All those years ago, he’d believed his mate had felt some measure of attraction to him. Now she would be repelled.
Only one thing could return him to his previous form. But to even contemplate it could bring on madness. . . .
The dragon’s watchful gaze was upon him. —If you can learn to manage these rages, what will looks matter? We M?ri?r have a mission, demon. We live lives of service.—
“Is that the point of our unending existences?” Sian’s life seemed to be one long wait, measured by an hourglass that gave up a grain of sand every few centuries. “Is service what makes you rise in the mornings?”
—That and television.—
Sian lifted a brow. “Alas, those two enticements have little effect on me.”
—Then what does affect you?—
“A challenge. I can’t remember the last time an enemy landed a blow against any of us.” The M?ri?r—not even at full strength—continued to rout any opposition with ease. “Our power is vast, but life is long without challenge. I would give my ax to find a worthy opponent.”
Would he ever know a hard-won victory again?
Uthyr shrugged his large wings. —Your thoughts have been grim ever since you learned of your mate’s possible return.—
“I’ve felt this way for some time, but the idea of her resurrection has brought much into glaring relief.”
He’d waited ten thousand two hundred and thirty-four years, three months, and seventeen days for his female to return to him.
What if she truly had? What would happen to him after his vengeance was done?
What would happen to her?
As if it were yesterday, Sian recalled the day he’d met Princess Karinna of Sylvan. He’d been outside the newfound Pando-Sylvan portal when he’d caught her maddening scent from the other side. He’d hurried through the rift to track the thread to its source, suspecting he would find his mate.
The unfiltered sun had stung his eyes, temporarily blinding him. His first sight of heaven had been her face, the first sound her voice. She’d been twenty-four, a practiced flirt, and entrancingly lovely.
He’d been a pup of sixteen. I never stood a chance against her.
He’d trusted in a manipulative, traitorous female and nearly felled a kingdom—
A wave of déjà vu hit him, so strong his body reeled. He could almost scent Kari, as if he were back in Sylvan on that first day so long ago.
How could it be? Did he dream?
His muscles tightened as they did before battle. This was no dream. “By all the dark gods . . .”
Uthyr lifted his snout. —What is it?—
Sian’s lips drew back from his fangs. “The bitch’s scent.”
FOUR
The Happiest Place on Earth
“Hey, somebody want to let me in?” Lila called outside the concealed employee door.
All she wanted was to get back to her apartment and process everything Saetth and N?x had told her tonight. Yet some chucklehead had locked Lila out.
Yanking off her tiara, she waved at the camera above the door. “Yoo-hoo.” This costume dress weighed more than a dozen pounds; she itched to peel it from her tired body. “Hellooo! Fuckers!”
She gazed around. Probably wouldn’t be good if some visitor videoed Cinderella cussing like a sailor. Grumbling, “Still, fuckers,” she started toward another entrance. She was hungry and exhausted, but still keyed up from that meeting.
Carried away in the moment and high on the promise of striking back, she’d told Saetth, “I won’t rest until I discover a way to hurt Abyssian Infernas.” In other words, keep that extraction team at the ready. “I’ll figure out what his weaknesses are and how to exploit them. I’ll do anything I can to destroy him.”
Now doubts about this plan crept in. Too many questions and variables remained. Note to self: be in charge of future political plots or be excluded from them.
Hindsight. Twenty. Whatever.
She peeled off her opera gloves, stuffing them into her secret pocket, then pulled out her hidden phone to order takeout. Her fake “real life” would continue, and she planned to speed-read a new series of how-to books.
Her ears twitched and her fingers paused on the dial screen when a grating screech sounded, like metal on metal. The nearby frog song and insect chatter went silent.
The screech came again. “Is somebody there?” she called, though she knew anyone who’d ever asked that question was already in deep shit.
Quiet answered her. No, no, just my imagination. Still, she pocketed the phone and hastened down the pathway.
Of course she was jumpy. She’d lived in a hypervigilant state for so long, and now she had a capture to anticipate.
Sooner rather than later.
Apparently, she would do anything to get back to Sylvan—even act as a bounty hunter’s quarry in order to infiltrate a primordial demon’s home in hell.
The only problem about waiting for an “infiltration setup”? Lila might be leaving herself vulnerable to the archer— Two women materialized on the path not ten feet from her. Loreans.
One had black hair; the other was a redhead. Both were gorgeous. They wore Sorceri garb—metal bustiers, heavy gold jewelry pieces, and claw-tipped gauntlets.
Had one of them clawed the pathway railing to produce that screech? To spook me? It was working. Lila had no powers to defend herself; her only asset was her speed.
They stood in front of a shimmering portal. On the other side was a huge stone keep. Silken material lay pooled on the floor, as if the Sorceri had tossed it through the rift.
Wait . . . that was Lila’s pink chemise! How had they gotten it from her apartment?
The redhead raised one gauntlet, rapping her claws together. In a sinister voice, she said, “This is the part where you run.”
On it! Lila whirled around, her full skirts whipping from the movement, and darted away.
Sorceri couldn’t trace—teleport—and could never outrun a fey like Lila. If she could reach a group of mortals, the pair would back off.
Her updo came undone. Were her ears visible? She swatted her hair off her face.
Midstride, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. Lost them! Just over a footbridge was a ramp to the main park. She could already hear guests laughing— Her stomach lurched, her feet suddenly above her head. She was tumbling down an embankment. How? She’d never seen . . .
SPLAT.
She landed face-first in a shallow retention pond. Spitting mud, she scrambled to get free, but the muck sucked off her shoes and coated her gown.
The Sorceri strolled to the bridge, laughing as if this was all good-natured fun. The black-haired one said, “Good one, sis. Making the path appear to move. Didn’t you pull a similar illusion when you crashed Rydstrom’s car?”
The redhead chuckled. “It never fails. Why do people always think what they see is real?”
They’d distorted Lila’s vision! She clawed at the embankment, but her bare feet caught in her skirts like spinning tires. She fell on her face again.