Now he watched the men who worked for him. He knew there wasn’t one of them who wouldn’t sell him out for the right amount of cash. But knowing that, he paid them well. He hated what they were. Brutality for its own sake served no one. A man without loyalties couldn’t be trusted and these men had no fealty to anyone but the person paying them. There was no discipline here. No belief system. No driving ambition beyond the visceral one to maim and destroy.
He reined in his disgust with effort. For now, he needed these men. For now, they were a means to an end that he was determined to reach. For too long he and his brothers had languished in obscurity. Pushed aside and banished without another thought by the very god who had created them. All for the sake of them.
The Eternals.
Immortal bastards, all of them. Self-righteous, arrogant assholes who thought that they and they alone were the keepers of the magic. Well, he and the others had a surprise for all of them. After centuries of exile, it was time to show themselves. To reclaim what had been taken. To step up and announce themselves not only to the Eternals but to the world.
And to the witches.
“Any word yet?”
A voice interrupted his thoughts and Parnell flicked a glance at the obnoxious human who had had the nerve to plunk himself down at Parnell’s table. With short black hair, whiskered jaws and dark brown eyes, Miguel was probably thought to be a handsome man. Unless one took the time to look deeply into eyes that were as empty as the desert he hailed from.
Parnell could have appreciated the man’s dedication to violence if there’d been a reason for it. Instead, this smiling, murderous creature was simply soulless. And the man appeared to be under the mistaken impression that he and Parnell were partners. Equals. When the truth of the matter was that Parnell would have liked nothing better than to see him dead this instant for his treatment of the witch, Teresa.
Instead of following orders and romancing the woman, this boil on the ass of humanity hadn’t been able or willing to hide his own abusive nature from her. And so Teresa, being a sensible witch, had tossed him out of her life. Luckily for the bastard sitting opposite him, Parnell had plans for the witch. Personal plans beyond the scope of the strategy that had been laid in place over the last centuries. So if the human male had actually harmed Teresa in any way, Parnell would have ripped his lungs out of his chest and left him gasping for air that would never have come.
Parnell watched the man and felt an inferno rage inside him. Flames leaped to life on his fingertips, flaring blue and yellow and red.
Miguel looked at them, grinned and observed, “Man, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be wasting my time in this shithole of a bar.” Shrugging, he asked again, “Any word?”
Parnell took a breath and allowed the flames to fade away. He took another slow sip of his beer before trusting himself to speak. “We’ve heard nothing yet.”
Those handsome features twisted into a disappointed pout. “Then how will we know where to go next?”
Parnell’s irritation grew by leaps and bounds. To be questioned by anyone went against everything inside him. For those questions to come from a human that he would love nothing more than to execute was even more insulting. But he would play the game as he had laid it out.
“Everything’s in place,” he said, promising himself the pleasure of killing this particular human as soon as possible. “Our eyes and ears will keep us informed.”
“I still say we should just go to Chiapas,” the man whined impatiently. “If you had listened to me, we wouldn’t be sitting here in this crappy bar waiting for word that will only tell us what I already said.” He leaned back until the rickety wooden chair beneath him rested solely on its back legs. “I know Teresa. She’ll go to her grandmother. She was always talking about the old witch. Abuela this, abuela that. Made me sick. So I know all about the old woman. We could be there right now, waiting. Then we could grab Teresa the minute she shows up.” He smiled to himself. “I can’t wait to see her again, you understand. I’ve got some unfinished business with her. And once she’s no good to you guys, she’s mine. Right?”
“Idiot.” Parnell kicked out, sent the chair toppling over and the man in it sprawling. Before he could leap to his feet, Parnell had one foot on his sternum, holding him down.
The bar went suddenly silent, as if even these apelike men understood that a line had been crossed. Parnell took a moment to allow his fire-dazzled gaze to sweep over each and every man in the room until all of them shivered and turned their heads away. Only then did he focus that glare on the man beneath his boot.
“Listen very carefully, you mongrel dog,” he said. His voice was low, but the strength of it carried across the room nevertheless. “You get what I say you get and nothing more. If you touch the witch …” He called on the flames, watched them race across his palms and fingers, then flicked a stream of living fire down onto the horrified man. Flames licked greedily at the edges of his down jacket and smoke twisted and danced like a basketful of snakes. “You’ll die more painfully than your pitiful brain can even imagine. Do you understand?”
Miguel nodded in a jerky movement, hands flailing as he tried desperately to extinguish the fire currently trying to devour him. “I get it. I get it, okay? Put it out!”
Parnell sneered at him, waited an extra moment or two for pure drama’s sake, then waved one hand at the flames. Instantly the fire was gone, leaving only the scent of charred polyester dirtying the air.
Once released, Miguel scrambled away, joining the other men and keeping as far from Parnell as possible. Point made, Parnell resumed his seat in the shadows.
Inside him an inferno raged, but he allowed none of it to show on his features. These humans were nothing. Just cannon fodder in a war that had been building for eons. The Eternals were the true enemy—the target of justifiable fury Parnell and his brothers had been harboring since what felt like the beginning of time.
The mere thought of the Eternals was enough to make Parnell want to howl and rage. But cold, clear thinking was better, he reminded himself. His plans for the future were vast and all-consuming and would turn the Eternals’ campaign to dust. That knowledge alone was what kept him going. What filled his heart and mind and soul with a black joy.
The Eternals would pay for turning their backs on Parnell and the others. They’d be forced to finally remember all of their history. And when it was too late, they would see that they were going to lose. Tradition said that an Eternal and his witch would go alone to find their share of the Artifact.
And tradition would be what finally killed them all.
Chapter 36
“Elena? Oh, my God, is that really you?”
Teresa’s breath stopped short in her lungs. It felt as though a cold hand was fisted around her heart, smothering the steady beat until it only whispered anxiously in her chest. In the mirror, her best friend’s image wavered and twisted, as if her spirit were trying to gather itself but failing. She was here and yet not here.
Elena looked like a photograph left out in the rain until the brilliance of the colors faded and wept into each other, becoming hardly more than a memory of the original. Smudged, unfinished, Elena smiled at her and Teresa’s eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. She didn’t want to risk blurring this vision further. She wanted—needed—this to be real.
In an unseen wind, her friend’s white lab coat ruffled and thinned as though tiny fingers were shredding the fabric. But her eyes were the same. Clear. Familiar. A dark, knowing brown that in life had always shone with kindness and humor. Now in those eyes Teresa read only fear.
“Teresa, my killer is coming,” Elena said, her voice wavering in and out. “Your abuela …”
“What?” Teresa felt a jolt of adrenaline spike as fear rose up to grab the base of her throat. “What about my grandmother?”
“Danger, Teresa. So are you—” She stopped and looked over her shoulder at the emptiness as if she’d heard someone approach. When she
looked back at Teresa she managed a small smile. “I can’t stay. I’m not even sure how I got here. Teresa … you have to know … Beware of the immortal.”
Confusion rippled through her along with the instinctive urge to argue with her friend. Why should she fear Rune? “Elena, he won’t harm me. He’s my mate.”
Elena shook her head and the action caused her image to ripple, like the surface of a still pond after a stone had been tossed in. “The immortal is dangerous. You have to believe me.”
“I do.” She absolutely believed that Elena had been sent in answer to the candle magic she had performed. Her friend’s spirit had come in response to her plea for knowledge, so what she was saying must be believed. It just didn’t make any sense at all.
She turned on the stool and looked into the room, but her friend wasn’t there. The only thing that met Teresa’s gaze was the plush room that had become her haven in the last couple of days. Quickly, she looked back into the mirror and saw that Elena’s image was still trapped in the glass, but fading fast.
“He wants you, Teresa,” Elena said, the words beginning to slur and weaken. “Not just for the witchcraft, but for …”
Teresa frowned as she missed that last part. What did this mean? He wanted her for what? If this was about sex, then Teresa could assure her friend that that particular ship had already sailed. Pretty impressively, too.
“He’s supposed to want me, Elena. He’s my mate.”
An otherworldly wind snatched at Elena’s short hair and plucked at the hem of her white coat. “Be careful, Teresa. Trust the Eternal, fear the immortal.”
“But—” None of this was making any sense. Rune was both an Eternal and an immortal. And how could she not trust him? Hadn’t he already earned her belief in him by saving her? By beginning the Mating, branding her as his?
“No more time,” her friend said hurriedly. “Spell book. Serena. Find it.”
Irritation and confusion sputtered together inside Teresa. How would Elena know about a spell book? Who was giving her this information? And why?
“Who? Who’s Serena?”
“Find it. Library,” her friend urged frantically as her image faded.
“Elena!”
She was gone.
In a breath, the image was gone and Teresa was alone again. Now the tears fell, and as they did, a cold knot of tension settled behind her breast. What the hell was she supposed to do with this? Who was Serena? And where was this library Teresa was supposed to search? What had Elena meant about trusting the Eternal and not the immortal?
Glaring into the mirror, Teresa muttered, “What the hell kind of help was that? I ask for clarity and knowledge and now I’m more confused than ever. Damn it, Elena, come back! Tell me what you meant!”
Not trust Rune?
Impossible. She did trust him. And he had earned it. He’d saved her ass a couple of times already, hadn’t he? Her gaze dropped again to the lightning tattoo on her breast and she swallowed hard. He was her mate. This relationship was destined. If she couldn’t trust him, why the hell had the mating brand shown up at all? And if he meant her harm, why hadn’t he just left her to die in the village?
Maybe because he needs me to find the Artifact? Maybe he doesn’t want to return it to the witches. Maybe he’s got other plans for it that don’t include me.
“No,” she said, arguing with herself. That idea was ludicrous. He wasn’t interested in anything but completing their quest.
But what if his idea of completion was different from hers? What if he had other plans for that ancient chunk of black silver? The knot inside her tightened until she could hardly draw a breath. There was a cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that Elena’s warning had nothing to do with Rune. Her mate was honorable. She had seen that firsthand. He had been nothing but honest with her since he had shown up out of nowhere to save her ass from the MPs in the helicopter.
Hell, he had been shot saving her.
But why would the gods send Elena to warn her if there was no danger?
“God, how am I supposed to know what to do?” Alone, Teresa felt her mind whirl with the possibilities.
Was Rune the mate and partner he claimed to be? She wasn’t stupid. She knew he was holding something of himself back from her. When he watched her, she could see in his eyes that he didn’t really trust her.
Was that only because of their long, complicated past? Or was it something else? Was he merely biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move? And if he was, how could she defend herself against it?
“Damn it.” She had gone into this Mating ritual with her eyes wide open. She had promised to be his mate, even knowing that she wouldn’t allow herself to love him. So how was she so different from Rune? She was holding something back, too.
But she had trusted him.
Until now.
Suddenly cold, Teresa pushed off the chair, walked to the bed and grabbed the first item of clothing she found: one of Rune’s T-shirts. It was black, of course, and when she tugged it on over her head, the hem fell practically to her knees. His scent surrounded her, caressed her and seemed to ease the doubts flooding her mind and heart.
He was her mate. Her partner.
She would trust him because trusting Rune meant trusting her own instincts and if she was going to survive the next few weeks, she’d have to be able to do that.
A whistle in the distance reached her and Teresa whipped her head up. “Chico?”
The whistle sounded again from far away and Teresa raced for the cave entrance. That familiar sound kept coming, making her quicken her steps until she was running down dark, twisted tunnels carved from the rock. She stubbed her toe on an outcropping of stone and saw stars, but she kept going. Now more than ever, she needed her pet with her. She was desperate to have something she could count on. Believe in. Chico had been with her for two years. He was more than just a bird. He was her companion—another heartbeat in the loneliest hours of the night. He was the one she gave her secrets to.
Smiling in spite of her racing, churning thoughts, Teresa hurried on, down what seemed like miles of stone corridors with only the occasional torch to light her way. Somehow Chico had found his way back to her and she was going to take that as a good sign.
She heard the frantic beating of his wings as he flew about the enclosure. His shrieks and whistles came sharper now as she neared him. The closer she got to the main entrance of the cave, the farther behind she left the torchlight. Rune had deliberately kept most of the way dark in order to confuse any pursuers who might stumble across the cave itself.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but the eerie sensation of being on her own in what might as well have been a rock tomb shook her. The stone floor tore at her bare feet, but she ignored the pain.
Alone in the gloom, she suddenly wished Rune was with her—and that told her all she needed to know about her instincts urging her to believe in him. And as her mind began to reassert itself, claiming dominion over her emotional reaction to the sound of Chico’s shrill whistle, her steps slowed.
What if that isn’t Chico? What if the hunters from the village tracked us to the cave and are pretending to be Chico just to bring me into the open where they can capture me?
Fear walked with her.
The darkness seemed to deepen even though she was nearing the outside world. She could tell because a cold wind was sliding in off the desert and goose bumps erupted on her legs and arms. Rune’s scent walked with her and she wished again that he was there beside her. Her feet were cut from the rocky ground and her chest felt tight, but she kept going. She had to. She was alone here and if there was an enemy, better she meet him on her own terms than wait for him to come to her.
She wasn’t armed, but she wasn’t defenseless, either. She still had her magic. She flexed her fingers, glanced down and watched sparks fire in a blue-white shower from her fingertips. Taking a deep breath, she moved a
round the last bend in the passage, prepared to defend herself or die trying.
Something rushed at her out of the darkness and she shrieked.
So did Chico.
Then the bird landed on her shoulder, shivered to fluff his feathers and settled comfortably, his claws digging in through the T-shirt. Teresa let out a huge gust of air as relief swamped her. Reaching up, she stroked Chico’s yellow and deep orange chest. “Where have you been and how did you find me?”
“An interesting question,” Rune said from the mouth of the cave, where he dropped two bags of supplies.
Teresa looked up at her Eternal, backlit by the starry night. He looked formidable, menacing. His black coat stirred around his legs and even in shadow she could see the gray of his eyes pitch and swirl with shades of pewter and silver.
Elena’s warning whispered through her mind and Teresa trembled.
Only moments ago she had been wishing he was there with her. Now, she didn’t know whether to be grateful to have him back—or to be worried.
As if sensing her hesitation, Chico shrieked, “Run for it!”
Chapter 37
Rune looked from the bird on Teresa’s shoulder into the eyes of his witch. “How did that get here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted with a smile, turning her face to look at the small creature. “But lorikeets are incredibly smart. And loyal, too. It’s not the first time Chico’s found me like this.”
Walking into the cave, Rune studied the brightly colored bird and couldn’t quite hide his dislike of the creature. Something about it didn’t sit well with Rune. “The village is miles from here. How would it find you across the desert?”
“Beats me,” she admitted with another smile. “But he did. Maybe it’s a sign of good things to come.”
“Maybe,” he said, but his voice made it clear that he doubted it.
She looked up at him and her smile slowly faded. “What about you? Did you find anything out there? Any sign of the hunters? Did you have trouble at the village?”
Visions of Skyfire Page 16