KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (3 Powerful Heroines, 2 Complete Novels + Bonus Novella)

by Julie Leto

  Farrow arched a brow and remained silent. The answer was obvious, though he had to wonder about the intelligence of the guard left behind if he was so easily fooled. Of course, his cohorts were not much better. He waved Pyle out of the room.

  Once alone, he glared at the sword, thinking of how Gemma had betrayed him, how he’d been so blinded, at first, by her blood connection to Lord Rogan and by the inventive sex she gave so willingly. He had anticipated how she’d turn on him in the end. He’d believed that she wanted the leadership of the K’vr badly enough to help him to it and be satisfied to serve by his side.

  Disgusted and infuriated, he imagined ways in which he could get rid of the elders and Gemma when the blade of the sword began to glow cobalt blue. Excited, he reached for the handle, but the light instantly faded.

  Fury pulsed through him—how dared this tangle of gold and steel taunt him with promises of power it would not fulfill? He slashed the sword across the neck of a bust situated beside the window and, as the head of the former grand apprentice smashed to the ground, the magical light brightened. The blade shone as if it were forged from sapphire instead of steel.

  Power surged up his arm. Images assailed him—striking visions of destruction and violence. Farrow leveled his free hand at the window, and with an earsplitting crash, shards of glass exploded outward. Fragments of the metal frame spiked like knives into the building across the courtyard, impaling the ancient brick. The blue metallic gleam started to fuse with his arm, imbuing him with what he’d been seeking for so long.

  Rogan’s magic.

  Exhilarated, he whooped in triumph. The glow extinguished. His arm dropped, too heavy for him to lift. The magic was gone, and if not for his leaning on the sword now piercing the carpet, he might have fallen over.

  The door behind him burst open.

  “What happened?” Pyle asked.

  Despite the overwhelming need to collapse, Farrow forced himself to smile. He’d waited so long for this. So very long. To revel in his discovery was a luxury he would not deny himself.

  Anger. Anger was the key. And he had plenty of that emotion stored up—particularly for Mariah Hunter, who’d thwarted him one too many times, and whose life he no longer had to spare.

  * * *

  When faced with insurmountable odds against success, Mariah always found it best to keep her plan simple. After arranging for hotel security to stay out of Mariah’s way, Ben and Cat had left. They would act as backup if called, but otherwise would remain out of sight. Mariah refused to put them in danger again because she’d left the damned coins behind in Mexico. Just before midnight, she and Rafe rode the elevator to the roof of the hotel alone.

  After initially laughing at the selection of time and place, Pryce had agreed to her terms. She sensed he knew something that she didn’t—or at least, he believed he did. Neither Ben nor Cat knew what it could be—not even after checking, yet again, with the woman who reportedly had once been his coconspirator in some scheme to take over a cult Mariah had never heard of. In addition to consulting with Gemma Von Roan, Ben and Cat had tangled with Pryce six months previously, on the very night he’d taken a plunge off a California cliff. Since he was still alive, and after the mini-earthquake in Chiapas, she knew he had a rudimentary knowledge of how the sword worked. But what, if anything, did he know about the stone?

  Paschal and Gemma had pored over the documents they’d taken from the archives and had found nothing about the marker. According to them, Mariah’s discovery of the youngest Forsyth brother had been pure dumb luck.

  Or, as Paschal insisted, fate.

  She’d never believed in fate before, but if it helped her get out of this mess, she was certainly willing to start.

  Under other circumstances, Mariah might have suggested that Rafe use Rogan’s magic to retrieve the coins and finish Farrow Pryce off for good. Damon and Aiden Forsyth, from what she’d been told, would not have hesitated to act against such a dangerous enemy. But Rafe was different. He eschewed the power and the shadowy evil that invaded him whenever he used it. She could not ask a man who’d aspired to be his clan’s shaman to use Rogan’s magic to commit murder.

  Velez had made her a marked woman. When he’d called her shortly after she’d finished setting up the meeting with Pryce, he’d explained in excruciating detail exactly how he would kill her if she didn’t cooperate and get his coins back.

  If his Mayan treasure were melted to nothing, she would be, too. Images of the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark had haunted her all day.

  “Are you frightened?” Rafe asked, bursting the images of liquefying skin and bulging eyeballs out of her brain.

  “You tell me.”

  “I’m trying not to intrude.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d exhibit such control if she had the ability to read people’s emotions, but then, she wouldn’t know what to do with such a talent anyway. Since dawn, when Rafe had faded from her bed, she’d wondered if maybe her heart was made of ice, like in the fairy tales. Or maybe she had no emotions at all. Because, care about Rafe as she did, she couldn’t see herself committed to him for years to come. Or more accurately, she couldn’t see a man like him staying with a woman like her.

  “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, least of all you. You may be a phantom, but Ben said you can feel pain.”

  “But I cannot die,” he reminded her. “I am not yet truly alive, so for the moment, I am safe.”

  “You don’t know that for certain,” she insisted.

  “Don’t I?”

  He patted the pocket of the dark jeans, which bulged from the stone. Even in modern clothes—jeans, black button-down shirt and slick boots—Rafe still managed to look like he came from another century. Maybe it was the way his long hair was tousled rakishly across his face, or the stoic set of his shadowed jaw, but Mariah could easily imagine him charging across the rocky Valoren terrain atop a powerful black stallion, wet from the rain, desperate to do whatever it took to find his wife and his sister. The tragic ending of that midnight ride could not be reversed, but she had to hold on to the belief that tonight, the conflict with Farrow Pryce at least would go in their favor.

  “Pryce thinks he knows something we don’t,” she replied.

  Rafe’s brow furrowed for a moment, but when the elevator dinged, he forced a smile. “We know everything he knows, and probably more. He may have the ability to use Rogan’s magic, but so do I. Rest assured, Mariah. We will prevail.”

  She nodded, but the knot of apprehension in the pit of her stomach gave her pause. She took a deep breath and attempted to blow out her misgivings. This had to work. In the last two weeks, nothing had gone her way. She was overdue.

  The lift doors parted one level down from the roof. She checked her watch and noted that she and Rafe had barely a minute to arrive at the predetermined location. She wasted no time in using the key Cat had obtained for roof access. Rafe released her hand and, as they discussed, they walked outside together, but without touching. The less Farrow Pryce knew about her relationship with Rafe, the better.

  They were met by a rush of wind and the deafening sound of chopper blades. They waited for Farrow Pryce’s transportation to set down. Two armed men in sleek black suits exited first, then held the door open for Pryce, who was dressed impeccably in navy blue.

  Only in her line of work would a guy treat a blackmail exchange like a cocktail party.

  Mariah shoved her hands into the pockets of her khakis and tried to look relaxed.

  Pryce greeted them both with a stiff bow.

  “Lost your sword?” Mariah asked, raising her voice to be heard over the helicopter, which remained ready to take off at a second’s notice.

  “Rest assured, it is nearby, should I require it,” he replied. “I may not know you well, Ms. Hunter, but you don’t strike me as a stupid woman. I’m quite certain you will not attempt to double-cross me.”

  He gave one of his bodyguard
s a quick glance. The bulky man produced a heavy velvet bag, which Farrow opened. When he poured the contents into his palm, Marian chest clenched. The Mayan coins.

  “May I?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Pryce replied, holding his hand closer.

  Mariah flipped the coins over, examining them, though she knew instantly that they were the real deal. The weight of them, the shape and color, had been imprinted in her brain.

  She drew her hand back. “Don’t you want to keep a few of these until you’re sure the stone is authentic?”

  His smile broadcast complete confidence. “You’ve hardly had time to create a copy. And even if you did, I’ve never laid eyes on the stone. How would I know a copy if you gave me one?”

  Mariah narrowed her eyes, reading Pryce as best she could. The sharpness of his gaze, the twitch in his jaw despite his relaxed demeanor—all pointed to his knowing something she didn’t. That made her nervous. This whole situation made her nervous.

  Farrow eyed Rafe dismissively. “Bodyguard?”

  She smiled. “Something like that. Okay, I’m satisfied these are my coins.”

  With a nod, Farrow’s companion shook the coins back into the velvet bag, and then held it possessively, his arms crossed over a massive chest.

  “Good. Now let me see the stone,” Pryce requested, with entirely more politeness than Mariah trusted. He was too calm. Too confident. She was dealing with someone she was certain aimed to double-cross her. Her heart beat like an aboriginal skin drum.

  Rafe produced the stone with a bit of a flourish that made it seem as though he’d made it appear out of nowhere.

  Pryce wanted magic? They’d give him magic.

  “Bullet catcher or illusionist?” Farrow asked, eyebrow arched.

  “Man’s got to have quick hands in this line of work,” Rafe replied.

  Pryce’s grin oiled. “And here I thought most ladies liked it better slow.”

  Mariah kept her expression neutral. “Sometimes we just want to get things over with.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “May I?” She shrugged. “Go ahead. It’s just a rock.”

  Rafe rolled the stone into Pryce’s palm.

  He examined it thoroughly. The stone was identical to the one she’d found in Valoren, right down to the hawk etching and the fire opal center. But it had no magic—or at least, no magic that Rafe didn’t control.

  “Now, Ms. Hunter,” Pryce said with a patronizing lilt, “you and I both know that this is not just a rock. It’s a piece of history. Magical history. And if I do this…”

  His words faded away as he grasped the stone tightly and concentrated, staring at the fake fire opal Rafe had magically conjured as if willing something to happen.

  Mariah glanced at Rafe.

  “What are you doing?” she asked Pryce.

  He looked up at her, sneering. “Testing it. It’s the only way to know if this is the genuine article.”

  “The genuine article of what? It’s just a rock. It doesn’t do anything,” she insisted.

  His scowl did not lessen. “We shall see, won’t we?”

  “Return it,” Rafe said, clutching Pryce’s shoulder.

  Pryce’s bodyguard pulled Rafe off his boss. They tussled, and the coins fell to the ground with a clank. Pryce continued to clutch the stone, staring so intently, Mariah suspected his eyes might pop out of his head. Just when she saw Rafe go entirely white, an unseen force grabbed her from behind and knocked her clear across the rooftop.

  Twenty Three

  As if the sun had suddenly risen, all energy drained from Rafe’s body. Mariah skidded across the roof’s stony surface, her arms and legs flailing until she slammed against the short wall and fell, unconscious, to the gravel. He glared at Farrow Pryce, not because the monster had used the stone’s magic to hurt Mariah, but because Pryce had forced Rafe to do it for him.

  The minute Rafe’s hand had made contact with Pryce’s shoulder, Rafe had felt what the blackguard wanted. The fury and hatred focused at Mariah had been so strong, Rafe had instantly keyed into his intentions. To make the fake marker appear genuine, Rafe had had to turn Pryce’s vile desire into reality.

  “What have you done?” Rafe shouted, pretending surprise.

  Pryce nodded to his bodyguards to return to the helicopter, the coins abandoned.

  “I’ve mastered the magic,” Pryce claimed. “I’ve found what every grand apprentice before me has sought. I control Rogan’s magic now. I know the secret. If she ever awakes, do thank her for me.”

  “You bastard!” Rafe cursed, fully intending to wrap his hands around Pryce’s throat, but he brandished the stone, his eyes flashing. Despite Rafe’s instinct to tear Pryce limb from limb, he forced himself to stick to the plan.

  Rafe made a show of trying to reach Mariah, staggered, then focused the magic on himself. An instant later, he was arching over the edge of the rooftop. He cushioned his landing on the concrete below, but created a scene of blood and gore all around him.

  The darkness welling within him was nearly unbearable, but he concentrated on the memories of his last night with Mariah—of loving her, tasting her, moving within her in a rhythm that was as natural as the dance between the sun and the moon in the sky. His palms warmed, recalling the feel of her hands in his as they soared to sexual climax. He clutched that memory like a lifeline until he heard Pryce’s helicopter lift off from the roof and soar away.

  He returned to the roof beside Mariah. She was just coming to.

  “Oh,” she groaned, grasping at him uncertainly in her attempt to pull herself up. “What happened?”

  “Pryce tried to kill you. Mariah, I am so—”

  Though weak and pained, Mariah grabbed his face and kissed him soundly. His attempts to be gentle were met with her bold tongue and a desperate squeeze of his cheeks.

  “Don’t say it,” she ordered, breathless. “You did what you had to do. We’re both okay. Is he gone?”

  Rafe caught sight of red taillights in the sky. Despite Mariah’s kiss, he concentrated a blast of wind at the flying machine, which tottered uncertainly in the air.

  “Leave it,” she said, tugging at his shoulders. “You don’t want him coming back, do you?”

  “He won’t return if he is dead.”

  “You’re not a murderer. Pryce thinks he has the real stone. He thinks he knows how to use it. And he believes I’m dead, or at least seriously injured. He’s wrong. You put a lot of power in that punch of yours, but you cushioned me, too. Just like you did in Chiapas.”

  “I could not bear to hurt you. Not when I—” He cut himself off, knowing that despite all they’d shared, admitting the strength of his emotions for her was not yet prudent. “Not when I care deeply for you.”

  She smiled, then kissed him again, slowly and languorously. She broke away, he noticed, when the helicopter could no longer be heard.

  “He will determine that the stone is fake,” Rafe reminded her as he stood, then helped her up beside him.

  “Yes, but by the time he does, we’ll have reunited with your brothers, who understand this magic better than we do. Now, where are my coins?”

  They found them scattered on the ground near the door, abandoned, as Mariah suspected they would be, likely left for Hector Velez to retrieve, along with Mariah’s bruised and battered body. Well, Velez would at least get half of what he expected. She returned the coins to the velvet bag and hid with Rafe behind an air-conditioning unit until, an hour later, two men arrived on the roof. Quickly, they retrieved the coins and then looked for Mariah. Rafe’s magic ensured that she was not found, and, after making a quick phone call to their boss, Velez’s men left.

  “Do you think they’ll keep after you?” Rafe asked.

  “They have what they want. Getting me as a punching bag would only have been icing on the cake. Let’s bail out. My name is bog water in the treasure-hunting game now anyway.”

  Rafe arched a brow. He was becoming quite accustomed to the
vernacular of the twenty-first century, but some expressions still eluded him.

  “In other words,” she said, grabbing his hand, “let’s get out of here.”

  With that, he could not agree more.

  * * *

  They rendezvoused with Ben and Cat at an airstrip not far from the hotel. Ben had had a helicopter ready to go, prepared to follow if Farrow Pryce had decided to take Mariah with him as some form of collateral or as an extra prize. Luckily, the wannabe magician had decided she was totally expendable. While Mariah ached from her flight across the roof, her primary pain came from Rafe’s expression whenever she grunted or hissed from residual soreness.

  She’d reassured him that he’d had no choice but make Pryce’s magic look real, but his frown remained. She strongly suspected his feelings for her ran deeper than mere caring, and for that, she felt exponentially worse.

  Ben flew them to Dallas, where they traded up to a private jet that delivered them to Florida. They arrived at the Chandler property in St. Augustine sometime after sunrise, so Mariah carried Rogan’s marker inside a courier bag Cat had given her, wholly aware that while Rafe had disappeared from sight, his self-recriminations and regrets had not.

  From the expressions of the people in the lobby, she guessed she looked scary, with her bloodshot eyes and dirty clothes. She longed for a bath and a couple of hours’ sleep before she had to confront her inability to make the man who’d saved her yet again solid and whole.

  “He’s not here,” Cat said shortly after talking to the front desk, and just as Mariah’s foot was about to cross the threshold into the elevator.

  Ben grabbed Mariah’s elbow and pulled her out before the sliding doors shut.

  “Who’s not here?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Paschal. We’d asked the hotel staff to keep an eye on him and Gemma after they arrived,” Cat admitted, then exchanged a worried look with Ben. “They left before dawn.”

  “They’d only just arrived,” Ben said. “Where did they go?”

  Cat’s mouth thinned. “They wanted a ride down to the pier.”

  “The island? Damn.”