Inked Magic
Page 36
On shaky legs Etaín moved toward the front of the metal shipping container. The walls had already begun closing in, but adrenaline, the desperate need to survive, would keep the memories of all the other victims behind mental walls, at least for a little while.
Sweat coated her skin. Each breath brought the fetid stink of urine and bowls, the harsh smell of terror that had a scream building inside her, one choked off because she knew it would bring only one person.
He came anyway. Drawn by the sound of her vomiting or by a guess the drug he’d injected would have worn off by now.
The metal latch lifted and, remembering the Taser, she pulled the mattress over puke and stood it on its side, turning it into a shield and battering ram in the instant before the door began opening.
Everything inside her demanded she escape the metal container as external light entered in a narrow wedge. She waited, nearly panting, ears straining to hear his movements.
He widened the opening, finally, cautiously showing himself. Part of a face. A chest, an arm extended, the Taser visible.
She attacked, slamming the mattress into the door. Driving him back but out of view. Leaving no other option except to continue forward.
She’d hoped he would fire the Taser reflexively and have to reload. He didn’t.
He kicked at the mattress. Wrestled against it, trying to get a shot rather than simply tackling her.
She’d welcome the tackle if it gave her the opportunity she needed. The vines on her arms were on fire. Magic gathered, but she knew only one way to use it, her only goal to get close enough to touch the eyes to his skin, until she saw the pistol.
It lay on a table. A foot away from a homemade S&M bench, the legs and arms already spread, restraints open in preparation for binding her to it.
She backed toward it, slowed by her crouched position and the need to keep the mattress in place. Hope and desperation feeding her strength.
He screamed in angry frustration. “No!”
Charged, using fists and feet in a fury. Grabbing the mattress and jerking it down.
Firing. The barb sinking in just beneath her collarbone.
She dropped.
Helpless.
And he vented. Kicking her side repeatedly, until she knew by the pain and the sound of cracking bone that he’d damaged her ribs.
Tears leaked out of her eyes. Terror gripped her, knowing the injury was only the first she would sustain. Remembering the hospital room and Tyra.
He sobbed. “Stupid bitch. Stupid bitch. Look what you made me do.”
Then he picked her up gently, tenderly, the anger draining out of his face as he carried her to the bench.
She tried to struggle. But she was a mind without a body.
A whimper escaped. I can survive this. I WILL survive this.
All she needed was a single opportunity.
He laid her down, fingers encircling her wrist and carrying it upward, only to go completely still, an animal alert to danger. Primitive instinct kicked in so instead of tethering her he jerked her off the table, shielding himself with her as he dropped the Taser and grabbed the pistol, pressing it against her forehead.
Her legs and feet tingled, control returning, but her arms and hands were useless.
The door exploded inward and her heart sang at the sight of Eamon and Cathal. She drank them in, accepting in a heartbeat that she would fight to keep both of them, and her life would change because of it.
They entered flanked by Rhys and Liam, the four of them spreading out. Weaponless, seemingly harmless. Engendering a confidence that pulled the gun from her temple to take aim at them.
Magic flashed, a jet of blue fire from Eamon’s fingertips, engulfing hand and gun. Filling the room with a scream and the smell of burning flesh as she was set free.
Time slowed for Cathal even as both he and Eamon rushed forward. Eamon reached Etaín first, stripping off his shirt and covering her with it, leaving Cathal’s arms empty. His hands empty. His mind empty of everything except for the desire to kill the man who’d taken her.
He didn’t allow himself to think of her nakedness and what had been done to her before they got to her. All that mattered was putting an end to the pain howling through him. The agony of knowing that despite his wealth and power, he hadn’t been able to keep her safe.
He picked up the gun. Feeling the places where flesh was burned onto the metal, the only physical evidence of a fire whose damage had disappeared when it did.
Liam and Rhys had the rapist held between them and Cathal preferred the solid reality of it to the inexplicable things he had witnessed and experienced since Eamon drew him away from the fund-raiser.
He approached, facing the truth about himself. One shielded earlier by the desire to protect Etaín. For Caitlyn and Brianna, he would have accepted a different version of justice for a rapist. For Etaín, he would be like his father and uncle.
He aimed the gun, knowing that no one in this room would dispute whatever story he told authorities. But before he could pull the trigger, Etaín’s hand was there, covering his, pushing it lower. “No, Cathal. No. Not like this.”
He let her force his hand downward until the gun pointed at the floor, accepting her choice and with it the reminder it had once been his too, though now he knew with certainty what he’d do without remorse when it came to her.
She put her arms around him. Hugging him tightly, the scent of her mingling with the smell of Eamon’s cologne on the shirt she wore.
“You got here in time,” she said. “You got here in time. Let the taskforce have him. Let the other victims have the satisfaction of seeing him tried.”
He returned the hug, feeling her stiffen, hearing the catch of her breath and the whimper she couldn’t contain.
“You’re hurt,” he said, renewed anguish rushing through him.
“I’ll be fine after a stop at the hospital.”
Eamon joined them, compassion ruling as Cathal yielded sole possession so Etaín could be held safe between both of them. He could allow Cathal his peace of mind, his choice to be other than his father and uncle. He could wait out the tedious wheels of human justice as Etaín desired. But he would never allow any threat to her to remain alive.
It was a hardly a challenge for an Elven assassin, much less a warm-up for what was to come when Etaín’s existence became known. Yet the anger burning in Liam’s eyes when Eamon met them relayed the message he expected to find there.
It will be your task, Eamon mouthed before touching his lips to the silk of Etaín’s hair and saying, “You’ll see a healer. One of my people and then we’ll go home. My home.”
Cathal tensed, breath caught in his chest as he waited for what she would say. She met his eyes. “I want to be with you both tonight.”
He couldn’t deny her. Couldn’t deny himself, not when he craved the feel of her skin against his, the press of her body, its heat coming with the knowledge she was safe.
“Anywhere, Etaín. His place. Mine. Yours. It doesn’t matter.”
“His then, for tonight anyway. Let’s call the police now. So we can get this over with. This is where they brought Tyra. It’s probably where they brought all of their victims.”
Parker was the first to arrive, the squeal of tires preceding his running entrance. He didn’t acknowledge any of the men present, only glanced briefly at the rapist who lay hog-tied with duct tape before pulling Etaín into his arms and sending physical pain screaming through her even as it soothed the open wound in her heart.
“Jesus, Etaín. Jesus.” He trembled against her and for the first time in a long time, there was no doubt that he loved her as he had when they were children.
Touch him. Know the full truth, an insidious voice whispered in her mind, bringing panic with it.
Etaín clutched Parker’s FBI emblazed jacket in her hands in denial of it. But the voice grew louder, more demanding, frightening her with its intensity and the slide of her palms downward.
She tried to step out of the embrace but couldn’t, heard herself whimpering and felt Parker drawing back, the movement speeding the descent of her hands and bringing them closer to his.
“Eamon,” she managed to whisper before her throat was closed off, an entreaty he answered with the brush of fingertips at the nape of her neck, spell sigils that flowed like fire and water down the vines of her forearms and into wristbands her mother had put on her at eight, turning them into shackles that freed her from the demands of the magic.
“Etaín suffered injuries before we arrived,” Eamon said, easing her away from Parker whose anguished face made Etaín nearly risk hugging him again.
“Just to my ribs, Parker. That’s all, but I’d like to leave now.”
Already there were more police on the scene. There’d be questions, difficult ones about how she’d been located. The answer to which Parker had been willing to let go at the word psychic because he’d witnessed the things she could do that couldn’t be explained, and because she was safe.
She didn’t want to be trapped into making a statement, doubted the others did, either. Crossing her arms over her chest and drawing attention to the fact she wore only Eamon’s shirt, she asked, “Can we go, Parker?”
For the first time he acknowledged the men, his expression hardening at recognizing Cathal, censure returning when his eyes met hers. She wanted to say, Be happy for me, but didn’t. And Eamon filled the weighted silence by introducing himself as the owner of Aesirs, by giving Parker his address and telling him that’s where she could be found.
It was enough to gain a nod, permission to leave. Revulsion gripped her as she turned and saw the rapist being escorted out by Trent and a couple of uniformed officers. Her skin crawled at imagining him removing her clothing, touching her while she’d been unconscious.
A shudder went through her with memories of lying on the fetid mattress. Tyra’s memories were sealed behind mental barriers again thanks to Eamon, but a permanent chill now lived in the center of her chest at how thin the wall separating her reality from all of the other victims she’d touched was.
“I want a shower,” she said, and after stopping at a modest home long enough for her ribs to be healed, found herself with both men in front of the shower where Eamon had been the first lover ever to enter her with nothing between them.
She removed the shirt and it fluttered to the ground. “Join me?” she asked, not waiting for an answer.
The hot blast of water washed away everything but pleasure and anticipation. It heightened the need for physical intimacy, one that intensified when Cathal entered the shower, his dark looks filling her with a primal craving.
She ate him hungrily with her eyes as her gaze traveled downward, lingering on the tattoos. She was still amazed by the change in them and how they’d led to her being found.
She’d thought in those moments before she’d dared Cathal to take the ink that he needed the tattoos, but in fact, she had. Foresight. She wondered again as she had then, if that was her mother’s gift and she’d inherited some of it.
And then she knew something more as rivulets of water streamed down his arms, the movement of it curling the design and turning it into a circle in her mind’s eye, washing away a blindness she hadn’t been aware of. Her mother wore this same design around her wrists, hidden by the entwining of other sigils.
“Like what you see?” Cathal asked, the husky sound of his voice making it easy to set aside unanswered questions and speculation about any type of magic other than what existed between them.
“Definitely,” she said, taking the single step necessary to reach him, her arms going around his neck.
Cathal hugged her to him, loving the feel of her body against his. So profoundly grateful she was unharmed that the emotion still threatened to overwhelm him.
He touched his lips to hers, breached the seam of them with his tongue and reveled in the welcome he got, the hum of pleasure she made as her hands tangled in his hair.
He was aware of Eamon naked on the other side of the glass, watching before joining them in the shower. A part of him was aroused by it. But there remained a part that wanted to carry Etaín back to his place and tell Eamon to stay the fuck away from her.
It wasn’t going to happen. Today had demonstrated a truth he couldn’t deny. It had taken both of them to find her in time. It might require the same to keep her safe given his family and the work she did for the authorities.
He tightened his arms on her. Deepened the kiss as if he could hold her to him forever.
Eamon opened the shower door and stepped into his element. Water cascaded over him, its voice a harmonious melody sung to notes of his creation. His eyes flicked briefly to the tattoos Cathal wore and he found satisfaction in knowing the bond with Etaín was his whenever he was willing to accept it.
There was risk involved in taking her ink, great at the best of times, which was why no seidic born into this world had ever been allowed to claim a spell caster. A danger magnified by Etaín’s being on the cusp of change, though tomorrow was soon enough to reveal the truth of her heritage.
The gold of her aura had deepened almost to that of a pure Elf. The events of the day leading to a tipping point clearly demonstrated by how close she’d come to harming the man she called her brother.
Eamon brushed the wet strands of her hair aside. Hands settling on her hips, the backs of his fingers touched to Cathal’s skin, he pressed kisses along her shoulder and felt the hot seductive twine of her magic with his, the call to join his body to hers, his life to hers.
She was everything he wanted, the Lady his people needed. But there were no guarantees she would survive the transition despite the inked-bond with Cathal and what he himself might do in an effort to help her through it. There were no certainties save one. If she failed to gain control of the magic and her gift, then his duty as Lord would require him to kill her.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jory Strong has been writing since childhood and has never outgrown being a daydreamer. When she’s not hunched over her computer, lost in the muse and conjuring up new heroes and heroines, she can usually be found reading, riding horses, or walking dogs.
She has won numerous awards for her writing. She lives in California with her husband and a menagerie of pets. Visit her website at www.jorystrong.com.
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