Skye gripped her hands in front of her. ‘I was about to call to Iain or Patrick, whoever was closest, when the power just disappeared. I thought at first perhaps I had managed to syphon it into Jason without him being there …’
‘But it hadn’t,’ Shelley said. ‘It came into us.’
Skye nodded. ‘I was outside having a run when it happened and raced home to make sure you were all right.’
‘Why did it syphon into Bronwyn and Shelley?’
‘Because we’re linked. I read about it in one of the old diaries about covens using each other to syphon excess power into before it became critical. It didn’t always work because it required a certain closeness and also a blood tie to create the link. And even then, it wasn’t always effective because sometimes the powers wouldn’t meld and only tipped the other witch or warlock over the edge instead. It was why Bridgette Colliere created the pact with the Were, because her friends and loved ones were a danger to themselves and each other.’ Her gaze went to Shelley, then Bronwyn. ‘I’m so sorry. The blood link you made with me on Halloween, saved me, but it could end up hurting you if I can’t learn to channel this excess into the Were without them being there.’
‘We’ll figure it out.’ Bronwyn went to step towards her, but as she edged past Adam, the orange fire flickered out touching him on the hand.
‘Holy crap!’ Adam swore, grasping at his hand.
‘Sorry,’ Bron said, flinching back from him, her hands clasped under her armpits.
‘No. It’s okay. It didn’t hurt. It just felt …’ His words died away as he lifted his hand up to look at it. ‘What the fuck?’
‘What is it?’ Skye asked, stepping forward.
‘I cut myself yesterday. We heal fast, but this was deep and was still pretty red and sore this morning.’ He held his hand out towards them. ‘It’s gone.’
Skye grabbed his hand, running her fingers over the smooth skin. ‘You’re right. There’s not even a scar.’ Skye looked at Bronwyn and then her gaze slipped to River, her eyes lingering on the scars on his face, before coming back to Bronwyn, who shook her head.
‘I can’t. I was just touching him when your power hit me. Something lashed out at both of us. It doesn’t like me touching him with my power.’
‘But this is different. It’s my power channelled through you.’
‘Is it?’ Shelley asked, frowning down at her hands. ‘There’s no flame on my hands.’
Bronwyn held hers up. They all watched as the flame flared, brightened. ‘It’s getting worse.’
‘It’s orange and green.’ Skye frowned. ‘Not blue, like mine.’
Shelley’s smile was crooked. ‘The excess power has been channelled into us. But it’s not your power anymore. It’s changed to suit us. Healer flame for Bron.’ She stopped, swallowed hard, her gaze flickering around her, not landing on any of them, but definitely seeing something. ‘Something else entirely for me.’
‘You’re seeing more of them, aren’t you?’ Bronwyn asked.
Shelley nodded. ‘It suddenly became much harder to block them out. It happened when the power surged through me. And it’s getting worse, too.’ She flinched. ‘They’re shouting at me. They’re so loud. It hurts.’
Adam grabbed her hand. ‘Is there something …’ His words choked to a halt as he stiffened.
Shelley’s eyes widened and River could see her struggling to release her hand. But Adam didn’t let go. Couldn’t. River’s breath hissed through his teeth and he heard the sound echoing from Adam’s mouth as he felt the power surge through the pack bond.
A golden-rainbow glow surrounded Adam. Then, standing before Shelley, was a big, black wolf.
Shelley was shaking as she looked down at the wolf. Slowly, she took in a deep breath and glanced around. ‘They’re gone.’ A smile broke out on her face and on a laugh, she bent over and hugged the black wolf, ruffling its fur. ‘Thank the Goddess, they’re gone.’
The black Adam-wolf made a sound deep in its chest and rubbed its head against her shoulder. Shelley’s laughter rippled on the air and she looked up at Bronwyn. ‘It’s a release. We have to release it into the pack. It’s gone. It’s all gone.’
River’s attention turned to Bronwyn. She’d turned paler. There was tension around her eyes, her full lips pulled thin. ‘Bronwyn. You have to release the power like Shelley did.’
Skye nodded. ‘River’s right. In the absence of Jason, my power sought out those I was closest to, to relieve the pressure on me. But you can’t give it back to me. The only way to get rid of it is as Bridgette Colliere did—through the Were. They can use it to power and control their change.’ Adam grunted. Skye smiled down at him. ‘Okay, you weren’t in control then, but I guess you could change back to human now and then go right back to wolf with no problems at all.’
Bronwyn nodded. ‘I can see it in his aura. By transferring the power into Adam, Shelley brought the two parts of his aura into true harmony. It’s like they’re one.’
Skye clasped her hands together and looked over at River. ‘This could be it. This could be what helps River with his change.’
Bronwyn’s gaze flickered to him and he could see the uncertainty there. ‘I’m not sure about that. Something really strange happened before. I heard something …’ She shivered.
‘But this is different, Bron. Can’t you see that?’ Skye gestured at Shelley and Adam. ‘Shelley doesn’t like Adam and yet her power harmlessly fed into him and changed him into his wolf.’ Adam barked in protest at her words and nudged at Shelley, who was still ruffling his fur.
If she didn’t like me, she wouldn’t still be touching me, River heard in his head, Adam’s distinctive wry tone coming through the pack bond.
River almost laughed. But he didn’t, because Skye ignored Adam’s grizzling and continued with her argument.
‘That’s all River needs, for something to change him into his wolf. It can’t be one of us.’ She gestured to Shelley and herself. ‘Shelley’s already syphoned the excess into Adam, and mine went into you two. Besides, so far River hasn’t responded to my power. Maybe it’s because we’re twins and he’s immune to it in some way—otherwise, why wouldn’t my power have helped him all those years ago before grandpa and grandmother made me bind it? No. You’re the only one with the excess power left.’ Her green eyes filled with worry. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you’ll need to get rid of the excess soon or it will really start hurting you.’
Bronwyn swallowed hard. ‘It’s not so bad.’
‘Liar,’ River said. ‘You’re sweating and trembling.’
‘No. I …’
‘Enough,’ Shelley said, cutting between the two of them. ‘Skye’s right. Bron, you need to try on River. Slowly though.’
River nodded. ‘Do it.’
Bronwyn held out her hand. The power glittered on the tips of her fingers. He almost flinched away from it—his memories of Skye’s blue flame leaping over his face, burrowing into his skin, setting his hair on fire, were etched into his memory like a brand—but he was no coward. He took her hand.
Warmth filled him. He sighed at the bliss of it. Smiling, he opened his mouth to thank her. The words turned into a choked sound as the warmth became a burn. It sizzled through the skin of his fingers, through his nerves, racing like wildfire through his body. His teeth came together with a snap, his jaw clenched so hard he thought it might snap. Instead of a golden glow, orange and green fire surrounded him. He began to shake, spittle frothing through clenched teeth as pain exploded in his head.
Darkness filled his vision. Bright sparks swirled towards him through the dark. In the distance he heard shouting, curses, his name being called. But he didn’t respond. Couldn’t. All he could concentrate on was the silver sparks swirling in the dark.
Moondust.
It looked just like the stuff Skye had called on and played with when they were children, using it to force a change on him. It landed on him now, each silver spark burning through his skin, turning i
t into ash, and through the ash, fur began to sprout. In his mind, his wolf howled in jubilation as it prepared to spring from his skin.
Then something grabbed at it. Black, spidery threads spread across his mind, like a sticky net, holding him and his wolf down. His wolf thrashed, its jubilant howl turning into a cry of utter frustration.
The black web thickened and began to spread, until black was all he could see. It tightened. Tightened. Cutting off his breath. Choking him.
He couldn’t breathe.
A voice shouted at him, echoing in his mind.
River. Stop. Come back to me.
He opened his eyes to stare into cinnamon ones, bright with anguish.
‘Bronwyn,’ he whispered. Then he fell into the dark.
Chapter 7
Morrigan stiffened as the power surged through her, her fingers dipping into the water she was using to scry with. Warm healing power skated over her skin, power that sank its barbs into her, wanting to heal something that was not broken. She tried to turn it aside, but it was stubborn and strong. Hissing, she tried to pull her hands from the bowl, but she couldn’t move.
‘Mistress?’ Eloise stepped from the shadows—the girl was very good at hiding her presence; too good. Morrigan hadn’t even known she was there. ‘Mistress, you’re in pain.’
‘The bowl,’ Morrigan said through clenched teeth. ‘Take the bowl.’
Scurrying forward as fast as her limping gait allowed, Eloise grabbed the bowl and whisked it away from the table. But the power wasn’t ready to let go. It sparked out, a great orange-green flare, snapping at Morrigan’s fingers, curling up her arm. She screamed as the agony of the healing power reached inside her and tried to mend her broken, twisted heart. ‘No! You can’t have my pain. I won’t let you have my pain.’
She tried to push it away with her powers, but she was still so weak, the scrying had taken too much out of her. The flame stretched from the bowl of water held in Eloise’s hand, across the table, tightened its grip on Morrigan’s arm, curling towards her shoulder, flickering out towards her chest. ‘No! No!’ she screamed, batting at it. It hissed and sparked as it sought out the scars on her hands, her arms, her face.
She tried to stand—maybe if she dropped to the floor, grounding herself, it would kill the flame. Earth was the enemy of fire—but her legs refused to support her. She cried out as the flames reached her throat, edging up towards her face, seeking entry via mouth or nose. ‘No!’
‘Mistress!’ With a cry, Eloise threw the bowl to the ground, the glazed blue pottery splintering into pieces, water splashing against her, the wall, pooling on the floor. The flame made a sound like the roaring of a bushfire as it consumed all before it—a great, howling whoosh of a noise, monstrous and threatening—and then it was gone.
Morrigan flopped onto the table, clutching at her throat. Catching her breath, she peered up at Eloise. ‘Thank you. How did you know to do that?’
Eloise, her yellow-green eyes shining bright and large in the dark room, shook her head. ‘I d … didn’t know for certain.’ She took a deep breath, clenching her shaking hands before her. ‘It … it just seemed like the … the only way to break the connection was to … to break the water’s cohesion to the bowl.’
‘You have good instincts, my dear.’
‘Wh … what was that?’
‘A very powerful witch was trying to weaken me. If not for your quick thinking, she might have succeeded.’
‘Oh, Mistress. I’m glad I was here.’
‘So am I.’
‘You shouldn’t do something like this without someone around.’
The genuine care in the girl’s tone caught Morrigan by surprise. Shaken, she blinked eyes that suddenly felt strangely burning and full. ‘You’re right. I’m not as strong as I need to be. I promise I won’t scry again without one of you here.’ She held out a shaking hand. ‘Now, help me over to my bed. I need to lie down. And you can tell me what you’ve seen lately. Have you made it into the packhouse yet?’
Eloise shook her head as she rushed over, careful not to step in the puddle of water on the floor. ‘No. I haven’t been able to muster the courage. I’m sorry.’
Morrigan patted Eloise’s hand. ‘I understand. They are monstrous.’
Eloise helped Morrigan to lie back on the bed, covering her with a soft patchwork quilt. ‘You should rest now, Mistress. I can give you my report later when you are feeling better.’
Morrigan knew she should argue the point, but she felt too strange, too fractured. Besides, it was nice to be taken care of. So few people had done that for her. She had always been the one accountable for the wellbeing of so many. ‘Very well. But before you leave, you can get me that cup of your rejuvenating tea. I’ve got some there in the kitchenette.’
‘Yes, Mistress. Right away.’
Morrigan closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds as Eloise moved, as quiet as a cat, around the kitchenette, putting on the kettle, getting out cup and saucer, the shifting soft whisper of the tea in the canister. It would be a properly steeped cup of tea. Eloise knew how to make proper tea.
Morrigan was so glad she’d had Simon O’Brien help her take the girl and her twin from their shifter family when they were babies and rear them as his own. Despite her deformity, Eloise was proving just as useful as the Darkness had suggested. As was her brother, Cain. Funnily enough, Cain couldn’t shift form, but unlike the Were, shifters could also carry power like witches and warlocks, and he was powerful. More powerful than any warlock had been in the coven for centuries. At times that power worried her, but given the Darkness wasn’t worried, she supposed she shouldn’t be either.
As she listened to the sounds of the tea being made, she allowed the familiar ritual of it to wash over her, soothing her jangled nerves. But nothing she did could stop the itch of healing in her skin. She opened her eyes and lifted her hands to the light, peering at them. The scars were almost gone. Dark Goddess! Such power. To reach across a scrying medium with such effect was proof that the previously useless Wiccan, Bronwyn Kincaid, was now turning into something she was never meant to be.
That power should have been hers! Hot anger lashed through her, but the Darkness clamped a cold hand around the heat and brought her back to reason.
Maybe we don’t have the power, but the Wiccan-witch isn’t in charge of it either. We have time. And we must use it.
Yes. The Darkness was right, again. But how?
The piece of me in the half-Were is not powerful enough to take over yet, but with some help from you and our little friend there, it can be. He has emotions he cannot control. He thinks he is broken. And you know what that means.
‘The bond,’ she whispered. Excitement fluttered in Morrigan’s chest as she thought about what she’d seen in the scrying—the bond Bronwyn had used to twine the fractured pieces of River’s aura together. If there hadn’t been that surge in her powers, a surge the Darkness in River had responded violently to, the Healer Witch might have dug it out and won. But she hadn’t, because the bond wasn’t strong enough yet. But it was there. And it could be used.
Yes. He loves her. He will protect her no matter the cost. Even from himself. We only have to help that along.
Love. Morrigan’s lip curled at the thought. It was a weakness. One she could manipulate. And if she did it in the right way, the Darkness in River would grow and when it was ripe, she would pick it and twist it to shape him into the embodiment of her revenge.
She began to chuckle softly to herself.
Chapter 8
Bron sat on a chair next to the bed, her fingers worrying at the edge of the diary she held in her lap.
She’d been trying to read it. Trying to find the answers for what had happened when she’d touched River with the excess power. But so far, she’d come across nothing that was remotely helpful. As far as she was aware, neither had Shelley or Skye. And they’d been looking. Tirelessly.
She’d sent River into some kind of grande mal sei
zure that had knocked him unconscious before Iain and Patrick had managed to pry her hand away and take the excess power into themselves. But even after the seizure passed, River hadn’t woken up. Adam had changed back and carried him up to the bedroom set aside for him when Shelley had ascertained River was just unconscious and would wake up in time. Bron and Skye refused to leave him, so the others had brought up some of the most ancient Pack Diaries, and they’d sat on the floor for the rest of the day and well into the night, trying to find an answer to the problems before them.
They had discovered many things. But nothing that could help them understand what had happened to River. Nothing that could help her to make sure it didn’t happen again—short of never touching him. And certainly nothing that could suggest how she could cure him.
She looked over at River now. He was lying in exactly the same stiff position he’d been in when Adam had carried him there. Skye had removed his shoes and jeans and had pulled the cover up over him, but he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t opened his eyes. Hadn’t acknowledged a single one of them for a whole night and day. Bron refused to leave him, even after Jason had arrived back from his meeting with Marcus McClune and dragged Skye away to rest. Shelley had nagged at her, but she’d just shook her head and said it was her duty to stay. That had been hours ago.
‘You should go and get some sleep.’
She looked up to see Jason in the doorway and smiled tiredly at him. ‘I’m good.’
He crouched beside her. ‘Shelley said you haven’t left his side since it happened.’
‘Dobber,’ she grumbled.
‘She’s worried about you. As we all are.’
Bron tightened her grip on the diary. ‘I am Pack Healer, yet I was the one who hurt him. How can I leave him alone in the dark?’
‘We’ll leave a light on,’ Jason said.
‘I didn’t mean that kind of dark.’
Jason touched her shoulder, a soft caress of friendship, of support. ‘I know. I was just trying to make you laugh.’ He sighed, ran his hand through his hair. ‘I should leave that up to the Trickster, shouldn’t I?’
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