Page 9 of Queen of Ashes and Scars
Keenan plops a pair of headphones over his ears and opens the back hangar door with the press of a button. “There are hundreds of them, Beaumont. You just have to know where to look.”
“Covens are too dangerous—”
Keenan interrupts him. “No coven, just her. I promise. One witch. She owes me a favor.”
“And where is this witch of yours?” Alec asks, suspicion thick in his voice.
The plane slowly wobbles out onto the runway as Kennan maneuvers the controls with the ease of someone who’s flown a hundred flights. “Virginia.”
* * *
The hours trickledown slowly until I pass out from exhaustion. The necklace cools down over the span of the trip, but my healing powers struggle to repair the damage already done. The sum of it leaves me in tatters, my muscles aching all over.
Keenan nudges me awake before we descend, and I smooth down my hair, trying hard to ignore the red blisters on my neck. Alec sulks in the corner, his face angled to the side like he can’t bear to look at me, and Leo’s still out cold.
The landing goes by without a hitch, and before I can totally chase off the haze of sleep, Keenan opens the door to greet his witch friend, a slender woman with a mane of loose, strawberry blonde curls.
“Hey, beautiful girl.” Keenan’s eyes soften as he makes way for her. “Glad you could make it.” The angel is an outrageous flirt, but I get the impression that this woman is significant to him.
She grins in response and strolls past the angel and into the small airplane. A tall, delicious-looking blond human wearing jeans and a navy blue t-shirt trails behind her, a black satchel hanging from his grasp.
The witch checks her watch. “How long do we have before they find us?”
Keenan’s lips curl down. “No more than twenty minutes.”
The woman’s blonde companion inspects the hangar. “And what kind of company are we expecting?”
Alec clears his throat, his arms braced over his chest. “I’d say twenty. Half of them green, and maybe a handful of elite soldiers,” he says in his matter-of-fact, professional drawl.
A tired smile tugs at one corner of the witch’s mouth. “Just twenty, eh?”
Keenan closes the door behind them. “Hey, I didn’t say it’d be an easy favor. Where’s Grumpy?”
“Out of town, but we can manage,” the human answers with a pout.
Keenan chuckles under his breath, his blues eyes dancing at some inside joke between them. “I’m sure you can, Thomas.”
“This is Arielle Delacroix, heir to the throne,” Alec announces ceremoniously, skipping all pleasantries.
I stand up straight, but the witch is taller than me by a few inches.
She tilts her head to the side and holds out her hand in greeting. Discreet tattoos mark her as possessed by a demon-—one snakes around her finger while another dips between the swell of her breasts. “I’m Alana, and this is Thom. I want to help, but I also haven’t heard good things about your family.”
“What’s your price, then?”Alec asks carefully, his measured tone cracking at the end.
The witch doesn’t turn to him, her intent gaze set on me. “You will answer my questions honestly about your court’s witches and warlocks, and on top of that, you will owe me a favor.”
The bright aura around her shines with power, the scent of her vanilla and strawberries blood so potent that my mouth fills with saliva as I shake her outstretched hand.
Witch’s blood is the ultimate delicacy for demons, the strength and stamina brought on by a few drops making an encounter like this incredibly rare. Only the reigning monarch is allowed to taste the blood of the few warlocks and witches owned by our family, the use of black-market blood strictly outlawed by my kin, as withdrawal can send even the best of us into a killing frenzy.
A demon-witch alliance is almost unheard of, their covens bent on killing as many demons as they possibly can, but if this one is owned by one of us…
Alec seems to be following the same train of thought. “Shouldn’t we discuss this with your demon?”
Alana’s mouth opens on a sarcastic smile, her jaw slightly askew. “Mydemon doesn’t own me. These”—she holds her hand over the snake tattoo on her chest— “are not what they seem. Can I come closer?”
“Are you sure about this, Lana?” her companion asks.
