He was damn proud of her. She’d come back to Grochaire, a place she’d never wanted to return, for reasons she had yet to tell him. He approved of her sacrifice, and her willingness to share her power to get them all safely to his stronghold in the Mountains of Ashur.
The last time he’d stayed at his heavily fortified dwelling had been three months ago.
Tonight and through the following daylight hours, he’d bed down with Batya, recoup his strength. His stomach had started cramping and he would need to feed. He wasn’t surprised. He’d been using up a phenomenal amount of energy during this flight.
Grochaire was one of the larger realms, five hundred miles across the middle. The flight would take some time.
An hour came and went, then another.
Finally, the Ashur Mountains appeared in the distance and he rose higher and higher into the air, which in turn grew frigid. Lorelei began to shake.
“Can’t be helped but we’ll be there in just a few minutes. Hang on.” Fortunately, Batya had passed out.
Three minutes later, he flew over a thick fir forest and saw the rooftops of the town of Ashland that bore at least a thousand realm families. His stronghold was only ten miles away.
He often brought his doneuses in from Ashland, though he hoped that tonight Batya would be willing to service him. His body heated up at the thought of taking from her neck. He drew in a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. “Not long now.”
Lorelei’s teeth chattered.
He pathed to his brigade leader, Henry. Incoming, you old goat.
Quinlan, you f**k of all f**ks. You back? Where have you been? Rafe has been out of his mind because he couldn’t contact you. Rafe was his second-in-command, in charge of his Grochaire brigade made up of vampire Guardsmen.
I’ll contact him soon enough, but we’ve got a situation and we’ll probably see some action in the next twenty-four hours, so put your Guard on alert. He gave a brief explanation of events in Lebanon without going into issues that related to either Lorelei or Batya, only that the ancient fae had attacked the gallery and that she’d slaughtered the Guardsmen at the access point.
Shit.
You said it. Now get the front gates open. I’m in flight with two powerful women. Have the housekeeper light up her enthrallment shield.
On the double.
Henry signed off and had no doubt already begun issuing a string of orders.
The next moment, the stronghold came into view, a massive timber and iron structure set against the mountain on a wide jut of land that dropped off steeply to a forest below. A narrow road allowed vehicles to drive to his gates, but he rarely had visitors. His stronghold served as an emergency refuge and a private retreat. He had two other homes in Grochaire that he used on a regular basis, one in the largest city of his realm, Chape Fawn Hills and the other at Bright Sea, on the western side of Grochaire.
The heavy, massive doors to his stronghold started to open as Quinlan made his descent. The thick, black wood, reinforced with iron, pushed piled-up snow out of the way.
He slowed down and entered the outer enclosed courtyard of his building. When he cleared the opening, he levitated above the stone pavers, pausing midair to turn and watch the gates close behind him. He knew he hadn’t been followed, but it never hurt to catch a visual. If he needed to escape, he wanted to be in motion.
But they were alone, no one had followed them.
He adjusted his vampire vision as he dropped to the stone pavers of the courtyard.
At the same time that he touched down, the space began to fill with his highly trained and experienced troll brigade, who’d fought the Invictus wraith-pairs for decades now, making use of long spears in addition to battle frequency streams. They wore the typical Guardsmen uniform of long, leather sleeveless coats, leather pants and boots, and woven shirts. A thick belt angled over the chest ended in something new, sheaths for daggers.
As the entire brigade assembled, Henry flew in to stand in front of Quinlan.
Lorelei stepped away from him and stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders. Batya was still unconscious, so he held her against him.
Henry frowned, however, his gaze moving from one woman to the next. He was as handsome as Davido was ugly. All realm-folk ranged on the full spectrum of beauty and Henry was known to bed a lot of women with very little effort. He also had a heavy dose of charisma, like Davido, a specialty among the more powerful trolls.
Slowly, Quinlan pulled out of Batya’s battle frequency, but immediately his own energy faded and he had to work to keep from dropping her.
Henry, understanding the dilemma, grabbed Batya. But the moment he made contact, something came over Quinlan, a fierce protective compulsion so that his voice filled the courtyard. “Release her or die!”
Sweet Goddess! Had he just yelled at his brigade commander?
Henry let go of her, the three ridges of his forehead raised in tight, surprised folds.
“Leave her to me,” he said quietly.
“Understood.” But Henry’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Batya. Finally, he said, “Your Guard is present mastyr, for your inspection.”
He glanced around at the highly trained brigade, one hundred strong. He nodded his approval. Henry had one of the most disciplined brigades in the Nine Realms. “I want an around-the-clock watch set up for all areas of the stronghold and Guards posted outside the ladies’ doors. Is that clear?”
“Yes, mastyr.” Henry nodded to his unit leader, a tall troll, at nearly five-seven, by the name of Vincent.
A strong shout hit the air as Vincent ordered the brigade to fall out. Four Guardsmen remained in the courtyard, one to take up a post on a short flight of stairs to the left of the gates. He opened a viewing window and peered outside. The other three took up opposing positions. Each Guardsman stood with feet far apart, spears with points up, and one hand behind his back.
The remainder of the brigade filed out and despite the distance, Quinlan heard the echoing shouts as various squads broke away to guard the more vulnerable points of the stronghold, any place with a window and any of the inner doorways.
The only simple way into the stronghold was by the front gates.
He nodded to his housekeeper who stood by the doorway, a formidable elven woman who wore her long dark brown hair in four braids that hung down her back. She stood taller than Batya. “Anthea, we have guests.”
“Of course, Mastyr.” She bowed slightly. Some of the older realm-folk held to ancient traditions. Anthea was very old.
She cast her gaze first over Batya then Lorelei. Her eyes flared at the latter. “And you’re very powerful.”