BROKEN BLADE

by J. C. Daniels

  Justin stared at me. Then, because he probably knew I needed it, he said, “If ya want, we’ll round up a whole damn symphony of them. They can play us a dirge while we fry their asses.”

  * * * *

  Damon’s quarters seemed a hell of a lot smaller now.

  Doyle persistently remained at my side, although he kept giving Justin the evil eye.

  Justin ignored him. Sitting in the chair across from mine, he had his deck of cards out and he played one of his crazy games of Solitaire while he answered some of the same questions that I’d had to. Alisdair looked more worried with each passing minute.

  Chang didn’t look too happy.

  Doyle stared at the cards like he was half-mesmerized.

  And Damon looked like he wanted to start ripping Justin apart, piece by piece.

  Yeah, that would be an easy feat.

  “And what’s your take on this…Pandora?” Alisdair said. He had a look in his eyes like he wanted Justin to say anything but what I’d said.

  Justin shrugged and flipped the ace of spades into the air. It hung there, spinning around and around as he met Alisdair’s eyes. “MacDonold, my take is that is she’s crazy old, crazy powerful and she has more high magic in her than I’ve seen in a while. The last time I felt anything even close to her was when I had to help go after a two-thousand-year-old Druid.”

  The card slammed down, arrowing itself into place with unerring accuracy. Justin continued to look at Alisdair. “It took twenty witches to take him down…and he wanted to die.”

  “Enough,” Damon said, knocking his knuckles on the table. “Pandora. Got it. Big problem. Let’s move on. What else do we need to know?”

  “What, other than the fact that if she snaps her fingers, you all might go and hump her leg?” Justin grinned. “I think that about covers it.”

  Silence dropped down like an anvil and for a second, nobody moved, nobody breathed. They all stared at Justin and then, one by one, their attention shifted to me.

  “You couldn’t have found a better way to put that, could you?” I said sourly.

  * * * *

  Well, if nothing else, Justin had cut through to the heart of the matter.

  She’ll make you her furry little bitches, boys, whether you want it or not…oh, and she’s going to go after one of your babies. Fun, right?

  A manic glint had lit his eyes as he delivered that coup de grâce and after we’d managed to calm the sheer chaos down, everybody had leaped into action. Even Alisdair finally got on board.

  Megan was rounding up all the females and trying to figure out who could or couldn’t be pregnant. I didn’t tell her that I already knew who the chosen target was, because if Pandora failed with Clara, she might try to find another one. Getting them all safe would be ideal.

  Alisdair had called his warriors into action and anybody who had experience with high magic was being put on alert. Some had a natural affinity for resisting high magic—Damon was one of them. It was how he had managed to kill the witches months ago, and anybody else who had those abilities would be the ones best equipped to face off with a crazy ancient bitch.

  They hoped.

  My gut said they were right.

  But my gut also said it wouldn’t be enough.

  She’d cut them all down if they got in her way and she wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Why would she? She lacked the empathy, I suspected to feel anything if she killed one of them, or a dozen,or a hundred. The entire clan wouldn’t even bother her.

  She could just create more.

  The only thing that would affect her would be if she couldn’t find her next host.

  What we needed to do was protect that baby. Keep the baby alive. Keep Clara away from Pandora.

  That was the goal.

  Why not kill the girl?

  That voice murmured in the back of my mind and sent a shiver down my spine. Cool, cold and practical.

  I had no idea where that thought had come from, but no.

  The cats could protect Clara for the short term. Long term, get Clara to Green Road and let them figure out the best option. They’d handled Pandora once, maybe they could figure out the best route if I failed.

  When I failed.

  Not that I’d include that bit when I told Damon. I’d just suggest that Clara might be best protected by people who could hide who and what she was. I had to head out, but before I did, I needed to pass that info on to Damon first—I already knew he’d follow me out to my car. I’d give him the info, get out of here and get my gear. Meet up with Justin.

  And get ready to get my ass kicked.

  Probably killed.

  But there was no way I was going to kill some poor girl just because she had the bad luck to be born with the wrong blood.

  I knew what that was like.

  Heading out, I tried to ignore the weight that rested on my shoulders. And Damon’s dark, brooding presence, hot at my back.

  * * * *

  “Is he serious?”

  I met Damon’s eyes over the roof of my car.

  “I think so.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “So…she can, what? Control us? Enslave us?”

  “You’re asking me questions I can’t answer.”

  “Try.” His voice was rigid.

  Justin had left twenty minutes earlier, out to round up some unsavory types, as he’d called them. I suspected he was reaching out to various Banner contacts and independents. I had no idea how deep his network went now, but I suspected it was pretty extensive.

  Edgy tension came off Damon in waves. I’d thought he might settle once Justin had left. Clearly, I was expecting too much. I opened the door and blew out a breath, trying to think through what to say.

  There was still a lot to say. And oddly, only half of it related to Pandora. That was all we had time for, though.

  Tucking my sword behind the seat, I thought through this possible explanation, that possible scenario…

  “You realize that I don’t know what I’m talking about, right?” I finally said, turning to look at him.

  Dark turbulent eyes met mine.

  “You never seem to know, and you always end up almost right on target.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The muscles under his shirt bulged and the tattoos on his right arm, just barely visible under the sleeve, caught my eye. Memories of the times I’d stroked my fingers across those thick, dark lines of ink rolled through my mind…along with so many others.

  I pushed it all aside.

  “You familiar with the coercion spells some of the independents use?” I asked him, dragging my attention away from the mesmerizing lines and swirls of those tattoos.

  A black brow rose and then he shrugged. “More or less. I’ve seen them in action, had a few try to use them on me. They didn’t take.”

  “Not surprising. Success of those spells is dependent on a number of factors…but namely your strength against the strength of the witch. A witch of Es’s caliber could have a chance.”

  I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, but I didn’t say anything. I was good at gauging a person’s strength. My life had too often depended on it, and it went deeper than that anyway. It was just part of what I was.

  “A lot of independents aren’t that strong,” I said.

  “Is your boy?”

  My boy. I huffed out a breath and leaned back against the car. “Damon, I told you months ago that Justin and I used to have something. Then we didn’t. That hasn’t changed. So just shelve the…whatever.”

  His stony face didn’t change. At all. He jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s not like it’s any of my business, right?”

  “No.” Why did it seem like the bite marks on my neck, my wrist, were burning? I resisted, just barely, the urge to reach up and rub the one on my neck. Damon’s eyes all but burned into mine and I think we both knew we weren’t being entirely truthful. I couldn’t get involved with another man…not when I was still hung on him. It just wasn’t in me. And the bastard kne
w it.

  I’ll be waiting…

  I glared at him. “Just shelve it, okay?”

  “Shelving it.”

  He didn’t even move and the air, the space between us had shrunk down to nothing.

  I needed to think about something else, anything else but what was in my head just then. I needed something else in my head but him. Tearing my gaze away, I focused on the looming monolith of the Lair at his back. “If Justin decided to pull a coercion spell on you, he might be able to do it. You might be able to break it. The two of you would probably end up killing each other. So keep having those happy, bloody thoughts, Damon.” I flicked my bangs out of my eyes and tried not to tense when he came around the car, closing the distance between us to just a few inches. It might have been two inches. Three. But it was too close.

  I could feel the heat of him, so close, so enticing. Some part of me wanted to just bury myself against him and stay there. Forever. Instead, I shrugged and tried to feign nonchalance. “Don’t go getting a hard-on about the idea or anything. Justin doesn’t use coercion spells. It goes against his…sense of fair play. He’d kill a person without blinking but he doesn’t use unnatural magics.”

  “Unnatural…” Damon’s voice was a low growl.

  I shot him a look.

  “What the fuck is an unnatural magic? It’s all unnatural.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s not. Especially for a witch. Unnatural magics require pulling up dark powers and dark shit and darkness you don’t want to think about. The darker witches would have Annette look like a sweet little dream and the more you cross those lines, the blurrier they get…and one day, you don’t realize it, but you’re one of those darker witches…somebody who would suck the soul from your mother, your father, your brother, your sister, your child…all to power up your spell, because it needed a strong life force…and they had the strongest around. There are lines with magic that just can’t be crossed. Justin knows those lines…and he stays away. He’ll break every line anybody else might draw…but the laws of magic, he’ll respect those, and he’ll hunt down the people who go over it. He’s a good man for me to have at my back.”

  Read between the lines: I need him right now. Leave it alone.

  Damon reached up. I held still as he brushed his hand down my hair. “Why do I get the feeling that you are trying to tell me something?”

  “Because I am.”

  Some of the tension faded away and a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “I’m not ever going to like the man, kitten. Deal with it. But he was the one who helped Doyle key in on where you were. That’s one thing I won’t ever forget.” His gaze held mine and unspoken words passed between us. My heart slammed hard against my ribs as he cupped my cheek and pressed his thumb against my lip. “He was the one who realized something was wrong. I won’t forget that either.”

  Then his hand fell away and he shifted his attention to stare off past my shoulder. “If he’s the man who’s going to protect your back in this, I’m not going to fuck with him, either. Now…about the bigger problem…”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and wished I could compartmentalize the way he seemed to do. He didn’t brush it off, but he had a way of focusing on the things that needed to be done. The bigger problem. Yeah, let’s think about that.

  That problem that was likely going to turn me into a messy smear on the pavement once she realized I wasn’t going to turn the damn vase over to her. Once she figured out that I planned on giving the damn thing to the witches and seeing if they couldn’t do a Hail Mary or whatever that stupid thing was called.

  “So, the control thing…” Damon said, a pulse pulsing in his cheek.

  I made a mental note. Want to see him tighten up real fast? Mention anything related to an ancient uber-bitch having control over him.

  “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it would be like one of the coercion spells, but without the spell. If you are her original creation, that means problems for you.” I studied his face. “It’s one of the basic laws of magic. Do you get that?”

  “In theory. Dunno if I agree with the entire thing.” He jerked one shoulder in a shrug. “I assume you’re leading into the parental law of magic—sadly, that’s one of the laws I do think is probably true. We’re magical creatures whether we like it or not. Magic follows certain rules and one of them is that fucked-up parental mess. Most of us feel bound—or are bound to—those who made us. It’s why younger vamps can’t leave their masters until they reach a certain level of power—or unless the master dies. Why the lesser were always submits to the stronger.” A sneer twisted his lips. “Why in our world, might still makes right and fuck those who get screwed by it.”

  “Well. Yeah. That’s it, in theory…and in a nutshell.”

  He’d summarized it in a few sentences. Witches studied the laws of magic, including the parental law. And he broke it down to the nuts and bolts. “If she’s your creator, the parental law will probably come into play. But success, like most magics, depends on any number of factors—with this, I’d imagine it depends on her will, her target’s will and her…state of health.”

  His brows ratcheted up. “Her state of health.”

  “Injury always throws a practitioner off. If she’s weakened or tired…age could play into it, but she’s an ancient. I don’t know if age slows her down.” If she could be injured, she could be killed. If it bled, it died. I wanted to see if I could make her bleed. If she could…that changed the playing field. A lot.

  But the vase first.

  “You think the more dominant weres can throw her off?”

  Coercion and compulsory spells could be overthrown, if the target had it in him. It was physically and mentally painful, but they could still do it. That wasn’t the big problem, though.

  I blew out a breath and leaned back against the car, staring at him. I had to make him see. “Whether or not they can isn’t the point,” I said, watching as his eyes narrowed on my face. “Dominants are outnumbered…what, three to one?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” His gray eyes held mine.

  So much confidence. So much strength. Normally, I admired that. I’d love to be able to walk through the world and know so little fear, to know that I had the strength to take down not just anything, but a number of anythings. I fought and clawed for every damn step I took, it seemed like. Even getting out bed anymore.

  But that confidence didn’t serve him now.

  “Damon, if she can throw them in your way like fodder, it matters.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw and understanding dawned in his eyes.

  “That’s going to be one of your big problems, Damon…her turning your own people against you. And…” I rubbed the spot between my eyes as a headache started to pulse. “Clara.”

  I could practically feel his confusion.

  From under my lashes, I watched him.

  “Clara.” He shook his head and then, just like that, I saw the knowledge flood his eyes. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

  “That’s what my gut says,” I told him. “I didn’t want to say anything around MacDonald or any of the others. People are going to panic—”

  It’s not panic, child. Kill the girl and you take away her options. It’s wise thinking…

  I squeezed my eyes shut as that voice echoed somewhere deep in the back of my head. Maybe I’d lost my mind for real up on that mountain. Clearing my throat, too aware of him watching me, I forced myself to go on. “They’ll panic and think the right choice is to just kill the girl, and her baby.”

  His eyes were hard as stone. I couldn’t figure out a single thing he was thinking.

  “She may not be the only one. And you can’t let your cats just randomly start slaughtering any pregnant female you come across.”

  “Anybody who touches her is going to have to go through me,” he said, his voice soft.

  I swallowed and looked away. “I can’t tell you how to protect her. Once she put herself in your hands,
she became one of yours and I know that. But the best course of action is to gather up a few of your enforcers, the ones you trust the most, and have them escort her to Green Road. Immediately.”

  The need to refuse was strong. I could see it burning in his eyes. Instead of saying it outright, though, he turned away, hands braced on his hips, head bowed. “Why? I can protect my people, Kit.”

  The silence that fell between us was awkward. Awkward and ugly and when he turned back to me, the look on his face was one of…I can’t even describe it. He looked like he wanted to just gut himself. “Fuck.” It came out of him in an explosive rush. “I guess we know that’s a fucking lie, don’t we?”

  “I’m not one of your people, Damon,” I said softly.

  “But you were mine…and I failed you.”

  This time, it was my turn to look away. “It was up to me to protect myself.” My throat felt raw and the awful, terrible void in my chest grew larger and larger. “Hell, how many times did I tell you to let me have my space?”

  Odd…I hadn’t thought of that until now. I had been so angry at him—still was. I was just angry in general, but what good did it do? “We couldn’t have seen it coming, you know. And if he didn’t come after me that night, he would have tried some other night. If we’re going to sit around being pissed, being angry, throwing blame, let’s throw it where it belongs…at his feet.”

  I shoved off the car and went to climb in.

  “You know I’m already trying to figure out the best way to kill him when he comes out of that box.”

  Those words, so calmly, flatly spoken made me smile a little. Shooting Damon a look, I shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to kill him while he’s still inside it.”

  It almost felt good to smile. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it.

  “I need to go,” I said softly, as the weight on my shoulders pushed down harder, heavier.

  “Before you do…” Damon’s words came slow, drawing my gaze back to him. “I don’t have any right to ask, but I’m doing it anyway.”

  He wasn’t looking at me.

  I angled my head and watched as Doyle came striding toward us.