I raised my gaze to the inevitable perfection of the Seelie Prince’s face, bracing myself for the impact.

There was none.

He stood before me with every bit of his death-by-sex Faeness dampened. For the first time since I’d met him, I was able to look directly at him, absorbing his inhuman, incredible perfection without being affected by it. V’lane looked as close to a human male as he could get, in jeans, boots, and a loose linen shirt half unbuttoned. He was apparently unaffected by the frigid weather—or perhaps the cause of it. Fae can affect the weather with their moods. His beautifully muscled golden body was no more perfect than that of any airbrushed model; his long golden hair no longer shimmered with a dozen seductive, otherworldly shades; his flawlessly symmetrical features might have graced any magazine cover. The only aspect of his Fae nature he’d retained were those bottomless, ancient, iridescent eyes. He was still something to see: tawny, sexy man with alien, glowing eyes, but I was not assaulted by a frantic desire to tear off my clothes, I didn’t feel a tingle of lust, not the faintest sensation of being weak at the knees.

And he’d done it without my even having to ask.

I wasn’t about to thank him. It was the least he could do after what his race had done to me.

He studied me while I studied him. His eyes contracted slightly, then widened infinitesimally, which on a human face meant very little but on a Fae’s was an expression of astonishment. I wondered why. Because I’d survived? Had my odds really been so low?

“I have been monitoring these wards and sensed the disturbance. I am pleased to see you, MacKayla.”

“Thanks for the rescue,” I said coldly. “Nice of you to show up when I needed you. Oh, wait,” I barked a sharp little laugh, “I remember now. You didn’t. In fact, your name crashed and burned when I tried to use it.” If he’d never given me his name on my tongue, I wouldn’t have been so fearless that night. I’d been lulled into complacency, believing I had a Seelie Prince available at the snap of my fingers to sift in and sift me out to instant safety. It had made me feel invincible when I shouldn’t have. And when I’d needed him the most, it had failed. Better never to have depended on it at all. I should have kept Dani by my side that night. She could have whisked me to safety.

He spread his hands, palms up, and bowed his head in a gesture of subservience.

I snorted. The holier-than-thou Seelie Prince was bowing his head to me?

“A thousand apologies could not atone for the harm my brethren were permitted to inflict upon you. It sickens me that you were—” He broke off, bowing his head even more deeply, as if he couldn’t bring himself to go on.

It was a completely human gesture.

I didn’t trust it one bit.

“So.” I picked myself up off the ground and dusted off my new leather coat. “What’s your excuse for failing me on Halloween? Barrons said he was stuck in Scotland. Actually, he said it was ‘complicated.’ Was it complicated, V’lane?” I asked sweetly, as I slung my gun around the back side of my shoulder. It banged into my backpack. I liked the solid, reassuring weight of my weapons and ammo.

He winced at the tone of my voice, not missing the arsenic in the sugar. While I’d been busy being Pri-ya, V’lane had obviously been busy expanding his repertoire of human expressions. Still, these expressions were different than that first one. They were too large for a Fae, overblown. Iridescent eyes met mine. “Exceedingly.”

I hooked my thumbs in my jeans pockets. “Go on.” I smiled. There was nothing he could say that would ever make me trust again in something so mystical and fundamentally flawed as a Fae name embedded in my tongue, but I wanted to see how far he might go to get back into my good graces.

“Aoibheal was my first priority, MacKayla. You know that. Without her, all else is insignificant. Without her, the walls can never be rebuilt. She alone is our hope of reclaiming the Song of Making.”

The Fae were matriarchal, and only the Seelie Queen could wield the Song of Making. I knew very little about the Song, just that it was the stuff from which the walls of the Unseelie prison had been forged, hundreds of thousands of years ago. Roughly six thousand years ago, when the Compact had been negotiated between our races, apportioning shares of the planet, Aoibheal had jury-rigged an extension of those ancient walls to separate Fae and human realms. Unfortunately, her tampering had weakened the prison walls, enabling Darroc the Lord Master to bring them all crashing down on Halloween.

So why didn’t Aoibheal just sing them back into existence?

Because in typical Fae infighting fashion, the Unseelie King had killed the long-ago Seelie Queen before she’d been able to pass on her knowledge to the next one. Aoibheal, latest in a long succession of queens to rule with diminished power, had no idea how to sing the Song of Making. They needed me—OOP detector extraordinaire—to find the one remaining clue to re-creating the Song: the Sinsar Dubh, a deadly book that contained all the dark magic of the Unseelie King. The king had been close to discovering it when his mortal concubine killed herself, and he’d abandoned his experiments that had created the dark half of the Fae race.

“And only I can find the Book she needs to do it,” I said coolly. “So who’s expendable?”

His eyes narrowed minutely and he glanced sideways. Pink Mac wouldn’t have even noticed it. I wasn’t her anymore. My spine snapped straight, and I went nose to nose at the ward line with him. If I could have reached through it and grabbed him by the throat, I would have. “Oh, God, you actually thought that through and decided it was me! You knew I was in trouble and didn’t help me!” I snarled. “You believed I would survive it! Or was it that you figured I’d be even easier to use if I was Pri-ya?”