Terra's Victory (Destiny's Trinities Book 7) Read online

  Diego paused on his circuit around the little living room to glare out through the French windows at the three figures on the tiny balcony. Amrod, he knew. The other one had Sera’s eyes, sort of. They were the same blue. Sera had called him “Father.”

  Both elvish men were talking solemnly, while Sera stood listening to them, her shoulders stiff. Whatever they were telling her, she didn’t like it.

  “I should go out there and interrupt,” Diego said.

  Blake put the book he had been pretending to read back on the table in front of him. “You can’t barge in on a king.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the emperor of ice cream! He’s upsetting her.”

  “No, Diego,” Blake said firmly.

  Frustrated, Diego started pacing again. “What is of such shattering importance that he would come here, anyway?”

  Blake got out his gun and started to break it down with quick, unconscious movements. He did it when he was stressed. “I imagine her father is telling her it is time for her to go back with him and do whatever a king’s daughter is supposed to do.”

  “Go back?” Diego threw out his hand. “They tortured her!”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “They wouldn’t let her use her healing abilities. Ever. It’s the same thing as Chinese foot binding. She was stunted, barely alive. Then, when she saved someone’s life, they excommunicated her. And now they want her to go back?”

  Blake looked through the barrel at Diego, then put it down. “I said I thought that was what they were telling her. I can’t see any other reason why the King would travel here and risk exposure or worse.”

  Diego saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look at the balcony once more. Sera’s father—Diego had a hard time calling him a king in his own mind—hugged her. It was an emotionless, stiff movement that seemed more like a ritual than a warm expression of fatherly love.

  The two men pulled their hoods up and disappeared.

  Sera lingered to study the spot where they had been standing, then stepped over the sill and came inside.

  Blake put down the gun and held his arm out to her.

  Sera hurried over and sat on his lap. Blake’s hug was warm and loving, the complete opposite of the stiff expression her father had managed.

  Diego pulled out the chair next to them and picked up her hand. “Was Blake right? Do they want you to go back?”

  Sera lifted her head up from Blake’s shoulder. Her big eyes were always crystalline and mesmerizing in their limpid quality. Now they had tears trembling on the brink.

  Diego’s gut twisted.

  “They want to close down the portal, shut off the gate between here and there,” she whispered. “And my mother…she’s….” Her tears spilled.

  “Dead?” Diego breathed.

  Sera’s face worked. “She may as well be dead,” she said, her voice strained.

  Diego made himself ask the question, even though he feared the answer. “Are you? Going back?”

  Sera hesitated, then shook her head.

  The relief that speared him was almost as painful as the fear had been.

  “But…Lindal….” she whispered.

  Diego scowled. “What about him?”

  “My father wants him to take the throne. If he doesn’t, there is no one else.”

  “If he does, that will weaken the primary trinity,” Blake said quietly.

  “If he doesn’t, the elves could fall to the Grimoré,” Diego said softly. He shook his head. “Well, damn. I actually feel sorry for the son of morning.”

  Sera’s smile was weak. It was there, though. “Can I be there when you tell him that?” she asked.

  Diego pulled on her hand, bringing her over to his knee. He slid his hand under her skirt, feeling hot, soft flesh and taut muscles beneath. His own body tightened. “You know I can never deny you any pleasure,” he whispered and licked the base of her neck.

  Sera shuddered. Then she caught his chin. “No, wait.”

  “Yes, do wait for me,” Blake complained.

  “No, I mean wait. I was thinking.”

  “That’s not good. The merest touch of my hands should wipe any thought from your mind, except the desire to meet my every wish,” Diego said.

  Blake rolled his eyes and Sera smiled. She rested her hand against his chest. “I’m serious.”

  “You’re too serious,” Diego assured her. “I’ve seen undertakers with more cheerful expressions than the one you were wearing when you stepped inside.”

  “Not anymore, thanks to you,” she said and kissed him. It was a brief kiss, but held promise. Sera had moved beyond the shock of her father’s visit.

  Satisfied, Diego picked up her hand from his chest and gave it to Blake to hold. “You were thinking,” he prompted her.

  She nodded. “I have never been more grateful for the bonding that holds us together than I was just then, when my father demanded I return. It gave me the perfect excuse to say no. Only, it got me thinking. What happens when this war with the Grimoré is over?”

  Something small and cold shifted in Diego’s chest. “What do you mean, what happens? We all get drunk for a week, spend a month in bed and sleep for a year.” That he couldn’t do two of those things was a mere technicality in his mind. He’d make up for it with the one thing he could do.

  Sera touched his cheek with her palm and he could feel the warmth of her touch. It wasn’t just body temperature. She was an Elven princess and they did that glowing thing. Too, there were her healing skills, for which touch was the primary conduit. All of it meant that contact with Sera was far, far different than with anyone else, including Blake. Her hands against him always made Diego feel a wash of peace. It also made his heart flutter, although usually in a good way.

  This time, he didn’t like the uneasy sensation it produced. He kept still, revealing none of his wariness.

  “I mean,” Sera said patiently, “what happens with the bonding? Does it end when the Grimoré do? Do we suddenly have nothing holding us together?”

  Blake’s fingers must have clamped down on hers, for Sera winced and looked at him.

  “Of course it doesn’t end,” Blake said flatly.

  “But—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Seaveth keeps speaking of the long range thinking the…whatever she called it, Gaia—”

  “Terra,” Sera added.

  “Whatever it is, it’s benign, almost kindly in the way it has been shoving us around,” Blake said. “Of course it won’t dissolve the bond!”

  Diego gripped their hands, feeling the good heat from both of them. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I love you. That isn’t going to change.”

  Blake drew in a breath that shuddered and let it out. “Do you know how many homicides are committed by the spouse?”

  Sera’s eyes widened.

  “I don’t care,” Diego said shortly. “That has nothing to do with us. We’re hunters, not humans with small lives to obsess about.”

  Blake nodded. “Except all that ends when the Grimoré do. I go back to being just a cop.”

  Diego smiled. “Blake, I love you, but you’re being an idiot if you think you will ever go back to being just a cop. You’ve stepped into the supernatural world. You don’t get to leave it once you do.”

  Blake crossed his arms. “And I love you. Both of you. So much, it scares the crap out of me sometimes, when I let myself think about it too long. The bonding is powerful. We know that. The three of us, working together, can hold back hundreds of vampeen and that’s purely the bonding at work. Without it, a dozen vampeen would be a challenge—”

  “Not much of one,” Diego interjected grumpily.

  Sera rolled her eyes.

  Blake shook his head. “What happens when the Grimoré have gone? What happens if the bonding goes, too? Am I suddenly going to wake up one morning, look at the two of you and wonder what the fuck I’m doing here?”

  Sile
nce.

  Diego could hear his own heart, echoing in his head.

  “It couldn’t…it wouldn’t just…abandon us. Would it?” Sera said, her voice very soft.

  Diego lifted her and put her on Blake’s knees. “It still doesn’t matter,” he told them. “I don’t love you because some stupid mystical bullshit says I have to.”

  “It’s the only reason you stopped being angry long enough to fall in love at all,” Blake pointed out.

  “Yes, maybe, at first. It’s different now.”

  “Is it?” Blake asked, ever the cool, calculating detective. “Then why are you back to pacing like a caged animal?”

  Diego halted. He was pacing, the tight little circuit around the rug-sized area between the sofa and the windows Sera had just come through.

  “Fuck,” he said, dismayed.

  Chapter Three

  Zack tried to tell himself that the reason for his melancholy mood was because it was Christmas Eve. The time of year would always be associated in his mind with the smell of freshly stripped fir tree fronds strung around a simple room, along the mantel shelf and over door lintels. The fronds would be warmed by hundreds of candles and sending out their piney scent, mixed with the aroma of apples and oranges, the ultimate Christmastime treat.

  Every time he remembered that humble scene, he could hear the sweet piping of the voices of children long since dead and his gut and heart would tighten.

  As he walked along the path toward the gentle span of the Gapstow bridge, he passed dozens of families strolling the paths, their breaths frosting the clear, fresh air. Because of the time of year, there were far more parents with kids than the usual solo business people walking the trails.

  The sight of all the happy families didn’t help his frame of mind.

  He pushed his hands deeper into the heavy coat and hunched his shoulders, as if he was cold. It hid his face and his sour mood. He didn’t mind the rest of the world thinking it was the absence of those he’d once loved that made him look this way. Only, if Beth were here, she wouldn’t let him get away with it. She wasn’t here, though, and she didn’t need to be. After four years of watching her look at the world with a direct and uncompromising gaze, he found he couldn’t let himself settle for the easy answer.

  It was Lindal’s predicament that was chewing up his juice, making his heart run far more than it should and making his head throb in a way it hadn’t done for over two hundred years.

  When he saw Aubrey’s long figure ahead, leaning on the heavy stone parapet, Zack was relieved.

  Aubrey straightened up as Zack came alongside him. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Lindal, with pure white hair and a white beard and sharp green eyes that missed very little. He had been turned in the seventeenth century, in the middle of England’s civil war. He had once told Zack that war, rebellion and troubled times had defined his life.

  Now Aubrey looked at him with a small smile. “This is not good, if my habits allow me to be tracked down by anyone.”

  “Only those who have known you for a very long time could do it,” Zack assured him. “It is only friends who know you come here every Christmas Eve to feed the birds and watch the skaters.” He leaned on the parapet and nodded toward the skating rink, visible through the gap the little creek made in the trees. It was a lovely view. A peaceful one.

  Down below, on the ice, were gathered wrens and sparrows and ducks, their necks all craned to watch for the next bread crumb to fall.

  Zack picked up a small handful of the stale bread chunks and dropped them down and watched the birds peck at them and at each other, fighting for them.

  Aubrey leaned back on the stonework, next to him. “Something troubles you.”

  “These days, that’s just about everything.”

  “So what was it among the everything that made you seek me out?”

  Zack sighed. He had come looking for his maker, to talk and see if there was some way out of this mess, so there was no point in holding back. He told Aubrey about Baralathor’s visit and the political dilemma it created.

  Aubrey absently dropped pieces of bread, his gaze far away. “The Elves have ever been insular and untrusting of anyone but themselves. It is not in their nature to accept help, especially not from our kind.”

  “Only they did accept help. They gave it, too. The prophecies convinced them we had to work together,” Zack pointed out. “Now, just when we’re getting down to the wire, they’re trying to pick up their toys and go home.”

  Aubrey gripped his hands together and glanced at Zack. “It is precisely because we are drawing toward the end of the war that they speak of hiding away. Now is the time when desperation rises like stench from a sewer. Both sides can see the end coming and neither wants to lose. The Elves are no different in this. Their fear makes them question their allies’ strength.”

  “They have never trusted the blood,” Zack said. “Now, they’re back to not trusting us to pull it off. Yet we can’t win if they don’t help us.”

  Aubrey didn’t look at him as he spoke. “If Lindal takes up his rightful place as heir and king, his influence will ensure the elves will stay and fight with us but you will lose your mate. If he does not go, we lose our strongest allies.”

  Zack’s insides jumped. He hadn’t specifically spelled this out to Aubrey. The wise old man had spotted it, anyway.

  “What is it that you want me to say?” Aubrey asked. “Do you seek to ease your heart, or win the war?”

  “Both,” Zack said flatly.

  Aubrey’s smile was more of grimace.

  “I know,” Zack agreed. “Not one of the choices.”

  Aubrey blew out a breath, letting it fog the air in front of him and watched it evaporate. “Have you considered that this isn’t really your choice to make, in the first place?”

  Zack gripped the rough edges of the cold stonework. “I can’t stand the idea of just…waiting. I had to do something.”

  “So you came seeking advice from a man who can give you no answers.”

  Zack grinned. “It’s doing something, anyway.”

  The low, belly deep growl came from behind him. In reaction, the hair on the back of his neck tried to stand up, in a painful prickle. Zack spun to look toward the bare trees and dark evergreens on either side of the path leading to the bridge. There was nothing to see. However, the people on the path were looking into the undergrowth nervously.

  “Oh, shit….” Zack breathed.

  “Was that a dog?” Aubrey asked.

  “A kind of dog-wolf thing,” Zack breathed, watching the shadows under the trees, looking for proof. His hand curled around his cellphone, inside his pocket.

  “The hounds from Canada,” Aubrey said quietly. “If we go, will they leave these people alone?”

  The question underlined the clarity of Aubrey’s thinking, which was one of the reasons why Zack had sought him out this morning. Aubrey was thinking of the safety of the humans, first.

  “I don’t even know it’s the hounds, yet,” Zack replied.

  Aubrey’s hand gripped his shoulder, turning him. “We do, now,” Aubrey said, pointing to the other end of the bridge.

  Moving out of the sparse coverage on the edge of the path was one of the huge hounds that Zack had last seen in Canada, surrounding Declan, Cole and Zoe’s ranch house. This one had the same baleful red eyes, small and mean, yellow teeth and fur that was matted, tufted and worn away in places. There were scars across the thing’s face and hide.

  The shoulders were as wide as a man’s and nearly as high. It was five hundred pounds of muscle, sinew and evil.

  People began screaming. Parents scooped up kids and ran back down the path. The panic spread as the creature padded over to the start of the bridge, blocking off that route of escape.

  As more screaming started up behind them, Zack turned to look at the other end of the bridge. A second hound had emerged from the trees and was moving toward the bridge. It was moving faster than the first.
/>   Zack pulled out his phone, pressed the speed dial and listened to it ring…and ring.

  “Pick up, pick up, pick up!” he muttered, watching the second hound, waiting to see if it would step onto the bridge or if it was here to box them in, as the first one had done.

  “Are you armed?” Aubrey asked. He was quite calm.

  “Knife only.” What he would give to have his sword in his hand….

  “Me, too, alas.”

  “Zack?” Beth said in his ear, breathless.

  “Gapstow Bridge, Central Park. Hounds! Hurry! There are people everywhere here!”

  He hung up and dropped the phone back into his pocket and pulled out his knife, as the hound walked onto the graceful curve of the bridge, still moving fast.

  Zack stepped into the middle of the bridge, mildly happy that the structure wasn’t very broad. He could cover the width and stop the hound from getting through. He hefted the knife, let his heart slip from his control and beat as it needed to. He would need the blood supply over the next few minutes.

  He didn’t bother looking behind him. Aubrey only looked old. He had been in his sixties when he had been turned, yet the turning had given his body the energy and strength of a man in his prime. Zack didn’t need to worry about his back. Aubrey had it covered.

  The hound broke into a run, drool trailing from its mouth. It came straight at Zack and he braced himself, anticipating the leap for his throat. He could duck under it, if it leapt high enough, or step to one side of the snapping jaws and deal with it from that angle, if it didn’t.

  Only, the thing didn’t leap.

  At the last minute, when Zack realized it was coming straight at him at a dead run, he tried to adjust, mentally groping through his surprise to guess what the thing intended.

  At the last second it swung its head aside, ducking it. Its shoulder slammed into Zack’s upper thighs, taking his feet out from under him. He fell forward heavily and threw out his hands to save himself. His knife went flying and his palms shredded themselves on the rough surface of the bridge. His shoulders took the impact of his fall, creaking under the strain.

  He scrambled forward to pick up the knife and got to his feet, whirling back to face the hound.