Seducing The Dark Prince
“I saw your signal.” Rhea glanced at Lucien still standing by the bar. He raised a glass of champagne toward them. “I wasn’t sure you really wanted rescuing, though. He looks tasty.”
“He’s a creep, and I’m not interested. I’m more concerned about Carter’s little magic show.”
Rhea glowered. “Yeah, what was that? How the hell did Malibu Ken get out of prison?”
“I’m guessing one of his dirty friends in high places fixed it for him.”
Lucien’s words about quid pro quo and his family’s relationship with the magical community came back to her. Both Rafe and Dev had spoken of connections that helped keep Covent business—and other supernatural events—from the public eye. Could that be the connection with the Smok family? Maybe she should talk to Rafe after all. Not because she had any intention of getting involved in Lucien’s project, but because she and her sisters had a right to know who else knew about their business.
It wasn’t until she was helping clean up after the reception ended that Theia found her opening. Phoebe and Rafe were about to leave for the Yucatán, and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.
Theia stacked the folding chairs as Rafe collected them, his thick, dark waves tied back in a high, bobbed tail. “What do you know about Lucien Smok?”
Rafe paused in picking up a chair. “Was he bothering you? I saw him talking to you, but I figured you could handle him. I’d keep him at arm’s length if I were you.”
It wasn’t quite the answer she’d expected. “So your family doesn’t have some kind of simpatico relationship with the Smoks?”
Rafe’s look was guarded. “I wouldn’t call it simpatico, exactly, but there is a relationship. It goes back centuries. To the time of the founding of the Covent, in fact.” The Diamantes had been founding members.
“You mean they’re a Covent family?”
“No, not exactly.” He handed her the folded chair. “There were no witches among the Smok family—that I know of. But I read a lot of Covent history in my father’s records after his death. Information that isn’t generally known.”
It was unlike Rafe to be so cagey.
“What kind of information?”
Rhea’s laugh rang out from the stairs as she came down with Phoebe after helping her change. Rafe set another chair on the stack and smiled at the sight of Phoebe in her usual bouncy ponytail, bangs across her forehead instead of swept back as they had been under the mantilla. “My father kept several volumes on Covent history and politics,” he murmured, still smiling at Phoebe. “Ione has the keys to his house. Tell her I left some books for you in the library.”
* * *
After seeing Phoebe and Rafe off with much ribbing and a fair amount of sisterly tears, Theia and Rhea flopped together onto the bench by the door, and Rhea kicked off her heels with a groan.
Theia removed hers more sedately. “Where’s Leo?”
“I told him to go ride with the Hunt for a while and work off some of his buzz. It’s weird. Alcohol doesn’t usually affect him this much. He’s got a pretty high tolerance.”
“I thought the Wild Hunt only appeared between Halloween and Yule.”
“It does, normally. But now that he’s mortal, he’s not bound by the Norns’ rules and he can conjure the riders when he likes. There’s always some sicko out there that needs a one-way ticket to Náströnd.”
Theia poked at her décolletage. “It seems a little like playing God. How does he determine that someone is deserving of having their soul ripped out and escorted to hell?”
Rhea shrugged. “It’s a scent or something. I don’t ask too many questions. He gets all Gunnar the tenth-century Viking on me sometimes, like his soul is taking the reins even though he’s no longer under the curse, and Gunnar can be a little...pompous.”
“But you’ve ridden with him.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t feel weird about it? About taking somebody out of the earthly plane?”
“And having one less pedophile or rapist walking the earth? Not so much.”
Theia had to admit she didn’t exactly hate the idea. As long as their guilt was certain.
When Ione and Dev came back from closing up the temple, Theia could see the tension on Ione’s face. Carter had really gotten to her. She couldn’t blame her. Carter Hamilton was like a nasty rash that just kept coming back. It hurt to see his manipulative bullshit affecting Ione like this.
As Ione picked up one of the plastic bins of supplies, Theia hopped up from the bench and grabbed another. “Do you need any help getting things back to the house?”
“No, I think we’re good. Dev’s already loaded up the car with the rest.”
Theia followed her out with her bin. “By the way, Rafe mentioned something about getting the key to his dad’s place from you. He wanted me to take a quick look in on it while I’m watching Phoebe’s.”
“His dad’s place?” Ione set the bin on top of the others and loaded Theia’s next to it. “I thought he was selling that.”
“I assume he still is, but I guess nobody’s been by regularly except the gardener, and he wanted me to take a look around.”
Ione could always tell when one of them was bullshitting her, and the fact that she didn’t push back on the request spoke volumes about her mental state.
She took a set of keys from her purse and handed them to Theia. “Just make sure you get them back to me.”
As Ione got into the car, Dev took Theia aside. “She didn’t want me to tell you this, but our unwanted guest pretty much ruined her plans for the reception.” Dev glanced at Rhea leaning into the car to block Ione’s view. “It was supposed to be ours as well.”
Theia stared at him, confused. “Your what?”
“Reception. Don’t react. She might snap if she realizes I’m telling you. But we drove up to Vegas a few weeks ago and tied the knot.” He allowed himself a little grin while Theia suppressed the urge to squeal and jump up and down.
“You complete bastard. I can’t believe you’re telling me this now when I can’t do anything.”
“I suggested to Tweedledum that you and she could plan a little celebration for Ione later when she’s cooled down.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t say Tweedledee. Because Rhe is definitely Dum.” Theia grinned but kept it subtle. “And you can count on us.”
Rhea joined Theia as Dev and Ione drove away, waving like Stepford wives only to start jumping and squealing in unison the second the car was out of visual range.
“Can you believe the ovaries on that one?” Rhea laughed as they spun around. “Eloping and stealing Phoebe’s thunder? Phoebe’s going to be furious.”
“I don’t know how she kept it to herself all this time.” Although Ione was certainly better equipped to keep a secret than the rest of them. Theia glanced at Rhea as the dance died down. “You’d better not tell me you and Leo are up to something similar.”
“Me?” Rhea laughed. “Right. Like I’d get married.” She winked, which wasn’t reassuring. Everyone in the family was pairing off, and Theia was the odd one out. Rhea, as usual, could see what she was thinking. “Why don’t you just let me read you again?”
“No. There’s no reason to rehash what I already know.”
“Which is what? That your love life is cursed? I think you’re being way too literal about it. Just let me ask a more specific question.”
The night was getting chilly now that the sun was down. Theia pulled the shawl she’d borrowed from Ione around her shoulders, tucking her tattooed arm underneath it. “I’m good, thanks. So, takeout?”
Rhea sighed through her nose, her mouth in a thin line of annoyance, but shrugged her acquiescence. “Indian?”
Theia gave it a thumbs-up. “You order. I’ll drive.” She held out her hand for the keys.
“You’re not driving Minnie Driver.”
“Your car is not a person, and yes, I am. I saw how much champagne you had.”
Rhea tossed her the keys and got in on the passenger side, patting the dash. “Don’t listen to her, Minnie. You are too a person.” She pulled up the delivery app on her phone and started making selections. “Whose house are we going to? Phoebe’s or Rafe’s?”
“Neither, actually.” Theia ground the gears, and Rhea swore, gripping the seat. Theia ignored her, putting the car in gear properly. “Do you still have the address for Rafael Sr.’s place in your phone?”
Rhea glanced over at her. “The Ice Palace? Yeah, why?”
“There’s something I need to pick up. We can pretend we’re filthy rich, like Phoebe.” She grinned without looking over.
“Ha. Phoebe, married to the richest man in town, and still keeping her little bungalow.”
“I think she’s still freaked out about those reporters outside Rafe’s window filming him going spelunking in her cave that time.”
“He is quite the cave diver. Oh, dammit.”
“What?”
“We totally missed the opportunity for cave-diving puns. They’re visiting cenotes on their honeymoon.”
“Ah, damn. We’re off our game.”
Driving the labyrinthine route from Covent Temple back to the highway was much easier than driving in. A proximity glamour kept passersby from noticing the otherwise startling white byzantine spires against the sienna red hoodoos and hills of Sedona, and the disorientation spell on the road was an extra measure to confound those who might be purposefully looking for it.
Rhea’s red and white Mini was a blast to drive up Highway 179 through the walls of rocks and around the curves threading through the pines on the way to the secluded community hidden in the hills. Theia drove an automatic hybrid, which didn’t quite have the same kick.
“So what did you want to pick up, anyway?”
“Some papers Rafe’s dad kept. He said there’s some stuff about the original Covent and Madeleine Marchant I might want for my genealogy research.” There was no point in giving Rhea ammo to tease her by letting know she was researching Lucien Smok.
“Don’t we know all we need to about her?”
“Nothing is ever all you need to know about anything.”
Rhea rolled her eyes. “Right. I forgot I was talking to Brainiac’s daughter.”
“So you’re not at all curious about the origins of our Lilith blood.”
“I just think you can overanalyze things. A little mystery in life is nice.”
Mystery was exactly what Theia didn’t want. She liked to know the whys and wherefores of things. Knowledge was power. And mystery... As far as Theia was concerned, mystery was danger.
Chapter 3
Lucien watched the revenant from the rooftop. Starlight lent a pale, unearthly glow to the proceedings as it swallowed up the dusk, leaving the red landscape sepia toned and casting flat, colorless shadows. The demon wore cowboy boots and a leather duster with a gambler-style cowboy hat, his horse tacked up in the Western style, but this was a Hunt wraith, an undead revenant of the Viking era who roamed the earth in search of dark souls. Less substantial wraiths rode beside him, their mounts, like themselves, phantoms. No one would notice them, even staring at them head-on. No one but a black-souled phantom like himself.
But the leader was different. He was no phantom but flesh and bone, unnaturally maintained, living tissue that ought to have perished centuries ago. And Lucien had seen him before. Just hours before—at the wedding of Rafael Diamante to Phoebe Carlisle.
Lucien followed the horse’s trajectory, tracking the revenant with the scope on his crossbow. He’d slipped a little something into the Viking’s drink to see if he could trigger him. The most it had done was to get him arguing with Dev Gideon, the eldest Carlisle sister’s faithful companion. Rumor had it Dev was a shape-shifter, part man, part demon himself. The entire Carlisle family seemed to be magnets for unnatural beings. Not surprising, given their bloodline.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d decided to check out the Carlisle sisters for himself, but Theia’s large, passionate eyes challenging him with far more moxie than her slight frame warranted was certainly not it. He hadn’t expected someone witty and intelligent who took no shit. She hadn’t fallen for his player persona. And she hadn’t been impressed by his name—if anything, there’d been a little sneer on her face when she’d heard it—or acted impressed by his family’s money. But maybe it was a different kind of power that impressed the Carlisle women. The kind that was infernal in origin. If only she knew.
Lucien turned in a slow arc to follow the horseman with his scope. Leo Ström’s origins were what concerned him right now. How had he come to be the leader of the Wild Hunt? And what was the Hunt doing appearing on a lovely spring evening in Sedona, Arizona? Traditionally, it was said to appear around the winter solstice and was better suited to snowier climes.
They’d scented someone now, it seemed, and even from this distance, Lucien thought he heard their victory hoots as the phantom storm that followed them swallowed up their victim and they disappeared into the night, leaving it calm and warm.
He’d have to find out more about this Leo Ström. The man was involved with Theia’s twin, Rhea, which could mean anything in terms of unnatural origin. It might even be Rhea’s own magic animating him. It was unlikely she’d created the revenant herself, since the long dead were nearly impossible to give a convincing living appearance to, no matter how much magic the practitioner had. So perhaps she’d taken possession of a revenant created by some other unnatural power. And Lucien just happened to have access to information on any of a number of unnatural powers.
He stashed his gear and changed into something more appropriate. People might talk if he showed up at Polly’s dressed like a cat burglar.
* * *
Polly was entertaining in her booth when Lucien walked in. Aware of her out of the corner of his eye, he made a point of not glancing in her direction, knowing it would drive her crazy. His ploy worked, and in less than five minutes, she’d ditched her patrons and sauntered over to the bar where he stood waiting for his drink.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” She lifted her drawn-on nearly crimson brows with a little smirk as she leaned back against the bar beside him and raised her voice for the bartender’s benefit. “Whatever he’s having, it’s on the house.”
Lucien put down a twenty as the craft beer arrived. “That’s sweet, but I’ve got it covered.”
Polly pushed the bill across the slick wood toward the bartender. “That’s a tip.”
Lucien sipped his beer. “You’re such a control freak.”
“I like to treat my friends well.”
“Oh, we’re friends now?” Lucien turned to mimic her stance, elbows back against the bar.
Polly flipped her cherry-red hair over her shoulder, nails painted a dazzling sapphire blue. “Well, maybe frenemies.”
“Seems fair.”
“So what brings you back to my neck of the woods?”
“Edgar does.” He always used his father’s first name, never calling him Dad or Pop. “Smok Biotech is partnering with Northern Arizona University on a new venture. He sent me to supervise.”
“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing in Sedona. NAU is in Flagstaff.”
“I know where it is.” Lucien took a swig of his beer. “Went to a wedding.”
Polly’s eyes sparkled with interest. “The Diamante wedding? Lucky you. Those invitations were highly coveted.”
Lucien shrugged. “I didn’t say I was invited.”
Polly laughed. “Of course you weren’t. So you crashed the quetzal’s wedding and now you’re slumming at my joint. Who are you after?”
“Who says I’m after anyone?”
Crimson waves swayed as she shook her head. “Darling, don’t grift a grifter.”
He finished his beer and set the bottle on the bar. “What do you know about the Wild Hunt?”
Polly pushed away from the bar and grabbed his hand, drawing him with her through the jostling patrons trying to get the bartender’s attention. The joint was hopping tonight.
She led him to her booth, where the patrons she’d ditched were still waiting. “Meeting’s over, boys. I’ll get back to you when I hear anything.”
The two pale twentysomething men with slicked-back blond hair shrugged and scooted out of the booth.
One of them frowned and hung back as she slid onto the seat. “Don’t make us wait too long. The consequences may be dire.”
“Stop being so dramatic, Kip.”
Lucien sat on the bench. “Kip?”
Polly grinned. “Preppy vampires turned in the ’80s. Eternally embarrassing.” She gestured to one of her staff, presumably ordering a bottle of something. “So why do you want to know about the Hunt?
“Because I saw it tonight. And unless I’ve been doing way too much molly, it’s May, not December.”
“You saw it?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
The woman she’d signaled arrived with a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass, despite Lucien shaking his head.
“Generally, only someone who’s a target of the Hunt is treated to that sight.” Polly sipped her wine with a curious lift of her brow. “Have you been very naughty, Lucien?”
“No naughtier than usual. Why is the Hunt still in town at this time of year?”
“What makes you think I’d know?”
Lucien played with the rim of his glass. “Pols. You make it your business to know everything of interest—everything paranormal—that happens in the entire Southwest. Information is your business. Are you really going to make me pay for it? After what we’ve meant to each other?”
Polly laughed, her eyes twinkling in the wavering light of the candle on the table. “Don’t push it, Hellboy.”
“Ouch. Below the belt.”
Beneath the table, the pointed toe of her shoe stroked the side of his leg. “Best location.”
He moved his leg, and she uncrossed hers and crossed them the other way.
“But in the interest of our continued frenmity, I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.” She paused to top off her glass. “Last winter, the Hunt blew into town to deal with some riffraff, and the leader of the Hunt struck some kind of a deal that let him remain in the mortal realm indefinitely. Word is, it’s because of—”
“Rhea Carlisle.”
Polly tipped her glass toward him. “The quetzal’s sister-in-law, yes. And today you crashed the quetzal’s wedding. I take it Leo Ström is the reason.”
“One of a couple of reasons.” Lucien swirled the wine in his glass, thinking about Theia’s large eyes. And the way she’d held on to his arms after he’d saved her from choking.
“And would another of those reasons be Rhea Carlisle’s identical twin?”
Lucien glanced up, caught off guard. “Why in the world would you say that? I just met her today.”
Polly shook her head knowingly. “Those Carlisle women have a way of getting under a man’s skin. I’d be careful of that one if I were you. She’s deceptively humdrum.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s very normal.” Polly said the word as though it were a terrible insult. “Very sweet. People think of her as the least talented of the bunch, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her with a secret I didn’t want found out.”
It was a warning he’d be wise to pay heed to.
“As for Ström, he used to come in here with a redhead years ago. A real redhead.” She grinned and flipped her hair. “Not like me.”
“And?”
“And apparently she’s a rogue Valkyrie. A couple of regulars knew her—also Valkyries—and didn’t care much for her.”
That was the missing piece. The Valkyrie must have been the one to create the revenant. And somehow she’d made a deal with Rhea Carlisle.
* * *
Full of mango lassi and sweet Kashmiri naan, Rhea wasn’t interested in reading an old man’s treatises about the history of the Covent written in longhand. Which suited Theia just fine. Alone, she wouldn’t have to hide what she was looking for. She drove Rhea back to her car before heading to Phoebe’s place with Rafael Diamante Sr.’s archives.
Puddleglum, Phoebe’s Siamese tabby, curled up with her in the guest bed while she pored over the materials, looking for anything about the Smok family. As she turned the pages, she noticed a peculiar effect when she lingered on an entry: the text on the page began to shift beneath her touch. Rafe hadn’t mentioned anything about magically enhanced pages, but here it was. Like clicking a magical hyperlink to load a page of related content, touching a reference in the text made the copy on the page transform into the detailed document to which Diamante referred. When she lifted her finger off the page, it returned to the original journal entry.
Fascinated, Theia thumbed through an entry on the Smok family’s history. But it wasn’t about the Diamantes at all. It was an accounting of Madeleine Marchant’s belongings, given to the nobleman who had been her benefactor—none other than one Philippe Smok, Vicomte de Briançon. And among those “belongings” were Madeleine’s children: seven daughters, in fact. Seven sisters.
The Lilith blood allele—a hypothesis Theia had formulated when she and Rhea had first traced their genealogy—was passed down through recessive genes, only resulting in the Lilith phenotype when daughters were born to two carriers of the gene in Madeleine’s direct line. And this always seemed to result in the birth of seven sisters with the gifts. But she hadn’t realized that the first set of sisters were Madeleine’s own daughters.
Puddleglum plopped down in the middle of the journal to announce that Theia was done reading. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling, she tried to work out what Lucien Smok’s game might be. There was no way his appearance at Phoebe’s wedding was a coincidence. Rafe was right. She should keep her distance. But if his family had a connection not just to the Covent but to Madeleine herself, then Lucien surely knew it and had sought them out deliberately. Theia had to find out what he was up to. Particularly with regard to Smok Biotech.
The arrival of the vision was the first indication that she’d actually fallen asleep.
It flew out of the night like a carrion bird, circling overhead, waiting for death, casting a heavy shadow on the creatures below: the crow. The wolf. The dragon. The flying thing drew closer, and now she was looking up at it, standing with her sisters. It was both a vulture and a reptile, a prehistoric lizard with wings—a pterodactyl, perhaps—its head birdlike, with glowing red eyes, bat-like wings stretching out from the lizard body.
In the distance, a rooster crowed, and the sound became a screech in the thing’s beak, a scream of laughter as it dived, talons outstretched.
The rooster crowed again. Light blazed through a crack in the blinds. Dawn light. The rooster was somewhere outside. Nice. Phoebe hadn’t mentioned the built-in neighborhood alarm clock. Theia pulled the pillow over her head and rolled onto her side.
Before the cock crows twice. What was that from? Something in the Bible, she thought. New Testament. She hadn’t been to church in years, but she remembered it now: Peter’s denial of Christ. The cock outside had crowed twice. Not that unusual, probably. But why was that sticking in her head? Cock, not rooster. Theia giggled, knowing what Rhea would have to say about it.
Cock crows twice. The vision came back to her in a rush. It wasn’t the Bible phrase she was thinking of, after all. The flying thing—it hadn’t been a pterodactyl like she’d speculated in the dream. It was a cockatrice. And it was coming for them.
In middle school, she’d once gone with a friend to her church, an evangelical one. The preacher had spoken of some mad theory about human-animal hybrids and the evil plot of godless scientists who wanted to bring back such things as griffins, harpies and cockatrices. His theory claimed such creatures had roamed the earth before the Great Flood because of the sins of unnatural men who’d bred them, and God had wiped them out.
Theia had barely been able to contain her laughter, and her friend had been furious. Even at twelve, Theia understood enough science to know how idiotic such a theory was. Nobody was trying to splice genes across species to create monster hybrids, and even if they did try, it wouldn’t work.