by Dianna Love
“Nabbing you is just a job. Nothing personal,” Brains reassured, taking a step closer.
I tightened my grip on the rail even as I swallowed. “Seems damned personal to me.”
“Come on, girlie, I took out Gurn for ya.”
“You’re all heart.”
He shuffled another step closer, his grin feral, his muscles tensed, so tensed I expected him to shift any second. Strong emotions tended to force many shifters into their non-human selves.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I countered, pulling my other leg over the rail so now I was standing on the far side of it, the cool metal the only thing anchoring me to the boat. I dropped one of the knives so I could hold on tighter but clutched the other knife as if my life depended on it. Which it did.
Brains jackknifed to a sudden stop. And even took a step backwards. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he said, raising one hand, the one without the gun. “Let’s talk this out. I’m sure we can work somethin’ out.”
“Yeah, right.” Not. But maybe this was exactly what I needed. Here was someone who might know something about who was behind the thefts or Van’s disappearance.
“Who sent you?” I asked. After all, what did I have to lose? Other than my life. “Was it Bran?”
“Nah, he don’t have anything to do wit’ this.”
I was assuming “this” meant the whole kidnapping thing. But was Bran involved in the thefts? Or Van’s disappearance?
As long as Brains was willing to talk, or give himself enough time to figure out how not to lose the prize—me—I could keep going. If nothing else I was getting a few minutes to catch my breath before I hit the water. “So who are you working for?”
“You should know.” He sounded confused, as if trying to figure out if I was pulling his tail, something only an idiot did literally, or metaphorically, to any shifter. “You know what we are.”
“I do.” Time to push. “I just want to see if what I know jives with what you know.” Play the whole, we’re-on-the-same-side approach. A long shot.
“Oh.” So Brains wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Not unusual for certain kinds of shifters who relied on brawn to survive in both human and non-human form. He leaned his upper body forward, as if it were just the two of us chatting but best to keep his voice low.
I mimicked his movement, even as I felt the rail grow slick beneath my sweaty palm. “So who is it?” I whispered in a conspiratorial voice. Just us pals shooting the breeze.
“We call ‘em Seekers. What ‘bout you?”
What the hell was a Seeker? Or Seekers? “The same.” I gave him a chin nod before adding, “Sid your contact with them?” I pulled a name out of the ether, sort of like when I was twelve and blaming Brian Frick for the baseball through old man Gunderson’s window when there wasn’t really a Frick kid around.
That confused look again on Brains face. “Nah, Vaverek. Who’s Sid?”
Who was Vaverek?
I waved my knife hand, blowing off his question. “Vaverek is higher on the food chain than Sid, that’s for sure.” When in doubt, flatter the ego. Nine times out of ten it worked.
From Brains’ smarmy smile, I’d struck the right note.
“So Vaverek still working out of Monte Carlo? I heard he’d transferred to Paris,” I said. Please, please, please give me a solid lead.
“Nah, he’s usually in Paris, but he’s meeting us in D.C. for the end of the tour,” Brains replied, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “You really know him?”
“Sure I do. Or know of him, which is the next best thing.” Bullshit.
Brains’ expression tightened. I think I’d just run out of time. “What’s Vaverek look like then?” he said.
“Never met him personally. Like I told you, I work mostly with Sid.”
“Tall? Blond? Stupid looking?” Brains asked, stepping closer. I didn’t have to be a witch to hear the trap. Whoever this Vaverek was I bet donuts to dollars he wasn’t anything like what Brains described. Or maybe just one out of the three.
Time was up. I glanced once at the water, counting the seconds before Brains lunged.
“I knew it,” Brains snarled, “You don’t know squat.”
I knew when it was time to leave the party.
CHAPTER 26
I squatted lower, in order to launch myself in a dive. Was there enough room to clear the boat? Could I hit the water cleanly?
If the fall didn’t kill me I stood a chance.
But I’d underestimated the speed of Brains. Just as I went to let go a clawed hand speared my arm.
My choked off scream was instinctual.
“No, you don’t,” Brains snarled. “They want you.”
He pulled and tossed me in one smooth arc over the rail away from the water, up in the air and smash into the windows of the front stateroom. My breath whooshed out as I slid in a heap onto the deck.
Damn that hurt. My cracked ribs now felt splintered, stabbing into my lungs.
No breath.
Fat lot of good my silver necklace did for protection.
Brains loomed before me, wide-legged stance, hands on his hips, his face shadowed. His laugh, though, told me all I needed to know. He thought he’d won. That I was out for the count.
Almost, but never count a Noziak as down if they can still inhale. Even in small pants. I’d lost the knives but still had the anathema dagger against my ankle so I wasn’t even sure I could use magic. Only one way to find out.
Sucking in as deep a breath as possible I started a chant. “Musca. Moveō. Volō.”
Brains’ laugh deepened.
A breeze stirred.
“Volō. Volō. Volō. Rumpō.”
The breeze picked up tempo. Not enough.
Brains stepped forward.
I thrust one hand in front of me. All theatrics as my other hand clutched my ribs. I mentally screamed as I crunched myself straighter to deepen my voice. “Musca. Volō. Rumpō.”
He paused, glancing to both sides. “Whatja doin?”
My voice grew louder, but there were only the two of us to hear. “Volō. Rumpō.”
This time he staggered backwards.
My point.
I crawled to my knees, focusing one hundred percent on him. “Medius. Damnum. Rumpō.”
The spell wavered, threatening to break, but then so was I. At this point something was better than nothing.
Brains struggled, as if against a wall of air. I braced one palm on the cool deck and shouted as loud as I could. “Damnum. Rumpō.”
That was it. It was all I had.
My arms gave out and I crumpled, face forward on the deck, but not before I heard a curse. Something sticky coated my fingers and I gagged at the coppery smell. Blood, fresh blood. I’d landed in the widening pool of Gurn’s blood.
Ugh.
I shifted my head, watching Brains’ massive boots shuffle then slide. But not toward me. Away from me. The propulsion spell was working.
Finally.
The rail would catch him so I wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot. I was buying myself a few minutes to come up with Plan B, that was all. Maybe this silly ring I wore could magnify my abilities.
I raised my head and spat the last words I had. “Damnum absque injuria.”
Loss without injury. Even as I wanted injury, big time—Brains’ injury, to guarantee my safety.
Then I heard his scream.
I jerked my head to look up, catching his arms wind-milling, his back against the rail.
The spell wasn’t that strong. I wasn’t that strong. So what. . .?
He shouted, then toppled backwards. I watched, powerless to help as if in slow motion he hung suspended before he winked out of sight.
His voice echoed before being swallowed by a splash.
I crooked one elbow to see if I were imagining things. No Brains. No nothing. Not even the sounds of struggle in the water.
A lot of shifters couldn’t swim. Their body mass ratio made them too hea
vy to float easily. But no way had I. . .and then I looked around me. Gurn’s blood.
Of course. A spell aided by blood and the power of my ring. Ling Mai had said it’d increase my power. I’d crossed that line between magic and black magic. Didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to.
Didn’t matter.
I sagged, every ounce of energy spent and closed my eyes. In a second I’d figure out what to do next. But not now.
Now I felt the effort of my fight. Air washed around me, kissing my skin, but lessening with each breath I took. My heartbeat slowed, like a clock winding slowly down: Thump. Thump. Thump.
Is this what it felt like to die?
Very quiet. Very slowly.
For a second I struggled, but only for a second. Too much effort.
This was peaceful.
I could no longer feel fingers or toes. The breeze had gone away.
Or maybe it was me.
Thump. Thump. Then darkness.
CHAPTER 27
The darkness wasn’t bad. Not like I expected; a shadowy play of light and darkness. In the distance I could see a shape moving toward me, a rough outline. A woman?
“Grams?” my voice cracked, as if I hadn’t spoken for a long, long time.
“Go back,” she said, sounding much like my father’s mother, though her face looked different as she neared. Worried. Disappointed. “Van needs you. Go back.”
But I didn’t want to. This was easier. Lying here. The pain gone. Everything gone. Worry, fear, struggle.
“Come back.” The voice had changed, grown deeper, angrier.
Not Grams.
I sensed someone standing over me. The pain slid back into my body. The thud of my heart echoed in my ears.
Thump. Thump. The pounding weak, but there.
“You won’t leave.” A direct order. But whose? Oh, please, not yet. Not another shifter.
A touch to my shoulder and a mumbled oath. A familiar voice. That familiar, pissed off voice.
I peeled open my eyes, squinting against the darkness. But I didn’t need clear light to know who was now kneeling beside me.
“Bran?”
“You’re wearing a protective ward,” he snarled, ignoring my question. His hands hot against my skin, calling forth the pain screaming through me.
“You’re hurting—”
“Enough. Can’t hold onto you.”
Yes, sir, your Royal Mageness. I would have shaken my head but couldn’t muster enough power.
“Suzette?” I asked through dry lips. Even half-dead I had my own agenda and it wasn’t letting Bran through my warding.
“She’s fine,” he answered, poking me some more, but even a weak ward was like sticking your hand in an electrical socket. So what was he doing? Trying to finish what Brains and Gurn had started? Killing me and tossing my body after Brains?
Next time I’d create a stronger ward. One strong enough to keep shifters off me, that much was clear.
The pain eased, from a headlock grip to able to breathe through it in small pants.
Then I remembered who else was at risk on this damned floating casket. Sasha. Had to find her.
“You seen Sasha?” I mumbled, my voice shaky.
“Forget the model. Remove all your wards,” he repeated, as if talking to a recalcitrant child.
“Not safe,” I managed. So much more I could say. I don’t trust you. I trust no one, but especially not you. But those took coherent thoughts and I was losing the fight with the pain.
He leaned closer, his voice weaving around me, seductive for what it promised—safety, a release from distress, a willingness to share the burden. “I’m a healer,” he whispered. “Remove the warding so I can help.”
Believe or not?
“You have internal damage.” His voice sounded less gentle, more insistent. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
I hesitated. Words were his weapons. Was he promising what I wanted most to get me to let my guard down?
“I swear on all you hold dear, I only seek to heal you here and now.”
He must be able to read minds, too. But a mage’s word was a sacred bond.
I sucked in a breath, praying to the spirit guardian of my shamanic ancestors that it wouldn’t be my last, and released the last ward.
CHAPTER 28
I lay there on the cold deck, shifter blood congealing next to me, the salty scent of ocean wind brushing my skin. I wasn’t giving up or giving in. I was trusting, which was much harder than dying had been.
And if Bran screwed with me I’d return from the afterlife and do the same to him.
“Hold still,” he murmured, as if I had a choice.
I don’t know what I expected. A shock maybe. A jolt. Something, anything except the wave of warmth covering me; toasty, comforting warmth, like a hug only better.
Bran murmured some words. Not Latin. Not spell casting. Something else. Something older, more primordial. I could have floated in that cocoon of heat and sound forever.
Then he touched me again. Feather light but demanding at the same time. His hands spanned my ribcage and a spark of fear lit within me.
“Shh, I’m only helping.”
So he said, but how easy would it be for him to crush. Easier than to mend.
What came next was as if a weight lifted, slowly but surely. Air seeped back into my lungs. Lungs that felt as if they were slowly being pumped full.
Never had a breath tasted so sweet.
“You’ve made a real mess, little witch,” he said, as if talking to himself. “Lucky I came when I did. I’m good, but if you’d been dead for much longer . . .”
I whispered through dry lips. “Noziaks are very hard to kill.”
“Looked like you gave it your best attempt.”
I wanted to tell him where he could take his opinions but he shushed me. “Focus on healing. I need your help here.”
What was I supposed to do?
“Visualize your bones knitting,” he said, as if listening to my thoughts.
I snorted instead.
“Either trust me or do not.”
Fine, if he was going to make me sound like an ungrateful baby. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, then followed the pressure of his hands, his fingers, across the ribs, one at a time, light pressure. Sometimes I sucked in air when the pain spiked, but mostly I centered my thoughts on what rib bones looked like, their shape, their texture. I saw them as one of those skeletal teaching aids in hospitals, no flesh, no organs, just the white bones.
“Feeling better?” he asked after a bit and I realized I’d drifted away.
How long had I been gone? Long enough that the sharpness of the pain had ebbed. I was back to the cracked rib stage I’d been in before I’d been tossed by Brains.
I squirmed, starting to sit up when Bran pushed me back down. “Not so fast. I’m not done.”
“I don’t need—”
“You need what I say you need. These ribs have been recently injured and not fully healed. What did you do?”
My exhale warned him that I’d tolerate his being bossy and pushy but only so far. “I messed with a trio of echo-demons.”
Okay, so his whistle helped massage my ego a bit.
“You win?” he asked, his hands now moving from my ribs to my arms.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He actually chuckled, which created a different kind of warmth coursing through me. One I had no reason to feel.
I squirmed again, pushing his hands away. “That’s enough. We’re done here.”
He raised both hands palm up before me. “You want to still hurt, so be it.”
That’s not what I wanted. It was more what I didn’t want—to be so near a pool of congealing blood with a far too sexy and too dangerous warlock rubbing his hands all over me. But no way was I going to say that last part.
Nor was I ready to deal with how powerful a warlock he really was, bringing someone back from the dead. That scared me, on many levels. If one
didn’t mess with magic without ramifications what did it mean to cheat death?
“Here.” I shivered, then thrust a trembling hand out. “Help me up.”
He did, not with a hard jerk but a very gentle tug that allowed me to gain my feet and only waver a bit. I braced my legs, only too aware that every movement was one I would not be taking if it weren’t for Bran’s intervention.
I grabbed a moment to look around, struggling to find a sense of normalcy, focusing on the small details because I couldn’t grapple with the bigger issue. The whole dead-but-not-dead one in particular. “Where’s Gurn?” I asked, noticing first what was missing. “His body was right there.” I pointed to a spot on the bloody deck to my left.
“A friend of yours?” Bran stood too close to me. Either worried that I’d topple and he’d have to re-do all his work, or not trusting me not to cast a spell in his direction. What kind of spell? An undo-whatever-the-hell-he’d-just-done spell?
Back to the normal. “No, Gurn wasn’t a friend. He was the second shifter after me.”
“Why after you?”
His voice sounded strange, but I wasn’t sure why. If it was because he was surprised there were two or expecting more, I didn’t know. Or maybe he was drained from snatching me from the dead. Either way I stepped back, so I could point at the stain and give myself space between us. “Yes, two. Gurn was shot by his partner and his body was right there.”
“And what happened to the partner?”
I nodded toward the rail. “He stumbled back.”
“Toppled over?”
I nodded, still surprised that the propulsion spell had that much power, even with blood magic. And had Bran used black magic to jumpstart my heart? Oh, hell, I hadn’t even thought of that.
I glanced at Bran, not seeing his features all that clearly but clear enough to see the furrow of his brows.
Focus on the shifter, not the fear.
“Mostly Brains slipped in Gurn’s blood.” I glanced at the front of my sweatshirt and jeans, glad they weren’t plastered with blood. I wiped what was on my hands along my jeans. Yuck. “Like what’s on me.”
“How hard did you hit your head?” Bran asked, as if I was making everything up.
“Don’t believe me, but there were two and they planned on kidnapping me.” This I could talk about, even get pissy about.