Legacy of Danger

by Jillian David

  "Are you getting mushy on me, Kev? You might be my larger little brother, but I can still kick your butt."

  "You can't kick anyone's butt, sis. And that's okay." His laugh warmed her soul. "But hey, I gave you got lots of free practice over the years. Also gave you practice patching me back together after fights."

  Patching him up after other injuries, too. But she would not say the words out loud.

  "Is that a glowing reference for my ringside doctoring skills?" Her neck and shoulder muscles relaxed.

  "You don't need me to say a word. You did great here in Salt Lake the last year of your residency. And the local folks keep asking for you to work more fights here. That's compliment enough without giving you a big head."

  "You're right."

  The pause this time as he sipped on a drink wasn't uncomfortable. It was familiar. Easy.

  "Hey, how's work?" Kevin asked.

  Except for a certain man she kept running into at the hospital? A man who twisted her heart and mind into knots? A guy whose presence dredged up gritty memories she never wanted to explore again? Super duper. "Busy but good."

  "But there's more."

  She leaned her head back on the wood and rocked the chair. "No. Nothing more."

  "Do you wish there was more?"

  "No."

  "You sure? Because I think you're not telling me everything."

  Welcome back to her bratty little brother, poking until she lost her cool.

  "Quit prying."

  "I want only the best for my sister. Is he nice?"

  "He doesn't exist, Kev."

  "Nuh uh. I know your voice." He clicked his tongue. "And I think he does exist. Just make sure he treats you better than what's his face did, or I'll kick him into next week."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Like that prick you dated in residency. He's like something I want to scrape off my shoes. No offense," he added quickly.

  "None taken and good riddance." Sure, she would have been a good wife for her wealthy lawyer fiancé, but it wasn't worth yielding to the point where Mariah disappeared completely.

  "So is this guy nicer than that pinhead?"

  A groan of frustration, half for the dead-end conversation and half for the remembered kisses from Vaughn, escaped her lips. "Enough. There's no one. I just wanted to hear your voice, not get grilled."

  "We don't always get what we want." His voice took on a prim and proper tone. "Sometimes we get what we need."

  "Thanks for that, Mr. Helpful. All right. Get back to doing whatever you were doing so you can build more muscle or skills or whatever meatheads like you do."

  His laugh on the other end made the corners of her mouth rise.

  "Stay out of trouble, sis."

  * * *

  Bam. Bambambam. Each impact came with a hiss of air as Vaughn beat the holy living hell out of the punching bag hanging in the back of the barn.

  Bambam. Pow. Fifteen pounds off by Friday's weigh-in. No problem at this rate.

  Shelby's horse, Bob, rolled his eyes and flared nostrils in disdain.

  Vaughn had started his training session at nine, after finishing the last of his chores this evening. That was when his father had gone to bed. Nurse Ruth said Dad needed to rest.

  But sleeping for twelve hours per night wasn't normal.

  The memory of his father shuffling down the hall with his walker this evening, one leg dragging, accompanied by ever-present Ruth, turned an invisible knife in Vaughn's gut. He'd never expected his old man to be laid low by a damned stroke. Getting run over by cattle or thrown by a horse, sure, but not something like a stroke.

  At least Dad got out of bed now. According to Garrison, the first week back from the hospital, Dad had made zero effort and was dwindling right in front of everyone. Enter one tenacious nurse, accompanied by her laughing Cajun husband, Odie, and Dad had turned to putty in their hands, eating better and participating in daily physical therapy sessions.

  What would Dad do when Ruth and Odie left?

  What would happen to all of them when Vaughn left? That life back in New York, the one with the successful professional and MMA career, waited for him.

  He pounded the bag with merciless upper hooks and jabs.

  Damn it.

  Shit. He also tried to pummel away the memory of Mariah's soft lips and the way her small form melted into his. His perpetual hard-on persisted, despite the attempts to exhaust himself with a wicked training session. Parts of his body wanted her, no matter how tired he got.

  Wanted.

  Needed.

  His mind—a damned gerbil spinning on a wheel—tried to figure out Mariah. Tried to figure out his own fucked-up self.

  He might have cleared the air with Garrison, but Vaughn still carried a boatload of shame for what had happened with his brother's wife. You're not in the right headspace for a relationship with a quality woman like Mariah, man. You don't deserve her, and she doesn't deserve your baggage.

  And she sure didn't deserve a quick roll in the sheets followed by his inevitable departure from Copper River. Unfortunately, that was all he had to offer.

  But wow. Her eyes. Her mind. Her body.

  Pow. Bambam. Sweat soaked his T-shirt. It should chill him to the bone, but his blood boiled with the need to taste more than her sweet mouth. He wanted her under him, moaning in pleasure. Then his power surged with its own list of needs. Vaughn would slay anyone or anything that threatened her. Plain and simple.

  After that damned kiss, it took an act of God for him to step away from her. At least his brain retained some small control. If he got her in his arms again, there was no guarantee that he could let go if things got hot and heavy.

  Maybe. Barely. Probably not.

  Christ.

  "Snack?"

  "Holy fuck!" He jumped at the low, feminine voice, then peeked at his tented shorts and scooted over so that the punching bag hid the evidence. "Sorry. Hi, Ruth. Odie."

  "We thought you might want a snack." One corner of the nurse's mouth rose, but her face otherwise remained impassive.

  The woman should be a poker player.

  For his part, Odie couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Even though she was easily six solid feet worth of woman, Odie treated her like a priceless treasure. Vaughn didn't need Shelby's gift of reading emotions to figure out that the guy was utterly in love with his wife.

  "How is the training, my friend?" The man's southern lilt sounded so strange here in Wyoming. His short beard and moustache fit right in, though. A Cajun cowboy. Who would've thought it?

  Vaughn laid his cheek against the bag while praying that parts of his anatomy would deflate already. "Fine. This Saturday should be a good bout."

  "Will you be ready?" Ruth asked, holding out a glass of what smelled like fruit and protein. Man, she was perceptive. Too perceptive.

  Weirder still, when Vaughn saw Ruth, he got a flash of the recurrent dreams he'd been having for the past few months: a woman's arm. Lava. Heat. How did it relate to Ruth?

  He bent and swigged water from his sports bottle, then took the drink she offered. After a sip, he held up the glass. "Wow. Thanks. This is really good."

  Odie's eyes glinted as he grinned over at Ruth. "She's always good."

  She giggled and blushed.

  Nearly snorting the thick drink, Vaughn laughed. "TMI, you crazy kids."

  "Ah, no one is ever too old for amour, isn't that right, chérie?"

  Odie hadn't moved an inch, but Ruth's eyes glowed and her cheeks flushed even more. Wow. What Vaughn wouldn't give for that man's suave moves.

  Odie pointed and whistled. "Mon dieu, my friend, but those are beautiful markings."

  Vaughn glanced down. His right bicep was covered in a spiral of thorns. His upper chest and back had thick scrawls of Latin and more thorns. Themes of pain and self-control. Permanent reminders of bad choices. A warning to keep history from repeating itself.

  "Thanks." Trying to soften the harsh tone, he raised the glass. "Fo
r the drink, too."

  Focusing those odd but familiar eyes on Vaughn, Ruth asked, "Is everything all right with you? Here, being home."

  Wiping sweat from his forehead with the glove, he took another gulp of the protein drink. "Sure. I'm just helping out here for a bit."

  "Then you're gone?"

  Why did she want to know? "That's the idea."

  With a strange tilt to her head, she tapped her lower lip. "Sometimes—" She paused, like she thought better of what she wanted say. "Sometimes, life happens when we're making other plans. Or so I've been told."

  Odie snorted and grinned. Like he knew something.

  That smiling Cajun knew nothing when it came to the Taggarts.

  "Well. Sure, I guess," Vaughn hedged.

  Ruth continued, "And sometimes when life happens, we are changed by it."

  What was this woman, some oracle on a mountain?

  No, she was a nice person who brought him a protein shake and helped to pull his father back from the brink of fading away. Vaughn could at least listen to what she had to say.

  "All right," he said, resting a hand on the punching bag.

  The silent exchange between Ruth and Odie was blink-and-you'll-miss-it. What was going on here? Vaughn's skin prickled, and not only from the cool temperature on sweat. An undercurrent of familiarity and fear passed between the three of them.

  Her gold-flecked eyes, so much like Vaughn and his siblings.

  She pinned him with a placid hazel gaze. Ruth couldn't be more than a year or two older than him. Yet she possessed an air of age and wisdom.

  "Have you personally noticed any changes since coming back home?" she asked.

  A sensation, akin to when his power activated, zapped him in the temple. But this felt different. External. Like a puff of warm air over his skin or a featherlight brush of a hand over his mind. Familiar. Friendly.

  No.

  His head shot up toward Ruth, looking for clues. But the woman was like the love child of the Sphinx and Mona Lisa when it came to hiding her emotions. Impressive.

  "Like what?" he asked. "Weird stuff on the ranch or personally?"

  The sensation of that soft presence continued. Comfortable pressure, like the split second right before getting a warm hug.

  What the actual hell? He must be dehydrated from the workout, and hallucinating.

  "Either, I guess," she murmured. "Never mind my asking. It's not my business." She waved off Odie's hand from her shoulder.

  Her voice faded away as another tingle began in his mind. This time, though, insistent terror swept like a flash fire through his veins. Without his releasing the latched control, power flared to life. Pushed him. It wanted his ass outside the barn. Now.

  That meant he had to get Ruth and Odie out of here.

  "So, uh, thanks for the drink." He patted the bag, giving an Oscar-winning casual act. "But I really need to get back to work here."

  "Sure," Ruth said, brows drawing together.

  Fighting to keep the tone nonchalant, he said, "Hey, when you get in the house, would you ask Garrison to come out here?"

  Odie smiled. "Will do." He guided his wife out of the barn, hand on her back.

  Damn it, could those two move any slower? As the door closed behind them, a sulfur scent permeated his nostrils. Like when Vaughn had found Shelby in the forest that night. Shit. His skin twitched.

  His power had gone from a warning chime to a screaming klaxon blasting into his skull.

  "Oh crap." He let go of the punching bag and crumpled to his knees, holding his head together as his power expanded outward, seeking danger, blaring an alarm.

  Gritting his teeth, he planted his hands on the hay-strewn floor. Then he staggered to his feet and sprinted out into the night, ripping off his training gloves on the way out of the barn.

  Against the backdrop of the clear, wide, star-filled night sky stood a dark object, one hundred feet from the ranch house.

  The only light from the thing came from two glowing dots passing for eyes.

  Fighting to stay conscious through the intense stab of pain through his skull, Vaughn focused on repelling the blast of hot rage coming from that thing.

  The two red spots locked onto Vaughn.

  The creature consumed more and more of the night sky as it drew closer.

  Between the roaring in his head and the weird howl that warped sound around the creature in front of him, it took all of Vaughn's strength not to assume the fetal position on the ground.

  He didn't know what this thing was, but he would be damned if he'd let it reach the house.

  Who was in the house? Garrison, Sara, Zach, Dad, and, hopefully, Ruth and Odie.

  Danger. Vaughn detected danger coming right at him.

  Shit. Anyone with half a brain cell could figure out that this thing meant danger—it didn't take a fancy psychic ability to put those sick puzzle pieces together.

  Yes, this was the thing he'd seen hovering over Shelby's broken body at the bottom of the bluff. The same creature that had threatened Sara and Zach a few weeks ago here at the ranch. Thank God Garrison and Shelby had been here to protect them.

  Now it was back. What the hell did it want, and how could Vaughn eliminate it with extreme prejudice?

  A slither of sound like a dry lizard tongue brushed by his ear. "Ah yes, the prodigal son. The last piece of the legacy."

  "What?" Vaughn's ability pounded against his mind, urging him to get away from this thing. Against the will of every cell in his being, he stayed put.

  What passed for a chuckle came out as concrete grinding glass. "Soon, my son. All of my love's legacy will be together. Then you will all join with me in the holiest of communion."

  "Whatever, Friar Fuck. Get the hell off my property," he gritted out.

  The darkness didn't so much come closer as it absorbed more space in his field of vision. Stinging sulfur-scented heat, like standing way too close to a fumarole, sent a blistering wave across Vaughn's face. Bonus: it flash-dried his workout shorts.

  "I will leave when it is time. You will listen," it said, pausing like it prepared to deliver a dissertation.

  Fuck. That.

  The porch light came on, streaming brightness out into the night.

  And the thing absorbed the light. Freakin' sucked it up like an ungodly ShamWow.

  Garrison flung open the front door, braced his feet, and took aim with a shotgun.

  The thing's voice hissed like a hot acetylene torch "The two eldest of the legacy children. Soon it will be four, and I will return to walk upon this Earth." What passed for breathing sounded like a whistle made of chalk and fingernails. "Then you all will be destroyed."

  Vaughn had heard enough. An angry pulse pushed his ability outward, expanding outside the bounds of his mind. Shit, his head would explode into a million pieces if he grew any more.

  But his power increased. Kept pushing forward.

  No longer did his gift protect him, no longer did it detect danger to others, but now it turned Vaughn into danger, like when he'd found Shelby. It wanted to shift the ability outward. To hurt. To destroy.

  Two red dots glowed before him. And inside of it, an outline of a... human form? Vaughn squinted in the porch light and shadows. No. Not possible. "Your days are numbered," the creature seethed.

  In that case, hurting that bastard cloud monster sounded like a great way for Vaughn to pass his numbered days.

  He grabbed a lungful of air and bore down as he shored up the bubble of pissed-off power that formed inside of him. The effort made him stagger, but he kept at it, unsure of what to do, but determined to do something useful.

  What he had felt a few minutes earlier in the barn, the sense of a friend's touch, close to his mind boosted his power even further. No, it didn't quite boost the power—it helped focus it.

  Why? How? He glanced at Garrison. It didn't seem to come from him. His brother's grim gaze rested solely on the phantasm trying to kill them both.

  Vaughn visua
lized his power as a round, thick balloon. He shoved as much pressure into it, inflating, expanding. The crucible-hot press of it threatened to crack his mind. But he needed more. He wanted that thing away from the people he cared about.

  With a great snap of energy, he blew the rubberized force at the creature.

  A howl of a wounded animal combined with a very human-sounding wail of pain rattled the glass in the window casings on the porch.

  The glowing twin embers dimmed.

  "Not possible." More star-dotted sky appeared as the shape receded. "This result will not stand. You will bend to my will."

  The crack of a shotgun blasted across the space between them. Garrison reloaded once again, his jaw set in a grim line. "Sorry, gave at the office. Whatever you're selling, we don't want it."

  The creature howled. "I will destroy anything and anyone you hold dear." Red ember eyes glowed as it bore into Vaughn's retinas. "That woman you lust after? Mine." It turned back to Garrison. "Your woman inside? Also mine."

  Garrison nestled the butt of the gun into his shoulder and aimed.

  Vaughn had had enough of this thing's bullshit. The creature needed to get the hell away from his family. A flicker of faces behind the living room curtains ramped up his pulse.

  And that thing had better not even consider coming close to Mariah. His power cracked open into pieces, each shard focused on one goal: remove the creature. The ability changed, deepened, thickened. A picture of Mariah's delicate features floated across his mind's eye, followed by an image of her wounded body laying at the feet of this cloud-like thing.

  No!

  A hollow, split voice that came from deep within Vaughn echoed across the open ground as another bubble of pissed-off blasted the thing away once more. Sound faded as his ears buzzed. "We are stronger than you. You cannot have what is ours. Get out."

  Chapter 13

  Jogging down the hall, Mariah shoved down the emptiness from last night's frustrating experience with Vaughn. Right now, she needed to focus on what had just happened in this patient's room. Yanking the door open, she pushed past a haggard Kerr.

  And stopped.

  Eric Patterson and Shelby Taggart shared the same bed, a concession Mariah had given in to yesterday. No decision, really. Eric was determined to remain close to Shelby one way or another.