Otherworld Challenger. Jane Godman
Our chosen observer will have both the strength and skill to keep pace with you and to fight alongside you if necessary.”
A million dollars. He could put up with a wolf or an elf on his heels for that sort of cash, couldn’t he? Hell, he could probably even cope with a vampire. It would be an incentive to get the job done faster. “Okay, I’ll accept your condition.”
There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. Cal shuffled his papers, signaling the end of the meeting. “Very well. I will leave you to make the necessary arrangements with Princess Vashti.”
“Princess Vashti?” What did she have to do with any of this?
The sidhe ring of fire in Vashti’s eyes blazed bright, making the irises appear bluer and icier than ever. There was triumph in their depths; a fact that triggered an uneasy feeling deep in Jethro’s chest. It was his early warning system, a signal that something wasn’t right. His instincts were usually reliable and it seemed they hadn’t failed him on this occasion.
Vashti smiled sweetly. “I am the Council’s observer.”
“You could at least stop sulking long enough to pretend to be happy for your friend.” Vashti’s murmured words earned her a look of intense dislike from Jethro. She bit back a smile and turned to watch the ceremony.
Vashti still found it incredible that Tanzi—her sister had abandoned the title “princess”—was prepared to give up her royal lifestyle and live here on the remote Isle of Spae. She thought back to the days of Moncoya’s rule, prior to the battle that had sent him into hiding. It was hard to believe only months had passed.
Before their father’s exile, Vashti and Tanzi had lived a privileged lifestyle as befitted the daughters of the faerie king. Tanzi, in particular, had embraced her celebrity status. She had been Otherworld’s darling fashion icon, unable to step foot outside her door without being photographed from every angle. Not a day had gone by without some speculation about her clothing, hairstyle or potential marriage partner. Vashti had received similar treatment, although in her case, because she didn’t court attention, it had been to a lesser degree.
Of course, there had been another side to their lives. They were Moncoya’s daughters, Moncoya’s weapons. He had trained them to fight and trained them well. Enja, the mother they never knew—the mother Moncoya had murdered when she’d tried to leave him—had been a Valkyrie. Moncoya’s obsession with warrior women had led him to have his daughters trained by Valkyrie fighters. Vashti and Tanzi were deadly killing machines and Moncoya had used them to intimidate his enemies. We knew no better. Then.
Even though they were twins, they had not been close as they grew up. Looking back, Vashti believed now that Moncoya had deliberately discouraged them from caring too deeply for each other. Divide and rule. That had been his policy toward his daughters as well as his enemies. He had instilled in them a belief that they were above mortal emotion. It was only when he had recently tried to force Tanzi into marriage with the devil that she began to question her own ability to feel. Lorcan Malone, the man she had run to, to escape her father’s plans, had taught her how to love.
“If I can do it, so can you,” Tanzi reasoned.
Vashti remained unconvinced. But one good thing had come out of that whole escapade. They had finally discovered the closeness other siblings shared. Even more than that. They had found they were able to communicate telepathically in the way that was unique to faerie twins.
Vashti was struggling to reconcile this Tanzi with the one she had grown up with. Her sister stood at the water’s edge, her hand clasped in Lorcan’s, while Ailie, the island elder, spoke the words of the simple ceremony. Tanzi’s feet were bare and she wore a plain, white shift dress. Fresh flowers had been woven into the bright gold curls of her hair. Lorcan wore rolled-up jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, and his feet were also bare. The waves lapped at their toes as they spoke their vows. Even Vashti, who found the emotions of others so difficult to read, could sense their love for each other. Next to Vashti, Stella, Cal’s wife, sobbed constantly into her handkerchief, much to the amusement of her husband, who cradled her head against his chest.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stella said when the ceremony ended.
“But it made you cry.” Confused, Vashti fell into step beside her.
The villagers hoisted Tanzi and Lorcan onto their shoulders and carried them in a parade along the path back to the town square where a celebration feast was to be held. The guests followed the laughing, chattering group at a more sedate pace.
Stella caught hold of Vashti’s hand. “These are happy tears. Do you remember when we first met?”
“Yes. I wanted to kill you.”
Stella laughed. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest. We’ve come a long way.” Stella nodded to where Lorcan and Tanzi reached across from their respective perches on the villagers’ shoulders and, laughing, managed to grasp each other’s hand. “I want what Tanzi has for you, Vashti. I want you to feel it all, too. One day, I want to cry at your wedding.”
Vashti felt a frown furrow her brow. “You have some strange ambitions, Stella.”
Stella patted the slight swell of her stomach. “It must be the pregnancy hormones. Will you promise me something?”
“If I can.” Vashti was wary of promises. They usually imposed restraints she inevitably ended up breaking.
Stella glanced at the commanding rear view of Jethro, and Vashti followed her gaze. He walked alone, slightly to one side of the crowd. It seemed to be a metaphor for his life. He was known throughout Otherworld as a loner. The mysterious human necromancer whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.
Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, set in a rigid line, then dipped lower to his trim waist. Something about the way those faded jeans clung to his shapely buttocks as he walked made Vashti’s mouth go dry. It was a new sensation and one that brought a rush of blood to her face. She hoped Stella hadn’t noticed it.
Jethro de Loix probably took it for granted that every woman was watching him. It wasn’t just the perfect body that drew her eye. His face was too handsome for his own good. Luckily, he didn’t have the sort of looks Vashti admired. He was way too overtly rugged and sure of his own masculinity. Vashti preferred a bit of finesse. I mean, seriously, when was the last time he used a razor? Not for a few days, judging by all that designer stubble. Nevertheless, up close, it was hard to stop watching him. He was like a work of art. As if a masterful hand had decided to create a perfect image of manliness and, once finished, had stepped back as if to say, “Soak it up, guys. This can’t be beaten.”
“Be careful on this mission. Jethro won’t back down from a challenge.”
The smile that touched Vashti’s lips was grim. “Good, because nor will I.”
* * *
The Spae knew how to celebrate. There was delicious food, home-brewed beer, singing and dancing, with the wedding festivities continuing long into the night. Vashti’s initial attempts to avoid being flung wildly around in intricate whirling dances she didn’t understand had proved futile and her hand was claimed repeatedly by the younger men of the village. After her annoyance gave way to resignation, she started to find the experience quite exhilarating. But that might have something to do with the effects of the beer.
“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Lorcan, intervening before she could be thrown from one partner to another—the prevailing etiquette on the village green that served as a dance floor—caught hold of her hands. “I thought it was time we danced together. After all, we’re family now.”
The words jolted Vashti. For a long time her family had consisted of Tanzi and Moncoya. Recently her feelings toward both had undergone a dramatic change. Now she had a brother-in-law and Tanzi