CHAPTER

VILKOS

Vilkos lounged on his throne in front of the tree growing in his hall. This early in the day, the men of The Hunt were passed out, sprawled over tables or on the floor after their typical night of revelry. He had not taken part and sat awake, alone, and far, far too sober. Since taking Shisti as his mate, availing himself of the entertainments offered in his dungeon held no appeal. His mate hated him, but Shisti, no matter how powerful her magic, couldn’t leave Inisfail. She was trapped here, and under compulsion to not let anything happen to his son. She could hate him all she liked, but eventually the mate bond would drive her back to him.

In some matters, say those involving revenge, Vilkos could be patient. He was a predator after all, and any hunter knew patience was part of taking down the rarest and most challenging prey. In the matter of his mate, though, every day Shisti made him wait caused a simmering fury in his blood to burn a little hotter. Every day she made him wait, he contemplated a new way to punish her. He let his eyes close and pictured the way her pale skin would turn pink then redden with each strike of his palm or a whip. He could hear her pants, screams, and pleading. The click of the cuffs he would place on her wrists and ankles. He especially looked forward to the sound a collar would make as it closed around her neck. His mouth watered with the remembered taste of her blood.

One of his men let out a snore. Vilkos growled ,unwillingly drawn out of his reverie and he opened his eyes, shifting in a futile effort to find a comfortable position with his cock rampant in the confines of his leather pants. Even in his current state the diversions in the dungeon held no appeal. Only thoughts of Shisti roused him. He’d thought he was binding her to him, but found himself tied to her just as thoroughly and with no care or effort on her part. Maybe he could catch her today.

There were a great many secrets in Raven Castle, most of them less secret than their keepers supposed. Whispers were well traveled words, and today the words were about a wedding.

 A royal wedding. His invitation must have been misplaced. Of course, he had not officially informed Fechin of his return to their home, so Fechin could pretend Vilkos wasn’t present. It didn’t matter. Soon, his son would be born and he would be King. He could be benevolent today. Time enough to make Fechin suffer later.

Shisti might make an appearance to threaten or kill Azar on the day of her wedding. That seemed like something that would appeal to Shisti. She never allowed Fechin his choice of companions during his years-long rejection of her as his Queen. It would be worth attending the ceremony to see that. Vilkos’ presence would also displease Fechin. Win win. A smirk curved Vilkos’ lips. Maybe he could dance with the bride if she lived through the ceremony. That might cause Fechin to explode.

Surely Vilkos’ invitation would have included a guest. One guest. Ten. What did it matter. Vilkos channeled power into his Alpha side and let out a howl. His men jerked to varying levels of consciousness, falling out of their chairs, jumping to their feet weapons drawn, or clapping their hands over their ears. They blinked at him, grumbling as they lowered their hands and sheathed their weapons.

“What the fuck?” His second-in-command demanded, cradling his head as he collapsed heavily into a chair.

Wrapping his hand around the neck of a bottle sitting beside his throne, Vilkos held it up in a mock toast. “Get your party clothes on. We’re going to a wedding.”

Vilkos stalked the halls of Raven Castle toward The Morrigan’s garden. It was always open to her sons, but it didn’t always allow them to be in the same place at the same time. When they were boys, the garden would separate them when their fights turned serious. As adults, sometimes the two of them couldn’t find each other, even when they knew both were in the garden. But today, Vilkos held no ill will toward Fechin. This spectacle of a wedding would be entertaining, and Vilkos had no intention of doing anything to disrupt the proceedings.

The garden let him in, but the path curved away from the main gathering, leading the way to an area nearby the other guests, but separated by a thick hedge of thorny rose bushes, like he and his men couldn’t be trusted. If they tested the garden’s barriers, they would end up skewered. Fair enough. He only trusted his men most of the time, and not among a crowd of Fae who acted like prey. Fechin’s guests were already sending wary glances toward The Hunt. No doubt some of them had lost wives, lovers, sisters, or daughters to The Hunt.

The view before him was of the stream and the bridge that spanned it. One of The Morrigan’s favorite places. Wooden chairs and fully grown, leafy trees grew out of the ground, offering seating and shade. Vilkos crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the trunk of a tree. Around him, his men took similar positions or sprawled on the ground, not quite recovered from their hangovers and abrupt awakenings. Several removed flasks and vials containing a potion to treat their maladies. They bought the remedy in bulk from a healer who could refill the containers remotely so they never ran out.

Fechin, wearing his all black clothing and his ever present sword, strode out of the castle and made his way through his fawning guests. He usually didn’t want to spend any more time with the fawning courtiers than Vilkos did, but today Fechin looked almost happy as he moved through the crowd and took his place on the bridge.

When Azar appeared, Vilkos could admit she was beautiful, though her appearance did nothing to stir the animal inside him. She was accompanied by a trio of pesky Brownies. Why The Morrigan and Fechin tolerated them was beyond him. When he ruled, he’d throw them to his wolves.

Azar and her entourage walked to the bridge and she stood next to Fechin. The smile she bestowed on her groom sent a painful twinge through Vilkos’ chest. He’d seen his mother look at his father that way before she’d been slaughtered.

The groom and bride spoke vows and held up their joined hands for the ribbon to wind around. Vilkos closed his eyes. His mother often spoke of love — for her husband, her sisters, and especially her son. He’d never hear those words again, and his memories of her were fading. Sadness welled within him. A feeling he thought he’d rid himself of long ago. For a moment, he wondered if Shisti could have looked at him that way, spoken words of adoration, if things had been different.

Vilkos ruthlessly quashed the stirrings of sentiment. Shisti was his mate, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who looked at anyone with love.

His second-in-command jerked upright from a slouched posture. “Someone is attempting to free my prisoner.” He teleported away.

Vilkos resumed watching the wedding. The smiles and lovestruck looks between Fechin and Azar were enough to make someone sick. The man next to him coughed and pounded on his chest. He fell to the ground, making desperate, gurgling sounds. Several of the nearest wedding attendees sent them annoyed looks.

“What is wrong with you?” Vilkos nudged the man with one boot as he flopped around.

Water spurted from his nose and mouth. Another member of The Hunt fell to his knees. A third collapsed. A fourth. More guests turned irritated glances at them. One after another like dominoes, the rest fell — all of them drowning on land. Vilkos waved a hand, sending his dying men to his hall. There was nothing he could do to help them here. There might be nothing he could do there. Nor would he run. Whoever was doing this had to be close. Or maybe it was poison. Who could have managed that? The healer they paid for the restorative potion? Vilkos hadn’t had any of that today, but the rest of The Hunt had. They’d also indulged in heavy drinking last night, and he had not.

Then it didn’t matter. Vilkos coughed and tried to catch his breath. What magic was this? Something squeezed his lungs. There was no room for air. He held his breath in an attempt to keep his lungs expanded and retain the air he had. His chest burned and water filled his throat. Somewhere, a woman laughed, and the pressure increased. Vilkos had seen monster snakes constructing their meals. Each tiny escaped breath resulted in the snake constricting that much tighter. This felt like that must, but from the inside. Spots danced in front of his eyes and his blood felt like it was running backward in his veins. His head was in danger of exploding.

All at once, the pressure vanished. Vilkos bent double, hands on his knees as he spewed water on the grass between his feet. Sucking in a deep breath, Vilkos lifted his head. He was getting some curious stares, but none looked triumphant or disappointed. Well. Not excessively disappointed.

Vilkos sent a mental message to his second-in-command. Nothing. He reached out to his other men. No responses. He tried members of The Hunt who had not been present at the wedding. Still nothing. He should feel the link between himself and each member of The Hunt even if they dared not to answer him. The bond had been broken somehow, and the only way that could happen was death. Someone had struck down the entire Hunt, and nearly taken him along with them.

Thunderous booms tore everyone’s attention from him to the sky. Though overhead the sky was blue, above that was the magic that contained the warding that protected Inisfail from the outside world. He saw it as a gray fog.

Fae murmured among themselves as the lightning continued. More booms, louder than the ones before, seemed to shake the world. As Vilkos watched, the impossible happened. The gray fog parted like flimsy material. Inisfail had not only been found, it was under attack. Lightning broke all the way through and hit the tallest trees and ramparts. Wedding guests panicked, toppling chairs and turning into a fleeing mob.

Fechin soared into the sky, sword drawn.

Vilkos was torn between watching whoever was attacking Inisfail kill Fechin and the urge to make sure Shisti was not harmed. Lightning strikes targeted Fechin, but not all of them — the buildings and land also took direct hits. Other than The Morrigan in her warrior incarnation, Vilkos had never seen power on this level, and he wanted to know who wielded enough to shred the protections around Inisfail. Perhaps then he would know who had murdered all his men so easily.

A sense of unease came through his mate bond. If anything happened to Shisti…to his child…he would do worse than set a few fires. If anyone could take care of themselves it was Shisti, and he’d ordered her to protect his son.

Wings aflame, Fechin plummeted from the sky. Vilkos kept his eyes fixed on the sight, willing Fechin to smash to death. No doubt blame for this attack, and Fechin s death, would be aimed at Vilkos, but having been in full view of the wedding guests, no one could prove anything. And some guests had seen what had happened to him and his men. Fechin would die a hero, and with him out of the way, Vilkos would rule as King. The birth of his son in a few months would be a formality.

Claws burst from his fingertips, cutting into his palms as Fechin s damned ravens flew toward him and caught their master. The flock carried Fechin to Azar and settled him on the ground in front of her. Vilkos had seen enough. When he was King, he’d pluck every black feather from every bird he could get his hands on and toss featherless bodies to the meanest pack of feral dogs he could find.

Vilkos turned to stalk away, stopping when thunderous bangs resounded throughout Raven Castle. A portal opened behind Azar and pulled her through. Fechin s tortured cry for his wife was music to Vilkos’ ears. With the girl gone, there were fewer obstacles between Vilkos and the Raven Throne. If Fechin refused to die, having Azar vanish from Inisfail was a step in the right direction.

His heart missed a beat, all enjoyment from this morning’s activities evaporating. Vilkos stared at Shisti’s windows. If portals were opening, Shisti would surely try to escape. Vilkos broke into a jog, shoving through the chaos of wedding guests attempting to flee the chaos.

Shisti’s wards were present, but weak. Her magic felt almost sick. Had she been hit by this magical lightning? Was her weakening magic due to her carrying his son? Perhaps she’d turned her power too far inward. Vilkos used his magical vision to examine the wards. They hung in the air in tatters. He batted the pathetic spells keeping him from Shisti aside and kicked her chamber door open. A portal was open right in the middle of Shisti’s rooms. It wasn’t huge, but his mate was on her hands and knees, almost all the way through.

“Going somewhere, mate?” With wolf speed, Vilkos lunged forward and seized Shisti’s ankle, hauling her back into Inisfail.

She fought, kicking at him, but she didn’t hurl magic at him. Something was definitely wrong with her. All the more reason to keep Shisti where he could watch her. And he could begin her punishments.

Her body cleared the portal, and the gateway blinked out. Shisti went limp, like life itself had left her. Vilkos lifted her into his arns. Shisti remained limp as he made his way from her chambers to his hall.

While Fechin had taken the brunt of the attack, Vilkos felt the gaping holes left in the fog and wards around Inisfail. Huge chunks of the magic had been ripped or burned away, and with random portals opening, not only was Inisfail vulnerable to invasion, but its inhabitants were free to leave.

Last time Shisti had been in his hall, Vilkos had kept her tied to his bed. With her escape attempt, and portals heightening that possibility, more stringent methods were required. Vilkos entered the tree and followed the path between poisonous leaves and thorns to the bottom level.

Vilkos stepped over the dead bodies of his men. Fortunately not all of them had been present in Raven Castle. Although, he had yet to hear from any of them. Who knew how far what had happened to The Hunt had traveled.

“I should thank you, mate.” Vilkos looked down at Shisti. Her eyes were open, but there was a blankness there, like she wasn’t seeing anything. He kicked open a cell door when he arrived in the dungeon. “I’m sure you had something to do with the killings and abductions that took place here during the wedding. It means I have plenty of space for you.”

Shisti didn’t react. She gave him nothing. Not so much as a flicker in her eyes or a hitch in her breathing. Had whatever fractured her wards fractured her mind? Vilkos toyed with the idea of borrowing a healer from somewhere.

He placed Shisti on the floor and locked cuffs around Shisti’s wrists and ankles. The clicks weren’t as rewarding as he’d imagined. Without her fighting, it was too easy. Vilkos picked up the collar, tapping its edge against his other palm. This wasn’t him dominating her. There was no submission. Nothing to give him satisfaction. He couldn’t even be sure she was aware of what was happening or would feel anything he did to her. Putting a collar on her now served no purpose.

Vilkos left the collar next to Shisti’s head. When she came back to herself, she’d see it. He’d snap the band around her neck when she was aware of what he was doing in the meantime, he had some work to do.

On his way out of the tree, Vilkos gathered a couple of the dead men strewn about the corridor. Dragging one by an ankle and another by a wrist, he deposited them outside the tree, then returned to retrieve a few more When he’d heaped all the corpses into a pile, he drew a dagger from one boot and sliced his palm. Turning his hand over, Vilkos paced over the floor in front of his throne, dripping his blood in a circle as he murmured the words to his revelation spell.

An enormous cauldron appeared.

One by one, he tossed the corpses into the cauldron. Vilkos threw himself into his throne, picked up a bottle of Fae spirits and took a long pull as he waited for the dead to rise.