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The phooka wrinkled his nose, his tail twitching. Claws dragged along the roof making a nasty scratching sound. “There are four right in here, Your Highness. Four souls for you to take. A man. A woman. Two children. Think of the blood. Think of the screams.”
Something about the little devil’s voice made Lach shiver. Or the fact that he could suddenly see himself slaughtering children. This was why he’d shoved his warrior half so far down. He was a monster.
“Lachlan!”
He let his sword drop, turning. His heart was pounding. Bron was dead. None of it mattered. If he continued, he would kill the families in their houses. He would plunder and pillage and then call their dead bodies to serve him.
And it wouldn’t bring her back.
He looked at his brother. He’d failed Shim as well. Without their mate, Shim would fade. Lach would go mad. He would have to be put down.
He’d failed everyone.
Shim stood in the middle of the square. The fire that had previously burned there was gone, only ashes surrounding the pole where they had bound her. He’d always envisioned her in bondage, his hands tying her lovingly to prepare her for play. This was a perverted vision of what should be loving.
Bronwyn’s delicate body lay in Shim’s arms, her limbs utterly limp, her head falling back. The sword fell from his hand. If another attacked, he would let death come. He would join his mate.
Shim hoisted her up, cradling her to his chest. “Lach, we have to go. Where are we going to go? We need a healer. Something’s wrong with me, Lach.”
Everything was wrong. Bron was gone. Everything was done.
“Lachlan? Shim?” A feminine voice cut through Lach’s misery.
Lach turned and, for a moment, his heart softened. She wore different clothes, peasant clothes, but she was his sister. His Gilly, the girl who had laughed with them, brought them their first horses.
Saved their bondmate.
He’d failed Gillian, too.
She stood there, staring between them, dark eyes confused as though she couldn’t believe they were here. “Where is the army? Father sent a force. He had to send a force, right? Where are they? We need to leave.”
“I’m not leaving, Gillian.” Lach’s heart felt like it would burst with the agony of what he felt. “You have to put me down. I can’t handle breaking with Bronwyn. Please, Gillian, if you ever loved me, kill me now. Save these people.”
Gillian’s mouth dropped open. “Goddess, Lach, you’re being ridiculous. Now tell me where the army is and how we get off this plane. We can have our family reunion later, brother.”
Shim had fallen to his knees, taking Bron with him. “She smells so damn good. I can’t resist. Lach. I need her.”
Lach watched as his brother’s eyes bled to pure black, and the whites pushed out. Shim’s fangs lengthened until they filled his mouth, tipping over his lips.
Mating fever.
How could Shim have mating fever for their dead mate?
Bron’s hands shook lightly, and then he heard it, a soft, sweet moan.
And he smelled it. Her scent. A breeze blew it, the delicate scent of her life wafting over his senses, filling him, and he was overcome.
His fangs pulled. His cock hardened. His focus dimmed to one thing and one thing alone.
Her.
The mating fever took over.
* * * *
Shim shook, his every sense open and overflowing with her. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew what this was.
His goblin blood was calling. He was proudly Unseelie. It meant his blood was mixed with all the Fae of the planes. His mother had been a vampire. His father a mix of sidhe and goblin and brownie. It was the goblin he felt now. The goblin need to mate with the perfect female rode him.
