Belee appraised her with a critical eye. "Pretty face."
Chloe wanted to spit in hers.
"Shame to cover it up, but . . ." From her pack, Belee also drew out a black silk bag. "We need to remind everyone why we're here, Daughter of Webb."
"At's no mi na!"
"It is your name. You just didn't know it. Your father, Dustin Todd, is also known as Preston Webb. The commander of the Order. You're the daughter of the most hated man in all the Lore. . . ."
Chapter Seven
I never scented him," Will muttered with a chin jerk toward a centaur in the distance, past row after row of parked cars at the demon crossroads. Centaurs aligned with the Pravus, the evil side of the Lore.
"Probably because I dialed down your nose," Munro said, his mood improved. Tonight they'd received a lead on Webb, a daughter of his for sale. Which meant there was possibility, after weeks of nothing.
Munro had a bloody spring in his step.
The centaur in question had a nymph pressed up against the side of a sports car and was rutting her with zero-to-sixty thrusts.
The ride was a Mustang. Fitting.
"We're no' to fight them," Munro said. "From the sound of it, there's an honest-to-gods truce going on tonight." Not far in the distance, they heard scores of immortals peaceably milling.
As they strode by the couple, Munro muttered in Gaelic, "Did one-or both-of us do that nymph?"
"Odds are," Will said casually, though he made a point of remembering, so that he never bedded the same one twice.
Twice was too close to three times, and to this day, he had a phobia about that.
Munro's question was answered when the nymph waved happily at the brothers; the centaur shot them killing looks and thrust more aggressively. Between his angry shoves, she gasped: "Hi, guys . . . unh, see you . . . unh, later?"
"Ah, sure thing, sweet," Munro said.
Nymphs were easy and pleasant bed sport, seeking nothing but mutual pleasure. Unlike seed-feeding succubae.
Munro told Will, "Perhaps a comely nymph is just what you need to get back in the saddle? I know it's been weeks for you."
Try months.
"You could burn off some . . . aggression?"
Munro also knew all about Will's many sexual hang-ups and peculiarities. Though Will had long since recognized his "relationship" with Ruelle for what it was-a violation of a young mind and body, a nightmare-the scars remained.
"I've no time for that. Come on, we're late." Will had taken scant seconds to change, plucking clothes from his floor, an array of garments that appeared less worn/dirty than others. "It's nearly midnight."
Munro had driven his brand-new Range Rover turbo here, topping the thing out on old Louisiana county roads. "Does no' matter if we're late," he said. "I doubt we can win this auction. I could only drum up a million-dollar wire on such short notice. And the lowest number on the witches' bidding app-I shite you no'-was one mil."
"What good is it to be rich if we canna scrape up the scratch to buy a political prisoner on a whim?"
Past a line of pecan trees lay a wide-open field packed with Loreans. Understandable. Webb had upended countless lives, and this capture was the first lead on him since the prison break.
As Will and Munro strode into the crowd, they saw all manner of immortal species, even a few gypsy and berserker humans who lived on the fringe of the Lore.
Most immortals here belonged to one of the two major alliances, Pravus and Vertas. Amazingly, the temporary truce between them was holding. But then, they had a common enemy: the Order.
The brothers passed a group of young Vertas shifters-fox, wolverine, and cheetah-that Will recognized from the island. While the Pravus shifters were predominantly reptilian, the Vertas were most often mammalian.
One of these pups called out, "Mr. MacRieve!" and they all turned and gazed at Will as if he were some goddamned hero. He scowled at them and turned away. He might have organized them and saved their lives-as Nix had predicted-but only to save his own arse.
He'd fought to live solely for revenge.
Aside from the alliances, there were the neutral factions like the nymphs, who were likely only present to scope out new bedmates-from both sides. A gaggle of them cooed, "Hot and Hotter!" to Will and Munro, trying to get their attention.
Will muttered, "I really fuckin' hate that." He crossed his arms over his chest, found a new hole in his shirt.
Munro nodded. "Hate it-beyond the telling of it. But you do know I'm Hotter, right?"
"No' even on your best day, brathair."
They spotted a few more Vertas allies: the fey, Furies, Valkyries, and behorned members from some of the solid demonarchies.
There were at least as many Pravus members: soldiers from dark demonarchies, Sorceri, nearly two dozen centaurs, and countless Cerunnos-giant snakelike humanoids that were as fast as lightning and just as deadly. Crocodilae and viper shifters abounded.
Will followed Munro, surveying the sea of Loreans for succubae. What if they were here tonight? Seed-feeders were Pravus as well.
Then I'll be jeopardizing this truce directly. Because nothing would stop him from killing any he came across. Just as he'd done for all his life. To date, he'd ended twenty-four.
When a witch passed close by him, his hackles rose. There were several scurrying around with headsets, as if they were on a trading floor. "Phone bidders?" Will glowered in one's direction. If his Instinct were intact, it'd warn: -Guard yourself.-
Their cousin Bowe might have married Mariketa the Awaited, the leader of the grand mercenary House of Witches; didn't mean the rest of the clan had overcome the Instinct's constant cautions against Wiccae.
Will spotted Malkom Slaine, a vemon they knew, walking in the direction of the stage. The vampire/demon had been in the same prison as Will.
They greeted Malkom, falling in step beside him.
Munro said, "Demon, you're no' often seen without Carrow." Another local witch, also a former capture.
Though Malkom had been born a demon in some far-off, archaic demonarchy, he'd been turned part vampire-into a rare vemon, a creature even stronger than a Lykae. But he still identified as a demon, hating leeches.
Like most of us. Just last year, Will and Munro had been ordered to storm a vampire stronghold to search for King Lachlain's mate-not to spy, not to monitor, but to bloody engage. Just before they'd reached the perimeter, when Will had been shaking with anticipation, already imagining the havoc he'd wreak, they'd been called off.
How different things might have been for Will-how much improved-if only a goddamned war had broken out.
In thickly accented English, Malkom said, "Carrow, Mariketa, and some Valkyries are out collecting Order orphans-the offspring of immortals who died on the island."
Will understood why Malkom hadn't been invited. He was an intimidating male, taller even than Will's towering height, with lethal-looking horns. He would scare the hell out of the tots. "So if Carrow and Mariketa are no' here, who's running this show?"
"Some teen witches. They think Carrow and Mari don't know. I'm supposed to watch out for them and make sure they don't get killed by the Pravus."
"The witches are Vertas," Munro pointed out. "Why no' keep the prize for our side?"
Mayhap because they're all bent for the dollar, each and every one of them? Eerie bluidy witches . . .
Malkom just shrugged.