Aequus Page 13

  “This conversation should be between you and Tristan, Freya. Not me. I have nothing to do with it.”

  “NO!” She becomes unglued, her face immediately morphing into a mask of rage before going blank. She shakes her head, smoothing her dress with her free hand before meeting my eyes with her icy ones. “I have tried to be kind. I warned you and you didn’t listen. Tristan banished you from the realm and you’ve reappeared. I even went so far as killing Henry and Annabelle so you would be forced to return to the Academy to mourn them, and yet, you are still here. What else is it going to take for you to just . . . disappear?”

  My body runs cold at her words, and my eyes lift to Tristan, who looks shocked. “What did you say?” I whisper.

  Realizing what she let slip, Freya straightens her spine.

  All the air escapes my lungs and my world tilts. She killed Chancellor Davidson and his secretary. Freya. Not the dark army, or another gargoyle. A jealous water nymph.

  “That’s how someone got in undetected. You came in through the water in the faucets.” My eyes fall to her comb, and she slowly moves her hand to her side so it’s out of view. “They were beheaded. How did one tiny nymph take on two skilled gargoyle warriors?”

  “I drugged their tea,” she answers, in a kind tone that doesn’t match her words, as if this will make it all okay.

  My eyes lift to hers. “That’s why the protectors didn’t fight back. They couldn’t. You paralyzed them with a drug?”

  “Aconite. It’s easily absorbed and untraceable, which is why Gage and Nassa have come up empty-handed. It causes asphyxia and arrhythmic heart failure, leading to suffocation, which is why I had to behead them. Their throats swelled and I didn’t want any traces of the flower. I believe you came across the bloom on your recent visit to the Garden of the Deities.” Her tone is quiet, but her words are a challenge. She knew we went into the realm that day, which means she’s following us or having us followed.

  Without a thought, I lift the bottom of my dress and yank out my daggers, pointing them at her throat. Her eyes widen in fright as she backs up to the wall. In an instant, Tristan and Zander are both at my sides as I seethe.

  “You killed my kin. You spilt gargoyle blood.”

  “Serena,” Tristan says my name calmly.

  “In my world, when you take a protector’s life, we show no mercy. An eye for an eye,” I spit in her face.

  “Serena,” Tristan speaks my name again.

  “Did you hear?” I ask him.

  “Yes. I heard everything. Put down the daggers. This isn’t the time, nor is it the place,” he says slowly.

  “Give me one good reason not to end your life right here and now.” I dig the points of my knives into her throat.

  A defiant smile crosses her lips. “Go ahead, Your Highness,” she spurs me on. “But know this: if I don’t check in with my helpers at the Academy, Magali will be next. Followed by Ireland, and then Ryker. I also have a team watching Ethan and Lucas in Paris. They won’t hesitate.”

  I yank my daggers away from her throat, but slap her hard with the handle of one of them. “You bitch.”

  Her shaky hand goes to her bleeding mouth. “I am simply claiming what’s rightfully mine. I don’t care why you went to see the gods and goddesses. I couldn’t care less what you three have been doing secretly behind Ophelia’s back. All I want is Tristan. That is it. You go. He stays. It’s that simple.”

  Tristan’s jaw clicks. “Serena, stop.” He grabs my arms, pushing me back. “Both of you. Stop.”

  I take a step back and he steps in front of me, bending down so we are at eye level. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

  “Listen to him, Your Highness,” Freya adds, and I lift my daggers again.

  Tristan’s hands grab my upper arms and tighten, walking me away from her.

  “Let. Me. Go.”

  “No.”

  Suddenly, I am being lifted and dragged away.

  “Calm down,” Tristan whispers in my ear.

  “No,” I mutter, pushing him away.

  My chest heaves with hatred and adrenaline.

  Zander walks between us and cups my cheeks.

  “Champ, we will take care of this. On my honor. If you kill her tonight, you will start a war that we are unprepared for. Do you understand?”

  My eyes glide to Zander, and I breathe in and out. With teary eyes, I nod and curl into the safety of his chest.

  After a moment, I step back.

  Hurt crosses Tristan’s expression as he watches us.

  “We’re done, Tristan. He’s all yours, Freya. You can call your team off my friends,” I state, my voice void of emotion.

  “After the wedding, I would be happy to,” she replies.

  Zander and Tristan exchange a look before Tristan steps away from me, allowing Zander to guide me away.

  “Oh, Your Highness,” Freya’s voice stops us. “Please consider yourself having declined Tristan’s earlier request.”

  “Which was?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “He wanted you to dance with him tonight.”

  Tristan

  SERIOUSLY? FREYA WAS WATCHING US IN the bathroom? I drop my arms and whirl around on the nymph. I stare at her, fury raging under my skin. She’s holding her jaw where Serena smacked the shit out of her. The bruise is appearing quickly under her silver skin, as drops of blood fall from her cut lip.

  Without another word, I spin around and stomp away from her. I can’t even look her in the eyes right now.

  “Tristan, wait!” she calls after me.

  I turn and lunge at her so fast that she startles, scrambling back, and hits the side of the wall. Fear is apparent in her stare as I seethe at her, my teeth bared in an animalistic expression.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I bark.

  “YOU!” she shouts. “All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

  “And you think killing two gargoyles, threatening five others, and following me around is the way to get me?” I yell in her face, not caring that I’m scaring her.

  “No, I don’t.”

  My eyebrows furrow, confused by her answer.

  “I think it’s the only way to keep you.”

  My angry stare drives into her, my hands twitching and flexing with my wrath. Automatically, my arm snaps out, my hand grabs her throat, and I push her hard against the wall. My rage is so palpable I can feel it coming off my skin.

  “If anything happens to Serena—or Magali, Ireland, Ryker, Ethan, or Lucas—I will end you. Without batting an eyelash, I will personally kill you myself.” I lean into her. “You think you can threaten me? Kill two of my kin? And that will keep me in line? If so, you’re so fucking wrong. If I were you, I would start sleeping with one eye open.” I release her hard and she falls to the stone ground.

  Within seconds, I vanish, reappearing in the one place I may not be welcomed, but know I’ll be safe and understood.

  The loft is dark when I arrive. Then again, it’s always dark. The fireplace is lit, providing a warm glow, and the amber lights from the Eiffel Tower outside the large, floor-to-ceiling windows offer a small amount of ambience.

  On the stone coffee table, two crystal tumblers sit, filled with amber liquid. As I approach, the dark figure on the L-shaped couch shifts. A lit cigarette dangles from his lips as he watches me grab one of the glasses and fall into a chair across from where he is with a heavy, tired sigh.

  “Tristan.”

  “Gage.” I lift the glass to my lips. “Expecting me?”

  He sits back, eyes on me, inhaling the nicotine from the cigarette before blowing out a trail of smoke at me.

  “I found out who killed Henry and Annabelle,” he says around the cigarette, and leans over to snatch his glass off the table, swirling the liquid as he stares at it. “I figured it was only a matter of time before you showed up.”

  I tip my glass toward him and he mirrors the gesture before we each toss a shot of brandy back in one swallow.

  Wi
th the burn of alcohol flowing down my throat, I ignore how similar our mannerisms and appearances are.

  He takes another long drag off his cigarette before releasing out the smoke in a slow, methodical, calm exhale.

  Sea-green eyes meet mine. “The London clan will find out. And when they do, they will kill her. Regardless of whether she’s your mate or not.” Gage speaks in a bored, detached voice.

  I fall silent. Dropping my head back on the leather chair, I focus on the dark wood beams running across the ceiling.

  “I’ll take your silence as an ‘I don’t give a fuck, Gage.’”

  I grunt. “Apologies. I don’t give a fuck, Gage.”

  Watching me, he places his glass back on the table, then pinches the last of his cigarette between his fingers as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip in contemplation. “Freya is to be your wife. Her death doesn’t affect you at all?”

  “No.” My answer is clipped.

  “Why are you here then, Tristan?” he asks in a low tone.

  I drop my chin and look him directly in the eyes, so he can see just how fucking serious I am. Because when it comes to Serena St. Michael, apparently, I’ll make a deal with the devil himself—my biological father—to save her.

  “I need your help.”

  Wordlessly we hold one another’s gaze, allowing a few tense moments to pass between us before he speaks again.

  “You must be desperate if you’re asking for my help.”

  “I am.”

  “But not with Freya?”

  “No.”

  He waits quietly.

  “Serena.”

  “Ah. The London clan’s princess.” He falls quiet again as his eyes search my face. After a few moments of assessing me, he inclines his head. “Lay it out for me,” he demands in an even tone. “Make it short and sweet. Simple. I have a very low tolerance for bullshit and lack of clarity.”

  That makes two of us—it must be another inherited trait.

  “The Sun of Vergina prophecy has been fulfilled. Not with Freya. With Serena. Oren made a deal with Asmodeus, granting him access to my realm during the wedding, so he can get to Serena and murder my family. Oren wants to rule both realms. Freya has nymphs stationed at the Academy, targeting Magali, Ireland, and Ryker, as well as here in Paris, at Notre Dame, on Ethan and Lucas. Should I decide not to marry her, those protectors will experience a fate similar to Henry and Annabelle’s—death by aconite.”

  “Christ. Is that what she used on them?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits back, studying me. “Nassa has no pull with her uncle. If a deal was made with Asmodeus, it’s set in stone.”

  “I figured. That’s not what I need your help with.”

  “I disagree, but go on.”

  “I want to know who the nymphs at the Academy are.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “And I require—I need them not to exist anymore.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “They’re my kin, so it can’t be traced back to me.”

  “These nymphs threaten to spill protector blood, which also runs through your veins. Your hands are clean,” he assures me.

  “We need to find them before the London clan does.”

  “Is Ophelia aware of any of this shit?”

  “No. Neither is Rionach. Let’s keep it that way.”

  He ponders my words for a long moment, before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you planning to deal with Asmodeus and the war Oren is bringing into your realm if the queen and commander of her army are unware of the dangers?” His voice is hard.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He throws the last of his cigarette into his empty glass.

  “I do.” The protector stands. “Follow me.”

  Gage guides me down a short hallway before opening a door that leads into a dimly lit room. From the small amount of light coming through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and the several burning candles, it looks as if the room might have been an office at one point—but it’s not anymore.

  The smell of vervain incense, used by sorceresses to ward off vampires while they do magic, fills the air. A large wooden table, covered with sorcery engravings, has been pushed against one of the walls. On the table are various candles in different sizes, shapes, and colors. Gemstones and old books are scattered around the candles.

  My questioning gaze slides to Gage, and he grunts.

  “This is what happens when you give a sorceress an overnight drawer. Her shit shows up everywhere. It was only supposed to be floss.” He runs a frustrated hand through his golden-blond hair. “Now, it’s fucking candles, and a squawking crow,” he yells the words at the bird.

  On cue, a black, beady-eyed crow caws from its perch in a cage located in the back corner of the darkened room.

  “Nassa’s familiar?” I question.

  “Tristan, Noir. Noir, Tristan.”

  The bird screeches again and ruffles its raven feathers.

  “Fucking crow.”

  “Watch it, Gallagher,” a deep, raspy voice warns.

  Nassa, sorceress of prosperity and Gage’s significant other, approaches us from behind. I turn, meeting her deep emerald eyes. Her face is pretty and delicate—unlike her personality, which is hard and tough. She flicks her long, straight, plum-highlighted, black hair over her shoulder.

  Narrowing her gaze at me, she points a black-manicured finger in my direction. “I’ve heard of runaway brides, but not grooms. Why are you in my spell room and not marrying the water-princess-nymph-being-thing?”

  “It’s not your spell room. It’s my office,” Gage snarls.

  A hard glare is thrown his way. “Why are you in here?”

  “Because,” Gage’s tone is irritated, “it’s my office.”

  One of Nassa’s perfect brows arches as she ignores Gage’s moody personality and turns her focus onto me. “Tristan?”

  I shrug. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Like Gage, you curse a lot.”

  Gage exhales and runs his hands over his face, calming himself down, and his voice turns stern. “Looking for you.”

  “I didn’t hear you. You’re doing that mumble quietly so she doesn’t hear me thing you’ve been doing lately.”

  “I was looking for you!” he shouts.

  “Me?” she asks, not believing him. “Why?”

  “We need Branna,” he states simply.

  An unreadable expression crosses her face. “For?”

  “It’s complicated,” he answers.

  She crosses her arms and toes her Converses, annoyed.

  “Everything with you always is, Gallagher,” she rasps.

  “I need her in the woodland realm. Tomorrow,” he adds.

  She sends him a death glare. “Branna isn’t at your beck and call, Gallagher. You just can’t command things of her.”

  “I can. Find her. Get her there,” he fires back.

  The two of them stare at one another in some sort of standoff. It’s apparent there is more to this heated discussion than I’m picking up on. And truly, I don’t care.

  “Who is Branna?” I end their confrontation.

  Watching the two of them interact is strange and fascinating. Like watching animals use utensils. It’s wrong on so many different levels, but you just can’t stop looking.

  Nassa clears her throat. “She’s an old friend of mine.”

  “An old friend.” My eyes glide between them.

  “Of both of ours,” Gage snips, and she flinches.

  “Is she a sorceress of the Black Circle?” I ask Nassa.

  “No. Branna is a Maleficium witch,” she responds.

  “What is Maleficium?” I ask, never having heard of it.

  “A form of dark and powerful sorcery,” Nassa replies.

  “Dark magic?” My eyes slide to Gage.

  “To fight darkness, you need darkness,” he resolves.

&n
bsp; Tristan

  ZANDER CROSSES HIS ARMS OVER HIS broad chest. He isn’t as imposing in stature as either Rionach or myself, but there is a severe elegance about him that seems just as threatening while he considers me silently for a moment.

  “I want to know what the endgame is here, Tristan. What happens when Branna enters the realm? And what about Serena? I know you well enough to know that if she’s in danger, your focus will be on her and not on taking out the realm’s risk. Don’t even get me going on Freya’s threat against Magali and the rest of the protectors at the Academy. So what is the real reason you’ve agreed to bring a Maleficium witch into the realm? Keep in mind, I’m not just your brother, but I am second in command of our army. I have no problem leveraging my position if you don’t want to be honest with me.”

  Begrudgingly, I tell him the plan I agreed to last night with Gage and Nassa. His dark eyes become slits and his jaw clenches as he listens, until awareness dawns on him.

  I lean back into the kitchen counter and watch him as things start to shift in his gaze as he puts the puzzle pieces together. When he has everything figured out, he takes a step closer to me and scowls. “And you trust this witch?”

  I push off the counter and match his stance.

  “I have no choice.”

  He nods his agreement. “If this doesn’t stop Oren for good, our army will step in and finish the task, at my lead.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. “I need to tell Serena.”

  Zander releases a bitter-sounding laugh and lifts his hand, rubbing at his jawline. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

  “How is she?”

  “Worried. For her best friend, as am I. And the others. Serena is convinced Henry and Annabelle’s blood is on her hands,” he sighs. “She’s a royal protector. Her DNA is programmed to save lives, not end them. Especially her kin. Something your gargoyle half should sympathize with.”

  I ignore his taunt. “Where is she?”