She could feel his sincerity and his love lighting up the connection between them like a sun gone supernova, and she wanted to roll around in the heat and light, but she forced the door in her heart to close. It hurt too much, otherwise.
“I’ll trade myself for Declan,” Christophe said, spelling it out. “You don’t have to ask. My head will make that plate look good.”
His feeble attempt at humor died in the air between them, but she appreciated the effort. It was far more than she could do.
Flashes of memory of Declan kept shooting through her mind. Him as a baby, as a toddler who followed her everywhere, calling for his “Fee Fee.” She’d hated that; thought it made her sound like a French poodle. Fifi Campbell.
School days, protecting him from the bullies who thought an orphaned pair might be fair game. They’d learned otherwise quickly enough.
“Oh, Dec,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m coming for you. Your Fee Fee is coming.”
Christophe lifted her clear off the chair and then sat down with her in his lap and simply held her while she finally cried. By the time the rest of the Atlanteans returned, she’d cleaned away any trace of tears and was ready to plan.
When they entered the room, Christophe stood and introduced them to her. “Lady Fiona Campbell, this is Lord Justice. He’s okay in spite of the hair.”
Justice faked a swat at Christophe’s head and Christophe ducked and grinned. Fiona caught a flash of true fondness from Christophe’s emotions and was glad for him.
“Just Fiona, please,” she said, shaking hands.
“And simply Justice, for us,” he said, oddly referring to himself in the plural. He was tall, dark, and gorgeous, like they all were, but with a streak of wildness in his eyes. Probably why his hair was in a braid that fell to his hips and he wore such a huge sword.
“Is there iron in that sword?” She knew she was being abrupt, but she didn’t have time to waste on courtesies when Declan’s life hung in the balance.
“No iron, but it has its own unique properties,” he said. “It will send the Fae running.”
“Brennan is the one with the sense of humor and the very bad jokes,” Christophe said, and the one who’d told Christophe he really liked her nodded.
“Bastien is the giant. Also a damn fine cook.”
Bastien inclined his head. “My pleasure, Lady Fiona.”
“Now what?” She looked around at each of them in turn. “You’ve faced them before, I have not, so I repeat, now what?”
Sean walked into the room rolling a cart. “I think I have an idea.”
He opened the top of the cart and Fiona saw every type of iron weapon she could possibly have hoped for, all stacked and shining like a murderer’s dream.
“Have you tried to reach Denal on the mental pathway?” Justice asked Christophe. “Do you want any of us to try?”
Christophe shrugged. “If you can, please do. Maybe you’ll have better luck. I have had no success at all. Wherever he is, he either can’t hear me, or he doesn’t want to answer.”
He refused to think of the third possibility.
Hopkins walked in and Fiona almost fell over. He wasn’t wearing his suit, for perhaps the first time in her life. Instead, he was dressed all in black and he looked tough and deadly. He calmly began fastening a shoulder holster to himself.
Justice wandered over and picked up an iron sword and checked its balance. “This one is good,” he told Hopkins.
“We’re taking the butler?” Bastien asked. “I mean you no offense, sir, but—”
“I prefer these,” Hopkins interrupted Bastien, but he was answering Justice. He chose an assortment of guns, loaded them, and holstered them in various places around his person, all in record time. “Not much for swords, but I caused some trouble with guns, back in the day.” He met Fiona’s gaze. “I plan to do so again tonight.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Hopkins. You’ve always been there for us. I can’t imagine surviving tonight without you.”
“You don’t understand, Fiona,” Christophe said. “The Fae said only the two of us. The Summer Lands have a magical entrance, similar to the Atlantean portal. It will only admit the two of us, and it won’t let anyone at all enter carrying weapons.” He forced the words out. “None of this does us any good. Once we’re in there, we’re on our own.”
Chapter 37
Fairsby Manor, midnight
Christophe tightened his grip on Fiona’s hand and knocked on the enormous wooden door. Oak, he thought. Beautiful carving in all of the many panels. Funny how the Unseelie Fae always surrounded themselves with beauty, when they were so ugly on the inside, where it counted.
A tiny shiver passed through Fiona, but she hid any nerves behind her “lady of the manor” serenity. “Just coming to call,” she said. “I’ve been here before.”
“That’s it. You can do this.”
“Before I knew my best friend was a Fae princess and kidnapper,” she continued relentlessly. “Before some crazy elf stole my brother and wanted to hire out my uterus.”
Christophe grimaced. “I don’t think he has hiring in mind. What were you talking to Justice about, by the way?”
She shrugged her shoulders under her long, heavy coat. “Nothing much. And now? I’m going to kick some elf ass,” she said, smiling at the door.
“
She reached up to kiss him and he just barely had time to hope it wasn’t the last time he ever kissed her, and then the door opened. His jaw dropped open in shock.
“Lucinda?” Fiona leapt inside and helped support the bloody and battered shifter. “Who did this to you?”
Christophe thought,
Lucinda fell to the ground heavily. She was bleeding from so many different places that it was a wonder she was still alive.
“Why don’t you shift and start healing yourself?” He crouched down next to her. “We’ll stand guard.”
She shook her head; a tiny movement, but even that caused her pain. “No, you don’t understand. He has the Siren. He can keep us from shifting. Right now he’s only playing with it and there are hundreds of us near death. If you teach him how to access its full power, we’re all finished.”
“No worries there,” he told her. “There’s not a chance in the nine hells I’ll help him with anything.”
The sound of boot heels ringing on marble sounded in the foyer, though there was no one there, until suddenly Gideon na Feransel stood there watching them. “Such a disappointment. Here I’d hoped it would be easy.”
The Fae slowly and carefully rolled up the sleeves on his tailored shirt. “I think I need a little snack for this demonstration.”
As if on command, three shifters dragged a fourth out of a doorway behind the Fae and dropped their struggling captive in front of him. The shifters, all but the captive, were enthralled. The one on the floor looked up at them, and it took Christophe a minute to recognize Evan, Lucinda’s mate, in the mass of torn and tattered flesh that was all that was left of his face.
“What did you do to them?” Fiona demanded. “Gideon, how could you?”
“It’s not the Gideon you think you know,” Christophe reminded her. “
