A Hunger Like No Other (40 page)

As Lachlain watched their conversation, his heart sank to see Emma behaving as if Demestriu's comments didn't hurt her. She might even not realize they did, but Lachlain could see something fading in her eyes each time. Underneath all her swagger, she was still the same vulnerable Emmaline.

Demestriu looked as horrific and awesome as Lachlain remembered. And yet, when she'd admitted her mother had told them nothing about Demestriu, Lachlain could swear he'd looked—for the briefest moment—hurt.

“That's Lachlain's ring,” Emma said at one point.

How did she know that?

Demestriu frowned, then glanced down at his hand. Moments passed before he said, “I suppose it is.”

Lachlain had long imagined Demestriu continually staring at the ring, reveling in what he'd done, pleased to possess a constant reminder of Lachlain's torture.

Demestriu had hardly noticed it.

Then Lachlain heard the most horrifying revelation.

Emma had dreamed his memories. Of the fire. That's what had happened that night when she'd woken in such pain. Looking back, he could see she'd
felt
the agony he had.

He closed his eyes, appalled. He would rather have died than convey that horror to her.

Lachlain couldn't help but watch as events continued to unfold.

The fight made his muscles clench with tension, though he knew the outcome. But he had not known she'd been injured so grievously. Now his worry intensified, eating at him.

When Emma toed the pool of blood as she might the cold ocean, she flinched. She held the sword over her head, but it shook wildly and tears streamed down her cheeks. How he wished he could have taken that fear and pain for her.

Lachlain frowned when Demestriu's eyes changed and when the blood flowed as if he'd been lanced of a venom. He'd appeared . . .
relieved
to die.

Emma's beautiful face was drawn in an anguished expression as she knelt beside him, desperate not to kill him. Lachlain saw the exact moment she'd known that she would have to. Though it went against everything she was, she'd done it. All alone, his brave Emmaline had slain her own father, then had looked to be
sizing up Ivo
directly after. But luckily, she'd saved him for Lachlain.

Her final act—leaping into the sun . . .

He was awed by her courage, but knew the toll this would take on her. Knew the toll he himself had taken on her. Was he selfish to go after her?

What if he's my father?

Malevolent, filthy parasites.

Christ, no.

“I
've come for Emma,” Lachlain bellowed, standing in the shadow of Emma's home, Val Hall, which looked to be the face of hell.

Though the fog was cloying, lightning fired all around, sometimes corralled by the many copper rods planted all along the roof and the grounds, sometimes by the scorched oaks crowding the yard. Annika stepped out onto the porch, looking otherworldly in her rage, her eyes glittering green, then silver, and back. Wraiths flew about her hair, cackling.

At that moment, he couldn't decide whether this bayou shrine to insanity or Helvita was worse. Nïx waved happily from a window.

He fought not to reveal how weak he was becoming. Bowe had wrapped his wounds tight, but his limbs were still weakening. Lachlain had forbidden Bowe or anyone else in the clan to accompany him to Val Hall, fearing this would devolve into a war, but he still sensed them in the forest all around.

“I'm taking Emma from this place tonight.”

Annika tilted her head as if to see him better. Emma did that, too. Emma had gotten it from this woman. “Never would I give my daughter to a dog.”

No man had in-laws like these.

“Then trade me for my brother.”

Garreth bellowed in Gaelic from somewhere inside, “Goddamn it, Lachlain, I just got
into
this house.”

“Or take both of us. Just let me talk to her.” He had to see if she was healing.

“The Accession is nigh, and you want us to imprison the Lykae king
and
his heir?”

Regin hurried to her side. She spoke in English, but with words he didn't understand, calling this a “slam dunk,” admonishing Annika, “Just take it to the hoop, Shaq.”

Annika's voice rang out. “She made her decision when she returned to her coven. When hurt and afraid and unthinking, she chose us. Not you, Lykae.”

That pained him terribly, her choice. Not only had she decided to leave him, she'd decided to
stay
away from him. But what right did he have to her after what he'd made her suffer? He hid his pain. “Do I go in, or do we go to war?”
Just to see if she's healing.

She looked past him, scanning the grounds, no doubt sensing their numbers. She tilted her head again, lifted her hand to the wraiths, and his path was cleared.

He limped into the darkened manor, seeing dozens of Valkyrie, curled up on chairs, hands on weapons, perched atop the stair railing. He fought not to gape at the sheer malice these fey beings exuded. For the hundredth time, he marveled that Emma had been raised among them.

They didn't restrain him. Did they know he wouldn't hurt them? Or did they want him to attack so they could slaughter him? He'd bet the latter.

Within two minutes of his entrance, he was shown to the cage in the damp half-basement that housed his brother
Garreth. He didn't resist even when the door clanged shut behind him.

Garreth stared at him as though seeing a ghost, then ran a hand over his face. “Do my eyes betray me?”

Lachlain's happiness at seeing his brother was overshadowed by worry. “No, it's me.”

Garreth rushed to him, grin in place, and whaled slaps on his back. “Well, brother, what have you gotten us into now?”

“Aye, it's good to see you as well.”

“I thought you were . . . When they said you'd taken Emma, I thought they were mad. Until I saw her, saw you'd marked her.” He frowned. “Marked her hard, no?” He shook his head. “Ach, anyway, it's good to have you back. Under any circumstances. I've so many questions, but that can wait. You need news about her?”

At his nod, Garreth said, “She's injured, Lachlain. She has gashes down her side, and she could no' drink though she was . . . she was about to die in just the first couple of hours.”

Lachlain flinched. Claws into his palms, he rasped, “What saved her?”

“An i.v.” At Lachlain's frown, he explained, “They gave her blood through a tube that fed it straight to her veins. They think she's stabilized, but the gashes will no' heal. I suspect whatever got her had poisoned claws. Maybe a ghoul, but I doona know.”

“I do.” Lachlain ran his hand through his hair. “Demestriu did this to her. I saw it all.”

“I doona understand—” Garreth broke off. He shot to his feet, then his entire frame grew still and tense. “Lucia?”

Lachlain glanced up, saw her descending the stairs. She tilted her head so her hair covered her face. The moment
they saw she'd been crying, Garreth's face grew grave, his eyes riveted to the archer.

“She's no' better?” Garreth asked.

She shook her head.

Lachlain clutched the bars. “She heals when she drinks from me.”

Garreth raised his eyebrows at that. “You let her . . . ?” To Lucia, he said, “Then let Lachlain go to her.”

“Annika forbids it. He's not to go near her. Emma sees things that aren't there, mumbles nonsense as though she's gone mad. Annika puts the blame squarely on his shoulders.”

She was right to. While Lachlain struggled with his guilt, Garreth asked, “What does she see?”

“Emma says that Demestriu was her father, and he put her in the fire, so she killed him.”

“She—did.”

Both of them swung their heads toward him.

What if he's my father?

“She did. She killed him.”

Lucia shook her head. “Sweet Emma? Kill the most powerful and deadly vampire ever to live?”

“Aye. He hurt her. Do none of you believe her?”

Garreth gave him an incredulous expression. “Demestriu's finally dead? Because of that wee thing? She's as fragile as eggshell.”

Lucia added, “Lachlain, when she finds a moth inside and tries to free it—well, if she accidentally dusts its wings, she's distraught for an entire night. I just don't see her killing this fiend on his home ground when Cara and Kaderin have failed to do so on a field of battle. And Furie, the strongest of us? If Demestriu could be killed by a Valkyrie, then surely she'd have done it.”

“You doona know her as I do. No' anymore—”

“Then what does she mean when she says Furie is alive but shouldn't be?”

“She's been imprisoned by the Horde. Demestriu never expected her to live this long.”

Lucia swayed, barely perceptibly. In a smaller voice, she asked, “And when she says Kristoff has her blood?”

“They're first cousins.”

Her lips parted in surprise.
“Furie lives . . . .”
she murmured.

“If you doona believe me, there's a video of the entire fight. I left it with Bowen, a member of our clan.”

Garreth stopped gaping at Lachlain and turned to Lucia. “Go get it. For Annika to see.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You want me to go to the clan?”

Garreth said, “Tell them I sent you, and they will no' hurt you. I vow it.”

Her chin went up. “I know they won't
succeed
in hurting me. But you're sending
me,
who'll be carrying a
bow,
among your people. They will not thank you for it.”

Lachlain saw that his brother's eyes held much feeling for the archer, but Garreth still snapped, “I would do it myself. But I canna since I've been put in a cage after coming to
your
rescue.”

She flushed as though with guilt, then finally said, “I will retrieve it and review it. Then give it to Annika, if it is as you say.”

Lachlain strained against the bars. “Damn it, that will take too long. Can you no' just take my blood for her to drink?”

“Annika forbids it. I am . . . sorry.”

When she left, Garreth continued to stare at the door. “Lucia will be quick about it.”

“How long have you known she's yours?”

“A month now.”

“I wondered why you were so eager to remain.” Lachlain surveyed the cage, eyeing it for weaknesses. He'd escaped far worse to get to Emma—he wouldn't be stopped now. “You've no' told her?”

“Lucia's tricky. And I suspect she's a runner. Tell her something she does no' want to hear and she'll disappear. And she feels no love for me. She's the reason I'm here in the first place. She suffers agonizing pain when she misses her target—that's why she's so bloody good. Annika set a trap, baited it with Lucia missing and screaming in pain, and I ran headlong. I should have known there was no way she'd miss again. You've never seen a creature shoot as she—”

“I have a good idea,” Lachlain said dryly, pulling his shirt aside to show him the healing wound on his shoulder.

Garreth clearly didn't know how to react to that. His brother shot by his mate.

“I harbor no anger toward her.” Lachlain strained to stretch the bars apart, unnerved when they didn't budge. How had he gotten this weak? Yes, he was riddled with injuries, but he'd never found a cage that could hold him. Unless . . . “They've reinforced these?”

“Aye.” Garreth rose and grasped the same bar Lachlain was struggling to bend. “These creatures ally with the witches. Annika told me nothing
physical
can bend these.”

When they both couldn't budge the steel, Lachlain dropped his hands to pace, examining the cage for any alternative, desperate to get to her. He crossed to the one cement
wall and pounded his fist against it. Too thick to dig through.

“I canna believe she shot you,” Garreth grated. “When we get out of here, I'll—”

“No, I doona care. Especially since you seem to accept that my mate's a vampire.”

He gave Lachlain an exasperated expression. “I would no' give a damn if she was a Fury, as long as you are content with her. And it's clear you are.”

“Aye, but I have to get to her,” Lachlain said, testing the cement floor.

“At least we're no' chained,” Garreth offered. “When they open this door, we can attack.”

Lachlain stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I'd prefer to be only chained. I'd take off my hands before I let Emma suffer any longer.”

Garreth eyed him, and Lachlain knew he'd said the words without the slightest reservation.

“Trust me, Garreth, it is no' so bad as this feeling—”

Emma whimpered in pain, and he could hear the sound as clearly as if she'd shrieked. He growled in answering pain and lunged into the bars.