hasty. A little tremor of nerves ran through her. She looked around and saw wolves starting to stir. With Rethna dead, the freeze thing was … no, that was an assumption. Better make sure.

She knelt beside him. The staring eyes and vacant face said dead, but she laid her fingers on his throat to be sure. No pulse. The little dark-skinned woman—she was naked—finally released his leg. She looked up and smiled at Lily … not a human smile, not in that face. Her eyes were huge and lovely, a soft violet, too widely spaced for human. But it was her short muzzle that really tipped her into otherness. And the fangs protruding from it. “You’re Dya,” Lily said.

Dya nodded—a very human gesture. “Now the Queens will not have to send the hellhounds of the Hunt to kill him. You will be glad of that,” she informed Lily, and turned to check on her sister.

Hellhounds? Lily shook off that question and looked at Rule. “Who was it he killed?”

“Paul.” Rule’s voice was harsh, his eyes still way too black, as if he needed to snap more than one neck. He raised his voice. “Change.”

Here, here, and there, wolves slid into the Mobius-strip spin of Change. Suddenly Lily realized someone was missing. She shoved to her feet and looked at the gate. No white-robed man lay sprawled in front of it now. “Friar,” she said urgently. “We’ve got to catch him.”

“Shit,” Rule said. “He’s got a radio transmitter that will set off explosives at Clanhome. Benedict—”

“S’okay,” Arjenie said fuzzily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small metal box. “I picked his pocket. After he told you that, I followed him and picked his pocket. Took out the batteries, too, to be safe.”

Relief swamped Lily. She felt dizzy, giddy, exhausted. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Cynna was going to Find the explosives, but best if they don’t get triggered. No telling how long it might be taking her and Cody to get them removed.”

“Rule.” That was Cullen’s voice, strained. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What?”

Cullen was crouched, magnificently naked, where he’d fallen as wolf, staring at the vague distortion that marked the gate. “The gate. Rethna tampered with it for his ritual. He didn’t get it put back right. Almost, but not quite. It’s … ah, shit.” He sprang to his feet. “We’ve got to get out. We’ve got to get out now.”