Breed, Chapter One

“So then I told Brenna that maybe Macy isn’t having dreams about waking up naked in the middle of her classmate’s living room because she’s feeling ‘vulnerable.’ Maybe it’s actually a good dream because she wants her classmate to see what a great body she has and be jealous.”

Peasblossom finished her thought with the zeal of someone who’s just made an excellent point, her wings fanning slowing behind her as she stopped pacing across the dashboard to await our reactions.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, allowing myself a moment to close my eyes as we waited for the traffic light to turn green. “Peasblossom, I’m sure Brenna and Macy both…appreciate your insights. But once again, I need to remind you that New Moon is a legally recognized center for counseling and rehabilitation—”

“For werewolves,” Peasblossom added.

“—And you are not a licensed therapist,” I finished, raising my voice. “And even if you were, you wouldn’t be permitted to sit in on therapy sessions without the express and written permission of both the therapist and the client.”

Peasblossom narrowed her multi-faceted pink eyes. “You sound like Brenna. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told her—I’m helping. And isn’t that all counseling is? Helping?”

The light turned green and I eyed the street ahead for signs of black ice as I eased into the intersection. Not that black ice was as common in the middle of intersections as it was on longer stretches of suburban roads, but I needed something to focus on while I struggled to find a way to convince Peasblossom to stop joining therapy sessions at New Moon. 

We’d only been at the werewolf recovery center for two nights so far, and Peasblossom had already managed to upset the cooks by scooping honey out of the bottle with her hands, the security team by constantly coming and going without signing in, and a handful of the residents by insisting on serving as a tiny elevator operator who would stab their hand with a needle sword if they tried to push the button instead of letting her do it.

Now she was offering her services as guest therapist.

A very gossipy therapist.

“It’s not that I don’t think they appreciate your…enthusiasm,” I said, trying to keep my tone upbeat. “Of course they have to recognize how valuable your insights are. But the thing is… The thing is…”

The silence dragged on a few beats too long as I scrambled for words that wouldn’t offend the tiny fey.

I glanced at Scath where she sat in the passenger seat, but she was studiously avoiding my gaze so as not to be dragged into the quagmire I was in.

No help there.

Peasblossom stared at me, a line deepening between her brows. “Maybe you need therapy to help you express yourself without all these awkward pauses. I could talk to Brenna and Ruth.”

I swerved slightly as I jabbed my finger in Peasblossom’s direction. “That’s it! Yes, that’s it. It’s Ruth.”

“What about her?”

I didn’t need to fake the tension that suddenly slithered over my shoulders at the mention of the head counselor of New Moon. “You know Ruth wasn’t happy about Liam’s invitation for me to stay at New Moon while Scath and Bastien are there.”

“Because she wanted to be Liam’s mate and she’s mad at you for taking the position,” Peasblossom said. “I remember.”

“Well, I’m just worried that Ruth might be looking for a reason—any reason—to ask Liam to tell me to leave. Even if that reason is something as tiny as you being helpful in a way that not everyone appreciates.”

Peasblossom sat down on the dashboard over the clock and kicked her legs as they dangled over the edge. “That sounds petty, but maybe you’re right. She really doesn’t like you.”

I let my head fall back against the headrest. “I know.”

I glanced at Scath surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye. Ruth may not like me, but she was doing everything she could to help Scath and her father, Bastien. Bastien was a werewolf from the Old Kingdom—Sanguennay, the kingdom I’d once called home. He’d been tortured for years by a sorceress who’d realized skinning a rare shifter was a great way to make money selling the coveted skins to muleskinners—magic users who used the skins of animals to change form. He was in bad shape, physically and mentally, and there was no better place for him right now than New Moon. Whatever her attitude toward me, Ruth was kind and patient with both Scath and Bastien, and she was very good at her job. I was grateful they had her in their corner.

Of course, that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable for me to be around her every day. 

“I should just get a hotel,” I said, half to myself.

Scath scraped a fingernail over the stitching in her leather pants. “I like having you there. But if it’s too uncomfortable for you because of Ruth, I’ll understand if you have to stay somewhere else.”

My stomach tightened. “It’s not just Ruth.”

Peasblossom walked over the dashboard to stand in front of the steering wheel. “Liam isn’t mad at you. I keep telling you that.”

I winced. “I know he’s not mad. And I know he understands why I had to hide so much from him when we were looking for Bastien. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s some…some shadow between us now. There’s this tension that I can’t ignore.”

“Because you feel guilty,” Peasblossom insisted. “You feel guilty even though he’s told you it’s okay and he understands. This isn’t a problem between the two of you, it’s a problem inside you that you need to move past.”

I sighed. “I can tell you’ve been hanging out with counselors.”

Peasblossom threw up her hands. “I told you! I’m helpful.” She looked over her shoulder, and suddenly her wings vibrated behind her and she shot to her feet. “We’re here!”

I looked ahead at the turnoff we’d take to get to the Great Serpent Mound. 

Home of the Unseelie queen’s sithen.

Scath sat up straighter in her seat, visibly bracing herself for what was coming. 

Unlike me, Scath wasn’t fazed by the idea of entering the realm of the Unseelie queen. She’d grown up there, and the Queen of Air and Darkness had been like a favorite auntie to her. She didn’t share my fear of entering and being lost in one of the magically shifting corridors, or getting caught up in some etiquette faux pas that would lead to imprisonment or torture. 

Scath’s discomfort came from what waited inside.

Or rather, who.

“The queen’s been torturing Aoife for a week.” Peasblossom glided to my shoulder where she immediately wrapped herself in my hair. “Do you think she’ll be sane enough to even give a weregild?”

“The queen knows what she’s doing,” Scath said, putting a hand on her door handle as soon as the car stopped. “She won’t risk Aoife’s mind before she’s given the weregild.”

That was not the comforting statement she seemed to think it was.

Scath opened her door and got out without waiting for us, and I studied her as she circled around the car.

The last few days had been hell for Scath, and it was all written over her face as plain as the dried blood on a goblin’s skin. She’d barely slept at all the last few days. On the rare occasion she did fall asleep, she was quickly awakened by Bastien’s whimpers and cries in the middle of the night. Thus far her werewolf father had refused any sleep aids, including a cup of Ruth’s special wolfsbane-laced tea. I didn’t think it was fear of the wolfsbane that made him reject the tea—Ruth always drank from the same pot she poured her client’s cup from to assure them it was safe. Rather, I thought Bastien feared being helpless. Feared sleep he couldn’t rouse easily from.

Feared he’d wake up back in the sorceress’ dungeon.

It strained my sense of honor and self-control to resist using a sleep spell on him. For his sake and Scath’s.

“Three more and it’s over,” I said quietly.

“Four more,” Peasblossom corrected me.

I forced myself to take a deep breath. “No, it’s three.”

“Anton Winters said four,” Peasblossom reminded me. “The vampire is never wrong.”

“That’s not true, and even if it was, Winters didn’t know about the binding. There were nine weregilds, Orist is taking four of them to serve because of his family’s role in…”

I trailed off. It felt weird to say their role in Simone’s murder. 

My murder, in a past life.

“Scath was assigned five weregilds,” I continued, shaking off that thought. “She already served Baine’s, and the queen gave her a binding as Ailsa’s murder weregild. That’s two of the five down. Three left.”

“Okay, the vampire was wrong.”

I got out of the car and Scath turned around to face me, so fast it made me jump.

“I shouldn’t have left him.”

I didn’t have to ask who she meant.

I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “He’s not strong enough to come with you. And he’ll receive the best possible care at New Moon.”

Scath didn’t say anything, but she didn’t shrug me off either. 

A frigid February wind slammed into me, and I cursed and lowered my head, trying to protect my face from the worst of it. Scath ignored the cold the same way she ignored most physical discomfort and made her way to the mound of earth rising in front of us.

The Great Serpent Mound looked every bit as unforgiving as one would expect the home of the Queen of Air and Darkness to be. I stopped ten feet from the mound itself, letting Scath approach first to wait for the inhabitants of the sithen to realize she was there and reveal the door.

Idly I wondered if the same naked man would answer the door this time as he had last time.

He didn’t.

I jerked upright as an opening appeared in the earth and the Unseelie queen herself filled the doorway.

Dubheasa—Queen of Air and Darkness—was a tall, pale woman with black hair that cascaded down her body to brush the edges of her long skirts. Her black eyes were more avian than human, and when she tilted her head sharply to the side, I felt very much like a fat mouse in the sights of a hungry hawk.

The queen looked around. “Where is he?”

“Who?” I asked.

“He’s not well, Your Majesty,” Scath said softly. “He wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him. He isn’t strong enough.”

Dubheasa studied Scath with the look of someone debating the merits of telling a friend that their new haircut looked awful. “He could recuperate here. My healers are better than anyone at the dog kennel.”

I pressed my lips together at her dismissal of New Moon, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be gained starting a fight with the Unseelie queen.

“He’s comforted by the presence of his kind,” Scath said, still in the same calm voice. “Your Majesty, he’s so…”

Scath let out a sob and fell silent, bowing her head as tears slid down her face.

The queen’s icy countenance melted and she took a quick step forward, enveloping Scath in a hug that seemed to swallow the shorter woman entirely. She tucked her face against Scath’s hair, and I saw her lips moving, whispering something low and soothing. 

There weren’t many people who got to see this softer side of the queen, and I wasn’t entirely certain it was safe for me to witness it. So I averted my eyes and waited silently until the queen finally pulled away, her hands holding Scath’s arms as she studied her face, making sure she was all right.

“Come,” she said, pulling Scath toward the opening. “I have good news.”

“Good for who?” Peasblossom muttered against the back of my neck.

It was an excellent question.

“As you know,” the queen said, leading us down a shadowy hallway, “Aoife was very naughty. She kept the return of her magic stolen by your bite a secret from me. Me, her own queen.”

She paused, and the silence that followed suggested she expected a response.

“I’m so sorry she disrespected you that way,” I said finally.

“That must have been very hurtful,” Peasblossom added.

“Indeed. I do so try to be a good queen, and to have someone deceive me like that…” Dubheasa put a hand on her chest. “It hurts.” She stopped next to a heavy wooden door with thick silver hinges. “But it doesn’t hurt as much as this.”

She opened the door with a flourish.

The scent of blood hit me like an ogre’s fist and I staggered back a step. 

Scath looked inside as if the smell hadn’t affected her at all.

“Aoife and I have been talking,” Dubheasa said, stepping into the room. “Haven’t we, Aoife?”

My brain didn’t want to tell me what I was looking at. For a second, I stared into the room and all I saw were two bloody lumps in the center of the floor. The room itself was little more than a cubby hole dug out of the earth. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling were all dirt and I had the frenzied thought that if I gave into the urge to scream, the earth would swallow the sound.

The two lumps on the floor were Aoife.

The sidhe woman’s ability was to split herself into two. Not a clone, exactly. The two versions of herself were less powerful than the whole. But splitting herself this way allowed Aoife to send one of her selves venturing into dangerous territory, knowing that if it were harmed or killed, the other half would survive. Though my understanding was that whatever injuries one version suffered would be reflected in the other version, only to a lesser degree. 

“It’s fascinating really,” the queen said, coming to stand beside one of the lumps. “I can inflict an injury on one and watch it appear on the other.” She clasped her hands together. “We’ve had a thrilling time experimenting, haven’t we, Aoife? Sometimes I alternate attention between them. And sometimes, I allow myself to fully embrace my creative tendencies on just one.” She sighed, a happy sound. “I usually have to be so careful not to kill them, you know. But with Aoife, as long as I choose only one and keep the other safe, I can be as intense as I like.” 

She looked at Scath and held up a hand. “I haven’t, of course. The death of one half would likely leave the other half in a coma, and I don’t want you waiting around indefinitely for her to wake up and give her weregild.”

I was barely listening anymore. All my attention went into not throwing up. I couldn’t bring myself to look too long at Aoife—either of her. At the moment, all my brain registered was that everything from her hair and skin to her clothes were soaked with blood. Some of it wet, some of it dried. I wondered if part of the reason she didn’t move—in addition to the pain—was the sheer weight and tackiness of the blood that coated her like a shell.

“Anyway,” the queen said, “time to talk.” She went to the side of the room and lifted a bottle from a small table. “I’ve had a few healing potions made. I find it’s always best to have one on hand in these situations.”

Scath’s face was empty of emotion. There’d been a time when I’d have believed she was unaffected by what she saw. But now I could see the shadows in her face, the way her eyes didn’t completely focus. It was her way of dissociating. 

I’d seen it a lot over the past week.

One of the lumps coughed and choked as Dubheasa poured the potion into her mouth. There was a sound between a whimper and a cry, and Aoife turned her face up to look around the room, moving as if the air itself hurt where it touched her.

Maybe it did.

Her gaze locked onto me. “Help,” she said hoarsely. 

Aoife had tried to get Scath killed. My friend. In another life, my sister. Aoife had hidden the return of her powers in the hopes that Scath would be executed for her crimes, deliberately withheld information that would have saved her and in the process, she’d robbed others of hope, prolonged their suffering, and risked leaving them powerless forever—a fate worse than death for some sidhe. I had every reason to hate her. We all did.

But if I could have helped her in that moment, I would have.

“Now, now,” Dubheasa warned. “We’ve talked about this. You’re going to give Scath her weregild, and once you have, I’ll decide how much longer you stay here.”

Scath’s eye twitched, telling me she’d just had the same realization I did.

The queen was blackmailing Aoife. Hinting that if the queen found her weregild too harsh, Aoife would remain here in the dungeon indefinitely.

“Get me the Maksura Cat,” Aoife gasped. “Bring it to me…and all is forgiven.”

“The Maksura Cat?” I repeated.

“Be more specific,” the queen said, a low warning in her voice.

Aoife let out another pathetic cry. “An artifact…stolen from Diaz family during the wars with the Seelie. A ceramic cat formed from…from fractured pieces of different plates, fashioned together with gold to form…a calico cat. I…was hired…to get it back. Tried to…negotiate. Failed. Get it back for me.”

“What does it do?” Scath asked.

“Clear mind of…manipulation. Help you see clearly, recall memories.” Aoife sucked in a deep breath. “For a time you cannot…cannot be manipulated. Can’t be…intimidated. But you also can’t…intimidate others. Makes you…less.”

“Less what?” I asked.

“Intimidating,” Aoife mumbled.

Her head slumped forward as exhaustion threatened to steal her consciousness. The healing potion the queen had used must have been a good one. Aoife had maybe a minute of consciousness left by my estimation before her body shut down to heal more deeply.

“Where is it?” the queen prompted.

The sound of the monarch’s voice made Aoife jolt. “Blackburns. Blackburns have it. I think. Nicci, Cari…Adrian. Blackburns have it. They deny they have it, but…they must have it. Hallie says they have it.”

“Who’s Hallie?” I asked.

“Hallie…Diaz. My…client.”

No sooner was the last word out of her mouth than she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The queen frowned and nudged her with her foot, drawing my attention to the fact she was barefoot. 

“I think we have all we need,” I said quickly.

The queen eyed me as if I were a child who’d interrupted class for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Then I suppose you know who the Blackburns are?”

“I think you’ll know far more about them than Aoife,” I said quickly. “Aoife may think she’s clever, but her knowledge is nothing compared to one who hears whispers in the dark.”

Flattering a queen wasn’t quite the same as flattering a pixie. With a pixie, you really couldn’t overdo it. To an ego that size, flattery of any level just sounded reasonable.

The queen had a similar ego, but a shrewder mind.

“She’s right, my queen,” Scath spoke up, keeping her voice low and calm. “And I would much rather speak to you.”

Dubheasa’s face softened. “All right then. Come with me.”

We followed her out of the dungeon, all of us breathing a little easier when the door closed behind us.

“The Blackburns specialize in training animal companions,” the queen said as she walked. “Rare animals, powerful animals. I heard a rumor they had a unicorn once.” She tapped one finger against her upper lip. “If I remember correctly, Adrian trains the executive companions, his wife Nicci trains the battle mounts, and their daughter Cari…” She narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. “Honestly, one just doesn’t hear as much about Cari. The child has yet to make her mark in any sort of significant way.”

“Do you know anything about their abilities?” Scath asked.

Dubheasa smirked. “Very little, but then my impression is there is very little to know. The Blackburns have built their reputation on the companions they train, and they favor using those companions instead of their own powers under the guise of showing off their ‘wares.’ I’ve heard rumors that Nicci has some minor telekinetic ability, but thus far neither her husband nor her daughter seem interested in showing off their own personal magic.” 

“You think they don’t have much,” Scath guessed.

The queen shrugged. “I cannot say for certain. But whatever their personal magic, they don’t seem inclined to use it.”

I wanted to take comfort in the idea that the people we’d be going up against weren’t very strong, magically, but I’d been around the sidhe far too long not to understand that it was also possible they just preferred to be underestimated. If they had alternate means of showing strength—terrifying animal companions, for example—then they may be perfectly happy to keep their other strengths a surprise.

“Who do they sell to?” I asked.

“Anyone with the money to pay their exorbitant prices. The Blackburns are well-connected and very powerful among their fellows in the Court of Light and Illusion, so they are freer to socialize with whom they choose.”

“The Court of Light and Illusion?” I repeated, my eyebrows shooting into my hairline. “They’re Seelie?”

“Yes.” The queen frowned. “Is that a problem?”

Obviously, it was a problem. Entering the house of a Seelie family would be significantly more difficult for Scath—an Unseelie—to do than infiltrating an Unseelie family. Not to mention it meant that my usual sources would be much less likely to be able to help, or provide information. 

I forced a smile. “No problem.”

“Do you have a connection to them?” Scath asked. “A way I can get inside?”

The queen shook her head. “As yet they have not chosen to form social bonds of that level with anyone in my court. I’m afraid I cannot help you there.” She looked back toward the torture room where Aoife’s body lay. “Aoife managed to get an audience with them, apparently, to negotiate.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scath promised.

The queen studied her for a moment. Her expression shifted between hesitation and the determination to ask a question that may or may not go over well. “I know you will. And when you’re done, perhaps you and your father will join me for tea?”

“If he’s well enough,” Scath said.

Her voice trembled when she spoke. Dubheasa heard it, and didn’t push.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it then. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish. And I am so looking forward to having tea. With you and your father.”

There was something in her tone that made me think she meant something other than tea. I got the strange impression she was…angry with Bastien.

But why?

I knew better than to ask Scath. Even if she would have answered, now wasn’t the time to talk about her father.

We’d just got settled back in the car when Scath twisted sharply in her seat to face me.

“I don’t want you to help me with this weregild,” she blurted out.

My mouth fell open and I let the hand clutching the car key drop to my lap. “What?”

Scath lifted her chin. “I don’t want you to help. I don’t want you to be involved in any of my weregilds anymore.”

“Why?”

Scath looked down at her lap. “You’re a good person, Shade. I want you to stay that way.”

My chest tightened. “You’re a good p—”

“Don’t.” Scath took a deep breath and raised her green eyes to meet mine. “I know who I am, and I’m fine with that. What I’m not fine with is you having to make the kind of choices you had to make when we were working for Baine. It will be easier for me to do what I need to do if you aren’t there. Do you understand?”

“You’re a good person,” I said firmly. “And the fact that you don’t see that tells me you need me with you. You need someone to remind you of that until you’re in a place to see it yourself.”

Scath’s jaw tightened. “Your relationship with Liam is suffering because you insisted on helping last time. You lost something that you might not get back. What if you lose something even worse this time?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Liam and I are fine. We’re working through it.”

“And you should take the time to work through it before the next problem comes along,” Scath insisted. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. I don’t want your help this time. I don’t need it.”

My brain spun frantically, trying to think of some way to convince her to let me help. I couldn’t let her do this alone. She was already in so much pain. She needed to know I would be there for her, no matter what. She was worth the risk.

“I know how we can find out for sure if the Blackburns have the Maksura Cat,” I said suddenly, struck by inspiration. “And how to get close enough to find it.”

Scath stared at me, her poison green eyes searching my face, gauging if I were lying. 

“And you’re not going to tell me if I don’t agree to let you help.”

She didn’t make it a question, but I answered anyway.

“Nope.”

Scath shook her head. “I can find my own way in.”

My chest tightened. “I know you could. But my way will be faster than you coming up with your own. You’ll get back to Bastien faster.”

I felt a little bad putting it that way, but it was the truth. And I truly couldn’t bear the thought of Scath doing this alone.

Scath sighed and slumped back in her seat. “Fine. What’s the plan?” 

* * * *

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