Lucan to know the difference.
Either way, it didn’t change anything. The wraith was here now, watching her intently. As if he knew she was trying to figure out what to do next, the wraith leaned in, lowering his head.
She kept still as his chest brushed hers, and the familiar scent of Lucan wrapped around her. Her gaze slid away from his long enough to confirm only the Fae paid them any attention.
Maybe too close attention.
The others had begun to argue again, fueled by the Korrigan insisting Rhiannon had to be responsible and what was Nessa going to do about it. Someone else would have to keep things from escalating. She had bigger problems at the moment.
The wraith inhaled, edging closer until their bodies touched. He felt much cooler now and a sliver of menace crackled on the air between them. The cat stirred, raking its claws along the edges of her mind the way it did when it wanted to play rough.
Not the reaction she would have expected.
“Luc,” she whispered, willing him to come back. At least then she’d know what she was dealing with.
His mouth whispered across her neck, and the harder her pulse pounded, the longer he lingered, his breath hot on her skin.
She tipped her head back, unsure what to say. “No one here is the enemy. Yet,” she tacked on, her voice barely audible. If the wraith believed the others were an imminent threat, he wouldn’t stop until he’d destroyed them all or went down trying—if such a thing was even possible.
An indulgent grin curved the wraith’s lips.
“It’s this place,” she guessed, looking over Lucan’s shoulder at the tree blossoms. “It’s making it harder for you to stay in control,” she guessed.
Curious black eyes stared back at her, watching where she lifted her hand to touch him.
“Don’t.” The rough voice was Lucan’s, but so much harder, colder.
The wraith hadn’t spoken to her in the alley, and she’d foolishly assumed it reacted primarily on instinct, like her animal half.
Although tempted to touch him anyway, she let her hand drop. There was no way to tell how volatile the wraith might be or whether or not Lucan was anywhere close to regaining control.
The wraith’s attention slipped to her mouth, lingering there, then he tipped his face up to the sun. “She will never allow it.” He glanced back at her, his expression impossible to decipher.
The sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of Lucan discovering the truth worsened. “Who?” she asked, though she was sure she knew.
“Rhiannon. We belong to her.”
If the wraith knew then…
“He doesn’t know.” The raspy voice, both foreign and familiar, did nothing to reassure her that Lucan hadn’t pieced the truth together. He’d obviously been curious about the sun’s effect on her.
“But you do.”
The wraith nodded.
Briana’s head throbbed from trying to make sense of everything. “How?”
Another smug grin. “I fear nothing.”
A killing machine who spoke in riddles. Even better.
Sensing the tension mounting between the others, she knew she had to figure out something before they turned on each other.
Feeling the Fae’s gaze, Briana turned toward him. She couldn’t do anything about the wraith at the moment, but maybe she stood a chance of getting to the bottom of whoever had brought them here.
The wraith stayed close—too close—and she did her best to ignore him as she approached the Fae. Not nearly as simple as it should have been when the wraith’s gaze never left her.
“What’s your name?”
The Fae took his time looking away from the wraith. “Bran.”
“Have you heard of this happening before?” She wasn’t prepared to voice her theory about the Gauntlet. There was no telling what that would do to the gathered immortals. As it was, they didn’t need a reason to be at each other’s throat.
“I’ve heard many things.” Bran tilted his head to indicate her shadow. “But not of a gargoyle with a wraith bodyguard. Impressive, though I wouldn’t trust him not to turn on you. Only Rhiannon can tame them entirely.”
That wasn’t a conversation she was having with anyone but Lucan. “Do you know who brought us here?”
“Perhaps.”
The wraith tensed beside her. Because of the Fae? Or the huntress walking back toward them?
Nessa, who’d given up on arguing with the Korrigan, crossed her arms. “
“And also your sword,” Bran reminded her, smirking.
“Are you refusing to tell us what you know?” Nessa looked like she was really hoping he would.
“We don’t need to pick fights with each other,” Briana put in, though she knew it was a waste of time. If Nessa wanted to pick a fight there would be no talking her out of it.
“Don’t be naive.” Bran gestured to the group. “Look around. If we were meant to get along there wouldn’t be a thieving Korrigan among us, a member of a race so desperate for acceptance they enslave others to keep them company. Or a fledgling sorceress so abusive with her magic half of Avalon would sell their children to get even with her.”
“Only half?” Elena mused.
Bran ignored her. “Who would put a huntress within striking distance of Arthur’s betrayer? Or a knight, now a slave to the creature within, capable of killing all of us?”
Kel snorted.
The wraith merely smiled, but Briana suspected his amusement stemmed from thinking of ripping the Fae’s head from his body. Or maybe the dragon’s. Probably both.
Bran didn’t seem to notice or care what the wraith was thinking when he turned back to Briana. “What would you have all us do? Do Tequila shots and sing karaoke?”
“I could go for a drink right about now,” Vaughn muttered.
“Whatever we were brought here for,” Bran continued, “I guarantee it was not to get along.”
“That’s your opinion.” The Korrigan rose to his full height, barely reaching the Fae’s chest. “Assuming you’re not the one who brought us here.”
“Hardly.”
“And we’re just supposed to take your word on that?”
The Fae didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “Believe what you want.”
“Or maybe I’ll just make you tell us what you know,” the Korrigan challenged, the black veins beneath his dark complexion zigzagging across his face.
From somewhere behind her, Briana heard the dragon laugh and knew it was pointless to try and prevent any bloodshed. The best she could hope for was to stay out of the crossfire.
Chapter Six
Lucan finally felt the wraith retreat and mentally tightened his grip on the reins. With the exception of a few moments, he’d remained vaguely aware of what was happening around him.
Still, his control hadn’t slipped like it had in the alley or now in over two centuries. What had changed?
He glanced down at his hand, pulling off the make-shift bandage. The gashes from punching the brick had
