Sergei had wrapped the babe in a blanket that held a powerful curse. A Sylvermyst, or any fairy for that matter, foolish enough to try and steal the child would suffer excruciating pain.
“When do you intend to perform the ceremony?” the fey demanded.
Sergei grimaced.
Never sounded good to him.
A damned shame that he was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.
Once upon a time he’d been stupid enough to believe he was destined for greatness, but after years of being exposed to Marika’s cruelty he’d realized that infesting the world with a horde of creatures that made her look like a Girl Scout wasn’t exactly a future to covet.
But while Tearloch hadn’t tried to take the child from him, Sergei hadn’t lived so long by being a moron. He knew that he was only alive because the Sylvermyst was depending on him to cast the spell that would resurrect the Dark Lord’s soul into the child. If he refused ...
Well, he didn’t intend to discover what would happen.
“I told you, I need to wait for the signs to align so I will be at my greatest strength,” he said, desperate to put off the inevitable.
Tearloch eyed him with blatant suspicion. “I begin to suspect that these mysterious signs are no more than an attempt to avoid fulfilling your duty.”
“Do you truly want to take the chance of ruining your best shot at returning your master—”
“Our master.”
“Because I’m not at the pinnacle of my power?” Sergei continued, ignoring the harsh correction.
Tearloch muttered a foreign word of power that made the air stir with a prickle of warning.
“You have until the full moon.”
“Is that a threat?” Sergei demanded at his most imperious.
In the less of the blink of an eye the tip of the massive sword was digging into Sergei’s throat, the Sylvermyst leaning forward until they were nose to nose.
“Yes.”
Sergei heard the sizzle as the strange blade absorbed the drop of blood from the pinprick wound in his throat. Then the fey was spinning away and heading out the door.
“Crazy bastard,” Sergei muttered.
It took Jaelyn nearly an hour and several layers of skin to at last wrestle out of the chains that held her captive. Once free, she gingerly inched her way out of the harems, her senses on full alert.
Damn, but the place was a disaster.
Shattered glass, crumbling stone walls, and missing dome ceilings that allowed the swirling mist to creep through the vast spiderweb of chambers.
She shuddered to imagine the power necessary to create such damage, even as she cursed Ariyal for having abandoned her on the godforsaken island.
Not only was she forced to constantly retrace her steps to avoid the seemingly perpetual sunlight that pierced the mists at unexpected junctures, but the endless series of corridors seemed to lead from one dead end to another.
Was it true?
Was it possible that she was trapped on Avalon?
Halting before an arched door with odd carvings that blocked her current path, she was debating the best means of destroying the heavy iron lock when she felt the air pressure shift behind her.
“I would not stray too far, Hunter,” a low female voice warned. “Morgana le Fay had a nasty habit of leaving traps for the unwary.”
“Holy ...” Spinning on her heel, Jaelyn flashed her fangs at the intruder. Expecting a massive demon who would match the crushing flare of energy that filled the dark corridor, she was caught off guard by the tiny female, who was no larger than a child, with a heart-shaped face and long silver hair that was pulled into a braid that hung nearly to the tiled floor. She frowned. The black almond eyes and razor-sharp teeth appeared remarkably similar to those of the spirit whom Ariyal had summoned to hold Jaelyn captive in the Russian caves, as did the long white robe. But this female appeared older. Oh yeah, and not a spirit. “Yannah?”