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Hazel turned to Tallak again, who was still on his knees outside the wards’ perimeter, looking pissed as hell. “Let’s go find my children.”
“He’s not yours,” Tallak snarled. “He’s my son.”
Merle had never seen Hazel as cold as when she looked at Tallak now, her eyes narrowing. “I nursed him, I bathed him, I rocked him to sleep. I wiped his tears and heard his first laugh. He took his first steps on my hand, and ran into my arms when he was scared. I have loved him as much as my own flesh and blood daughter, and he is mine in every way that counts. You’d do well to accept that, demon.”
Please tell me we can plant a camera on them when they go, Rhun said mentally. I’d pay money to watch this unfold.
Merle pinched him.
What? he asked, his face oh-so innocent. This is better than any telenovela.
* * *
Calâr retreated farther into the shadowy bushes across from the Murray mansion while continuing to watch the surprising scene playing out in front of the house. His disappointment over arriving just after Tallak—even though he’d raced to make up for the head start the demon got when he left the throne room—morphed into thrilling anticipation when he learned the young half-breed had already taken off into Faerie.
Such potential, so close to his grasp. He could still make it, could reach Roana’s child—Basil—before the witch and the demon got to him. And then, if he played his cards right, he could win the boy’s trust, and finally be able to test the limits of the possible.
Three hundred years he’d been waiting for an opportunity like this. That precious piece of knowledge in the annals of fae history, deliberately drowned into oblivion for fear of someone using it, and all that was left was the shallow hatred of demon-fae offspring to the point that any half-breeds—as rare as they were—were murdered on sight.
It still boggled Calâr’s mind that not one of those once privy to the truth had ever entertained the vision and ambition to use this gift. How could they see this chance for greatness—and not grasp it?
Well, all the better for him that no one else had ever done it. He certainly didn’t want to be on the other side of that equation when it came to pass.
Now he just had to make sure to delay the Murray witch and Tallak while he raced into Faerie. But how? His mind worked furiously.
There was one major road into Faerie from here, the fastest route. He could take it but make sure to cause some sort of massive disruption behind him to block the road for a while. Tallak and the witch would either have to wait until the way cleared, or find an alternate route into Faerie. Both would buy him time.
Enough to find the half-breed first.
Chapter 14
Pain.
Isa’s body was on fire. Waves of needle-fine agony rolled through her, followed by torrents of twisting, crushing, stinging pain while her organs were being compressed to the point of exploding.
Yanked out of the depths of sleep, her mind blanked at the pain wracking her body. Thoughts and impressions and lingering images of a dream fizzled into nothingness in the face of such devastating torment that an involuntary scream tore from her.
Pain and darkness—and a taste of death, drawing ever closer.
Through the flaming ruins of her mind, a voice filtered, made it past the lightning bolts of agony shooting through her nerves.
…got you…here…fine…
Every cell seemed to tear apart, her skin dissolving in acid.
That voice again, breaking through her pain, fighting it back.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you. I’m here. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”
Basil.
With a choked sob, she pried her eyes open, and the boundaries of her world began and ended with his face. Even in the dark of the night, the fire having long burned down, every contour and line of his features was so clear, so vivid, finely honed like the marble sculptures of ancient human civilizations, beauty set in stone.
Her hand shot up of its own accord, her fingers gliding over his cheek, his nose, his lips. His eyes widened. The flecks of light brown in them sparked, shone like crystals struck by the sun.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
Another wave of pain slammed into her, and she dropped her hand, balled it into a fist. Basil pulled her closer into his arms, buried his face in her neck, one hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. He murmured words of comfort, a trembling edge of agony in his voice, as if he, too, was hurting.
