The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  She nodded vigorously.

  Michael reached the kitchen, took the phone from the wall, and glanced out the window while he dialed Thorn’s cell phone. Nightshade and Dragon were no longer visible. Icy prickles of apprehension ran down his spine.

  Thorn answered on the second ring.

  “You all safe?” Michael asked.

  “Yep. We’re just parking. No sign of any trouble yet.”

  “Can I speak to Cordelia?”

  A beat of silence. “She didn’t come. She was fretting about you and stayed at the cottage in case you needed her.”

  The prickles down Michael’s spine grew into claws of dread. He dropped the phone, stepped outside and stared at the empty blue sky and the lawn strewn with toys and the remnants of a picnic. Where were Nightshade and Dragon?

  An unnatural silence hung over the garden as if nature held its breath. Even the hiss of the sea on the beach below the cliffs sounded muted as though he had cotton wool stuffed in his ears.

  Spatters of blood dotted the flagstones of the patio and dried in sticky drips on blades of grass, while a metallic, sickly smell hung in the air. He swallowed around a tight lump in his throat. He ignored the knocking on the nursery window above and scanned the garden and sky for some sign of the nightstalkers.

  Then he saw a dark shape lying beside the wall at the bottom of the garden. He sprinted down the lawn, skidded to a halt, and dropped to his knees.

  “Nightshade.”

  The stalker groaned in response. Lifting an arm, he wiped blood from his oozing nose and lips.

  The dark suffocating blanket of Dragon’s presence still hung over the area, so he hadn’t fled after the fight. Scanning the coastline, Michael found the point that protruded into the sea just before Merricombe Bay. One minute’s flight away.

  Dragon hadn’t gone to Merricombe Cottage. Why would he? He’d follow his son to Truro.

  Michael clutched Cordelia’s body ring and concentrated, but with only one damn stone, he couldn’t sense her well enough to be certain she was safe. Fear settled in his gut like a frigid rock.

  “Nightshade,” he said urgently, “where’d Dragon go?”

  Nightshade’s breath came in rattling gasps as he moved. He spat blood, and his mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

  “Where’s your father?”

  Nightshade gripped Michael’s arm, his torn nails scratching the skin. His swollen eyes cracked open, revealing slivers of bloodstained silver. He licked his lips. “Water nymph,” he whispered. “Gone for water nymph.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cordelia paced restlessly through Merricombe Cottage. Now Thorn and Ana had taken Eloise and the children to safety, Michael dominated her mind. On the edge of her perception, his psychic presence came and went like a shout on the wind. Initially, he’d been calm, but now she sensed his distress. She ached to go to him, check he was all right.

  She halted in the small sitting room and pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window. This wasn’t fair. He’d asked her to stay at the cottage so he didn’t have to worry about her, but waiting helplessly was eating her up. She slapped her hand against the wall. Niall had left her in charge of the piskies. If they were in danger, she should be at Trevelion Manor.

  The tiny cottage suddenly seemed oppressive and claustrophobic. After hurrying to the back door, she went outside and filled her lungs with salty air. She walked to the bottom of the garden and gazed over the cliffs at the sea hissing up and down the shingle below.

  She imagined water lapping around her body, feeding her energy. Without her wards, the sensation of freedom exhilarated her. She could never go back to having her nature locked down like an animal in a cage. Michael had liberated her.

  Tamsy rubbed around her legs. Gathering her cat in her arms, she inhaled the warm furry smell of her coat. Even as she reveled in the sweetness of their affection, she wished Michael held all three rings of her Magic Knot. Her deepest bond should be with the man she loved.

  A dark sense of malevolence drifted over her, dragging her from her thoughts. Tamsy tensed and scrabbled to jump down. The cat prowled back and forth, growling, the hair standing up along her spine. Cordelia walked to the side of the cottage and checked the path leading to the front. She couldn’t see or hear anyone, yet an evil presence crawled across her skin with a subtle familiarity that set her heart racing.

  The feeling pinched and tugged at her memory, dug deeply, dragged up the nightmare of the first time she’d dared go without her wards.

  Dragon!

  He could not be here. He must not.

  Tamsy fuzzed up into a huge ball of spiky hair and sharp fear. She scampered up a pile of rocks and stared toward Trevelion Manor, spitting and hissing. Cordelia’s gaze rose inexorably to the sky. Her stomach dropped away, her head light with fear at the sight of a black creature silhouetted against the cerulean blue.

  “Nightshade. It must be Nightshade,” she whispered, even though she knew it wasn’t. Her hand went to her scarred throat, and she backed up. The black creature grew larger, then dropped at a frightening rate. She prayed he would crash, but at the last minute, he snapped out his wings and lowered himself to the ground elegantly. Her muscles locked with fear, she could do nothing but watch. His long black hair was now blond, his striking features swollen. Water dripped from his face and battered torso, suggesting he’d washed the blood from his injuries. He must have fought Nightshade. She’d have sensed Michael’s pain if he’d been involved.

  “You are still here,” he said, his swollen lips pulling back in a parody of a smile.

  Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled deeply. “You smell as sweet as I remember. I wonder if you still taste like plump, dark cherries?”

  Cordelia’s back hit the untrimmed hedge, hawthorn spikes jabbing her skin, halting her retreat. With a hiss, Tamsy leaped from the rocks toward Dragon. He braced an arm and knocked her aside. She twisted in the air before landing unharmed on her feet.

  “Call off the moggie, witch. I have no more patience for fighting today.”

  Tamsy yowled and braced to leap at Dragon again. Cordelia pulled herself together and sent a sharp command to desist. She had no doubt Dragon would kill Tamsy with one blow.

  “Go away,” Cordelia snapped, the words tight with anger.

  His eyebrows rose. “You were keen to see me once.”

  “Have you forgotten this?” Cordelia yanked down the top of her dress, tiny buttons popping off to land in the grass. She exposed her scarred neck and shoulder, her blood pounding in her ears.

  His silver gaze scoured her bare flesh. For long seconds his chest heaved. He flexed his wings, clenched and released his fists. The metallic tang of his blood drifted on the air, mixed with his intensely masculine smell. A confusing haze filled her head, fogging her memory, eroding her resistance.

  Once, long ago, she’d been enthralled with his size and power, the bulge of his muscles, his glistening ebony skin, his strong handsome features. He’d been gentle with her until the day he lost control. The flutter of softness in the memory terrified her.

  She summoned Michael’s face in her mind: the sparkle in his blue eyes, the wicked tilt of his grin. But the things about him that touched her heart were the tenderness on his face when he watched his nephews, his generosity when he made love to her. Michael would never hurt her.

  Dragon stepped toward her carefully, his gaze fixed on her throat. “I didn’t mean to damage you. I wanted you.” The tips of his fangs slid into view against the darkness of his lower lip.

  Deep inside her head, a warning voice shrieked. Dragon had bitten her in the past. Although she was bonded to Michael through the Magic Knot, he held only one of her stones. Dragon’s blood bond still had influence over her.

  “Go.” The word slipped from her lips and her fingers released the neck of her dress. She wanted to close her eyes. Shut out the vision of this nightmare. But her gaze stayed fixed on the living memory of her shame.

  �
��You still want me, water nymph. I feel you spinning your watery web around me.”

  She shook her head.

  He grinned. “Deny it all you want. Your allure doesn’t lie.”

  She pressed back against the spiky twigs when he stepped closer. Slowly he reached, gripped her arms, pulled her away from the hedge. He lowered his face to her hair and released a long satisfied sigh.

  Cordelia’s breath came in panicked gasps. Her mind screamed run, but her body was under his control. “You k-killed my f-father,” she managed to stutter.

  Dragon held her at arm’s length and studied her, stroking his fangs with the tip of his tongue. “Any man who interferes with a nightstalker while he feeds must expect to be attacked.” He flicked up his eyebrows. “Your father was selfish the way he hid your nature so nobody would know of his own indulgences. He deserved to die.”

  When he eased her into his embrace, she tried to tense her muscles, to push him away, but she flopped limply into his arms. A scream of frustration and anger was crushed in her throat. The world started to spin. Vaguely, she was aware that he pulled open her dress and eased the sleeves down her arms, exposing her bra.

  He stroked her hair back. “You never wore your hair loose for me.” He tilted her head aside, ran the wet tip of his tongue over her scars.

  She whimpered, fighting the aching compulsion of his hold.

  “I’ve often thought of you over the years,” he whispered against her skin. “This time no one had better interfere. I will have you until I’m finished.”

  Michael. She concentrated on the memory of Michael’s hands on her body, his lips against her face, the smell of him. Her link with Tamsy twanged with anger so hot and virulent it jerked Cordelia back to awareness.

  She opened her eyes in time to see a pale streak as Tamsy leaped at Dragon before fastening her claws into his back and wings. He spun away from Cordelia, jabbed back with his elbow, ripped Tamsy away, and hurled her like a ball. Her body hit the cottage wall with a sickening thud and dropped limply to the ground.

  Cordelia sobbed as the familiar sense of her cat’s psychic presence blinked out. She launched herself toward Tamsy, but Dragon caught her around the waist and jerked her back, holding her fast against his front.

  Her anger overpowered his influence. She battered her fists against his arms, kicked his legs, reached back to scratch whatever flesh she could get her nails in. “Let. Me. Go.” If she acted immediately, she might be able to heal Tamsy.

  His grip tightened around her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs until darkness rimmed her vision. When her energy flagged, he turned her effortlessly, her resistance futile against his strength. His fangs lengthened as they had that terrible day he’d attacked her and killed her father. While his eyes shone a sickening pink, slick scales formed on his skin beneath her scrabbling fingers.

  She froze in his grip, suddenly realizing that her defiance excited him.

  “I told you that anyone who gets in my way must expect to pay.” Jaw tight, and eyes flaring with desire, he yanked her dress down over her hips. The rest of the buttons popped off, and the fabric ripped. She crossed her arms over her bra, shivering, while the subtle hold of his blood bond once again penetrated her mind, holding her trapped.

  She was stronger than this. Fighting his mental command, she managed one step toward Tamsy. He grabbed her wrist in a punishing grip. Leaning down, he pressed his nose against her breast and inhaled. “I smell your lover on you.”

  His eyes narrowed with determination. “Forget him, water nymph. You’re mine. I’m taking you with me. I’ll return for my son another time.”

  Michael rounded the final corner on the drive to Merricombe Cottage. The back of his Porsche swung out, sideswiping the earthy bank edging the narrow Cornish lane. Each second Cordelia was alone beat like a gong in his head, his heart drumming in concert. He swallowed repeatedly, mouth dry, throat tight.

  He accelerated until the last moment, then stamped on the brakes. The sports car plowed through the dirt, skidding sideways. He jumped out, leaving the car door open, and raced in through the cottage’s front door.

  “Cordelia!”

  Stopping, he held his breath, ears straining for anysound. She was here; he sensed her. So was Dragon. The taint of evil hung over the cottage, bringing unnatural silence.

  Pausing at each open door, he scanned the sitting room, dining room, bathroom, and kitchen. His skin crawled while terrible images of Dragon hurting Cordelia raced through his mind.

  He returned to the kitchen and looked out the window. His guts clenched and trembled. Dragon had Cordelia at the far side of the back garden, his massive dark form dwarfing her slender naked body. Michael grabbed a vegetable knife from the counter. He halted in the doorway, made himself take stock. From the kitchen, he’d thought Cordelia was naked; he now saw she still wore her underwear. The surge of relief gave him strength.

  Cordelia stood motionless in Dragon’s embrace, letting him kiss her neck—kiss the scars. Michael’s breath ran out of control at the sight, his chest heaving, the air catching in his lungs as though they were full of hooks.

  Why wasn’t she fighting him?

  If he didn’t know their history, he’d assume she was willing. Dragon must have her under his thrall. A chill swept through Michael, and he tightened his grip on the handle of the knife.

  Instinct told him to charge, drive the blade into the nightstalker, and pull Cordelia to safety. But he’d seen Cordelia’s memory of Dragon ripping out her father’s throat. The creature would slaughter him if he charged in unprepared; then Cordelia would have no one to protect her.

  The most vulnerable part of a nightstalker was his wings, yet if he damaged the creature’s wings, he wouldn’t be able to fly away. That might make him desperate and more dangerous.

  There was only one way Michael would have enough influence over Dragon to send him away without anyone else suffering. The tactic was a huge gamble, one that would stain his spirit with the nightstalker’s dark presence forever, and might send Michael on an unplanned excursion to the Underworld.

  He placed the blade on the wooden bench where he’d so recently cuddled with Cordelia and straightened his shoulders. He called for help from the earth, drawing energy from the ground until the power hummed through his veins and sparked along his nerves. Then he released the energy around his body in waves of glamour.

  “Dragon.” Michael imbued the word with compulsion, sliding the sound from his tongue, his voice tantalizing and husky.

  The stalker’s body tensed. His lips stilled against Cordelia’s neck, and then he slowly raised his head. Turning, he released Cordelia so she sagged to the ground. Her panicked gaze found Michael’s. He willed her to back away, but she remained kneeling in the grass, trembling, and blinking as though she’d just woken.

  Dragon completed his turn and stood facing Michael, his silver gaze sharp. “You dare interrupt me, son of Troy?”

  Michael wove his glamour into a mantle of disguise, applying layer upon layer of deception around his body, until his real appearance was masked and replaced by a likeness of Cordelia.

  At the same time, Michael did something he’d never tried before. He projected his glamour over Cordelia and cloaked her with his image.

  Dragon glanced down at Cordelia and blinked, confusion sweeping over his battered features. He stepped back, his breath hissing out. “What trickery is this?”

  Michael had cloaked Cordelia in his glamour so she looked like him. Now he must draw Dragon’s attention away from her onto himself.

  Michael beckoned. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Dragon,” he whispered seductively, imitating Cordelia’s voice and loading the words with compulsion. “I’ve dreamed of you at night, imagined the prick of your fangs in my neck.”

  The nightstalker blinked, still confused and wary, but swaying. After licking hisswollen lips, he pressed his tongue against his fangs. “I’ve dreamed of you, water nymph.” He stepped toward Mich
ael. As the distance between Dragon and Cordelia widened, the light of awareness in her eyes brightened. She stared at Michael, and he hoped she guessed what he was doing and didn’t blow it for them. He just needed Dragon to come a little closer; then he’d have this tiger by the tail.

  “Come to me,” he whispered, the pitch of his voice huskily seductive.

  Bile crawled up Michael’s throat at the stink of blood and sweat coming from the stalker. If Dragon kissed him, he was going to puke. He swallowed the bitter taste and kept up a low murmur of encouragement. He walked his fingers playfully up Dragon’s arm in the same way women often touched him.

  He must move fast, before Dragon realized he didn’t smell right. He skimmed his hand down the stalker’s scratched and bleeding rib cage, onto his rock-hard abs, reluctant admiration flaring for the creature’s magnificent physic. Then with a playful tilt of his head, he slipped his fingers into the front pocket of Dragon’s jeans, offering up a silent prayer that he’d chosen the correct pocket.

  It was empty.

  With less finesse, Michael plunged his hand into Dragon’s other front pocket while lines of suspicion creased the stalker’s forehead. Michael ignored the shockingly large hard ridge he felt; he had enough problems without developing an inferiority complex. His fingers closed around the three linked stones of Dragon’s Magic Knot. When he pulled, they came most of the way out of the pocket, then snagged.

  A growl rumbled in Dragon’s chest. Michael must have allowed his disguise to slip. He poured glamour around him, but the damage was done. Dragon yanked back, swinging a fist at Michael’s face. Michael ducked and hung on to Dragon’s Magic Knot as shocks of violent anger pulsed up his arm. He gritted his teeth, determined not to let go of the stones and lose his chance to control Dragon. Murky, tainted desires crawled along his new connection with the stalker.