KING OF THE OTHERWORLD

The race is on to find the true heir to the faerie crown before the evil king Moncoya returns from exile. Mercenary necromancer Jethro de Loix will find the challenger to Moncoya’s crown...for a price. One million mortal dollars. Outraged at Jethro’s audacity, Princess Vashti, Moncoya’s daughter, arranges to accompany him on his mission.

Jethro doesn’t want company, especially not from Moncoya’s belligerent, pampered daughter. But as their journey pits them against evil forces, their animosity soon gives way to an overwhelming physical attraction. When the trail ends on the legendary Isle of Avalon, can the pair face down the evil sorceress Morgan le Fay to claim a future they’d long denied themselves?

“What do you do while you’re here?”

“On the island? Relax. Do some fishing, sailing, read a ton of books. Just unwind.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose.

“You look like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Because she did it so rarely, when Vashti smiled it was like the sun had broken through storm clouds. “I suppose people might think unwinding would come naturally to a princess. But I’ve spent my whole life on a tight schedule.”

Something in the matter-of-fact words tugged at a chord of sympathy deep within him. Who’d have thought? Empathy toward the faerie princess. He’d have to watch himself. Vashti was still Moncoya’s daughter. Like her father, she was beautiful, destructive and untrustworthy. Now was a good time to remind himself of that... while he was gazing up into those incredible blue eyes.

JANE GODMAN writes in a variety of genres including paranormal, gothic and historical romance and erotic romantic suspense. She also enjoys the occasional foray into horror and thriller writing. Jane lives in England and loves to travel to European cities, which are steeped in history and romance—Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are among her favorites. A teacher, Jane is married to a lovely man and is mum to two grown-up children.

Otherworld Challenger

Jane Godman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Otherworld Challenger is the third book in the Otherworld series. It’s been quite a journey so far! I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have.

At the end of the last book, Otherworld Renegade, the “good guys” were facing a huge challenge.... They had to find the true heir to the faerie crown so that they could get rid of Moncoya—the charismatic, but evil, king of the faeries.

One man steps forward to offer his help. Jethro de Loix is a mercenary, selling his skills as a necromancer to the highest bidder. When Jethro names his price, Princess Vashti, Moncoya’s daughter, is outraged at his effrontery. There is no love lost between maverick Jethro and prickly Vashti, so when she decides to teach him a lesson, sparks fly!

I’ve loved weaving elements of Arthurian legend into these books, and there are some surprises in this one as the identity of the challenger is revealed. And I’m delighted to say that there will be more Otherworld books to come.

I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at www.janegodmanauthor.com, on Twitter @JaneGodman or on Facebook at Jane Godman Author.

Happy reading,

Jane

This book is dedicated to my family, who always support and encourage me… and never complain about the strange ideas I bounce off them!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“I’ll do it.”

The words had the same effect on the assembled company as a volley of bullets fired into the ornate ceiling of the vast banquet hall. Every head turned in the direction of the man who had uttered them. Lounging back on two legs of his chair, his broad shoulders against the wall and his booted feet on the round meeting table, he returned their stares with his customary nonchalance and continued munching on an apple.

“You can’t seriously be prepared to listen to him. He’d sell his grandmother to the imps if the price was right.” The words burst from Vashti’s lips before she could stop them.

“The Crown Princess Vashti is reminded of the Alliance’s fundamental principle of respect for all species.” The condemnatory voice of the clerk echoed around the room. “Moreover, all speakers must first be approved by Merlin Caledonius, Leader of the Council.”

Vashti felt a blush of embarrassment turn the heat of rage already burning her cheeks a darker shade of red. It didn’t help that he was openly smirking at her humiliation. “I withdraw my remark.” She spoke the words stiffly.

“Thank you.” Merlin Caledonius, or Cal as he preferred to be known, inclined his head in her direction before turning to address Jethro de Loix. “What will you do exactly?”

“Exactly what you want. Find the true King of the Faeries and bring him back here to challenge Moncoya for the crown.”

A murmur of interest rippled around the table and Vashti smothered her derisive exclamation by turning it into a cough. Couldn’t any of them see Jethro de Loix for the maverick he was? Even the way he was dressed flouted convention. Everyone else around the table respected the formality of the occasion. Not Jethro. His white-linen shirt was unbuttoned a little too far, the waistcoat he wore over it hung casually open. Those long, long legs were encased in a pair of well-worn black jeans and the battered boots that rested on the conference table looked like they had walked the length of Otherworld and back. Perhaps they had. With his overlong jet-black hair tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong and his hawk-like profile he was too—her mind searched for a suitable adjective and could only come up with swashbuckling—for this solemn setting.

Jethro bit into the apple again, his teeth startlingly white against the red skin of the fruit.

Several hands were raised around the table and the clerk, a pompous little elf, noted their names in his record book. “Prince Tibor wishes to address the Council meeting.”

The vampire prince rose, bowing his head slightly in Cal’s direction. Vashti could never see Tibor without being struck by two things. His stunning physical beauty and the fact that she had never met anyone who looked less like a vampire. Stella, Cal’s wife, had once remarked that he looked like a fashion model or a Scandinavian soccer player. Vashti, with her limited knowledge of the mortal realm, had no way of knowing what the comment meant, but she didn’t think either option sounded vampire-like.

“Esteemed Council Leader, fellow Council members, our Alliance is a new and fragile one. We have taken the decision to offer our individual dynasties democracy. Our people will soon get to vote for who will lead them and represent them at this table in the future. It was a brave and noble act on our part.” Heads nodded around the table. “We believe our dynasties will vote wisely...”

Do we? Vashti risked a glance around the table. Tibor might be secure in the vampire vote—his loyal followers were not about to overturn centuries of tradition—but there were others whose places at the table were not so secure. Anwyl, the wolf leader, fought a constant battle against Nevan, a ferociously ambitious alpha newcomer who sought to usurp his place as pack leader. And, of course, there was the reason they were all here today. The problem that united them all. Daddy dearest.

“...but there is one dynasty for which we all fear the outcome. If the faeries vote to confirm Moncoya’s place as their leader, Otherworld will descend once more into chaos. My friends, I fear there will be no return to order next time.”

“Garrick wishes to address the meeting.”

The elf leader stood. “You paint a gloomy picture indeed, Prince. Yet did this Council not, at its first meeting, request that Merlin Caledonius issue a warrant for the arrest of Moncoya as a war criminal for acts of barbarity against his own people? There is still time to do that. Then, should he attempt to return and take his place as leader of the faeries, surely his reign would be short-lived? Not only would he face imprisonment, if he is found guilty it is likely he would be executed for his crimes. Even Moncoya’s arrogance would not lead him to take such a step.”

Cal cast an apologetic glance in Vashti’s direction. He knew how hard it was for her to listen to accounts of her father’s atrocities and maintain an outwardly impervious manner. “I am reluctant to take such a step at this stage. Although the battle for control of Otherworld drove Moncoya into hiding, it did not topple him from his throne. He is still the King of the Faeries and there are many who wish to see him return openly. If the faeries elect Moncoya as their leader, we will have to tread carefully. The fae population is one of the largest in Otherworld. We cannot risk alienating them by taking an inflammatory action against the leader they choose. If they choose him. Princess Vashti, perhaps you can aid this discussion by telling the Council the mood of your people?”

Cal had warned her in advance that he would ask her this question today. Rising, she was conscious of all eyes upon her. So why did the intense gaze of Jethro de Loix, who wasn’t even part of this Council, bother her more than any other? “I wish I could give my fellow Alliance members a definitive answer to that question. Sadly, I cannot. If the faeries were asked to vote tomorrow, indications are there would be an even split with half voting for Moncoya—” she had schooled herself not to refer to him as “my father” in this setting “—and half evenly split between the other opposition parties.”

Prince Tibor raised his hand. “The princess’s words raise the real possibility of Moncoya taking his seat at this table in the near future.”

The clerk gestured to Anwyl the Wolf. “I will not be part of an Alliance that includes Moncoya.” Several heads around the table nodded in agreement.

So it begins. Moncoya’s return would destroy all the good work they had done. Otherworld would descend once more into the constant battles that had threatened to tear it apart before the Alliance had been formed. Vashti met Cal’s eyes briefly and she knew he was thinking the same thing. “Anwyl, the sentiments you express are the reason why it is so important for us to find the true heir to King Ivo, the faerie leader who was killed by Moncoya in the bloody coup through which he seized power. The current opposition parties, all well-meaning, do not offer the faerie race a viable alternative to Moncoya’s strong rule. King Ivo was deeply loved by his people. If we can produce his heir, I believe that will sway their vote.”

Anwyl, still on his feet, looked skeptical. “What proof do we have that this so-called heir even exists?”

“We have the word of the leader of the Dominion, the fourth choir of angels. We also know that the Goddesses of Fate summoned Princess Vashti’s sister, Tanzi, to them at the palace of Gladsheim recently and spoke to her of the true heir. Our biggest problem lies in the fact that the identity of the heir has been so well hidden he himself is unaware of it. The goddesses told Tanzi that the answer lies on the Isle of Avalon.”

Anwyl’s noble features remained mistrustful. “The Goddesses of Fate delight in interfering.”

The clerk cleared his throat in preparation for another reminder about respect, but Cal spoke before he could intervene. “While that may be true, the goddesses are not able to lie. If we are to find the heir, someone must go to Avalon in search of him. It is a journey that is both perilous and unprecedented. We have only one offer to make the attempt. That offer has come from Jethro.”

Everyone in the room knew Prince Tibor hated Jethro and had sworn to kill him for the perceived crime of stealing the vampire leader’s human servant from him. Even so, the prince’s words, when he turned to speak to the necromancer, were polite. “You would do this? Knowing the dangers, you would be prepared to go to Avalon in search of the faerie heir?”

Jethro’s smile—the piratical one, the one Vashti loathed with every fiber of her being—dawned. “For the right price.”

“And what is that price?” Cal’s voice was razor-sharp. As the Council leader, he was scrupulously fair. He would offer no favors just because Jethro was a fellow necromancer and a close friend.

“One million mortal dollars.”

* * *

The Council leaders were huddled in groups during lunch, but it was obvious there was only one topic of conversation. Would they be prepared to part with a million dollars to maintain their Alliance and rid Otherworld of Moncoya?

“Are you serious?” Cal asked Jethro as the two men took their plates of food out onto the terrace.

“I never joke about money.”

“A million dollars is a hell of a lot of cash. It might not seem so much in the mortal realm these days, but to the Otherworld leaders, it represents the equivalent of a huge amount of money.”

“It’s a hell of a dangerous job.” Jethro leaned against the stone balustrade and looked through the open full-length windows into the banquet hall. “I’ll be turning down some much easier work to do this favor for you, Cal.”

“I’m honored.” Cal’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Jethro turned back to face him, all trace of humor gone from his face. “My other work is hit-and-miss. This would be one big, guaranteed payday. I’ve been thinking for a while of giving up the mercenary lifestyle, but when the vampire prince has sworn to rip your throat out, you need a larger-than-average nest egg.”

“I could try to intercede with Tibor on your behalf about this revenge thing he has going against you. I never could understand why his human servant switched allegiance and suddenly decided you were his master.”

“No one could. Least of all me.” Jethro felt his lips thin into a line at the memory. He glanced into the room. Tibor was talking to Vashti, leaning attentively toward her as the princess smiled up at him. Since Princess Tanzi had recently thrown the prince over, it looked like Tibor was about to make a move on her twin sister. Good luck to him. They were two of a kind. “But Dimitar left him and became my friend. That bastard killed him for that reason and no other. Now he wants to do the same to me. Let him try. Don’t grovel to the blood-sucking son of a bitch on my behalf.”

The good thing about Cal, Jethro decided, was he knew when to change the subject. It was the wisdom acquired through centuries of being the world’s greatest sorcerer. When you were the man responsible for bringing King Arthur to the throne—the whole Camelot and Knights of the Round Table thing—you’d probably seen it all before. “Will you be going to the wedding?”

Jethro laughed. “I might have to. Just to prove to myself that my old friend Lorcan Malone is going to get married at last. And to one of Moncoya’s daughters.” He looked back to where Vashti was standing alone now. Her physical beauty was undeniable...and breathtaking. That lily-pale, flawless complexion and short, light blond hair gave her a fragile appearance Jethro knew was deceptive. She was a lethal fighting machine, as vicious as Moncoya himself. And about as trustworthy. “Personally, I’ll never understand the attraction.”

“I’ve gotten to know Vashti since the battle that led to Moncoya’s exile. Except in looks, she doesn’t resemble Moncoya, and I have a great deal of respect for the devotion she has shown to the faerie dynasty. It can’t have been easy for her to have learned of Moncoya’s crimes against his own people.”

Jethro shrugged. It wasn’t like Cal to be easily duped, but he wasn’t going to waste time debating the matter. His only interest in Vashti lay in whether she could sway the other Council members against him. He knew she was about to give it her best shot. “Will they go for it?” He nodded toward the banquet hall where the dignitaries were resuming their places at the table.

Cal grinned. “You’ll find out soon enough. Wait here. The clerk will call you in when we’ve reached a decision.”

It was a long wait. Jethro paced the terrace outside the banquet hall a dozen times. What the hell was there to talk about? They were either going to pay him or they weren’t. Obviously he hoped they would, but he wasn’t going to lose sleep over it if the answer was no. He had a few alternative offers lined up, none of them particularly exciting. He didn’t need the money for himself. He’d named the sum for the devilry of it, but now the challenge was out there and Jethro had never backed down from one of them. He needed this adrenaline rush...strange considering the entire vampire dynasty was looking to drain his blood. And there was the new threat of the mysterious but incredibly powerful sorcerer and trickster called Iago, who had sworn to kill Jethro, Cal, Lorcan and Stella.

I don’t just need eyes in the back of my head, I need them on both sides, as well. Truth be told, I might already have more adrenaline than I can handle.

Jethro wondered if the Council was taking their time because they wanted to haggle over the price. He shook his head. If that was the case, they could find themselves another mercenary. I’m not a cut-rate guy.

The French doors opened and the little clerk appeared, interrupting his deliberations. “Merlin Caledonius requests your return to the Council table.”

Jethro followed him inside and resumed his previous seat. A glance around the table told him nothing. The faces of the representatives were impassive.

Cal got straight to the point. “The Council has agreed in principle to your proposal to track down King Ivo’s heir and bring him back here to stand against Moncoya. In return, the Council members have agreed to pay you the sum of one million mortal dollars.”

Jethro cast a glance in Vashti’s direction, expecting to see a sulky expression on those perfect features. Clearly she had lost in her attempt to thwart him. To his surprise, she returned his gaze steadily and with serenity. A faerie who was a good loser? He supposed there had to be a first time for everything. He turned his attention back to Cal, who was still speaking.

“We do, however, have one condition.”

Jethro’s brows snapped together. “A condition?”

Cal nodded. “If we are to invest such a huge sum in this venture, we must be absolutely sure we have the right man at the end of it.”

Jethro laughed as his understanding of the words dawned. “I see. You think I might lie low for a month and then present you with an impostor after claiming to have been on a long, tortuous journey?”

Garrick, ever the diplomat, coughed. “You can see how it might be a possibility.”

Jethro grinned appreciatively. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but it’s a great idea. Who thought of it?” He raised a brow, looking directly at Vashti. She returned his gaze without flinching.

“I did.” Her voice was icy.

“You’re in the wrong job, Princess. With a mind as devious as that, you should be planning bank heists or conning old ladies out of their savings.” He turned to Cal. “So what is your condition?”

“The Council wishes to send an observer to accompany you on your mission. Our representative will ensure that the person you bring back to us really is the heir to the faerie crown.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Jethro felt his facial muscles stiffen.

“Then we don’t have a deal.” The implacable note in Cal’s voice left Jethro in no doubt. Negotiating about this condition of theirs wasn’t going to be an option.

He decided to try anyway. “You couldn’t send anyone with me who would have the physical strength to keep up with me on a mission of this sort. Worse than that, I’d end up as a nursemaid to your observer in the middle of a fight. And there will inevitably be fights...particularly if Moncoya finds out what I’m doing.”

“We’ve thought of that. Our chosen observer will have both the strength and skill to keep pace with you and to fight alongside you if necessary.”

A million dollars. He could put up with a wolf or an elf on his heels for that sort of cash, couldn’t he? Hell, he could probably even cope with a vampire. It would be an incentive to get the job done faster. “Okay, I’ll accept your condition.”

There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. Cal shuffled his papers, signaling the end of the meeting. “Very well. I will leave you to make the necessary arrangements with Princess Vashti.”

“Princess Vashti?” What did she have to do with any of this?

The sidhe ring of fire in Vashti’s eyes blazed bright, making the irises appear bluer and icier than ever. There was triumph in their depths; a fact that triggered an uneasy feeling deep in Jethro’s chest. It was his early warning system, a signal that something wasn’t right. His instincts were usually reliable and it seemed they hadn’t failed him on this occasion.

Vashti smiled sweetly. “I am the Council’s observer.”

Chapter 2

“You could at least stop sulking long enough to pretend to be happy for your friend.” Vashti’s murmured words earned her a look of intense dislike from Jethro. She bit back a smile and turned to watch the ceremony.

Vashti still found it incredible that Tanzi—her sister had abandoned the title “princess”—was prepared to give up her royal lifestyle and live here on the remote Isle of Spae. She thought back to the days of Moncoya’s rule, prior to the battle that had sent him into hiding. It was hard to believe only months had passed.

Before their father’s exile, Vashti and Tanzi had lived a privileged lifestyle as befitted the daughters of the faerie king. Tanzi, in particular, had embraced her celebrity status. She had been Otherworld’s darling fashion icon, unable to step foot outside her door without being photographed from every angle. Not a day had gone by without some speculation about her clothing, hairstyle or potential marriage partner. Vashti had received similar treatment, although in her case, because she didn’t court attention, it had been to a lesser degree.

Of course, there had been another side to their lives. They were Moncoya’s daughters, Moncoya’s weapons. He had trained them to fight and trained them well. Enja, the mother they never knew—the mother Moncoya had murdered when she’d tried to leave him—had been a Valkyrie. Moncoya’s obsession with warrior women had led him to have his daughters trained by Valkyrie fighters. Vashti and Tanzi were deadly killing machines and Moncoya had used them to intimidate his enemies. We knew no better. Then.

Even though they were twins, they had not been close as they grew up. Looking back, Vashti believed now that Moncoya had deliberately discouraged them from caring too deeply for each other. Divide and rule. That had been his policy toward his daughters as well as his enemies. He had instilled in them a belief that they were above mortal emotion. It was only when he had recently tried to force Tanzi into marriage with the devil that she began to question her own ability to feel. Lorcan Malone, the man she had run to, to escape her father’s plans, had taught her how to love.

“If I can do it, so can you,” Tanzi reasoned.

Vashti remained unconvinced. But one good thing had come out of that whole escapade. They had finally discovered the closeness other siblings shared. Even more than that. They had found they were able to communicate telepathically in the way that was unique to faerie twins.

Vashti was struggling to reconcile this Tanzi with the one she had grown up with. Her sister stood at the water’s edge, her hand clasped in Lorcan’s, while Ailie, the island elder, spoke the words of the simple ceremony. Tanzi’s feet were bare and she wore a plain, white shift dress. Fresh flowers had been woven into the bright gold curls of her hair. Lorcan wore rolled-up jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, and his feet were also bare. The waves lapped at their toes as they spoke their vows. Even Vashti, who found the emotions of others so difficult to read, could sense their love for each other. Next to Vashti, Stella, Cal’s wife, sobbed constantly into her handkerchief, much to the amusement of her husband, who cradled her head against his chest.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stella said when the ceremony ended.

“But it made you cry.” Confused, Vashti fell into step beside her.

The villagers hoisted Tanzi and Lorcan onto their shoulders and carried them in a parade along the path back to the town square where a celebration feast was to be held. The guests followed the laughing, chattering group at a more sedate pace.

Stella caught hold of Vashti’s hand. “These are happy tears. Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yes. I wanted to kill you.”

Stella laughed. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest. We’ve come a long way.” Stella nodded to where Lorcan and Tanzi reached across from their respective perches on the villagers’ shoulders and, laughing, managed to grasp each other’s hand. “I want what Tanzi has for you, Vashti. I want you to feel it all, too. One day, I want to cry at your wedding.”

Vashti felt a frown furrow her brow. “You have some strange ambitions, Stella.”

Stella patted the slight swell of her stomach. “It must be the pregnancy hormones. Will you promise me something?”

“If I can.” Vashti was wary of promises. They usually imposed restraints she inevitably ended up breaking.

Stella glanced at the commanding rear view of Jethro, and Vashti followed her gaze. He walked alone, slightly to one side of the crowd. It seemed to be a metaphor for his life. He was known throughout Otherworld as a loner. The mysterious human necromancer whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.

Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, set in a rigid line, then dipped lower to his trim waist. Something about the way those faded jeans clung to his shapely buttocks as he walked made Vashti’s mouth go dry. It was a new sensation and one that brought a rush of blood to her face. She hoped Stella hadn’t noticed it.

Jethro de Loix probably took it for granted that every woman was watching him. It wasn’t just the perfect body that drew her eye. His face was too handsome for his own good. Luckily, he didn’t have the sort of looks Vashti admired. He was way too overtly rugged and sure of his own masculinity. Vashti preferred a bit of finesse. I mean, seriously, when was the last time he used a razor? Not for a few days, judging by all that designer stubble. Nevertheless, up close, it was hard to stop watching him. He was like a work of art. As if a masterful hand had decided to create a perfect image of manliness and, once finished, had stepped back as if to say, “Soak it up, guys. This can’t be beaten.”

“Be careful on this mission. Jethro won’t back down from a challenge.”

The smile that touched Vashti’s lips was grim. “Good, because nor will I.”

* * *

The Spae knew how to celebrate. There was delicious food, home-brewed beer, singing and dancing, with the wedding festivities continuing long into the night. Vashti’s initial attempts to avoid being flung wildly around in intricate whirling dances she didn’t understand had proved futile and her hand was claimed repeatedly by the younger men of the village. After her annoyance gave way to resignation, she started to find the experience quite exhilarating. But that might have something to do with the effects of the beer.

“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Lorcan, intervening before she could be thrown from one partner to another—the prevailing etiquette on the village green that served as a dance floor—caught hold of her hands. “I thought it was time we danced together. After all, we’re family now.”

The words jolted Vashti. For a long time her family had consisted of Tanzi and Moncoya. Recently her feelings toward both had undergone a dramatic change. Now she had a brother-in-law and Tanzi was pregnant, so she would soon have a nephew. She should probably try to say something welcoming to Lorcan. Her brow furrowed with the effort of trying to come up with the right words.

“You look quite ferocious. Have I done something to upset you? Other than marry your sister?” Lorcan slowed the steps of the dance so they could converse.

Vashti shook her head. “I’m glad she has found someone to love.” She took a deep breath. May as well get the apology out of the way. “And I think you will care for her.” She hoped he realized that was as close as she got to groveling.

He grinned. “I certainly intend to. Can we declare a truce between us? For Tanzi’s sake?”

It was easy to see why Tanzi had fallen for him. That smile was breathtaking and his charm was legendary. The surprise was that Lorcan was prepared to settle down with one woman. Until now the rumor had been that he was impossible to tame. Aware there was a suspicion of curtness about her nod, Vashti tried to be conciliatory. She should try to put the past behind her. The battle for Otherworld had changed old allegiances and the Alliance was about forging a new future. “I see no reason why we cannot be friends.”

To her horror, Lorcan caught her up in a hug and kissed her cheek. Affection, even toward those closest to her, was something Vashti found profoundly uncomfortable. She broke free of the embrace as quickly as she could, mumbling an excuse about needing to get a drink. In reality, the last thing she wanted was any more of the heady brew that tasted of sour apples.

When she reached the long table that held the barrels of beer, she snatched up one of the lanterns placed on its wooden surface and wandered a few hundred yards along the path to a point overlooking the bay. No one would miss her and a bit of solitude was exactly what she needed.

Yet when she reached the curve in the path, a tall figure was leaning against one of the trees, looking out over the still waters. Stifling an exclamation of annoyance as she recognized Jethro, Vashti prepared to stealthily make her way back. It was too late. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and, when he saw Vashti, his neutral expression changed to one of distaste.

“Coming back to the Isle of Spae must remind you of the last time you were here. The night you helped your father escape from justice.”

He could not have said anything that would more effectively enrage her, and he knew it. There was no way Vashti could defend herself against the false allegation Jethro repeatedly insisted on making. How could she possibly prove Moncoya had tricked her into letting him go that night? Her anger kicked up a notch. And why should she have to defend herself to Jethro of all people?

“When do we set off in search of the challenger?” Two could play at this make-your-blood-boil game.

By the light of her lantern Vashti saw something shift in the midnight darkness of his eyes. Something dangerous. “Why did it have to be you?”

All around them the night was haunting in its perfection yet they remained inside their own little bubble of tension. Vashti had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”

“Why do you have to be the one who comes with me? The Council could have sent anyone.”

“My people have the most to lose if you find the challenger. I want to be absolutely sure you get it right.”

“Ah, yes. I was forgetting. You will cease to be a princess if his claim to the throne is proved. That must sting.”

His barb struck home. Vashti felt her own rage light up the night skies almost as effectively as the fireflies dancing around them. “You sanctimonious bastard.”

Why must he persist in ascribing such hateful motives to her actions? It was the legacy of being Moncoya’s daughter. Everyone assumed she was as evil as her father, yet somehow it hit harder when it came from Jethro. Or maybe he was prepared to be more honest than most and say exactly what he thought of her.

Jethro grinned, his anger dissipating as quickly as hers ignited. “Tomorrow.” Vashti blinked at him, not comprehending this sudden shift in the conversation. “I am setting off in search of the challenger first thing in the morning.”

“Okay.” She turned away, but his next words brought her back to face him again.

“And, Princess, just so you know? Despite what you think, you won’t be able to keep up with me on this quest...and I have no intention of waiting around for you.”

“Is that a challenge?” She flashed the words right back at him.

“You can count on it.”

* * *

As the night wore on Vashti noticed the party had dwindled to a few hardy souls. A group, including herself and the bride and groom, sat in a circle, earnestly discussing the matter of the challenger for the faerie crown.

“Surely there are other topics of conversation you’d rather engage in on your wedding night?” Cal asked Lorcan.

“I can think of one or two.” His friend grinned. “But Tanzi has a theory she wants to share.”

Tanzi looked beautiful and happy as she sat between Lorcan’s raised knees and leaned back against his chest. Vashti thought she had never seen her sister so relaxed.

“It may be nothing,” Tanzi explained, “but when Ailie tried to gain an impression of the missing heir, she said he doesn’t look like a faerie.”

Known for their powers of healing and intuition, the Spae had been persecuted as witches in the mortal realm and driven to make their home here in Otherworld. They lived in isolation on this island, refusing to engage in the politics and fighting that drove the other dynasties.

Ailie, a woman with an open, pleasant face and a kindly manner, nodded her agreement with Tanzi’s comment. “When Lorcan asked me if the true heir was still alive, I tried to discover what I could of him. Although I couldn’t see him clearly, what came through was that he doesn’t look like a faerie.”

“It seems a strange thing to focus on.” Jethro was the only one of the group standing, his broad shoulders propped against the wall of one of the cottages.

Trust him to feel the need to look down on the rest of us. Vashti’s earlier anger toward him might have dulled, but it was no less dangerous for having lost its edge.

“I’ve thought about it a lot since then,” Ailie said. “The fact I gained that impression of him, above all others, makes me think he must look nothing like a faerie.”

“Yet he is a pure-born faerie, so his looks must make him stand out among other faeries. And the Goddesses of Fate told me Lorcan already knows him.” Tanzi spoke up again.

“Even though I actually have no clue who he is,” Lorcan reminded everyone in a long-suffering voice. “What’s this theory of yours, Searc?”

“Has anyone here ever met a pure-blood faerie who doesn’t look like a faerie?” Tanzi’s glance took in each of them in turn. The question stunned them all into silence.

Stella was the first to speak up. “You’re right. Even I look a lot like a faerie and I’m not a pure-blood. My father was mortal. I’m a hybrid. The challenger is faerie royalty. He should definitely look like a faerie.”

“He doesn’t know who he is. He may not mix with faeries. Bloody hell—” Cal ran a hand through his hair, his expression increasingly incredulous. “He probably doesn’t even know he is a faerie.”

“Since I’m the one with the task of finding this mystery man, can we rewind a bit while someone gives me a refresher on the difference between faeries and sidhes?” Jethro’s calm tone cut across the conversation.

Cal answered him. “All sidhes are faeries, but not all faeries are sidhes. The faeries are a dynasty, one of the largest in Otherworld, with many nationalities within it. The sidhes make up the majority of the faerie population. Although Moncoya was elevated to the faerie gentry when he took the throne, he is a sidhe and his background is not royal...a fact that infuriates him. The challenger we seek does come from the original royal family.

“All faeries are endowed with incredible physical beauty, all have the power to enchant—known as faerie glamor—and all are able to coexist with humans. Like Tanzi and Vashti, sidhes have the ability to shape-shift, other faeries don’t. Sidhes have a pronounced ring of fire around the iris of their eyes. Faeries have it, too, but their eyes are green, like Stella’s, so the color makes the ring of fire appear fainter, possibly even nonexistent.”

Vashti felt her lip curl. They were going to send a man who didn’t understand something so fundamental about her people in search of this challenger? Her father was unlikely to have anything to fear. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing for her people.

“But Lorcan and I do know someone who fits that description. Someone who doesn’t look like a faerie.” Tanzi turned her head to look up at her husband. “Aydan.”

“Who is Aydan?” Jethro asked.

Lorcan turned his head to look up at him. “A prominent member of the resistance in Barcelona. We’ve worked together many times, fighting against Moncoya and his henchmen. Tanzi’s right, he doesn’t look like a faerie. He barely has a ring of fire around his irises. Aydan could pass for a mortal any day.”

“You mentioned Aydan to me when I said I was losing my right-hand man now that you were coming to live here on Spae. You said Aydan would be the perfect replacement,” Cal said.

“And he would. Brave, sensitive and totally reliable. I’d trust him with my life.” Lorcan’s voice resonated sincerity. “Hell, I have trusted him with my life. Many times.”

“What’s his background?” Cal asked.

Lorcan shrugged. “Sure, haven’t we always been too busy kicking the shit out of Moncoya’s henchmen to find time for a bonding session? I assumed he was one of the Iberian sidhes. Most of the resistance are.”

“But his eyes are green,” Tanzi insisted. “I noticed it the first time I saw him, which is why I think he is a faerie.”

Cal looked thoughtful. “I’m a great believer in gut instinct. Is it worth you checking him out before you go to Avalon?” he asked Jethro.

“Sure. I can check out everyone Lorcan knows who doesn’t look like a faerie, if you like.” Jethro pushed away from the wall, standing straight and tall, looming over the rest of the group as they sat on the grass. Vashti was reminded once more of his sheer size and latent power. “But I thought we were up against the clock?”

“We are. We need to try to find the challenger before the elections for the Council leadership take place in a month,” Cal said.

“I have to go home before I set off for Avalon, so it won’t cost too much time for me to do a detour to Barcelona to see Aydan. I can sound him out about his background without coming right out and asking him any direct questions.”

“Home?” Without thinking, Vashti had spoken directly to Jethro.

“Home.” He repeated, his eyes flickering over her with their customary lack of interest.

“Where is home?”

“Maine.” When she returned an uncomprehending look, he continued, as if speaking to someone of limited understanding. “In the United States.” When she continued to stare at him, he spoke more slowly again. “Of America.”

“This is a place in the mortal realm?”

“Of course.” His voice was openly contemptuous now. “I’m mortal. Where else would I live?”

Before she could utter a scathing reply, Cal interrupted. “We’re in agreement, then. Jethro will speak to Aydan before he sets off for Avalon. If there’s the slightest chance he’s our man, bring him to the palace so I can see him for myself. Use the excuse Lorcan has already given us. I’m seeking a new right-hand man and Aydan comes highly recommended.” He rose, reaching down a hand to Stella. “Come on, let’s get you to your bed.”

Vashti watched as the group split up, wandering away to their separate cottages. She stayed where she was, shifting position slightly so she could sit with her back against the cottage wall. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on them and remained that way for some time, wrapped in her thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell him of your fears?” Ailie’s voice interrupted her musings as the older woman came to sit next to her.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Vashti retreated behind her usual combination of arrogance and belligerence. It was generally effective at driving people away. Why did she get the feeling it wouldn’t work with this woman?

By the combined light of the moon and the lantern Ailie placed on the ground, Vashti could see the sympathy in the Spae leader’s eyes. “Of course you do. It is natural to fear the unknown. There is no shame in it. Why not tell Jethro you are dreading this journey to the mortal realm?”

Vashti snorted. “You’ve met him. He’s not exactly Mr. Approachable.”

“There is a coldness in his manner, I agree. But I think you can trust him. Although he may not always use them wisely—” Ailie broke off as though chasing an elusive thought. Shaking her head slightly, she continued. “He has goodness, a strong sense of what is right and the ability to draw others to him that is unlike anything I have known before.”

“He hates me.” Where had the sudden wobble in her voice come from? “He thinks I am working for my father to undermine the Alliance.”

“In that case, is it wise for you to go with him on this quest?”

Vashti sighed. “I have to go. Because it means more to me than anyone else. Except perhaps Tanzi, but she has other commitments now.” She turned slightly so she was facing Ailie. “Jethro thought it meant so much to me because I will lose my royal status if the challenger is found.”

“That hurt you.” It was a statement not a question.

“I know what people think of me. I’m Moncoya’s daughter, a spoiled-brat princess with no thought beyond her own comfort. But that?” Vashti shook her head. “He couldn’t have shown his contempt for me any more clearly. I have to see this through for the sake of my people. If this man is found, he has the potential to tear the faerie dynasty apart in a way even my father couldn’t achieve with his ambition and cruelty.”

“And you see it as your duty to try to hold the faerie dynasty together?”

“If I can.”

“Yet the thought of going into the mortal realm terrifies you.” Ailie’s soft voice became even more gentle. “Why is that?”

Vashti hunched one shoulder. “When we were children, our father instilled a fear of mortals into us. They were the enemy, to be feared and avoided. I’ve been into the mortal realm before, but in the past I have always been escorted there and back, and protected the entire time. My interactions with the earth-born only occurred when I was required to kill or kidnap them.”

“Yet violence toward the earth-born is not the true faerie way. In the past faeries and mortals have lived in harmony.”

Vashti’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “My father does not subscribe to the old ways.”

Ailie nodded. “I have heard as much. What I don’t understand is how Tanzi had the same upbringing yet, when she fled from your father, she voluntarily went to the mortal realm to escape him.”

“Tanzi was desperate. And she was with Lorcan, a man who had sworn to protect her.”

“While your journey will be undertaken alongside a man who is antagonistic toward you.”

Vashti laughed. “That’s his approach to me when he’s having a good day.”

“And your pride will not allow you to try to break down these barriers between the two of you?”

“Not in this millennium. Probably not in the next.”

Ailie shook her head sadly as she stood. “Then I wish you luck.”

“I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

Chapter 3

The next morning Vashti cautiously approached a very angry Jethro, who seemed to be taking his frustration out on Cal as they stood on the village green. “Is this some kind of joke?” Jethro’s expression resembled a thundercloud. “You’re telling me there is a portal direct from where we are now to the mortal realm, but it will take me to a remote Scottish island?”

Cal sighed. “The Spae originated as mortals on the Isle of Orkney. Centuries ago, when they were persecuted by witch finders and forced to flee their home, your convenience and ease of international travel were probably not uppermost in their minds. They were more concerned with their own safety.”

“What is the problem?” Depositing her bag on the grass, Vashti surmised they were not likely to be departing immediately.

“The problem is I will waste time getting from Orkney to mainland Scotland, then from there to a major US airport, where I’ll need to get another flight to Maine. Allowing for connections and delays, it will take the best part of two, possibly even three, days.”

Since Vashti had no concept of mortal time, Jethro’s frustration was meaningless to her and she turned to Cal for an explanation. “It would take as long if Jethro returned to the palace with Stella and me to use the portal at La Casa Oscura. From there, he would enter the mortal realm in Barcelona and travel from Spain to the US. Either way, the journey is a long one. Which leaves me with one question.” He turned back to Jethro. “Since we are, as you said, up against the clock, do you have to go home first?”

Something shifted in Jethro’s expression. The irritation was replaced by a guarded look, as though shutters had been abruptly pulled down. “Yes.”

“When it comes to being stubborn, you remind me of someone I once knew.” Cal’s voice held a trace of frustration.

“Who was that?”

“His name was Arthur.” Cal’s annoyance shifted and became a reminiscent smile. “He didn’t turn out so bad.”

Hoisting a large backpack onto one shoulder, Jethro held out a hand to Cal. “Sometimes stubbornness works. Have my money ready. The next time we meet, I’ll be bringing you your challenger.”

Gripping the outstretched hand, Cal nodded. “Blind, arrogant confidence. King Arthur had that, too. It’s what we need right now. I guarantee Moncoya has it in abundance. Before you go, I need to have a few words with Vashti.” Jethro started to turn away but Cal stopped him. “You need to hear this.” Beckoning Vashti closer, he held up a small leather bag. “This contains a few items you will need.” Opening the bag, he began to produce the contents one by one. “Cash. US dollars. Do you know how to use this?”

Conscious of Jethro’s disbelieving eyes on her face, Vashti tried to sound nonchalant. “Is it money? I’ve heard of it, but I have never used it.”

“Be careful with it. Keep it safe. If you wave it around, someone will try to take it from you. And, while I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to stop them in their tracks, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by killing a mugger.”

Cal reached into the bag again. “This is a credit card. When the money runs out, you use this to get more. Jethro will show you how.” His eyes flicked over to Jethro. “Won’t you?” The response was a curt nod. “These are the papers you will need so you have a mortal identity. And, finally, this is a cell phone. Use this if you need to keep in touch with Jethro.”

Vashti took the little gadget from him. “Can I use it to contact you?”

Cal did his best to hide a smile. He didn’t quite succeed. “The signal here in Otherworld tends not to be great.”

“A word. In private.” Jethro drew Cal to one side.

Vashti couldn’t catch everything that was said but she was fairly sure it was about her from the turbulent set of Jethro’s features and the occasional phrase such as “got to be kidding me” and “a babysitter for your observer.” Whatever Cal said in reply appeared to have a calming effect. Nevertheless, Jethro’s muttered comment reached her as the two men made their way back to her. “It was your decision to send her with me. If something happens to her, she’s your responsibility, not mine.” Vashti suspected she was meant to overhear it.

Cal scanned her face. “Sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” She gave him her brightest smile. “At least I already know what the worst part of the journey will be.”

“What’s that?” He lifted her bag and handed it to her.

She cast a look at Jethro, whose expression refused to lighten. “The company.”

* * *

Jethro watched Vashti surreptitiously as she leaned against the rail of the boat, allowing the brisk breeze to catch her face. It was hard not to watch her. She had a sort of mesmerizing quality that drew his gaze even when he tried to fight it. He’d met plenty of faeries in his time, but she seemed to have more enchantment about her than all the others put together. As if this job wasn’t complicated enough already.

He felt his initial annoyance at not being able to get a flight from Orkney to Glasgow dissipating with each mile the ferry covered. It was one of the most infuriating things about what he did. It should be simple. He wanted to get from one place to the next in the most direct way possible. Other people got paid to take him there. Yet there always seemed to be a problem. Patience wasn’t high on Jethro’s list of virtues. Over the years he’d developed his own ways of getting around inflexible travel schedules, but today money and intimidation hadn’t been options.

They had passed through the portal from Spae to Orkney just in time to find out they’d missed the only flight leaving the island that day.

Swallowing his annoyance, Jethro had resorted to finding an alternative. “It’s an island,” he’d said to the airport ticket agent. “There must be other ways of getting off it.”

“The ferry to the mainland leaves in an hour,” she’d told him, a trace of disappointment in her eyes as she’d looked him up and down. “I hope you’ll visit Orkney again soon.”

Now that he’d managed to phone ahead and get arrangements in place for the next stage of the journey, Jethro allowed himself to relax. Well, as close as he ever came to that sensation. What he did for a living never allowed him to completely unwind.

“I’m going to get something to eat.” He raised his voice slightly above the noise of the engines, the wind and the cries of the gulls. “Since you’re following me, I thought you might want to join me?”

Vashti turned her head and he was caught in the headlamp stare of those incredible eyes. Lighter and bluer than the sky above her head, they had a feline tilt below slightly slanting brows. The give-away sidhe ring of fire around her irises blazed bright, making the blue even clearer. Damn. He had a feeling those eyes were going to give him all kinds of problems.

“I’m not a child in the schoolyard, tagging along behind you because I want to.” Her voice was haughty. “I’m observing you because it’s my duty.”

He grinned. “Perhaps you’d like to observe me while I eat a burger?”

Her expression was thoughtful. Then she nodded. “I’m hungry, too.”

They made their way down to the boat’s restaurant. “Is it true what they say about faeries?” Jethro paused as he studied the self-service menu. “If we eat together, will I belong to you forever?”

For the first time since he’d met her, Vashti smiled. It was an expression filled with genuine amusement and a hint of mischief. And it lit up the beige plastic and dull chrome environment like a flare launched into the midnight sky beyond the portholes. “Only if I want you.”

Jethro returned the smile. He had no choice. It was irresistible. “I guess I’m safe?”

“Totally.”

And in that instant, in that bland environment smelling of fries and cheap coffee with dispirited travelers milling around them, Jethro felt something shift ever so slightly. It was a tiny glimmer of something other than animosity. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. Interest? He knew what Lorcan would say. He could hear his friend’s long-suffering voice chiding, “Sure, can’t you be around a good-looking woman for more than five minutes without trying to figure out how to get her into bed?”

But it wasn’t that sort of interest. Call it curiosity. Vashti had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to have a sense of humor. That was all. She usually hid it so well with that whole pain-in-the-ass royal thing she had going on.

“So are we going to get some food?”

Aware that Vashti was regarding him with a bemused expression, Jethro gave himself a mental shake. So much for the ever-alert mercenary. Just as well neither Iago nor Tibor had been around while he was gazing into Vashti’s eyes, intrigued by this unsuspected facet to her personality. I’d have been sprawled facedown with a knife between my shoulder blades or my throat ripped out before the girl behind the counter had time to ask if I wanted my coffee regular or large.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The food was as sterile and uninteresting as their surroundings and they sat at a table offering them a view of black nothingness. Jethro was glad Vashti seemed content not to speak. Company on his travels was a new experience. Unwanted, unwelcome company in the form of Moncoya’s daughter had to be the worst kind of intrusion. At least he didn’t have to talk to her. No sooner had those thoughts passed through his mind than Jethro found himself wanting to question her. To discover what was going on behind those flawless features. To find out more about this exquisite enigma who, with her twin, had been Moncoya’s trained assassin.

He couldn’t talk about the night Moncoya got away. That would incite her to instant, boiling fury. In fact, it was probably best to steer clear of anything to do with her father.

“What was it like training with the Valkyries?”

Vashti withdrew her gaze from the darkness beyond the porthole and Jethro was conscious of that blue gaze assessing him. He was fairly sure he fell short of the required standard. “Demanding.” She turned away again.

“And growing up in the faerie palace?”

There was that stare again. Bland, blue and impossible to read. “Luxurious.”

This was becoming a challenge. Get her to say more than one word. “It must have been hard when your father was defeated.”

“Are you making conversation?”

He grinned. “I’m trying to.”

“Please don’t.”

With a feeling of amused irritation—the princess has spoken, I’ve been dismissed—Jethro lapsed into silence.

* * *

So far Vashti had survived her first forty-eight hours in the mortal realm without anything too alarming taking place. The noise and the sheer number of people moving around were the hardest things to deal with. How they could possibly know what they were doing, where they were going and how to avoid bumping into each other, was beyond her comprehension, yet somehow it seemed to work.

Although she would never admit it, Vashti was glad of Jethro. Keeping up with his long strides as he’d marched first through the ferry terminal, then the airport, had given her a sense of purpose that meant she hadn’t stood in the midst of the chaos simply gazing around her like a lost soul. He’d even taken the trouble to explain that extreme reactions like drop-kicking the woman who’d jostled her at the airport check-in desk or throat-punching the man who’d regarded her appreciatively before stepping uncomfortably close as they’d boarded the plane would be considered inappropriate in the mortal realm. They would even, he explained with unexpected patience, attract undue attention and land her in trouble.

“They should keep their distance,” she had grumbled as they’d taken their seats on the plane.

“They don’t know you’re a princess. To them you’re an ordinary person.”

Frustrated when her seat belt didn’t do what she wanted it to, Vashti tried to wrench it out of place. With something that sounded suspiciously like a long-suffering sigh, Jethro had showed her how to fasten it.

“Oh.” She had leaned back in her seat, digesting the information. Ordinary. She had been described as many things during her life. Never that.

Jethro had slept during much of the long plane journey. He’d slumbered like a cat, falling asleep instantly and deeply, but waking alert and watchful. While he’d dozed, Vashti had watched movies and observed her fellow passengers.

The man who had eyed her up earlier was seated across the aisle and one row in front. He was tall and slender with long, fair hair. He was traveling with a woman and the two of them seemed to exist in their own separate bubbles. Together yet apart. Vashti speculated on their relationship. As if aware of her gaze, the man looked in Vashti’s direction. Recognizing her, he grinned admiringly. The scowl she gave him in return seemed to have the desired effect and he turned away once more.

Each time Jethro did stretch his long body and open those melting dark eyes, it seemed to Vashti a flight attendant appeared as if by magic. “Do women always look at you like that?”

“Like what?” He paused in the act of devouring a sandwich.

She wrinkled her nose in an effort to find the right words. “Like they want something from you.”

His lips twitched and she got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh. “Sometimes.”

She sighed. “I will never understand mortals.”

“We’re a fairly uncomplicated lot if you give us a chance.” He jerked a thumb toward the plane window. “The United States. Home.”

Vashti leaned across him to get a better view. “I have heard of it even in Otherworld. It doesn’t look uncomplicated to me.” It looked like an uneven jumble of architecture and water and greenery. What if I get lost down there? She turned her head to voice the question but the words died on her lips.

Her face was inches from Jethro’s, her shoulder pressed against his. Physical contact that was uncomfortably pleasant. It was a first. Something strange started happening inside her chest. As if her heart was insistently trying to pound its way out of her body. His nearness was delivering sensory overload. Every part of her was achingly aware of his scent, as though she had imbibed it through her pores. Not the smell of his cologne. Beneath that. The scent of him. Dark, spicy and seductive. It made her shudder ever so slightly. At least, she hoped the quivering movement was slight. She would hate to think Jethro could feel it.

Her eyes were drawn insistently to his mouth. Why had she never noticed the perfection of that luscious slope to his lower lip? Or the stubble outlining his upper lip that had darkened as their journey progressed. It was so tempting to reach out her finger to find out if the bristles were as coarse as they looked. She actually had to fight the impulse at the same time she was resisting the urge to trace the small cleft in his chin with her fingertips. And his eyes...

“Dark and bright at the same time.” Tell me I didn’t say that out loud.

“Pardon?”

Aware that she was still nestled close against him, Vashti sat up straight. “Is this our destination?” In an effort to distract him, she pointed at the city unfolding below them.

Jethro shook his head. “No, that’s one more stopping-off point.”

“Tell me we don’t have to stand in another line.”

He grinned. “Sorry.”

Vashti groaned and slumped back in her seat. The action drew the attention of her admirer across the aisle and he turned his head again. “That guy over there keeps looking at me,” Vashti complained in an undertone to Jethro.

“Vampires,” he said it dismissively. “They’ve been with us since we stepped through the portal on Orkney.”

She took a moment to digest this information. “They are following us?”

“Well, if we’re going to be precise about it, they’re following me. Blatantly. They do it all the time.”

“Why?” She gave the vampire another glare and he mimed placing a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“Because your friend the vampire prince has sworn to have me killed. Every vampire from here to the far end of Otherworld will earn their master’s undying—no pun intended—gratitude if they can present Tibor with my head.”

“So why doesn’t this one kill you now and get it over with?”

Jethro grinned. “I’m a necromancer. I’m not that easy to kill. Tibor sends his bloodsuckers along to remind me of his pledge. It’s a little game he likes to play.”

It might be a game, but the smug vampire was seriously annoying Vashti. “I’ll fix them.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and made a move to rise from her seat. Jethro grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back down and holding her still when she tried to squirm away from him.

“You are playing by mortal rules now. Murdering two people in full view of the other passengers on an international flight tends to be frowned upon.”

“Even vampires?”

He started to laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest where it came into contact with her shoulders as he held her against him. It was an effective way of distracting her from thoughts of vampire killing.

“Even vampires. The other people on this plane don’t know those two are vampires. Tibor and his followers have evolved to the point where they can spend time in the mortal realm and blend in here. It’s daylight. That guy doesn’t need a coffin filled with the soil of his homeland. I could produce a crucifix right now and he’d only look a bit queasy. If you drew a silver dagger on him, he’d put up a hell of a fight. If you won—and I’m sure you would—he’d die like a mortal.” He cast a glance across the aisle at the back of the vampire’s head. “But, unless you staked and decapitated him, he’d rise again. They haven’t evolved that far.”

“Tibor isn’t my friend.” Vashti didn’t know why, but it mattered to her that Jethro should understand that. “Why does he want you dead?”

Jethro let her go and she tried to quell the tiny feeling of disappointment. “Do you remember his human servant, the one called Dimitar?” Vashti nodded as she buckled up again. “Dimitar suddenly decided he wanted to be my servant not Tibor’s. I have no idea why. I didn’t want a servant...but we became friends.” His mouth thinned into a hard line. “Tibor had us hunted down. Dimitar lost his immunity to a vampire’s bite once he left the prince’s service. Tibor’s followers captured us and chained us up in a dungeon in Tangiers. They couldn’t exert any mind control over me, so they beat me and made me watch while they came every night and bit Dimitar.”

“How did he manage to chain you? I’ve seen you fight. You can overpower half a dozen men. You can certainly take out a few vampires.”

Was it her imagination or did Jethro look slightly sheepish? “I was tricked. There was this girl and, well...it’s a long story. Let’s just say I wasn’t concentrating.”

Vashti took a moment to assimilate what he was saying. “Oh. How did you escape?”

“Lorcan freed me, but it was too late for Dimitar. His transformation was complete by the time Lorcan arrived.”

“So he is one of them now?”

Jethro’s eyes seemed darker than ever. “No. I couldn’t let that happen to him. As a vampire, he’d have been Tibor’s plaything for all eternity. That blood-sucking bastard would have made him pay daily for switching his allegiance.”

“What did you do?”

“I staked and decapitated him. Then Lorcan and I buried Dimitar in Tangiers before we left.”

It occurred to Vashti that she should say something comforting. That was what Stella would do. It seemed to be the mortal way. So she searched around for a form of words that sounded right. “That’s what friends are for.”

Jethro’s helpless laughter continued almost until they landed. When they left the plane they were in another airport, similar to the one they had departed from but larger and busier. Vashti moved surreptitiously closer to Jethro. “Does Tibor have you followed everywhere?”

“Pretty much. Although I’m honored this time. He doesn’t usually send two.”

Sure enough, they had to wait in another line. It must be a mortal thing. “How do you stand it?”

Jethro shrugged. “At least, being a necromancer, I can spot a vampire easily. They are the undead. They can’t sneak up on me. My other stalker poses more of a problem.”

“Iago?” The powerful sorcerer who was in league with Moncoya had sworn to kill Jethro, Lorcan, Cal and Stella in revenge for the death of Niniane, the Lady of the Lake, during the great battle for control of Otherworld.

“Yes. He’s a sneaky little trickster. The guy thinks it’s funny to take on different guises to keep his opponents guessing, and he’s good at it. He could be anyone in this line. Or he could be the dog that snaps at my heels in the park, the seagull that shits on my head, the cop that gives me a ticket, the man-eating lion around the next corner... You get the picture.” He glanced around, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. “My necromancing powers don’t work against him. I have to rely on brute strength, which is fine if he’s in his own form, not so great if he decides to be a grizzly bear. And here in the mortal realm, I’m on my own. At least in Otherworld, we were four against one. Those are the kinds of odds we need against Iago.”

“You aren’t on your own.” Jethro raised his brows in response to her words. “I’m here.”

“Does this mean I have a Valkyrie-trained faerie princess on my side?”

“No, it means I won’t stand by and watch while you get killed.” They reached the desk and the conversation halted while Vashti produced the documents Cal had provided her with.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jethro asked as they finally exited the vast building.

“If I observe while Iago kills you, you won’t find the challenger. That’s not the same as me being on your side. You haven’t found yourself a new friend.”

“Funnily enough, I wasn’t considering you as a replacement for Dimitar. While I might be glad of your help against Iago, I don’t think you’d make great sidekick material.”

It was a good thing Jethro knew where he was going. The noise and bustle had increased to a whole new level. Vashti paused, looking around with a mixture of trepidation and wonder. “I’m not. You’ll have to be the sidekick.”

Chapter 4

Vashti looked from Jethro to the small aircraft and back again with an expression of disbelief. “You are going to fly this thing?”

After they had made their way out of the large airport building, Jethro had made his way through the crowds of people to a bus. This had taken them across the vast airport complex and deposited them on the other side. Trying not to show her confusion, Vashti had followed Jethro as he showed identification to a guard on a gate and then made his way onto an airfield.

He grinned. “Are you asking to see my pilot certification?”

“No, I’m walking away.”

Jethro shrugged, throwing his bag into the plane. “Seems a strange way to observe me—particularly since you don’t know where I’m going—but, as I said, I’m not waiting around for you.”

Vashti bit her lip. The message was clear. Go with him or be stranded. “You really know how to do this?”

“I have over a thousand hours flying time and a commercial pilot’s license.”

He swung into the cockpit. Swallowing her nervousness, Vashti walked around to the other side of the aircraft and clambered into the passenger seat. It was a cramped space. Behind the seats there was a small space, barely large enough to stow their bags. She watched Jethro’s hands as they busied themselves checking the various instruments. They were strong, capable hands and she was about to place her life in them. “What does that mean?”

“It means if I wanted to, I could make my living as a pilot.”

“Wouldn’t you need your own plane to do that?”

“This is my plane.” His glance flickered her way briefly. “One of them.”

Vashti studied his profile. The concentration on his face was absolute. She started to relax. “Maybe you should think about doing this instead of being a mercenary.”

“It doesn’t pay as well.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Although it would be a hell of a lot safer.” He held out a pair of headphones. “Put these on. Once the engines start, you’ll need them. It gets noisy and the only way we can talk to each other will be through the microphones.”

After a few final checks, Jethro started the engines and the little craft juddered into life. Completely at home with the confusing array of controls, he steered it out onto the open runway, listening to the instructions in his earpiece.

“What are we waiting for?” Vashti frowned as they stopped.

“Our turn. We’re in a queue.”

“Can’t we go to the front anyway?”

“No, because we have a thing here called manners.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “I wish I was mortal so I could wait around in more lines.”

Jethro took his eyes off the runway long enough to cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Just what I don’t need when I’m trying to concentrate...a sarcastic faerie in my earpiece.”

They were moving forward again now, gaining pace rapidly, and Vashti forgot her impatience as the plane rose off the ground, wobbling from side to side as it seemed to struggle to find its balance. The airfield below them grew smaller and then the world tilted as Jethro banked the plane around to the right. Vashti fought the impulse to grab his arm and force him to bring it back so it was level again. The contrast between the jet they had traveled on earlier when there had been no sensation of movement and this plane that swayed and bobbed as it climbed higher into the blue sky could not have been more marked.

“How long will it take?” She was suddenly aware of feeling intensely tired. Perhaps it was as a result of not having slept for two nights. Or maybe it was the nerves caused by wondering if this fragile little craft was going to hurtle to the ground at any minute.

“It will depend on the wind, but it’s not too bad today. Less than an hour.”

An hour of living on a knife edge of pressure. I can cope with that. And there were compensations. Being this close to Jethro wasn’t the hardship she had always imagined it would be. How have I gone from loathing physical contact to craving it in such a small space of time? She studied her own slender, jeans-clad thigh as it bumped against the muscular length of Jethro’s leg with the movement of the plane. But it wasn’t just anyone she wanted in her personal space. It was him. The thought annoyed her as much as it thrilled her. I don’t even like this man, yet here I am hoping he’ll tilt the plane again so I get thrown up against him! How pathetic is that?

Nevertheless, she took the opportunity to lean across him to ask questions about various landmarks, reveling in his warm breath on her cheek and his upper arm resting casually against her breast. Having never been a schoolgirl, I didn’t get the chance to have a schoolgirl crush. I’m making up for lost time with a vengeance. Her body seemed to be suddenly awakening to a world of new possibilities. All of them directed toward the wrong man.

Vashti was starting to enjoy the soaring, swooping sensation of the flight when she felt a light touch on her shoulder. Swinging around with a sense of shock, she found herself face-to-face with the smug vampire who had followed them from Orkney. She recoiled in horror. There was no way he had been in the plane with them when they’d taken off.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

Her voice in the headphones alerted Jethro and he glanced quickly behind him. It took only a few seconds for them to reach the same conclusion. They spoke into their microphones at the same time. “Iago.”

Right first time. Although they couldn’t hear him above the sound of the engine, Iago mouthed the words. Silent laughter racked his body. The sorcerer was clearly enjoying himself at their expense.

Jethro’s voice was a furious growl. “Tibor didn’t send two vampires to follow me. The woman was my tail. This trickster bastard obviously tagged along then used his invisibility to sneak into the plane.” In time with Jethro’s words, the vampire’s features changed, shifting and becoming Iago’s sharp-featured, black-bearded face. She would know that face anywhere. It was imprinted in her memory from the first time she’d met him when Moncoya had brought him to Spae before her father escaped imprisonment. Iago’s green eyes gleamed with enjoyment.

“Leave this to me.” Vashti unbuckled her seat belt.

“Don’t be so fucking—”

She didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what Jethro had to say. Discarding her headphones, Vashti scrambled over the back of her seat. It was a tight squeeze and she landed in an undignified heap in Iago’s lap. It wasn’t the best way to intimidate someone, but it did have the element of surprise, particularly as Iago, without the benefit of headphones, hadn’t been expecting her.

In one fluid movement she curled into a ball, gripping the sides of the rear seat on either side of Iago’s thighs and bringing her knees up hard under his chin. The sorcerer’s head jerked back and Vashti was willing to bet he saw stars. With grim satisfaction, she watched the smile disappear from his face.

The little aircraft rocked wildly from side to side as Jethro craned his neck to try to get a glimpse of what was going on behind him. Willing him to trust her and keep his attention on the plane, Vashti focused on her task. Iago had so many tricks at his disposal she had to neutralize him as quickly as she could. Not an easy feat in such a tight space. Since Moncoya had ensured his daughters were trained in every aspect of combat, Vashti was as comfortable wielding a samurai sword as she was in a boxing ring. Her instructor’s words about being trapped in a confined space with a larger opponent came back to her now. If you can’t outrun him, go for the eyes first then the groin.

Launching herself at Iago with her thumbs extended, Vashti prepared to put her training into practice.

* * *

Jethro had flown planes in some tricky situations. There had been that one time he had been caught in a violent sandstorm over the Sahara. Or the other when he’d been forced to make an emergency landing on a deserted highway when the canopy flew off just after take-off. And who could forget the death-defying spiral he’d had to fight his way out of when his rudder pedal had jammed on his first solo flight? But trying to control a plane while a faerie princess and a sorcerer slugged it out behind him? It was new situation. Not one he had foreseen and certainly not one he relished.

The worst aspect was Jethro could neither see nor hear what was going on. All he got was an impression of bursts of activity and the occasional elbow or foot in the back of his neck. Scanning the ground below him for somewhere to land, he saw nothing suitable. Iago had timed his appearance to perfection. They were flying over a built-up area.

Jethro risked a glance over his shoulder and winced as Iago caught hold of Vashti from behind, with a hand around her throat. She responded by bringing her elbow up and jamming it into his windpipe. Iago quickly released her.

Trying desperately to keep his concentration on not killing them all by nose-diving into the ground, Jethro was jostled into almost losing his grip when Vashti tumbled onto the passenger seat next to him. Iago followed close behind, hurling himself on top of her.

Iago wasn’t a big man and his skill came from his ability as a sorcerer rather than any physical strength. He was also a coward, known to flee from a situation when things got physical. Nevertheless, he outweighed Vashti and he wasn’t allowing chivalry to stop him. Using his fists, he was systematically pounding any part of her he could reach.

Out of the corner of his eye Jethro saw Vashti trade blow for blow, giving as good as she got. He felt an oddly proprietorial sense of pride in her. That was until she opened the passenger door. At that point any pleasure he might have taken in her accomplishments turned into instant fury.

“What the hell are you doing?” She couldn’t hear him, of course. A series of expletives aimed in Vashti’s general direction burst from Jethro’s lips anyway. Somehow it made him feel better.

A torrent of icy air rushed into the cabin. At the same time Vashti caught hold of Jethro’s arm, turning his attention to her. Hold me. She mouthed the words at him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Amorous encounters in midair might be an exciting proposition in some situations. Not this one.

Even though she still couldn’t hear him, Vashti seemed to get the gist of that question. Shaking her head impatiently, she tugged at his arm again. Iago, doing what he did best, had given up on traditional methods and had begun to shift from human to animal form. Within seconds, in addition to the turbulent, swirling wind inside the cockpit, they had a snarling leopard. This would make a great story to recount to other pilots over a few beers. If he survived to tell it.

His teeth already chattering wildly with the cold, Jethro grabbed Vashti’s upper body, hauling her close and pinning her to his side with one arm as he did his best to steer the plane with the other.

Catching Iago unawares before the sorcerer had fully shifted, Vashti clung to Jethro’s arm as tightly as she could, using both feet to kick the snarling leopard toward the open passenger door. Predictably, the cat didn’t go without a fight. Gripping Vashti’s right calf with its claws, it was about to close its teeth on her ankle when she launched into another kick with her left foot. Pushing back against Jethro with all her strength, relying on him to keep hold of her, she caught the leopard full in the face. Releasing her with a guttural cry, there was nowhere for the cat to go except out the open door.

Another kick from Vashti sealed its fate. As he began to free fall from the plane, Iago shifted briefly back into his own form. Swiftly, he changed again, stretching out his arms to become a soaring eagle. For a moment or two he flew ahead of the plane, then, wheeling nonchalantly away, he took a different course and disappeared from view.

Moving out of Jethro’s hold, Vashti slowly altered position until she was slumped in the passenger seat. Her movements were weary and uncoordinated.

Jethro wasn’t sure if the change in her manner was caused by cold, shock or the injury the leopard had inflicted on her leg. The priority had to be to try to get that door shut so he could find out. It was not going to be an easy task. His hands were numb on the controls, his facial muscles stiff with the effects of the glacial temperature. The frigid air was turning his labored breath to vapor in front of him. He couldn’t hear anything in his headphones and he doubted his own ability to speak coherently to air traffic control even if he was able to make contact. His brain was stubbornly refusing to process the information on the tracking system in front of him. There was no way he was capable of landing this bloody thing with neither his hands nor his brain working properly.

How long did they have in these conditions? Jethro had no idea. He was flying as low as he safely could. There was still nowhere to land. His pilot’s training had covered a number of emergencies, but nothing like this. Stories of doors flying off or being deliberately damaged merged together in his befuddled mind. But his door was intact and still there. Flapping wildly, but firmly attached. He just had to find a way to get to it without letting go of the controls. If he could hook something around the door handle, maybe he could pull it closed. His whole life was a series of long shots. As shots went, this had to be one of the longest.

Tapping Vashti on the shoulder to get her attention, he mimed what he wanted her to do. She stared back at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He tried again. Something flickered into life behind the blue blankness of her eyes. The sidhe ring of fire began to blaze brighter. Her gaze dropped to his waist. Then, to his relief, she nodded.

At first it seemed Vashti’s fingers wouldn’t work as she tried to undo Jethro’s belt. With painstaking slowness, she managed to get the buckle open. Jethro lifted his hips up from his seat so that she could slide the belt out through the loops of his jeans. More agonizing minutes ticked away while Vashti struggled to make a loop in the end of the belt. Once she was done, she nodded at Jethro.

Catching hold of her by the waistband of her pants with one hand while he once again flew the plane one-handed, he watched out the corner of his eye as she leaned as far out of the open plane doorway as she could get. The strain of holding on to her was almost too much for the numb muscles of Jethro’s right arm and, as Vashti angled out and tried to loop the belt around the door handle, he once or twice almost lost his grip on her. Finally, on the sixth attempt, she got the belt around the door handle and, battling against the wind, pulled it closed. Instantly the tornado that had been tearing through the cockpit died away.

Slumping into her seat, Vashti picked up her headphones. “So—” her teeth were still chattering like castanets as her voice sounded in Jethro’s ear “—if flying is the safe option, tell me about a day in the life of a necromancer.”

* * *

The gouges in the flesh of Vashti’s right calf were deep and bloody. Her black jeans hung in ragged strips below the knee on that leg and she winced as Jethro swabbed the wounds with a sterile wipe.

“Serves you right.” Now that they were safe on the ground, he seemed determined to fire a series of grim questions and allegations at her. “What the hell possessed you to open that door?”

“I thought it would be fun.” From the scorching look of fury on his face as he glanced up from his task, Vashti gathered he was not in the mood for humor. She sighed. “I knew Iago was about to shift into something deadly. I was all that was stopping him getting to you. Opening the door and pushing him out seemed to be the only way to get rid of him.”

Was it her imagination or did his expression soften ever so slightly? It was still stony, just perhaps not as granite-edged as it had been. “You were lucky he chose a leopard. You’d have lost this leg if he’d decided to become a tiger instead.”

“I think his choice was dictated by the space available. He didn’t have room to shift into anything bigger.”

They were still inside the plane. Jethro had insisted they weren’t going anywhere until he’d taken a look at her leg. Having cleaned up the scratches, he was now searching through the first-aid kit he kept on board the plane.

“I need to put a temporary dressing on your leg. When we get to my house, I can take another look and decide if you need to see a doctor.”

“I’m fine.” It felt strange to have those big, capable—surprisingly gentle—hands on her flesh.

“You won’t be if these cuts get infected.”

“How far are we from your house? Tell me we don’t need to do any more flying.”

He grinned and she thought how much smiling suited him. It took that hard edge off his looks. She wanted to tell him to do it more often, then she remembered they didn’t have that sort of relationship. It was strange how sharing a plane journey with him and a leopard had made her forget that Jethro was almost a stranger. And an antagonistic one at that.

He returned to his task, his fingers deft as they placed sterile dressing pads over her wounds and bandaged them in place. “No, just a motorbike ride followed by a short boat journey.”

“Now I know why you were so angry about the distance from the portal to your home.” Vashti remembered Cal’s question—“Do you have to go home first?” And Jethro’s brusque response—“Yes.”

She wanted to ask him more. Like, “Why, when time is so important, are we starting our journey here in Maine?” She suspected, since Cal, who was his friend, had gotten the almost-silent treatment, she wouldn’t fare any better. No doubt about it. The man was an enigma. “I didn’t realize it meant you had to travel from one end of the mortal realm to the other.”

Jethro had finished tending to her leg and was surveying her ruined jeans with a grim look about his mouth. “Nothing I can do about them. You may get some strange looks, but I’m sure you can give them one of your haughty royal stares in response. Can you walk?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

His eyes lingered on her face. “You are a very unusual girl, did you know that?”

“I’ve had an unusual upbringing.”

Something changed then in the dark depths of those eyes. It was as if he withdrew from her without moving. “So you have. I almost forgot.” The words seemed to rouse him into action. “Wait there.”

After Jethro had landed the plane he’d taxied straight from the runway into a private hangar. His booted footsteps echoed now on the concrete floor as, having jumped down from his side, he walked around the front of the aircraft and opened the passenger door. “Give me your hands.”

Vashti hesitated a moment. Her fierce independence went to war with the fear of looking foolish. What if she found she couldn’t walk and fell flat on her face? Pride won. Placing both her hands in Jethro’s, she allowed him to assist her out of the plane and onto the ground. To her intense relief, her legs, although shaky, held her weight. She leaned against the side of the plane while Jethro retrieved their bags from the space behind the seats, the scene of her recent fight with Iago. Her muscles were stiffening and she was going to have some serious bruises tomorrow to remind her of that encounter.

“Will Iago come after us again?” She would need all her strength if he did.

“Sooner or later, yes. All I know for sure is he’ll do it when we least expect it.” Jethro moved to another part of the hangar. Pulling back a tarp to reveal a mean-looking motorbike, he quickly checked the machine over. Apparently satisfied, he beckoned Vashti over and handed her a helmet. “Put this on.”

She glanced around the hangar. There were numerous other large, vehicle-size, canvas-covered shapes within the building. “Is everything in here yours?”

Jethro was stowing their bags in a cargo box on the bike, but he glanced up at that. “Yes. Why?”

“Necromancing must be a lucrative business.”

There was that grin again. The one she had thought, until so recently, she hated. Now, all of a sudden, it managed to turn her insides to liquid. Vashti wasn’t sure she liked the change. She didn’t have time to examine her reasons, but it felt a lot like control had somehow been handed over to Jethro.

“It pays the rent.”

Once they were out on the open road, Vashti found some of the tension that had gripped her oozing away. The greenery and freshness reminded her of home. Perhaps the mortal realm wasn’t so different or threatening, after all. If you took Iago out of the equation. She had been here before, of course. Moncoya had used his daughters to intimidate and threaten—sometimes to kidnap or assassinate—his enemies. On those occasions, Vashti and Tanzi had been closely guarded. Their focus had been on their assignment not their surroundings.

Vashti remembered a conversation with her father about those missions.

“Why do you send us and not your sidhe warriors?”

Moncoya’s eyes had narrowed. Those eyes were as blue as her own and with the same sidhe ring of fire, yet subtly different. Probably because Moncoya wore eyeliner and Vashti didn’t. “Do you question my judgment?”

“No. I’m not stupid enough to do that.” It was true. Vashti might be more defiant than Tanzi, but she never deliberately incurred his wrath.

He had laughed. “You are my statement to the world. My beautiful twin daughters. My perfectly matched pearls. No one expects you to also be my killing machines. Each time I send you into the mortal realm, it gives two messages. One is about your loyalty to me. The second goes deeper. It tells the world the faerie race is not what legend would like mortals to believe. We do not sit at the bottom of the garden benignly waiting to bestow our favors upon the earth-born race. We have stepped out from between the pages of a child’s tale. Yes, we still look good—” he’d waved a hand to encompass them both “—but we can kill a mortal with one hand.”

Even though, at that time—before she had known the full scale of his villainy, including the fact he had murdered their mother—her loyalty to Moncoya was absolute, the words had caused Vashti to shiver. Yet she knew there had been a time when faeries and mortals had coexisted amicably. Their childhood nurse used to tell Vashti and Tanzi tales of the old days. Days before Moncoya’s rule. It was dangerous talk, but she had risked it. Vashti knew Cal hoped the challenger—if he could be found—would restore some of that lost harmony between mortal and fae. It isn’t lost. It has been systematically destroyed by my father. It had never occurred to Vashti to question the origin of her father’s hatred for mortals.

Cal and Moncoya were half brothers, sharing the same faerie father. While Moncoya’s mother was a sidhe, Cal’s mother was a mortal woman, a nun who had hidden her talented sorcerer son away from his scheming father during childhood so he could not be given to Satan as part of an evil pact. Cal had grown up to become Merlin, the great sorcerer and now the leader of the Otherworld Alliance. Moncoya, through his ruthless drive and ambition, had usurped the faerie throne in a bloody coup. They might share a father, but no two brothers had ever been less alike. Perhaps the fact the brother he hated was half mortal explained Moncoya’s all-encompassing loathing for the earth-born.

Under Jethro’s skillful handling, the powerful bike purred along the country roads like a dream, eating up the miles until they reached a rugged stretch of coast. They followed the scenic route, hugging a dramatic shoreline of soaring, jagged rocks and gunmetal waters on one side and patchwork trees in every shade of green, gold and orange on the other. Finally, Jethro pulled into a narrow lane and halted the bike alongside a wooden boathouse. On the pebbly shore where they stood, the little building was level with the ground, but, as Vashti walked around to stretch her aching limbs, she saw it extended out into the water on raised stilts. A small motorboat, big enough for two people, was pulled up onto decking at the rear of the boathouse.

“Don’t tell me. This is your place and that’s your boat.” She was beginning to wonder if Jethro had transport tucked away all over the mortal realm. But surely she’d heard it was meant to be a big place and that would be beyond his means?

Jethro nodded as he wheeled the bike into the boathouse. He indicated the boat. “Twenty minutes and we’ll be there.”

Where is “there”? Vashti supposed she would find out soon enough. When Jethro had finished stowing their bags in the boat and locking the bike away in the boathouse, she joined him in the little vessel. “It feels like we’ve been traveling forever.”

“Welcome to my world.” He started the engine and the boat was soon skimming over the dark waters. Behind them the coastline with its tall pines and dramatic rocks began to fade. Ahead, an island, roughly horseshoe in shape, covered in the same spiky pines, came into view. “Home.”

There was something in Jethro’s voice as he said that single word. A note Vashti had not heard before. Emotion was something she still could not fully understand, but she had a feeling she was witnessing it now in its rawest form.

As they drew closer, she could see a jetty poking out from the island into the water. Above that, there was a single wooden house. Tall and majestic, set like a jewel among the encircling pine trees, with the sun’s dying rays glinting on high, arched windows. It was hauntingly beautiful.

“Who else lives there?”

“Just me.” Jethro steered the boat toward the end of the jetty. “Welcome to de Loix Island.”

Vashti shook her head. “You own this?”

He laughed at her expression. “I’m a loner. I don’t like sharing. Besides, it belonged to my parents before me.” He brought the boat to a halt alongside the jetty. Springing lightly onto the wooden boards, he reached down a hand to help Vashti.

“A fleet of planes. Motorbikes and boats strategically placed where you need them. Your own island. I may not know much about the mortal realm, but I know enough to know none of those things are normal.” Her hand was still in his as she gazed up at him. “Who are you, Jethro de Loix?”

“Just an ordinary boy—” his irresistible grin appeared; the one that made her want to grab him and kiss him until he begged for mercy “—who happens to have outrageously wealthy parents and kick-ass necromancer powers.”

Chapter 5

Jethro leaned his forearms on the deck rail and looked out over the darkened water. The half-empty glass of Scotch whiskey in his hand was doing its job, as was the feeling of being home. Cal had asked him if he had to come back here. The answer was simple. Yes, he did. He had to remind himself every now and then that life wasn’t all about fighting monsters. That peace and beauty still existed. That his own little corner of tranquility was here any time he wanted it. And he had to check everything was right in his world. This time, of course, he had another reason to return. One he hadn’t divulged to Cal.

Who are you, Jethro de Loix? He’d given Vashti his standard, flippant response. It was the answer he’d honed over the years. Because the truth was too difficult to contemplate explaining to another person. I don’t know who I am. How crazy does that make me sound?

Most of the time it didn’t bother him. He didn’t think about it. Then there were times—like now—when Jethro was reminded of the kindly, elderly couple who had brought him up and the unanswered questions would buzz around inside his head like an annoying, trapped fly. He knew he had not come into their lives by any conventional means. The thought made him smile. His parents—Bertha and Gillespie de Loix—had been older than the grandparents of other boys his age...and they’d both looked younger than their actual years. There had been no baby pictures, no anecdotes about first steps or first words, and no family tree to help him establish his place in the world. Jethro had grown up knowing that, despite their wealth, he meant more to them than gold.

Bertha and Gillespie had done their best to give him a conventional upbringing, yet they had been overawed as they’d watched him grow up to be stronger, faster and smarter than his peers. Gradually their pride had become tinged with fear when it became obvious he had other talents.

How many other children who, having just learned to speak, spent hours sitting alone in the graveyard holding lengthy conversations with unseen companions? When Bertha’s aging tabby cat had been trampled by a horse, it should have been dead. It was dead, she’d insisted later to Gillespie. But after Jethro had whispered a few soothing words and laid his hands on the poor, broken creature, old Mitzi was like a kitten again.

And they never mentioned—because it would really be too foolish to dwell on it—the woman Gillespie had seen in the woods here on their holiday home island. A woman with white hair and pale skin, dressed all in white. She’d reached out her hands to Jethro, beckoning him to her and, enthralled, Gillespie had begun to walk toward her, leading his son with him. It was only when they’d gotten close that her expression had become a mask of malevolent triumph. Too late, Gillespie had realized he was walking into a trap with no way of escaping. At the last minute Jethro had stepped between his father and the apparition and spoken in a language Gillespie hadn’t recognized. The woman froze. When Jethro spoke again—in a voice of command—she had simply vanished.

“What did you say to her, son?” Gillespie had asked later, when he had recovered from the shock.

“I told her to go away. Didn’t you hear me?” Jethro had regarded his father with mild surprise.

Now Bertha and Gillespie were gone from this world, and the only identity Jethro had was his power as a sorcerer. The status conferred on him by his ability to control the dead defined him, and he loved and loathed it in equal measure. Unlike other necromancers, it had never been enough for him. He had always been searching for something more, but what that something might be he had yet to discover.

For a long time he thought what he craved was danger. Money wasn’t important to Jethro, but his skills were highly prized in Otherworld. The more perilous the mission, the bigger the purse. He gained a name for himself as the mercenary who would take any necromancing job...for the right price. He knew other necromancers—purists like Cal and Lorcan—looked down on his lifestyle simply because they never understood why he was prepared to sell his skills for money. If they knew he was already a wealthy man, they would understand it even less. And Jethro, the most intensely private of a solitary group, wasn’t about to confide in them. That had been before the great battle for control of Otherworld, of course. Before he had put himself on their side in the attempt to topple Moncoya from his throne. That attempt had not been wholly successful. Moncoya had escaped from the battlefield. He was still the King of the Faeries. Just because he was in hiding didn’t mean he was any less of a threat. Still, I suppose we should thank the evil little shit for bringing us all together. Bonds deeper than friendship were forged that day.

Lately, Jethro wasn’t so sure it was adventure he sought. The adrenaline rush of a new mission was still a high. Confronting and defeating a hostile undead being gave him a sense of a job well done. Even a day like today, one that brought an unexpected brush with death, was a white-knuckle ride he would miss if he gave it up. But that niggling sense of missing something fundamental was increasing...

A sound behind him made him swing around. Vashti had finally emerged from the hot bath where she had been attempting to soak away the effects of the beating she had taken earlier. Her face was showing signs of bruising and she walked stiffly. Wrapped in one of Jethro’s robes, which looked ridiculously large on her, she appeared unbelievably fragile. Jethro felt his features soften into a sympathetic smile.

“Better?”

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by an elephant.”

He grimaced. “Ouch. Come and sit down.” He pointed back inside the house. “I need to take another look at that leg.”

Obediently—she must be tired, he decided, since submissiveness was not the first word he associated with her—she followed him into the family room and settled into one of the cozy corner sofas. Angling a nearby lamp so he could see, Jethro pulled up a footstool. Lifting her foot and placing it on his knee, he turned her leg so he could view the gouges in her pale flesh. Somehow they looked worse in the soft, golden lamplight. His mouth hardened. That bastard Iago was going to pay for a lot of things, but this came high on the list.

“You said I might need to see a doctor, but I can’t. Any mortal doctor would know in an instant I’m not earth-born.”

Jethro glanced up at her. “There are mortal doctors who will treat other races...for a price. But I don’t think you’re going to need medical treatment. Not tonight, anyway. I’ll put a fresh dressing on these cuts then you can get a good night’s sleep.”

Vashti sighed, her whole body appearing to relax back against the cushions. “That sounds like heaven.” She watched as he busied himself with his task. “What do you do while you’re here?”

“On the island? This was my parents’ vacation home. We’d relax. Do some fishing, swimming, walking, sailing, read a ton of books, go across to the mainland and visit friends. Just unwind.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose.

“You look like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Because she did it so rarely, when Vashti smiled it was like the sun had broken through storm clouds. “I suppose people might think unwinding would come naturally to a princess. Perhaps for most princesses that might be true. But Tanzi and I are Moncoya’s daughters. We’ve spent our whole lives on a tight schedule.”

Something in the matter-of-fact words tugged at a chord of sympathy deep within him. Who’d have thought? Empathy toward the faerie princess. He’d have to watch himself. Vashti was still Moncoya’s daughter. Like her father, she was beautiful, destructive and untrustworthy. He had seen that firsthand on the night when Moncoya escaped from captivity on the Isle of Spae. Vashti had claimed her father held her at knifepoint, but would any father do that to his daughter? Surely even Moncoya wouldn’t stoop so low. No, she must have helped him and lied about it later. Now was a good time to remind himself of that...while he was gazing up into those incredible blue eyes with his hand encircling her ankle. It probably wouldn’t hurt to give himself regular warnings while he was in such close proximity to her.

“Speaking of tight schedules, I expect you’re wondering why I’ve made this detour when Cal wants the challenger found urgently.” Why was he explaining himself to her? She had chosen to tag along. It wasn’t like he’d invited her.

“It crossed my mind.”

“There is someone here I need to see. Someone who may be able to help with this mission.” Vashti was clearly waiting for him to say more, but that was enough for now. It felt like too much. It felt like intimacy. Something Jethro didn’t do. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Her tiny, indrawn breath as he released her and rose indicated Vashti had also felt something more than their usual antagonism. Damn. Coming home was supposed to make life less complicated. Coming home and bringing an achingly beautiful faerie princess for company was starting to look like it might have the opposite effect.

* * *

Vashti awoke from a sleep so deep it felt like she was being pulled down into quicksand. Fighting her way to the surface, she became conscious of two things. The smell of fresh-baked bread and the sound of tuneless humming. Both seemed to be coming from the kitchen, which was directly below her room. She lay still for a few minutes, gradually allowing the memories of the last few days to infiltrate her lethargy. With the recollection of Iago came a resurgence of her aches and pains and she groaned, levering herself out of bed. There was a mirror over the dresser and a glance at her reflection confirmed the worst. Her face was an interesting array of bruises.

As she dragged on her clothes, every muscle screamed in protest. Remind me again why I was so keen to be the one to accompany Jethro on this mission? She peered inquiringly into the mirror once more, directing the question to her battered reflection. Oh, I remember now. It’s my duty. I need to see this through for the sake of my people. Once this challenger is found, the faerie dynasty will be plunged into a bloody civil war. I know my father well enough to be certain of that. He will not go without a fight. And I wanted to make Jethro de Loix suffer. He accused me of helping Moncoya escape from justice. I owe him a little pain, and how better to cause that than by inflicting my presence upon him? She winced as she moved toward the door. So why the hell am I the one hurting?

Navigating the spiral staircase felt like she was descending one of the great mountains around Valhalla. Used to her well-trained limbs doing exactly what she wanted them to, Vashti was impatient of injury. After the battle for control of Otherworld, she had been close to death. It was only through the skill of the faerie doctors and Tanzi’s patient nursing that she had survived. It had not been through her cooperation or adherence to their instructions.

She found Jethro in the kitchen. This was the biggest room in the house, running the entire length of the rear of the property with spectacular views across the bay to the mainland. Vashti blinked in surprise at the sight of him removing a loaf of bread from the range oven.

“You should have stayed in bed.” He looked up in surprise as she limped into the room.

“If I did, how would we find the challenger?”

“We are not going to find the challenger. I’m going to find the challenger and you are going to watch me.” The familiar arrogance was back in his tone.

“While serving up a delicious meal?” She gestured to the bread.

The arrogance vanished and was replaced by a smile that was almost—she hesitated to use the word in relation to Jethro—shy. “My mother used to bake. It’s therapeutic.” He pointed to another loaf standing on a cooling rack. “Want to try some?”

Vashti’s stomach gave an enormous rumble in response, and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. It was on the plane when the flight attendant had been so attentive to Jethro while casting an occasional dismissive glance in her direction. She nodded and, within minutes, she was seated at the vast, scrubbed table with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of bread and butter in front of her.

“You do not strike me as the domesticated type.”

Jethro lounged in a chair opposite hers, his long legs extended in front of him. He wore a white shirt and his biceps stretched the thin material of the rolled-up sleeves to its limits. The V shape of the buttons left open at his chest revealed dark hair. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist and flat stomach. He had obviously recently showered since his still-wet hair hung loose and slightly wavy below his collar. The crisp scent of citrus reached Vashti’s appreciative nostrils. Big, dark and dangerous, he invaded her senses. Domesticated was about the last word she would have applied to him.

“You can’t see me in a flowered apron?”

She pretended to consider the matter, tilting her head to one side. “Not flowered, no.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “But you do see me in an apron? Now that’s an interesting fantasy, princess.”

Vashti, who had taken a bite of bread and butter, choked as his meaning dawned on her. At least dealing with the coughing and the streaming eyes gave her time to consider how to respond. She decided the best plan was not to respond. To pretend she hadn’t heard or she didn’t understand what he meant. That sort of banter was probably like breathing to Jethro. All that thrumming masculinity needed an outlet and any woman, even one he disliked as intensely as Vashti, would do. At least the redness of her face could be ascribed to her mild choking fit and not extreme embarrassment at the image—vivid and suddenly very tempting—of Jethro in an apron and nothing else.

“What’s the plan for today?” Vashti asked when she had gained control over her voice.

“Yours should be to rest.” Jethro’s gaze skimmed the bruises on her face.

“Can we skip the bit where we pretend that might happen?”

He paused in the act of gathering the empty coffee cups. “Have you ever listened to advice from another person?”

“Only one.”

“Moncoya?”

Vashti shook her head. “I used to do as he asked if it was also what I wanted. But my father and I are equally stubborn.” A slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Our fights were legendary. No, when we were children, Tanzi and I had a nurse who cared for us. She was probably the only person I listened to.”

Jethro’s expression was inscrutable. “It sounds like you were fond of her.”

She gazed out across the dark blue water. The memories—or rather the recollections of which they’d been deprived...the mother they’d never known—didn’t get any easier. “We both were. Our mother wasn’t around, you see. At the time we believed she’d left our father when we were babies. Now we know he murdered her when she tried to leave and take us with her. Rina was the closest thing we had to a mother.”

“Rina?”

Vashti turned back to look at him. There was a slight frown in Jethro’s eyes, as though he was searching for something just out of reach. “Our nurse. Her name was Rina.” The frown persisted. “What is it?”

“That name. It seems familiar, but I can’t place why.”

“It is unusual, but not unique.”

He nodded, the frown clearing. “If it’s important, I suppose it’ll come back to me. Now, back to your question about plans for today. If you insist on coming with me, we’re going visiting.”

* * *

When they reached the sleepy mainland town of Darwen, Jethro left the motorbike close to the town square, complete with its decorative bandstand, and led Vashti along the main street. He carried a small, flat box made of polished wood, but didn’t reveal its contents. The street boasted a handful of shops and a few bars and restaurants. A sign outside one invited them to a cider tasting evening. Another boasted it served the best lobster in town.

Vashti was conscious of a few stares directed her way and tugged her knitted cap farther down over her ears. It won’t be far enough to cover what they’re looking at, she thought glumly. I’d have to wear a mask to do that. As a fae, she would heal quickly, but not fast enough for her liking. Perhaps those watching them thought Jethro was guilty of inflicting her bruises? He seemed unaware of the interested looks. Oblivious, in fact, that there were other people around at all.

Once they were away from the main street, the road climbed steeply and colorful wooden houses lined wide tree-lined streets.

Vashti had to quicken her pace to keep up with Jethro’s purposeful strides. “Who are we going to visit?”

He glanced down at her and she got the distinct impression he had momentarily forgotten she was there. “Some people I know.”

Well, that was helpful. She resisted the temptation to say the words aloud, sensing something within him. Some inner turmoil. And that in itself was unusual. Sensing anything about the feelings of others was new to her. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Intuition wasn’t for her. It brought with it a responsibility toward the other person she didn’t want or need. And when that person was Jethro, things could start to get complicated. On the whole, she’d have preferred to remain detached.

Exactly how did you see this mission unfolding? She supposed that, at the outset, she’d started out with a vague hope of catching Jethro if he tried to deceive the Alliance leaders in some way. Or at least of imposing her presence on him so he had no way of engaging in a hoax. I never imagined a situation where I’d have to interact with him. A second inner voice chastised her. That’s because you didn’t think this through. She had been so focused on her anger, so determined to punish him for his sneering, taunting approach toward her. What would happen once they set off and were alone together had never crossed her mind. The fact he might have redeeming features, some of which she might even like, had never crossed her mind. She had certainly not envisaged a situation where she might actually be intrigued by him or—heaven forbid—care about how he was feeling.

The houses were larger and farther apart now, the trees older and taller. Pine and spruce stood proud and green. The shorter beeches and maples were showing the first signs of changing to autumnal shades of red and orange. Branches stretched across the lane above their heads, meeting and, in some places, entwining to form a tunnel of green and gold. The sunlight barely penetrated and Vashti shivered slightly as a sudden chill touched her face. That was new, as well. A sense of foreboding. This strange, fluttering awareness that something about this place just wasn’t right. An impression of being watched by unseen eyes. I’m not sure the mortal realm agrees with me. Within the space of a few days, I’ve been beaten black-and-blue and developed an imagination, among other characteristics I never knew I had. The sooner we set out for Otherworld, and I can return to normality, the better.

They had almost reached the top of the hill and Jethro stopped, looking back down upon the town. The views were incredible, affording a sight of fishing boats huddled into the tiny harbor and beyond to the wide expanse of bay dotted here and there with pine-coated islands. Vashti got the impression Jethro had not stopped to admire the vista. Here we go again. Perception. Awareness. Just because you’ve discovered it, does that mean you have to use it? Clearly she did. It was unshakable. She knew what Jethro was doing. He was mentally preparing himself for whatever was coming next.

He pointed up through the canopy of trees. Vashti followed the direction of his finger. Barely visible through the leaves and fronds, she could just make out a pointed roof topped by a rusted weather vane. “That’s where we’re going.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a house. The oldest and largest in this area. It was built in 1830 for one of the wealthiest landowners in Maine, and it stayed in the same family for generations. It fell into disrepair after an arson attack.”

“How horrible.” Vashti watched Jethro’s face. There was something behind his expression she couldn’t understand. She got the feeling there was more to this story than his curt words were telling her. “Why would anyone deliberately set fire to a family home?”

“There have always been rumors about this house. Locally, it has always been known as a haunted house and a place of bad luck.”

“And is it?” If anyone should know the answer to that question, surely it would be a necromancer.

“Yes and no.” Jethro dragged his gaze away from the pointed rooftop and smiled down at her, genuine amusement lighting his eyes. “Yes, it’s haunted. No, it’s not a place of bad luck.” He held out a hand and, surprised at the unexpected invitation, Vashti entwined her fingers with his. “Don’t be scared. Let me show you the place where I grew up.”

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