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It was a long wait. Jethro paced the terrace outside the banquet hall a dozen times. What the hell was there to talk about? They were either going to pay him or they weren’t. Obviously he hoped they would, but he wasn’t going to lose sleep over it if the answer was no. He had a few alternative offers lined up, none of them particularly exciting. He didn’t need the money for himself. He’d named the sum for the devilry of it, but now the challenge was out there and Jethro had never backed down from one of them. He needed this adrenaline rush...strange considering the entire vampire dynasty was looking to drain his blood. And there was the new threat of the mysterious but incredibly powerful sorcerer and trickster called Iago, who had sworn to kill Jethro, Cal, Lorcan and Stella.
I don’t just need eyes in the back of my head, I need them on both sides, as well. Truth be told, I might already have more adrenaline than I can handle.
Jethro wondered if the Council was taking their time because they wanted to haggle over the price. He shook his head. If that was the case, they could find themselves another mercenary. I’m not a cut-rate guy.
The French doors opened and the little clerk appeared, interrupting his deliberations. “Merlin Caledonius requests your return to the Council table.”
Jethro followed him inside and resumed his previous seat. A glance around the table told him nothing. The faces of the representatives were impassive.
Cal got straight to the point. “The Council has agreed in principle to your proposal to track down King Ivo’s heir and bring him back here to stand against Moncoya. In return, the Council members have agreed to pay you the sum of one million mortal dollars.”
Jethro cast a glance in Vashti’s direction, expecting to see a sulky expression on those perfect features. Clearly she had lost in her attempt to thwart him. To his surprise, she returned his gaze steadily and with serenity. A faerie who was a good loser? He supposed there had to be a first time for everything. He turned his attention back to Cal, who was still speaking.
“We do, however, have one condition.”
Jethro’s brows snapped together. “A condition?”
Cal nodded. “If we are to invest such a huge sum in this venture, we must be absolutely sure we have the right man at the end of it.”
Jethro laughed as his understanding of the words dawned. “I see. You think I might lie low for a month and then present you with an impostor after claiming to have been on a long, tortuous journey?”
Garrick, ever the diplomat, coughed. “You can see how it might be a possibility.”
Jethro grinned appreciatively. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but it’s a great idea. Who thought of it?” He raised a brow, looking directly at Vashti. She returned his gaze without flinching.
“I did.” Her voice was icy.
“You’re in the wrong job, Princess. With a mind as devious as that, you should be planning bank heists or conning old ladies out of their savings.” He turned to Cal. “So what is your condition?”
“The Council wishes to send an observer to accompany you on your mission. Our representative will ensure that the person you bring back to us really is the heir to the faerie crown.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Jethro felt his facial muscles stiffen.
“Then we don’t have a deal.” The implacable note in Cal’s voice left Jethro in no doubt. Negotiating about this condition of theirs wasn’t going to be an option.
He decided to try anyway. “You couldn’t send anyone with me who would have the physical strength to keep up with me on a mission of this sort. Worse than that, I’d end up as a nursemaid to your observer in the middle of a fight. And there will inevitably be fights...particularly if Moncoya finds out what I’m doing.”
“We’ve thought of that. Our chosen observer will have both the strength and skill to keep pace with you and to fight alongside you if necessary.”
A million dollars. He could put up with a wolf or an elf on his heels for that sort of cash, couldn’t he? Hell, he could probably even cope with a vampire. It would be an incentive to get the job done faster. “Okay, I’ll accept your condition.”
There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. Cal shuffled his papers, signaling the end of the meeting. “Very well. I will leave you to make the necessary arrangements with Princess Vashti.”
“Princess Vashti?” What did she have to do with any of this?
The sidhe ring of fire in Vashti’s eyes blazed bright, making the irises appear bluer and icier than ever. There was triumph in their depths; a fact that triggered an uneasy feeling deep in Jethro’s chest. It was his early warning system, a signal that something wasn’t right. His instincts were usually reliable and it seemed they hadn’t failed him on this occasion.
Vashti smiled sweetly. “I am the Council’s observer.”
Chapter 2 (#ulink_8f5a95b8-16f1-5463-94ec-7c878dff76d3)
“You could at least stop sulking long enough to pretend to be happy for your friend.” Vashti’s murmured words earned her a look of intense dislike from Jethro. She bit back a smile and turned to watch the ceremony.
Vashti still found it incredible that Tanzi—her sister had abandoned the title “princess”—was prepared to give up her royal lifestyle and live here on the remote Isle of Spae. She thought back to the days of Moncoya’s rule, prior to the battle that had sent him into hiding. It was hard to believe only months had passed.
Before their father’s exile, Vashti and Tanzi had lived a privileged lifestyle as befitted the daughters of the faerie king. Tanzi, in particular, had embraced her celebrity status. She had been Otherworld’s darling fashion icon, unable to step foot outside her door without being photographed from every angle. Not a day had gone by without some speculation about her clothing, hairstyle or potential marriage partner. Vashti had received similar treatment, although in her case, because she didn’t court attention, it had been to a lesser degree.
Of course, there had been another side to their lives. They were Moncoya’s daughters, Moncoya’s weapons. He had trained them to fight and trained them well. Enja, the mother they never knew—the mother Moncoya had murdered when she’d tried to leave him—had been a Valkyrie. Moncoya’s obsession with warrior women had led him to have his daughters trained by Valkyrie fighters. Vashti and Tanzi were deadly killing machines and Moncoya had used them to intimidate his enemies. We knew no better. Then.
Even though they were twins, they had not been close as they grew up. Looking back, Vashti believed now that Moncoya had deliberately discouraged them from caring too deeply for each other. Divide and rule. That had been his policy toward his daughters as well as his enemies. He had instilled in them a belief that they were above mortal emotion. It was only when he had recently tried to force Tanzi into marriage with the devil that she began to question her own ability to feel. Lorcan Malone, the man she had run to, to escape her father’s plans, had taught her how to love.
“If I can do it, so can you,” Tanzi reasoned.
Vashti remained unconvinced. But one good thing had come out of that whole escapade. They had finally discovered the closeness other siblings shared. Even more than that. They had found they were able to communicate telepathically in the way that was unique to faerie twins.
Vashti was struggling to reconcile this Tanzi with the one she had grown up with. Her sister stood at the water’s edge, her hand clasped in Lorcan’s, while Ailie, the island elder, spoke the words of the simple ceremony. Tanzi’s feet were bare and she wore a plain, white shift dress. Fresh flowers had been woven into the bright gold curls of her hair. Lorcan wore rolled-up jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, and his feet were also bare. The waves lapped at their toes as they spoke their vows. Even Vashti, who found the emotions of others so difficult to read, could sense their love for each other. Next to Vashti, Stella, Cal’s wife, sobbed constantly into her handkerchief, much to the amusement of her husband, who cradled her head against his chest.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stella said when the ceremony ended.
“But it made you cry.” Confused, Vashti fell into step beside her.
The villagers hoisted Tanzi and Lorcan onto their shoulders and carried them in a parade along the path back to the town square where a celebration feast was to be held. The guests followed the laughing, chattering group at a more sedate pace.
Stella caught hold of Vashti’s hand. “These are happy tears. Do you remember when we first met?”
“Yes. I wanted to kill you.”
Stella laughed. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest. We’ve come a long way.” Stella nodded to where Lorcan and Tanzi reached across from their respective perches on the villagers’ shoulders and, laughing, managed to grasp each other’s hand. “I want what Tanzi has for you, Vashti. I want you to feel it all, too. One day, I want to cry at your wedding.”
Vashti felt a frown furrow her brow. “You have some strange ambitions, Stella.”
Stella patted the slight swell of her stomach. “It must be the pregnancy hormones. Will you promise me something?”
“If I can.” Vashti was wary of promises. They usually imposed restraints she inevitably ended up breaking.
Stella glanced at the commanding rear view of Jethro, and Vashti followed her gaze. He walked alone, slightly to one side of the crowd. It seemed to be a metaphor for his life. He was known throughout Otherworld as a loner. The mysterious human necromancer whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.
Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, set in a rigid line, then dipped lower to his trim waist. Something about the way those faded jeans clung to his shapely buttocks as he walked made Vashti’s mouth go dry. It was a new sensation and one that brought a rush of blood to her face. She hoped Stella hadn’t noticed it.
Jethro de Loix probably took it for granted that every woman was watching him. It wasn’t just the perfect body that drew her eye. His face was too handsome for his own good. Luckily, he didn’t have the sort of looks Vashti admired. He was way too overtly rugged and sure of his own masculinity. Vashti preferred a bit of finesse. I mean, seriously, when was the last time he used a razor? Not for a few days, judging by all that designer stubble. Nevertheless, up close, it was hard to stop watching him. He was like a work of art. As if a masterful hand had decided to create a perfect image of manliness and, once finished, had stepped back as if to say, “Soak it up, guys. This can’t be beaten.”
“Be careful on this mission. Jethro won’t back down from a challenge.”
The smile that touched Vashti’s lips was grim. “Good, because nor will I.”
* * *
The Spae knew how to celebrate. There was delicious food, home-brewed beer, singing and dancing, with the wedding festivities continuing long into the night. Vashti’s initial attempts to avoid being flung wildly around in intricate whirling dances she didn’t understand had proved futile and her hand was claimed repeatedly by the younger men of the village. After her annoyance gave way to resignation, she started to find the experience quite exhilarating. But that might have something to do with the effects of the beer.
“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Lorcan, intervening before she could be thrown from one partner to another—the prevailing etiquette on the village green that served as a dance floor—caught hold of her hands. “I thought it was time we danced together. After all, we’re family now.”
The words jolted Vashti. For a long time her family had consisted of Tanzi and Moncoya. Recently her feelings toward both had undergone a dramatic change. Now she had a brother-in-law and Tanzi was pregnant, so she would soon have a nephew. She should probably try to say something welcoming to Lorcan. Her brow furrowed with the effort of trying to come up with the right words.
“You look quite ferocious. Have I done something to upset you? Other than marry your sister?” Lorcan slowed the steps of the dance so they could converse.
Vashti shook her head. “I’m glad she has found someone to love.” She took a deep breath. May as well get the apology out of the way. “And I think you will care for her.” She hoped he realized that was as close as she got to groveling.
He grinned. “I certainly intend to. Can we declare a truce between us? For Tanzi’s sake?”
It was easy to see why Tanzi had fallen for him. That smile was breathtaking and his charm was legendary. The surprise was that Lorcan was prepared to settle down with one woman. Until now the rumor had been that he was impossible to tame. Aware there was a suspicion of curtness about her nod, Vashti tried to be conciliatory. She should try to put the past behind her. The battle for Otherworld had changed old allegiances and the Alliance was about forging a new future. “I see no reason why we cannot be friends.”
To her horror, Lorcan caught her up in a hug and kissed her cheek. Affection, even toward those closest to her, was something Vashti found profoundly uncomfortable. She broke free of the embrace as quickly as she could, mumbling an excuse about needing to get a drink. In reality, the last thing she wanted was any more of the heady brew that tasted of sour apples.
When she reached the long table that held the barrels of beer, she snatched up one of the lanterns placed on its wooden surface and wandered a few hundred yards along the path to a point overlooking the bay. No one would miss her and a bit of solitude was exactly what she needed.
Yet when she reached the curve in the path, a tall figure was leaning against one of the trees, looking out over the still waters. Stifling an exclamation of annoyance as she recognized Jethro, Vashti prepared to stealthily make her way back. It was too late. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and, when he saw Vashti, his neutral expression changed to one of distaste.
“Coming back to the Isle of Spae must remind you of the last time you were here. The night you helped your father escape from justice.”
He could not have said anything that would more effectively enrage her, and he knew it. There was no way Vashti could defend herself against the false allegation Jethro repeatedly insisted on making. How could she possibly prove Moncoya had tricked her into letting him go that night? Her anger kicked up a notch. And why should she have to defend herself to Jethro of all people?
“When do we set off in search of the challenger?” Two could play at this make-your-blood-boil game.
By the light of her lantern Vashti saw something shift in the midnight darkness of his eyes. Something dangerous. “Why did it have to be you?”
All around them the night was haunting in its perfection yet they remained inside their own little bubble of tension. Vashti had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”
“Why do you have to be the one who comes with me? The Council could have sent anyone.”
“My people have the most to lose if you find the challenger. I want to be absolutely sure you get it right.”
“Ah, yes. I was forgetting. You will cease to be a princess if his claim to the throne is proved. That must sting.”
His barb struck home. Vashti felt her own rage light up the night skies almost as effectively as the fireflies dancing around them. “You sanctimonious bastard.”
Why must he persist in ascribing such hateful motives to her actions? It was the legacy of being Moncoya’s daughter. Everyone assumed she was as evil as her father, yet somehow it hit harder when it came from Jethro. Or maybe he was prepared to be more honest than most and say exactly what he thought of her.
Jethro grinned, his anger dissipating as quickly as hers ignited. “Tomorrow.” Vashti blinked at him, not comprehending this sudden shift in the conversation. “I am setting off in search of the challenger first thing in the morning.”
“Okay.” She turned away, but his next words brought her back to face him again.
“And, Princess, just so you know? Despite what you think, you won’t be able to keep up with me on this quest...and I have no intention of waiting around for you.”
“Is that a challenge?” She flashed the words right back at him.
“You can count on it.”
* * *
As the night wore on Vashti noticed the party had dwindled to a few hardy souls. A group, including herself and the bride and groom, sat in a circle, earnestly discussing the matter of the challenger for the faerie crown.
“Surely there are other topics of conversation you’d rather engage in on your wedding night?” Cal asked Lorcan.
“I can think of one or two.” His friend grinned. “But Tanzi has a theory she wants to share.”
Tanzi looked beautiful and happy as she sat between Lorcan’s raised knees and leaned back against his chest. Vashti thought she had never seen her sister so relaxed.
“It may be nothing,” Tanzi explained, “but when Ailie tried to gain an impression of the missing heir, she said he doesn’t look like a faerie.”
Known for their powers of healing and intuition, the Spae had been persecuted as witches in the mortal realm and driven to make their home here in Otherworld. They lived in isolation on this island, refusing to engage in the politics and fighting that drove the other dynasties.
Ailie, a woman with an open, pleasant face and a kindly manner, nodded her agreement with Tanzi’s comment. “When Lorcan asked me if the true heir was still alive, I tried to discover what I could of him. Although I couldn’t see him clearly, what came through was that he doesn’t look like a faerie.”
“It seems a strange thing to focus on.” Jethro was the only one of the group standing, his broad shoulders propped against the wall of one of the cottages.
Trust him to feel the need to look down on the rest of us. Vashti’s earlier anger toward him might have dulled, but it was no less dangerous for having lost its edge.
“I’ve thought about it a lot since then,” Ailie said. “The fact I gained that impression of him, above all others, makes me think he must look nothing like a faerie.”
“Yet he is a pure-born faerie, so his looks must make him stand out among other faeries. And the Goddesses of Fate told me Lorcan already knows him.” Tanzi spoke up again.
“Even though I actually have no clue who he is,” Lorcan reminded everyone in a long-suffering voice. “What’s this theory of yours, Searc?”
“Has anyone here ever met a pure-blood faerie who doesn’t look like a faerie?” Tanzi’s glance took in each of them in turn. The question stunned them all into silence.
Stella was the first to speak up. “You’re right. Even I look a lot like a faerie and I’m not a pure-blood. My father was mortal. I’m a hybrid. The challenger is faerie royalty. He should definitely look like a faerie.”
“He doesn’t know who he is. He may not mix with faeries. Bloody hell—” Cal ran a hand through his hair, his expression increasingly incredulous. “He probably doesn’t even know he is a faerie.”
“Since I’m the one with the task of finding this mystery man, can we rewind a bit while someone gives me a refresher on the difference between faeries and sidhes?” Jethro’s calm tone cut across the conversation.
Cal answered him. “All sidhes are faeries, but not all faeries are sidhes. The faeries are a dynasty, one of the largest in Otherworld, with many nationalities within it. The sidhes make up the majority of the faerie population. Although Moncoya was elevated to the faerie gentry when he took the throne, he is a sidhe and his background is not royal...a fact that infuriates him. The challenger we seek does come from the original royal family.
“All faeries are endowed with incredible physical beauty, all have the power to enchant—known as faerie glamor—and all are able to coexist with humans. Like Tanzi and Vashti, sidhes have the ability to shape-shift, other faeries don’t. Sidhes have a pronounced ring of fire around the iris of their eyes. Faeries have it, too, but their eyes are green, like Stella’s, so the color makes the ring of fire appear fainter, possibly even nonexistent.”
Vashti felt her lip curl. They were going to send a man who didn’t understand something so fundamental about her people in search of this challenger? Her father was unlikely to have anything to fear. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing for her people.
“But Lorcan and I do know someone who fits that description. Someone who doesn’t look like a faerie.” Tanzi turned her head to look up at her husband. “Aydan.”
“Who is Aydan?” Jethro asked.
Lorcan turned his head to look up at him. “A prominent member of the resistance in Barcelona. We’ve worked together many times, fighting against Moncoya and his henchmen. Tanzi’s right, he doesn’t look like a faerie. He barely has a ring of fire around his irises. Aydan could pass for a mortal any day.”
“You mentioned Aydan to me when I said I was losing my right-hand man now that you were coming to live here on Spae. You said Aydan would be the perfect replacement,” Cal said.
“And he would. Brave, sensitive and totally reliable. I’d trust him with my life.” Lorcan’s voice resonated sincerity. “Hell, I have trusted him with my life. Many times.”
“What’s his background?” Cal asked.
