“Is that the only reason?” Émilien asked, sensing the demon was holding something back.
“She also said the other pantheon creatures would tear me limb from limb and torture me for eternity if I let anything happen to Delara. I quite like my body the way it is.”
“I agree.” Cattarix purred, slinking forward to crouch at Émilien’s feet. “Without arms and legs, you would look like a fat slug. The other demons would laugh at you.”
Ostrik’s pig-like features scrunched up in anger, his yellow eyes glowing. “I don’t like being laughed at.”
Émilien placed his paw on the panther’s shoulder to silence him. “No one likes being laughed at, so if you are following Delara’s mother’s dictates, you will be fine. Cross those parameters and you will find yourself in deep trouble.”
“Émilien, where is your pixie? Shouldn’t he be out here by now? He’s sure to have heard our voices.”
Émilien frowned, his gaze moving to the empty cave entrance. The panther was right. It wasn’t like Madoc to be late. Within a minute of his arrival, the meticulous, if not a little cantankerous, caretaker would have greeted him and shoved a drink in his paw. “Don’t let Madoc hear you call him a pixie. He’s a coblynau and would be highly offended. While he may dress better than most of his kind, he is still a miner’s helper and can curse you with the best of them.”
“Point taken.” Cattarix chuckled. “Much like our small fire demon friend, I, too, like my life as it is. The word pixie is erased from my mind.”
Before the panther finished talking, Émilien was already moving toward the cave. Slumping over so he wouldn’t hit his head on the rock entryway, he stepped into the front room. He continued forward down a tight tunnel before reaching an actual door he had built to keep out people and afford his caretaker a bit of privacy, not to mention safety. There were too many creatures from other religious pantheons roaming the Shadow Lands. He didn’t need one of them eating his small helper.
While Madoc might be cantankerous, he was an amazing cook and kept the caverns clean while Émilien was either patrolling or in France. Lately, though, he hadn’t been here as much and wondered if it had, somehow, offended the coblynau.
The door was almost closed, the striker stopping it from completely closing. A bad feeling settled in his gut, and he pushed open the door. The sitting room looked as if a whirlwind had rampaged through its midst. There wasn’t a single item anywhere that wasn’t twisted and torn.
“Madoc? Where are you?” Émilien strained his ears, trying to hear the coblynau, but the silence beating at him was deafening. “Madoc!” With a cursory glance, he swept through the front room. Stepping into the hallway, he checked the first two facing bedrooms and the third, which were all as trashed as the room behind him.
He pushed open the door to the fourth bedroom and stopped, his eyes staring at the painting that had hung above the headboard of his bed. Moving next to the shattered remains of his bed, he reached out, his claws tracing the shredded material of his prized possession.
Lifting a single strip, he smoothed it back into place and stared into the black eyes of the only woman he had every loved. The one person he had given up everything for and, in return, she had kicked him in the nuts. Not literally, of course, but he still felt the persistent stinging sensation whenever he let himself feel. Closing his eyes, he willed his rising fury back to a slow simmer. Anger would not fix this, and right now he had more important things to do—like find his caretaker.
One thing he had learned about the Shadow Lands was if a person or creature died here, they would spend eternity neither dead nor alive and unable to leave. They would become an incorporeal shade, without a future or hope.
Turning away from the destroyed painting, he left the room, closing the door with a softsnickbehind him. He turned right and stepped down a single stone stair into the large kitchen where he’d eaten many a meal over the centuries. Along the back wall, the cabinet doors had been ripped off at the hinges and thrown around the room. Pots and pans that Madoc kept neatly stacked on the open shelving under the countertop were scattered and smashed across the floor.
His gaze automatically moved to the black opening that led down to the root cellar. Without blinking, he stared into the darkness as an unsettling feeling gnawed in his stomach. He forced his feet to move, taking one hesitant step then another as he walked through the room. Standing in the doorway, the pungent odor of copper filled his sensitive nostrils.
Just as he took another step, a blast of power slammed into him, shoving him backward into the kitchen. Stumbling a couple of steps, he tried to catch his balance but tilted precariously from side to side. Just when he thought he was upright and steady, another power blast shoved him to the ground.
With his arms and legs outstretched, he jerked one arm, trying to lift it, then the other, but he couldn’t move. He stared up at the ceiling, noticing the black smudges from the old fire pit, and absently wondered why he hadn’t thought to paint that area when he painted the rest of the small dwelling.
Using his massive leg strength, he kicked upward, but nothing happened. A sinking sensation crept over him. For the first time since the Dark Fae had captured and cursed him into his current form, he realized he was trapped.
4
Émilien groaned, slamming his head against the cave floor. He had been magically tethered in this position for hours. Clenching his hands into as much of a fist as he could without spearing his own palms with his six-inch long razor-sharp claws, the incessant tingling from lack of blood flow eased. He moved his hind paws, twisting them a few inches from side to side against the invisible restraints anchoring him to the floor.
For the first half hour or so, he had tried to break free but to no avail. Whoever or whatever had him was strong, and that was saying something. Over the centuries, he could count on one paw those who had defeated him, mostly during his yearly years as guardian, but they still ended up dead. What he couldn’t defeat with brute strength, he could overcome with intelligence and, most often, common sense.
Once more, he heard the slight rustling coming from somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It reminded him of material being drug over a rough surface. Lying here, his only option was to hope and pray it was Madoc, and not whatever had managed to get the jump on him. While Madoc could be surly and difficult, no matter what task he had asked of the small coblynau, the powerful creature had proven himself time and again by having Émilien’s back.
“Madoc,” he whispered. “Is that you?” Holding his ragged breathing, he listened for a response. Nothing. Even the infernal scraping had gone silent. A tingle moved over him, standing his fur on end. He lifted his head, trying to see what approached.
What looked like fifty shimmering forms came into view, pouring out of the root cellar’s opaque opening. He was in trouble. The small shapes continued to morph from little and round to elongated and oval. Strange horn-shapes jutted out from either side of, what he hoped, were heads.
He heard the scraping again, this time closer with an increased frenzy. Just as the horde reached his feet, something crawled underneath his shoulder.
Master? It is I, Madoc. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect what is yours.
It is not your fault, my friend. This stems from something else. Do you know what’s attacking us?
Gnome trolls. I wasn’t sure I would make it to you in time. They come from the cellar, although I wasn’t aware of a hidden opening in the lower cave.