by Hazel Hunter
“Let her go,” Logan said. “Your quarrel is with me.”
“Oh no,” Darren said. His upraised sword glinted as he moved. “It’s a package deal. I’m going to kill the whole Wiccan family.”
She blinked. “But my parents were–”
“On the run from the Magus Corps,” he said grinning. “Maybe you need to ask yourself why some day.”
Caitlin glanced at Logan. Sweat was trickling at his temple. He was working on a spell. Maybe she could buy him time.
“I won’t let you hurt her,” she said, standing as tall as she could.
Darren laughed, and how she’d ever found that sound even passably attractive from him on the porch, she’d never know. Now that sound cut like glass into her stomach.
“Well, I don’t think that seeing the future is going to affect me much. Your powers are basically useless in battle. So keep talking.”
“She doesn’t have to!” Logan bellowed, his deep voice booming in the small room.
Darren’s ears flexed back flat along his head, and the cleric dropped his book.
What luck.
Caitlin didn’t wait. Running forward for all she was worth, she slid low to avoid the descent of the sword, and dove head first into her sister. It was enough to slide both of them across the floor.
A few inches from her heel, the broadsword crashed into the floor.
Sheila screamed beside her, and Caitlin forced herself not to panic. Darren was raising the sword. That didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Sheila out of here. Caitlin worked furiously to unknot the collection of cords. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Logan landing a hard uppercut on Darren’s chin.
Silently, Caitlin said a prayer to the Goddess to keep Logan safe.
Beside her, Sheila was shouting again, and it was only then that Caitlin noticed the tape on her sister’s lips and that the noises were coming out muffled. As much as Sheila might want to speak, right now she just had to get the damn bonds around the ankles loose.
“Shh!” Caitlin said, her nails scrabbling against unrelenting cords.
Her sister shook her head and gestured to her mouth with her shoulders. “Mmmrph!”
“I’ve almost got it.”
She heard the clash of metal on metal and glanced sideways. Darren had abandoned his sword. He and Logan were going back and forth with ceremonial blades, parrying and thrusting.
Her fingers tore at the cords. They were starting to come loose.
Then, as though a thunderclap had been loosed in the room, a deafening boom assaulted them. It was the cleric. He was on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, and his head thrown back. His mouth gaped open, the ear-splitting sound pouring from it. Though Caitlin tried to cover her ears, she found she couldn’t move. Sheila seized up below her, and Logan fell with a loud thunk.
A feral sneer washed over Darren’s face as he rushed toward Logan. The cleric took a deep breath, and let loose with another shrieking word. They were outmatched, and she had no powers, nothing to offer.
Logan was able to roll just enough so that the blade dug into his stomach and not his chest. Thick red blood bubbled forth. Darren howled in frustration and brought his arm back up again for another blow.
“Stop!” Caitlin screamed.
“No more stopping,” the Knight ordered, and he brought the dagger down hard, another plunge into Logan’s midsection.
Caitlin’s mind reeled. She remembered his lifeline. The golden string. It had not ended this night. Her gift had told her that much.
“Wait!” she shrieked. “You can have me. Just leave my sister and my…and Logan alone.”
“You’re a witch,” Darren sneered. “There’s nothing more than momentary pleasure from you, and then your death.”
“I have the Eyes of Fate,” she countered, glaring at him.
That gave Darren pause, his blood stained dagger hovering in the air.
“Why do you think the Corps sent one of their highest generals after a novice?” Caitlin asked. “Because even if I’m a novice, I have more power than Commandant Jonathan knows what to do with.”
“No! Caitlin stop,” Logan breathed. “You can’t.”
And that was more confirmation than anything else she could have said. Reluctantly, Darren sheathed his dagger, and kicked Logan hard in the ribs. Blood frothed on his lips.
“Well, perhaps my commander will want to see you, after all.”
In two steps he stood over her, his fist sailing in from nowhere. Her nose cracked audibly and darkness quickly consumed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LOGAN WOKE COUGHING. Everything was blurry but it came back fast: the fight with Darren, the way Caitlin had traded herself for him, the lascivious and triumphant smirk on the other man’s face as he’d dragged her off. That was enough motivation. Logan lunged up off the hospital bed, and instantly regretted it. The room reeled and tilted and a dull ache in his stomach made him catch his breath. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He saw his clothes in the small closet. He donned them as quickly as he could manage, the blood on them dried and hard. It didn’t matter. He had to get to Caitlin.
He was halfway to the door when Jonathan strode in.
“Whoa,” the commandant said, hands on his shoulders.
Despite the tone in his friends voice, he was glad for the support.
“How long was I out?” Logan asked, standing up straighter. Jonathan let him go.
“About a day. It took our healers a long time to patch up your gut wound. You can thank the other novice for that.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand?”
“Sheila’s like her sister. I don’t know how we didn’t notice she has Wiccan abilities too. We’re still not sure the extent of them, but we can feel the power emanating from her. She’s back at the Washington DC coven headquarters.”
“What?”
“Apparently, it was a whole family of witches, rogues begetting novices with some fierce powers. Enough in Sheila’s case to stay off the radar for years, even from her sister. The point is she found a way to slip out of her bonds and dug in your pockets for your cell, called the last number you had and got us out to you. You’d still be lying there if she hadn’t.”
He blinked still feeling foggy. “I can’t believe it.”
“Quite a family line,” Jonathan mused.
“I’ve got to find Caitlin,” Logan said.
“We’ve had our best searchers on the location. There’s an abandoned former Unitarian church near Fell’s Point.” Jonathan gripped his arm. “We’re stretched thin up here. You need to wait until reinforcements come.”
“You know what Darren is capable of,” Logan growled.
Jonathan shook his head.
“Even the Knights know how rare the Eyes of Fate is. They might want her for strategy as badly as we do.”
“So Sheila told you?” Logan demanded.
“She didn’t even know what she was revealing.” Jonathan’s steely eyes were flecked with arcs of purple. Outside Logan could hear the cracks of thunder that came with a gathering lightning storm. “You weren’t going to tell me, old friend?”
“I was going to let Caitlin decide how she explained her powers to the Corps, and let her choose her own path.”
“Her path is tied to the war.”
Logan came up on the balls of his feet, and leaned forward, looking Jonathan in the eye.
“We’ll see about that.” Though Logan’s hands balled into fists, he kept them at his sides. “But her path won’t be tied to anything if she doesn’t survive.” Beyond all reason, he gripped the front of Jonathan’s black shirt. “You know Darren,” Logan whispered harshly. “You know what he’s capable of.”
For a moment lightning flashed outside, but Logan saw doubt flicker across the commandant’s face. He let him go.
“I’ll need weapons.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN CAITLIN WOKE,
it was hard to breathe. It felt like every inhale made her nose pound with blood rushing to it. The whistling breaths were small, like she’d had the worst congestion and cold of her life. Opening her eyes, Caitlin managed to raise her heavy head to look around. Her blood froze, and she swallowed back a scream. She was naked, tied to a stone altar, her arms and legs outstretched as if she was about to be drawn and quartered.
The first day in the basement had been spent in beatings. Some rage that Caitlin couldn’t comprehend seemed to fuel Darren. She’d begged and pleaded, trying to cower away. He’d punched her, then kicked her on the floor. Her only escape had been unconsciousness.
Now he paced next to her, still looking oddly normal in jeans and a flannel shirt. But as he turned to reverse direction, she saw the multi-tailed whip in his hands. Her body shook at the sight and her mind raced. It was medieval wasn’t it? A cat of nine tails? The whip had at least nine strands ending in sharp barbs that looked like they’d tear into flesh.
At the steps to the altar, the cleric knelt, hands clasped and eyes closed. His lips moved in silent prayer.
When she looked back to Darren, she saw that he realized she was awake. Try as she might, she couldn’t take her eyes from the wicked weapon he held. He followed her gaze and brandished it then. The little ends hit the stone with force, clattering and echoing in the old building. The few scattered crosses told her it had probably been a church. Consecrated ground, something that would diminish her powers, not that she would know an incantation or spell to save her anyway.
“I have to wait for the Deacon to come,” Darren said, looking up and down her length. “He’s on his way from Ireland to see the supposed ‘reincarnation of Cassandra.’ You’re a big deal, but I guess you knew that?” He trailed the tips of his fingers down the inside of her arm. It was odd to feel the softness and gentleness of his touch. “Still, it doesn’t mean I can’t play.”
He used the handle of the whip to trace a line downward between her breasts. She felt the leather scrape down her stomach, dip into her navel, and move lower. She went rigid, praying it wouldn’t drift farther south.
“I’ve bound my fair share of witches and none have been as delectable as you. I admit, I never saw why other Knights had fun with them—until I saw you.”
“Go to Hell.”
He grinned. Only the tiniest flick of his wrist betrayed what came next. The barbs of the whip bit savagely into her thigh. She screamed, jerking involuntarily against the restraints. It was like a million needles digging into her flesh.
“Hell is where Satan’s whores like you go, witch.”
The prayer of the cleric got louder.
Caitlin tried to curl in on herself, writhing, but the bonds held her stretched out and vulnerable. Darren’s arm reached up again and came down hard. She screamed again, the burning assaulting her hips.
“That one is a lash for dear old sis. Maybe I can just hit you for every member of your Wiccan family.” He leaned closed and whispered in her ear. “Then there’s mom.”
The whip slashed across her ribs, as she gasped for enough breath to scream. She whimpered now, moaning uncontrollably. The red tide of pain was everywhere, inescapable.
“And dad. He was an easy kill.”
Despite the blazing pain that seared her flesh, she couldn’t stop herself.
“Fuck you,” she groaned.
He reared back to deliver a blow, his glare focused on her breasts. She tried to turn away, despite knowing it would do no good.
But the side doors to the sanctuary burst open. Even as the room began to spin, Caitlin could see it was Logan, brandishing a sword.
“Logan,” she breathed.
Darren dropped the whip, and suddenly there was a sword in his hand as well.
Logan was moving at a dead run. Before the cleric could fully rise, Logan was swinging his sword. The man’s head flew from his shoulders, and the body slumped sideways to the floor. Caitlin turned her head the other way, just in time to vomit.
“This ends now,” Logan growled. “For her and for everyone else.”
The clanging and clashing of the two weapons filled the air. As though through a haze, she heard feet shuffling, heaving breaths and grunts, and always the sounds of the swords.
“Did you tell her?” Darren asked, breathing hard. “That the last person you tried to save, I beheaded?”
But Logan made no reply—at least none that she could hear.
Instead, moments later there was a wild shriek.
Caitlin jerked her head around. Oh, please don’t let it be Logan! Finally, she saw them, the two men standing close, and perfectly, frighteningly still.
“This is for Adam,” she heard Logan say.
The tip of Logan’s sword was protruding from Darren’s back. But now the bloody length of it followed. Darren’s mouth hung open in a soundless scream, his expression one of shock. “And this,” Logan said lowly, their faces close, “is for me.”
In a single blurred motion, the sword disappeared, Logan spun, and Darren’s head was flying across the room.
Possibly before it even landed, Logan was at her side.
“Caitlin,” he whispered, just as the world went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY
LOGAN SAT ALL night at Caitlin’s bedside as the healers worked over her. Some of the horrific wounds inflicted by the whip had run deep. He was sickened at what she’d endured, and yet relieved and grateful for the healer’s balms, salves, and spells. Jonathan had looked in as well. Only as dawn began to creep through the window did their ministrations stop. Their work had never seemed more miraculous.
For some time after they’d left, Logan had simply watched Caitlin sleeping, her nose already fresh and pink instead of the mottled purple mess it had been. Though she slept, her brows furrowed from time to time, and Logan could only imagine what she was seeing. He carefully took her hand in both of his.
There was a clearing of the throat at the door. He turned to see Sheila.
“How is she?” she asked quietly, as she came to the bedside.
“She’s healed,” Logan said. At least physically, he thought, though he didn’t say it.
Though Sheila’s hair was shorter, the family resemblance was strong.
“So the two of you were Wiccans but didn’t tell each other?”
“I started studying early, but I had no idea that Caitlin had abilities. She was so private.” There was a shortness to her tone, a hint of accusation. But then it softened. “Or maybe she was trying to protect me. She’s been protecting people for her whole damn life. She deserves more than being the almighty eyes for the Corps.”
Logan’s hand tensed around the metal side rail to the bed. “We agree on that.”
“I see the way she looks at you. Her letting Darren do all that to her. That was about loving you too, not just me. You treat her right, that’s all I’m saying, and you keep her safe.”
It sounded like a farewell.
“Sheila, you can’t leave the coven.”
“Then I’m just a different kind of prisoner. Before, Darren had me bound and was ready to kill me on the spot. Here, well, it’s very nice accommodations but if I get thrown into a war too, who’s to say I won’t end up like my parents did.”
“If they’d been with others and protected–”
“And your friend? That Adam guy? Did being part of the Corps save him?”
He frowned. “What is your gift exactly?”
“It’s not seeing the future or having exceptional luck.”
“Are you a telepath then?”
She chuckled and arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure the Corps would like to know.”
He shrugged. “This is your heritage as much as Caitlin’s. I know she’d want you to stay together.”
She snorted. “And what does your commandant want? I don’t trust him worth a damn.” Sheila sighed. “She might have a short life, and I know she’ll have a dangerous one, but I know there’ll be no dissuadi
ng her. So you take care of her.”
“I don’t have a choice, and it’s not about her abilities. I don’t give a damn about those. I’m going to do it because life without her wouldn’t be life.”
Sheila seemed to consider that and nodded. Then she headed to the door and paused. “Maybe we’ll both learn to like life with a coven and Magus Corps. Just don’t hold your breath.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
FROM THE CHAIR in the corner, Logan watched intently as Caitlin began to stir. Morning sun flooded the room, and she squinted a little at the brightness. Her hand moved lazily over her eyes as she took in a deep breath. Then she froze, quickly raised her head, and scanned the room. Their eyes met.
Her smile, though shy at first, slowly grew. Only then did Logan realize how much it meant. Like rays of light breaking through a cloud covered sky, it buoyed him. He found himself at her side, taking in the scent of her—the soap they’d bathed her in and the sweet fragrance that was all woman and all Caitlin, a goddess in her own right. Leaning down, he kissed her, reveling in the feel of her tongue stroking against his own. They stayed like that for hours it felt like, exploring each other’s mouths, enjoying the sensation of tongues dancing.
When she drew back from him, he grinned at her. “So, darling, I guess that means even with our ups and downs, you’re glad to have me.”
She shook her head and chuckled, it was like the tinkling of bells to him, so light and free.
“You’re nuts. You didn’t have to come. I was saving you.”
“I think we make a good team after all.”
She laughed and sat up, hissing a bit at the angry welts left from her whipping. He quickly took her hand.
“Yes,” she said. “We play ‘Gift of the Magi’ with our martyr complexes, perfectly.”
There was a long pause, and her smile slowly faded. She leveled her green eyes at him.
“Tell me about Adam.”
He nodded, and lowered the bed’s side rail. He carefully sat on the edge of the mattress, even as he fought against the pounding in his chest.