“Do you think he’s managed to get it out of Vegas?” Oakley spoke up.
Syndra nodded. “I would actually be surprised if he hadn’t already distributed it to other venues.”
“The important thing is to disrupt the flow of the Rapture so it can’t make it to any of its destinations,” Cush explained. “Once we’ve neutralized that process we can focus on making sure the Rapture that’s already available is destroyed.”
“And how exactly will we do that?” Elora frowned.
“We could phone in a recall to the FDA letting them know that any and all production of the Rapture in circulation is contaminated and needs to be destroyed immediately. I’m sure we can manage to get some of our elves into the system to oversee the process to makes sure it is all taken care of.”
“It sounds so simple when you put it like that.” Oakley let out a sigh. “But for some reason I have a feeling that none of this is going to go according to plan.”
Cush gave him a wolfish smile. “Where would the fun in easy be?”
“You consider this fun?” Oakley’s eyes widened.
Elora let out a groan as she flopped back on the bed. “UGH, don’t get him started. He was raised to be a warrior; it’s in his blood, blah, blah, freaking blah.”
Cush chuckled. “Perhaps, hunting dark elves is an acquired taste.”
“Regardless of what it is,” Lisa said as she stood up, “it will require energy. So” ―she waved the boys off toward their room― “off with you two and let’s call it a night.”
Elora didn’t move from her prone position on the bed but she did open her eyes when she felt soft fingertips tracing her lips. Cush hovered over her looking at her as if she’d single-handedly saved the human race.
“What’s that look for?” she asked him unable to stop herself from raising her own hand up to trace his strong jaw.
His full lips lifted ever so slightly. “It’s because of you, my Chosen,” he whispered. “I’m just in awe of you.”
“Because I flop so gracefully on a bed when I’m whining about you and your, ‘I’m a warrior hear me roar’, bit?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, that and many, many more reasons.” He leaned down as his large hand cupped her jaw. “Sleep good, Little Raven.” His lips pressed against hers but were gone much too quickly. “Sweet dreams.” His voice rumbled in her mind. She grinned up at him as he gave her lips one last gentle touch and then left the room.
“I thought I was going to have to grab the fire extinguisher.” Syndra’s voice popped the bubbled that had enveloped Elora in her own little world with Cush.
“What?” she asked as she rolled off of the bed needing to brush her teeth before she could crawl into bed and let sweet oblivion take her to a place where she would surely dream of her warrior.
“What do you mean, what?” the light elf queen snorted. “The tension between you two is drawn as tight as my best archer’s bow. Too many more times spent absorbed in each other like that and one of you is going to snap.”
“And pray tell, what will happen then?” Elora watched Syndra from the mirror where she was putting the toothpaste on her toothbrush.
“I got one word for you—rabbits.”
Syndra’s remark had Elora spitting the mouthful of toothpaste all over the mirror in front of her. “Crap,” she muttered as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grabbed one of the folded towels to wipe off the mirror.
Lisa was laughing as she pulled the comforter back on the bed she would share with Elora. “She just likes to get a reaction,” she told her daughter. “If you’d ignore her she’d eventually get bored.”
“It’s a little hard to ignore her when she’s talking about Cush and me and rabbits. Doesn’t that disturb you just a little, Lisa?”
“I’m learning to think of other things when you and your mate’s attraction is brought up, like roadkill guts and dog vomit. Those seem to really help me avoid images that some” ―she looked at Syndra― “try to suggest.”
Elora climbed into the other side of the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She tried not to hum happily as she snuggled down. “Good to know you’ve worked out a system,” she told her mom as her eyes drifted closed.
“I don’t understand what the big deal is. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Syndra muttered under her breath as she snapped her fingers, causing all of the lights to go off at the same time and plunging the room into blissful darkness.
Elora’s mind drifted in a haze on the edge of sleep as she thought about Cush. Syndra was right to a certain degree. The attraction between them was growing stronger. It was harder and harder to deny and she wondered if being in Las Vegas was going to make it even more difficult since sin city called to her dark half. It whispered to her of all the pleasures she could have if she’d only let go and give in to her desires. Even laying there in a hotel in Colorado, simply thinking of the city and all its glittering glory and promises of fulfillment had her darker half stirring. Elora truly hoped she had the strength to keep from giving in to the desires that were not necessarily good for her.
And if I’m not strong enough, I ask the Forrest Lords to please make Cush strong enough for the both of us, she thought as she finally succumbed to sleep.
Cassie stretched her arms above her head and then bent at the waist as she tried to loosen muscles and joints made stiff after having spent so long in the vehicle. Once they’d finally left her house, they’d driven for what seemed like forever and had finally reached the sign declaring that they’d entered Louisiana. It had been a few hours since their last gas stop, and Cassie had been asleep so she hadn’t gotten a chance to get out and give her cramped limbs a break.
The night air was muggy and warm, causing her neck to sweat despite the lack of the sun. Crickets chirped in the fields surrounding the gas station which was the only thing giving off light for as far as she could see. A wry smile tipped her lips as she realized that it was the perfect setting for a horror flick murder scene. On the tail end of that thought she jumped when large hands encircled her waist.
“Jumpy, Beautiful?” Trik’s voice trailed over her neck like warm honey.
“I was in the middle of writing a murder scene in my head that takes place at this rather nice establishment,” she said dryly and as though her heart wasn’t trying to beat its way out of her chest.
“Are we talking gory, body parts flying murder scene or something more along the lines of the quiet assassin who slits his victims’ throats before they ever know he’s around?”
Cassie turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. One eyebrow rose slowly as she narrowed her eyes. “You were supposed to say something like, ‘Don’t worry, Beautiful, I won’t let any scary boogeymen murder you.’ ”
She could tell he was trying to hide a smile when he responded. “I kind of figured it went without saying at this point. I mean” ―he pointed to himself― “dark elf assassin slash king.” Trik gave a shrug and said, “I even have a shirt that says, I’m kind of a big deal.”
That made Cassie laugh. She remembered when he had worn that shirt to her school. That seemed like years ago but it was only months. Trik saw the sudden change in her mood and pulled her tightly against him.
“Talk to me, Cass. Tell me what I can do to make this easier?” His mind was wide open to her and she could tell that he was hurting for her just as deeply as she was hurting over the capture of her parents. Cassie wished she could tell him how to fix it. He just needed to fix it, or at least that’s how he saw it in his mind. But until they got her parents out of Tarron’s hands, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to make it easier.
She was about to say she was sorry but he cut her off. “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the fool for thinking I could somehow make this less painful. It’s been a long time since I had parents; I’ve forgotten what the attachment was like.”
Trik tilted her chin up so that she was l
ooking up into his silver eyes. His dark hair was unbound and framed his handsome face. He was beautiful, but masculine in only the way a dark elf could be. Even though he’d given up his dark elf ways, there was still an air of danger that surrounded him. He was powerful, deadly, and yet he looked at her as though she was the first flower of Spring. “You do make it easier,” she told him.
“I should have been able to keep them safe so that you wouldn’t have to be going through this at all.”
“Trik,” Cassie sighed. “You may be the elf king, but that doesn’t make you infallible.”
“Says who?” he asked in all seriousness.
She laughed.
“We’re ready when you two are,” Tamsin called from a few feet away.
Trik took her by the hand and started leading her back to the SUV. “I did manage to do something right,” he said as she walked beside him.
“What’s that?”
“Well you haven’t been dismembered by the boogeyman, so,” he said drawing out the last word with a shrug.
Cassie squeezed his hand. “True enough, quiver boy.”
“You know you could pick a different nickname,” Trik grumbled as he opened the door for her.
“Give me something better than quiver boy,” Cassie said as she buckled her seat belt.
Before he shut the door Trik leaned in close and whispered, “I have given you plenty to work with, wife.”
Cassie knew she was blushing as he walked around the front of the vehicle to climb in the driver’s seat. She had walked right into that one.
“We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Trik announced as he started the engine.
“What are we going to do once we get there? How will we find him?” Cassie asked.
“We won’t have to find him. He will find us,” Tamsin spoke from behind her.
Cassie glanced over her shoulder at him. She felt a shiver of unease slide down her spine.
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” she muttered under her breath as her eyes were drawn to the darkness beyond her window. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. She knew she was going to need all the sleep she could get.
Rest Beautiful, she heard Trik’s voice in her mind at the same time she felt his hand wrapped around hers. Dream of all the babies you will one day give me.
She let out a choked laugh but didn’t open her eyes. You’re awfully confident.
She could feel his smugness as his thoughts intruded into hers. The Trik, pun intended, is to find what you’re good at, and then do it a lot. And baby, you are what I’m good at.
The laugh that bubbled up out of her felt good. Yes, quiver boy, you are.
Tarron stood just inside the small cabin door. The shack was surrounded by swamplands. Tall trees, bathed in moss, loomed over it and murky waters full of hidden predators swayed languidly around the stilts the cabin was built on. He let the night wrap around him as his form became one with the shadows.
“What do you want this girl for?” The thick Cajun accent would have been hard for most to understand but he had known the priestess for a very long time.
Tarron’s head didn’t turn when the old woman stepped from the doorway onto the porch. He heard the old rocking chair creak as she eased her worn body into it. She would wait for his answer. That was the frustrating thing about the old ones. They didn’t have anywhere to be that they hadn’t been already so they weren’t in any hurry for anything, be it conversation or action. She would wait patiently until she finally got her answer.
After several minutes of just the sounds of the swamp serenading them, Tarron finally spoke. “She is my Chosen, priestess Chamani.”
The priestess clucked her tongue at him. “Come now, we both be knowing that your lady passed on a long time ago.”
“We also both know that some souls don’t pass on, Chamani. They simply wait for their next chance.”
The rocking chair began a steady creaking as she began to rock slowly. The rhythm of the chair seemed to blend in with the sounds around them making an eerie symphony.
“This girl, she gonna be fine with being your female?”
Tarron turned to face her. His eyes narrowed on the old woman. He wasn’t trying to intimidate her. There was no point in that; she was powerful in her own right. Their magic wasn’t the same but she would be able to hold her own no matter the wrinkles that lined her leathery skin.
She let out a slow breath. “I ain’t judging boy, calm down.”
He almost laughed at the boy comment. Tarron hadn’t been a boy in a very, very long time. He couldn’t even remember a time when he didn’t shoulder the worries of a man. No, he wasn’t a boy but, perhaps, to one such as Chamani, he might still be seen as such. Tarron had no idea how old the priestess was, but he could feel the power that radiated off of her and power—that kind of power—came with age and experience.
“Why do you ask, old woman?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against the crooked railing of the porch. He felt the wood give a little beneath him, but it didn’t break under his weight.
“Spells be tricky business. They tend to have a mind of their own if in the receiver ain’t to welcome on it. Not saying I can’t manage it.” She shrugged.
Tarron thought about Cassie’s parents who were still tied up at the old Victorian house that he’d turned into a makeshift lab. No, she wasn’t going to be fine with being his female, but she would do it to protect her parents. He’d thought about just getting her reacquainted with Rapture before deciding to come to the Voodoo priestess, but he had quickly come to the conclusion that he didn’t want a drunken Chosen by his side.
“I have something she wants to keep safe,” he told the old woman. “She will accept the magic.”
Chamani continued to rock in her chair, wrapping an old, worn shawl tight around her bony shoulders. The night wasn’t cool and yet she shivered. The priestess turned her head sharply to the left as if she’d heard something he did not. All of the color leached from her eyes and her body stilled. The white orbs stared at something that Tarron couldn’t see. As if the swamp also sensed a presence, the steady cacophony of noises around them suddenly died down, and they were left surrounded by an unnatural silence. He didn’t interrupt her, though his body tensed with the urge to know what she was seeing. There was no point in asking. She would tell him when the vision had past, or when she was good and ready.
“What you seek does not belong to you,” her voice crooned out in an accent that was not her own. The usual Cajun accent was gone, replaced by a formalness that this priestess had never known. Tarron straightened and pushed away from the rail. He didn’t step toward Chamani but shifted his body so he was directly facing her. And then he waited.
“She is pure and the light surrounds her. The darkness that owns you can never touch her. All that you want, you had at one time, but now you attempt to take that of another. If you continue down this path, the destruction that you cause will ripple across more than just one generation. Any offspring you bear with her will be that of an unsanctified union. They will have limitations that will make them vulnerable. They will be unwelcome in her world and seen as an abomination in yours. Yet, if you take what is not yours by force, one of your offspring will arise and have power that will rival the King. There will be nothing to stop him from destroying the world as you know it to be now.” The old woman paused as her head turned slowly to face Tarron. His heart was pounding like a steel drum inside his chest, and he could feel the vibrations all the way to his bones. When the milky orbs met his, he didn’t flinch away from her gaze.
“Will you continue down this path, Tarron of the dark elves? Is this your choice?” The smooth voice seemed so wrong coming out of the wrinkled and timeworn face of the priestess. And yet he knew it wasn’t the priestess that he spoke with; it was one of the Voodoo gods.
If he said yes, that this was his choice, then he would one day face the wrath of the Forest Lords for his treache
ry, not that he and Lorsan didn’t already have things to answer for when it came to their choices. But this, this was something else entirely and he knew it―deep, deep down he knew. Cassie was of his Chosen’s bloodline, but she belonged to Triktapic. If he took her from the king, he would be tearing apart a union that had been blessed by their creators.
“What will become of Triktapic?” he asked the priestess.
“He still has his free will. There are many paths open to him. The female is a part of him now and to remove her would be like taking his lungs and then telling his body to continue to breathe. His path might be further into the light, or it might lead him down into a darkness that even he didn’t know existed. It is not for us to say what his path will be. I ask you again. Is your choice the female that is not yours?”
“SHE IS MINE!” Tarron snarled. “She is mine. The blood of my Chosen runs through her veins. The very DNA that makes up her body is the same that made up that of the woman who should have been by my side for eternity. I am owed this!”
“You are owed only that which you have earned or that which you take,” the Voodoo lord responded.
“Then, yes,” Tarron growled. “This is the path I have chosen. She is mine and I will claim her. Survival of the fittest, isn’t that the world we live in? She belongs with the male who is strong enough to keep her.”
“So be it.” The priestess’s head fell forward and it looked as if the air had been sucked out of her like a deflated balloon. Tarron didn’t move closer to her but waited for her to recover from the brief possession.
Her head slowly rose and her eyes were once again clear. “I have been instructed to assist you, but it will cost you.”
“What do you require?”
“The blood of three generations. Your first child, your first grandchild and your first great-grandchild. Each of them must come to me at the appointed time and serve the Voodoo lords for three years. During that time, any ability they might have from your Elvin blood will be subdued until such a time as they have completed their service.”