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It’s almost dawn, mastyr. Go home.
I have plenty of time to find shelter and still take care of you. Let me take care of you.
She’d had enough experience with men to know he’d be as good as his word, probably better, which defined her current predicament.
It was her own fault. She’d been without a man way too long. Now she was so hungry, she’d even sleep with Quinlan, a vampire known to use up women and cast them aside like candy wrappers. He had no room in his world, his life, his heart for a relationship. She didn’t know all the details, but the horrific event surrounding his parents’ deaths had set him on this course, so good luck to any woman trying to overturn a childhood trauma.
At last, she released her death grip on the wrought iron and sat up. He’d given her time to think, to let her smarts work for her right now instead of her hormones.
Unfortunately, she still wanted the vampire bad.
And he still streamed his vibration, teasing her between her legs, but gently now, a reminder of what he could do to her if they were together, that he could sustain the sensation in a dozen places at once while he worked her physically with a nice list of attributes. She’d heard the rumors about him, which didn’t help either.
You know we’ll do this eventually. Even in her head his deep voice rumbled, another seductive layer that weakened her resolve. Quinlan had one of the deepest voices she’d ever heard, a rich bass. So, why not tonight, Cha?
She picked up her brush and pulled forward a heavy length of her thick hair. By long-established ritual, she started at the tips and began working out the tangles one by one. Brushing helped her to think, to remember, to coalesce thoughts and arguments, to synthesize opposing threads.
Quinlan…bad.
Grochaire Realm…bad.
Her artist’s life in Lebanon…good.
She brushed and brushed, scowling and thinking, his vibration still an easy, seductive presence. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt utterly threatened by Quinlan, that something about him could destroy the precious life she’d built for herself outside of her birth realm.
She knew who she was in Lebanon.
Grochaire and the Realm-world swallowed her up, using her combo troll-fae powers until she sank under the weight of it.
She could never go back to that life and yet here she was, about ready to open herself up to the Mastyr of Grochaire Realm himself, the legendary Quinlan and his god-like physique.
Her brush fell from her hands as she lifted her gaze back to the window, where she could see him hovering, holding himself in place through levitation alone, his vibration still a beautiful sensation.
Hang-it-all, she was going to let him in.
But just as she slipped from bed and her long skirts fell into place to her ankles, a brilliant white-yellow light flashed behind Quinlan. He whipped around, then dropped from sight as shrieking sounded outside her building, the kind that came from Invictus wraith-pairs.
She heard him shout something, maybe the word, ‘run’. She wasn’t sure, but the high-pitched battle screams meant only one thing, Invictus.
She couldn’t believe that the Invictus had come to Lebanon. From what she’d always understood, the deadly wraith-pairs didn’t have the ability to pass the realm access points and enter the U.S. She’d always thought herself safe because of it.
In the street, a red wind streamed.
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan stood on the sidewalk with his back to Batya’s art gallery, uncertain what the hell he was looking at. He waited with lowered shoulders, his arms firing up his battle frequency so that he could release killing energy in streams through the palms of his hands. He even had a dagger in his leathers if this battle got up-close-and-personal.
But what the hell was he looking at?
He could almost make out the shape of a woman held within a bright yellow glow, a sight that made his vampire eyes ache. He smelled the female though, a dark rancid scent that he knew from a battle six months ago in Bergisson Realm. An ancient fae had cursed the area and dammed up the waterfall at Sweet Gorge. Together, the Mastyr of Bergisson and his blood rose, Samantha, had created a new paradise there and the fae’s stench was gone.
But Quinlan would never forget that smell and it was here now, in Lebanon.
However, it would appear she’d shifted her attention to him, or maybe to Batya. But what would the ancient fae want with an ex-patriot, living at the Tennessee human earth access point, and running a free-clinic for other disenfranchised realm-folk? Batya wasn’t exactly a threat to the Invictus, the deadly wraith-pairs that many now believed the ancient fae had created.
But whatever this was, Batya was no match for the powerful fae, which was why he’d shouted for her to run.
From the shadows behind the golden glow, four figures emerged, levitating just a few feet above the ground.
Invictus wraith-pairs.
Yet something more.
Bigger.
Deadlier.
Two female wraiths each bonded with Guard-sized vampires, as big as him. But they weren’t regular vampires at all. Holy shit, each was a mastyr vampire. The Nine Realms had over two dozen mastyr vampires beyond those, like him, who ruled each realm. Only the most powerful mastyrs became rulers, a law that had been part of the Nine Realm world for millennia.
His nostrils flared. A bitter edge reached him, emanating from the Invictus, something cloying that reeked of the ancient fae and both pairs smelled of it, like wet ashes, a sure sign that this new version of the Invictus was her creation.
Great.
The battling vibration of both Invictus pairs swarmed toward him and in this moment he knew he was dead.
He could have fought a dozen normal wraith-pairs, but not these two together. Maybe not even one alone because the bond between wraith and mastyr vampire had created unimaginable power between each couple.
He thought of Batya in her studio. What would happen to her if he couldn’t stop them? He didn’t want to think about that.
A woman’s voice called out. “This is all wrong. He’s not supposed to be here.” The ancient fae drifted sideways, her features indistinct, her glow still hurting the backs of his corneas. He shaded a hand over his eyes.
And why wasn’t he supposed to be here?
Her words meant only one thing, that she’d come for Batya.
The thought of her in the hands of any of these monsters increased and focused his battle energy. He lifted his hands. “All right, motherfuckers, which of you wants to die first?”
* * * * * * * * *
Trembling, Batya made her way to the lower gallery floor and hid behind one of the pillars. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing and her heart beat so hard in her chest she thought it would explode.
