Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (13 page)

The air temperature dropped, and cool wind

rushed through them, ruffling hair and chilling skin.

Flying. We’re flying. Meckenzie clutched Ren’s

arms. She had seen—and done—some weird shit

in her life. But shooting along the star-strewn sky

in the arms of a beautiful devil? Not even she

would’ve believed it possible. They slowed to

stop, hovering several hundred feet above the

ground. Meckenzie’s heart climbed into her throat

and pounded there, a throb of fear and wonder.

“You will not fall,” he said. “I will not let you

go.”

“Okay.” She swallowed the knot in her throat.

“Why can you fly?”

“I am part
sidhe
.”

A fairy? She almost laughed. That would

explain the Marchands’ ethereal beauty. When

Meckenzie was a little girl, her mother had

introduced her to a fairy—a beautiful woman with

fiery red hair and forest-green eyes.

Her name was Brigid.

Below them stretched the small town of Broken

Heart, Oklahoma. Nestled in a little valley

surrounded by rolling green hills and pockets of

dense forest, it was just a square of big and small

buildings

crisscrossed

by

streets.

Other

neighborhoods, with small houses and tiny lawns,

dotted the outside of Broken Heart.

“We gonna stay up here all day?” She crooked

her neck to look up at him.

His gaze glittered, and the left corner of his

mouth quirked, but he said nothing.

She couldn’t get a bead on this guy.

“Broken Heart seems nice from this view,” she

said. “I’ve never lived anywhere for long. You

start liking a place and crap starts piling up. Too

much to carry around.”

“What I need to carry,” he murmured, “I carry

in my heart.”

Meckenzie wanted to tell him that those silly

lines only worked in romantic comedies starring

Sandra Bullock, but his sincerity could not be

denied. And his words sounded so much like what

her mother might say that she accepted them as

truth.

He tilted his head in a manner that suggested he

was listening to something in the distance. Ah.

Vampire telepathy. She watched moonbeams

dapple his handsome face. The lunar light

shimmered in his gold eyes, and she felt her heart

leap at their beauty. At his beauty.

He grimaced. “We must hurry.”

This time, guilt fluttered on razor wings, cutting

at her.

Ren’s arms tightened around her—a warning or

a comfort, she didn’t know. His gaze drifted over

her face. “You are safe, Meckenzie.”

The hell I am.

And if Ena the Evil had her way, no one would

be safe again.

VIRGINIA AND SOPHIE’S rapt attention made

Trent uncomfortable. He’d eaten some toast, but

the buttered bread sat like a lead weight in his

stomach. He tugged on the collar of his T-shirt.

Jeez. Why did it feel so tight all of a sudden?

That’s when he realized his fingers were

trembling. He flattened his palms against his thighs

and cleared his throat.

Sophie had poured herself another cup of

coffee, and Virginia was on her third piece of

bacon. He blew out a breath. Okay. Here goes

nothing.

“How much do you know about the Alberich?”

he asked.

“They attacked werewolves a hundred years or

so ago. They were defeated, and no one has seen

them since,” offered Virginia.

“Until I found one,” added Sophie. “Or rather

it found me.”

He nodded. “The Alberich were creations of

Tyr—the Norse god of war. There was a wolf, a

wolf like no other—and certainly not like us—

who’d been prophesied to kill Odin. So, Tyr and

others sought to bind this wolf. His name was

Fenrisúlfr. The problem was that they couldn’t

catch him. So Tyr took elf magic and created the

Alberich—nearly unstoppable beasts that would

track Fenrisúlfr.”

“The Alberich are elves?” Sophie looked

skeptical.

“They were made with elf magic, but they are

creatures right from Tyr’s imagination. Once they

caught Fenrisúlfr, Tyr returned the Alberich to the

earth. They were made with clay, you see, and

should’ve dissolved entirely.”

“Why’d they pop up a hundred years ago?”

asked Virginia.

“We don’t know why they rose again. Or even

how they were released from was what supposed

to be an eternal slumber. What we do know is that

they were vicious, relentless, and harbored a deep

hatred for all wolves. A dozen Alberich were able

to ravage werewolf populations throughout

Europe. They killed humans and other paranormals

without mercy. They have no conscience and no

concept of collateral damage.

“We researched every ancient text we could get

our hands on, and eventually discovered a spell

that could defeat the Alberich.” He paused. “The

ability to destroy an Alberich could be given to

one person, but the toll of such a power would

consume and potentially kill the one named

destroyer. That’s why there was a second part of

the spell. Another person needed to accept the gift

of healing. The healer absorbed the pain and

suffering of the destroyer so that he or she could

kill the Alberich.”

Trent saw Sophie make the connection, and the

shocked look on her face opened a pit in his

stomach.

“You’re the healer,” she said.

“Yes,” said Trent. “And you’re the destroyer.”

CHAPTER TEN

VIRGINIA AND SOPHIE’S rapt attention made

Trent uncomfortable. He’d eaten some toast, but

the buttered bread sat like a lead weight in his

stomach. He tugged on the collar of his T-shirt.

Jeez. Why did it feel so tight all of a sudden?

That’s when he realized his fingers were

trembling. He flattened his palms against his thighs

and cleared his throat.

Sophie had poured herself another cup of

coffee, and Virginia was on her third piece of

bacon. He blew out a breath. Okay. Here goes

nothing.

“How much do you know about the Alberich?”

he asked.

“They attacked werewolves a hundred years or

so ago. They were defeated, and no one has seen

them since,” offered Virginia.

“Until I found one,” added Sophie. “Or rather

it found me.”

He nodded. “The Alberich were creations of

Tyr—the Norse god of war. There was a wolf, a

wolf like no other—and certainly not like us—

who’d been prophesied to kill Odin. So, Tyr and

others sought to bind this wolf. His name was

Fenrisúlfr. The problem was that they couldn’t

catch him. So Tyr took elf magic and created the

Alberich—nearly unstoppable beasts that would

track Fenrisúlfr.”

“The Alberich are elves?” Sophie looked

skeptical.

“They were made with elf magic, but they are

creatures right from Tyr’s imagination. Once they

caught Fenrisúlfr, Tyr returned the Alberich to the

earth. They were made with clay, you see, and

should’ve dissolved entirely.”

“Why’d they pop up a hundred years ago?”

asked Virginia.

“We don’t know why they rose again. Or even

how they were released from was what supposed

to be an eternal slumber. What we do know is that

they were vicious, relentless, and harbored a deep

hatred for all wolves. A dozen Alberich were able

to ravage werewolf populations throughout

Europe. They killed humans and other paranormals

without mercy. They have no conscience and no

concept of collateral damage.

“Damian and his brothers researched every

ancient text they could get their hands on, and

eventually discovered a spell that could defeat the

Alberich.” He paused. “The ability to destroy an

Alberich could be given to one person, but the toll

of such a power would consume and potentially

kill the one named destroyer. That’s why there was

a second part of the spell. Another person needed

to accept the gift of healing. The healer absorbed

the pain and suffering of the destroyer so that he or

she could kill the Alberich.”

Trent saw Sophie make the connection, and the

look on her face opened a pit in his stomach.

“You’re the healer,” she said.

“Yes,” said Trent. “And you’re the destroyer.”

“THANKS,” SAID MECKENZIE as she accepted

the coffee from Queen Patricia Marchand. Its

delicious taste settled her and made her feel human

again. The queen leaned back on the couch they

shared and looked at her. She was still assessing

Meckenzie.

Am I worthy? Am I not?
Questions she fought

with daily.

They sat in a plush living room filled with

warm colors—gold, bronze, dark green, the

occasional splash of red. The bottom half of the

walls were paneled with burnished cherry wood

while the upper portions were painted dark

yellow. The fireplace was cherry wood, blending

into the paneled portions of the wall. It wasn’t in

use, even though it was October. She supposed

vampires didn’t get chilly.

“This is a gorgeous room,” Meckenzie said.

“Those paintings … Monet?”

Patsy glanced at the paintings on either side of

the fireplace. “Hell, if I know. Some hoity-toity

interior designer came in and decorated the hell

out of this place. Except for the rooms upstairs.

Those were mine.” She grinned, flashing her fangs.

“He said my taste in furniture was vulgar, my color

schemes unrefined, and my lack of vision

interfered with the flow he was trying to create for

the house.”

“Where did you bury the body?”

The queen chuckled.

“Meckenzie,” said a familiar French-tinted

voice. “We retrieved your car. It’s outside.” She

put the cup on the table in front of her then stood up

and turned. The person talking to her was not Ren

though he looked nearly the same. “Is there a

cloning plant around here?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “We are triplets.

I am Gabriel Marchand. You’ve met my brother,

Ren, and my sister, Anise.”

Ren had airlifted her to the front door of this

house, newly constructed by the look and smell of

it, and then took off—by bursting into a bunch of

gold sparkles. Because apparently in Broken Heart

that was normal. She’d taken the opportunity to

remove the tiny vial filled with a single fairy wish

from her jacket pocket, dumped out the contents,

and said the words she knew she’d regret forever.

Gabriel rounded the couch and sat next to his

wife. So, he was the lucky consort of the queen of

lycans and vampires. He looked a lot like Ren, but

there were subtle differences. She decided being

bunched up together on the sofa with two powerful

paranormal beings was a bad idea. So, she picked

up her coffee and grabbed a chair to the left of the

table. She sat down, pretending a casualness she

sure as hell didn’t feel and sipped the coffee.

“Why do you need to see Brigid?” asked the

queen.

“I didn’t realize you were her secretary.”

Her brows rose to her hairline. “I could pluck

the answer from your mind,” said Patsy. “Or

glamor you and make you tell me.”

“Sounds fun. Go ahead and try.”

She stared for a long moment then she laughed.