“Care to wager?”
Birk took a step back, paling. “Keep him, then. It doesn’t matter anyway -- you’ll never get past Siobhan’s shields without me.”
“You underestimate me,” Liam purred. Light flared as he shifted into the Desert Eagle. “Let me shoot him, Conal. I’m tired of listening to his teeth click.”
Conal lifted the pistol, aimed him between Birk’s eyes, and smiled darkly. “It’s a thought.”
“That wouldn’t be wise at all,” Birk said quickly. “Your wolf and Olwydd are inside a null circle. She’s at his mercy.” He laughed, though the sound was less smug than nervous. “I do believe you know exactly what that’s like. I understand you had quite a night together once. He remembers you fondly.”
“Shut your treacherous mouth!” Essus roared in a voice Conal had never heard from him before. “Or I’ll shut it for you!”
“Only if you want to watch Olwydd crush her skull. Or worse.”
“That’s enough,” Conal managed, despite the need to kill howling in his brain. He owed this fucker. For Helena. For his sisters and himself. “I’ll come with you.”
Birk bent in an elaborate bow, gesturing toward the gate with a flourish. Conal raised both Darkbane and the Desert Eagle and stalked toward it. Don’t worry, boy. We’ll make the bastards pay.
Liam filled his mind in a ringing psychic presence that he would have ordinarily found chilling. Now it was a comfort. That’s a vow I’ll hold you to, gun god. He had to get Helena away from Siobhan, whatever it took. If that meant sharing his head with the God of Death, he’d do it. Hell, I’d be delighted.
Conal had always known it would come to this. Siobhan did not take defeat well, and he’d outmaneuvered her thirty years ago. She’d sworn to have her revenge -- and that was the only kind of promise the psychotic bitch kept.
Essus launched from his shoulder and immediately burst into flame, circling back behind Birk, who hastily stepped forward, almost treading on Conal’s heels as he entered the gate. Magic rolled over Conal in a great wave, feeling even more intense than his last visit to the Mageverse, years ago. Liam? Probably. He broke step, catching his balance against the psychic impact of all that magic. Essus winged past him to spiral around the throne room, trailing fire like a comet before darting upward to disappear among the baroque gilding that ringed the great dome ceiling.
Conal knew if he concentrated, he’d be able to see through the eagle’s eyes. It was a trick they’d used before. None of these bastards will be able to sneak up on you, Essus thought in satisfaction.
Then they saw Helena, and that moment of triumph vanished. She sat trapped in Olwydd’s lap as the huge fucker lounged on a wooden chair. The glowing hemisphere of the spell circle surrounded them in a cold blue light. Helena’s eyes met his through its alien shimmer, dark and desperate. The troll’s huge hand gripped her throat and jaw so hard, he doubted she could breathe. Olwydd had done that to Conal often enough, he knew exactly how it felt.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Lips tightening, Conal scanned the throne room, mentally pinpointing targets and searching for exists.
My God, it’s a festival of tacky, Liam drawled.
He wasn’t wrong. Siobhan had designed the throne room as a deliberate visual assault on the senses. Towering white marble walls veined in red soared thirty feet up into a dome supported by jade columns. Each was wrapped in climbing roses of solid gold, the blooms carved from enormous rubies the size of his fist. Golden figures of winged demi-Sidhe posed and flitted among baroque swags of golden flowers. And everywhere he looked, images of Siobhan peered out at him, sometimes lecherous, sometimes aloof, sometimes snarling in rage.
The ceiling was painted with murals, all depicting her -- here naked and curled like a snake, there slaying a dragon, there leading her followers in dramatic battles that were entirely a figment of her imagination. He’d known he was fucked the minute he’d seen her throne room thirty-five years ago.
Demon winds, Liam rumbled. I’ve known my share of egotistical loons, but… really.
“Well, look who’s back at last.” The look on Siobhan’s face made the hair rise on the back of Conal’s neck. That grin meant she was about to get particularly creative.
Just the sound of her voice sent cold anxiety rolling from Conal’s heels to the top of his head. He met her gaze with his best expressionless stare. “How could I resist such a kind invitation?”
“Oh, indeed.” Siobhan laughed, a deep, rich belly laugh her courtiers quickly echoed. Fifty of them stood arrayed around the room, each one looking as if he’d just escaped from a romance novel, dressed in boots and hose, codpieces conspicuously padded, velvet jerkins drawing attention to the width of shoulders, hair a rainbow of inhuman shades. Siobhan’s backstabbing male harem, who fucked and fought for her attention.
The demigoddess herself sprawled on an immense jade throne carved in the shape of a dragon, its wings cupping her protectively. Her slippered right foot rested on the dragon’s curled tail, while she slung the other thigh over one of the dragon’s forearms. Her lush body was clad in a gown of white silk in the Sidhe style, emeralds glittering on the bodice, slit on both sides all the way to her hipbones. Her resemblance to her mother was striking -- the same green eyes, the same brilliant hair, though she wore hers in an elaborate braided structure piled atop her head, bound with gold cords strung with emeralds. She stared at Conal with glittering green eyes, her lips pulled into a smile so wide and white, it didn’t look completely sane.
He’d thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen -- until he’d became familiar with that smile. Now it only drew attention to the stark difference between her and Helena, whose smile reflected courage and kindness. Siobhan had never been kind a day in her life.
“My lady.” Birk took a step toward Siobhan’s throne and swept a deep courtier’s bow. “I told you I would convince him. And here he is…” Straightening, he turned toward Conal to make a sweeping, theatrical gesture -- and froze, seeing the Desert Eagle pointed between his eyes. With a gasp, Birk lifted a hand to raise a shield…
“I know you told Ansgar where to find my father,” Conal said, and fired.
The traitor’s body exploded with Liam’s magic. Magic rolled over Conal in a hot, orgasmic rush that made him catch his breath as it thrummed through him, piling on top of the power of the Mageverse. He felt Essus stiffen somewhere on his perch overhead, heard his friend’s thought. Birk’s life force.
Yes, Liam said, the admission stark.
And Conal knew, because Liam knew, that Helena had no idea what the death god felt every time they killed someone. Her werewolf nature protected her. Conal, on the other hand…
He shook the effect off and snapped the gun up to point between Siobhan’s startled eyes. “If anyone moves, I’ll blow your head off.”
“Not through my shield, boy.” The demigoddess sneered at him. “Birk swore you love the little mongrel. Is that so?”
“She’s my bodyguard,” he lied coolly. “She means nothing to me. But she means a great deal to Maeve, so you’d be well advised to let her go.”
“If Mother loved her so much, she should’ve kept her away from you. Maeve needs to learn not to interfere in my affairs. And her bitch needs to learn to keep her paws off what’s mine.”