Wicked Magic (7 page)

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Authors: Cheyenne McCray

BOOK: Wicked Magic
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The only thing more deadly to Fae than iron was a Basilisk's poison.
Keir stilled his breathing as the Basilisk raised its head, flicked its tongue, and scented the air.
Garbled noises came from the Fomorii, but from the way they were looking at all the tunnels, Keir had a good idea what the beasts were saying.
He kept himself pressed against the brick wall of the sewage tunnel as one of the Fomorii looked his way.
“It appears we are in for a fight,”
he told his comrades in mind-speak. To Rhiannon he said,
“Stay clear. It will be dangerous.”
He thought he heard her respond,
“Bite me,”
and he would have smiled if the situation were not so dire. As it was he wanted to protect her, to keep her from harm.
By the gods!
This obsession was going to kill them all if he did not get his mind on the pressing matter at hand.
The Fomorii and Basilisk turned to face Keir and his comrades. The heat that always came before battle flooded his body and his energy doubled. Tripled.
“On my command,”
he said in mind-speak. The eyes of the Fomorii glistened as they moved closer.
“Now!”
Tiernan was at his side in an instant. As one they drew their swords and charged the demons, giving the D'Danann battle cry.
Keir cut his sword in an arc and decapitated the first Fomorii he reached. The demon crumbled into dust to be swept out with the sewage. A bright ball of light appeared above them, illuminating the chamber.
Rhiannon.
The light distracted the next Fomorii and Keir easily took its head with his sword. While he battled, he was aware of Sheridan and Tiernan fighting beside him.
Shouts and cries filled the large chamber to the point Rhiannon's ears rang. Her heart pounded as she flung a spellfire ball straight into the chest of a demon next to Keir.
The moment Rhiannon threw the spell, the Shadows threatened to burst from her. She caught her breath and nearly screamed from the power trying to push its way forward. She could barely focus on the fight for a moment, as she struggled to keep the Shadows tight inside her. With all the effort she could muster, she slammed the Shadows back. She wavered for just a second, then regained her concentration on the battle. Why now? Why would they come forth when she'd always kept them locked away? Controlled?
Rhiannon saw that Keir was too close to swing his sword at the burning, screaming Fomorii that her spellfire ball had
hit. Instead, he lunged with his dagger and carved out the demon's heart.
The Fomorii dropped. As it became silt the demon's remains were swept away with the sewage.
The Basilisk raised high above the fray and hissed. Green poison gleamed from its fangs. It darted its head toward Keir.
Rhiannon's heart raced even faster. Keir raised his sword.
Too slow!
Gunshots reverberated in the chamber from Jake's handgun. Blood squirted from both of the Basilisk's eyes. It reared with a scream, tossing its head back before diving blindly forward.
Rhiannon followed the shots with a fireball that slammed into the Basilisk's nostrils, causing it to shriek again.
As Keir raised his sword to behead the Basilisk, another demon charged him. The Fomorii lashed out with its massive claws, but Keir backed into the wall, dodging the strike.
He grasped the hilt with both hands and swung. The demon skillfully avoided the blade and charged.
Keir tried again to swing his sword at the Fomorii's neck, but the beast rammed him against the wall. Pain burst through Keir's head as it struck brick, but he ignored it as he raised one booted foot and shoved the demon away—but not before the beast raked its claws across his neck.
The pain ripping through Keir was enough to infuriate him even further. He sliced his sword toward the demon, but missed the beast's neck. His blade bounced off the demon's thick hide.
Again the beast shoved Keir up against the wall, only this time with its terrible jaws open, jagged teeth prepared to rip flesh from Keir's neck.
Keir was ready for it. He drew his dagger again, and in a lightning fast motion he sliced it deep into the roof of the demon's open mouth.
The Fomorii staggered, black blood pouring from its mouth. The beast had fallen far enough back that it was in sword range. Before it had the opportunity to recover, Keir
beheaded the demon with one clean sweep of his blade.
The demon crumbled into the sewage.
While battling the Fomorii, Keir heard shots and more screams from the Basilisk. When he turned his attention back to it, Jake was closer, firing bullets into the Basilisk's skull.
Rhiannon hurled one spellfire ball after another into the Basilisk's face until its tough hide was charred, almost peeling from its body.
Holding the hilt of his sword with both hands, Keir swung and sliced through the burning hide of the Basilisk.
Its head tumbled into the sewage at their feet. Its headless body weaved from side to side then slammed into the wastewater before its body melted from existence like those of the Fomorii.
Sewage splashed up in the air, coating Keir and no doubt the other members of his team.
His sword at the ready, he whirled to face a new opponent—only to find none. The Fomorii were gone.
Keir had nothing to clean his weapons on, so he sheathed his bloody sword and dagger. His breathing was even despite the battle and the burn on his neck. He felt like he could take on a dozen more Fomorii.
Nothing like a good fight.
With satisfaction, he slapped Jake on the back, as he did with his comrades. When he came to Rhiannon they both looked at each other. She was just as drenched as he and they both smelled of the sewer, but she was still beautiful.
At the same time he wanted to yell at her for following them into battle, pride warmed his chest at how well she had handled herself.
“You did well,” he said in the tone of a captain addressing his legion.
The witch folded her arms across her chest.
“Duh.”
Ceithlenn's fury was a palpable thing. Darkwolf leaned casually against the penthouse's wet bar. He felt anything but casual. Tension crawled along his forearms to his shoulders and his neck.
He gripped his glass of whiskey—straight up—and brought it to his mouth. He tossed back the amber liquid, letting the slow burn of the alcohol travel from his throat to his belly. He'd never been one for drinking until this bitch came into his life.
The Fomorii Queen, Junga, had morphed from her demon form into her Elizabeth body. Darkwolf sensed her own rage at having lost some of her Fomorii foot soldiers to the witches and D'Danann tonight. One of the demons had witnessed the carnage—the creature happened to have been in one of the tunnels when the attack had occurred, but out of sight. The demon had scurried away to inform its superiors of the carnage.
Ceithlenn had almost roasted it on the spot. “Are you
sure
you were not followed?” she had demanded.
The demon had scraped the floor with its hideous face as it prostrated, shaking in obvious terror. “No one followed me,” it said. “Of that I am certain.”
“Fuck!” Ceithlenn had shouted, and Darkwolf could hear Sara's voice ring out with Ceithlenn's. “Thanks to their
deaths, tomorrow eleven prominent men and women will have gone ‘missing' and we have lost those important contacts.
And
one of my Basilisks,” she hissed.
Ceithlenn-Sara sent the Fomorii back to the sewers to inform one of the legion leaders to select several demons that would need to take on human shapes and come to the penthouse. They then would have to be assimilated into positions of power within the city to replace the other contacts.
Now she raged in the penthouse's living room, her hair alternating between punk red to flames. “I want far more Fomorii to infiltrate the government,” Ceithlenn said, “especially law enforcement. I need to know if we are discovered in any way. Including the lair where we keep our army.”
Her hair flamed higher. “I will seek revenge on those who have dared to destroy what is mine.”
She whipped her gaze to Darkwolf and Junga. At the look in her shifting eyes, Darkwolf almost choked on his last swallow of whiskey. He set the glass down on the wet bar but never took his stare from the goddess's. She might be more powerful than him—an understatement—but he refused to let her intimidate him. He wouldn't bow down to her unless she forced him to with her magic.
Even though Elizabeth-Junga also served the goddess's husband, Balor, Darkwolf sensed the same resentment in the Fomorii Queen that he felt against Ceithlenn. Elizabeth-Junga's anger rose up from her like waves that she barely kept from unleashing at the goddess. Although they hadn't had any opportunity to discuss it, he knew the Fomorii Queen would gladly kill Ceithlenn, just as he wanted to.
Unfortunately, when he and Junga had attempted to free Balor at the gate to Underworld, they'd let loose this bitch goddess, Ceithlenn, instead. Balor had made promises to Darkwolf and the Fomorii. Power, wealth, but power most of all. With Ceithlenn, they only had torment.
“I have plans for you two,” Ceithlenn said in a low, ominous voice. “But not yet.
Not yet.
”
At that, Darkwolf's heart beat a little faster. What the hell did she mean?
Ceithlenn clenched and unclenched her fists, her long dark nails digging into her flesh so hard that Darkwolf saw the half-moon indentations her nails left.
She turned her back to them and faced the window. Would she die if he took a blade to her and rammed it between her ribs? What if he drove a silver stake through her heart? Sometimes she looked like a vampire. Maybe she would die like one.
Ceithlenn whipped around and looked at Darkwolf again. His gut clenched as he wondered if she had heard his thoughts. But he had learned to erect such powerful mental walls he doubted it.
Her gaze rested on the stone eye that hung from the chain around his neck.
Stabbing pain almost drove Darkwolf to his knees as Balor's essence flooded him. The stone eye glowed a brilliant red. Every time Ceithlenn called to Balor through the eye, the pain grew greater in Darkwolf's head, and the eye became even brighter.
He would take the damned thing off, but when he had attempted to, the chain and eye became supernaturally heavy. His one hope was that Balor would return and give Darkwolf the power that he had always craved—and that had been promised to him.
Ceithlenn-Sara reached Darkwolf, brought her hand to the eye, and caressed it. The pain in Darkwolf's head was so great he almost couldn't see. It was all he could do to keep his face a blank mask and not let Ceithlenn witness the crushing pain he experienced every time Balor took control.
“What shall I do, love?” she asked the stone eye as she continued to caress it. She clasped her fingers around the eye and the red light pulsed through her fingers. She lowered her lids as if in a trance.
When she opened her eyes, she released the stone eye to
rest against Darkwolf's chest again. The pulsing red dimmed and the pain in his head began to recede. He almost gave a groan of relief, but managed to keep it in check.
Ceithlenn looked at Elizabeth-Junga as she stepped away from Darkwolf. “Prepare your warriors so they will be ready to attack when I am.”
Darkwolf studied Elizabeth as she kept her own face a mask of indifference and gave a bow from her shoulders to the goddess. Her eyes, though … her eyes still had that fire they always had, before Ceithlenn's arrival. He actually missed the times when he and Junga would spar when she was in Elizabeth's form. And then he would fuck Elizabeth, dominate her, let her know who was the
real
master.
Now who was master?
“Yes, Ceithlenn,” Elizabeth-Junga said as she rose up from her slight bow. “The Fomorii will be prepared.”
The goddess waved her hand toward the door. “Go then. Wait for my command.”
Darkwolf recognized the tightness in Elizabeth's jaw as she turned away and strode to the front door. No doubt unconsciously, her ass swayed beneath the short skirt. As Elizabeth, she had long, striking legs, beautiful features, and luxurious black hair.
When she was in demon form—he hated the thought of what she looked like. A horrible blue demon with arms as long as an ape's and needle-like teeth and the stench of the Fomorii.
He'd always managed to mentally keep the two beings separate. When he fucked her, he was fucking Elizabeth.
Only now he was being screwed by a goddess-bitch, and
he
was the one being dominated.
Ceithlenn captured his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. The sight of her ever-shifting eye colors never ceased to set him on edge.
She released his chin and planted both hands on her hips. “I want to know which D'Danann and witches are responsible for the attack, and I want to know
now.
”
Darkwolf clenched his teeth as he inclined his head. “I'll
scry in my cauldron and come back to you with the information.”
Ceithlenn narrowed her gaze. “See that you do so—at once.”
He inclined his head again. “Of course.”
Your fucking goddessness.

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