Dancer knew I was torn between him and Ryodan, what they brought out in me, and I pretty much loved him for that, seeing me so clearly. That’s something when your friends know who exactly you are, good, bad, right, wrong, and just keep caring about you.

I stared back at the screen, wishing I had a problem with what I’d seen.

When pretty much the only thing I was thinking was: So, Ryodan’s immortal, pens a wicked daily, has super senses, and can shape-shift. Fucker.

What else could he do?

Years ago, when I’d told him I wanted to be like him, he told me to ask him when I was older.

I was older now.

MAC

When Barrons texted me to tell me he’d taken care of my problem with Lor, I was pacing the bookstore so briskly I was practically burning up the carpet, dissatisfied with the way I’d handled things.

I’d gone to Barrons for help. He’d taken care of it. It bothered me. I didn’t want to live that way, always taking cover behind my man from other men.

I’d battled my way through assault after trauma after indignity and survived them all. I was the queen of the Fae. But even if I weren’t, I was a woman that needed to know she could stand on her own two feet, toe her line, and demand it be obeyed. Once I transferred the True Magic to Cruce, what would I become—weak again?

Never. I liked who I’d become. I wanted to grow and evolve not backslide.

If the Nine knew I needed Barrons to protect me, they would never respect me. And I planned to be hanging around them for a long time. I didn’t want to be the woman with a strong man. I wanted to be the strong woman.

When I called, Barrons answered on the first ring.

“How did you take care of it?” I demanded without preamble.

“I got rid of the remains. I was in the vicinity of the cemetery and knew I could beat him there.”

“You got rid of them?” I said, dismayed on two counts: One, it only postponed the inevitable. I wasn’t going to hide this truth from Lor forever. And two, I had a very human reaction to wanting remains where they belonged—in a grave. I was still disturbed by the vision of my sister’s empty casket. How odd was that—worrying about where the bones of our loved ones were? But I did.

“I merely moved them elsewhere. You can rebury them at some point,” he growled. “Although I fail to comprehend the desire to make pretty little plots of community and togetherness for decomposing flesh.”

“I have to talk to him,” I said flatly.

“I forbid it.”

Every cell in my being bristled. I practically shouted, “You what?”

“For. Bid. It.”

“You did not just say that to me.”

“Mac, I know what he’s capable of. I know—”

“So do I. He told me.”

“Not the same thing,” he said coolly. “Seeing is believing. It took half a bloody century to calm that fuck down. You will not go anywhere near him. I said I’d take care of it and I did. I will continue to do so. Leave it.”

I said nothing.

“Mac, don’t you fucking hang up on me,” he said staccato fast and heated.

“I didn’t and wouldn’t,” I growled. “Well,” I amended, “at least, I’d say goodbye first.” Probably very quickly and nearly inaudible, but hey. “Hang on a sec.” I sank inward, accessing my files, looking for something similar to the protective barrier Cruce had used the night we sealed away the first Sinsar Dubh. I snorted as my mental tabs surfaced. There were several thousand handy little tabs, all names I’d never seen before, hoo-fucking-rah. I sighed. I’d find what I was looking for eventually. At least there weren’t nine million. I returned my attention to Barrons. “I’ll use a spell to encase myself in a barrier like Cruce did. You couldn’t penetrate it that night in the cavern beneath the abbey. He won’t be able to touch me and he’ll have to hear me out.”

Silence stretched and when he finally spoke I knew how disturbed I was making him because his words came out thick and slightly mispronounced. I knew what that meant; his fangs were out. “You’re assuming he’s capable of reason. If he’s the Bonecrusher, he’s not.”

“I have to try.”

“I don’t like this.”

“And I don’t like needing you to take care of me. I’m not being rash. I’m just being who I need to be. I made this mess. I’ll fix it. I’m not sorry I texted you, and I appreciate you buying me time. But I want to be the one to tell him before he finds out himself.” That was what I should have done anyway, but Lor was intimidating when his eyes did that Bonecrusher thing.

“Your bloody force field won’t work.”

“Cruce’s did.”

“Cruce had the Sinsar Dubh by then. Double the power.”

“It’ll work. I’ll layer them or something. And don’t you dare show up as backup. I’ll be fine.”

“You fucking better be.” Barrons hung up.

It took me nearly an hour to sort through files and find a protective barrier that met my criteria of full body and possible to sift while wearing it. Many of the files were nothing more than legends of Fae battles in which such barriers had been employed. I wasn’t surprised to discover wars broke out among the Seelie pretty much constantly, but as the queen alone had held the spear and sword for most of their existence, they’d raged only until someone drank from the cauldron then sputtered out. Until the next one began.

But finally I’d found suitable armor, donned it, held a mental image of Lor in my mind and sifted to him. The queen possessed a far more finely tuned GPS than Christian. I went straight to him. God, this was handy! I wondered if there was a way to transfer the True Magic to Cruce while keeping certain powers for myself.

I appeared in the graveyard behind the abbey. The night was velvet-black with a three-quarter, crimson-rimmed moon casting a bloody pall over the cemetery.

A study in crimson and shadows, Lor was sitting on Jo’s grave, long legs outstretched, leaning back against the headstone, powerful arms bunching, folded behind his head, staring up at the sky, eyes unfocused, as if he’d not even registered my appearance.

I knew he had. The fine muscles in his face had tightened minutely.

I said nothing. The many things I’d rehearsed in the bookstore abruptly vacated my head.