“God has granted me the opportunity to meet you in battle as a mere mortal, Drusus. At this moment you are no’ a demon, and I am no’ a Gatherer. We are simply men.”
A trickle of unease ran down Rachel’s spine.
Mortal meant killable. That was good, wasn’t it? Except for the part where Lachlan no longer healed with supernatural speed? She glanced down, her heart sinking as she realized her purse had not traveled with her. Not the best time to be without a Band-Aid.
Drew tossed Lachlan a grin. “Mortal or not, I’ll still cut the heart from your chest, you heathen Scot, and fuck your woman atop your corpse. You’re forgetting that before I died, I was the most feared centurion in the Roman army. Songs were sung about my victories. I cut a swath through my enemies, rejoicing in the spilling of their blood.”
“You’re forgetting that you died at the tender age of twenty-two,” Lachlan pointed out softly. “You were no’ as vigorous and hardy as you like to believe. You were defeated, if I’m not mistaken, by a mere politician, the infamous Pontius Pilate.”
The grin fell away, replaced by a fury that burned like a molten river in Drew’s eyes. “That gutless fool. I warned him that sacrificing the Jew would make him a martyr, but did he heed my counsel? No. When he washed his hands of Jesus, he also washed his hands of me and my advice. Many blame the Sanhedrin for all that followed, but I do not. I know the truth. Pilate was a coward, a man ill deserving of his powerful position. I reported his poor judgment to the Roman Senate, and he, woman that he was, had me killed for it. But not on the battlefield. With poison.”
“Then, you’re in luck, hellget. This is your chance to die like a warrior. With a blade through your heart and a roar in your throat, instead of choking on your own puke.”
Rachel grimaced. Men had such a brutal way with words.
And brutal was the only way to describe the event about to unfold. This fight would not be some pretty, well-choreographed dance across the movie screen, complete with politely regulated taps of blunted swords. Both men would be cut; both men would bleed. One man would fall to his knees, never to rise again.
“Lachlan.”
He glanced at her.
“I love you.”
Drew chuckled. “She’s saying good-bye, MacGregor. She knows full well what the outcome of this battle will be.”
“No.” She glared at the younger man, her fists balled with anger. “He’s going to win.” Then her gaze, honest and open, returned to Lachlan, offering him everything in her heart. “But I don’t know what’ll happen when you do … where we’ll end up, or if I’ll ever see you again. After everything that’s happened … I needed you to know how I feel.”
He didn’t make light of her fear. Serious and unsmiling, he rubbed a calloused thumb over her bottom lip and studied her face as if he were memorizing it. “Thank y—”
A shadow slid over his arm, and Lachlan abruptly shoved Rachel backward. Pivoting, he raised his sword to parry Drew’s sneak attack.
Rachel stumbled back against the battlements, narrowly avoiding a painful fall. She hugged a crenellation, trying to stay small and out of the way.
Drew took advantage of Lachlan’s imperfect balance and swung low, aiming for the exposed length of his calf. She cried out a sharp warning, but even before her cry rose into the air, Lachlan read Drew’s intent and sprang adroitly to the left. He recovered his steady stance and aimed a powerful, two-handed slice at Drew’s shoulder, which the Roman soldier easily parried.
The battle resumed as if it had never paused.
This time it was without magic, without firebombs, without misty swirls or brilliant lights.
Both men drew purely on their physical reserves. They grunted with their efforts and dripped sweat from their brows. Both men fought for their footing on the dew-laden walkway and stumbled over the occasional stone. Both men landed spark-inducing blows on each other’s swords, and both men scored thin slices on legs and arms.
As blood began to mingle with the sweat running down Lachlan’s body, the acrid taste of bile rose to Rachel’s tongue. She had to force herself to keep watching.
The two men appeared evenly matched. While Lachlan stood taller and his sword sang through the air with an audible testament to his power, Drew had youth on his side and dodged several potentially fatal blows with an agile leap. Lachlan’s five-foot sword gave him the longer reach, but Drew’s leather armor stole away the benefit.
Rachel had neither the talent nor the desire to interfere in the sword fight, but that didn’t stop her stomach from knotting with frustration at her helplessness. In her world, in her time, where battles were fought with dollars and job titles, she had options. Here, she could only bite her lip and pray for Lachlan’s safety. It hardly seemed enough.
Nor did it help.
Under a bevy of aggressive blows from Drew, Lachlan retreated a step. But as his foot slid back, his boot dipped into a rut, twisting his ankle. His arm jerked up in an effort to right his balance, and Drew dove for the opening with the speed and rapacious intent of a bird of prey. Ducking under Lachlan’s reach, he thrust his sword with both hands. Despite a last-minute swivel of his body, Lachlan failed to avoid the sharp edge of the demon’s sword.
Crimson blood spurted from his split flesh, pouring down his side and soaking the belted waist of his kilt.
But Lachlan took it in stride, literally. A fierce growl sounded deep in his throat and he leaned into Drew’s thrust, allowing the blade to slice cleanly across his ribs. With their faces inches apart, he butted his forehead against the Roman soldier’s skull with a loud crack, then pushed Drew away and spun to the right.
For the briefest of instants, rattled by the blow, Drew’s eyes clouded with confusion.
Lachlan showed no mercy. His shoulders and biceps bunched as he gathered his strength and delivered a strike of bone-shattering weight, right to the base of Drew’s neck. There was a loud crunch of resistance, but the sword continued its straight swing with only the slightest reduction in speed. For a moment Rachel wasn’t sure anything had happened.
Then Drew’s head tumbled to the dirt.
The solid thunk of it hitting the ground barely registered. Globs of something wet had flown off the tip of Lachlan’s sword and spattered on her face. When Drew’s body crumpled, her legs threatened to do the same. As she put a hand to her face and stared at the bright red chunk on her fingertips, a violent shudder ran through her.
“Oh God.”
“Rachel?”
She lifted her gaze, dizzy with the realization that it was a strip of bloody flesh—Drew’s bloody flesh. There was blood coursing down Lachlan’s side from a wound that was deep enough to require stitches—a hundred probably, to stop all that blood. Oh God. So much blood.
Tossing aside his sword, he leapt toward her, concern in his eyes. “Put your head between your legs, Rachel.”
But before he could reach her, before she had time to even consider bending over, there was a blinding flash of light. She closed her eyes to the glare and fell headlong into the abyss.
19
Lachlan caught Rachel before she hit the ground, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her against his sweat-dampened and gore-spattered chest. Heart still racing with his victory, and thrilled beyond belief to be able to touch her again, he held her tight and sure until he felt the dainty flutter of her eyelashes against his throat.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, ignoring the blood coursing down his side. “I’ve got you.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Lachlan?”
“None other.”
“Where are we?”
“In the tunnel, under the crosses you drew on the walls.” As he held her, a vehement rumble shook the ground and bits of crumbling stone dropped on them from above. “We won. The bastard is dead. His body is over there on the floor.”
She shivered.
“Sorry,” he said. “Guess I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
“We
’re in the tunnel? Did I just imagine that part where we traveled to Scotland?”
“No, you didn’t imagine it,” he said dryly.
Another quake shook the ground beneath their feet, and she peered over his shoulder into the darkness. “Maybe we should get out of here. It feels like the tunnel is about to cave in.”
“Good call,” he said, lowering her until her feet were back on the ground. “The magic I used against Drusus caused some instability. This section of the plane is attempting to fold in on itself and there’s no telling how much longer it will hold. Let’s go find Emily.”
“How? She’s with Brian and Stefan, but I don’t know where. They said they were going to take her somewhere safe, somewhere Drew wouldn’t be able to find her.”
“They gave you no clues?”
“Stefan just mentioned it wasn’t the Ritz.”
“Ah.” A castle in the fifteenth century would certainly fit that description. Without letting go of her hand, he bent and retrieved his sword. Then he scrambled up the incline toward the cave mouth, tugging her along. “I know where they are.”
Another furious tremble rocked the tunnel. Rachel stumbled and fell to her knees, gasping sharply. Breathing in a mouthful of dirt-clouded air, he lifted her into his arms and quickened their pace.
“You can’t carry me,” she complained. “You’ve got that terrible cut on your side.”
“Back in the tunnel means back to normal.” He quashed a sharp sense of regret as the ramifications of that sunk in. For an instant he’d simply been a mortal man in love with a mortal woman. His heart had beaten with the bittersweet vitality born of limited time and endless opportunity. But that had been a hiccup in time. “I’m healing already.”
She didn’t argue any further.
Not until they exited the tunnel into the cool night air and he began jogging down the mountain to where they’d parked the car, still holding her tight in his arms.
“We’re out of the cave, and Em is safe with Brian. Can we stop and look at that cut now?”
“No.” Not exactly sure how else to say it, he went with being blunt. “The mark on her cheek means Emily will never be safe again, Rachel. She’ll need to be protected twenty-four-seven for the rest of her life.”
“But”—she glanced at him in the moonlight, frowning—“you tried to do that for your brother and it didn’t work.”
“I was alone then; I’m no’ now. Brian and the others can help.”
“Can we really do it? Keep her safe forever?”
Lachlan was glad she couldn’t see his face too well in the dimness. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I’m around for ninety-one more years, and Brian, assuming he doesn’t get himself into trouble, will be around much longer. It’s possible. Don’t give up hope.”
“Okay.”
She kissed him softly on the mouth, then wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, proof positive that her faith in him remained intact.
Faith he wasn’t sure was justified.
Rachel stared at the mobile home with raw dismay. A good strong wind could blow the damned thing over. “This is the safest place on Earth for Em?”
“It’ll surprise you,” Lachlan assured her with a smile.
He parked the car and hustled her up the crushed-stone path to the door. When no one answered his knock, he flung open the door and entered.
The lights were off, the room empty. The kitchen sparkled with pristine countertops and the living room stood in uncluttered glory, the only visible sign of ownership a folded, hand-knit throw over the back of the leather sofa. Lachlan had eyes only for the floor-to-ceiling purple curtain hanging on the back wall. Crossing the room in three easy strides, he swept back the heavy velvet drapery.
And revealed a mildew-darkened, gray stone wall.
“Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, trailing him through the home. A cool, crystalline scent hung in the air, but she couldn’t identify it.
“We need to get to the other side,” he said ruefully, “but with no door …”
“Welcome to my world,” said a crisp, female voice. “Forever stuck on the other side of where I want to be.”
Rachel spun around.
The most beautiful white-haired woman she’d ever seen stood on the beige carpet not ten feet behind her, where only moments before there’d been no one. At least, she was pretty sure there hadn’t been anyone leaning on that leather chair. But then again, the room was dim and the woman was dressed all in black, so maybe—
“Forever unwelcome,” Lachlan added quietly. “The rejection must break your heart.”
“Indeed.” The woman laughed. “If I had a heart, it would surely splinter at being so sorely abused.”
Lachlan didn’t respond. He merely held out his hand to Rachel, inviting her to slip closer to him. She didn’t argue.
Narrowing her eyes at his protective gesture, the white-haired woman said, “I’m most displeased with you, Gatherer.”
“Why? Did I no’ do everything you asked of me?”
“You embroiled a number of my other Gatherers in this affair—against my express wishes.”
Rachel swallowed a thick lump of realization. My Gatherers? This woman was Death? For some reason, she’d assumed a goddess who stole life from others would be older and … uglier.
“I merely protected the girl, as you demanded.”
Death wrinkled her nose. “Well, it’s of no consequence now. The job is done. Open the wall.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?” The goddess stepped forward, a vision of lethal beauty in her inky black pantsuit and high-heeled pumps. She put a pale hand on the damp wall, the extra long fingernail of her right index finger tapping the stones. “A time barrier. The work of your sniveling little mage, I’d wager.”
Again Lachlan said nothing. His breathing remained even, the strength of his chest solid and warm against Rachel’s back, his arms a comforting wrap.
“The spell is easy enough to surmount,” Death said. “Just tell me when and where he is, and I can break through.”
“No.”
She shot him a tight-faced look. Her blue eyes glittered like shards of glass. “Did you just refuse a direct order from your liege?”
“Aye.”
“Then you must have temporarily lost your wits. Your soul is mine, MacGregor. I decide how long you serve me. How is eternal purgatory sounding?”
“Just fine. I’ll be able to protect the girl until she dies a natural death at a ripe old age.”
“Natural death?” A sneer lifted one side of the goddess’s scarlet mouth. “A sweet sentiment, but sadly misguided. There is no natural death. All humans die, true enough, but the time and place and means are at my whim.”
Rachel glared at Death. “If you have the ability to choose when and where, then you can also choose to walk away. Leave my daughter alone.”
Arching her thin brows, Death lifted her gaze to Lachlan. “Did you not explain to her what was at stake. MacGregor?”
He was incredibly still, and icy dread curled in Rachel’s belly. Not another lie.
Death’s gaze slid back to Rachel’s face. “Did he tell you your daughter was the Trinity Soul?”
She nodded.
“Did he also tell you that if I consume the Trinity Soul, I acquire all of her power? And that with her power I will ascend to the status of a full deity and rule the middle plane with the same powers as God and Satan?”
“No.” The word came out as a gasp. Consume? Death wanted to eat Em’s soul? How gruesome was that?
“So you see, your daughter’s death is my destiny. It may take me some time to break through this barrier, but be assured that I will.”
Rachel’s heart pounded.
“Romany magic is no match for primal energy,” continued the goddess. “My triumph is inevitable.”
“No’ necessarily. Should you succeed in tearing down the wall,
you’ll still face the Gatherers committed to protecting her.”
Lachlan’s rumbled threat only made the goddess smile.
“You think they’ll take up arms against me? Please. You’re about to discover the other Gatherers aren’t quite as noble as you, MacGregor. The threat of eternal servitude will cow them in an instant and win me back their loyalty. If it doesn’t, I’ll simply take their souls from my chest and offer them to Satan.”
Crisp confidence hung from every word, leaving no room for doubt. Death would deliver on her promise. Em would die—today. Rachel turned in Lachlan’s arms and buried her face against his neck, breathing in his reassuring scent.
Maybe she should be angry he’d held back this part of the story, but she couldn’t summon one ounce of bitterness. As far as she could see, the only reason for not confessing Em was going to die was to leave her with some hope, and how could she hate him for that?
His arms tightened around her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear, so gently the words were almost a caress.
“I know.”
Death folded her arms over her chest. “Why not just tell me the year, MacGregor? You know you can’t protect the girl.”
“No.” It wasn’t Lachlan who answered, but Rachel. She spun around to face the goddess. “If you think we’re just going to roll over and give her up, think again. If you’re so freakin’ determined to kill her, then work for it. We sure as hell aren’t going to make it easy.”
“By the gods, you reek of passion.” Death’s eyes widened. “Of course. It all makes sense now. All the while I thought it was the danger to his fellow Gatherers that sparked the fire in MacGregor’s belly. But it was you. A warm, weak, needy woman.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Death lifted her long white fingernail. “There’s a real risk to annoying me, Rachel Lewis. Test me at your peril.”
Lachlan’s body suddenly radiated a dangerous, pulsing energy. He stood taller, firmer. “Careful, my liege. I’ve read the ancient tomes.”
“You threaten me?” Death asked, amazed.
“You are no’ invincible.”
“Nor are you.”
Drawn into Darkness Page 27