Heart pounding, Alexander edged closer. The magic churned inside his essence, building like steam about to push through the valves.
“I’m sorry, son.” Sheppard’s eyes slipped to Hank and Alexander knew. That was the signal. Sheppard wouldn’t outright kill his child. He left that to others.
Which gave Alexander an opening.
Hank turned his rifle upon Lance. Alexander saw the kick of it firing and he lunged out from among the trees, the pent-up magic bursting out of him in frenzied disjointed beats.
Streams of crackling green light pulsed into Hank, lifting him from his feet, flinging him back several yards where he slid across the weeds. Bullets splattered the air on reflex.
Men shouted around him. Gunfire erupted. Alexander didn’t know if Lance had been hit.
His entire focus turned to Sheppard. Slack-jawed, the bastard took in the scene, eyes narrowing when he found Alexander striding toward him, dragging tendrils of sorcerer’s fire snapping from the tips of his fingers.
Sheppard’s entire demeanor hardened, resolved, calculated. If he was going out, he was going to make Alexander pay. Bring it on, Alexander brought his hands forward. This was going to feel good.
Keeping his eyes on Alexander, Sheppard dropped Jewel and sited his gun…straight at Dez’s heart.
And Alexander let loose. Scraped a bolt of fire across the ground that took Sheppard’s legs out from under him. He thudded to the weed-choked ground on the other side of Jewel. His gun flew across the dirt, never getting off a round.
Still walking forward, Alexander blasted Sheppard again, rolling him across the field as though he’d kicked him in the ribs.
Jewel pulled her legs in, throwing her arms over her head. But Alexander wouldn’t hit her, wouldn’t even get that close. His anger was much too focused, sharpened like a surgical laser, on the madman who was supposed to be her father, was supposed to protect her. Not tie her up. Not feed her to monsters. Not let scumbag bastards mark her with bruises.
Chaos consumed the world surrounding him. Shouts, screams, the shrill of a Sift, Dez shouting his name… He thought he heard Ethan. In his peripheral sight he saw the vampire streak past and rip the arm off one of the monsters in a blur of speed. He could almost imagine the wavelengths of a sonic blast.
It all filtered through his senses like a sieve, the only thing registering was pushing, shoving Sheppard far, far from Jewel and Dez.
Sheppard landed on his stomach and curled in on himself, hand up and out for mercy, his mouth working, pleading words Alexander was beyond hearing. Not that he could hear much beyond the dulling residue of cracking gunfire.
Alexander zapped Sheppard again. “You will…never…hurt anyone…again…you ignorant…bigoted…swiving…son of a whore.”
“Stop! Stop!” Hands latched onto him from behind. He barely felt them, deadened to everything but Sheppard. He felt himself spun to the side. His sorcery burned furrows of green fire across the weeds, nearly taking off the guy’s legs. The grass went up in flames around them.
He was shoved then. The world snapped back into focus. Lance faced him, skin awash in a green flickering glow. Unnerved, Alexander quenched his magic joltingly fast as he stared into young man’s face. An aftershock of tremors rolled through him. Someone ran past them, racing for the trees. Richards?
Lance locked onto his arm, shaking him. “Stop. Don’t kill him. He’s mine.” His voice was a distant echo, reverberating from a thousand miles away.
Alexander pitched over, shaking, starring sideways at Sheppard who was crawling awkwardly in the grasses. and nearly vomited, because that’s what he was about to do. Kill Sheppard. He still wanted to. He didn’t like what he was feeling.
Dia.
He’d been lost in his rage.
He didn’t see a man. He saw a monster.
Lance had a knife in a tight trembling grasp.
It wasn’t the way. Not for him.
Straightening, Alexander laid his hand on the boy’s wrist. “You can’t do it either. He’s your father.”
Lance shook his head. “He’s not. My father died a long time ago.”
“Even so.”
“We can’t let him go.” His voice wavered, caught on a swell of raw emotion. “He’ll only continue…”
“I know.” Alexander took the blade from Lance, surprised that he let him so easily. He felt heavy. The air felt heavy around him like the cloaking Scottish mist. Smoke and heat swirled around them, burning across the field. He wanted to take a man’s life. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Lance do it either. Couldn’t let the young man live with that burden.
But Sheppard had to die.
“No, Alexander.” Dez was behind him, supporting a very filthy and weary looking Ethan. The guy obviously had a hard time of it, was sporting a wound on his thigh and had blood splattered across his face and chest, but he also had his beloved Jericho back—Alexander hoped Hank had been given the beating he deserved for that—and was grinning behind all the muck and the weariness.
Seeing his friends both alive, loosened the anger from his chest and Alexander let it fall, leaving the ugly shards of hatred to sink into the burning ground.
He inhaled a full breath and searched for Jewel.
And found Hank instead, leaping through the fire behind Dez and Ethan, gun barrel lowering toward their unprotected backs—
Alexander hurled the knife. A shot barked out. Everyone swiveled, ducking, more gunfire stuttered out. Dez shoved Ethan to the ground, crouching over him, gun drawn. Ethan’s was out as well, eyes hard and narrowed.
Hank gasped, dropped. The hilt of the blade wobbled in his chest. Stunned disbelief flooded his features, smoothing out the creases around his mouth.
Alexander felt no remorse. He owed Hank for that, owed him for the bruise on Jewel’s cheek.
Jewel. He lifted his gaze from Hank to scan the smoldering field.
He spotted her standing several yards away, hazy beyond the fire and smoke, hugging her arms around herself, vulnerable and seeming afraid to approach closer until they finished what had to be done.
What he knew had to be done.
He’d never had the taste for killing. Though he’d ended his fair share of monsters. He’d never wanted to kill a man before, didn’t want to now, even though a few moments ago in the grip of rage he would have done it easily. Too easily. It scared him. That rage was gone now and all he saw was a pathetic excuse for a man.
Not a man. He was the real monster here. Worse than the Sifts.
Sighing, he took the few steps to stand over Sheppard who was still struggling to crawl away.
Alexander shoved Sheppard over onto his back, wincing when the man cowered, flinging his arms up in defense.
“Alexander.” Dez was suddenly beside him again, somehow knowing what he intended. “You can’t. The scum deserves it. Deserves worse than killing, but…” Dez looked to where Jewel waited on the other side of the burning weeds. “You love her.”
Alexander glanced at him, surprised.
“You’re easy to read, kid. Always have been.” He shook his head, laying a palm on his shoulder. “She’s why you can’t do it.”
“She’s why I have to.”
“Not by you. Not this way. Let me take care of it.”
Alexander didn’t answer, couldn’t. He simply stood there. Dez pulled his own blade, crouched over Sheppard and slashed the beefy man across the arm before Alexander could argue. Sheppard hissed and slapped his hand across the shallow wound.
“That’s it?” Alexander’s voice sounded hollow.
“That’s all.” Dez shrugged and looked out toward the trees where the few Sifts the vampire hadn’t killed were edging toward them, carrion waiting to pick off the remains left behind. “It’s what he deserves. Leave the monster to the monsters.”
Alexander couldn’t agree more. He felt a weight slide from his shoulders, the heft of a winter coat falling to the ground. Together, he and Dez turned their bac
ks on the pathetic man when Ethan shouted a warning, swinging his gun up and cleared a barking round into the space Dez and Alexander vacated when they dove to either side.
He heard the thud of a heavy body hitting the ground. Twisting, Alexander looked back at Sheppard, flat on his back, eyes vacant, a blackened hole in his forehead, another in his chest, his hands still tight around the stock of a rifle.
Now where had that come from? Sheppard hadn’t been crawling away to escape. He’d seen the rifle lying in the grass. Alexander felt his lip quirk. He could almost respect that.
All those thoughts jumbled as he lifted a questioning gaze to Ethan.
“What?” Ethan holstered his beloved weapon. “I’m not in love with anyone.”
Chapter Twelve
It was over.
Her father was dead.
The man he was had been gone for a long time, but still… She felt hollow and heavy at the same time like the smoke-filled air pressed down around her, pushing on her skin. She couldn’t breathe around it.
And then he was there.
Alexander.
Flames licking across the few feet between them, shining in his dark hair and reflecting in his violet eyes.
He swept his hand, palm down, across the air and the fire died. Just like that. Jewel’s frozen heart hummed back to life. He truly was a sorcerer.
And then he was there. Close. Gathering her in his arms, tilting her face up so he could see how bad it was for himself. Then she was tucked in gently against him, her cheek pressed near his reassuring heartbeat.
He was alive and safe and whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” over the top of her head.
Words. Just words. Not large enough to soothe the confusion and pain she felt. But him being there, holding her…that was large enough to cocoon her, to shield her from the blood and the harsh realities that surrounded them.
She didn’t think of herself as weak, as not able to look at the reality of what had to happen to her father…because deep down she always knew how this had to end, but for right now, just for a little bit, she could turn her face away, press into Alexander’s protection…and be still.
And he stood there with her for as long as she needed.
~~~
Alexander stood on the upper walkway outside of the room Jewel shared with Mae, the woman in charge of the food stores. Jewel was inside packing up what few belongings she had.
Everyone was in the process of packing. Everyone but himself.
Sheppard and Hank were dead. Richards and Trevor had run off. A dark part of Alexander hoped the Sifts had chased after them.
Tapper and Miles had found another van to add to their caravan and were out looking for extra fuel with Dez for the long trek to California. Ethan was downstairs sleeping the sleep of the weary and wounded. He’d grumbled about not being able to watch Dez’s back while he searched out fuel until his cheek hit the bedding laid out on the floor and he was out.
Alexander’s hand rested on the doorknob. He wanted to take Jewel away from this place, away from all the troubled memories this motel had to hold for her. The urge to whisk her through a rift and deposit her safe at the lighthouse in the space of a yawn was overwhelming, yet he couldn’t risk the Sifts sensing the opening of a rift and leaving both the motel and the lighthouse vulnerable to discovery.
Although once they were all out and Lance’s group with them, the motel could burn to the ground for all he cared. He might very well set it to torch himself.
“Hey, I has it done,” a young voice drew his attention.
Gracie blinked up at him, holding out a colorful sheet of rumbled paper toward him.
His heart took a little tumble as he took the drawing from her small hands.
It was an old newspaper that she’d used crayon to color over the faded black print. She’d used only three colors—red, green, and a faint yellow—or more likely only had three crayons, but he could tell that she’d worked hard to make sure that she got it right, that the vivid halo of red hair stood out on the circle meant to be the drawn woman’s head. Her mother.
“Have you saw her? You know who she is now?” Gracie asked, face glowing with hope that her coloring efforts would find her missing mother.
Throat tight, he crouched down to her level. He felt like the biggest heel, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “I’m sorry, Gracie, I haven’t seen her.”
“Oh.” Her lips quivered. Her face lowered, making her loose red braids dip along her shoulders.
Ah hell. “But this might help me look for her when we get to the lighthouse.” He’d search every damn redhead himself to find the woman, and if somehow, impossibly, she was there, had made it, well, he wasn’t above hoping for miracles.
And if not, he’d learn everything he could about when she went missing and break every rule he’d given himself and go back in time and snatch her right before her death. How would that be messing with the timeline if the woman was supposed to be dead? What the hell use was it to be the last High Sorcerer on earth if he couldn’t give a little girl her mother back? He wasn’t beyond creating his own miracles.
Suddenly Gracie’s arms were around his neck, hugging him tight. “I know you can find her. I just know you can.” And then she was off, running back toward the stairwell, leaving him holding a rumbled newspaper of her faceless mother.
“Alexander?” Jewel leaned against the doorjamb of her now open doorway. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” his voice cracked with emotion. “Yeah.” He straightened, folding the colorful drawing carefully and pushing it down into his pocket. “All packed up?”
She watched him put the paper away and shrugged. “Not that much to pack.” She went back into the room and the partially packed duffel bag she’d left on the bare mattress.
Alexander followed her inside, still thinking of Gracie and also wishing he could erase the worry residing on Jewel’s pretty features. He scooped up a small pink tube of glossy cherry flavored lip something or other and held it toward her. “Don’t forget this.”
She smiled and took it from him. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held tight. “Are you all right?”
A sudden shine of tears shimmered in her eyes, nearly undoing him.
“It will get easier,” he tried to give her reassurance where there was none. Losing her father like that…
“I know.” She lifted her face and gave him a tight smile. Braw lass. His parents would love her.
She shook her head and her silly cap slipped back on her head, releasing tendrils of hair around her face. “My father…I mourned him long ago.”
Ah. Something else weighed on her heart. He squeezed her hand still within his. “You’re worried about your brother.”
“I want him to come to the lighthouse with us.”
Alexander pulled her into him, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair with her so close. “I want him with us too, but Lance has decided for himself.”
“Yeah.” Jewel pulled back, rubbing her palm on her thigh in frustration. “To go off with Deverell and seek out the clusters of vampires. How do we know they’ll want to help us? They could kill my brother and we’ll never know—“
“Deverell won’t let that happen.”
“How will he stop it?”
Alexander studied her. There wasn’t much to say to that. He understood the risks and was worried as well. He hated it every time Dez and Ethan went out on a foray without him, which they’d be doing—going in the other direction to search for more clusters of vampires from the map Deverell had provided, guesswork at best—once Ethan’s leg was on the mend and Doc Thomas gave him the go ahead.
“Do you want me to stop him?” He’d do it, throw the kid in a brig on the beached tanker if Jewel asked it of him.
Jewel’s shoulders hunched in, deflated. “No. He’d find a way to leave anyway. He’s stubborn like that.”
Alexander lifted a brow.
Jewel’s eyes sparked. “What?”
“A s
treak he shares with his sister.”
One side of Jewel’s lips quirked up. “Nothing wrong with being stubborn.”
“Uh-huh.”
She advanced on him. “And determined.”
“I’ve noticed.” Alexander held his ground, his pulse purring to life as she pushed into his space.
“I like having my own way.”
“Aye,” he groaned, pulling the ridiculous cap off her head and running his hands into the silk of her hair. Though he’d wanted badly to ease her worries, she was the one pulling him from his troubled thoughts.
“I want you to kiss me.” She looked up at him almost in challenge.
Déithe, yes. And more.
“Bossy,” he growled and swept her up into his arms, taking her mouth. And more. He took her very essence into himself, savoring, cherishing, pledging everything that he was, everything in his ability, to keep her safe and happy…for as long as he had breath in him.
“Tha gaol agam ort.”
She pulled back to stare into his face. Her expression was dreamy, skin flushed, lips pleasantly swollen, which sent a wave of heat through Alexander’s already overactive senses. “Did you just say you love me?”
Surprised, he grinned. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I felt it.”
His throat swelled with sudden emotion. Their essences truly were joined.
Jewel stood on tiptoes to whisper into his neck, “Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin.” And Alexander was gone, soaring, his soul firmly surrendered to her. Her heartfelt I love you too had plunged him over the edge. She…she was everything. She was his soul.
Epilogue
Three Weeks Later
New York City
Lance stared up at the octagonal tower at the top of St. Paul’s Chapel. The moonlight slashed down upon it, creating intricate shadows across the ancient building. The chapel had survived more than three hundred years, withstanding the great fire, the fall of the two towers, and also the air strikes the navy threw at the city in their attempt to slaughter all the monsters that had once flocked to the once densely populated island.
Highland Son (Highland Sorcery: A New Dawn) Page 11