“Can’t sleep.” Brenna tugged her hair free. “My throat hurts. I feel weak.” She clasped her hands on her stomach, extending her legs with a sigh. “I think ... well, I don’t know ...”
“Think what?”
“Trevan forced something down my throat—a liquid. I think maybe ...”
Dread slammed hard into Moira’s gut. “Liquid phanakite?”
“I don’t know.” Brenna sighed. “Was probably just a tranquilizer. We’ll worry about that later. Right now, something more timely is bothering me.”
“What might that be?” Moira had her own suspicions, but Brenna could solve a puzzle faster than anyone she’d ever met.
“A couple things. First, well, the king isn’t stupid.”
“I know.” Moira turned on her side toward Brenna. She reached out, winding her fingers through her sister’s, reassuring them both. “We can’t do anything about his knowledge.”
“He’ll discover what phanakite does. The secret is out.” Brenna cuddled closer.
“Yes. But Dage won’t hurt our people.” Probably.
Brenna tightened her hold. “I have two labs working on a countermeasure to the mineral.”
Moira started. “You do?”
“Of course. Secrets may last a long time, but never forever. We’ve been arrogant to think so.”
Pride filled Moira. “You’re a smart woman, Bren. Any luck?”
“Nope. So far, nothing. But I will find a defense against that crap.” Brenna’s voice crackled, her throat probably as sore as Moira’s. “I have another concern.”
“Grace.” Moira tried to swallow and ease some of the pain.
“Yes. She’s dressed in a gorgeous designer skirt and top. Not exactly prisoner garb.”
“True.” Moira catalogued her last image of the councilwoman. “Trevan was a freak. He may have dressed her like that on purpose the last few days.”
“I know.” Brenna sighed. “And her face is seriously bruised.”
“New bruises.” Moira tucked her hand under her cheek. “Very fresh. Almost like she received them the last hour. When the vampires attacked.”
“She could’ve smashed her face into a wall a few times before putting the collar on her own neck.” Brenna’s voice turned thoughtful. “But I can’t imagine forcing that mineral on your own skin. No way.”
“I heard a woman’s voice when I first arrived.” Accusing a member of the Coven Nine of betraying them held certain threat. “My guess is Grace was working with Trevan.” How had she missed this?
“We have no proof.” Brenna sighed. “None at all.”
“I know.” That left Moira with only one option. “I’ll take care of it.”
Seconds ticked by. Brenna stiffened next to her. “You can’t. Even normally I’d talk you out of it. But now, feeling so weak. You don’t have the strength.”
Moira shrugged. “Sometimes fate doesn’t give us a choice, Bren.” It appeared she was about to meet hers. Or lose herself trying.
Chapter 32
Rather than the mystical mist of the Coven Nine’s underground headquarters intriguing him, this time the damn place just pissed him off. Conn fought to control his scowl, standing before the remaining members of the Nine. His mate stood next to him and only Kell’s presence on her other side kept him from positioning her behind him. Brenna stood next to Kell.
The veil had been easier to cross. Conn had gone through it alone, and he’d kept his weapons this time.
Moira, Brenna, and Conn stood before the Nine somewhat presentable, having stopped at the penthouses for showers and clean clothing before arriving at headquarters and crossing the veil.
The Coven leaders sat in their places behind the massive stone platform in various displays of disarray. Purpling bruises marred Grace and Simone’s faces. Dark circles cut into the cheeks of Moira’s mother, and her aunt didn’t look much better. Even the newest member, Gallagher, frowned so hard his head had to hurt. The empty four seats along the side screamed trouble and war.
No way was Conn leaving Moira there ... where they couldn’t protect their own.
A screen lit the far wall and Dage took shape.
Vivienne’s eyes flashed a scarlet hue. “Trevan is dead?” Her hand swept the desk, nearly dislodging a Starbucks cup. The incongruity between the modern coffee and the ancient tomb failed to lighten Conn’s mood.
Dage cleared his throat. “By my orders, your councilman is dead.”
“I killed him.” Conn remained in place. The king was not taking the fall. “I ripped his head off his body with my hands. After he took my mate.”
Dage stiffened.
Too bad. If the Nine wanted to take someone down, it’d be Conn. Not that he’d go down easy. And he had a sneaky suspicion his too-quiet mate would jump in and fight on his behalf. Warmth filtered through him ... though his kidneys still ached.
“Yes, well.” Vivienne cleared her throat. “While I appreciate the need to protect a mate, the Nine has a right to deal with our own members. Much as you hold the power to rule your people, King.”
Dage nodded. “Yes. If there had been time, and if we weren’t in battle, we would’ve turned Demidov over to you.” He rubbed his chin. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t time.”
Vivienne nodded. “I understand.” She glanced at the other members of the Nine. “If the vampires would excuse us, I believe we have some issues to discuss.”
“Like the phanakite?” Dage asked very softly.
Gasps filled the chamber. Vivienne sat up straighter, her dark hair swishing forward over her Chanel suit. “How long have you known?”
“Three hours. Since my lab called with results on one of the collars.” The king cut his gaze to Moira’s neck and then back to the raised dais. “Your secret, of course, is safe with us.” Diplomatic words, yet they sealed the treaty between vampires and witches for all time. The witches couldn’t afford to withdraw from the Realm, now that Dage held such a weapon.
“That’s kind of you, King.” Vivienne’s jaw tightened so hard her teeth must’ve ached. “Good thing we’re allies, now, isn’t it?”
“The Realm will always consider the Coven Nine and its followers our friends, Councilwoman Northcutt.”
Conn shuffled his feet. Dage spun the bullshit with the best of them.
The relief flowing from his mate eased Conn’s shoulders. Moira’s sister peered around Kell’s broad chest, her gaze sending some kind of message. What the hell was going on?
Moira stiffened up, as if gathering courage. Before she could speak, Vivienne narrowed in on her. “So. We have four vacancies on the Nine, Moira.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Moira took a step forward.
Conn growled low, pleased when she stilled. She’d stay right by his side, damn it.
Her head lifted even higher. “On that note, I’d like to challenge Grace Sadler to her seat on the Nine.”
Viv half rose. Moira’s mother leaned forward, her hand going to her throat. Simone smiled, slow and somehow nearly sweet. Peter frowned.
Grace paled, her eyes flashing almost black. “What is the meaning of this? We have four vacant seats. You don’t need mine.” Fury washed red across her battered face, quickly disappearing as the witch struggled for control. The bruises failed to mask the blonde’s stunning beauty.
“Yet I want yours.” Moira allowed her voice to lower in the way Conn’s always did when he issued a threat. Quite effective, that.
Pride filled him. The woman learned fast and well. His heart thrummed as she widened her stance in the dark jeans, her combat boots finding purchase.
He cocked his head to the side. “Moira.” His voice stayed low. Only the twitch of her hair indicated she heard him. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”