Love Me to Death (Underveil) (35 page)

Several Slayers entered the dungeon, swords drawn.

“Showtime!” Fydor said.

Chapter Thirty-Four

D
read, fear, rage, regret—Nikolai’s emotions had run the gamut by the time he was bound with elven chains to one of four stakes. The execution site had been fabricated on top of a raised stone platform on the enormous fortress balcony overlooking the open field below. He hadn’t even fought the men he thought at one time were friends because Elena had asked him not to. She wanted him to save his strength. For what? So he was in top form when they fucking burned them all alive.

Below, armies from numerous Underveil factions gathered. Just like Nikolai, they were helpless to do anything. Borya had put some kind of enchantment on the fortress that was like a force field bubble. Even arrows bounced off it.

Fydor, looking more unstable and nervous than Nikolai had ever seen him, was decked out in the typical Slayer black leather, but wore the king’s crown. His father’s crown. What should have been
his
crown if he hadn’t fucked everything up. Fingers twitching, the man he’d allowed to have power, stood on the platform only feet in front of Nikolai, staring down at the crowd while servants piled hay at the edges of the giant pile of wood.

He relaxed his head against the heavy pole. To his left, the wood elf whimpered and Elena, on his right, remained calm and stoic. Beyond her, his mother ascended the stairs to the top of the stone platform. At the sight of the queen being secured for execution, the angry shouts from the warriors in the field below became deafening.

“Have you had a vision as to how we escape?” he asked Elena.

“No.”

“Any visions at all after this?”

“Only the one I told you about at Vlad’s castle.”

Oh, yeah, the one where his mother was surrounded by flames. Fucking perfect.

Focus.
Buying time was the ticket at this point. “So, Uncle. What do you think is going to happen when your protective bubble is gone?”

He shrugged.

“I know what will happen,” Nikolai said. “They will storm the castle and kill every living thing inside.”

Fydor pulled several vials from his pocket, selected one, and shoved the others back. His hands shook as he loosened the top and gulped the contents. “Borya will leave the protective spell in place then, of course.”

A volley of arrows soundlessly hit the magical barrier well over Nikolai’s head and fell away. “Then you will starve,” he said. “I warned you, though, didn’t I, Uncle? You are nothing but a puppet in his plan to create chaos and lift the Veil. And now, you’re not even going to live to see the chaos you have helped create.”

“Shut up!” Fydor yelled, pressing his palms to his head. “Light the fires.”

“Not yet,” Borya said, as he reached the top of the platform.

Nikolai clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to incite the sorcerer to hurt Elena as he picked his way over the piled wood, stopping right in front of her. She didn’t seem to notice and had a glazed look on her face. “Stop that!” he ordered.

She grinned. “Would you prefer I sing out loud?” At the top of her lungs, she belted,
“When I dance, they call me Macarena, and the boys they say que estoy buena!”

With the back of his hand, he struck her across the face, and Nikolai roared, straining against his chains.

But instead of crying or showing fear, she simply started singing again.
“Hey! Macarena, M-M-Macarena, M-M-Macarena.”

The sorcerer, still clutching his staff, wrapped his other hand around her throat. Nikolai, unable to look away, nearly vomited at the prospect of watching his mate die. And his child. He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat and prayed they lit the fire soon if the bastard killed her.

“What’s up, Borya? You don’t like to dance?” she said. Nikolai held his breath as her face went red from the constriction of her throat. “Do it,” she squeaked out. “It beats the hell out of being barbecue.”

With a growl, he released her. Nikolai gave a silent shout of gratitude as fear’s choke hold on his heart lessened.

She gulped air. “Chicken.”

“Light the fires,” he ordered the Slayers surrounding the platform after he had cleared the wood and straw.

Nikolai noticed their hesitation. Slayers never hesitated or disobeyed orders, yet none made a move to light the stack of wood.

Fydor held his arms out, and the crowd below shouted in anger.

“God help you, Uncle, when that protection spell is lifted. You’ll wish you had a death as easy as mine. I imagine the elves will enjoy torturing you for centuries, maybe millennia, depending on Aksel’s fate.”

Fear flashed across his uncle’s features, something Slayers never allowed. Good, his will was cracking. Now, if only the bubble keeping the warriors out would crack.

T
he overwhelming roar from the furious mob below rang in Elena’s ears.

Speak, King Fydor,” Borya urged from the bottom of the platform stairs.

Still singing in her head, Elena caught her breath and straightened up, relieving the bite of the chains. At least Borya had backed off, leaving the show to Fydor, who seemed pretty strung out. She was disappointed Fydor hadn’t taken the poison when he chugged the elixir earlier. Not that it would have stopped the execution, necessarily, but at least the bastard would be dead.

Fydor held one arm up, palm out, and the mob below fell silent.

“A puppet,” Nik called to his uncle. “He’s pulled your strings, and now you must say what he directs.”

“This is the beginning of a new era for the Underveil. We will rise together to the power we deserve.”

No reaction from the gathering of weapon-toting creatures below. Elena had no idea there were this many.

“Tomorrow morning we will lift the Veil, forever changing the face of the planet,” Fydor yelled. “I ask for your help and loyalty.”

Still, silence. Commanders had their arms up at the ready. They were waiting for something. A signal to advance. A hope fluttered in Elena’s chest. They knew something.

“I told you to light the fire,” Borya shouted to the Slayers around the platform. Obviously, they didn’t want to torch their queen. When they didn’t move, he lifted his staff and a bolt shot from it, knocking a Slayer off to the stones below.

They needed more time. Something was going to happen.
Stall.
“Do it yourself, asshole,” Elena challenged. “Or are you too weak?”

He once again climbed over the pile of wood and got right in her face. “I would, if I could. And I’d enjoy it, too. The problem is, Elena Arcos, I can’t destroy my own blood or it weakens my power.” She held completely still, heart slamming against her ribs like a captive animal as he kissed her on the cheek. “Good-bye, my sweet granddaughter.”

Holy shit.
Aunt Uza had mentioned her great-great-grandmother hooking up with an immortal. It was Borya.

He backed away and pointed his staff at the Slayer Elena remembered from her vision. “You will now do exactly as I wish,” the sorcerer ordered.

Clearly against his will, the Slayer moved. Fighting his own body that was controlled by Borya, he lowered his torch to the straw at their feet. “Forgive me please, Queen Tatiana.” The straw caught fire with a whoosh.

“These prisoners have been convicted of treason against the king,” Fydor shouted. There was an odd void of reaction from the crowd below. “And sentenced to death by fire.”

For the first time, Elena truly doubted they’d make it out alive. She’d seen the last of her visions unfold and had no idea what would happen now. If Aleksandra had been successful in putting the tainted vial with his others, at least Elena could die confident that Fydor would not live to lead that massacre tomorrow morning. She strained to look at the crowd inside the fortress behind her, but didn’t catch a glimpse of Aleksi.

And then, there was the baby. She closed her eyes at the sting of the smoke. The precious baby Nik had given her. The bridge between worlds. A tear rolled down her cheek as the ache in her chest became intolerable. The heat from the flames was increasing, and in moments it would spread enough to ignite the wood at her feet. This was it. Still careful to hum so Borya wouldn’t hear her thoughts about the baby and the poison, she knew it was time for good-byes. “Nik?” He met her eyes, calm and relaxed. “I’m glad you found me in that convenience store.”

“I love you, Elena Arcos,” he said.

“I love you, too, and I’ll see you wherever we end up after this lifetime,” she answered.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mother.”

“You are an excellent son and Slayer,” she answered.

The wood elf said nothing. He trembled all over, black eyes wide with horror in his rough, gray-skinned face as the flames spread and grew, getting closer to the center every second.

A twinge of sympathy pricked Elena’s chest. He had no one to comfort him. “I wish you well, elf,” she said.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

The heat built as the flames crept closer, and Elena switched from “The Macarena” to “The Hokey Pokey,” in honor of her dad, who maybe she’d see soon, if there really was an afterlife. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she bid her unborn child a silent good-bye.

So close. They’d almost done it.

“Woo hooooooo!” someone shrieked, and Elena opened her eyes to see Uza, still dressed in her cat mu-mu, solidify with a pop on the platform just outside the flames. “Let’s get this party started, dudes!”

Uza turned in a circle, hips swaying like she was on the dance floor. Once back around to face Elena, she swept her arms in a wide circle, puckered her lips, and blew, looking even crazier than usual. A huge gust of wind followed, blowing cinders and flaming straw around like flash paper. “I’ll dance the Macarena with you, Ellie Baby.” She blew again, and the rest of the fire went out like candles on a birthday cake, leaving only tiny smoldering embers. “
And
the Hokey Pokey.”

Watch out!” Elena shouted as Borya raised his staff.

Aunt Uza turned and held her palms out to him, blocking the bolt he fired off, causing it to ricochet back, nearly hitting him.

“Now, kitties, you know what to do.” She brushed her hands over her mu-mu, as if dusting off hay, but instead, dusted off her shifter companions, who hit the ground as full-size house cats. They immediately sprang into action, lining the perimeter of the platform as if daring anyone to try to come light the fire again.

“Behind you,” Elena shouted as Borya raised his staff again.

Uza rolled her eyes and met his bolt with her palm, shooting it back at him, this time directing the energy right back at him, setting his robes on fire. “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to say that for realz.”

Borya raised his staff over his head, and an amazing thing happened. Clouds formed and rain poured down, but only on the balcony. The cats howled and hunkered down as any remaining cinders were doused along with Borya’s robes. That rumor that cats don’t like water? Totally true. Pretty much simultaneously, they busted out of their pelts and stretched into rain-slicked naked men.

“Oh, hallelujah,” Uza squealed, deflecting a bolt from Borya. “Almost as good as mud-wrestling. Huh, Ellie Baby?”

The shifters maintained defensive stances toward the Slayers stationed around the platform, who made no move to advance.

As Uza and Borya exchanged lightning bolts, Fydor climbed off the platform and slunk out of sight behind them. Elena strained to see behind her, but was bound too tightly. Where had he gone, and where the hell was Aleksi?

She relaxed slightly, relieved that at least for these few moments, the Slayers were making no offensive moves. Still, the cat shifters remained crouched, ready to strike. Except one. The big guy with the beard who doubled as the gold Persian broke ranks and approached them, long claws out. Maybe he was going to try to unbind him.

As he passed Elena, she heard a low, rumbling, predatory growl, and her fight-or-flight instinct flew in to full flight mode. Something was wrong—well, more wrong. Wrong was relative when tied up to be burned to death.

He stopped when he got to Nik and raised his razor claws to throat level.

“Uza!” Elena shouted.

“Bad kitty!” She zapped him, and he crumbled to a ball, writhing in pain.

The remaining shifters hissed and growled at him as he muttered about rising up, picking the wrong twin to worship, and the pitfalls of serving ugly old bats. Well, that answered the question about who had tipped off the creatures that met them at the airport.

“We have to get free,” Nik said. “Who, other than the Slayer that bound us, has the key? Where’s the one you used to free me?”

The Slayer Borya had zapped was the one who’d locked the shackles, and he was unconscious, out of reach. Her key was probably at Vlad’s castle. Once she’d used it to free Nik, she’d forgotten about it. It was probably lying on the floor of the bathroom or something like a discarded bath towel. “I don’t know.”

He closed his eyes and thumped his head on the post behind him.

“A-3! Direct hit!” Uza shouted. Borya howled and clutched his charred arm. “You’re doing it wrong, brother, you’re supposed to say, ‘You sunk my battleship!’”

Like a dropped glass bowl, a fissure opened in the protective shield, probably as a result of Borya’s injury. Below, the gathered armies shouted and mobilized.

Screaming came from somewhere in the building below as Vlad, along with Ricardo, Stefan, and Fee materialized on the top of the wall in front of the platform.

“Sorry we’re late,” the vampire said with a wink. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

More screaming below.

“You forgot something, Elena.” Vlad held up the key, and she slumped against the post with relief. They might live through this after all.