“Make it a fast miracle,” Tia called back, marching up the steps, preparing to head into battle. “The clock’s ticking.”
* * * *
Wynn slowly regained consciousness, her body aching from the violent whiplash of being jerked through a fissure. It was her first time being caught in the powerful snare and she had to admit she wasn’t a fan.
Her bones and muscles ached, as if she’d been stretched too far and snapped rudely back into place. Like being sucked through a black hole.
Slowly opening her eyes, Wynn wasn’t surprised to find that she was trapped in a dank dungeon with empty cells along one wall and the old-fashioned implements of torture piled on the other side. Just as she wasn’t surprised to feel the manacles that were locked around her wrists and wedged into a stone wall behind her.
The only good news was that she suspected that she was still in England. It wasn’t the familiar scent of the air or the magic that hummed beneath her feet that gave her hope. It was the boring construction of the dungeon. She’d spent more than a few nights in dank cells being tortured with hot pokers.
They all looked tediously similar.
Tossing back her hair that had unraveled from the braid during her violent trip through the fissure, Wynn took an inventory of her surroundings. There were a couple of torches burning in the corners, but they didn’t offer more than a splotch of glowing light, leaving the majority of the room in shadows. Without the ability to see in the dark, she couldn’t locate anyone in the dungeon with her, but she could sense them.
“I know you’re watching me, you sleazebag,” she called out. It probably wasn’t super smart to challenge a demon who was powerful enough to create a rip in space, especially when she was chained to the wall, but she wasn’t in the mood to play nice. She was in the mood to kick someone in the nuts. “Come out and face me like a man.”
There was a soft, musical laugh before a slender fey male stepped into the glow of torchlight. He was taller than most fairies, withdeep red hair that was cut short and carefully mussed to give him a sleepy, sexy vibe. His eyes were green with flecks of gold and his features were finely chiseled. He would have been beautiful if it wasn’t for the arrogant sneer that was perpetually attached to his lips.
Sir Pheral Gardner.
A member of the fey aristocracy who routinely dabbled in the black market, smuggled illegal goods, and treated his servants like slaves.
She’d had dealings with him off and on over the past century, but while she’d cheated him a few times and he’d cheated her even more times, they’d never been enemies. So why had he gone to the considerable effort to design a fissure to capture her?
“Ah, Wynn,” he drawled. “It’s good to know that time hasn’t dulled your sharp edges. The same obnoxious bitch I remember.”
“Pheral.” She flicked a dismissive glance over his expensive cashmere sweater and black slacks. He looked like he was headed out to dinner at The Ritz, not about to torture his latest captive.
“Miss me?”
“Like the plague.”
Pheral clicked his tongue, strolling closer. As he neared, his impressive emerald aura spilled across the flagstone floor.
“I thought we had something special.”
Wynn rolled her eyes. “The only thing special about you is your remarkable lack of anything resembling morals.”
He pressed a slender hand over his heart. “You wound me, love.”
Wynn snorted. “Just the opposite. I haven’t done anything to you, which is why I don’t understand why you kidnapped me.”
“It is a shame.” He halted a few inches from her, trailing a finger down the line of her jaw. “I always liked you, Wynn. Remember when we borrowed the queen’s carriage to escape from the horde of goblins chasing us?”
She didn’t have any trouble digging up the memory. It’d been a state banquet at Buckingham Palace with Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales. The sort of swanky party that Wynn adored. Plus, a perfect opportunity to make a tidy fortune.
“They were chasing you, not me,” she reminded him in cold tones. “I was at the palace as a guest.”
He tapped the tip of her nose. “Liar. You were there to steal the opal pendant being worn by the mystic who was entertaining the guests.”
Wynn shrugged. No use pretending she hadn’t been there in a professional capacity. “Madame Swan claimed it allowed her to speak to the dead.”
“You didn’t believe that nonsense.”
“No, but my client did. And she was willing to pay whatever I asked to get her hands on it.” Wynn narrowed her eyes. “Then you ruined the detailed plot I’d spent weeks creating when you insulted Ambassador Bauer’s wife.”
“It’s not my fault she resembled the stuffed boar head mounted above the fireplace,” Pheral protested.
