And she’d have her family. She’d be able to discover who’d called her home. She’d find the place she’d always longed for. And better yet, she wouldn’t be able to destroy it with her cursed power.
Dru returned a moment later carrying the long case he’d had with him at the airport. He laid the scarred, black leather case on the bed and opened it. An intricately carved, long sword lay gleaming against red satin, quiet in its repose, but lethal none the same. A reverence fell over her as she recognized and paid homage to the power the weapon wielded alone, without the warrior holding it. “It’s beautiful.”
Dru lifted it from the case, sending a sick aversion through her. She blinked and tried to calm her stomach. Instead, her heart raced as moisture coated her skin, leaving her cold and clammy.
He drew his brows together. “Are you okay?”
She wiped a hand across her damp face. “I don’t know. I was. It’s that…” She blinked again and tried to keep her gaze focused.
“Let’s get this done, then. You’ll feel better afterwards.”
She nodded, glad she hadn’t eaten anything that morning.
“Hold out your hand and repeat after me.”
Her fingers shook as she lifted them, and she wasn’t sure she could hold that stance for long.
“I wash all power from my soul. Accept its vital gift no more.” His voice boomed with authority. “The fire pumping through my veins will cease upon this very day.”
She repeated his words as her heartbeat thundered in a deafening roar.
“With the blood from my body…”
“With the blood from my body,” she whispered, her limbs growing weak.
“I pledge this covenant to Drustan Geadais and vow to never break it.”
“I pledge this covenant to Drustan Geadais and vow to never break it.”
She flinched as he lifted the virulent sword and sliced into his palm. Crimson blood surfaced, repulsion rolling through her like a frigid wave. Violent shivers claimed her as he placed the bloody blade on her hand and drew it across her skin. The sounded of her cry echoed endlessly in her head, an inferno erupting in her soul.
Through blurred vision, she watched as he clasped her hand with his and held her. Her very essence faded from her, and she could do nothing to prevent the feeling of slipping away.
****
He’d killed her.
Dru panicked at the sight of Claire lying pale against the vivid red covering on the bed. Remnants of her blood sizzled on his hand as he placed fingers against her neck, feeling for any sign of life.
It never occurred to him that Gwen might have given him a spell that would take Claire’s life. She wanted her dead after all.
But she hadn’t. A slight pulse tickled his fingers, and he quickly scooped up Claire’s frigid form, leaving behind the carnage of the past two days, and carried her upstairs to his bed.
She sighed as he jerked back the covers and carefully set her down before pulling the luxurious, down-filled comforter over her. The healthy, vibrant tone of her skin had paled. When he touched her cheek, she was colder than he and his fellow soldiers had been during the Battle of Chosin Reservoir. Her breath barely moved the black covering up and down.
Helpless frustration pounded at his conscience until it felt like a bleeding, bruised mass inside his head. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t have a conscience. He’d neutralized his target. That’s all that should matter.
Still, he couldn’t leave her lying there wondering if she’d ever wake. He climbed in beside her, pulling her limp, lifeless body against him. He wrapped his arms and thighs around her softness, praying some of his warmth would seep into her and restore her energy. He knew she wasn’t his to keep, knew his destiny bound him to a lifetime of loneliness despite his wish otherwise, but it would give him comfort to know she’d still be among the living. That he hadn’t taken the life of the most beautiful soul he’d ever encountered.
Damn the gods.
Minutes crawled into hours as he held her, as he watched flickers of sun burst through the clouds and onto the walls of his bedroom only to disappear again. Her pulse remained steady though weak, and she didn’t wake.
There had been many times he’d lain in wait to take out an enemy or for an opportunity to whisper incendiary words into the right ear and then stand back as casualties of war mounted higher. It was his gift and his curse. But never had time threatened to defeat him.
His phone rang, disturbing the deathly quiet house. He reached over Claire and took it from the table near his bed, the jostling not affecting her in the least.
The name Nicholas Kingswood flashed on his phone screen.
“What?” he said to Nick.
“Bane said you haven’t killed her yet. Why not?”
Damn him. Just because he knew when a soul departed from Earth didn’t mean he had to hold it over his head. “I’ve neutralized the threat she posed.” She might possibly die as a result.
“But she lives.”
“She has no power. She’s barely alive.” In an effort to spare him the pain of taking her life, he’d reduced her to nothing. He should have given her the warrior’s death she deserved.
“The coven knows she’s in Port Townsend.”
“It doesn’t matter. She freely relinquished her power to me and sealed it with a blood oath. She can’t hurt anyone now.” Perhaps he should ask her sisters to come. They might be able to help her.
“Damn it, Dru. I’ve come up against her sister, Moira. She knocked me on my ass before she linked with Tierra. They’ve bonded, making them capable of more than the ordinary witch.”
“The only way Claire’s powers can be returned is if I give them to her. I’ve experienced every kind of torture known to man, and there’s nothing that will make me change my mind.” Even now, the fiery ball of her essence burned deeper through his layers, like hot ash through the pages of a book.
A tremble shook her frail body as she struggled for a breath. God. She was dying. He’d wrongly believed her heartbeat meant she’d live. Instead, it only meant she hadn’t died yet.
“I’ll meet you later at Sirens and tell you everything. Right now, there’s something that can’t wait.” Dru hung up the phone before Nick could reply.
As Claire struggled for another breath, he climbed out of bed and lifted her into his arms. What he offered her wasn’t enough. There was only one possible way to save her, and it rested in the hands of others.
The gods were truly devils in disguise. He’d known that forever, known he was a pawn in their cruel plots. He’d never understood why they hadn’t brought about the end of the world centuries earlier. Why allow so much pain and suffering to continue? But this pain, this suffering would be his undoing.
He carried Claire’s limp body through the waning evening light to his SUV and placed her on the backseat. With fire burning a hole through his core, he climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The tires of his Hummer screeched as he hit asphalt and barreled down the winding, forested road toward town.
He stopped when he reached the home where Claire’s family resided. The picturesque Victorian house loomed before him, lights glowing from the windows as unseen eyes surely watched him. No doubt, the occupants would damn him to hell if they could. Hopefully, they’d save Claire first.
Claire weighed next to nothing as he lifted her in his arms. He was steps from the porch when the front door flew open wide. The visage of a woman with Claire’s face appeared in the doorway, causing him to pause. Her stature, the shape of her face appeared identical to the woman he held in his arms. The color of her hair reminded him of a rich Bordeaux, and her eyes were the shade of deep emeralds instead of the golden amber he ached to see again.
“Oh my God. Moira, come now!” she yelled backward into the house before she marched toward him like one of the many valiant soldiers he’d encountered in his lifetime. “What’s happened to her?”
Before he could respond, another image o
f Claire rushed up behind her sister. This one had her hair pinned up and long legs that led to a very short skirt.
“Great toasted Christ on a cracker, Tierra. There’s another one of us?” Her gaze moved from Claire to him, her turquoise eyes condemning him on sight. “This hunk of meat done killed her.”
He pushed past them and into the house, stopping to look for somewhere to lay her down. “She’s not dead, but she’s close. Can you help her?” His heart tripped as the impact of his words and what he’d done slammed him harder than a berserker’s mighty axe.
“Upstairs. First door on the right,” Tierra said. The anger burning in her eyes had morphed to frantic trepidation.
Dru took the stairs two at a time, entering a darkened bedroom overwhelmed by plants and unlit candles. Claire rasped a breath, and then groaned as he placed her on the bed. As bad as she sounded, he was glad she’d made a noise after being dead silent all morning.
Tierra turned on the light before she shoved him out of the way, her brightly-colored skirts swishing as she took charge. The silver bangles on her arms tinkled as she reached out and placed a hand on Claire’s forehead. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
No one in the room moved as she made her assessment.
Then her eyes flashed open, and she turned to her sister. “Moira. Downstairs in the kitchen, get the peppermint salve, a cinnamon stick and witch-hazel. Someone’s drained her power, and she doesn’t have enough energy to recharge herself.”
She turned to Dru. “I don’t know who you are or how much of this damage lies on your head, though I sense you’re anything but innocent. But I need your help, too. Start a fire in the fireplace over there. Get it burning hot. Now.”
Grateful to have a task that might help, Dru did as she asked, using kindling and wood from a nearby basket. Flames snapped to life, and he added two large logs. Orange fire danced, licking the sides of the wood as they used its energy to sustain themselves.
Softly muttered words came from behind him, and he turned to find Tierra rubbing Claire’s hand briskly as she whispered. Then she tucked an orange-colored stone against Claire’s palm and closed her fingers around it. He moved closer, thinking some color might have returned to Claire’s cheeks.
Moira entered the room in a rush, giving him another sideways glance like she might give to a coiled rattlesnake. “Here, Tierra.”
Tierra stopped chanting and took the items. She removed the lid from a small blue ceramic jar and stuck her finger inside, scooping a glob of shimmery paste. She whispered soft words as she rubbed it at Clair’s temples, between her breasts, and on her wrists. She took the witch-hazel, whisked it across Claire’s lips before she pried open her mouth and forced the cinnamon stick against her cheek.
Claire inhaled sharply once before her breathing slowed again. Tierra put another cinnamon stick inside her other cheek. Again, Claire took a deep breath and then calmed.
“Give her another,” Moira said.
“If I administer too much, it could kill her, too.” She placed her hand on her forehead again. “But I think it’s helping. Her essence is stronger.”
“Will she live?” Dru asked, needing the answer more than oxygen.
Tierra ignored him. “It’s strange because I sense her power in the room, but it’s like…dormant.”
He had perhaps moments before they figured out what he’d done.
Tierra glanced at her conscious sister. “Can you feel it, Moira? I’m not imagining it, am I?”
“Maybe.” She tilted her head. “Is it that deep pulse? It reminds me of the pulse in Ricky Wade’s trouser snake the first time he groped me in the back of his daddy’s Chevelle.”
Tierra gave a slight shake of head as though to clear away what Moira had said. “Yes, that’s it. It’s strong, but she’s not.”
Dru moved to the other side of the bed and took Claire’s hand. Her fingers tightened around his for a second before they relaxed again. He wanted to believe she’d sensed him there, had responded to his touch, but likely her movement was a reaction to stimulus.
“Claire?” He squeezed her hand. “Can you hear me?”
She took another deep breath like she had when Tierra had shoved the cinnamon stick into her mouth. Tierra and Moira both turned to him with a questioning look.
“She responds to you.” Tierra said, assessing him with a guarded look. “You called her Claire. Who is she to you? Do you know how she came to be here?”
“She’s…a friend.” He’d promised her friendship if she’d agree to the oath. The pledge that had stolen her essence and buried it deep inside him. He doubted she’d forgive him if she ever woke. Gwen must have known what this would do to her.
Was this his punishment then if he couldn’t complete his task? To watch her slowly fade away like a dying ember?
“A friend, huh?” Moira folded her arms beneath her breasts and fixed a doubting look on her face. “If that’s the truth, then I’ll be a possum’s pooper-scooper.”
He met their gazes with a steely one of his own. He couldn’t tell them the truth. They wouldn’t understand. They’d use any means available to get him to return her power, which would put her in worse jeopardy, if that was possible.
Tierra caught his hand where it twined with Claire’s. Their eyes clashed, and she jerked her hand away just as quickly. “Thief,” she hissed.
Dru took a step back, prepared to fight.
“What’d he steal?” Moira asked.
Tierra held his gaze, hers a condemning mixture of hatred and anger. “He has Claire’s power.”
The floor began to rumble, and the walls shook. Dru ached to stay long enough to see if they could revive Claire, but time had deserted him and he needed to retreat.
Lights flickered as he strode from the room with both sisters chasing him out of the house.
“Come back here!” Tierra yelled. “You can’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”
“Do something.” Moira’s voice sounded as desperate as he felt. “Stop him.”
Dru jumped into his Hummer and started the engine as the ground bucked beneath him. Asphalt broke, pushed up by the earth beneath it into mounds as rain fell in sheets around him. He put his SUV into gear, the tires gripping the uneven ground, allowing him to go up and over the earth witch’s devastation to undamaged pavement. His headlights punched through the wet skies, illuminating a crack in the road as it snaked from beneath his vehicle and began to widen. He stomped the accelerator to the floor, and his Hummer shot forward, away from the chaos expanding around him.
Chapter Ten
Dru thought twice about stopping to meet Nick. Sirens Pub sat on Water Street, not far enough from the Victorian house. He had no idea if Claire’s sisters could track him by the power that burned through his soul, but if he had a battle on his hands, he’d just as soon wage it with Nick at his side. Neither of them, nor their other two partners in crime, could experience death. Hell, Killian Bane owned the word. But pain? None of them had escaped that enemy.
He ran a thumb over the scar near his eye, remembering the betrayal like it had happened yesterday instead of hundreds of years ago. Death would have been a mercy. Agony was a vile beast that ripped through his entrails until death seemed like a lover’s kiss on a warm spring day.
A blade slicing his skin or a witch’s concoction burning through his veins was nothing less than torture. Emotional agony was the worst.
Out of the three similarly-cursed men, he worked best with Nick conquering by his side.
Decision made, Dru parked his muddy Hummer on a darkened side road, out of view just in case. He avoided the front door and headed toward the back entrance, climbing the stairs to a deck that hovered over the water, offering an amazing view of Port Townsend Bay during the daytime. Right now, the bay appeared to be a vast expanse of blackness eager to swallow them both.
Nick sat near the railing, alone at his table amidst a crowd of other customers who laughed and talked as they blew off
the workweek’s steam. His friend stared off into the distance as a cool breeze ruffled his collar.
“See something you like?” Dru said as he stepped into view.
Nick flashed an annoyed gaze in his direction. “No.”
“Hoping a water witch will appear and seduce you again?”
Nick met his gaze with serious eyes. “Fuck you.”
Dru laughed and dropped into the chair across from him. “That’s what you get for thinking with your dick instead of carrying out your mission.”
His friend snorted. “You’re one to talk.”
A blond waitress approached, interrupting Nick. “Johnny Walker Red?” she said to Dru before her gaze slipped to Nick and then back to him as though she couldn’t take her eyes off Nick long enough to get Dru’s order.
“As always, Angelica,” he said with a smile.
“Did you need another?” she asked Nick.
He arched a sardonic brow, as though chastising her for interrupting them. “You’ll know when I do.”
She blinked, obviously flustered. Nick had that effect on most women. She hurried off as though the devil sniffed at her tail.
“You’re such a jerk,” Dru said with a smile. Nick could be a real ass and quite often was, but who could blame him? Too many lifetimes tended to harden a person in one way or the other.
Nick turned to him, a smooth smile crossing his lips, his cool demeanor ever in place. “As I was saying, you haven’t met Moira. She’s a little more than…I expected.”
Oh, he’d met her and the earth witch, but he wasn’t about to admit they’d chased him from their house. “She’s a woman, Nick. You’ve brought down Athens, Rome, and Constantinople… certainly you can handle one female.”
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 14