Before he could glance away, however, the figures on the card began to move in the timeless rhythm of lovemaking. It wasn’t the visual image of him and Shana making love that held his attention. It was the sight of the black sword moving slowly, insidiously, down the card toward them.
It’s going to kill me! he thought as it suddenly began to drop swiftly toward his back.
Horrified, he watched the sword hit him. But it didn’t kill him. It turned into a mist. A black, evil mist that engulfed him. Became him. His body disappeared, and he rematerialized into the cold, deadly steel of the sword. Then he plunged himself into the center of Shana’s heart.
“IT’S JUST A FANTASY!” Ryan declared desperately as the memory ended. Burying his face in his hands, he muttered, “It’s a damn fantasy that Moira cooked up to torture me—to drive me over the edge.”
But it wasn’t a fantasy. It was a prediction of the future, and the most horrible part was that he wasn’t really surprised by what he’d seen. Last night, when he’d awakened and found Shana straddling him on the bed, he’d known that if he ever made love to her, there was a good possibility he would harm her. That was the symbolism for what he’d seen. The sword hadn’t harmed him, because he was the sword. He was going to be the instrument of Shana’s death.
“If you had a lick of sense, you’d get the hell away from here,” he told himself, raising his head. “You have two good legs now, so hit the road. Between now and nightfall, you can put several miles between you and Shana.”
But Moira will never let you leave Sanctuary, and how many innocent people will suffer if you try?
With a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. When he did, he frowned. Above the treetops, stretching toward the sky, was a shimmering wall of . . . energy was the only descriptive term that seemed to fit.
Curious, he shifted on the rock so he could follow the strange wall. It formed a complete circle around what he estimated to be fifteen or twenty miles of the forest. What the hell was it?
“It’s the magic circle that protects Sanctuary from the mortal world,” a quavering, raspy voice announced. “Our ancestors put it in place nearly three hundred years ago, after they fled the witch hunts in New England.”
Startled, Ryan nearly fell off the rock. He quickly twisted around to confront the voice and saw an ancient, withered man and a beautiful young woman standing in the shadows of nearby trees. They were both wearing white robes with hoods trailing down their backs. The old man had long, silver hair that fell well below his shoulders, and a silver beard that hung almost to his waist. His body was stooped with the ravages of arthritis, and he was leaning heavily on a gnarled cane.
He was the oldest-looking man Ryan had ever seen, and his age was emphasized by the youthfulness of the young woman who stood slightly in front of him, as if to protect him. As Ryan switched his gaze to her, he guessed her age to be in the early twenties. Like Shana, she was extraordinarily beautiful, with long brown hair, large brown eyes and a cupid-bow mouth. But where Shana radiated life and vitality, this woman was so ethereal that Ryan felt that if he touched her, his hand would pass right through her. He shivered, because he couldn’t help wondering if they were ghosts.
The old man chuckled. “No, we’re not ghosts. I am Oran Morovang, and this is my great-granddaughter, Kendra. You are Mr.—excuse me, Dr.—Alden, are you not?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered, while cursing inwardly. He knew it was dangerous for anyone to see him in his transformed state. Why hadn’t he taken better precautions to hide himself from discovery? Because he’d been too concerned about protecting Shana from himself. Now, these people would be suspicious. They’d probably run right back to Lucien, and he didn’t even want to consider what Moira would do when Lucien showed up, demanding answers.
Oran suddenly smiled. “Your secret is safe with us, Dr. Alden. Even if we wanted to reveal that you have become a warlock, we couldn’t. You see, we are the narrators of our coven.”
“Narrators?” Ryan repeated cautiously.
“Yes, though I believe that in the mortal world, we would be called historians. Long ago, before the written word, our ancestors began to observe and memorize the historical events of coven life. It was their job to pass the stories down so that future generations would know and understand their past. Thus, the title of narrator,” he stated, smiling again.
“I see,” Ryan said, fascinated. “But why would being a narrator prevent you from revealing that I have become a warlock?”
“Eons ago, a spell was cast over our family that prohibits us from speaking of anything that might affect the outcome of history in the making. We can only speak of events after they have happened. So, we will only be able to speak of you when your mission here has been completed.”
“My mission?” Ryan repeated warily.
“It is good that you’re cautious,” Oran stated approvingly. “But, again, you have no reason to fear us. As I said, we know the past, and your arrival last night fulfilled the prophecy. It is always gratifying to learn that the histories our ancestors kept were accurate. We do pride ourselves on our attention to detail, which is why Kendra and I are here. We must be able to accurately describe what you look like when the prophecy has been carried out.”
“Prophecy?” Ryan regarded the old man in bewilderment. “What in hell are you talking about?”
“You mean Moira hasn’t revealed everything to you?” Kendra gasped, speaking for the first time.
The alarm in her voice caused Ryan to jerk his head toward her. “Revealed everything to me?”
“Oh, this is quite disturbing,” Oran murmured, causing Ryan to switch his attention back to him. “Moira is not following the rules.”
“What rules?” Ryan demanded.
The old man opened his mouth, but then closed it abruptly. “I’m sorry, Dr. Alden, but I cannot tell you.”
“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” Ryan snapped as he climbed down off the rock and strode toward the couple. “Damnit, man, you have to tell me! How can a spell stop you from telling me if Moira, herself, is breaking the rules? That wouldn’t be fair.”
“I believe that you mortals have a saying about that,” Oran stated, pushing against Kendra’s shoulder until she reluctantly moved out of his way. “Isn’t it something like, ‘Who said life is supposed to be fair?’”
Before Ryan could respond, Oran said, “We cannot help you in the way you want us to help, Dr. Alden.”
“Not in the way I want?” Ryan said, staring at the old man thoughtfully. “Okay, you can’t tell me what I want to know. What can you give me?”
The old man seemed to hesitate, as though trying to make a decision. Finally, he thrust his hand through a side opening in his robe. When he pulled it out, he was holding a small drawstring pouch, much like the one Lucien had used when he’d given Ryan the crystal. Passing his cane to Kendra, Oran opened the pouch and removed a small, wafer-shaped stone.
Handing the stone to Ryan, he said, “This is what we call a witch stone. It is part of an ancient, fossilized sponge, and it is used to travel back in time. That is all I can do for you, Dr. Alden.”
Ryan arched a brow as he studied the stone. It was a gray stone about the size and shape of a quarter, with a striated surface. There was a hole through the center of it, and it was such an uneven opening that Ryan was sure it had occurred naturally.
“Are you trying to tell me that this is some kind of a time machine?” Ryan asked skeptically, glancing up at the old man.
Oran smiled enigmatically. “In a manner of speaking. That’s all I can tell you, and now, we must go. We will be watching you and praying for your success.”
They turned and headed into the trees. As Ryan watched them go, he frowned. It seemed as if every time he turned around, someone was giving him a rock.
Fir
st, it was Lucien’s crystal that supposedly acted like a call to 911. Then it was Shana’s blasted necklace that was not only supposed to give him wisdom but had also supposedly entered them into a common law marriage. Now he had a fossilized sponge that would, purportedly, take him back in time. And to think that when he was a kid, he’d been silly enough to collect rocks just because he thought they had an interesting shape or were pretty.
Tucking the stone into his pants pocket, he tried to decide what to do. After what he’d seen in the Tarot card, he knew that if Shana’s theory about uncontrollable lust was correct, he didn’t dare go near her before morning. Then again, the old man had sounded so upset when he said that Moira wasn’t playing by the rules.
If that was the case, then maybe the vision she’d shown him wasn’t a prediction of the future. Maybe he wasn’t a threat to Shana. Maybe Moira was just trying to get him out of the way tonight so he wouldn’t be there to protect Shana.
And maybe the old man and the girl weren’t real. Maybe they were merely manifestations of Moira’s imagination to persuade him to go back to Shana.
Ryan nervously rubbed a hand across his face. There were so many damn maybes, and if he made the wrong choice, it could cost Shana her life. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let that happen. For once he was going to beat that old bastard, Father Death, at his own game.
Or, at least, he was going to die trying.
AS SHANA PACED from the kitchen doorway to the back door for what seemed like the thousandth time, she couldn’t remember ever being so worried. Ryan had been gone nearly three hours, and no matter how many times she had begged him to tell her he was alright, he hadn’t made contact with her.
“He is all right,” she assured herself. “He’s my mate, so if anything had happened to him, I’d know it.”
Unfortunately, that didn’t appease her anxiety. Physically, Ryan was all right, or she would know it. It was his emotional state, however, that had her concerned. He’d turned himself into a warlock with the wishing wand, and now he was fighting against the very nature of what he’d become. To make matters worse, he’d been up all night, and she suspected that he hadn’t spent the last few hours resting. The mating urge made a warlock volatile at best. Without sleep, he’d be at his worst. There was also the complication of Moira, who was sure to take advantage of his weakened state.
“Damnit, Ryan, come home!” Shana whispered miserably as she pivoted at the back door and paced back toward the kitchen doorway. “You must get some sleep. If you don’t—”
“If I don’t, what?” Ryan suddenly asked.
With a startled yelp, Shana spun around to face him. He was standing just inside the kitchen door. She was so relieved to see him that she wanted to run across the room and throw herself into his arms.
Instead, she tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and asked, “Why didn’t you answer me? Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”
He shrugged. “I needed some time alone, and you know as well as I do that it was ridiculous for you to worry about me. I have the powers of a warlock now.”
“I don’t care if you have the powers of ten warlocks,” Shana declared, her relief suddenly veering into anger. “In the first place, you don’t know how to use your powers. In the second, having a warlock’s powers does not make you any less subject to accidents. You could have fallen out there and broken your neck. You could have been attacked by a wild animal and torn to shreds. You could have—”
“That’s enough,” he broke in, holding up a hand to halt her tirade. “You’ve made your point, and I’m sorry for worrying you. The next time, I’ll let you know that I’m okay. So, can we call a truce?”
Shana opened her mouth to deny his request. He had worried her needlessly, and she wanted to continue railing at him. Thankfully, her common sense surfaced, and she closed her mouth. He was back and he was safe. That was all that mattered.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, before saying, “You need to go to bed and get some sleep, Ryan. Nightfall is only a few hours away, and when it arrives, so will Moira. She’s a dangerous enough opponent to face when you’re rested. Exhausted . . . Well, let’s just say it isn’t a good idea.”
“Yeah, well, before I hit the sack, there are a few things we need to talk about,” he said.
Shana shook her head. “Those things will have to wait.”
“They can’t wait, Shana. They’re important.”
“Are they more important than our lives? Or the lives of Lucien and Ariel and everyone else in the coven?” she countered impatiently. “Maybe you don’t care whether you live or die, Ryan, but you don’t have the right to endanger the rest of us.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. His eyes suddenly started to glow, and a breeze began to emanate from him.
“I don’t have the right?” he said in a low, furious voice. “If you’re going to start assigning blame, then you had better start by looking in the mirror. You’re the one who used Moira’s Tarot cards. You’re the one who turned her loose. So if any one dies, it isn’t going to be my fault. It’s going to be yours.”
“You’re right,” she responded bleakly. “This is my fault, and if I could go back in time and change what I’ve done, I would. But I can’t go back, and the burden of defeating Moira has fallen to you. That isn’t fair, and if I could figure out a way to assume that burden for you, I would do it in an instant. But there isn’t any way for me to do that.”
But there is a way for you to do that, an inner voice suddenly whispered. All you have to do is use the wishing wand.
“Don’t you even think of using the wishing wand!” Ryan declared. “That is not an option.”
“It’s not only an option; it’s the perfect solution to our problems,” Shana rebutted. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I can use the wand and wish Moira away!”
“Are you crazy?” he yelled. “For God’s sake, Shana. Moira is not going to let you wish her away. She will destroy you before you even make it out of this room!”
“Okay. I won’t wish her away. I’ll just wish for my powers back.”
“No!” he stated vehemently as he strode quickly across the room. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “I forbid you to use the wishing wand.”
She frowned up at him in exasperation. “I wasn’t asking for your permission, Ryan.”
“You are not going to use the wishing wand, Shana.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have to think of the curse that goes along with it. You said that it demands something important from you for its use. I can’t let you make that type of sacrifice.”
“You made that type of sacrifice. And you did it twice.”
“But you’re forgetting one important element, and that’s that Moira is after my soul. She’s carefully orchestrated events up to this moment. If you start fooling around with the wishing wand, you might screw everything up. And who do you think is going to pay the price for that, Shana? I’ll tell you who. The same person who paid the price for you messing with the cards in the first place. Me.
“So before you go off half-cocked and do something stupid again,” he continued ruthlessly, “you had better take a moment to consider the consequences. In other words, Shana, it’s time for you to grow up.”
Shana recoiled, as if slapped. Of all the things he could have said, nothing could have hurt her worse.
She raised her chin a notch and said, “I will admit that using the Tarot was immature, but using the wishing wand is an entirely different matter. The wand requires a sacrifice, but it’s my sacrifice, Ryan. I know for sure that it won’t punish anyone but me, and at this point I’m willing to give up almost anything to undo what I’ve done. In other words, I’m trying to take responsibility for my action
s, and if that isn’t mature, then I don’t know what is.”
“But don’t you see that if you ask for your powers back, the wand might take mine away from me?”
“That’s what this is about!” she gasped, wriggling away from his grip on her shoulders. Infuriated, she took a step back and perched her hands on her hips. “You don’t want to lose your powers, and you’re willing to sacrifice the entire coven to keep them!”
“Damnit! That’s not true! If I thought giving up my powers would solve this mess, I’d do it in a minute, but I don’t think it will solve it. Moira went to a great deal of trouble to make sure I became a warlock. If you try to change things, she’s going to stop you, and she might end up killing you. I’ve already let too many people die, Shana. I can’t stand by and let you make a decision that might make you die, too. Don’t use the wishing wand. Please. Do this for me.”
He looked so tormented that Shana felt torn. She wanted to ask him what people had died, and why he blamed himself for their deaths. She knew, however, that this was not the time. And as much as she hated admitting it, he did have a valid point. Moira had gone to a great deal of trouble to turn him into a warlock, and she might end up killing Shana to stop her from changing things. If she was dead, then she wouldn’t be here to help Ryan, and he was sure to lose his soul.
“All right,” she said. “I won’t use the wishing wand. Or at least I won’t use it unless we can determine for certain that it won’t make matters worse.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Now that that’s settled, you had better go to bed and get some sleep,” she told him.
“There are some things we need to talk about first. It’s important.”
“Okay. Let’s talk.”
Ryan shrugged uncomfortably. He had returned to the house for the specific purpose of telling her what he’d seen in the Tarot card Moira had shown him. He had hoped that, between the two of them, they’d be able to figure out whether it had been an accurate prediction of the future. And if it was, how they could deal with it. But how did you tell a woman that if you slept with her, there was a good chance you would kill her? Very carefully.
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