The image seemed to explode from the woman’s mind into Tiffany’s, burning itself into her mind’s eye.
Marcus…
“Over my dead body.” And instinct took over. Like some unseen puppet master was pulling her strings, she felt those instincts guiding her—one hand jerking up as the woman dropped down in a crouch, ready to lunge. Tiffany could see it, the shadow of an animal lurking inside the depths of the woman’s eyes. The bitch would kill her if she could, but alive was better. Alive was pleasing to Marcus.
No. Just hell, no.
The heat inside her exploded and Tiffany couldn’t control it as it arced out of her hand and seemed to grab at the intruder, winding around her flesh like a lover, setting flame to her hair, her clothes, her very body.
A scream echoed through the air and the smell of burning cotton filled the air, the heat scorching her as Tiffany stood there, now facing the blazing, burning form of the woman. Shock and fear and disbelief raced through Tiffany as she stumbled back against the wall, the burning hot energy that had filled her now gone.
“Enough,” a soft, gentle voice said.
Tiffany quivered as Ben Cross walked naked through the door and lifted one hand just in front of the smouldering, flaming corpse in front of her. The husk fell to the ground and Ben stepped around it as the fire died, winking out of existence…as though he had made the fire die.
“I did.”
Tiffany couldn’t stop the whimper that fell from her lips. Gently, he smiled and said, “No threat to you.”
Then he stepped a little closer and said, “Welcome back, Shadoe Wallace. You’ve been hiding a very long time.”
Shadoe…
Images assaulted her mind—almost memories—a short, stocky man with a close-cut beard and laughing eyes, and a slender fey creature with hands that soothed and gentled. Shadoe, my pretty little Shadoe…isn’t she beautiful, Carrick? Voices with the lilting music of Ireland inside them…tears thickened her throat and she pressed her lips together as a dull, rushing sound filled her ears.
Tiffany stared at Ben, quivering as the images became too real, too vivid. “What in the hell is going on?” she demanded, then flinched as her voice echoed and boomed through the small bedroom.
“Come on…there’s too much to tell you, and we can’t do it here.” He held out his hand.
Wildly, she shook her head and moved further away, feeling the wall against her back as the spicy, bitter taste of fear tore through her, adrenaline starting to course through her veins.
Her fear was spiralling out of control and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe…
Tiffany didn’t realize he had moved closer, until one hand was cupping her cheek.
“It’s okay, Shadoe.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Then a black fog rose and obscured her vision, taking her thoughts, her fears, her everything with it.
Chapter Two
Ben laid her on the bed, stroking her hair back from her face. “Pretty girl, you’ve been through hell, haven’t you?” he murmured. Rage still twisted in him.
But, damn…didn’t she do good?
Pure, raw, unrefined magic was coursing through her veins now, the well of power inside her wide open. It wouldn’t be closed off again.
And she’d had a rude awakening, too.
“Sorry for that, sweet,” he whispered, his gaze moving to the smoking corpse feet away.
Clean up.
Clean up first, then figure out what to do, he told himself.
Two corpses and a snivelling, magically bound wolf in the foyer, out of sight of passersby.
One thing to be grateful for…she lived outside of town. It would have been very hard to explain away the screams, the blinding lights that poured from Shadoe’s body as her magic erupted.
Shadoe. Closing his eyes, he muttered, “She might not like you changing her name.”
It was nearly an hour later when he had finished dealing with the mess. Not just the bodies, but the blood.
Neither soap and water, nor bleach could take the bloodstains off the wall, so he hadn’t bothered. Magic, however, could.
Most of the time was spent talking, however.
He made phone calls…to the Council. To the vamp in the south—the local Hunter would deal with the corpses.
Now he just had to figure out how to get the wolf to the Council. Somebody to watch over the pathetic, mewling wolf who still clung to the wall, begging, “Don’t kill me…”
Tossing him a disgusted look, he said, “Shut the hell up or I will, you idiot.”
A Hunter who wouldn’t kill his sorry ass just for existing. That would be difficult. This whining whelp would sorely try even the most patient Hunter… Ben stopped mid-step.
Or he could just kill two birds with one stone. There was another witch he needed to get to the Council. She wouldn’t go on her own, but she might do it to help another…something to ease the burden of the guilt she carried.
Crossing to the mirror hanging at the southern wall, he brushed his fingers over it, letting some of his blood smear the reflection as he sent the summons out. She didn’t answer right away, but he really hadn’t expected her to.
Leandra was fighting her fate, tooth and nail.
Shadoe…prettiest little Shadoe, a laughing, gruff voice said.
She could feel hands, big, loving hands lifting her up and cuddling her against a broad, warm chest. She felt warm, safe, secure.
And so loved.
Another voice, sweet and soft, but firm… “Carrick, you are going to spoil that girl rotten. I mean it, no more candy.” Then soft and loving hands pinching her chin lightly, a soft laugh. “Don’t pout so, Shadoe. ‘Tis bedtime, that is all, love. You can’t eat candy in bed, baby.”
The same voice, singing her to sleep at night.
And then there was terror, screaming, struggling, burning… “Adri, get the baby. Get out…” That deep man’s voice ordering, his tone brooking no disobedience.
“I can’t leave you!”
A ferocious snarl and the sound of breaking glass. “They have me trapped, a blood spell, I can feel it. Do you want her to die as well as me?”
The soft, lovely voice sobbing. “No. No…God forgive me, Shadoe…”
Hot swirling mists seemed to fill the baby, flood her, muffling her voice, and her soul. “Adri, take her and go!”
“No,” the woman said, her voice calmer now. “They can track me too easily. They know my scent, my blood.”
“She needs a protector, damn it. You know what can happen to a little girl like her…she’ll need you when the magic comes out. When the wolf comes out. She needs somebody. Go!”
A few moments passed and the baby Shadoe had felt something wrench the air, and a woman’s furious shriek. “Damn hem!”
Then the muffling, hot power, like the electricity in the air during a furious storm, continued to soak in Tiffany…no, Shadoe. Her real name was Shadoe and the woman who held her, who kissed her cheek and sang softly, only replied to the man. “I can’t. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I can’t. Not because I won’t leave you, although it would near kill me. They locked me to you. I cannot go where you cannot follow. They’ve killed us, Carrick, both of us.”
That furious snarl—hot, snapping rage—filled the room and a baby whimpered. “Shhh, my pretty Shadoe. Our pretty Shadoe. Damn it, Adri. We can’t let them kill her,” a tortured, angry man rasped. Shadoe felt his hands stroke down her hair, her small, shaking back.
“They won’t. They won’t even know where to look for her,” the woman said.
Mama…my mama…mine… The words formed in Shadoe’s mind, more than two decades later as she lay trapped in the dream, the memory that had been buried inside her.
“You will be safe,” Mama whispered. Something warm and wet splattered on Shadoe’s face. “My blood, my power, my tears…my magic. God watch over you, Shadoe…”
Something danced through her, unde
r her skin, inside her mind.
“Adri, what are you doing?”
“What we have to do, love.”
Shadoe passed into strong arms and was clasped to that broad chest, a whisker-roughened face pressed against her tiny cheek as he kissed her gently. “My prettiest Shadoe, damn it, I love you. In your heart, know that, baby,” he said.
Daddy… “Yes, it’s Daddy, now gimme kisses, pretty girl, and then hug your mama tight,” he crooned, that big strong hand that had always protected, stroking down her back.
“It’s time,” Mama whispered, her voice muffled, tight. “Aww, my angel. My Shadoe. It’s all right. It will be all right…all in time…”
Then something inside the young girl known as Shadoe went out.
And she awoke. Twenty-six years old, and now remembering her true parents’ faces.
“Mama,” she choked.
“She suppressed the magic. Did what she had to. Your parents were—”
Shadoe sat up and turned her head, staring at Ben Cross in the darkened room. “How do you know me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
A tired, sad smile crossed his face. “Your parents had family, friends. People who’ve been looking for you. I’ve been looking for years. And when I found you, it was too late to keep something bad from happening. Marcus had caught your scent, your magic… It started coming out. If the magic had just waited—ah, that will get nothing accomplished. The rest you know. You were in jail when I arrived. And you wouldn’t even consent to see me, so I could see if it was really you,” he said as he moved out of the shadows, dropping to his knees beside her bed.
“That’s not an answer. How do you know me? Who am I?” she demanded, lifting her hands and staring at them. “How did I do that? What is going on inside me?”
“You know who you are now, I think. Your name is Shadoe Wallace,” he said. “And you are one helluva powerful witch. That is what kept Jimmy and Marcus from killing you that night. That is what saved you tonight. The magic your mother hid inside your body has broken free, love.”
Magic.
As if the word itself were magical, Shadoe felt something like a blindfold, fall away, and she could see. Far too much. Staring at Ben Cross too hard made his body gleam with a blue light, and when she jerked her head around to stare outside, shimmery, darting bits of energy seemed to infuse the trees, the air, the very night.
She could feel the sheets below her, almost each individual thread of the smooth sateen. Each stray hair as it caressed her cheek.
And his heart. She could hear his heart. Smell his skin, hot, warm, male. Smell the wildness of a thunderstorm, the woodsy pine scent of the forest, of sandalwood and sage and man. Saliva flooded her mouth and she felt a dam break open in her belly, moisture flooding her cleft as she breathed in his scent, an almost electric caress of air on her body.
“What is going on…?” she asked, terror filling her, control sliding far and fast from her grip.
“It’s you, what you really are, your magic coming out,” he said gruffly, his voice strained. “You have no idea what has been hiding behind the veil of your mother’s protection.”
Her gaze flew to his face and she saw his eyes, those golden eyes were glowing, gold and amber streaks that swirled and danced around his pupils. They were locked on her face, sending hot, skittering little rushes down her back, jolts of electricity that had her clenching her thighs together.
He closed his eyes, and shook his head. She could see—something—seem to fade from him, drifting from his flesh like fairy dust. “You are a witch, Shadoe Wallace, and much more. And it’s all coming out now. The power of what you have inside could drive a lesser person mad,” he said obliquely as his eyes opened.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” Shadoe asked, hearing the desperate ring in her voice, and unable to silence it.
He smiled, a sardonic twist of his lips. “I came to find you,” he said simply. “And I will be whoever you want me to be. Although I hope, for your sake, you’re ready for me to be a teacher…you need somebody to help get your magic under control. It’s out now…and it’s not going anywhere.”
* * *
Leandra stared at the mirror over the sink in the small, ramshackle cabin in Slade, Kentucky.
In this tiny, pretty country town, she had found a little bit of peace. And it had just been broken.
“Damned fucking Hunters.” Her hands clenched at the edge of the sink and she closed her eyes tightly. She had gone out west, to New Mexico and they had known her.
She had spent a year in Milan. And they had known her.
Everywhere she went, the damned Hunters knew her name, her scent, her magic.
But she no longer saw hatred or disgust in their eyes. Over the past few years it had changed. To pity.
Pity!
Like she wanted their pity. Like she needed anything from them.
Then what do you need… a gentle voice asked.
Lost in the pain of her past, she slumped, and her brow rested against the mirror, without her truly realizing.
The magic of Cross’ spell leaped to life, activated by her touch and his deep, gravelly voice filled the room, gentle, but hard at the same time. “What do you need? How about a purpose, Leandra? Ready to stop running yet?”
Jerking her head back, Leandra swore heatedly. “Damn you, Cross. Go away. Leave me be,” she snapped, backing away as she stared into his opaque, golden eyes.
Not Cross…please, not him. He had been the hardest to ignore, when he had come seeking her out. Not telling her that she had a duty, not ordering her into training, like some fools had done. He had looked at her and simply said, “Aren’t you tired of not being where you belong?”
Yes.
She had bitten that answer back. But as he met her gaze levelly, she knew he had seen it written all over her face. Leandra had fled to Milan after that.
His laughter drew her back into the present. “We’ve been leaving you be for years. And you’re still running. Still running…why? We could use you. You know that.”
She laughed harshly. “Use me? We? As in the Hunters…don’t you remember what I am? I’m evil.”
Ben sighed and the sound seemed to fill the room around her. “No, you’re not. You’re fucked up, but you’re not evil.”
“You’re wrong,” she shouted.
She was evil… she couldn’t forget what she’d done. It didn’t matter that why. It didn’t matter what she thought she knew.
“You’ve hidden long enough, Leandra,” Ben said softly. “Come out now. We need you.”
That simple plea, stated so very basically, hit home. Leandra touched the mirror with a shaking hand, breaking the spell, making his face go away.
You’ve hidden long enough.
We need you…
Damn it, even that bastard Malachi hadn’t bothered her so badly. And he had pestered her for nearly a month in Milan before he had given up. Of course, she had finally threatened him with a volley of fireballs, so that might have been why he left.
Not that she had actually tried to hit him—she just had to get him away from her. The longer he was around, the more she was tempted to listen to him, that soft sexy burr, the compassion she saw in his midnight eyes.
Of course, Cross didn’t even have to be around her. With that uncanny intuition, he had known exactly what to say to make her think, make her question…
Aren’t you tired of not being where you belong…
For the longest time, she had been convinced that she had no place in the world…not now.
But with just a few gruffly spoken words, and understanding in his golden eyes, he had made her question what little she had left to believe.
Damn bastard. She paced the room. Steamed a little more, fumed, and cursed him for a long, long time. Damn him to hell.
With a smirk, she thought, At least, then I won’t be so damned lonely…
Chapter Three
“I’m not a witch,” Shadoe said n
arrowly eying the brooding, sexy man in front of her. “Magic isn’t real. What I thought I saw happen the night Jimmy died isn’t real.”
“Oh, yeah? Then how did he die? What did you do earlier?” He turned away, running a long-fingered hand through his tumbled hair, the shirt he had gotten from somewhere stretching across those wide shoulders with the absent gesture. “How long are you going to ignore what you’ve seen with your own eyes?”
“What I’ve seen? I can’t trust what I’ve seen. It’s not real. It’s not logical. Fire can’t come out of thin air,” she argued, shaking her head and backing away from him as he turned back around to stare at her, a tiny smile on his face.
“Why not?” he asked reasonably, crossing his arms over his chest. Cocking a brow at her, he said, “It’s not like a normal person is doing it. It’s a witch. There are laws to it, just like with everything else. You take the wild energy in the air that comes from every living creature and you combust it. It’s perfectly logical. For crying out loud, listen to your head. It will tell you the truth. It tells you that you are a witch… It tells you that you can make fire, that you have made fire.”
“How can I possibly believe what my head is telling me? I think I’m going crazy!” Shadoe shouted, stomping away from him, staring out the window into the night. Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, “So maybe I did dream of my parents. But that doesn’t make me a fucking witch. That doesn’t mean I made fire.”
She froze in mid-track as Ben lifted one hand. “If you aren’t a witch, then neither am I,” he said casually. “But how can I do this?”
Shadoe’s eyes were trapped on the golden orb that Ben held. Locked on the two faces within it, faces that were distantly familiar, and a knot rose in her throat. Her parents… A delicate-looking woman with a head full of wild red curls, chopped to chin-length, cuddled up against a blond man, built solid through the chest and arms, his hair cut close, a neat goatee on his face. They were staring down at a baby the woman cuddled close.
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