Capturing the Last Welsh Witch

by J. M. Davies

  Shaking her head free of the hazy memory of last night, she blinked. Knowing that Aidan had betrayed her and was somehow involved with this group froze her blood to ice. She needed to find the amulet and disappear, fast. Ella remembered knocking it free when she was fighting. As she scanned the room, she wondered whether the amulet had been stolen. To ordinary eyes, it was a striking and unique gold bracelet. In reality, it was her talisman, forged with magic. The bracelet had followed her into the next life gifted to Ella by her mother. In fact, Aidan had once commented on it, saying its jeweled design was similar to one from the nineteenth century. She’d simply smiled and said it was a good replica, keeping the fact it was indeed an original from the Victorian era a secret. It was a gift from a friend who had it fashioned so that the center cabochon opened like a locket. At one time, it was used to hide messages and then later a key. The key was her link to freedom. It opened a safety deposit box that gave her numerous identities and money. Time had taught her to be prepared.

  Crawling on her hands and knees over the floor, she checked under the coffee table, the rug, and the fallen magazine rack. As she neared the stone fireplace, slowly a picture formed in her mind of the bracelet: its intricate and delicate crisscross design across the slim band, to the pretty flower shape on top that was inlaid with one large circular diamond and several teardrop diamonds surrounding it. Ella called to it, reaching out to find its location. She narrowed her eyes and then closed them, moving on instinct. The bracelet had been crafted for her by Barnaby who had known who Ella was and what she was, before even she did. Now, it was part of her.

  A soft steady beat thrummed in her ears and her fingers tingled. She stretched her slim digits forward over the rough and dusty surface of the fire grate, gazing back at the door to the kitchen and her exit before she turned around to continue her hunt. A sharp sting of electricity charged through her, letting her know she was close. Her hand sifted through the soot and rubble; she finally touched a solid object. Ella inched her fingers forward and tightened them over her discovery.

  “Gotcha.”

  The smug masculine voice boomed close to her ear and her breath caught in her throat. A clicking noise and a distinctive snap brought her out of her frozen stance. How on earth had he caught up with her? She jerked her body forward and curved her fingers around her prize, only to be tugged back. Cold metal jammed hard against her left bony wrist and pulled her away. Snapping her head around sharply, she met Nate’s determined glare.

  “I told you if you didn’t behave, I’d use other means.”

  Ella watched the boiling inferno of absolute maleness that was Nate spew. Yanking her up off the ground, he quickly applied the remaining handcuff to his solid wrist. Stashing her find in her back pocket quickly, she tried to shove him away but he caught her free wrist to hold her; try as she might, they were shackled together.

  She was his prisoner.

  His dark gaze studied her face; his hand intently grabbed her chin firmly and he peered at her eyes closely. “Contact lens?” He ground the words out and the harshness startled her as they were so unexpected and for a moment she didn’t understand why he was asking such a question. Frowning, he repeated the question.

  “What?” She stood next to him, completely baffled by his question at this point in time.

  “Your eyes, Ella. They were mud brown and now they’re as blue as azure. Did you use contact lens?”

  She opened and then snapped her mouth closed. She stared him down, straight into his dark, soulful eyes, unwilling to be intimidated by his size and her predicament but dropped her shoulders as if in surrender. “Yes! It’s an easy way to change one’s appearance. Sometimes, it’s necessary.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “It must be tough being a preschool teacher these days.”

  If he only knew the half of it. Her childhood had been full of love. She was from an ordinary middle-class family, her mother a preschool teacher just like her and her father an up-and-coming author. She went to a good school and had a great circle of friends until a freak car accident claimed the lives of her parents, which left her an orphan at eighteen. Everything changed from then on. As soon as she was ensconced in the community college in Wells, she knew her powers were rising and she had difficulty controlling them, which drew unwanted attention to her. One terrifying night in particular led to fleeing the coastal town of York, Maine where she lived. She left to start a new life in Massachusetts with a new identity and the moderate inheritance she had been left but it had never been a choice—more necessity. She was about to scream at him as to who the hell did he think he was to judge her, but his callused hand clamped over her mouth as a succession of muffled popping noises exploded across the room and splintered holes in the walls.

  Nate pulled away from the fireplace to hide in the alcove; he yanked on the handcuffs, which made her slam against his steel-like chest. She was practically kissing his chest hairs, which she could see peeking through the top of his fitted charcoal-gray shirt. Her wrist stung from the sudden force but she pushed it aside as the gunfire continued. Stepping away slightly from Nate, she glanced in the direction of the bullets but he shoved her back behind him. If it was the Elusti, pretty boy didn’t have a chance.

  “We have to get out of here. Someone’s firing at us.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.”

  His face loomed in close, scowling. “Be quiet.” More bullet holes peppered the white walls. His hand twisted around his back to search for something she couldn’t see as it disappeared under his black trench coat. Ella hoped to hell it was equal in firepower to what they were being shot at with. Whoever was firing at them was using a silencer, and they weren’t shooting for fun. If they didn’t move, they were dead, and the handcuffs were a hindrance. As if he read her mind, he lifted Ella’s wrist, pulled out a key from his pocket and opened the lock.

  “Keep quiet, and stay behind me. I’m taking these off, but I warn you, if you move from my side, you’re dead. Either I’ll shoot you or they will. Understand?”

  She rubbed her wrist, but didn’t move. Judging from the direction of the bullets, and the quantity, Ella surmised there were at least three gunmen inside the house, but she wasn’t sure about outside. Nate’s forehead creased with multiple lines as he briefly narrowed his gaze at her, as if trying to work out some kind of puzzle; she wondered what he was thinking. Standing straighter, she sighed as she realized her appearance was the cause of his disquiet. Did he really believe she was capable of murder, even if she was barely recognizable as the timid schoolteacher? His gaze moved away from her. For the longest time, Ella had believed being hidden in this leafy, quintessentially New England town, she had found a safe haven, but once again she was surrounded by danger. Would it ever be any different?

  After a moment, Nate turned to look over his shoulder at her and his chiseled features appeared softer than before. He lifted his finger to his mouth, silencing her once more. He lifted his other hand with the palm facing her to signal for her to stay put. She pulled at his shirt. “I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you.”

  He tilted her chin upward and rubbed his thumb on her jaw. “Ella, if that’s even your real name, this is what I’m trained to do. Stay put—stay alive. There are too many of them. I need to even the odds. We’re sitting targets like this.”

  Before she could question why, she pressed her lips against his, as if to remind her of the recent electrifying effect. Instantly, a deep tingling shot through her body, firing and sparking her energy. She was about to push him away, but he did and she stood breathless and alone.

  In a flash, Marcus disappeared around the corner and headed for the kitchen. He crept with the stealth of a leopard in the darkness and silence. A crunch sounded toward his left; he swiveled around as a large black mass loomed and pounced. He fired two shots from his Sig Sauer P226 and the figure dropped to the ground. He had thirteen rounds left and another magazine in his belt. Running forward, he crouched and searched th
e dead man’s pockets. Nothing. He turned his body over and as the man’s hand fell forward, it displayed a prominent black tattoo that Marcus recognized. Swearing under his breath, he stood up to search the silvery shadows, but large plumes of white smoke billowed into the kitchen from the stairs, making visibility difficult. What the hell was going on?

  A loud explosion erupted from the same direction, knocking him back but he recovered, quickly straightening from his position to dart back into the living room. Whatever was going on, they needed to leave—now. Marcus found Ella still sequestered away in the alcove, staring vacantly as if in a trance. Maybe shock was setting in. With no time for niceties, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out. Another explosion rocked behind them and the entire house crackled with the energy of the fast-spreading fire that licked the walls a sparkling orange and gold.

  Another round of shots fired, and Marcus swiveled around, raised his gun into the muted light and shot at the fast-moving shadows. The pungent smell of burning wood and plastic attacked his nostrils and stung his lungs. Covering his mouth with his arm, he moved quickly as the flames crawled across the floor to consume the sofas, rugs, and anything flammable. He gripped Ella’s hand tightly to pull her through the house, keeping her positioned close behind him as he faced the enemy—both fire and man—with his weapon positioned in front, loaded and ready.

  As they reached the back door, Ella screamed. At this point, they had become disconnected. Marcus swung around to face a beast of a man, several inches taller than him and wider, who dragged a struggling Ella back into the flames. Her eyes twinkled in the darkness like a beacon of hope. Slowly, he steadied his breathing and felt in his pocket, pulling out his night vision scope, which he attached to his hand piece. With complete control and precision, he raised his arm, took aim and even though his target held Ella close like a shield, shot the man dead.

  “Ella.” Before he could stop the words, they tumbled out as he raced into the dancing shadows and grabbed her quivering form. Killing someone was always a last resort. The act of taking a life gave him no thrill or pleasure. It was simply a necessity, a kill-or-be-killed situation. His job was always to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Now he knew who was after her: the Elusti. That raised yet more questions that his boss definitely wouldn’t like, but it changed his perspective on this mission and on what to do with Ella Masters.

  Only once had he tangled with the fanatical group and that was enough to leave a permanent scar on him and his men. The incident that to this day sent shivers down his titanium backbone happened while on tour in Afghanistan. His cast-iron belly over the years faced a multitude of bad situations. He was as used to devastation, turmoil, and chaos as anyone could be, facing it in large and regular quantities. Marcus was trained to trust no one outside of his team and to suspect everyone. However, this group—at the time, an unknown band of mercenaries—hadn’t just massacred an entire village. This army, he spat to the ground, had held thirty defenseless women and children hostage in this tiny hilltop community in unsanitary and unholy conditions. They had tortured, gang-raped and drawn out the deaths of their victims, as if gaining pleasure from the act. In war, death and loss of life was inevitable and soldiers knew that; few he’d met over the years enjoyed killing. It was a necessity—at least that’s what they told themselves, dealing with the mistakes and consequences later when they weren’t on the battlefield or pushing them away and pretending they didn’t exist.

  But walking into the camp on that bitterly cold Sunday morning, there was nothing holy about what they discovered that day. It was a death camp. For the first time, he wondered how the human civilization still existed. How could people wreak such violence upon each other? This army had no respect when it came to human life. He was told his mission was to help the hostages escape to freedom. However, after arriving in the early hours of the morning with his team, they executed their plan, stealthily making their way to the compound. But even using the thermal night vision goggles, they didn’t realize until they were deep inside the brick buildings that they were too late.

  Way too late!

  The tortured bodies of women and children were stacked in heaps, some smoldering, some left rotting for the flies to feast upon—the smell of death pungent and overwhelming. Many experienced warriors emptied their stomachs as they stared at the bloody sight. Bile reached the back of his throat just recalling the putrid odor. Marcus swallowed down his memory and cast a quick glance in Ella’s direction. Quickly, his orders had changed from recovery to burying the bodies, along with any evidence that was found. Fighting in a hot zone where you never knew at times who the enemy was, be it a child with an innocent-looking toy only to have it explode or a female suicide bomber, few things in life truly shocked him but the grisly scenes of children and women haunted him.

  They still did.

  It was the reason he had left the only stable family he’d ever known—the SEALs. When he returned stateside after that last mission, he’d made a vow to the last victim who died in his arms. When he asked her who was responsible for the massacre, her final word was Sampa, which in Pashto means Devil. Since that day, it had become his personal mission to discover who these devils were. And he had. The tattoo on the dead man confirmed their continued and very active existence.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nate dragged Ella away from the house just as the bright orange flames engulfed the building and swallowed it. The windows smashed as smoke and flames spilled out around them, blanketing the view.

  Ella coughed but quickly covered her mouth with her hand and tried to keep up with Nate, not wanting to look back at the inferno. Her body weighed heavily and she knew her strength was failing. Starting the fire reduced her energy. To keep it burning, after healing her injuries earlier, left her running on empty. If Nate’s arm wasn’t wrapped around her waist right now, she would be on the ground. It was too much. Aidan was dead. She was wanted by the FBI for his murder, and hunted by the Elusti. Now, her home was burning to the ground and would soon be no more than a pile of ash.

  “Nate, I can’t keep going,” she rushed out between gasps. Clinging to his arm, tingles dropped from her head to her toes and her body slumped as the world around her disappeared.

  Adam Levine blasted out around her, along with the strong aroma of coffee, and she jolted awake. Shifting her position so she sat up, she yanked her arm and wrenched the socket painfully. Looking sideways at her wrist, which was secured at the side and bashed against cold, hard metal, she practically exploded. She stopped herself from stomping her feet and spun her head to glare at his sideways profile. Damn him. Ella made a show of tugging her arm again, but it was useless. Her hand was locked in the handcuff, and it was secured to the seat belt hook. She swiveled back to peer across at Nate, who focused on the traffic ahead. His mouth tightly closed, he appeared oblivious of her frustration. Blinking away her sleep, she decided to try reasoning with him.

  “Is this really necessary? Did you think I would jump out of a moving truck?” She bashed the metal cuff against the seat belt ring, and sighed with a shrug.

  “Is that a trick question, Ella? The last time I served you coffee, you were a preschool teacher. Today, you’re wanted for murder, and you’ve turned into some kind of sexy Mata Hari. I’m not taking any chances. If you behave yourself, when we stop, I’ll unlock the handcuffs but for now they stay.”

  “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. FBI. You damn well kissed me after you arrested me. Is that standard procedure these days? As for your name is that another of the lies you’ve spun?”

  A muscle in Nate’s cheek twitched and he shot a sharp stare at her before he repositioned his hands on the wheel, which he gripped until his knuckles blanched white. Despite his coolly delivered speech, she affected him and she smiled at this awareness as she stared out the dusty window. A lot had changed in twenty-four hours—that was true—but what was the same was the fact she was his prisoner, even though he had called her sexy. That neede
d to change and fast, but where on earth were they headed? As she puzzled over her next move, his deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “That kiss was a mistake it won’t be repeated, but I’m glad you’re awake. You had me worried for a while. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to take you to the emergency room when you fainted. I thought you had been shot.” He briefly turned his intense gaze toward her before he turned back to the traffic.

  Hearing his words and the implication, Ella bolted upright and adjusted her coat. She shivered with the cold and noticed that her jacket was unzipped, revealing her lacy camisole and her heaving bosoms beneath. Her cheeks flared with heat. Suspicious of his words, she flicked a furious glare at him.

  “And how did you know that I wasn’t?”

  “Before I became an FBI agent, I was a Navy SEAL. I’m used to checking bodies for injuries. Ella, trust me, I have seen a woman’s anatomy before.”

  Her cheeks scorched with the knowledge that his large and capable hands had roamed across her flesh while she lay unconscious.

  “Not this woman. Well, I hope you enjoyed your grope, because it’s the last one you’re going to get.” She pulled the thin velour jacket closer, as if to save her modesty, even though she knew that it was too late.

  He smirked and turned the heater on full blast. “Ella, I’ve never needed to resort to seducing an unconscious woman. Ever. Women like what they see and as I happen to like women, a lot, I’m never without a supply of willing partners.”