Evernight

by Donna Grant

She smiled without answering, but she was prepared to do just that if it meant saving Armir and the others. She might not be able to have him, call him hers, but she could ensure that he and the Varroki continued on.

  “Malene.”

  “I heard you.”

  He moved to face her, his eyes boring into hers. “You’ve harnessed much of the power within you, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

  That made her laugh. “I never said I was.”

  “If you claim to love the Varroki so much, then think of them.”

  It was all she could do not to snap at him. She kept her gaze outward, hoping she might get a glimpse of Synne. “I’ve done nothing but think of every Varroki.” Her eyes swung to him. “Including you.”

  “They…we…need you.”

  Malene smiled, wishing with all her might that his words were true. “If the Varroki have proven anything, it’s that they don’t need anyone.”

  “Why else would the magic send us out searching for young girls to lead us?” he argued. “The tribe needs you.”

  “Young girls who have no idea of the magic inside them. Pliable children. Young ladies who are taken from their homes and thrust into a new world that they don’t want anything to do with. None of the Ladies of the Varroki lasted longer than five years.”

  “You have.” His chin lifted in defiance.

  If only he knew that part of that was because of him. But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell him that.

  “You’re the one the prophecy spoke about. You’re the Lady of the Varroki, the one who will lead a new generation, take us in a new direction,” Armir continued. “You have the blue radiance in both hands.”

  Malene took a deep breath and looked back across the land. “I have already taken the Varroki in a new direction. I’ve given you and everyone here a way to continue. I hope I get to see where it leads, but I’m fully aware that might not happen.”

  “Don’t give up.”

  The words were spoken in a whisper. Never before had she heard Armir plead for anything. Her gaze snapped back to him. He was close enough that she could touch him. The ends of her hair lifted in the wind, reaching for him as her hands couldn’t.

  Their eyes locked for a long minute.

  “I’m not. I never will,” she told him.

  For a heartbeat, Malene thought Armir might say more. There was something in his pale green eyes that she hadn’t seen before. She wanted to know his thoughts, to hear the words he wouldn’t let pass his lips.

  But the moment slipped by, and her chance was gone in a blink.

  “Have you searched for Synne?” Armir asked.

  Malene shook her head. “I’ve put it off, afraid of what I might learn. But I came up here to do just that.”

  She didn’t look at him as she walked to the center of the tower. The magic rushed through her, and soon, blue light shone from both palms. She raised her hands above her head as the spell fell from her lips. Wind swirled violently, causing her skirt to whip around her legs, and her hair to slap at her face.

  Malene ignored it all as her mind focused on an image of Synne. The magic pushed against her, while at the same time, it pulled. When her legs could no longer hold her, she dropped to her knees, refusing to end the spell until she had the information she sought.

  Suddenly, something flashed in her mind, and she saw Synne in a tavern, but the Hunter wasn’t alone. She was with a Scotsman. The black-haired warrior looked determined and more than capable. The image of the pair faded as the spell allowed Malene to see a wider view of their location. The moment she had it, Malene began to lower her hands, but something dark and malevolent on the edges of her vision stopped her.

  A voice in the back of her mind cautioned her not to look any deeper, but too much was at stake for her to ignore it. Malene shifted her focus to the sinister energy, knowing it came from Sybbyl and the Coven. The instant Malene looked at it, she was enveloped by blackness. It stole her breath, choking her.

  In the background, she heard a woman’s evil laughter.

  “Malene!”

  The sound of Armir’s voice pulled her out of the spell. His arms held her tightly as she dragged in much-needed air. He held her against him, smoothing her hair out of her face. She turned into his chest and remained there until her heart stopped racing.

  Armir said nothing, simply held her. She knew that had he not been there, she may not have come back from the brink of death. She also knew that the only one who could’ve reached her was Armir.

  “Please, say something.”

  “They’re in Scotland,” Malene said as she opened her eyes to look up at him.

  Blond brows snapped together. “They?”

  “Synne has a warrior with her.”

  “Someone sent by Braith?”

  “A Scot.”

  Armir digested that information. Then he asked, “What happened?”

  “I felt something malevolent. I thought it might be Sybbyl going after Synne. It’s why I looked at it.”

  “It wasn’t after Synne, was it?”

  Malene swallowed and shook her head. “I know it was foolish and thoughtless not to protect myself before I looked.”

  “Very,” Armir said in a biting tone.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  He said nothing as he stood and helped Malene to her feet.

  She stopped him before he walked away. “Thank you.”

  His pale green orbs held hers for a heartbeat, then two. Finally, he bowed his head and walked away.

  Malene watched him. The stakes had just been raised, but Sybbyl was foolish if she thought that Malene wouldn’t prepare herself and the Varroki for the war that was inevitably coming. Too much was at stake.

  Especially her heart.

  15

  The sky was still dark when Lachlan and Synne mounted their horses and rode out. The night had passed too quickly as he held her in his arms. He hadn’t wanted it to end, but there had been no way to stop time.

  Neither had said much as they rose and dressed. When they left the tavern, no one but the owner and servants were awake. In no time, the two of them were headed out of town.

  Lachlan pointed their horses north and wondered how much farther they’d get before they encountered more witches. He hoped his clan was faring well. They were a strong people, and had good numbers, but that probably wouldn’t matter to the Coven if they set their sights on them.

  Synne handed him a portion of bread. Their gazes met briefly as they shared a smile. He gave a nod of thanks and took a bite. Then he nudged his horse into a gallop. He didn’t want to be out in the open any longer than necessary. Synne kept even with him as their mounts’ hooves ate up the ground.

  They alternated between walking and galloping the horses until midday when they stopped to rest. Once again, they had encountered no one on their journey. The weather was dreary with overcast skies that promised more rain or snow later, but for the moment, none fell.

  While the horses drank from the loch, Synne filled the waterskins. Lachlan eyed the shoreline. Across the large body of water, he spotted a small herd of red deer, drinking. They soon picked up his and Synne’s scents and ran away. The smooth water was undisturbed. At any other time, he would’ve said it was a serene place. The fact that there wasn’t another soul in sight made him wary, however.

  “You feel it,” Synne said as she straightened and handed him his skin.

  He frowned. “Feel what?”

  “The darkness that’s falling over the land. You can’t see the evil, not yet. But it’s approaching. Others might be using the weather as a reason to stay indoors, but the truth is that they can feel what’s coming, and they want to hide from it. It’s what I’d be doing if I could.”

  “You’re a fighter. You wouldna hide.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted in a half-grin after she’d taken a long drink of the cold water. “It’s a lot easier to hide and think someone else can take care of the issue than fac
e it head-on. A part of me wanted to run away after everyone had been killed at the abbey. I almost did, too. Then I thought of what Edra and Radnar had lived for, what they had given to all of us. I knew then that I had to face what was to come.”

  “You’re stronger than many of the warriors I know.”

  Synne chuckled as she shrugged. “Some might call me stupid.”

  “My father once told me that it isna the size of someone who makes them a warrior. It isna even how many people they’ve killed or battles they’ve been in. What makes a warrior is that they will stand when no one else will. That they put others before themselves. You are such a warrior, and I’m honored to know you.”

  Her smile was beautiful as her amber eyes softened. “No one has ever given me a greater compliment.”

  “I merely speak the truth. When this is all over, return with me to my clan. I’d like my family to meet you, especially my sister.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Neither mentioned the fact that they might not come out of this alive. They had to think of the future, or else it would be easy for fear and doubt to take hold and crush even the mightiest of warriors.

  They ate oatcakes sitting near each other on the trunk of a fallen tree. Lachlan couldn’t take his eyes from Synne. She had plaited her hair in braids on either side of her head that came together in one plait in the back. He remembered the wavy length of her golden tresses spilling over his hand and arm as they slept. He couldn’t wait to hold her again.

  That’s when he realized that he wasn’t just fighting for his clan’s survival. He was fighting for Synne, for a future with her. Lachlan didn’t stop and think of what kind of future they could have if she was a Hunter and he eventually the laird of his clan. That problem was for another day. All he knew was that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  With Synne, things made sense. Which was odd since he was trying to find a secret group of warlocks and witches that lived in northern Scotland. It was as if being with her had opened up a part of his life he had closed off after his grandmother died, something he was supposed to have known about. Now, he knew and was doing his part.

  Lachlan didn’t know what made him turn to the side. His eyes saw nothing, but his instincts screamed that danger was near. He reacted instantly by wrapping his arms around Synne and pulling her with him to the ground.

  An instant later, splintered wood and snow dropped around them. Lachlan looked to where they’d been sitting and saw a long, thick limb embedded in the tree.

  “Witches,” Synne whispered and jumped to her feet.

  She raced to her mare and grabbed her quiver of arrows while he unsheathed his sword and turned to face whoever was out there. Yet no one showed themselves. Lachlan wasn’t stupid enough to believe they were gone.

  He glanced at Synne and jerked his chin to the side, letting her know that he was going around. She nodded and disappeared behind some trees. With his feet crunching on the snow, Lachlan moved slowly to the left for several paces before he altered course and headed deeper into the woods.

  Synne was certain that it was a witch, but wouldn’t they show themselves? The two he’d met a few days ago hadn’t hesitated to come at him. Why was this one hiding? It could be more than one. Or it could be the Gira. But Synne had warned him that there would be whispers from the Gira. There was nothing but eerie silence. Synne was right, then. It was witches.

  Every step took him farther away from his gelding—and from Synne. He was attempting to draw out whoever it was in the hopes that Synne could release an arrow or two and take them out as easily as she had the first two. But his conscience warned him that it likely wouldn’t be as simple as it was the first time.

  Minutes ticked by with nothing. No sound, no movement from anyone or anything other than Lachlan. Finally, he halted and listened. Even the wind had stopped. The silence was deafening. He searched the trees for Synne, but he couldn’t spot her. She was adept at hiding, whereas he was used to flushing out his enemies. If only his weapon could hurt witches like Synne’s could.

  He continued walking, picking his way through the forest to try and avoid roots and stumps hidden by the snow. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He turned, but before he could lift his sword, he was thrown backward through the air. His breath was knocked from his lungs when he hit a tree and was held several feet off the ground.

  The woman walked into view then. She held out her hand as if that were the only thing holding him. She had gray hair with some brown left in it, and her face was lined with age. He struggled to get air even as he realized that with the impact, his sword had fallen from his hand. He glanced down to where it lay half-buried in the snow.

  The witch laughed. “Even if you had it, it wouldn’t do you any good. You Hunters are so full of yourselves.”

  It took him by surprise to hear her Scottish brogue.

  She eyed him before looking around for Synne. “Where’s the other one?”

  Relief went through him when his lungs finally eased, and he was able to draw in air. He glared at the witch, not intending to tell her anything.

  “She’ll come out soon enough,” the witch said with a smile.

  A second later, pain flared through Lachlan like fire. He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed to fight the agony of his limbs being pulled slowly from their sockets. The more he held back his cries of pain, the more the witch tortured him.

  In a blink, the pain vanished, and he was falling. Lachlan barely realized it before he landed with a jarring thud. He blinked and reached for his sword. His fingers closed around the hilt, and he used the tree to climb to his feet. That’s when he saw the old witch touch her shoulder where her cloak had been torn. Lachlan hurriedly looked around and saw the arrow embedded in a tree twenty feet behind the witch.

  “That was your one shot,” the witch said as she advanced on Lachlan.

  He locked his gaze on her and raised his sword. The witch then rose several inches off the ground and came at him. The sound of more arrows launching buzzed through the air, but the witch easily deflected them. Lachlan didn’t want to die, not when he hadn’t helped Synne make it to Blackglade or fight against the Coven.

  Not when he hadn’t experienced a future with her.

  He peeled back his lips and released a battle cry as he swung his sword at the same time the witch reached him. The blade didn’t cut through her. However, it did stop her attack on him.

  Confusion filled her faded blue eyes. She redoubled her efforts, but nothing happened. Lachlan wasn’t sure what was going on, and it didn’t matter. He was alive, and he was going to make the most of that fact.

  He pushed the witch away from him. This time as he pointed his sword at her, she didn’t slow as she came for him. A look of utter bewilderment filled her face when she was stopped once again. She coughed, blood pouring from her mouth before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell sideways.

  Lachlan moved his sword with her since she was impaled upon it. He used his foot to pull it free of her body as Synne ran up. They stood together as the witch turned to ash.

  “What happened?” Synne asked.

  Lachlan shrugged and looked at his sword. “I’m no’ sure.”

  “Your blade killed her.”

  He looked into Synne’s eyes and shrugged. “I doona know how. I was going to give you time to get off another shot. Next thing I knew, my sword stopped her.”

  “You did more than stop her. You killed her. No weapon that isn’t spelled by a witch can do that. Maybe your grandmother spelled it.”

  It wasn’t something he had ever thought about before, but since the sword was part of his family history, it was possible. “I feel much better about fighting witches now.”

  Synne’s smile was huge as she placed a kiss on his lips. “It certainly shifts the odds in our favor.”

  “But she was able to cast aside your arrows. How was she able to do that?”

  Th
e smile faded from Synne’s face. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I always hit my mark. Always. She was old, so she probably had strong magic, but that shouldn’t matter.”

  “We survived our second witch attack. Let’s get moving before more arrive.”

  “Good idea.”

  Lachlan took one last look at the ashes of the dead witch before he cleaned the blood from his sword and sheathed it.

  16

  The scene of Lachlan killing the witch stayed with Synne long after they rode away. For the rest of the afternoon, she replayed the entire battle over and over in her mind, from when Lachlan had pulled her to the ground, to when she stood next to him and the witch’s ashes. And nowhere in those recollections could she figure out why her arrows had missed their mark or how he’d managed to kill the witch.

  The most likely scenario was that his grandmother, a witch herself, had spelled his sword. It had belonged to her son at the time, so it would make sense that she would want to make sure the weapon could take down a witch should any come to their clan. But why wouldn’t she have told Lachlan’s father or Lachlan himself?

  Maybe she had, and Lachlan’s father didn’t feel the need to pass on that bit of information to Lachlan.

  While Synne knew the mystery of Lachlan’s sword was likely solved, that didn’t stop her from wanting to know all the details. She’d always been that way. If there was a puzzle of any kind, she wanted it explained.

  More pressing, however, was the fact that she hadn’t found her mark with the witch. Sure, one of her arrows had grazed the old woman, but since Synne had been aiming for the witch’s heart, it should’ve done more than just graze her.

  None of her arrows had ever failed to go where she wanted. Never. Now it had happened seven times in one day. How? Synne searched her mind, becoming more anxious and upset as the hours passed. Then, out of nowhere, she heard Edra’s voice in her head.

  “Never underestimate a witch. You don’t know their power, and each one has something different. Know your strengths and weaknesses, because there will come a time when you’ll have to use them instead of your bow and arrows.”