“That’s the reason you couldn’t talk to the dead? Wow. I never would have guessed.”
“Me either,” Donata admitted. “My great-aunt suggested the possibility when I talked to her about the problems I was having doing magic. Honestly, I thought she was crazy. But one home pregnancy test and one at the clinic in Masonville proved her right. She’s never going to stop gloating.”
Not that she’d told her family yet. That was a conversation that was definitely going to have to take place in person. Preferably from behind bulletproof glass.
Magnus suddenly got quiet. “Did you say a month or two?”
She nodded. “I did. They can’t tell exactly when it is this early. They usually go by when you first miss a period, but with all the craziness that went down in the last few months, I haven’t really been paying much attention.”
She could see him mentally counting back days. “We slept together for the first time about a month ago,” he said. “Does that mean there is a chance I’m not the father?”
She nodded, wanting to reach out for him but not knowing if that would make things better or worse. “That was one of the reasons I hesitated to tell you. I’ve been trying to figure out if there is a way to determine the genetic makeup of a baby this early. I thought I’d call my sister Lucia, who is a nurse, and ask her if there is a spell for that. I just haven’t had the opportunity.” Or worked up the courage.
“So Peter could be the father,” Magnus said in a calm tone.
Donata winced. “Maybe. There wasn’t that much of a gap between the end of my relationship with him and you showing up to whisk me off to the depths of Maine.”
“Ah,” he said.
Ah. What the hell did “ah” mean?
“You should also probably know that West tried to tell me that there was a chance the baby was Anton’s.”
“West knew before I did?” For the first time, Magnus actually sounded indignant. “And I thought you told me you never slept with Anton.”
Donata wished she could sink into the ground. “West found out accidentally, because he saw me with some pamphlets from the doctor’s office. And no, Anton and I never did anything beyond a kiss or two, but West insisted that the Major Anemoi don’t need physical contact to create progeny.”
“No wonder their race is dying out,” Magnus said.
Donata laughed despite herself. “That’s what I told him.”
Magnus shook his head. “What a mess.” He paused. “Tell me something, ’Nata. If it turns out the baby is Peter’s, would you want to get back together with him?”
“What? No!” Donata reached out and put one hand on Magnus’s chest. “First of all, I don’t know how to get in touch with him, even if I wanted to. Second, you know how possessive Dragons are about their children. That’s why Peter’s mother hid his existence from his own father. I’d just as soon not get into a tug-of-war over my baby. But most of all, Peter and I just aren’t a good match. There’s no way I’d want to be in a relationship with him, although if it turns out that he is the father and if he ever shows up again, I’d be willing to let him be a part of the child’s life. But that’s it.”
“Good,” he said decisively. “Then let’s get married. Make our fake engagement into a real one.”
“What?” Donata hadn’t even seen that one coming. “But what if the baby turns out not to be yours?”
“I don’t care, ’Nata,” he said in a low tone. “I want to be with you. I want to help raise this child, no matter who its father turns out to be. We’ll make it work.”
Donata blinked back tears. He’d said all the right things—all except one. It shouldn’t have mattered, but apparently it did. She didn’t know when she’d fallen in love with Magnus Torvald . . . or maybe she’d loved him all along and never wanted to admit it because she’d known they could never be in a real relationship. But clearly, he didn’t feel the same way. He was a good guy and would take on her and her baby because that was the kind of man he was, but it wasn’t enough. Besides, there were still too many reasons why it couldn’t work, no matter what he said.
“I think we should wait to make any decisions until we know who the father really is,” she said, heart heavy in her chest. “Besides, we still have the issue of who sent the ghosts, I need to figure out what to do about the Major Anemoi, and even after all that is dealt with, I have to get back to my job.”
“Can you even do your job right now, if your magic isn’t working? Stay with me, and we’ll tackle the Major Anemoi together.”
That hadn’t worked out so well for the last man who’d gotten in the sixth race’s way. Donata couldn’t bear the thought of Magnus getting hurt because of her. He was strong and tough, but Peter’s father had been, too, and being a full-blooded Dragon hadn’t saved him from their wrath.
“I don’t know, Magnus,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “I appreciate the offer, I really do. I just need to think, okay?” She wiped the back of one hand across her face. “By myself.”
Magnus stared at her for a minute, then nodded. “Whatever you want, ’Nata. Just remember that you aren’t in this alone.” He kissed her on the forehead and walked away.
Crap. Could she have handled this any worse? Maybe, but she couldn’t think how.
She slowly made her way across the square, waving at the various people who yelled congratulations to her as she passed. She was definitely not cut out for living in a small town. Eventually she found the path that led back to the Torvald compound—deserted now that everyone was at the party—and plodded down it with leaden feet.
She was just passing through a wooded section when she felt an iron-strong arm snake around her chest from behind, and the unmistakable chill of a sharp blade at her throat. Pulled up short, she stopped in her tracks, the edge of the knife biting into the soft skin under her chin. A trickle of blood ran down her cleavage and into the red dress.
“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” a voice hissed in her ear. “Bad enough you had to play the hero, but now you’re pregnant with Magnus’s baby? I’d hoped you would just leave town, but now I’m afraid we’re going to have to find a more permanent solution. Luckily, there are lots of places to bury bodies in these woods.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Hello, Lita,” Donata said. She was pleased to hear her voice come out even and calm, in spite of the fear that made her heart race and her palms sweat. “Come to finish what you started in the caverns?”
The arm tightened around her and the knife bit a little deeper. “You knew that was me? Why didn’t you tell Magnus or the others?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?” She ran through all the self-defense moves she knew. There were some for disarming an attacker in this position, but the knife complicated things. She supposed that was the point.
“Oh, please,” Lita said. “If you had said anything to Magnus, he would already have confronted me. He’s a great guy, way too good for you, but he’s an Ulfhednar, and we don’t do subtle.”
“So I noticed,” Donata said dryly. But she could feel her pulse pounding as she struggled to stay calm.
Lita shifted slightly, easing the blade a fraction of an inch away from Donata’s throat without in any way removing the threat. “Look, it’s nothing personal,” the other woman said. “I actually like you, if it is any consolation. But I’ve had my eye on Magnus since I was a young teen and he was in his twenties. When he left the clan in disgrace, I thought I’d lost any chance to be with him. Then he came back and joined the same Ulf training group I was in, and I knew that Odin had given me the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Until you showed up and ruined everything.”
Donata’s brain was racing almost as fast as her heart. “Did you have something to do with the ghosts showing up? Was that part of your plan somehow?”
“What if it was?” The ha
nd Lita was holding the knife in twitched, and another bead of blood dripped down to further ruin poor Kari’s dress. “You’re not exactly in a position to rat me out. I got an anonymous letter asking me to scratch a certain symbol into the places where the Ulf candidates would be. Whoever wrote the letter suggested that it would give me an advantage against the others, but I didn’t care about that. Hell, I don’t need an advantage.
“But I was afraid that if Magnus completed the training, he’d leave town and take a job in the military or something. I needed another year to make sure he fell for me. I didn’t realize right away that the ghosts were showing up where the symbols were, but when I did, it was too late to stop it. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” Lita’s breath hissed in Donata’s ear, like the warning rattle of a poisonous snake.
“Except you, once I realized you were getting too close to Magnus. What happened in the cave was just luck. I saw you there, right on the edge of the chasm, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to shove you over.”
Donata almost laughed. “That’s what I told Magnus,” she said. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was pretty sure it was you; the hand I felt in the middle of my back was too small to be any of the men. But I was so sure it was just a momentary impulse, I didn’t want to give him your name. I thought for sure you’d regretted it as soon as you’d done it.”
“Well, that’s where you were wrong,” Lita said. “Pushing you over the side of that hole made me feel powerful and strong. I thought for sure I’d killed you, and I was so happy. But no, you turned out to be tougher than you look, and then Magnus had to show up and rescue you.” She snorted. “Completely ruined my day, seeing you alive again.”
“Sorry,” Donata said. “Things are rough all over.” She could grab the arm holding the knife and try to twist it away, but Lita was no amateur—she was a trained warrior and an Ulfhednar, stronger than Donata on her best day. Throws, disarms, attacks, defenses . . . she ran through them all in the brief moments when time slowed down to a crawl. Her heart sped up even faster. She could die here, and her baby with her, and maybe there was nothing she could do to stop it. She’d never felt so helpless. But she was a Witch and a cop, and soon to be a mother, goddess willing. There was no way she was going to give up.
“Ha,” Lita said. “They’re about to get a lot rougher for you. I’m not going to let you trap Magnus with a baby. I’ve heard about you Witches—it probably isn’t even his.”
“It might not be,” Donata said, and when Lita gasped in surprise, Donata took advantage of her momentary distraction to grab the wrist holding the knife with her right hand while she elbowed Lita in the stomach with the left. Then she flipped the other woman over her shoulder, and Lita landed on the ground with a thud.
Lita growled and would have gotten up to go after Donata again, but Magnus stepped out of the shadows and kicked the knife away. Without taking his eyes off Lita, he said to Donata, “I was just trying to figure out how to rescue you when you rescued yourself. Nice job with that flip. Maybe you should try out for Ulf training too.”
Donata pressed a hand to her throat, wincing when it came away bloody. “No thanks. I don’t think I find this stuff as amusing as you do.”
Lita leapt back to her feet in a smooth, effortless move. “Stay out of this, Magnus,” she said in a low, threatening tone. “The Witch doesn’t belong here. She’s not one of us. You may not be able to see that, but I can. You have serious potential for a future in the clan. She’s going to ruin you. You’ll thank me later for getting rid of her.”
“I don’t think I will,” Magnus said, his shadow lengthening and growing darker. “It’s not too late to stop this, Lita. You can’t have what you want, but you can still have your life.”
Lita crouched down, her form wavering in the moonlight as if seen through old glass. “What kind of life would it be? Dishonored and shunned like you were? I’d never be able to come back. Never be able to be with my family and friends again.” She growled. “I should have made sure she died in that hole. Or slit her throat faster.”
Without warning, she jumped at Magnus, her shape seeming to melt in midair. If Donata hadn’t already witnessed Magnus in berserker mode, she wouldn’t have known what she was seeing. As it was, she could only stand to the side and watch as two Ulf—as much bear as Human—battled each other in a fury of powerful blows that rocked the very trees that surrounded them.
Back and forth they fought, Magnus’s superior height and strength an almost even match against Lita’s agility and desperation. But in the end, it was Magnus who stood over Lita’s limp body, her neck canted at an angle never intended by nature. His shadow shrank back to its normal size and conformation, and Donata stepped slowly out of the cover of the pine she’d been sheltering under.
“Are you okay?” she asked, poised to flee if he was still more beast than man.
“No,” Magnus said. “I just killed my friend.” He sounded completely in control, although tears ran down his face. Apparently the Ulf training had done what he’d come back here for—taught him mastery over his inner wildness.
“I’m sorry,” Donata said softly. Rationally she knew it wasn’t her fault, but Lita was dead, and somehow Donata felt as though it was. Suspected Magnus felt that way too. How could he not?
“Me too,” he said in a quiet voice. He scooped up the body and turned back toward the celebrations. “Why don’t you go back to the house? This will be complicated enough without you there.”
“Are you going to be in trouble?” she asked. He’d only just regained his place among his people; she hated the idea that he might lose it again because of her, no matter how indirectly.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. His festive clothing was torn and bloody, and his long hair had come loose from its thong to hang in his face. “She broke our laws. Multiple times. She was right about being banished, you know. That’s what would have happened. Her family would never have been able to see her or talk to her again, and she would have been alone in the world forever. In some ways, this is more merciful.”
His voice cracked with sadness, and Donata’s heart just about cracked with it. When she’d first met him, he’d been exiled from his people, too, banished for refusing to finish the Ulf training when he was younger, because it seemed contrary to his pacifist beliefs. In the end, he’d had to come to terms with his own nature and had chosen to return so he could learn to deal with it on his own terms. But Lita would not have had that kind of second chance—not after trying to murder someone who had been a guest at the Ulfhednar’s table, not to mention aiding whichever enemy had called in the ghosts. That kind of rule breaking could never have been forgiven.
Perhaps Magnus was right, and it was better that things had ended this way. Selfishly, Donata knew she’d be happy not to be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, waiting for Lita to leap out of the shadows and finish what she’d started. But she wasn’t sure if Magnus or the others could ever forgive her for being the cause of Lita’s death, even if the woman had brought it on herself. She wondered if in dying, Lita had actually achieved her desire and successfully separated Donata and Magnus for good.
She watched Magnus walk back up the path to a party that would soon become a wake, and wished, not for the first time, that she had the power to turn back time. Sadly, magic didn’t work that way. She might be able to talk to the dead, but she couldn’t bring them back to life no matter how much she might want to.
Donata lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She’d finally turned the light out around midnight, but she couldn’t fall asleep, wondering what was happening at the gathering, wondering if her relationship with Magnus and his family had been permanently ruined. It shouldn’t have mattered—she’d be leaving soon, and he’d be staying here and resuming the life he’d been meant to have all along. She’d probably never see any of the Torvalds again once she went back home.
It ma
ttered anyway.
The irony, she thought, laying there staring at the ceiling, was that Lita could probably have just waited, and the difficulties of the situation would have taken care of the problem for her. Instead, a young woman with limitless potential was dead, and Donata couldn’t help but feel as though it was somehow her fault.
The front door closed with a thunk, echoing through the silent night. Voices murmured as the various family members dispersed to their own wings for the night. Donata held her breath and listened for Magnus’s door to close, too, but there was nothing. Finally, just as she was beginning to think that perhaps he hadn’t come home at all, she heard the tiniest tap, then her own door opened.
“’Nata?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“I’m awake,” she whispered back in the dark. “Are you okay?”
The bed creaked as he sat down on the edge, his back to her as he spoke. “As okay as I can be,” he said quietly. “The Assembly ruled that the killing was justified. They may ask you some questions tomorrow, but it will only be a formality. Ironically, her death means that her family can mourn her loss, where otherwise they would have had to pretend she never existed, and kept their grief to themselves. This way, the whole town mourns with them.”
“That seems pretty harsh,” Donata said, sitting up but not turning on the light. Somehow the darkness seemed more suitable for this conversation.
“It is our way,” Magnus said simply.
Donata thought about some of the rules the rest of the Paranormals had, and decided she really couldn’t argue. Each race policed their own people in their own fashion. Witches could be quite brutal with those who broke the rules too.
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