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Her words made him pause, then he slowly nodded, as if contemplating the situation. “OK, I got it. They can do a lot of damage, but,” he emphasized, “that still doesn’t explain why anyone wants to kill you. You don’t have the bullets.” He lifted his eyebrow then added without preambles, “Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me about the queen.”

Yara looked away. Damn him. Her “give him a little bit of rope” tactic hadn’t worked. But, if she were to be honest with herself, she hadn’t smelt the bitter lime-like odor of deceit in the air, her panther hadn’t jumped in alert and he sounded really genuine. 

“Yara,” he leaned forward and pulled her hands in his. “You can trust me.”

Yara’s heart swelled.

A metallic clanking sound coming from the living room made them both jump. Someone was trying to open the door. After a moment of silence, the doorbell rang.

Yara cocked her eyebrows at him, as in “are you going to get it or not?”

His thick lips pressed into a thin line. The doorbell rang again followed by insistent knocking. By Apa Dobrý, who was it?

Rafe let out a frustrated breath and rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.” He declared, standing up. Just before he left the bathroom, he turned around. “And when I do, I want you to tell me all about the queen’s sudden sickness.”

Yara’s blood went cold.

She never said anything about Z being sick.

She stared at the closed door, her mind going a million miles per hour. Did that mean that Phillip knew Z was “sick”? Of course he did, Phillip had probably been the one who told Rafe about it. How else would Rafe know? He had probably been hired by Phillip to seduce Yara and find out if Z was pregnant or not.  

The coin dropped and Yara felt sick to the stomach. There it was, right in front of her, flashing like a neon sign – the real reason why Rafe had wanted to “talk.” The truth had finally come out. Their entire encounter had been a big, fat charade. Rafe had been hired to gain her trust, find out what was happening, and use that information to destroy Tardieh and Z. And Yara by default. He had admitted to it himself, when he confessed he had been hired by Phillip to follow her to Brazil. Their little quarrel over her at the party had probably been nothing but a well-rehearsed drill.

Warm tears flooded her eyes. Her mind was screaming for revenge, for payback, but her heart was singing a completely different tune. His words had sounded so sincere, his concern for her had been so real, that it had touched her. Her gut feeling told her that if he didn’t care for her a little he wouldn’t have saved her from Yuma-ci in Brazil; and he would have left her to die under the rubble at the Dungeon.

Or maybe that was part of the plan too.

She had to get the Hiad out of there and run as fast as she could. She had a horrible track record with men. Pedro had been only the first to use and abuse her. A few more had followed after him, until she’d grown a thick skin and a brick wall around her heart, complete with moat and piranhas. But Rafe had entered her life like a bulldozer, and was smashing through her thick wall. No, Yara knew better than to listen to her stupid heart.

It was time to make a run for it.

She climbed out of the tub and listened for noises. Muffled voices reached her ears – Rafe’s and a woman’s. A sudden wave of rage overcame Yara. Rafe’s visitor was a woman.
Who was the bitch?

No … Ignore the stupid gut feeling, Yara chided herself.

She took a deep breath, forced her jealousy to go back to its cage, then quickly picked up the shirt from the floor, darted out of the bathroom, opened the window as silently as possible, and jumped out, before her heart won the battle against her mind.

Chapter Thirteen

Rafe picked up a pair of jeans from his bedroom and crossed his living room. He was ready to tell whoever it was knocking on his door to fuck off. He had to go back to Yara and finish their little chat. He needed answers and he needed her to start trusting him. He had no idea how he’d do that, be he would find a way. Something told him that she didn’t only have issues with commitment but with the male gender in general. Someone in her past had done a number on her, for sure. He ran a hand over his stubble. If he came across the S.O.B. who had hurt her, by Apa Dobrý, not even the Gods would be able to save the fucker from his rage. But one step at a time – he’d deal with the prick who planted the bomb first, then he’d go find this old boyfriend of hers and gut him alive. Right now, however, he needed to get rid of whoever it was on his front porch.

Rafe went to the window and opened the curtain. A short blonde with a wide smile stared back at him.

Damn.

He unlocked the door.

Sandy, Archie’s little sister, Rafe’s cousin, lunged herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe you didn’t come by our house when you arrived, you bastard!” she said kissing him on the cheeks.

He hugged her back. “Hey Sandy.”

“And what’s with the locked door?” she asked him, already walking in.

Rafe quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “This is not a good time, Sandy.”

“Why not?” she replied frowning, then her blue eyes went wide. “Are you with someone?”

“No, I’m not,” he replied, trying to block her attempt to see past his shoulder.

“Liar. I can smell her.”

Rafe cursed under his breath. He loved Sandy, she was like a little sister to him, and one of the only family members who he didn’t mind seeing in the rare occasions when he came over to pack territory, but, by Apa Dobrý, her habit of snooping around was a pain in the ass.

“What do you want, Sandy?” He reached out for his cigarette pack on his back pocket. Yara’s words from last night came flooding back. “
The odor of your cigarettes is still here … mainly on your clothes, but your real scent is exotic, spicy, dark.
” He crushed the pack in his hand then threw it in the trash can by the door. For some reason, he wanted her to have more of his exotic, spicy, dark scent.

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Fine, Mr. Secretive, I won’t butt in with whatever you’re doing in there.”

“Good, so I’ll see you later.”

“No wait!” Sandy shouted, stopping him from walking back into the house. “I wanted to show you our work of art.”

Rafe turned back around. “Since when are you into painting?”

“No, silly, the butter sculpture!”

Oh, right,
that
work of art.
Rafe remembered that Sandy was the one who had come up with the idea of applying to be the sculpture master at the New York State Fair. It had taken her two years fighting for it, but she did it. This year, his pack’s dairy farm won the coveted title of producers of the most popular attraction at the fair. He didn’t get it, because this wasn’t his life anymore – it was just butter, people! But he understood how much it meant for his pack and for Sandy. It was a big deal and he didn’t want to burst her bubble.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Is it finished already?”

“Almost. We’re running a bit behind schedule but it’s coming along real nice. Come, I want to show it to you. Your lady friend can wait.”

No, she can’t
.
“Sorry, Sandy, maybe later. I’m a bit tied up right now.”
To a hot Brazilian goddess.

Sandy made a face and was about to argue back when a clicking sound coming from the edge of the house called her attention. “What was that?”

Rafe was wondering exactly the same thing. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Something wasn’t right. “Gotta go, Sandy, I’ll come by the factory later, maybe tomorrow.”

He rushed back inside and closed the door behind him. Then he ran to the guest bathroom where he’d left Yara. It was empty. He followed the wet footsteps which led to the guest bedroom. Yara was nowhere to be found and the window was ajar.

Fuck.

Chapter Fourteen

Z stretched her arms and pulled out the heavy book from the shelf. Tardieh’s library was magnificent and held over a thousand books. It had mesmerized Zoricah from day one but right now, it was really pissing her off. She had been stuck in there for almost five hours and still hadn’t found one line about a prophecy involving a mixed-creature offspring. Earlier in the day, she had started from the very first row of books. She was now almost hitting the tall ceiling and nothing, nada, niente, zilch.

She wrapped one arm on the ladder to hold her in place, and flicked trough the book in her hands. No point in climbing all the way to the table, just to go back up when the book came out to be another waste of time. After perusing the first chapters she already knew the answer. Yep, waste of time. It was just an index of botanic anomalies in the world. How exciting. She exhaled sharply and closed it up. Stretching her arm to full length, she tried to put it back on the shelf.

A light breeze whooshed past her just before the soft sound of wood splintering reached her ears. The ladder wobbled, making her lose her balance. She clasped on the edges and stood still. Crap, was that ladder about to crumble on her? She waited a second, just to be sure. When her heart felt it was safe to move again, she exhaled and extended her arm out once more to finish placing the book on the far corner.

Out of nowhere, the ladder wobbled again, harder this time around, and tumbled over. The book slipped from Z’s fingers as she struggled to grasp for support. Her survival instincts kicked in and her dragon claws popped out in record time, digging into the wooden shelf, just as the ladder collapsed on the floor almost 20 ft. below.

What in Hiad had just happened?

She mentally thanked Apa Dobrý as her strong claws held her up, giving her enough time to let her dragon wings emerge. If it wasn’t for them, she would have crashed down. It wouldn’t have killed her, but it may have hurt the baby in her belly.

“Mighty Soartas, Z!” she heard Naiah cry from to door.

“I’m alright,” Z replied quickly. She batted her wings and landed softly on the floor. “Tardieh needs to be more selective when shopping for household equipment, that’s all,” she stated lightly, but her heart was pounding. She crouched by the broken ladder, intrigued. A frown formed on her temple when her eyes spotted a fissure on one of the legs. It was a clear cut, as if someone had severed the base on purpose.
What in Hiad?

“You need to be more careful, Z,” Naiah said. “There’s no way of knowing how your pregnancy will affect your powers. It may even slow them down, so you shouldn’t trust them.” She waved a bottle of Yara’s potion in front of her.

Z nodded in agreement. Rarely did she accept being scolded, but in this case, her newfound friend was right. She had to be more careful.

Z pushed off the floor and took what Naiah was offering. Yuk, she hated that murky shake, but it really worked. It settled her stomach and calmed her down. She’d been taking it religiously before every meal, and even if she didn’t want to, the young witch was always there with a bottle ready for her. The strange side effect that had turned her into a nymphomaniac earlier on had subsided a bit. But she wasn’t complaining about her enhanced sexual stamina, and neither was Tardieh.

“What were you doing up there anyway?”

“I’m looking for clues,” Z replied and cringed when the murky green potion touched her lips. She took a sip and pondered out loud. “Naiah, as the keeper of the sacred barks …”

“Soarta Scrolls,” she corrected softly.

“Soarta Scrolls,” Z repeated, “do you have free access to all barks and legends in your tribe’s library?”

Naiah shook her head. “My role is more to record things rather than read them or interpret them. The Mothers do that.”

Damn it.

“But …”

“But?”

“The water stars have turned red,” Naiah said gravely, as if
that
explained everything.

“You gotta give me a bit more rope here, hon,” Z replied.

Naiah looked up as if trying to find words. “We believe that some of our ancient poems were once part of prophecies and passed down from generation to generation in the form of songs. There’s one in particular which talks about the white water lilies turning red and blood spilling. It’s an omen. A bad omen.”

A cold chill ran up Z’s spine. That didn’t sound very good. “And you saw lilies turn red?” Z asked, already knowing the answer.

Naiah nodded grimly. “Last night, when Dyam and I were by the Emerald Lake. All the water lilies turned crimson, one by one.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound very good.” Z took a deep breath. “What do you think it means?”

“Death.”

Z stared into the young witch’s eyes and let her words sink in.

Crap. She hated when prophecies came to life on her watch, especially ones she knew nothing about.

The door suddenly creaked open and Tardieh came in, followed by Dyam. The Cherokee vampire’s eyes searched for Naiah’s. The girl smiled broadly but it quickly faded when it wasn’t reciprocated. Dyam looked away. It was very discreet but obvious for a connoisseur like Z.
Hmm, interesting,
she thought and made a mental note to ask the young witch later about that. Something else must have happened during their field trip to the Amazon, but now was certainly not the time to enquire about it.

“We’ve been tracking the bookie from the Dungeon,” Tardieh proclaimed. “As it turns out, he’s one of the owners, and he’s on his way there as we speak.”

Z’s heart kick started and the entire Naiah-Dyam soap opera vanished from her thoughts. “Merciful Soartas, that’s
the
lead we’ve been waiting for!” she exclaimed, a little too loud.

Tardieh stared at her, surprised. “You’ve just taken your potion, huh?”

Z rolled her eyes. “You’d be loud, too, if
your
hormones were in a perpetual rollercoaster.”

He nodded respectfully, as if saying ‘I hear you’, but a ghost of a smile lifted his lips.

Typical
. Z narrowed her eyes at him but let it go. Yara’s disappearance was much more important than any squabble. “The bookie vanished after the bomb. We have to get to him before he goes back into hiding again.”

“It’s daylight, my queen,” Dyam pointed out almost apologetically. He was always so deferential. 

“You guys can’t go out,” Z replied. “But Sam and I can.” She placed the sports bottle on the coffee table and strolled to the door.

Tardieh stepped in front of her. His expression was as stern as a chiseled rock. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. It was clear he didn’t like her new plan and was planning on stopping her from carrying it out.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to curb the rebel inside her screaming for freedom. “My love,” she said softly. “I promise I’ll be careful. Sam is an experienced warrior and she can back me up just as easily as any of you can.”

He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. Still, no words came out of his mouth.

Z’s heart swelled. Tardieh was over three hundred years old, and had the protective instinct of a mother hen, and yet there he was, obviously fighting with himself to accept her as equal. “How about this,” she consented. “Sam and I will go and just observe, just a normal stakeout, and see where the bookie takes us. Would you be comfortable with that plan?”

He gave her a knowing look. “Of course not, but do I have a choice?”

Z let her own lips curve into a kindhearted smile.
No, he didn’t.

He exhaled a long sigh and pulled her into his arms, in a rare public display of affection. Z hugged him back. She wasn’t the only one changing with this pregnancy by the looks of things.

“Just promise me you will not engage with the enemy if he’s not alone.”

“Promise.” She pulled back and gave him a peck on the lips. “And I also promise to be quick,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ve just taken half of Yara’s potion.”

He pressed his lips together, obviously trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. “So, go,” he replied. “And keep your cellphone in hand.”