Dark Deceiver Read online

  “It was just a dream, Autumn. It might be nothing.”

  But her laughter filled him with pleasure. “The dream of a Sitheen is nothing to take lightly. You saw them, Kade. I’m sure of it. I’ll start researching as soon as I get home.”

  Sharp intelligence gleamed in her eyes as the excitement visibly bubbled within her, pleasing him immensely. What he wouldn’t give to pull her into his arms and taste the happiness on her lips.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Autumn McGinn. If anyone can find the stones, you will.” She wouldn’t find them, of course. Ustanis’s magical ability would lead him to the stones long before Autumn ever figured out where they were.

  “Thank you.” Her gaze turned soft and shy as she smiled at him.

  Every intent flew out of his head as the need to taste her became too great to fight.

  And all he could think was that he was just about to say goodbye to the woman he’d been waiting for all his life.

  Books by Pamela Palmer

  Silhouette Nocturne

  *The Dark Gate #13

  *Dark Deceiver #42

  PAMELA PALMER

  Pamela Palmer admits to a passion for all things paranormal, fed by years of Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tolkien’s classic The Lord of the Rings. Though she grew up wanting to be an astronaut (until she realized the space shuttle wasn’t likely to get her beyond Earth’s orbit), she became an industrial engineer for a major computer maker before surrendering to the romantic, exciting, otherworldly stories that crowded her head, demanding to be told. Her writing has won numerous awards including a prestigious Golden Heart. Pamela lives in Virginia with her husband and two kids and would love to hear from readers through her Web site, www.pamelapalmer.net.

  DARK DECEIVER

  PAMELA PALMER

  Dear Reader,

  My deepest thanks for your wonderful response to The Dark Gate. Your letters have meant more to me than you can imagine. This book, Dark Deceiver, is the sequel, the second book in what is now THE ESRI series. At the end of The Dark Gate, the humans feared that more of the inhuman Esri would infiltrate our world.

  They were right.

  I’m smiling as I write this, rubbing my hands together with devilish glee. I love conflict. Not in my real life. Like anyone, I want my days and my relationships to run smoothly. No, the conflict I love is the kind I create and direct through my stories. I adore throwing strong characters into impossible situations with no clue how I’m going to get them out. Or how they’re going to get themselves out. As my characters and I plot and strategize, we often find that escape requires them to do something they never thought they would, or become someone they never thought they could. And in the process, they grow into the people they were meant to be—heroes and heroines capable of great love.

  I hope you enjoy reading Dark Deceiver as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. When you’re through, I’d love to hear from you. You can reach me through my Web site, www.pamelapalmer.net, where you can also sign up for my newsletter and learn more about me, my books and the world and characters of THE ESRI series.

  All the best,

  Pamela Palmer

  To my husband, Keith, for laughter, love and

  endless support. You really are my inspiration.

  More than you know.

  Special thanks to Laurin Wittig, Anne Shaw Moran

  and Elizabeth Holcomb for keeping me on track

  and dropping everything to read for me when I

  needed you. Thanks also to my brilliant agent,

  Helen Breitwieser, and my wonderful editors, Ann

  Leslie Tuttle and Charles Griemsman. Working with

  you is a joy.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Prologue

  The King’s Court, Esria

  The monster of the court had arrived.

  Kaderil the Dark strode into the noisy and jubilant hall, half carrying, half dragging the captive at his side, turning gaiety into chaos with a single glower. Sweat dampened his tunic and rolled between his shoulder blades as he strode beneath the floating candles that lit the open hall. Kaderil demanded fear and knew how to get it. Seven tall feet of hard muscle, skin the color of coarse sand and hair as black as the king’s stallion, his appearance alone was enough to strike terror into the breasts of the fair Esri. But it was the reputation for violence he’d carefully cultivated over the years that sent the court’s finest scurrying for cover and had him nodding with grim satisfaction.

  Above his head, yards of silk floated between the high marble columns, ribbons of color against the russet glow of the night sky. He’d traveled hard for seven days to the Banished Lands and back to fetch his captive for the king. Though he longed for a cool bath and a soft bed, both would have to wait. There were greater things afoot this night.

  As he crossed the hall, one of the brightly dressed Esri lords—a man whose height reached nearly to Kaderil’s chin—failed to clear his path quickly enough. Kaderil clamped his hand around the man’s stark white neck and, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed him into the fleeing crowd. Frightened squeals filled the air, punctuated by the snap of bones and yells of pain.

  The cries died almost as soon as they began, for the only injuries the immortal Esri could not heal within seconds were the scuffs and rips to their jewel-colored tunics or sheer, glimmering gowns.

  With a satisfied grunt, Kaderil dragged his hairless and quaking captive across the hall. Furtive looks, sharp with terror, speared him from every direction, filling him with calm satisfaction. Their fear protected his secret. They dared not challenge him and therefore had never discovered that the unknown human ancestor whose blood tainted his veins had cursed him with more than his barbaric human looks. He’d left him with little magic—the true power of the Esri.

  Kaderil the Dark, the one most feared, was the weakest of them all.

  As he approached the throne, which was surrounded by an arc of guards in silver tunics, King Rith beckoned impatiently. “Come, come, Punisher. Bring me the slave.” The king’s white face was long and lean, the ethereal look at odds with the ambition that shone with a chiseled edge from his eyes. He wore a cloak of pure gold and in his straw-blond curls, a shimmer of emerald beads.

  But it was not his king Kaderil watched with careful measure, but Zander, the captain of the royal guard, the only one in all of Esria who had the gift of sensing power…and lack of power…in others. The only one who knew Kaderil’s secret.

  Kaderil’s blue gaze clashed with Zander’s hated yellow, then broke away as he tossed the slave onto the low dais before the king. Behind him, he felt the throng of Esri fill the cleared path, pressing forward, their fear already forgotten in their growing excitement over the slave’s arrival. He was tempted to whirl and fling another couple of bodies, but refrained, given the extraordinary nature of the gathering.

  Around the hall, whispers darted from person to person like hummingbirds set loose on a garden of flowers. “The lost gate has been found!”

  King Rith raised his hand, demanding silence, then speared the small man at his feet with an eager gaze. “Your master is dead.”

  It was not a question. All Esri knew the moment one of their own was killed, as well as the identities of both murdered and murderer. A month ago, the court had fal
len silent, rocked by the knowledge that after fifteen hundred years, one of their own had been killed by humans.

  “Aye, sire.”

  “And do you know the location of the lost gate?”

  The slave touched the floor with his forehead, then lifted his bald head. “Aye. I have been through it myself.”

  Incredible, Kaderil thought, his mind racing even as he stood at attention, his feet spread, his arms at his back. Fifteen hundred years ago the seven stones of power were stolen into the human realm and used to seal the gates from the other side. Rumor had always claimed that a single lost gate had been left unsealed, but it had never been found.

  Until now.

  The king grabbed the slave by the tunic and dragged him forward. “And what of my seven stones?”

  The slave’s arms waved in agitation. “Only the draggon stone was found, sire. ’Twas the smell of the stone’s power that led my master to the gate. But the stone was lost, sire. Lost to the humans who killed him.”

  King Rith released the creature with a shove. “How is this possible? Humans cannot kill an immortal without the death chant. Surely no humans exist after all this time who remember that bit of magic.”

  The slave prostrated himself, his voice muffled by the floor. “I beg your pardon, sire, but there are a few. They are the descendants of the mixed bloods, the mortal children of both human and Esri. The humans we once called Sitheen.”

  Mortals with a drop of Esri blood, Kaderil thought. Just as he was an immortal tainted with human. But the only things they had in common were a lack of true power and the look of the humans. The Sitheen would blend into their world as he never had into his own.

  “The Sitheen must die. All of them. They will not thwart us again.” King Rith slapped the carved arm of his throne. “I will have my stones. Zander, come forth.”

  As Zander stepped out of the arc of silver tunics and came to stand beside him, Kaderil clenched his jaw. Zander made no secret of his hatred for the human-looking Punisher, yet he had never told Kaderil’s secret. Why? Kaderil had spent centuries waiting, tense and wondering, for the day Zander would bring his world crashing down around him.

  The king nodded to the captain of his guard, ambition glittering in his eyes. “You will fetch me the seven stones, Zander.”

  “Aye, sire.”

  “You will take a team of stone scenters into the human realm at the gate’s next opening to find my power stones. I leave it to you to find and kill the Sitheen.”

  “Yes, sire. But if it please your highness, I should like to take one more.” Zander glanced at Kaderil with a gleam that sent a chill of foreboding down his spine. “I would take the Punisher, my lord.”

  Kaderil jerked. What was Zander up to? Zander knew, as no one else did, he was unsuited for this task. He had no gifts of power, nothing save his great size and strength.

  “’Tis well known Sitheen cannot be fooled by glamour,” Zander continued. “With Kaderil’s barbaric human looks, he has no need for that fine magic.”

  Zander’s voice fairly brimmed with unnatural enthusiasm, igniting Kaderil’s wariness, as well as his annoyance.

  “Kaderil is the perfect man to infiltrate the Sitheen and retrieve your draggon stone, my king. They will think him one of them, allowing him to infiltrate their band and slaughter them with ease.”

  Kaderil opened his mouth to object. There was little to be gained by the time-consuming and dangerous ploy of infiltrating the barbarian’s band when the others could fulfill the mission through the power of their gifts. There was little to be gained and much to be lost. If the Sitheen discovered his ruse, they would sing the death chant for him.

  Before the words could escape his lips, he felt Zander’s palm clap him on the shoulder, silencing him with a river of fire that stole his breath and streaked his vision with jagged flares of light.

  Fighting the blinding pain with every scrap of strength he possessed, Kaderil snatched the hand off his shoulder. As he sucked air into his burning lungs, he snapped the man’s white forearm with a satisfying crack.

  Zander gave a shout and sidestepped Kaderil’s reach with a look of venom. “Kaderil will fetch your draggon stone quickly, sire. Between one full moon and the next.”

  One month. Kaderil struggled against the nearly overwhelming urge to snap Zander’s neck and every bone in his body. One month to do a nearly impossible task. He knew now what Zander was about. His enemy was setting him up to fail.

  The king nodded greedily. “Aye. Aye, indeed, I will have my stones by the next feast.”

  Cold tension wove through Kaderil’s muscles at the full measure of Zander’s treachery. The Esrian king was notoriously unforgiving. Failure resulted in banishment. And banishment, for Kaderil the Dark, would mean complete and total isolation for the rest of his immortal existence, for who would welcome the Punisher?

  Fury burned through him, binding his hands into fists. He would not let Zander win.

  Slowly, his fists eased, his heart pumping with cold determination. His mission would be difficult in the extreme. But not impossible. Never impossible. And the ultimate revenge against his conniving foe would be utter and brilliant success.

  Chapter 1

  Washington, D.C.

  Autumn McGinn grimaced with embarrassment as she crawled through the rain-soaked grass, frantically searching for the lighter she’d accidentally sent flying for the third time.

  “You okay, Autumn?” Larsen Hallihan’s voice darted across the rainy Dupont Circle Park, cutting through the gloom. Light poles bordered the concrete circle at the center of the grassy park, illuminating the huge marble chalice that stood in the middle—the beautifully carved fountain that shared real estate with the invisible gate into Esria.

  “I’m fine!” Autumn called back.

  Why couldn’t she have left her inner klutz home just this once? For four months, she’d angled for an invitation to help guard the gate, ever since the first Esri, Baleris, had found his way through. For four weeks, Baleris had terrorized the nation’s capital, raping young women and enchanting armed cops while he tried to destroy the handful of humans immune to his magic. The humans the Esri called Sitheen. In the end, the humans had won. Baleris was dead.

  But the gate remained unsealed. Apparently, it had always been unsealed, but the Esri hadn’t known about it until Baleris had stumbled upon it by accident. Unfortunately, after Baleris died, one of his slaves had escaped back through the gate before they could stop him. Chances were good he’d told others and the Esri would invade again.

  Fortunately, the gate only opened during the midnight hour of a full moon. One hour a month, four humans who could resist the spell of enchantment guarded the Dupont Circle Fountain. That is, they had until this month, when two of the four Sitheen had been called out of town.

  Autumn had been invited to help, finally, though not quite the way she’d wanted. Ordered to stay far back from the fountain, she’d been enlisted as an extra pair of eyes. If one of the creatures came through, her only job was to watch where he went. Not the greatest responsibility in the world, but she wasn’t Sitheen. Even though she wore a bracelet of holly which supposedly gave her immunity, they still feared she could be enchanted.

  She sighed as she crawled through the soaked grass. If only she could do something truly important for once. But considering she was spending most of her time on her hands and knees, watching was probably the safest job for her…for everyone’s sake.

  Her numb fingers finally brushed against something hard as the rain beat a tattoo against the raised hood of her jacket. With relief, she grabbed the renegade lighter and scrambled to her feet, her soaked jeans clinging to her legs.

  Fire, combined with the Esri death chant, was the only known weapon against the Esri. Logically, she knew her little lighter wasn’t going to do an ounce of good in the rain, especially since she didn’t know the death chant, but she felt safer with it in her hand. If she could just keep hold of the darned thing.
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  “What time is it?” Larsen called from the other side of the park. Larsen Vale, now Hallihan, had been her roommate in college and one of her best friends for years.

  “One-thirty,” Larsen’s husband, Jack, replied. The two of them stood on opposite sides of the fountain, each a distance from Autumn. “We’ll give it another ten minutes, then call it quits for the night.”

  Autumn sighed. She hadn’t really expected to see an Esri tonight—none had come through the gate the past three full moons. Still, she’d hoped. As a curator for the Smithsonian, she was too much of a history and folklore buff not to be excited by the prospect of other-worldly creatures, even if they were armed with powerful magic and malicious intent.

  “I’m heading straight for a hot bath when we get home,” Larsen said.

  Autumn couldn’t hear Jack’s reply, but knew it was something suggestive. Jack and Larsen had only been married a couple of months and couldn’t seem to keep their eyes—or hands—off one another. Autumn was happy for her old friend, but sometimes life was so unfair. Larsen was blond, beautiful, married to one of D.C.’s hottest cops, and Sitheen. Autumn was six foot four with flaming orange hair, two million freckles and a gene for klutziness. Where was the fairness in that?

  The rumble of thunder shook the ground as the rain turned to a downpour. Cold and miserable, Autumn huddled beneath the hood of her raincoat while heavy drops beat at her shoulders and back. Okay, now she was ready to call it a night. Clearly, the Esri weren’t coming.

  Jack’s shout made her jump. She jerked her gaze to the lit fountain just in time to see a large, dark-cloaked figure leap from the marble base as if he’d been encased in stone all these years.