Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5)

Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5) Page 49

“Fuck you, cunt,” was all Graeme said.

“Um, it’s actually pronounced cunt-uph,” I replied, helpfully, as Blondie crossed the space to where Griffin kept Graeme pinned to the bed. She knelt in front of him, motioning for Anyan to hold his head up higher. Then she met the incubus’s eyes, and I felt her reach out for Graeme with her power and her mind.

I knew Blondie hated doing the mental mojo on people—stripping out of them what she needed to know. But considering that Graeme did something far worse to his victims by making them crave his abuse, I couldn’t help but feel that this time the ends more than justified the means.

“Tell me. What. You know,” the Original ground out, her power expanding until I had to throw up shields to protect Daniel and me from being knocked over by it.

Graeme didn’t stand a chance.

“She wants me to watch and report back what I see,” he said, in an eerie, distant voice.

“Who does?” asked Blondie.

“Our Red Queen,” Graeme answered.

“What are you watching for?”

“Signs of enemy movement. Rebel or Alfar. Anyone who would stand in our way.”

“In your way for what?”

“The relics. The last remaining pieces of the White. When we have that, we can bring her consort back to her.”

I glanced at Anyan, but he was too busy staring at the incubus.

“That’s not what you really feel,” Blondie said, after a full minute of staring at Graeme in silence. “Tell us what you feel.”

Like chicken tonight? My brain murmured much to my libido’s amusement and my virtue’s chagrin.

Graeme gave the Original a murderous stare, but his mouth moved anyway.

“Jarl is unworthy,” said the incubus, his voice snarled with rage. “He doesn’t want his place as White, and he doesn’t deserve it. He tries to betray our queen daily. He is a traitor to our cause.”

“Is there someone else you had in mind, to be the White, other than Jarl?” asked Blondie, wryly.

Graeme didn’t answer, and I felt Blondie’s power push harder.

“Me,” the incubus spat, eventually. “I would be her consort. We would rule the world…”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Graeme’s furious eyes shot towards me, but the anger in them only made me laugh harder.

“You idiot,” I said. “She’s not just the Red, she’s also Morrigan. She’d never choose a mere incubus, an essence drinker, for a consort. Only an Alfar would do. You must know that.”

Graeme’s eyes narrowed, but I knew he had to realize what I said was the truth. Morrigan might be all mixed up with the Red, but she was still Morrigan.

I heard a grunt behind me, and I turned to see that Lyman had joined the party. He was nodding his head at what I said about Alfar purists, and for once he wasn’t smiling.

“So how is Morrigan planning on gaining the relics?” Blondie asked, and Graeme’s eyes flashed back to the Original. I felt his power push against hers, but he was no match. She overwhelmed him quickly and his gaze turned inward as he answered without intention.

“She’ll come in as a penitent. She thinks you won’t stop her. She thinks you won’t risk revealing more of yourselves in front of the humans. She thinks she can walk in and take the relic, if it’s low key and public, and that you’ll let her leave with it, hoping to fight her where you won’t be observed.”

We all looked at each other, then Graeme, in disbelief.

“Is that it?” asked Griffin, eventually. “She will refrain from using that army she has amassed?”

Graeme, back to himself, stared at us with hatred. His silence answered our question.

“It’s sort of genius,” I said. “She knows we’re scrambling, after her last public outing. And she thinks we’ll do anything to keep any more proof from being aired. I’m assuming the arrival of the relic will be well publicized?”

Daniel nodded his head. “Coverage by all the national networks, and quite a few international ones, as well.”

“So how do we keep her from succeeding?” I asked, rhetorically. No one answered.

“Thanks, Graeme,” Blondie said, ruffling the incubus’s blonde hair pseudo-affectionately as she plopped down beside him on the bed. “Now what do we do with you?”

For his part, the incubus looked crushed. He knew he’d given away the farm.

“I’ll guard him,” Lyman volunteered, glaring at Graeme malevolently. Blondie gave the wyvern-halfling a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Lyman,” she said. Lyman’s glasses flashed as he nodded to her. “Now, I’ll apparate the prisoner, if you guys can just follow…”

“Why are you doing this?” Graeme asked, suddenly defiant again.

“Imprisoning you?” Blondie asked. “Because you’re the bad guy. Of course, we’ll have to figure out a way to control your tongue if your superiors call for a report…”

“Really, why are you doing this?” Graeme asked. “You’re all going to die. You realize that, right?”

“That’s enough,” Blondie said, sharply. But Graeme was on a roll.

“Easy for you to say, Original,” said the incubus. “You’re the only one who’s ever fought the Red and the White and lived. Every other warrior, even those who defeated them, died. That’s what’s going to happen to all of you. Even if you do win, even if you destroy the Red and the White, you will also die. It’s happened to every other creature stupid enough to take them on. You’re going to your deaths…”

Anything more that Graeme had to say was cut off as Blondie apparated him, Lyman, and herself out of the room with an audible pop.

That left the rest of us to stand in silence, Graeme’s words echoing in our ears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Not wanting to put a damper on the evening, I tried for bluster.

“Graeme and his death threats. They’re like Elvis and his pelvis.”

Anyan and I were back at our hotel, having an early night in preparation for the arrival of the relics tomorrow. I was standing by the window, fiddling with the neck of my black, V-necked, long sleeved T-shirt, watching as he unlaced his heavy boots. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, right underneath the window, and when he leaned back the soft evening sun shadowed his brooding features. When his boots were off, he leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and wiggling his socked toes.

“At least Elvis had good hair,” he said, eventually.

I moved from the window to the edge of the bed nearest the barghest.

Anyan stood, then took a long stride that brought him to me. The room, after all, was very small and he was very big. He sat down, cuddling me close.

“Just because Graeme’s right about the history doesn’t mean we’re all going to die,” Anyan said, cutting to the chase in typically barghestian fashion. “Besides, there’s only been one other champion, and she lived.”

“But what about you? And Blondie? And all the rest? I’ve got the ax, but you guys have nothing.”

Anyan smiled. “I wouldn’t say I have nothing, Jane.”

“I know. I didn’t mean it that way. But it’s hard not to worry.”

His only response was to kiss my forehead. Wanting more, I raised my mouth to his and when his lips found mine it was all I could do to remember we were having a serious talk.

“I believe what I told everyone the other night. I do think we have to fight, and I know we can’t just run away and avoid this. It’ll come after us.”

Anyan nodded, his hand finding the nape of my neck to knot my hair into a rough queue. By that point, I knew what was coming, but I still shuddered in pleasure when he tugged, none too gently.

“And I think I’m ready to be a hero now.”

“You are?”

“Yup. I think I get it. It’s about doing what I gotta do, not just because I have the ax, but because I can.”

“That’s deep.”

“No, it’s kinda stupid, but it’s true,” I said, laughing.

Anyan chuckled, pulling away just enough to look me in the eyes.

“So you’re okay?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m still terrified of the whole situation. Scared I’ll let you down. Scared I’ll do the wrong thing. Scared it’ll all go to shit. But there’s only one thing that really bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

I took a deep breath, finding my nerve. “That we haven’t even had sex yet.”

Anyan’s lips twitched, but his expression was as predatory as it was amused.

“That is one situation that’s easily remedied.” His voice was husky.

Suddenly shy, I gave him a long side-eye. “Anyan Barghest,” I said, my own voice tight with a combination of nervousness and lust, “are you suggesting we find a wardrobe?”

“Why do we need a wardrobe?” he asked, rhetorically, as he half-lifted, half-pulled me so we were lying, him hovering over me disconcertingly, “when we have this lovely bed?”