Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

Beast licked own jaw and muzzle free of blood. Tasted good on tongue.

“While Soul fought her own kind and then tried to save Leo, Derek and I took the fight to the water. Rick and Ayatas and a small group of SEALs caught Clan Des Citrons and the rest of Titus’s fangheads trying to get ashore. For once you didn’t just fly by the seat of your pants, Babe. You did good setting that up officially. Ayatas had the ear of the FBI, CIA. You figured he had the ear of the other government services and military too.”

A tone of satisfaction entered his voice. “The fangheads didn’t make it ashore.”

Beast chuffed. Jane is sneaky. Made sound of kit call, high-pitched and sweet.

Eli kept talking. “Edmund already took over the reins of the U.S. territory. Leo did well to make Ed his heir. He’s making peace with everyone, whether they want it or not.” Eli smiled slightly. “He’s good at this. He’s spoken to the press, to the governor, and to members of Congress on the phone. He’s making plans to go to Europe and take over there, in your name, and he’s taking Grégoire with him to take over those holdings at the same time. He appointed Alesha Fonteneau to run NOLA until he gets back. Once things are settled, he wants you to go to the European court and take over as the Dark Queen.”

Beast shook head in human way, side to side, trying to think like Jane. Leo head is not gone? Saw Leo head fly into air. Thought about arcenciel in crystal. About Soul hiding on island. Timewalkers. Better timewalkers than Jane.

Eli smiled tiny smile. “Molly’s okay. So is her baby. You staying here for a while?”

Beast nodded once. Stupid human move.

“There’s food in the house. Call when you want to come home.”

Home. To Jane den. With Eli and Alex. With Jane sick and dying. Beast snorted softly. Eli walked away.



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I woke up under the low tree. Human shaped. Naked. The sun was a scarlet wash of color in the west. There was a bag that looked waterproof hanging in the limbs of the tree just above me. I reached up and touched it. The bag was dry. The sand beneath me was dry. The air was cold and damp, blustery, but the sky was bright, the cerulean blue of sunset with a single star and a sliver of moon half-hidden in distant clouds. The island felt empty. The house had no lights. Everywhere was dark, silent. Deserted.

I was alone.

I rolled carefully to my feet and untied the bag. Found inside a pair of jeans wrapped around undies and a bra, three T-shirts for layering, and a warm jacket. Running shoes beneath them with a pair of wool socks stuffed into the toes. On the bottom was a vamp-killer and le breloque. And the Glob. Memories came hard and fast. Del dying. Katie in danger of dying. So many others. My memory of Leo’s head flying. Flying. Flying. Over and over. And time bending, bubbling, twisting. Changing reality. Changing every moment of the possible present.

I blinked the images away, only to see them again, on the back of my lids. I had a feeling I would see them forever. Yet, atop that was the memory of Eli telling Beast that Leo might still live. That he was poisoned by an arcenciel bite. Things not in my timeline. I shivered hard in the cold wind. Studied le breloque.

I had killed the emperor. I was now the Dark Queen of the vamps. De facto ruler of the fangheads. “This sucks,” I said to the empty beach.

I pulled on my clothes. Braided my hair in a sloppy braid. I picked up the crown, slid it over one arm, took the vamp-killer and the Glob, and trudged to the house. There were no lounge chairs dotting the shore. No fire pit. No people.

The island was silent. I was marooned on a deserted island? That would be a kicker, if I was stranded here. So much for being the Queen of the Suckheads.

I climbed the steps to the house and found the front door unlocked. I kicked the sand off my shoes and went inside.

The windows were shuttered closed, leaving the house dark inside. The furniture was cocooned under white sheets. The house sounded big and hollow and empty. It even smelled empty.

“Beast? How long did you keep me asleep?” My voice echoed in the empty rooms.

We grieved, she thought at me. Which was sort of an answer.

My stomach growled. I made my way to the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. The light inside came on, proving that the solar panels on the roof three stories above were still working. Which meant plumbing. A shower would be nice. The shelves inside the refrigerator were full of food and beer and wine. Boone’s Farm Fuzzy Navel. I chuckled and pulled the note off the bottle in front.

It read simply, I love you. Come home.

Bruiser was fine. That was good. I stuffed the note in my bra next to my heart. I removed the bottle and opened it. Drank it down. It tasted fantastic. Beyond fantastic. I opened another, wishing for once that I could get roaring drunk. Skinwalker metabolism wasn’t agreeable to a good roaring drunk.

Brains are better, Beast thought at me.

“Gack,” I said aloud, my stomach rumbling.

Pig is good, though.

I opened the freezer. The pig had been fully pulled and placed in zippered, gallon-sized plastic bags. Five of them, frozen hard. I stuck one under the kitchen faucet and let water run over it until it was soft enough to remove the meat from the plastic and then nuked the gallon of meat until it was hot. While it thawed and heated, I checked the food in the fridge, knowing the smell would tell me how long I had been alone on the island. The beanie weenies didn’t smell perfect, but I pulled them out and stuck them in the microwave when the pork was hot. Dumped the pig into the soup tureen on the kitchen island. That was when I spotted the card on the Carrara marble. Heavy card stock, folded over, red writing on white paper. It was the red of one of my lipsticks. Bloodred. Not so favorite anymore.

The note was arranged like an upside-down pyramid. It read:

Chère, I done left you rest of that pig you like so much.

The Kid done left you a satellite phone. Eat.

Call home. We come get you.

Deon.

I spotted the phone on the island too. Didn’t pick it up.

While the beans heated, I carried the tureen around, snacking, and made a quick tour of the house. Someone had stripped the wet wallboard tape from the walls, reapplied fresh. There was no luggage left. No sign of blood on the floors.

When the microwave dinged I brought the bottle of Boone’s Farm and the food to the front porch and sat down in the dark. Night had fallen fully. The surf sounded lazy and languid and soothing.

I ate and drank. Watching the tide roll in.

When my belly was full, I put the leftovers in the fridge and took a hot shower. The house was cold, but someone had left an electric blanket on the bed I had used, along with a set of sheets and my luggage. The blanket smelled like Molly. Eli had said that she was okay too. I pulled on sweats and the wool socks that had come with the shoes and wrapped myself in the blanket. I fell on my bunk and let sleep pull me under.

I woke at dawn. Ate pig. Drank wine. I was halfway through the bottle when I saw a flash of a head flying through the air. Leo’s head. Memory. Intense as reality. Stark, electric. I blinked. Sobbed once, hard and harsh and dry. Eyes burning. Leo was in a blood box. He might not be true-dead. Or not exactly true-dead.

A second image slammed into me. Titus’s head in my hand, then dropping to the sand.

I’d killed him. It was what I did. I killed people. Beings. Sentient creatures. But I should have killed Titus the moment he walked up to the house on the beach, surrounded by his people. I should have drawn the Mughal blade and taken his head right then. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Hadn’t.

I finished the bottle. There were more. Bruiser had left me twelve, an entire case. The wine sat heavy on my stomach. Queasy. So I drank more.



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