Courts and Cabals 2 by G.S. D'Moore (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📗

“The succubus was here,” Feng informed.

“No shit, sherlock,” Vernon bit back the retort, and instead just nodded.

“Silver tranq,” Charlotte spat, “not enough to kill her, but enough to take her out of this fight. At least they’re being considerate.”

The way the other shifter said it so nonchalantly sent an inferno of rage spiraling through Vernon. Before he knew it, he was pummeling the big woman with punches. His momma told him never to hit a girl, but Charlotte was a fucking mountain of armor, flesh, and attitude. He got in several good hits, driving her back, before her swipe nearly knocked his head off. He rolled with the powerful blow, ignored the stars that danced across his vision, and sprang back up ready to go for round two. Charlotte looked more than ready to dance, but Feng stepped between them.

He’d only seen the Commander’s face briefly, but he could imagine the Asian man’s disappointment in the two shifters. “The longer we keep fighting each other the more time they have to get away.”

His rationale cut through Vernon’s anger like a hot knife, and the werewolf exhaled. He wasn’t going to apologize to the bear, but he knew they needed to move to find the people who ran Becky down.

“You can ride with us. We’ll take her,” the Commander stated; motioning toward Becky, and two more echelon members departed the chopper with a stretcher.

“I think it would be better if I drove.” Vernon’s anger was still there, waiting to boil over, and being in an enclosed space with Charlotte put everyone in danger; especially Becky. They were all tough, but living through a chopper plowing into the ground at over a hundred miles an hour, because two shifters were duking it out in the back, might be a little out of their paygrade.

“Suit yourself. We’re on channel two. We’ll . . .” the Commander cut off as Vernon wobbled where he stood.

It had nothing to do with Charlotte’s punch, and everything to do with the wave of magic that exploded nearby. Even from miles away, they could see the emerald flames rising into the night sky.

“At least we know where to look,” Vernon was racing for Becky’s jeep. It would need a good mechanic when this was over, but it drove just fine, and the keys were in the ignition.

He peeled off down the road that led to the interstate, and the still-burning flames, before Charlotte and the Commander even loaded back up in the chopper. A pair of headlights showed Connor was right behind him. If Vernon was outclassed by the dozen, powerful supernaturals in the modified Blackhawk, then Connor sure as shit was; but that wasn’t going to stop him from ripping off the head of whoever fucked up his sister.

“Maybe Connor is not so bad after all,” Vernon thought as he pressed the gas all the way to the floor and surged forward.

***

Aveena stepped and stumbled as she landed on uneven ground. She caught herself before she faceplanted into the forest green moss that coated her room, but wasn’t able to hide the flush of embarrassment. Her dress was in tatters and stained with blood. Her silver blood glittered in the room’s weak sunlight. It swirled across the snow-white fabric. In her own modest opinion, it improved the dress. The black sludge of the abomination was a different matter.

Like her dress, Aveena’s pale, creamy flesh was marred with pink scars that were already starting to fade. Some of the blood had made it into her sun-blonde hair, but her cold, silver eyes were harder than battleship armor. Those eyes scanned her surroundings like a predator searching for prey.

“My Lady,” a changeling saw her go down and rushed to her aid, which only fueled her anger.

She lashed out and backhanded the half-human woman halfway across the room. She hit with a loud crunch. The bond Aveena had with her vassal vibrated and communicated the weakling’s damage. It wasn’t fatal. She glared at the changeling’s twitching form. She wished it was.

“Weak, they’re all so weak!” she roared, and the very air in the room began to vibrate with her rage. “Why is everyone so fucking incompetent?” she seethed as she marched up the hill.

Her room, despite how it might look compared to others at St. Vincent’s, was no different in actuality. The moss-cover floor that squished pleasantly under her feet, the slight hill that contained bathing pools and areas for her minions to lounge, the stone plateau that served as the main gathering space where she slept, and the armory; all of it was glamour. It was an extension of her mind and power. The power of House Foxbelle. The power of the Lady of Winter that ran in her veins.

Those thoughts cooled her temper as she reached the plateau. She was Lady Aveena Foxbelle, heir to the Winter Throne, a future member of The Nine; the High Court of the Fae. She would not be brought low by some half-blood whore and her merry gang of fucktards. She stomped toward the stone alter at the center of her domain. Her mind churned as she figured out how to proceed.

Undoubtedly, her mother would have felt the loss of one of her knights. Aveena hoped Ser Frederick wouldn’t be missed at court until she was done with him. The troll was one of the most junior knights, hardly even worthy of her mother’s attention. He wasn’t particularly powerful. Even with only one lesser Fae bound to him, Aveena believed he was enough to end Cameron Dupree.

The rage that filled her at the thought of Cam’s face made the whole room shake. Cries of surprise and pain echoed through the glamoured space as more changelings went down, but she didn’t care. She was imagining all the terrible fates she could bring down on the