Still . . . he might keep the woman for a time. She liked Fae males? He’d show her what Fae males could do to human women. He’d show her what Adam really was somewhere deep inside though he tried to deny it. Tuatha Dé: a god. And she would worship before she died.

“Don’t look at me like that, Darroc,” the Hunter growled, jarring him from his thoughts. “We were ready. We could have slain them in a human heartbeat. You insisted on separating them and taking them alive. Is this about regaining our freedom, or your vengeance?”

“Both,” said Darroc flatly. “And it’s none of your concern. Tell me, where did you last have their scent?”

“At a human airport.”

“Their destination?”

The Hunter shifted leathery wings. “There were too many humans about. Their scent had been scattered by the scent of too many others by the time we arrived. We were unable to determine it.”

Darroc cursed viciously.

“Let me call forth more Hunters. We’ll find them again,” said Bastion.

“The Unseelie King would note their absence,” said Darroc. “He’s no fool.”

“But he is currently seeking his amusement elsewhere. None have seen him for quite some time,” replied Bastion.

Darroc pondered the bit of information.

If only the Unseelie King could be relied upon, could be sought for counsel or alliance, but the King of Darkness was like no other of their race, so ancient that Aoibheal, at just under sixty thousand, may as well have just drawn her first breath. It was rumored that the Unseelie King counted his existence by many hundreds of thousands of years; some whispered it to be even more. And was, more often than not, quite mad. Few ever so much as glimpsed him, and none knew his name or true form. He’d created his own realm within the shadow-realm of the Unseelie prison, a fortress that was said to house entire galaxies; a dark, vast dominion sown with traps for the unwary, into which none that he knew of had ever entered uninvited and returned.

For that matter, none had ever entered invited and returned, save the Seelie queen on two occasions. Even she gave the King of Darkness wide berth.

Still . . . if he was occupied elsewhere, Darroc could certainly use more Hunters. “How long since last the king was seen?”

“Two score and ten,” said Bastion.

A tidy bit of time, a risk worth taking. “Another score of you, no more,” Darroc conceded. “Find Adam’s son. I believe he will try to use him to get word to the queen. We must prevent that from happening. Saturate both Cincinnati and the Highlands. When you locate his half-blood bastard, summon me. And if you happen to find Adam, do not approach. I want to be there when he dies.”

Bastion nodded, sharp teeth gleaming.

17

Drustan MacKeltar tossed back a swallow of scotch and glanced around the table with a satisfied smile.

In the past year the MacKeltars had pretty much seen it all.

And, God willing, we’ve seen the last of it, he thought fervently.

After so many calamitous events, life was peaceful and sweet, all he’d ever dreamed and more. He wanted naught more than to immerse himself in simple pleasures for the rest of it. Like a meal shared with those he loved, before a crackling peat fire laid with sheaves of fragrant heather.

His gaze skimmed his dining companions: There was Gwen, his beloved wife, brilliant physicist, and radiant mother of their precious two-month-old twins, prattling happily away to Chloe about—of all things—the schools their children might one day attend.

And there was Chloe, his brother’s cherished wife, an antiquities expert and bookish scholar. They’d just learned last week that she would soon be adding to the MacKeltar clan, and she’d been glowing ever since, as had her husband, Dageus.

Ah, and there was Dageus, his twin, younger by three minutes, and best friend.

It had been months since that night in The Belthew Building, when Dageus had battled and defeated the modern-day sect of the Draghar, who’d been determined to resurrect their ancient namesake. Dageus’s eyes were once again sunny and clear, and he was full of easy laughter. Drustan couldn’t recall ever seeing him happier.

Initially, Dageus had spoken of building his own castle on the northern third of the MacKeltar estate, but Drustan had swiftly put an end to such foolish talk.

The castle Dageus had overseen construction of for Drustan and Gwen—the fabulous home that had been a labor of his love for them, and bespoke it in every beautifully crafted detail—contained over a hundred and twenty rooms. It had been designed to house an entire clan, and Drustan intended for it to do just that.