Kresley Cole - Dreams of a Dark Warrior

“That’s only fair, Phenïx, since you’ve long defied insight.” Phenïx?

Nïx canted her head. “What does your Endgame tell you?”

“That white queen will never take black king.” He gave her a formal bow. “Until our next match.”

“There won’t be a next match, vampire.”

His brow creased into a frown, the Enemy of Old disappeared.

With a lackadaisical air—as if she just hadn’t been toe-to-toe with the Lore’s most-feared fiend—Nïx strolled over to Regin. “Tsk, tsk.” She gazed down at Chase. “He was such a cute boy. He gave me a hug good-bye that day at the fair, even though he thought I was a fortune-teller crone.”

Regin swung her head up. “You saw him?”

“Saw who?”

“Nïx!”

“Regin!”

Inhale. Exhale. Pet Chase’s forehead. Don’t go crazy like her.

Lucia arrived then, hand in hand with Garreth MacRieve. “Regin, thank gods, you’re al— who are you holding?”

Out of the corner of her lips, Carrow said, “That’s the guy I was telling you about.”

Lucia’s eyes went wide. “This isn’t the man who … tortured you?”

“It’s complicated, Luce. J-just help me get him back to Val Hall.”

“Help him ?” Garreth growled. “After he tortured my cousin Uilleam? Who, incidentally, is seconds behind us and bent on mauling this mortal.”

Freed of his collar, Brandr stepped up. “He’ll have to go through me.” His eyes glowed, his muscles burgeoning.

Natalya flared her poisonous claws. “And me.”

Thad bowed up his chest. “Me, too.”

Garreth looked ready to tangle. Lucia plucked her bowstring, her loyalties torn. A howl sounded in the near distance, footfalls crashing closer. …

It was Malkom who broke up the tension. “The magister tortured me, as well.”

Great, another hater. “You got your revenge, demon! You want more?”

“I have Carrow because of him,” Malkom said. “I want no revenge. I seek to repay.”

Carrow gazed up at Malkom like a sap. “Let’s start by tracing him the hell out of Dodge.”

For two days, Chase lay in her bed at Val Hall, pale, still, his heartbeat so sporadic that at times she thought he’d … died.

Brandr had paced a hole in the rug, while Regin struggled to hold on to hope.

No one had any idea what would happen, not even Nïx, who’d only absently said, “Such a sweet little boy.”

Now, as another morning broke, Regin rechecked the curtains, ensuring that no light reached him. “Will you stay with him, Brandr? I need to go downstairs for a bit.” To go on a fool’s errand.

“Of course.”

She leaned down and kissed Chase’s damp forehead. Strapping on her borrowed sword, she marched from her bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door of Val Hall.

Thad and Natalya were on the porch swing, drinking coffee and holding vigil with Nïx.

Regin’s sisters had initially taken issue with a half vamp like Thad and a dark fey like Natalya gaining entry past the wraiths, but Regin had been adamant about their staying.

Thad asked her, “Is DC going to be okay?”

“He’s totally gonna pull through,” Regin said, but even she recognized that she sounded half-hysterical, her words tinged with that out-of-place confidence people had when staring down a gun barrel.

“Don’t be long, Regin!” Nïx called. “And if you see Bertil, tell that little scallywag that it’s past his bedtime!”

Huh. Nïx is literally batshit cray-cray.

Regin tossed her hair toll to the wraiths in order to cross their guard. With their forbidding presence and brute strength, those flying, spectral creatures kept anything out of—or in—the Valkyrie’s manor.

But the yard was another matter. Regin cast a murderous look at the crowd gathered along Val Hall’s drive. They were like vultures, waiting there either to celebrate Chase’s death—or to kill him.

The only thing that kept them from advancing? The recently repaired driveway gate, imbued with Carrow’s protection spell.

Regin flipped the crowd off with both hands, bobbling her birds up and down for good measure while mouthing, Suck it. Then she headed to the swamp on Val Hall’s property.

Near the water’s edge she stopped beside a monument, one that looked totally out of place in the bayou: a Norse rune stone, draped with swamp moss, on “indefinite loan” from a Scandinavian museum of natural history.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt in front of it. Clearing her throat, she muttered, “Are you there, Wóden, it’s me Regin.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“I know you and Freya sleep, and that praying to you is probably just a big fat waste of time. But I have to try. Seems I’ll try anything.” Another steadying breath. “So, Wóden, I need you to do me a solid and save the life of Declan Chase, a.k.a. Aidan the Fierce. …”

She trailed off. This is stupid. She needed to be by Chase’s side, not talking to inanimate objects. What if he … dies while I’m gone? She swallowed. Then he’d still be gone . Attention back on the rock, she said, “Look, I know I’m not your favorite daughter, never have been. But I’m still your daughter! If you’re punishing Aidan for his hubris, then know that you’re punishing me too. No, you’re destroying me.”

Though she tried to bite back the words, out they came: “I’ve hated you for this! How can you do this to me? For a thousand years, I’ve lived with this curse, when I should have been living with him.”

Her voice broke, and embarrassing tears streamed down her face. “P-please … please just let me have him this time.”

Nothing. Only the sounds of the swamp waking from the night. She hadn’t expected lightning to hurl down or anything, but she’d hoped for a glimmer of a sign, anything to give her hope.

Instead, she’d just become deeply aware of how insignificant she was, of how her prayers meant nothing.

Which pissed her off.

She shot to her feet and kicked the stone. That felt good. So she shoved her braids out of her tear-streaked face and kicked it again. “I’ve never asked you for anything !” She drew her borrowed sword, slamming it against the rock so hard her blade and arm vibrated. “Wake—the—hell—up!” Another swing. “I can’t lose him again!” She dropped the sword, launching her fist against the rock. Just as Aidan had in ages past.

As sobs racked her body, she pummeled her forearms against the stone. “L-let me have him.”

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she stilled. Lucia, as silent as ever. “Sister, calm yourself.”

Regin turned, unsteady, sucking in a lungful of air.

Lucia’s eyes widened at her appearance. “My gods, Regin. You really want him this much? I still don’t understand. Carrow said he’d tortured you.”

She squared her shoulders. “So our courtship was rocky. When have I ever done anything normally?”

Lucia inclined her head, conceding the point.

“Besides, you’re with a werewolf, Luce. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Engaged to him, actually. We were just waiting to find you before we have a grand-scale royal ceremony.” For secretive Lucia to be the center of attention that big …? She must truly want MacRieve.

“The wolf was okay with you waiting for me?”

“I explained that I could never do something that important without my wingman.”

Regin tried for a smile and failed. “Yeah, well, that’s the least you can do since you two ganked Cruach without me.” After all these centuries, Lucia was finally freed of her worst nightmare.