King of the Wilds: Rosethorn Valley Fae #3 Page 9

  She placed her hand against the door sensor, praying that the machine would pick up what she was showing it, and not what she actually was. She had no idea if her power extended to machines or not.

  If not, this was about to be a very short mission.

  For a long moment nothing happened. Did it usually take this long to scan Mr. Ward’s hand? After an agonizing few more seconds, the light over the sensor blinked green and the door swung open.

  Miranda sighed inwardly, trying to keep her cool outer composure intact. Cullen Ward was supposed to be unflappable.

  She stepped inside and waited for the door to click shut behind her before continuing into the suite.

  A huge wall of windows looked out over the Philadelphia skyline, but Miranda didn’t spare a glance. Instead, she headed straight for the coat closet.

  She opened the door and pressed a hidden button inside, then stepped back.

  The whole closet interior slid forward and out, revealing that it was basically a small wardrobe tucked inside a much deeper space.

  Miranda slipped into the area behind the wardrobe.

  I am Cullen Ward. I am Cullen Ward.

  She realized almost too late that she wasn’t tall enough for the optic scanner that had just flashed to life.

  She reached back into the coat closet and grabbed one of Mr. Ward’s travel cases, getting it into place and stepping up onto it just in time for the optic scanner to finish warming up.

  “I am Cullen Ward,” she muttered as the light panned down her face.

  A section of wall slid away to reveal a metal box.

  She held her breath and thumbed open the latch.

  18

  Bron

  Bron heard the car pulling up and ran for the driveway, the others trailing behind him.

  She’s back, thank the gods…

  But instead of Miranda’s car, he saw a sleek silver thing slide into a spot next to the house, between the abandoned work vehicles.

  A door opened upward, like a bird trying to clean the feathers under its wing.

  A familiar figure stepped out and surveyed the mansion.

  Bron staggered backward, unable to believe his eyes.

  “Oh my God,” Sara whispered loudly. “That’s Cullen Ward,”

  “This is insane,” Tabitha murmured. “What is he doing here?”

  “That’s not who you think it is,” Tristan said.

  “You think I don’t know one of the top businessmen on the East Coast?” Tabitha said. “He’s the man behind all of this. He’s on the cover of Philly Business this month. Of course that’s Cullen Ward.”

  “No,” Bron said, regaining his composure. “That is our brother.”

  The King of Order strode toward them, sleek and resplendent as the car he had driven up in. The breeze didn’t disturb his hair, dust from the gravel lot didn’t scuff his polished leather shoes, and his sunglasses shone as if they had never been touched.

  “What have we here?” he asked, his deep voice amused.

  No one answered.

  “What are you doing here, Cullen?” Bron demanded.

  “I own this place,” the fae king said coldly. “What are you doing here?”

  “You don’t own it yet,” Sara retorted.

  For a moment Bron was afraid for her. His brother had a temper, and he was known to be cruel, even by fae standards.

  But the King of Order merely laughed.

  “A detail that will soon be ironed out,” Cullen told her with a smile that showed too many perfect teeth.

  Sara recoiled.

  “So you bought this place?” Bron demanded. “You wanted to destroy the door between our realms?”

  “This place is cursed,” Cullen spat.

  “How long have you been free in this world?” Dorian asked.

  “Long enough to know this realm is better off without the three of you in it,” Cullen said. “And better still without the rest of Faerie. I’m going to tear down the veil and close the door between worlds forever. So if you want to go home again, now is the time.”

  “You first,” Bron said with so much hate that he almost didn’t recognize his own voice.

  “Oh, look at you, brothers, with vines of bonding around your hands,” Cullen remarked, ignoring Bron’s challenge. “How adorable. But where is your lucky girl, Bron?”

  Miranda.

  It hit him suddenly that this was her employer.

  This was the man she worked for, the one she was loyal to.

  He was the one she had run to today.

  Jealousy rose up in him like a viper, filled with poison and inchoate fury.

  Each brother had one that stood in opposition. Yet while Dorian and Tristan complemented each other as dark and light, Cullen and Bron were ever at odds.

  It didn’t help that their parents had always preferred Cullen’s exacting nature to Bron’s warmth and compassion.

  “She didn’t stick around, eh, little brother?” Cullen said with a bitter laugh. “Sounds about right.”

  He hadn’t forgotten his brother’s cruelty, but he also hadn’t been prepared to be the target of it.

  Bron lowered his head, ready to charge.

  He felt Dorian’s steadying hand on his shoulder and held his ground.

  For now.

  “She’s coming right back,” Dorian said. “And I hate to break it to you, Cullen, but you won’t be tearing anything down. We had your workers sent away.”

  “Oh, you did?” Cullen asked lightly.

  He raised his arm, showing off the lines of his impeccably tailored suit of clothing. He had always been the vain one.

  A rumbling sound arose from all around them.

  All the work machinery in the drive was turning on. A neat trick, but even Cullen couldn’t pilot all these contraptions on his own.

  As if in response to his doubts, figures began to emerge from the trees. Each one was fairly humanoid, but seemed to be made entirely of shadow. Bron had never seen his brother do anything like that before. He watched as the shadow fae slid onto the equipment, taking the place of the missing workers.

  “No,” Bron moaned.

  The King of Order watched, an expression of unforgivable satisfaction on his face, as one of the machines lurched forward and plowed into a tree.

  Pain ripped through Bron and he bellowed out his misery as he ran to the machine.

  Cullen inhaled deeply, as if he were savoring Bron’s pain.

  Tristan came forward, miniature suns pulsing in each of his hands.

  Bron wrapped his arms around the shadowy fae in the machine and tried to pull it from its seat.

  It slipped his grasp, easily reshaping itself to avoid him.

  Tristan flung a ball of light at the thing and it let out a high-pitched shriek before exploding into nothing.

  “Yes, brother,” Bron exclaimed.

  Together they turned to face their next foe.

  But it was more than just the machines now. The whole forest seemed to be filled with shadow fae, belligerently attacking the trees.

  19

  Miranda

  Miranda gazed down at the tiny shard of mirror, willing it not to be as she recalled it.

  But it was. Of course.

  There was no doubt that this was the missing glass from the mirror at the mansion.

  Which meant that Cullen Ward, one of the most famous businessmen in America, was also involved with the release of evil fae.

  She snatched it out of the box before she could chicken out, resisting the impulse to examine the other items.

  As fast as she could, she pressed the button to replace the closet and close the door.

  She checked the wall mirror on the way back to the suite entry door, and then did a double-take.

  The effect of her magic was fading.

  She could see Cullen Ward, but she could also see herself beneath him, as if his image had merely been projected onto her, and now the projector was dimming.

  “No,
” she moaned, closing her eyes to focus.

  Her voice was notably higher. It wasn’t quite her own yet, but it was obvious that the disguise was disintegrating.

  “Mr. Ward, are you okay in there?” Anthony called from outside the door.

  She pictured her boss, willing herself to look and sound like him.

  I am Cullen Ward.

  “I’m fine, Anthony,” she called back to him, relieved to hear her voice was deep again. “But I could use your help.”

  She needed to get him away from his post, so he wouldn’t see her leaving.

  “Of course, sir,” Anthony replied. “May I come in?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I need you to go get me a triple espresso.”

  “I can ask one of the girls to do that,” Anthony offered.

  “I want you to do it,” she told him quickly.

  “But… but that would mean your suite is unguarded,” Anthony said nervously. “That’s in direct violation of my duties.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” she asked, in what she hoped was a frighteningly thunderous voice. “Do you think I can’t guard my own office for five minutes?”

  “Oh, yes. I mean, of course you can,” Anthony said. “I’ll go now.”

  She forced herself to count to twenty before heading to the door.

  She placed her palm on the sensor.

  It didn’t open.

  I’m trapped. I’m trapped in his suite.

  What kind of person installs security measures to get out of his own office?

  Cullen Ward did. Of course he did. He never made anything easy.

  She took a breath and tried to focus, but truth of her ability was beginning to dawn on her.

  Her magic was stronger because of Bron, that much was true. But it seemed like it was strongest when she was physically close to him.

  The more time and distance between them, the more her abilities began to weaken.

  Bron, I need you…

  She tried to pull up an image of Bron in her mind - huge, muscular, long, messy hair falling around his shoulder, twinkly eyes.

  Her heart swelled.

  The sensor dinged under her hand.

  She dashed into the hallway as fast as she could and hightailed it for the elevator.

  “Mr. Ward, are you okay?” Espen called out slavishly.

  “Fine,” she said in a perfect staccato impression of her impatient boss.

  The elevator doors slid shut, and at last she let the illusion fall away from herself and leaned against the back wall, exhausted.

  She’d done it.

  She just had to get back to Bron and the others with the shard, and everything would be okay.

  20

  Bron

  Bron closed his eyes and called on his gift.

  Tristan battled the shadows bravely, but even his light was slowly fading.

  Dorian’s midnight did no damage to these creatures, they almost seemed to feed on it.

  Sara’s song had dried up in her throat.

  Tabitha stood before the trees the monsters had rent, placing her hands on the suffering bark, trying to heal what had been broken.

  They were giving it everything they had, and coming up short.

  Somehow, Cullen seemed to draw strength from all their suffering, expanding his army with each fresh agony, as if he were not the King of Order, but the King of Pain.

  Don’t look at him, Bron told himself, as he had many times as a little boy.

  But it was hard not to look at Cullen. He had always drawn the spotlight to himself, seemingly without effort.

  Bron reached deep within himself and called to the very roots beneath his feet, and to the branches above.

  Rise, my brothers, he said to the trees. If I cannot protect you, you must fight for yourselves.

  There was a groaning in the forest as roots tore themselves free from the loamy soil and trunks moved out of the path of the equipment.

  “Whoa,” he heard Sara breathe behind him.

  A giant oak wrenched itself from the ground and slammed a massive branch down on a backhoe, which crumpled, smashing its shadowy rider into a fine mist.

  A shadow fae driving a bulldozer realized what was going on and tried to turn away from the copper beech tree it was attempting to topple. But the clever beech shivered and bent in the middle, stabbing the bulldozer with dozens of sharp branches.

  Bron felt the magic blasting out of his body, as if the forest were sucking it in as hard as he was pushing it out. It wanted to survive. It wasn’t ready to go down without a fight.

  He pushed a surge of energy out of himself, feeding the trees until the earth seemed to rumble beneath his feet.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had never pushed himself this way before.

  But none of it mattered.

  Miranda was coming back. He was sure of it. He couldn’t allow his queen to return to this kind of danger.

  As soon as his brother realized what she meant to Bron, he would break her.

  And Bron couldn’t bear that.

  He pushed even harder, drawing on reserves of strength he never knew he had.

  But when he opened his eyes, he could see his strength was slipping.

  A dump truck plowed through a stand of saplings and hit a big maple so hard it nearly doubled over.

  Tristan moved to help, but the light in his hands was smaller now, more like a sunset than a midday blaze.

  They were fading, all of them.

  How had Cullen amassed such power?

  A familiar tug at some deep part of him made Bron wheel around. In the noise of the battle, he must have missed the sound of a car’s engine approaching.

  Miranda stood at the head of the driveway, clutching something in her hand and looking out over the trees in horror.

  21

  Miranda

  Miranda could see that something strange was happening as soon as she pulled into the drive.

  The trees were thrashing, and darkness hung over the woods like a raging storm, though she had driven through nothing but blue skies and sunshine for the last half an hour.

  She parked and dashed out of the car, taking the steps down to the rose garden two at a time, where an unbelievable, horrific scene unfolded before her eyes.

  Sara, Dorian, Tristan, and Tabitha stood shoulder to shoulder, launching small balls of light at something that writhed and shivered like a shadow in the trees.

  Bron stood before them, his big arms stretched to the heavens, muscles trembling with effort.

  His brow was furrowed and sweat poured down his chest.

  All around him, the trees were uprooting themselves as if he were lifting them from the ground himself.

  She had never seen anyone make an effort like this. It didn’t look like he could keep it up much longer. What would happen when he had nothing left to give?

  “Bron,” she screamed.

  His eyes met hers for one agonizing second.

  And then she noticed something familiar, but out of place.

  “Miranda Cannon,” Cullen Ward said smoothly, turning to her from where he stood.

  “M-Mr. Ward?” she stammered.

  “Are you involved in this in some way?” he asked politely.

  He glanced at her hand and his eyes widened slightly.

  “You’re the consort to the King of the Wilds?” he chuckled, recovering. “Oh, Miranda, how could you stoop so low?”

  “She’s not my consort,” Bron roared with strength Miranda didn’t think he could spare. “She is my queen.”

  “Not yet she’s not, brother,” Ward said coolly. “I only see a ring, a promise of what could be. Perhaps what will be. If you agree to take her through the veil along with Tristan and Dorian, and then let me destroy the doorway with you on the other side.”

  “Her life is here,” Bron gasped. “And this world deserves our protection.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mr. Ward said.

  Miranda had heard
that tone from him many times - usually in the boardroom, just before Cullen Ward ruined a company or a career.

  “No,” she cried, running past her boss to join her friends.

  When she reached Sara, Miranda held out the mirror shard where the friends could see it, but Cullen Ward could not.

  “Oh my God,” Sara whispered. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “It’s him,” Miranda confirmed. “Sing to him. Let’s put him back where he belongs.”

  Dorian groaned and pulled a cloak of midnight tightly around Mr. Ward.

  “Saint’s plaything, Dorian,” Ward laughed. “You think I’m afraid of the dark?”

  Sara’s voice rang out in answer, tired, but clear.

  “Sneaking out of mirror’s hold

  You were cruel and you were bold

  Stripping Earth of mortal wealth

  Without a thought for mortal health

  No care for any human kind

  Out of fae, out of your mind”

  “No,” Ward moaned, as soon as he realized what was happening to him. His clothing was whipping in an invisible wind that seemed to draw him toward the mirror fragment.

  “In the business world you could be tough

  But soon money was not enough

  You found you had a taste for pain

  Not just for economic gain”

  Cullen Ward slid toward them, his fancy leather shoes carrying him across the wet grass like ice-skates. But he clenched his fists and jaw at the last second and managed to summon enough power to halt himself.

  The light in Tristan’s hands was almost gone.

  Sara’s voice grew faint, barely a whisper.

  “Surrender,” Miranda cried. But it came out sounding more like a plea than a command.

  Bron met her eyes and the look of sadness in them nearly broke her heart. His lips mouthed the words, I love you, before he closed his eyes and placed his palms on the ground.