Goddamn it. Fury roared from his mouth, making no sound.
An edge cut into his throat. His knees weakened. Blocks of nothing kept him standing upright.
A healing balm cascaded up his arm—from Moira’s hand holding his. Like silk, the sensation traveled over him, surrounding him. He took a deep breath. The air lightened.
With a rush of energy, he stepped forward.
Into cool silence.
Without taking a breath, he pivoted and reached for her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, gulping in air. Curls sprung from her head in wild disarray. Rips ruined her shirt and skirt while small cuts bled from exposed skin. “You look like someone put you through a cheese shredder.”
He glanced down. His clothes were shredded. Blood trickled from small cuts on his arms. His face ached. “Well. That was fun.”
A solid stone wall faced him. Moira pressed her palm and forehead against it, whispering a small chant. The rock slid apart to reveal a massive chamber.
The headquarters of the Council of the Coven Nine.
The focus of the massive room was a raised rock dais complete with table and nine chairs. Tables were set forth before it and two rows of carved seats perched to the left, much like a modern courtroom. Well, except for the raw stone and breath of magic whispering about.
Moira stepped inside and took her place next to Kell behind one table, facing the four present members of the Nine. Conn released her hand to flank her other side.
Vivienne Northwood presided in the center, with Moira’s mother to her left, and Grace Sadler, to her right. Moira’s mother and Grace had been council members almost as long as Vivienne, for about a thousand years. A man Conn didn’t recognize sat next to Grace.
Moira’s mother put hand to her mouth. “Moira. What did you do?”
Conn frowned. They knew he was coming.
“What I needed to do.” Moira’s voice rang out strong and assured in the chamber.
What the hell did that mean? Conn took a better look at Kell. His clothes appeared just fine and not even a paper cut marred his skin. Surprise had Conn stilling. A rush of anger had his lungs heating. “Don’t tell me. You don’t walk together through the veil.”
“I told you to go alone,” Kell muttered. “Not in a millennia would I expect Moira to have just so foolishly endangered her life.”
“Shut up, Kell,” Moira said.
Conn eyed Vivienne Northcutt. She eyed him back. He cleared his throat. “Councilwoman Northcutt, good to see you.”
“And you, Prince. It’s a very pleasant surprise that you survived the veil.” Her eyes narrowed in calculation.
“Is it?” He’d already considered the ramifications of the Nine knowing he could use magic. If they became enemies, they’d gun for him first. He knew too much about how they worked, how they fought, and now how they shielded themselves. They’d be stupid not to take him out.
“Of course. The king was correct in not doubting your abilities.” Menace tinged her smile.
Her politeness shit really annoyed him. He forced a pleasant smile. “Just out of curiosity, what would’ve happened to my mate had the veil ripped my head off?” His words declared his claim as solidly as if he’d sent a proclamation. Moira was his. Not theirs.
Vivienne folded her hands on the table. “Death has its own energy, Prince Kayrs. If it had claimed you, Moira would’ve died as well.”
Nothing in the world could’ve prevented the low, rolling growl that rumbled from his chest.
Chapter 6
Moira ignored the concern in her mother’s eyes as well as the condemnation in Viv’s. What she couldn’t ignore was the warning sound coming from Conn. Her body reacted by flooding with adrenaline. Fight or flight. Unfortunately, at that moment she couldn’t do either. “Maybe we should get down to business.”
Vivienne cleared her throat. “Very well, though the council would like to speak to you later about your actions, Moira.” Said as a polite invitation wrapped in hard spikes.
Moira nodded, then tilted her head in surprise at the fourth person seated behind the large stone desk. Peter Gallagher sat to Grace’s side, his light brown eyes sparkling in his handsome face. A new member? She smiled in question at her old friend, wearing quite the wardrobe. She’d never seen the neurologist in a three-piece suit. In the charcoal-gray Armani, he exuded confidence and safety.
“We’re trying to remote access Simone and Trevan.” Viv tilted her head to where Grace perched over a keyboard, typing furiously. “Simone is in New York and Trevan in Greece, monitoring the demon forces there. For now, Peter Gallagher was sworn in as a member yesterday, filling an unexpected vacancy.” Tension wound through the room as if half of the available oxygen disappeared. Unexpected vacancies meant someone had died. Killing a witch ... well now, not so easy to do.
“Congratulations,” Moira murmured, forcing a smile that made her jaw ache. She and Peter had been friends for nearly a century and both taught at the university. Her father, the most renowned doctor for her people, had taught him. He’d make a fine council member. Too bad the circumstances sucked.
A bell pealed and everyone glanced toward the side wall. With a nod from Viv, a massive screen took shape, forming a picture of a remote chamber similar but much smaller than the main headquarters—located across town. Moira squinted until the screen cleared.
Two soldiers dragged in a struggling man, the top of his feet catching on the tumbled stones as he tried to jerk away. His bald head sported a slight sunburn that swam down his neck to be seen on his large, hairy hands. His pants were torn and blood spray arced across his chest. From the look of his swollen nose, he’d taken a punch. One soldier kicked the man in the back of the leg, and he went down to his knees in the center of the other chamber, facing the camera.
Conn stiffened next to Moira. This wasn’t going to be good.
She grabbed his arm. “I think we should wait in the vestibule.”
“I don’t think so.” Low, rough, his voice caught her in the gut and held. “The man is human.”
The man threw elbows, attempting to rise. A soldier pressed down on his shoulder, keeping him down.
The prisoner bellowed. “You can’t do this. I don’t know who the hell you people are—”
“Silence!” Vivienne stood. Fury spun red beneath her angled cheekbones. She glanced at Moira and then Conn, clearing her throat and visibly calming. “Miss Dunne, would you please escort Prince Kayrs to the side chamber? We have some unexpected business to conduct.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Moira nodded, dread filling her stomach as Conn’s shoulders straightened just enough to move the air around them. Her hold tightened on his arm.
He smiled. Then he patted her hand with his large palm. “With all due respect, Councilwoman, I’d rather remain here.”
Moira’s mother bit back a smile, concentrating on the screen. Viv zeroed in on him like a scavenger spotting a carcass. Her smile rivaled his in terrifying. “I appreciate your curiosity, Prince. But this is an internal coven matter, and we require privacy. Please remove yourself.”
The guy on the floor in the other chamber threw out his arms. “I’ll remove myself.” His voice came through the microphone tinny and high. The soldier clocked him in the back of the head when he struggled to rise again. His palms slapped against the floor as he fell onto his knees again.
Conn kept his gaze on Viv. Regret tipped his lips, while pure intelligence shone from his eyes. “The man is human.”
Nothing else needed to be said.
Moira dropped her hand to her side, focusing on the leaders.