The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Fade, knit the tears in his muscles back together.

  He cautiously puts his weight on the leg to test it, jumping up and down a few times, breathing deeply, prodding his side. “You’ve learned so much in a couple of weeks. It's incredible.”

  My proud smile turns into a happy shriek as he sweeps me up in his arms and twirls me around. The world around him blurs out of focus, which is the perfect metaphor; he's the only clear thing in the dizzying world I now live in. His feet slowly stop until we're standing still, and I become very aware of his hips pressed to mine, of every hard muscle radiating his body heat against my skin.

  Our lips touch and I can’t breathe with the depth of the relentless desire coursing through my body. Every caress slams me in the soul and warms my heart, fatigue forgotten now that I’m in his arms again.

  His light kisses make me feel like I'm still spinning.

  His deep kisses make me want to rip his clothes off and throw him to the ground, and—

  “Emilie-Syxx?”

  Draven and I break apart at Ashria's voice from the front door. Damn it. Draven’s regretful frown matches my own, but his eyes are glowing unnaturally bright—a trait of sex demons when they’re feeling amorous. Beautiful, alien, and impossible to fake. You always know when an Incubus wants you.

  That glow reminds me of the last time I saw it, and I get a distinctly un-PG-rated tingling in my nether regions. Suppressing the urge to bite his lower lip, I turn to Ashria as she strides into the kitchen.

  “You're back,” she states the obvious.

  “Yes.” I move away from the door and trail a hand over the light fake-marble countertops to avoid making eye contact. All the magic in the world, and we create a kitchen that could belong to any home in the seventies, but I love it. It feels homier than any expensive granite counter could. Warmer.

  “You were to check in immediately upon return.”

  I dare a quick glance at her, and even through her rigid posture and bitchily pursed mouth, I’m struck again by how alike we look. She’s my mother, yet I barely know her.

  Up until The Sowing she was the head of the corrupt Fae Council, and had no friends among her—our—people. That changed when she saw me there with a group called The Resistance, ready to overthrow the Council and end The Sowing. She fought alongside us, identified our true enemy and explained how she wasn't the real one in charge. She ended The Sowing, which won over most of the Fae, but she was still the head of the Council for decades, and in the last few weeks I haven’t gotten to know her much better.

  Then again it’s not like we’ve had many opportunities for mother-daughter bonding time.

  She frowns, and I realize she’s still expecting an answer. “I know. I was just healing Draven.” Before we got carried away.

  She smirks. “Is that what they call it these days?”

  My skin heats again, this time with a little embarrassment—she did just make a sex joke—and a different kind of pleasure when realization sinks in. She’s tense because she was worried about me. Janelle, who I now know is actually my stepmother, was a total bitch to me and Dad was indifferent to my comings and goings. I'm not used to people worrying about me when I leave the house—especially since I haven’t lived with my parents for years.

  It's kind of sweet...and also a bit annoying.

  Ashria focuses on my purple spell signature around us. Specific to each type of spell-casting Fae, we can only see our own species’ signatures. It helps us know when we're among our own kind. Moondreamer signatures are a translucent fancy filigree pattern. Ashria's is a deep indigo.

  “What injuries did you sustain?” She narrows her bright hazel eyes.

  “Cracked ribs and a torn muscle in my leg.”

  “No, it was more than that.” She squints slightly at his side. “Good work on the bones, Syxx. Remember to take down the inflamed muscles as well.” She waves her hand and the swollen muscles in his side shrink down to normal size. “Simply removing the pain isn't enough. If the muscles around the injury stay inflamed, they can slow the patient down, and leave them at risk for re-injury. Now you try on his leg.”

  I nod and concentrate, making the swelling go down, smiling when Draven’s posture relaxes even more.

  Ashria smiles. “Excellent. You're almost as good at healing as you are at destruction.”

  It's a compliment that somehow feels like it shouldn't be. It's easier to break things than it is to repair them, and that particular skillset feels more like something a villain would naturally take to.

  Unsettled, I take a step towards my mate, eager for an exit. “Well, if that was all, Draven and I—”

  “No, that is not all. I know you're spoiling for a reunion, but it will have to wait until you're both debriefed.”

  Tactical words for a faery...I have a very different debriefing in mind. My thoughts must show on my face, because when my gaze meets Draven’s, his eyes flare brightly again. Mmm. Want.

  “Did you find the Witch Shalaea?” Ashria interrupts my thoughts again.

  I tear my gaze from Draven. “Yeah, I found her.” Exhaustion creeps over me at the memory of that interrogation, and I flop down on a chair. I've been running on adrenaline and willpower for four days now. Even magic has its limits.

  “And she told you where we would find Coren?”

  “The Warlock is with the Wood Sprites in Colorado.”

  “Damn. There are a great number and variety of Sprites in that region, not all easily reached. Did she get more specific?”

  “She wasn't exactly forthcoming. She had to be persuaded.” I cross my arms, hating the reminder of her screams.

  “You got the information?” Ashria demands.

  “Yeah, I got it!” My anger takes her aback and makes me feel bad too. I'm not the only one who has to do horrible things to save lives—not that I’m liking the harder person I've been forced to become under her direction. Maybe it's necessary, but she could be a little more sensitive about it.

  “I'm sorry, Syxx.” Her tone is sincere. “We've got a lot riding on this information. It's the reason I sent you to get it personally; I couldn't trust anyone else with it.”

  “She gave the name 'Brannon,' if that means anything to you.”

  “It does.” She closes her eyes for a brief moment, as though in silent gratitude. “If Coren's gone to talk with Brannon, we have a starting point to track him down. Brannon is loyal to us, he'll be able to tell us Coren's next move—assuming Coren was forthcoming. Thank you. You've done well, my daughter.” Pride rests in her eyes.

  Waving a dismissive hand, I stand up. I don't feel like praise is the answer for what I had to do to get the name from the Witch. “I'm going to bed. Draven, you know where to find me when you're done here.”

  He nods and catches my hand in his as I pass by.

  It takes all of my strength to give it a quick squeeze and let go instead of dragging him with me.

  Stumbling down the hall and up the stairs to our room, I even manage to remove my dirty jeans and t-shirt before sliding underneath the duvet. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I jerk awake and the softness of the mattress beneath me is almost a surprise. I’ve become more used to sleeping in the backseat of cars or curled up inside a spell beneath the night sky. They say it takes three weeks for something to become a habit—guess it’s true. The mattress is cold beside me, and my heart sinks as I blink blearily around the room, disappointment hitting before I remember the reason why.

  Draven’s here but not beside me. Last night catches up with my fuzzy mind, and I spring out of bed.

  My eyes and body burn with protest—I should go back to bed for a few hours, but I need to find Draven more than I need additional sleep, so I pad over to the closet and dress in a pair of comfy jeans and a black t-shirt over a red tank top. My muscles protest when I stretch my arms over my head. Training isn’t any easier on me than missions and my body needs a break. Too ba
d for me, I’m not going to get one, so I send a wave of energy through my body to ease the stiffness and pain.

  When I get to the bathroom, I do a double take in the mirror while brushing my teeth. My hair stands up in snarls like something decided to nest in it then gave up halfway through the process. The shower beckons, oh god, the thought of a luxurious shower makes me whimper, but there's no point—and no time—until I'm done with my combat training with Skortia today. Her overzealous training sessions put me through the wringer.

  The Sowing taught me that some Fae fight more with their fists and are resistant to a lot of spells, or at least capable of defending themselves against them. If we're evenly matched magically, I need to make sure I can fight the old-fashioned way.

  Still. My reflection’s a tad scary with a weird hair bump on one side, so I brush it back and twist it into a long braid. Hopefully Draven’s in the kitchen because I am going there first to pour the biggest cup of coffee I can get my hands on.

  Voices quietly buzz from the kitchen. My rumbling stomach announces my presence before I walk into the room.

  Skortia smiles while she juices an orange. “Look who finally decided to wake up. We thought you were going to sleep all day.” Skortia is lanky and all lean, muscled Elf. Today she's pulled her long, white-blond dreads back into a ponytail, and her cream tank top shows off her amazing arms and smooth skin.

  Gone are the days where I used to sleep until noon on the weekends as a rule. Here, I’m lucky to lie around until the late hour of five-thirty a.m. “What time is it?”

  “Ten.” She tosses her peel in the trash.

  Guess I have slept in compared to normal, but I didn't get home until after four in the morning. Considering I hadn't slept in days—and how drained I was—it's a miracle I'm even awake now. I bite back the sarcastic response because we've all been run ragged lately and there’s no point taking it out on her. “Guess I needed it. Was that Draven I heard you talking to?”

  “Aww, you're still with that guy?” A familiar voice comes from inside the open door of the pantry. Sakarias peeks out holding a box of crackers in one hand, the other shovelling the salty snacks into his mouth.

  “Sakarias!” I run over to him and throw my arms around his waist, the top of my head barely reaching his chest. “Yes, I'm still with 'that guy,'”

  He sets the cracker box on a shelf, dusts his fingers off, and returns my hug, swallowing me up in his massive arms. After Draven, he’s the ally I trust the most.

  He hit on me pretty hard core at The Sowing, and if I hadn't pair-bonded with Draven, Sakarias would have been my first choice. Huge, liquid brown eyes sparkling with wit and humor, the silkiest dark brown hair shot with streaks of white blond, combined with a killer smile; the king of the Selkies is pretty irresistible—not that I’d flatter his ego by telling him that.

  I give him a squeeze, relieved he’s safe. “How are you? Where have you been?”

  “Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Doing all the hard work while you're here painting your toenails and playing with your hair.” He releases me, wags my braid and then points at my toe. My left big toenail is bluish-purple; I must have smacked it on something, but I hadn't noticed it until now. I heal it, the barest effort needed for something so small—especially after the pair-bonded energy boost from Draven and a few hours’ sleep.

  “Nice one, Moondreamer. That all you can do?”

  His words bring out a playful competitiveness, and I cloak myself, the glamour slowly settling on my skin like I’m being submerged in warm syrup. Growing taller, the spell changes my appearance until I look exactly like Sakarias. His eyes widen. Now we're precisely the same height—six foot eight.

  Reaching out, I pat him on the top of the head. “Nope. I can do some other stuff as well,” I say in his voice with a cheeky wink.

  “My chin’s not that big, is it?” Sakarias runs a hand over my jaw, tilting my head this way and that to better see himself from all angles.

  “Save your energy for training,” Skortia scolds.

  I release the spell and shrink back to normal size just as Ashria walks into the kitchen.

  “Syxx will be training with me today. You are free to go, Skortia.”

  Skortia throws a wave over her shoulder at me on her way out the door with her freshly squeezed juice. She's probably glad to have some time to herself, even if it's just a few hours.

  I head for the coffee maker with love in my eyes. “Where's Draven?” I pour a cup of caffeinated goodness.

  Ashria’s hazel eyes are closer to gold today. “He's not here.”

  Duh, Captain Obvious. “I figured that out for myself. Did he say when he'll be back?”

  “When his next mission is complete.”

  “You sent him out again?” I slam my cup down so hard coffee sloshes over the side and onto the counter.

  Sakarias goes very still.

  Up until The Sowing, Ashria was the biggest badass out there—no one even contemplated screwing with her. I'm still the only one who will openly argue or disrespect her. Partly because I'm her daughter, mostly because I was raised in the human world and haven't had years of fearing her instilled into me.

  She lifts her chin, and we're both rocking the same expression of defiance. Guess we know who I get it from.

  “Yes, I sent him out again.” She raises her eyebrows.

  Tightly crossing my arms helps me avoid punching things the way I long to right now. “Did you let him sleep at all? He's been gone for weeks, he probably hasn't slept in days. He hasn't eaten in—”

  “It needed to be done!” The air around her crackles with power, making the lights flicker.

  Fear zings through me. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and the lights go back to normal.

  Maybe I'm not completely indifferent to her power.

  I take a deep breath and soften my tone. “It sucks. I’ve barely seen him since The Sowing.”

  Her expression softens. “I know. It's difficult on all of us, but these sacrifices are necessary if we're to win this battle.”

  Sacrifices are something I’ve become all too familiar with lately. My home, my friends, my things—hell, my time is no longer even my own. If I didn’t have healing abilities, my body would be a road map of bruises, cuts, and strained muscles. I've lost sleep and lost weight and feel like I'm losing my mind with worry over my friends’ safety.

  I take a deep drink of coffee and an even deeper breath because none of that even matters if we can't track down and take out the four members of the High Council. Lack of sleep and free time will be nothing if the Fae army starts wiping out the human race. Perspective is needed. “I know that sacrifices are necessary. I hate seeing everyone put through so much, and for what? Why can't the High Council members just live alongside the humans in secret like everyone else does?”

  Sakarias clears his throat. “While I disagree with their methods, I understand wanting to do away with the secrecy. Not just for my people—deforestation takes a lot of Sprites’ homes. That's but one example of how, if we were able to come forward, the benefits would outweigh the risks for many of us.”

  “Wouldn't it be too dangerous? I thought the human reaction on the whole would be panic and retaliation?”

  He tilts his head to the side, considering. “That would happen if the High Council does things their way, by force and coercion.”

  “Aren't we fighting these guys so the Fae can stay safely hidden in plain sight?”

  Ashria shakes her head. “That isn't the issue, and not what we are fighting for. We aren't about Fae liberation, we're taking out the High Council members, and reintegrating their army back into Fae society.”

  “But not having to hide would—”

  “No.” She cuts me off in a tone I know not to argue with. “That is not the fight we are in right now.”

  Sakarias inhales but doesn't speak. Neither do I.

  Ashria sighs. “Let's focus on this battle and go from there. Eat something l
ight and meet me downstairs in half an hour.” She leaves the kitchen.

  “You're looking a little peaked, Moondreamer. Don't they feed you in these parts?” Sakarias squints at my midsection.

  “Hey, I've been training. Check out these muscles.” I flex my biceps. My arms have totally shaped up with Skortia's intense workouts—hell, all of me has shaped up. Sakarias nods, making an impressed face. Then he flexes and the rippling muscles make my bicep look like an infant's leg in comparison.

  “It's not a competition.” I lower my puny arm.

  He laughs, and I realize how rare laughter has become lately.

  I sigh, somberness settling over me like a mantle. “How have you been?”

  He inclines his head. “It's been interesting. I have no words for the joy my people felt at getting our skins back.”

  I blink hard, hoping he doesn’t notice the happy tears forming in my eyes. The Council took and kept the Selkies' skins—preventing them from shifting back into their seal forms until the women had each produced three offspring for The Reaping. Sometimes they were separated from their loved ones for years.

  Some never made it back to their families. Some returned after years apart only to find members or friends had passed.

  Happiness burns my throat for Sakarias and his people, and it’s a moment before I can speak. I can't imagine how stressful that must have been on their people. Sakarias’ spirit has stayed unbroken despite the horrors he’s faced. “The sadness and pain in the eyes of the Selkies I saw at The Sowing will always stick with me. I am pleased for you.”

  “There was much rejoicing.” Sakarias smiles. “And then talk of fighting.”

  Underneath his good-natured humour lies a fierce warrior, not only in battle, but in life. To laugh in the face of that kind of pain is the bravest kind of strength I've seen. “Really?” The rest of his people seem so mournful and sad, all large gentle eyes.

  “We've been mistreated for too long, Syxx. Do not be fooled by the somber exteriors of those you saw at The Sowing. There is a warrior at the heart of every one of my people. I never thought the day would come that we would be truly free. Now that it has, we will get our revenge or die trying.”