by LETO, JULIE
Except, perhaps, her trust.
She grabbed for the one emotion that never let her down, and used her fury to stretch to her full height and tilt her chin up.
“I just did something pretty damned selfless, you arrogant son of a bitch. The least you can do is look me in the eye when you tell me to get lost.”
Paschal clutched her shoulders and gave her a little shake that might have earned him a black eye and a busted groin if he weren’t Ben’s father and just a few centuries shy of matching ages with Methuselah.
“Mariah, please,” Paschal begged. “Give him a moment.”
“I’ll give him a moment, all right,” she said, tearing off the bag she wore over her shoulder. “I’ll give him a bunch of moments. As many as he needs. My part in this drama is over. Have a nice life—or whatever.”
She dug into the bag, retrieved Rogan’s marker and thrust it into Paschal’s hands, hardly registering how hot the stone was in her palms. She expected that anything she touched right now might burn to cinders from the magnitude of her anger. She’d just offered Rafe her greatest and most elusive treasure—her heart—on a bloody gilded platter. Her confession hadn’t made any difference to the curse, but it could have at least made a difference to him.
“Mariah, wait,” Paschal called as she stalked out, but she waved him off. She was finished. Truly and utterly finished with this whole freaking family. She should have known. She should have realized that having anything to do with this bunch wasn’t going to turn out in her favor. Not much had lately. Why should this be any different?
Except for the groundbreaking conversation with her mother and a few nights of incredibly mind-blowing sex, Mariah had been on a downward spiral since she’d lost those coins in Mexico. Maybe the curse had been on them and not on the Valoren stone. Maybe she just wasn’t destined to be lucky in love. Ever.
The humid sea air slapped her in the face the moment she stepped outside, instantly chilling the streaks of moisture she hadn’t realized were streaming down her face. Then the wind kicked sand directly into her raw eyes. She cursed, but as she raised her hands, someone grabbed her by the wrists. She kicked out, but her legs were immediately bound by several beefy hands, and no matter how she tried, she could not scream.
“Take her. Quietly.”
She barely registered Farrow Pryce’s soulless laugh before her eyes rolled up into her head and the world went dark.
* * *
Cat plunged her hand into Gemma’s spiky hair and snatched her away from the window. The short strands slipped from her grip, but not before she’d grabbed the woman’s undivided attention.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Gemma pivoted, her arms flailing, but Cat sidestepped her pathetic attempts at punches, snagged the woman’s wrist and twisted it behind her back. Gemma Von Roan might be related to a major-league, eighteenth-century badass, but she fought like a girl.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft and fearful.
The emotion caught Cat off guard, giving Gemma the split second she needed to break free of her grip. A heartbeat later, the air was jammed out of her midsection by Gemma’s shoulder, and both of them tumbled to the dusty, gritty floor.
Cat moved to get her feet under her, but Gemma shoved her flat. “Stay down!”
“Wha—”
“Shh!”
With a shake, Cat tried to make sense of the situation. The moment she’d spotted Gemma at the window of the finished suite, she’d been overwhelmed by the impression that Gemma was signaling someone outside. Well-deserved mistrust spurred her to act. She’d expected Gemma to put up a fight, but she hadn’t counted on her genuine fear.
Gemma crawled back to the window, slid her hands up to the sill and then slowly stood, but only halfway. Had there been light, only the tips of her hair would have been visible on the other side on the glass. But it was darker inside than it was outside. No one would be able to see her. And who the heck would be looking up to an ocean-view window from several stories down anyway?
Intrigued, and not at all thrilled to have been tackled to the ground by a woman whose allegiances were entirely foggy, Cat joined her, but kept her back pressed against the wall. If she was going to figure out what Gemma Von Roan was up to, she had to play along.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure,” Gemma replied.
“Care to hazard a guess?”
“Farrow was in my head.”
Cat’s eyes widened. Paschal hadn’t mentioned that Gemma Von Roan was crazy before now, but she was a descendent of a known megalomaniac and the former lover of a certified freak—one who had apparently taken up residence in her brain.
“Does he hang out there often?” she asked.
Gemma shot her a quelling look.
“Sorry,” Cat replied, rubbing her tailbone, which had taken the weight of her fall after Gemma’s tackle. “Sarcasm is my natural mode of communication when I’m in pain.”
“Better a sore ass than dead,” Gemma snapped.
“I can’t disagree. Paschal said you had some sort of psychic mimicking power. Is that why you’re suddenly hearing voices?”
Gemma shook her head. “I’ve never heard voices before, so if I’m mimicking someone, it’s a new development.”
“From Rafe?” Cat asked, suspecting that while still tethered to the stone, Rafe Forsyth possessed a wide range of magical abilities. Damon and Aiden had both had a relatively unlimited capacity to draw on Rogan’s magic and make all sorts of nifty things happen. But Paschal had been very careful to keep Gemma away from Rafe, just in case her power to absorb the paranormal abilities extended to a full-fledged magical phantom.
Gemma stood up a little straighter. “Maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s him. He’s here. On the island.” She visibly shivered. “Maybe he finally figured out how to use that damned sword.”
Cat allowed herself one brief moment to cradle her head in her hands. Hadn’t she been here before? On the brink of a showdown with some big bad while holed up in Rogan’s castle on this remote island in the middle of the night? Pain buzzed below the scar on her arm. Yup, the last time she’d been shot, and the Von Roan involved—Gemma’s brother—had been the advancing enemy. What would they face if Pryce had magic on his side?
“What did he say while floating around in your skull?” she asked.
Gemma frowned. “He just wanted me to look out the window. I was about to do that when you snatched my hair. And that hurt, by the way.”
“Wish I could say that wasn’t my intention,” Cat answered.”So, you’re taking orders from him again?”
Gemma glared at her, but Cat forced her expression to remain stoic. If they were on the brink of another war, she needed to know whose side Gemma was on. And even if she claimed allegiance to Paschal, Cat was certain they couldn’t trust her.
“I’m not going back to Farrow, if that’s what you think,” she snapped. “He’ll use me and then he’ll kill me. If not tonight, then soon.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.” The decisiveness in her voice was unmistakable, and so was the fear. “I’m a threat to him—to everything he’s ever wanted. And I betrayed him, so I’m also a reminder to his followers that not everyone does what he says. My only option, if I want to stay alive, is to continue my alliance with you.”
“You don’t sound happy about it,” Cat pointed out.
“Are you?”
“Point taken. Okay, let him into your head again. Pretend you’re his new best friend if you have to, but keep him busy. I’ll get Ben.”
Cat turned to leave, but Gamma grabbed her by the wrist. “No!”
“What?”
With moonlight streaming in from the window, Gemma’s face was pale.
“Stay. If he gets into my head…”
Cat blew out an uneasy breath. Cat had heard voices in her head before, and the experience wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. Apparently
, Gemma found it just as invasive.
“Don’t want to do anything you’d regret later?” she asked.
Gemma squeezed her eyelids shut. “I’ve never regretted a damned thing, and the hell if I’m going to start now because he got hold of Rogan’s magic before I did.”
“At least we know where you stand,” Cat quipped.
“Haven’t you always?”
She still couldn’t trust Gemma, but she could buy that the woman didn’t want to act on Pryce’s influence. If she was going to betray them, Cat guessed she’d do it on her own terms.
Gemma took a deep breath, stood, then turned to the window. She peered into the darkness, leaning until her nose pressed against the glass.
“I don’t see him,” she said after a long minute. “I don’t see anything out there but waves. Why would he call me and then not show himself?”
Cat looked for herself. On a whim, she put her hand on Gemma’s shoulder and focused on the silence.
“What are you doing?” Gemma asked, nonplussed.
“Shh,” Cat admonished. “I’m doing my psychic thing.”
“And that is?”
Cat quieted Gemma with a glare.
“Geez,” Gemma mumbled. “Are you naturally this cranky or is it just with me?”
“Bit of both,” Cat replied through clenched teeth. “Now, reach out to him.”
“Why?”
“Because, just maybe, I can figure out precisely where he went.”
“How?”
“Watch and learn,” Cat replied.
“You know I’ll do more than just learn, right?” Gemma asked.
Yes, Cat knew. She was taking a big risk using her locating ability with Gemma, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Gemma’s stealing Cat’s power was worth the risk if it kept Farrow Pryce from yet another attempt at taking Rogan’s magic and killing them all.
Because this time, he might just succeed.
* * *
“Go after her,” Paxton insisted.
Rafe took in great gulps of air, each inhalation calming him, each exhalation bringing him closer to understanding what had just happened. Had Mariah lied? Had she said the words simply to free him and not because they came from her heart?
He did not believe so. He heard the honesty in her tone, felt the love shimmering off her body like light from the sun after a torrential rainfall. And yet, his own body had acted like a shield, blocking the warmth from penetrating his defenses.
From behind him, he heard his brother shout for Ben. Paxton’s voice echoed through the main hall and up the grand staircase. Rafe managed to pull his head up and look at the familiar faces of the Gypsy villagers in the mosaic. How could he have been so blind and unaware?
Mariah did love him.
He simply did not love her in return. How could he when he still mourned his wife? His child? His people?
The sound of someone running toward them made his stomach ache. How could he have hurt Mariah so willfully? She’d done nothing to deserve his rejection except open her heart.
“What happened?” Ben asked, breathless.
Rafe turned to see Paxton gesturing his son into the library.
“I failed,” Rafe announced, stopping them from leaving.
“What?” Ben asked, his confused stare alternating between his father and Rafe. “What are you talking about? Where’s Mariah? What happened?”
“Gemma and Cat shouldn’t be left alone together,” Paxton said almost at the same time. He started toward the stairs, but Ben grabbed his arm and held him in place.
“Mariah has left,” Rafe announced. “She did as you instructed. She confessed her love to me, and she meant it. Yet I am still bound by Rogan’s curse?’
Ben frowned. “Maybe she just couldn’t—”
“No,” Rafe interrupted. “She loves me. Or loved me, up until a moment ago, when I could not return the sentiment. I do not deserve liberation. I do not deserve her.”
A female voice from the top of the stairs drew them into the entranceway. Gemma was dragging Cat across the landing, then stumbled and fell hard to her knees.
Ben took the stairs three or four at a time, but Rafe beat him to the top by using Rogan’s magic. Why shouldn’t he? Denying the power would not free him. The anger that the sorcery spawned hungered to be fed. He lifted Gemma by the arms.
Ben slid Cat onto his lap. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t,” Gemma said, her body folding down on itself, despite Rafe’s attempt to hold her up. “I didn’t… do anything. Farrow. On the island. Waiting. For you. He has Mariah.”
As if a block of stone had just formed in the pit of his stomach, Rafe lowered Gemma gently to the floor. “Where?” Rafe asked.
Gemma pushed herself to a sitting position. “Not sure. He’s using Rogan’s magic. He’s good at it now. He will destroy you and take the stone.”
Caring not about Gemma’s warning, Rafe started down the stairs. Paxton met him at the bottom and stayed him with a hand to his chest.
“I didn’t go to all the damned trouble to find you to lose you to some power-hungry idiot,” Paxton said.
“I am not unarmed,” he reminded his brother. “I still have Rogan’s powers at my disposal. If he has hurt Mariah, I will kill him.”
“Sounds to me like you love her,” Paxton said, his voice a whisper.
If only his brother’s assumption were true, he’d be free.
“I am responsible for her.”
Paxton pursed his lips. “You’re more than that. If he took Mariah as leverage to get you and the stone, he won’t harm her while he waits. That gives us time to plan.”
One-half of the most cunning pair of twins Rafe had ever encountered, Paxton had once possessed the mind of a master strategist. Mariah was the same way. Always a scheme up her sleeve. Always working out ways to come out on top.
And yet Pryce had her. He’d allowed his men to molest her in the jungle. Beat her. How could Rafe wait and give the bastard time to abuse her again?
Cat stirred, her eyes blinking until she was able to hold them open. “He’s here somewhere. And he knows I felt his presence. Then he did something. Like a psychic backdraft. I think I might have two heads now, because they’re both hurting like hell.”
Her gaze locked with Gemma’s; then they both turned to stare at Rafe with utter terror in their eyes.
“He wants you,” Cat said. “And the stone.”
Gemma finished: “And he’s willing to kill Mariah to get both.”
Twenty Eight
What do you want with me?
She could only wonder, and not out loud. Since Pryce’s men had dragged her down to a lush lagoon where they’d grounded their boat, she had remained unable to speak. Even after they’d removed the gag from her mouth, her vocal cords would not work. They hadn’t even bothered to bind her with rope, and yet, somehow, she could not move. Pryce stood five feet away from her, the sword at his side.
He had not broken eye contact with her once since his men had tossed her on the sandy shore. Tears streamed down her face, but only to dislodge the sand kicked up at her. Rafe’s betrayal jettisoned her well beyond weeping. And yet, if Pryce interpreted her crying as weakness, then he was in for a big surprise.
Not that she was any less shocked by the turn of events—all of them, from Rafe’s inability to return her love to Pryce’s sudden appearance less than twenty-four hours after they’d escaped him on the hotel rooftop. Pryce had seemed formidable when he’d attacked her in the jungle, but now he was downright scary. He gripped the sword he’d stolen from Rafe’s brother as if the handle were an extension of his arm. The weapon glowed bright purple as the fire of the opal in the handle met the cool cobalt of the blade.
“You are bait, Ms. Hunter,” he told her. “Your ruse last night was clever, but you forgot that I’d dealt with a guardian of Rogan’s magic before. I knew you would ultimately end up here, where the magic began.”
She still cou
ld not speak, but her eyes must have betrayed her confusion.
He smiled at her indulgently. “Your companion last night was no mere bodyguard. Shame on me for not recognizing him sooner for what he was. The guardian of the stone cushioned your landing on the rooftop and then faked his own death. He was quite convincing. I bought his theatrical demise—until I attempted to use the stone. Then, when Hector Velez called to complain that you’d disappeared before his men could collect you, I realized I’d been tricked. You must care for him deeply to risk your life on his account.”
Mariah kept her eyes focused, her heart stoic. Up until a short time ago, she had cared for Rafe more than she had for any other person in her life. But not anymore—and never again.
“When I acquired this,” he continued, lifting the sword, “I was confronted by a man who looked not unlike your companion. Dark and forbidding, violent and sharp. He bested me. But now I realize he was not human. He possessed magic unlike any I’d ever seen. Lord Rogan must have imbued his objects with a manifestation of the magic itself, to protect them. Guardians, so to speak.”
Mariah looked down at her lap. This asshole couldn’t be more wrong about the men who were cursed by Rogan’s sorcery, but she certainly wasn’t going to correct him. What would be the point? She just wanted out—out of this situation and off this island and, if there were any justice left in the world, out of the States and on the first plane to Sydney.
“I might have pursued him, but I found it prudent to allow certain people to believe I died falling off that cliff. But I still had contacts. I had you followed in Germany and learned from the locals that you’d left in a hurry. You’d found something significant, hadn’t you? And if one item associated with Lord Rogan could keep me from dying after plunging into the icy Pacific from ten stories up, then imagine what I could do with two.”
She glared at him defiantly, as if the thought of his having more magic at his disposal didn’t terrify her to her core.
“But you have thwarted me. Twice. However, since Rogan’s guardian went to such trouble to protect you last night, I will simply wait for him to rescue you now. He knows I am here. When he arrives, I will destroy him and take the stone.”