A sharp pain stabbed her chest. Oh God. Cynthia. Ian killed her.
“Yes, now it’s time.” Raul whipped the gun and pointed it at her.
A pop sounded. She jerked. Pain exploded in her belly. Her mouth opened on a soundless scream. Two more bullets hit her, and she fell.
Raul knelt over her and pressed a balled-up rag to her gut. “You see, Harley,” he held up the bloody fabric, “I always get what I want.”
Calan. She had to reach him. She pictured his eyes, saw him fighting, but a fist to her face stopped her from connecting with him.
Raul’s laugh followed her into oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Calan swung his sword. Another redcap’s head fell. Three more charged him, their own swords extended. The redcaps were well trained, but they were no match for him. All they succeeded in doing was waste his time and piss him off. They blocked him from reaching Dar. Calan raised his flaming blade just as his hounds spilled into the clearing.
Left tied to Ian and under his command, the hounds couldn’t touch Calan’s mind automatically. Calan opened himself to them, then searched their memories for the reason they’d come to him. The information they fed him tore a curse from him. He’d suspected a trap. No matter. Both Raul and Dar would pay for their crimes tonight. Ian knew how imperative it was that Raul died. Calan would trust in his new Huntsman. He had no other choice. Dealing with Dar had to come first.
Calan gutted the last redcap and pivoted on his heel.
Dar stood by his car, a smirk on his face.
Calan drew on the power in the air around him and used it to fuel his limbs. He closed the distance between them and tackled Dar. A swipe of his clawed hand to the fairy’s back ripped a snarl from the Dar’s throat. His image of youthfulness faded, replaced by his true form—monstrous, hideous, deformed.
Dar spun and returned the blow. Sharpened nails ripped Calan open from his chest to his stomach. Blood gushed out. The wound barely registered. Calan dug his fist into Dar’s gut and yanked. The sickening stench of Dar’s rotten insides choked Calan. He ignored it and slammed his knee into the wound.
The fairy’s shriek pierced the night. Calan held him immobile and reached for the blade strapped to his thigh. Without wasting a moment, he plunged it into Dar’s heart and waited for the look of agony to distort the fairy’s saggy, blackened face.
Prayed for it.
A smile spread instead.
Dar bucked, tossing Calan off. Stunned, Calan sat on the ground and watched Dar pull the dagger out. He flung it. The knife pierced the ground between them.
“Foolish Hunter.” Dar pushed to his feet, his image of youthfulness sliding over his rotten body again. “You can’t transfer the curse to me when you’ve already given it to your fairy mate.”
Wariness settled over him. “You knew?”
“About Harley being yours? Yes, Raul told me. And the curse?” Dar wiped the dirt from his ass. “I guessed.”
His father’s words skipped through Calan’s mind. “I have been deceived.”
“Don’t lie. You didn’t allow me to stab you based on an assumption. Somebody told you. Who?” He needed to know who had betrayed Arawn and, in turn, the Huntsmen, if he had any hope of saving Harley and the world.
“I honestly don’t know. The information simply dropped in my lap.”
Calan curled his fists, and his talons pierced his palm. Blood dripped. “So you came to torture me?”
“Of course, but I also came to congratulate you and welcome you into the family. You are my son now.”
“And Harley is your daughter. She will suffer.”
“She is a tool, nothing more.” Dar shrugged. “Family means nothing to me, neither does my Court, not any longer. Soon I will have a new one, a powerful one, and my followers will help me win the greatest game of all time. I will emerge the victor, remember that.”
Calan tensed. Dar’s words mirrored his father’s. “What game? Who are the players?”
“The greatest game of all. And the players?” Dar chuckled. “Everyone plays a role. Some simply have a more weighted piece than others.” He walked toward the car’s open door. “Thank Harley for her gift, my son. It will come in handy.”
He got in. The car backed up, turned, and peeled away. Calan stood there, defeated in more ways than one. He couldn’t even relish the satisfaction of ripping Dar’s head from his body and transporting him to Hell. Uncursed, he’d simply fade into the fairy realm. At least with Dar in the mortal world, Calan could hunt him once he fixed the mess he’d made.
He pivoted and faced the aftermath of his battle. The sluaghs had disintegrated, but the redcaps lay where they’d fallen. He stepped over their lifeless bodies and ran the way he’d come. Dar’s departing words worried him.
What gift? Harley wouldn’t give Dar anything. Not willingly, at least.
A roar reached his ears. The mark of the Hunt pulsed, and Ian’s agony poured into Calan’s mind. He drew it in and reached for Ian. Disorder swamped the link between them. Ian’s rational thoughts unraveled. Fury took over. Hatred mixed with it. The last of Ian’s rational mind shut down.
Calan did the only thing he could. He shoved a bolt of pure energy into Ian’s body. His heart stopped, but not before Calan caught the reason why Ian had given in to his rage.
Harley falling, blood soaking her shirt.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Wake up, Harley.”
Somebody shook her. Harley pried her eyelids apart, and Trevor’s bruised face filled her vision. She pushed into a sitting position. Memories returned. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Cold, sticky blood met her touch.
“Raul.”
Trevor helped her stand and slid an arm around her shoulders to steady her swaying body. “He’s one sick motherfucker. We’re damn lucky he didn’t kill us.”
No, he’d done something much worse.
“What did he do with the rag he pressed to my belly?”
Trevor frowned.
