Raising Kane

by Long, Heather

  The intent of the caster—she—and more importantly—the audience to whom she cast. The more depraved, the more open to suggestion and fear, the more damage she could inflict. So close that door, weave no illusions, breathe no life into them and never give into the temptation. It is a tool, like a gun. If you drag it out of the dark, be prepared to use it.

  Anger, low, dark and simmering bubbled up from the acid churning in her gut. She was more than prepared to use it. Icy heat slid through her veins. Most illusions needed a seed, a germ of a thought, which she could then plant and then grow. Building illusions also required an absolute understanding of what she wanted to see. It didn’t have to be perfect, but if she’d never seen a thing she couldn’t build an illusion of it.

  Something simple, something non-threatening… It took a moment to decide on what such a thing could be. A dog was simple enough, but she’d—

  A low growl punched the air and her eyes flew open. Big-boned and thick muscled, a black dog stared up at them and bared its teeth. A near constant vibration of a growl hummed in the air.

  Confusion clouded through her. She hadn’t decided on an illusion. Well, I considered a dog, but some people are afraid of dogs and… A line of drool dripped from the creature’s mouth and it took a prowling step forward, menace etched into every line of its back.

  “Make it go away.” Wyatt’s cold order snapped through her roiling thoughts. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done, particularly when she hadn’t intended to create a dog in the first place.

  Sweat pooled at the base of her spine and her palms went slick as she grasped them together. Her arm burned beneath the bandage and the dog locked its gaze on hers. The massive jaw open and the challenging growl made all the hairs on her body stand up. Fear knifed through her. If she didn’t unweave the illusion, the monstrosity would attack with tooth and claw and as long as she believed the beast real, it would hurt like hell.

  William shifted a step in front of her and she opened her mouth to warn him, but the words died unspoken. Her fear spiked before relief flowed through her and the dog dissipated in a wash of inky, black smoke drifting away on the wind.

  Sagging, she nearly fell and it took several deep gulps of air to calm her racing heart. Discipline your mind, her father’s voice whispered through her. This is why we cannot let it out of the box, Evelyn. Because it feeds on emotion—our emotions and the emotions of everyone around us. If we fear it, we make it stronger and how can we not fear it?

  “Flawed, but impressive.” Quanto’s observation reminded her that he’d been the one to ask for the demonstration in the first place. “You have a measure of control, but it’s deeply fractured. You know what you should do, but not how to actually do it well.”

  The assessment stung. “You asked me to conjure. I did.” She desperately wanted to sit down, but she stiffened her spine and ignored the demand from her body. Perception meant everything. If they thought her too weak, or too fragile, they might turn her away. She needed better control.

  She had to have it.

  Movement next to her dragged her attention away from Quanto, and she found William studying her with the oddest expression. The sadness in him tugged at her in the most unexpected of ways. It took effort to return her attention to the shaman, but she knew his would be the deciding vote. Like her father, he wielded a quiet, authoritative strength.

  “You did as I asked, but you aren’t sure how you did it despite your attempt at confidence.” It wasn’t a question. “Arrogance is a dangerous enemy, Evelyn.”

  “I am not arrogant.” The defensive words escaped before she could bite back her protest.

  Amusement creased his cheeks. “Yes, you are. Very certain of your control, but then you’ve had to be. The first rule of training is to forget what you know and to build everything as consciously as possible.”

  Success threaded through her veins, riding a tidal pull of relief. They would train her. Her father would have his justice. “I am ready to begin.” She would be his most adept pupil. She could learn anything, reveled in knowledge. Her need for constant, new stimulation was one of the reasons her father challenged her with the reading of law. She adored knowledge, absorbing it, applying it—

  “Enthusiasm in the face of the unknown suggests a certain lack of forethought.” The icy assessment doused her joy. Wyatt pushed away from the railing. Evelyn met his mismatched eyes and, though she wanted to look away, she fought the urge. Giving into men like this, admitting their superiority set a dangerous precedent.

  “Rising to meet a challenge requires a certain confidence in the face of the unknown.”

  “Confidence or stupidity, the result is the same.” He dismissed her with those few words. “Kid, show our guest around and then both of you head to the barn. You can start by taking care of her horse and then the others.”

  Evelyn frowned. “How is that training?”

  William whistled and adjusted his hat on his head as he abandoned the porch for the snow-packed earth. Instead of answering her, Wyatt waited. Quanto did not intervene and when she checked with William, he gave a gentle jerk of his head toward the barn—the instruction clear. She should just obey.

  Mutiny warred with pride and both battled with the ever-pressing need to tame her skill. She’d agreed to do whatever they asked. Perhaps this was merely a test. Choosing to believe that, she inclined her head to Quanto then Wyatt. “Gentlemen.”

  Descending the steps with every ounce of her dignity mustered, she marched past William and headed toward the barn, but not before a flash of humor lit up his face It turned the handsome man stunning.

  Chapter 13

  Kid, Hell

  Evelyn studied the business end of the shovel with a deep frown. Three days of spring chores and she still hadn’t mastered even the most basic of them. Kid willingly tackled hers the first day until Wyatt caught on to his actions. After taking a strip off his hide, he’d forced Kid to watch Evelyn muddle through on her own the second day. When they’d been sent out to clean the stalls and turn the animals loose from the barn into the fields around the mountaintop, he’d focused on his own tasks and tried to ignore the befuddled confusion and heart wrenching disappointment coming off Evelyn in waves.

  It was killing him.

  Aware Wyatt would be watching, he cleared his throat and slowed his actions down so Evelyn could see what he did. Her regard stroked him like a caress and lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. He’d dropped a pair of gloves in her lap at breakfast, and she’d stared at them and again at him, but said nothing.

  Maybe she’d figured out why he’d stood around all the previous morning as she tackled tasks she appeared to be terrifically unsuited for—not to mention no experience in doing. His father would have his head if he ever learned of it. Repeating the shoveling motion, he scraped forward to clear out the soiled straw and pitched it into the wagon. Stripping stalls was an ugly business, particularly at the end of the hard winter. The lowest layers were often soaked and the scent of ammonia could leave a man’s eyes burning. He’d already tied a bandana around the lower half of his face to cut back on the dust, but she hadn’t seemed to understand that hint.

  She took a tentative swipe with the shovel and managed to dislodge some damp straw and spilled most of it on the way to the wagon. Her glare scorched him, but he kept moving. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he might be able to get enough ahead that her workload would be lightened.

  Instead of working, she continued to stare at him. Good lord, the woman was stubborn. He managed three more scoopfuls before giving into the temptation to meet her gaze. “You really should get it done. He’ll check.”

  The man had to have more than one power, of that he had no doubt. While Kid hadn’t identified it yet, he’d noticed any number of things about the eldest Morning Star brother that hinted at vast abilities—plural.

  “Why are we doing this?” She asked in a low, nearly hissed, whisper. Ignoring his advice, she paced over to him
, the distinctly sweet and feminine scent of her a delicacy in the dusty barn.

  Breathing shallow to avoid intoxicating himself, he shrugged. “Because Wyatt told us to.”

  “But how does this teach us? I came here to learn to use my ability, not to clean their barn or prepare a meal.”

  “You didn’t prepare a meal.” He stepped away to scoop out another load of used straw. “I did.”

  “That’s semantics. You understood what I meant.” Challenge wreathed every word, temper burning away her bewilderment.

  The irritation was so much cleaner than her boggier needs and he reveled in it. “No, actually, I don’t. You told them you were willing to do anything. He wants you to do this, but you aren’t willing to do it.” Another scoop and she had to dodge when he tossed the refuse into the wagon.

  Undeterred, she closed the distance again. “But we’re not working on our abilities. If I’d wanted to be a common stable girl, I could have done that anywhere.” The words, delivered like verbal daggers, only punctuated her brewing irritation, because beneath the surface, her confusion and bewilderment were sharp and piquant.

  Having had similar arguments with others before, Kid paused to squint at her. Nudging the brim of his hat up, he took advantage of her silence to study her. She had the prettiest, pink lips. They reminded him of petals on a flower, and each time she began to speak, she licked them. So they were wet and very enticing. Need lanced through him like an iron bolt and he flexed his fingers on the shovel. Dragging his gaze away, he dug out another load and tossed it.

  “So you have nothing to say?” Impatience creased her words and she tapped her foot.

  Keeping his back to her, he dug into the straw and jerked his chin toward the other stall. “Sure I do. Your work is over there.”

  Silence, emotional and verbal, echoed loudly behind him. He managed to ignore it for three more scoops, but she didn’t take the hint and she didn’t move. Setting the shovel edge into the ground, he leaned against the handle. Jerking tight against the devastating hunger awaking at the heat in her vibrant blue eyes, he lifted his brows and waited. It was an expression his father often used when Kid or his brothers were being thick. It had the same aggravating effect on her that he’d experienced.

  “Why are you here?” The question surprised him. In the days since she arrived, she’d skirted the issue and hinted at wanting to know, but she hadn’t out and out asked him.

  “Currently? To clean the stall.”

  The corner of her eye twitched. Her mouth opened and then snapped shut again. Fury, pure and raging, boiled up inside of her. The anger washed clean the cobwebs and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?”

  Giving her inquiry a considerate thought he shook his head. “No, ma’am.” When her nostrils flared, the corners of his mouth tipped upwards. “But I have been called a pain in the ass.”

  His father would likely have cuffed him for using the language in front of a lady, but sometimes shock worked when nothing else would. Her anger flashed hot and then she snorted. “Somehow, I have no trouble believing that description, William.”

  Kid grinned. “Ma’am, no one calls me William.”

  “Well I do.” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t care for nicknames, especially since you are quite obviously not a child. And I don’t care for this work instead of learning.” Her sweet lips tightened and went white and for the barest moment, he thought grief would pour out of her and then—it snapped hard shut again. The audible clang of a lid clamping down reverberated through him.

  Worry dulled the edge of his rebuke. “You don’t have to like it to do it. Work is just that, work. It has to be done.” Oddly, he got the sense she needed the anger because it helped her somehow and he wanted to rouse her temper again. Understanding crystalized inside of him and he followed the instinct. “Having an ability isn’t easy. It’s all about the work. It’s ugly and it’s grueling and, if you can’t handle it, maybe you should leave.”

  She jerked her head up, her eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown. Heat spiked and her temper lashed the air like a summer tempest. “I can do anything you can.”

  Stoking the fire, Kid dug back into the straw. “Really? I’m almost done. Your stall is still dirty and you use the flat end of that shovel to dig it out, in case you were wondering.” The solicitous note at the end lit her up like a firebomb. She made a choked sound and stormed away from him. Biting back another laugh, he carefully kept his attention on his own work and didn’t taunt her when she dumped more on the ground or when she knocked over her wagon.

  When his stall was done, he wheeled her wagon a little closer to her stall, so she had fewer steps to make before wheeling his own outside. He passed a silent Wyatt leaning against the wall just inside the barn door, shadows hiding him from casual view. Pausing, Kid glanced back at Evelyn and then at Wyatt’s expressionless face. The other man nodded to the door and Kid followed him out.

  “You handled that well.” The compliment was unusual enough to give Kid pause.

  “But?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Nothing. You handled it well.”

  Tipping the wagon over and scraping out the contents onto the manure pile, Kid turned the words over in his mind. Nothing in his tone or manner indicated it to be anything more or less than he’d said. Letting the matter go for now, he righted the wagon and pursued Evelyn’s question. “Why do you have her doing the work? She has no idea what she’s doing.”

  “Why did I have you work the forge?” It wasn’t an answer. Or maybe it was.

  “Preconceived notions. Pride.” He shrugged. “Self-pity.” The odd clarity with which he could view his own behavior had been slow to develop, but he understood his actions better free of the constant siege he’d lived under for most of his life. The emotional silence a gift he wouldn’t stop craving, but then he had other desires and they were far darker and more sinister.

  He’d enjoyed the crisp, tart flavor of Evelyn’s anger and preferred it to the murkier depths of her depression. Stripping off his gloves, he scrubbed his hands against his face. As much as he enjoyed teasing her for those few moments, he resented her presence and it went against the grain. She needed help. The right thing was to help her. Helping her, however, meant suffering through her presence. He resented the latter, beautiful woman or not.

  “You want to break her down in order to teach her?”

  “Do you think it’s breaking her down?” Wyatt actually sounded curious. “Is that the sense you’re getting off of her?”

  “No.” He didn’t bother to lie. “She’s tough, stubborn. Very stubborn.”

  “She needs more work.” Wyatt’s grin was not a friendly thing.

  “I didn’t say that.” He didn’t want the responsibility of it either. “And I don’t really want to work with her.”

  “Quanto thinks you need to. I don’t think he’s wrong.”

  “Why?” One word, fired like a bullet, burst out of him and the first inkling of what had to be his own temper woke up because Wyatt remained locked up tight. Whatever it was he used to block Kid, Kid could get around it, but only if he concentrated. He worked diligently to avoid that outcome currently.

  Of course, Wyatt merely lifted his brows and waited.

  “You really are a bastard when you do that.” Regardless of the inherent danger in an open challenge, Kid slapped his gloves against his thigh. “You know I want to do whatever it is I do with her emotions and it’s taking everything I have to not do it. To not skim them off or soften her upset.” It pulled at him—no, she pulled at him. He hadn’t had a woman in months and Evelyn wasn’t just a body. She had beauty and intelligence and a sharp wit and the damned thing was, he liked her, even when he didn’t.

  “And that is exactly why you must work with her.” Quanto’s soft answer preceded the man as he walked around the corner. “You must learn to be around others, to fight that which you ha
ve always done. The habit of taking the emotions of others into yourself is one you perform as if they were the air you breathe. But it must not be air, it must be water or food, to be consumed judiciously and at intervals and only when it is healthy for both.”

  “I doubt the chicken considers it healthy when we butcher it.” The dark humor did little to alleviate the sinking guilt at the way his heart beat faster at the idea of more time with Evelyn.

  “She is not a chicken. You must not butcher her.” Quanto delivered the last with a hint of a smile. “You must also learn to trust your judgment. That you have not taken from her since her fear nearly overwhelmed her on the porch shows good judgment.”

  “I’ll slip.” It wasn’t a plea, it was a fact. He always slipped. He always went too far and the longer he was around her, the greater the need would grow.

  “If you expect to, then you will.” Wyatt folded his arms. “Being around her means you will have to learn new ways to not slip.”

  “That doesn’t help me.” Kid shook his head. “If I knew a way to prevent it…” He paused. Maybe he did know a way. Well not know it, but know of a way. “You both keep me out. How do you do that?” And would it work the other way? Could he keep others out of him?

  Wyatt slanted a look at Quanto and the shaman chuckled. His humor filled the air and it carried notes of…pride. Kid blinked at the underlying surge. “I told you he would be ready sooner if he worked with her.” The words were directed at Wyatt, but Kid understood that Quanto spoke about him.

  “So you did, old man.”

  “There is a way.” Kid latched onto the concept and clung it. “And you needed me to be willing to learn it before offering me a solution…” His initial irritation waned almost immediately. The prospect of not being bombarded and only feeling others when he chose to so provocative, it erased his frustration.