Quinlan had asked an important question: Had their time together meant so little to her?
Of course not. If anything, the nature of their relationship overwhelmed her with its depth and the sheer excitement of being with him was like nothing she’d ever known before.
Her thoughts turned to Lebanon and the life she’d built for herself there. She loved the ex-pat community. She could never give up her healing work there. The local realm-folk depended on her and her service made her happy.
She shared this quality with Quinlan. His devotion to Grochaire, which had been his life’s work as well as his life’s sacrifice, matched her own love of her community. Her efforts might have been on a much smaller scale, but the desire to serve equaled Quinlan’s, so at least in that way, she understood him, she got him.
But exactly how they were supposed to make all of this work escaped her.
We’re not far from the border between the snowfields and Grochaire. I can feel the vibrations thinning.
She could as well, but the thought of reentering their old lives caused her heart to lurch. Yes, she loved her life, but she didn’t exactly want to leave Quinlan behind and she definitely didn’t want another mastyr vampire chasing after her.
Yep, they had a lot of issues to resolve.
An odd vibration went through her as the snow disappeared and grasslands arrived. A forest of fir trees came next. They were still high in the eastern mountain range. At least now that Margetta wasn’t around, they could take a direct route up and over.
But almost as soon as that thought went through her head, two things happened at once. She sensed that Margetta was near and something flashed near the edge of the forest, not a bright light, something duller.
She started to ask Quinlan if he’d seen the flash as well, but something struck her and threw her out of Quinlan’s arms and into the air. She tumbled, bouncing against Quinlan then away, then back.
She didn’t understand what was happening until she started falling to earth and nothing Quinlan did could stop their descent. At the last second, he pulled her on top of him as he landed with a thud on the hard, grass-covered ground.
“Shit. Oh, shit.”
She pushed off of him but got only so far as rolling on her back. When she looked up, she saw the dark night sky through a jute web, something laced with fierce preternatural power and the trap had a familiar scent of rotting garbage.
“She caught us.”
“She did.” His deep voice rumbled and she heard his despair.
Margetta appeared surrounded by a much smaller entourage than before. She hadn’t brought along her regular force of Invictus wraith-pairs, just the two powerful couples who each radiated a strong desire to slay the enemy.
She scooted closer to Quinlan and he slid an arm around her, holding her against him.
“Now isn’t that sweet. Lovers to the end.” Margetta hovered just a few feet away. She lifted her gaze toward the east, in the direction of the snowfields and Ferrenden Peace. “I can’t see beyond the mist barrier. I can’t move beyond it either. But I know my daughter is there as well as that damn woman who calls herself a queen.”
Margetta shifted her gaze back to Quinlan. “So tell me, has she finally taken a man into her bed? The Great Mastyr and I call her the virgin queen.” She laughed, a brittle sound that shattered the silence of the cool mountain air. “She’s my nemesis, but one day there will be a reckoning. One day.” She blinked several times then turned her attention back to her trap.
She still bore a golden glow, which Batya thought must be a shield of some kind.
“So, Mastyr Quinlan, here you are, exactly where I want you. There’s nothing either of you can do to break the spell I have over the net. You’re trapped and both of you will die here. I could send a single fire ball in your direction right now and consume you both, but that’s not good enough for what you’ve cost me, and all because you couldn’t resist a little fae tail.”
Batya’s turn to blink. Was it possible Margetta didn’t know that she was a blood rose?
“What is your intention?” Batya asked. “If you don’t intend to fry us, then what?”
Margetta’s gaze settled on Batya and she felt the ancient fae’s power in a painful vibration over her skin. “That you both endure horrific deaths, of course. Mastyr Quinlan’s will be brief but excruciating and will occur within the first hour after dawn.”
“No,” Batya whispered.
“Oh, yes. But yours, my dear, for having saved him and for having helped get Lorelei to Ferrenden, will be far worse. I’ve left instructions to have a shelter built for you around the net. You’ll be stuck in this cage with your lover’s rotting corpse. You’ll die slowly and painfully from starvation with only the bones of your beloved for company.”
She smiled, glancing from one to the other again. “I believe my work here is done.”
As she turned away from them, Batya couldn’t restrain herself. “Go to hell.”
The ancient fae whirled and within a heartbeat hovered above the netting. Her beautiful features twisted into an expression of fury as she began to shriek, sounding more wraith than fae. Louder her shrieking sounded until Batya’s ears thrummed with pain. Batya’s back arched and as the decibels rose, her vision faded until finally she blacked out.
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan awoke slowly, first to the smell of meat cooking over an outdoor flame and then to the fact that his right arm had fallen asleep. He was very weak and had a hard time pulling his arm out from under Batya who was still unconscious.
Margetta had caused them both to pass out.
But how much time had passed?
Thirty feet away, one of the mastyr vampire wraith-pairs lay on furs in the mountain grasses, na**d and coupling, grunting like animals. The other talked in quiet tones, tending the fire and roasting what must have been a mountain goat over the flame. The woman turned a spit, then reached in a bucket and poured something savory over the flesh. A strangely homey and erotic scene combined.
He slowly flexed his arm, not wanting to draw attention to the vampires. Sometime during his unconsciousness, they’d erected a day-shelter with a sun-blocking canvas. Clearly, Margetta had left them here to guard the prisoners until they both perished.
Batya stirred beside him and moaned, the sound loud enough to draw the attention of the mastyr supervising the goat. He rose from his camp chair and made his way over to the net and dropped down on his haunches near Batya.
“She’s pretty.” He reached through and fondled Batya’s br**sts. “And built. Nice. Too bad you won’t be around to enjoy her, but once you’re gone, maybe I’ll release her for a few hours just for fun.”