by T. M. Cromer
Sabrina’s haunted, tragic eyes lifted to stare at Liz. “He’s a bad man.”
Liz’s heart seized, and she looked at Rafe.
“Not him,” Sabrina whispered. “The other one.”
“Your father?”
Sabrina shook her head.
“Alastair?”
Again, the girl responded with a negative shake.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, sweetheart.”
“Your boyfriend. He’s a bad man.”
Her arms must’ve tightened because Sabrina squirmed within her embrace. “Sabrina, can you tell me how you know?”
Frightened dark eyes turned to Damian.
He nodded. “It’s okay, love. You can help her.”
Sabrina placed her tiny hand over Liz’s heart. A small bead of warmth touched her skin and grew exponentially until Liz’s extremities were close to burning. Her skin tingled and felt close to melting as her magic flooded back into every cell of her body. She gasped and did her damnedest not to drop the little girl. Just as she was about to beg for relief from the fire under her skin, it stopped.
“Now you can see, too,” Sabrina said.
“What the hell just happened?” Rafe demanded.
“My daughter restored Ms. Thorne’s magic. If I’m not mistaken, she also gave her the added gift of sight.”
Sabrina nodded and gave Liz a tentative smile. “Don’t be scared. He can’t hurt you now.”
Liz swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Was he trying to?”
“Yes.” Sabrina shifted and held her arms out to Damian. “I’m tired now, Papa.”
As he gathered the girl against his chest, he trailed a hand over the crown of her dark head. A halo of light sparkled above her before being absorbed by her body. “Rest now, darling girl. When you wake, you will be stronger yet.”
Liz blinked in wide-eyed wonder. Did the Aether just supercharge his daughter?
His gaze locked with hers. “Yes.” He rested his cheek on the girl’s silky curls. “I’ll explain everything after I tuck her into bed.”
Chapter 8
“I don’t understand. How does a six-year-old child have the ability to restore magic to the extent she did?”
“We’ll have to wait for Damian to explain.” Liz casually sipped her wine. She had no real answer for Rafe. Hell, she was still reeling inside from the news that her current boyfriend was evil. Had she sensed it? No. What did it say about her ability to read people? Depressed by the thought, she drained her wineglass.
A shadow crossed her path, and she jumped. Only when Damian touched her shoulder did she calm. “Thank you. I didn’t realize I was still so on edge. What was the black mist?”
“I’m working on finding out. It’s been after Sabrina since she came here.”
She blinked her surprise. “She didn’t always live with you?”
“I prefer not to discuss the past.” His entire being turned chilly. The shift was subtle but strong, and extremely off-putting. He became all business. “What is it you wish to know about what she did for you?”
“Am I at full capacity?”
Damian’s lips twitched. “I feel as if one of us should make a reference to Scotty and Star Trek.”
Liz snorted and visualized a glassful of sweet red wine. She almost cried her relief when she saw the liquid fill the crystal wineglass. There was one thing to be said for her returned magic, it would keep her in enough booze to drown her sorrows.
“Was it so terrible without?” Damian asked softly, for her ears alone.
“It really was. Even though the loss only lasted a few days, it seemed like forever.” She met his dark gaze and wondered how she ever thought him cold a moment ago. Dangerous, yes. Cold and dispassionate, not so much. “I grew up with the assumption I was an all-powerful witch. A Thorne. Untouchable to a large degree with a never-ending source of magic. I now know differently.”
“Sabrina didn’t just restore your power, Ms. Thorne—”
“Please, call me Liz.”
“Liz. Sabrina didn’t just restore your magic,” he said again. “She gave you the ability to see into men’s hearts. She also made it impossible for anyone to remove your power again. Even me.”
She sat up straighter. Had they misjudged him? “You? Why would you want to?”
“I have no plans to do so. I’m simply stating how difficult it will be for anyone who tries. Blockers included.”
She fumbled her drink and saved it just shy of ruining her beautiful gown. “Why would Sabrina do that for me?”
Damian smiled, and the harsh angles of his face softened. Liz felt uncomfortably warm. This man put off a sexual magnetism impossible to ignore.
“You put your own life at risk to help her, Liz. Neither of us will forget that.”
“Is she safe here, Damian?”
“Safe enough. Probably safer than she’d be anywhere else. This is the first time the darkness has gotten that close to her. I’m not sure how it happened, but I enforced my wards around her and my home before joining you tonight.”
“Good. She’s a darling girl.”
“She’s a hellion. Don’t let the innocent face fool you.”
“Like you? I shouldn’t let you fool me either?”
Damian gave a slight nod in Rafe’s direction. “I’m not the one with secrets, my dear. But you’ll see them if you look hard enough. Now, let us enjoy our dinner.”
He rose to his feet and crooked his elbow. Liz locked her arm around his, feeling the pulse of his magic just below the surface.
“Is it frightening to hold so much power, Damian? Do you worry you’ll lose control?”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.”
Did she imagine his sadness? She didn’t believe so. Liz gave his arm a small squeeze. A gesture of understanding and compassion. Other than a single, light pat on the back of her hand, he gave no acknowledgment of her action.
“Mr. Xuereb,” Damian called. “I’ve placed you to Ms. Thorne’s left. Alastair, you’ll be across the table, there.” He pulled out the high-back parson chair and waited for Liz to sit before scooting it forward.
The meal was delicious, and the conversation flowed freely, as did the wine. By the time Rafe escorted her back to her room, she was buzzing.
“I don’t know if this is baby-Aether magic or the booze, but I feel great.” She twirled in place and laughed up at Rafe. “Woozy, but alive, you know?”
“Perhaps it’s a combination of both, qalbi.”
“What does the nickname mean?” For the first time, she braved the emotional landmine of the past. He’d called her “qalbi” since their first night together, and she’d never had the opportunity to ask about it. They were always surrounded by others, or her timing was off.
“My heart.”
Her skin went cold then hot, and her pulse kicked into overdrive. “Am I?” she managed to croak out. “Your heart?”
“From the first moment I saw you.” He unclipped her hair and spread it across her shoulders. “You were staring, lost in the beauty of the Eiffel Tower at night. Wonder in your incredible eyes. And I was lost in the vision of you.”
“You approached me that night.” She remembered the sensation of being watched and had turned to search the crowd. Rafe had stood to one side, arms crossed and head cocked slightly. A warm smile had played upon his full lips, and the gleam in his eyes sucked her in like a tractor beam.
“How could I not?” The corners of his mouth turned up in remembrance and made her warmer still. “The moon was full and glinted off the gold of your hair.”
The memory of their brief interlude was still fresh after all this time. Regret hit her hard. They’d lost four years because he left her without a single word. No whispered goodbye. No brush of his fingers across her lips. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been there but a feeling of fullness between her legs and his scent on her skin.
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard to disperse i
t. “Why did you leave me the way you did?”
“I was stupid. As I said, I believed finding you again would be a simple matter. My resources seemed endless. They weren’t, and I never discovered your name. But I never stopped looking. Every year, I went back to our hotel, hoping beyond hope you would return to me.”
“I couldn’t. I assumed it was only a fling for you. But for me, it was much more. I was emotionally broken for the first year afterward. Revisiting the place where I’d experienced such passion and such grief… I couldn’t do that to myself, Rafe.”
“If I had the opportunity to go back to the morning I left, I never would’ve. I’d stay and wake you with the brush of a rose’s petals along your smooth skin so we might make love again.” He lost all pretense and allowed her to see the truth in his eyes. The raw emotion. Or maybe it was Sabrina’s gift. But either way, Liz could recognize the love he felt for her.
“I love you, Rafe. Your light shines brighter for me than any other.”
His smile started slow, but blossomed into a wide grin. “I love you, Elizabeth.” Then he kissed her.
His lips warm and firm against hers. Not aggressive, but not entirely innocent either. His touch set off a spark within her, along with a feeling of wrongness. Not about the two of them together, but about Rafe’s association to a situation he shouldn’t be connected with. Damian was right; Rafe had a secret. The knowledge blew through her mind with an assuredness she’d never experienced before. Liz pulled out of his arms.
“What aren’t you telling me, Rafe?” she asked softly.
Wariness clouded his eyes, and he looked away. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Disappointment settled in her breast. She was tired of half-truths. Throughout her life, it seemed as if everyone around her had collectively decided she needed to be sheltered from the ugliness of the world. She hated being coddled.
“I mean you’re hiding something from me, and I want to know what it is.”
He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, his elbows resting on his thighs. His head hung low, and he stared at the floor as if he wished to be anywhere but where he was.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Her question was actually more of a statement. She already knew the answer. Whatever Rafe’s secret, he had no intention of sharing it with her.
“I’m sorry, qalbi. I can’t.”
“Does it have something to do with Franklin?” Why she suspected as much, she couldn’t say, but the impression of distrust and nefarious spell casting danced about in her mind. Was this Sabrina’s gift, then? Because it was not what Liz would’ve chosen for herself. It brought nothing but suspicion and hurt.
“Whatever it is, Rafe, you can tell me.”
He remained quiet.
“Right. I guess there’s nothing left to say.” She walked into the en suite bathroom and shut the door behind her. Tears burned the back of her lids, but she refused to give in to the disappointment and sadness she was experiencing. She’d cried enough in the early days after he left her in that Paris hotel room.
All that was left for her to do was find out what Franklin was involved in. Alastair might know, but she questioned the wisdom of asking him. He’d made it obvious he wanted Rafe to play bodyguard.
But what was it Damian had said? Her powers couldn’t be taken away again?
She met the gaze of an extremely determined and pissed off woman in the bathroom mirror. Liz was done being played. Closing her eyes, she visualized her living room. Her cells warmed to almost burning. When she was cool again, she opened her eyes, happy to see the teleport had worked. Not so happy to see strange men in her home. Obviously, her wards had failed when she’d been powerless.
“Fuck.”
Franco “Franklin Moore” Moreau had been in the middle of a locator spell when he experienced a massive pull on his energy. The elements he called to him never manifested, and the magic he attempted fell flat. Only one thing could cause the fizzle of his amped-up power—Liz Thorne’s magic had been restored. She’d been his continuous source and the tool he’d used to drain the rest of her family.
He’d shown up at her home within a half hour of his failed spell, hoping to find her and figure out what had gone wrong. For close to three hours, Franco waited, hoping like hell she’d return, but knowing she wasn’t stupid enough to go anywhere without backup.
“Boss, why are we waiting here? It’s obvious she’s not coming home tonight.”
Franco was damned tired of Petey questioning his every move. “If you want to keep your fucking tongue in your mouth, you’ll shut the hell up.”
The air grew charged, and Franco, Petey, and Chet all went still.
When Liz appeared, Franco almost sent praise to the Goddess. Now, did he play it off as if he was worried, or should he simply attack?
“Fuck,” she muttered.
He had his answer. She knew something was amiss.
“Grab her!” he yelled.
Before his two hired mercenaries could jump into action, Liz lifted her palms and blasted them with category-five hurricane-force wind. Petey slammed into the wall, creating a man-sized hole in the drywall. He sunk to the ground in a daze. Chet was thrown into the entertainment center. The crack of his head against the oak cabinet was a sickening sound. Blood pooled on the floor around him. Franco didn’t bet much on Chet’s chance of survival.
Franco held up his hands in surrender. “Liz, sweetheart, I can explain.” The room turned as arctic as her expression, and he shivered.
“Explain? What’s to explain, Franklin?” Her full lip curled into a sneer.
He dropped his arms and inched his right hand toward the Glock tucked into his waistband. He’d taken the precaution of lacing his bullets with a cocktail of Witchbane, Wolfsbane, and arsenic. Killing her was his last option if he couldn’t talk her down from her anger. Allowing her to run back to her family with the news he was not exactly who he said he was, wasn’t an option.
“I brought Petey and Chet with me in case there was trouble. I teleported to the hotel, but you weren’t there, and I was worried when you didn’t answer your cell.”
“Uh huh. And the ‘grab her’ part?”
She wasn’t buying what he was selling, but Franco didn’t get to where he was without knowing how to tap dance around sticky situations.
“Strictly for protection, Liz. To take you someplace safer than here.”
Liz held out her hand and conjured a flaming ball of energy. “Want to try again? Oh, and if you reach for your weapon, I’ll toast your ass.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know why you’ve become so aggressive. I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!”
The air crackled around them, and Franco knew it was his last opportunity to save himself. With a curse, he ran for the back door. Fire engulfed the opening as he ducked through. He ran as if that devil Alastair Thorne was after him because, in all likelihood, he would be if he wasn’t already.
Chapter 9
“What the hell were you thinking?” Rafe shouted as Liz doused the flames licking up the wall by her back slider.
“Go away, Rafe.”
“What?”
“I said, go away,” she snapped. “I have this all under control.”
He glared at her, and the urge to rail due to her recklessness overwhelmed him. He clenched his hands to curb the impulse.
“There is a dead man on your floor. I wouldn’t call that under control, Liz.”
Her stricken gaze locked onto the body by her entertainment center. Rafe could tell she didn’t have time to process what she’d done. Liz had been in a reactive, self-preservation mode. She’d obviously used her magic to protect herself, and the result was the death of Franco’s minion. Once she had time to register her part in the death, she’d blame herself.
“Qalbi, let me help you,” he said gently.
“I can’t trust you.” She drew in a ragged breath, and Rafe’s he
art thunked in his chest.
The gorilla of a man, who was slouched against the wall, groaned. He took one look at Rafe’s threatening countenance and promptly scrambled to his feet. Liz was faster to react and slammed her would-be attacker against the wall. His head connected with a wooden stud, and down he went—again.
“I guess it’s true what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Rafe shot her an admiring look. “Nicely done.”
“Tie him up. Maybe we can get some information out of him. We’ll let him catch a glimpse of Alastair before we ask questions. He’ll spill his guts from sheer terror alone.”
He grinned his appreciation for her vicious tactics. They could’ve used her when he worked for the Council.
A deep frown puckered her brows.
“What is it, Liz?”
“How were you able to teleport into my living room? I understand the wards were down with the loss of my magic, but you’ve never been here. You wouldn’t have known what it looked like or where the furniture placement was. You could’ve injured yourself.”
“I’ve known the exact layout of your home for some time. Nash gave me photos and an address in the event he couldn’t get to you should you require help.”
Rafe conjured a set of charmed handcuffs and clasped them around the unconscious man’s wrists then covered the deceased guy with a throw blanket.
Liz inched forward. “How did you know this was where I’d come? For that matter, how did you know I left Damian’s?”
“I knocked on the bathroom door after you hid away. When you didn’t answer, I knew you’d run away from me.”
“I didn’t run away!” she denied hotly.
He raised his brows.
“Okay, maybe I did, but you… you…” She jabbed her index finger in his direction. “You’re a damned liar!”
“You want to know what I was hiding?” He surged to his feet. “This! The fact Franklin Moore is really Franco Moreau. The fact he targeted you because he believes you’re the weak link in the Thorne armor. The fact I love you and couldn’t stand to see that bastard touch you so I created a spell to prevent it.”