“I did want you,” Mellan said to Eliza, as though his anger had never happened. “Were I to marry Mab’s granddaughter, I’d have a stronger claim to take over the throne.”

Adam did not believe it for one second. “And the Horn an Bás?”

Mellan’s expression turned peevish. “A myth I used to distract Mab.”

“As I thought,” Adam lied. Oh, he had thought that before, but now he knew better. At Adam’s side, Eliza stood, warm and trusting. He wanted nothing more than to draw her nearer and hold her tight. God keep her, make her strong when he couldn’t hold her.

Mellan watched them with a hawkish fervor, his gaze darting between them. “It appears that Mab’s curse upon you has ended as well, Aodh.”

Adam found he hated that name; it felt as though it belonged to the fae, to that time when he’d been young and foolish. “I am Adam, King of the GIM,” he said. “And yes, I have my power. Pray, do not test me, Mellan.” Test, me, he thought. Challenge me, you wily bastard.

“I would not dream of it,” Mellan drawled, yet there was satisfaction in his eyes.

“Then I’ll have your word that you’ll leave Eliza alone from now on.”

Eliza tensed, and Mellan froze. It seemed the fae would snarl and lash out, but he held still. Adam did as well, ready to fight this man with the one thing he had left: his life. For Eliza.

Mellan broke the tense silence. “Mab is out of my way. Thus I no longer need you, Eliza.” Mellan looked her over, his gaze roving. “Though I am not averse to keeping you as my concubine.”

Eliza’s face twisted in disgust. “You do realize how very disturbed that is. You are my granduncle.”

Mellan gave a negligent shrug. “My sister birthed some brat decades ago, and you are the final result. What does it matter to me? I am not human, nor bound to their customs. In truth, were I to get you with child, our combined blood would only serve to strengthen the child.”

Fucking bloody fucking bastard. Adam’s only wish was to see the fae king die. But understanding lit through him; while Adam was trying to bait Mellan into a fight, Mellan was trying to bait Eliza.

Eliza’s expression iced over as she spoke to Mellan. “Let me say that, at this moment, I’m not averse to gelding you.”

Adam could not help it, he laughed, glancing down at his beloved. That mouth of hers, always quick to say the most cutting thing, and he loved it. He loved her, Eliza May of the tart tongue and sweet lips. He almost said it there and then. Except he heard Mellan snarl, saw him move out of the corner of his eye. Too soon, and attacking the wrong person.

The world around him did not slow down, but sped up. Mellan’s clawed-tipped hand shot out, terror ran down Adam’s middle, and Eliza froze. He did not have time to shout, to push her out of Mellan’s path. Adam threw himself forward, into Mellan’s lashing hand, protecting Eliza with the only thing he had. His body.

He knew it instinctively, knew that this was it, that he would die. Let her be strong. And all of it happened in a second.

The impact shook him to the core, pushing the air from his lungs. Adam curled into it, his sight going hazy, as agony exploded over his chest. His body arched back as something tugged at him.

Eliza’s scream came as if from a great distance, a buzzing, indistinct sound, drowned out by a huge whoosh of white pain. He could not move. Numb, he glanced down.

His chest was a gaping cavern of blood and gore. Odd. Had he… Mellan grinned at him, his pale face splattered with little crimson dots. He held out his hand to Adam as though offering him something. Adam could not focus on it.

Cold. He was too cold. He could not feel his legs. Was he falling?

The floor greeted him with a jarring smack. Grief clamped the sides of his head with hard hands. Or was that Eliza? Was she speaking? She made an awful racket, and his head hurt. Be strong, love. Win this. Mellan still grinned. Holding out his hand. Something in that hand. A throbbing dark mass, dripping with blood.

Oh.

It was his heart.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jack Talent was not in the habit of retiring to bed early. Unless it was to tumble about in it with his wife. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on a nearby chair. No, he had no desire to lie about in bed at – he glanced at the ornate clock on the mantle – four in the afternoon. But his wife was tired, so he would keep her company.

A heavy fear weighed down his heart. Mary was often tired now. Sleeping more than she was awake. Weakening. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed the back of his neck. Would she soon be like Daisy? Vacant and motionless upon her bed?

For a moment, the fear threatened to rip out of him. He reined it in. For her, he did this. He had to remain strong for her. Jack stared into the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle and he tried not to cry like a lad.

Ian was already lost to fear, snarling at anyone who came near Daisy, and growing weak from lack of sleep and food. Jack worried that his foster father might soon lose control of his inner wolf. And a mad lycan was a danger to all. It would destroy Jack’s soul if he had to kill Ian in order to protect the people of London.

“Christ.” He sat heavily upon the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands.

He could hear Mary puttering around her dressing room, washing her face and brushing her hair. He rose to join her, perhaps help her out of her gown and make love to her nice and slow, when the floor shook. Hard. A silent boom seemed to rush through the air, making Jack stumble. An earthquake? He’d never experienced one, but it was the first thought that came to mind. Only the air had felt ice cold.