Vengeance: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 3

by Denise Tompkins

  “Whenever I need it.” His answer was guarded, his eyes wary.

  “I need it. Save Hellion.”

  “I can’t, Maddy.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I shook his shoulders in desperation. “Answer me.”

  “Both.” He looked away, shame draining his face of all color but the high bright spots on his cheeks. “Both, all right? Hellion was my best chance at surviving tonight. I won’t waste my Act of Glory on returning him from a coma prematurely. The emotional salve to your heart isn’t worth the literal risk to mine.”

  My voice shook. “You cold son of a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stood to move away from me and I grabbed his ankle.

  “What would it take?”

  “To make me use my Act?” He snorted with mirth. “Clearly more than you’re willing to offer, Madeleine. Leave it alone.”

  Swallowing hard, I asked in a choked whisper, “How badly do you want to father that child?”

  Micah froze, his back ramrod straight. I watched him shudder and draw a deep breath. “Don’t toy with me, Madeleine Niteclif.”

  I opened my mouth to answer him with…what, I didn’t know when Mark clattered to a halt at the top of the stairs. “He’s awake, Maddy.”

  I clambered up the stairs on all fours, falling twice before I could gather my feet under me and make the sprint to the room. Bouncing off the doorframe, I careened into the room to find Hellion awake, pale but eyes clear.

  Stearns was positively fierce. “He needs his rest.” When Hellion grunted his displeasure, Stearns nodded once sharply. “I’ll be outside.” He gathered up his satchel and called everyone together, leaving Hellion and me alone in the room.

  I stood next to the bed, scared to touch him but unable to stop myself. Dried blood coated his neck and clumped the ends of his hair together while heavy bandages covered his back and chest. I was afraid to lift the covers to examine the rest of him. My hands roamed over his arms, coming to rest atop his broad, capable hands. I squeezed and got nothing but his deep sigh in return.

  “Hellion?”

  “There’s not much to say. I fell, and he’ll take those I rule as well as the Council seat, merging them with his own covens and holdings to the east. It makes me sick.” His head lolled to one side as he contemplated the multitude of emotions crossing my face. “You’ll not intervene, anamchara, because he won the fight.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turned away to recover my thoughts. It wasn’t much, but it was the most I could do to garner a moment’s privacy. I needed him to know, to believe, he hadn’t lost the fight, because he wasn’t stepping down from his Council seat any more than he was losing it. I needed him in that role, a counterweight to the stress and anxiety the job wrought from me every day.

  Hellion started to pull his hand from mine, but I grabbed it and held it to my chest. “Did you or did you not best Connell last year?” When Hellion didn’t answer me, I continued. “I have it on good authority you beat him last year for the absolute control of Western Europe.”

  “Just who the bloody hell has been talking behind my back?” His words were formed like a question but came across clearly as the demand of an entitled lover. “I’ll have an answer.”

  I laughed dryly. “Funny, that, because you were the one who told me you’d bested Connell last year. You were the one who told me you couldn’t let him take over control of Europe’s strongest covens for fear of what he’d do with the power once harnessed.”

  Hellion slid further under the covers and deliberately took his hand with him. “Ye’re a right pain in the arse, Niteclif.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” I pulled a rocking chair up to the side of the bed and flipped the covers back, meeting him glare for glare. “Sit up and stop sulking. It’s not attractive.”

  “Sulking?” he asked, incredulous. “Ye think I’m sulking?” Covers snapped back and he struggled to roll himself to his side and shakily sit up. “There.” He coughed then cleared his throat. “Ye’ve got what ye wanted. Now what?”

  “I’m going to help you get dressed and we’re going down to the parlor to confront Connell on the use of dark magic in the fight.”

  Hellion went rigid. “I’ll do no such thing. He fought, and he won, because he was willing to use his entire arsenal whereas I wasn’t.”

  “Look—”

  “No, Maddy. You look.” He lifted his face to meet mine when I stood to loom over him. “Had I drawn on the dark, I’d ha’ bested him hands down. I made an educated gamble. I lost. That’s what it comes down to. Do ye no’ see the truth o’ it?”

  I cupped his cheeks in my hands and kissed his forehead. “What I saw was a man whose honor was greater than that of his opponent’s.”

  “Honor had little tae do with it,” Hellion said gruffly. “I’m drawn by the dark, Maddy. When I use magic, that darkness pulls me like an alcoholic’s need for a drink. But for me, magic is a way o’ life. So to be fair in the comparison, ye’d have tae put that alcoholic in a bar, run him an open tab and tell him tae stick tae his best behavior. Rare is the man who can do it.” He shook his head and winced as the tape pulled the bandages.

  I tightened my hands on his face and kissed him tenderly. Pulling away I found him staring at me with an intense look on his face, the darkness of his eyes rivaled by the dark circles beneath them. I’d known it was a temptation, but not that it was such an intense thing.

  “How do you resist?”

  “By no’ delving into the dark tis easier tae keep yer face turned tae the light.”

  I stroked his hair and watched him relax under my ministrations. “What happens if you falter?”

  He lifted his face up to mine a final time. His grim grin was a slash through his pale face. “It’s like any addict who falters. You have tae wonder if this could be the time ye doona return.”

  We managed to get Hellion dressed, though his bandages needed retaping. Magical intervention from Stearns had been necessary to get rid of the blood that had dried in clumps in his hair. The footman hadn’t been happy at all to find Hellion’s intent had been to go downstairs, but he’d managed stoically until Hellion nearly took a header down the staircase. A brief, heartfelt argument ensued—Hellion insistent he’d go on while Stearns wanted him to turn back. Hellion had put an end to the disagreement with two words. “I must.” With a harsh nod, Stearns had been nothing but helpful, albeit silent.

  The parlor was teeming with people as everyone prepared for the sun to go down. I’d somehow denied to myself the passing of time, ignoring the lengthening shadows that had crept slowly across the bedroom floor. When Hellion and I walked into the room, solicitous overtures were made and Hellion was seated in a large, leather club chair. I moved to stand behind him, waiting for everyone to settle in for the discussion.

  Micah paced around the room like a caged animal. “I’ll not stay and suffer for the ignorance of these people,” he grumbled the third time he stalked by me.

  “Hey. The ‘ignorance’ you’re suffering through may be the very thing that keeps you alive long-term, so lay off the attitude. We’ve had this discussion before.”

  He stopped behind Hellion’s chair, staring at me with hard, flat eyes.

  “Uh-uh.” I pointed to the sofa that was nearly empty and far enough away from me that I didn’t have to worry much about him being within choking distance when he inevitably pissed someone off. “Take a seat over there. It’s harder for me to hit you if you’re on the other side of the freaking room.”

  “Your humanity is a fragile thing, Niteclif.” His tone was as condescending as Connell’s had been.

  “Whatever you need to believe to get you through the day…or night,” I said with a grin.

  Hellion held up a hand and everyone in the first few layers of people shut up. “I need to tell you each what has happened, where I’m at and what to expect.”

  I let out a piercing whistle and repeated what Hellion had said. Everyone settled down,
and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You’re a right tyrant, you are.” Bahlin’s voice breathed across the nape of my neck and left a trail of goose flesh in its wake.

  I sidled away from the dragon shifter. “You can’t help what you are, and I can’t help what I’m fast becoming.” The concern on his face made me feel a little like I didn’t have any pathway of retreat left open.

  Hellion coughed and grabbed his ribs, pain causing a faint sheen of sweat to dot his upper lip. He didn’t shrug off the hand I laid on his shoulder, but he tensed. This wasn’t going to go well.

  “Feckin’ hell,” he muttered, pushing further into the Irish. He waved off help as he stood, lifting his chin proudly and surveying the room, making eye contact with the most powerful. “I’m going to say this once. I fell.” I started to protest but Hellion stole my voice with a wave of his hand before I got more than a syllable out. “The Niteclif objects, clearly, because I didn’t make the same choices in the fight that the weyr’s warlock made. Fair enough.” Turning slowly to face me, I saw the truth in his eyes before he spoke. “I won’t contest the outcome of the fight, Niteclif. The winner stands until such time as I can officially challenge him.”

  I shook my head, the murmurs of disbelief racing through the room nothing more than dark background noise. Head held high, Hellion walked slowly from the room, his former primary coven members parting to allow him to leave. I started after him but Bahlin took my arm.

  “Give him time, Maddy.”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not? What will it cost you to not chase after him? Why can you not just let the man have five minutes to lick his wounds?” he insisted, pressing me to answer.

  “Because!” I’d found my voice and it had brought my temper to the party. “Because I—”

  “You what?” He shook his head, closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “You love him? Is that it?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “That’s it.”

  “If you love him, let him have his pride.”

  Movement in my peripheral view caught my attention and I turned in time to see one of Bahlin’s men stumble through the doorway, bruised and bloodied. Bahlin took three large steps to him. “Kristof, why’ve you left Darach’s room?” he demanded, giving the other man a hearty shake.

  “He’s gone, Glaaca.”

  The silence held its collective breath. Bahlin backhanded Kristof, the young dragon’s chin whipping to the side with the blow. “You have sixty seconds to convince me this isn’t your fault.”

  Bahlin’s absolute, brutal authority made me view the leader of the Council in an entirely different light. It wasn’t flattering in the least.

  “Get. Up.” Bahlin took the man by the back of the hair and pulled him to his knees. The young man made an effort to stand and Bahlin held him firmly, neck stretched. “Where are Edan, Anndra and Lachland? Answer me!”

  Kristof’s Adam’s apple bobbed harshly, the angle of his neck making it nearly impossible to breathe or swallow. “They’re gone.”

  The silence exploded into shouts and immediate conversation.

  “Enough!” Bahlin roared. He released the man’s hair and he slumped, chin to chest, barely remaining on his knees without support. Bahlin pulled up a small side chair and jerked his chin. Two of his enforcers stepped forward and deposited the wounded man in the chair.

  “Maddy, grab him some water.”

  I turned and made eye contact with a coven member. “Go.”

  Bahlin looked back at me, arching a brow at my passing the buck of his command.

  “Don’t think about dictating to or dismissing me.”

  Another sharp nod and he turned his attention back to Kristof. “Tell me what happened.”

  “We were all in the room with Darach and he started talking. Lachland told him to shut up, but he kept talking. He was there, then gone.”

  “What happened to your head?” Bahlin took Kristof’s chin in hand and turned it to the side.

  The dragon blushed and hunched his shoulders, and I recognized the youth of the gesture. He was even younger than I’d credited him with being.

  “Answer.” Bahlin’s voice was a whip. He looked over his shoulder at me, his ice-blue eyes cold and predatorily unforgiving. I’d never seen him look this foreign, even in his pre-shift stage as signified by his eyes.

  “There was chaos when the warlock disappeared.” Kristof closed his eyes and swayed so that Bahlin helped him to the first step, squatting in front of him.

  “Slow down and tell me everything that happened.”

  “Yes, sir.” He tried to sit up straight and, with the exception of a slight list to the left, managed to hold himself upright. “There were four of us in the room and three on the door, just like you ordered.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “The warlock was meditating, silent, but his lips were moving. He suddenly opened his eyes and offered us each a trove of gold if we’d side with him to kill the magus.” His eyes darted back and forth, finally landing on mine, unspoken apology passing through his gaze.

  I very slowly moved up to him and stood steps away before deliberately reaching out to caress his face. “Who accepted?”

  Kristof swallowed again. “Lachland argued with Darach, told him to shut up and that we weren’t taking any of his bribes.” The young dragon rubbed his forehead and breathed deep. “Edan and Anndra…”

  “What?” Bahlin hissed out. “What did they do?”

  Kristof lifted his face and sorrow rained down his face. “They killed Lachland. There wasn’t room to shift or I’d have taken them, both.” My disbelief wasn’t schooled quickly enough because Kristof barked, “I’m a wicked warrior in the air, Niteclif.”

  “He is,” Bahlin confirmed. “He’s one of the best. Rest, man, and know justice will be dealt, swift and sure, for them killing one of their own.”

  The young man nodded and he slumped in the chair. The dragons’ healer, a man I didn’t know, swept through the crowd and bent toward Kristof with soft words and a softer touch. The wounded man nodded. He rose from his seat with help and followed the healer to the sofa at the back of the room.

  Bahlin turned to me, fury a fine garment overlaying his form. “I’ll deliver justice when they’re caught.”

  “Do you want a formal trial?” It seemed it wouldn’t be necessary, but I didn’t know if I should offer or not.

  “When the circumstances are clear, and death is warranted, it’s up to the leader of the sect to determine whether or not the Justice Dealer is necessary.”

  Hellion stepped into the room and looked at me.

  “I’ll be handling Darach,” I said, Hellion echoing my words in perfect time. “No.” Again, we spoke together.

  “He wronged me. That bastard took my coven from me, my people, Madeleine.” Hellion’s chest heaved, raw wounds saturating the bandages. “They aren’t fucking sheep, and that’s how he treated the whole situation. And to find out he tried to bribe my death at the hands of my allies and in my own home? No.” He shook with rage and had to grab the door lintel for support. “He’ll die at my own hand.” Pushing off, he stumbled into the hallway.

  I let him go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pushing the mudroom door open, I walked outside. Of all the places Hellion could go, there was one place I felt certain would call him to him like sanctuary. I wandered the garden slowly, trailing my fingers along the silky petals of late-blooming flowers and across the low-hanging branches of the deciduous trees. Some had already started giving up their leaves to the shifting seasons, the colors of fall fading in a whirlwind of reds and yellows on the fall breeze. The garden paths wound around until the pergola came into view. Trailing vines wove in and out of the wooden fortress to create a semi-private arbor of dappled sunlight and shadows. Moss decorated the curved legs of the cement benches, soft green against weathered gray.

  Hellion sat, shoulders hunched forward, forearms resting on his knees and head bent in supplication
. I stood silent, watching him. Emotion cloaked him heavily, the weight of responsibility more a burden now when it shouldn’t have been his to bear. With a great, shuddering breath, he rolled his shoulders back and sat up straight, his hand briefly going to his wounded side. He turned his head a fraction and silently motioned me forward.

  I took slow, tentative steps, feeling as if I were treading hallowed ground. The small Celtic cross draped with dried flowers and a couple of small ribbons surprised me.

  “The staff comes here sometimes.” His voice carried to me with the breeze.

  I nodded and said a quick prayer of my own before I spoke. “I wondered if you’d find your way here.”

  “I forgot I’d shown ye the arbor.” Feeling rebuffed, I turned to go, but he shifted to stop me, reaching for my arm. “Wait. That came oot wrong.”

  “You never misspeak.”

  “I’m no’ exactly at me best at the moment, anamchara,” he answered, an apologetic smile playing around his lips. “I’d ask ye to forgive me. Let me start again.” He pulled gently on my arm and I moved toward him, sinking to the bench beside him.

  “I’d understand if you wanted to be alone, you—”

  His lips found mine tenderly and he pulled me to him. I went more willingly this time, weaving my fingers through his hair, drawing in deep lungfuls of his smell—the spice of his cologne, the scent of his skin, even the sunshine in his clothes—and the pungent tang of earth on the wind. His tongue delved into my mouth to dance with mine—touch, retreat, touch, retreat—and my heart sighed loud enough I knew he must have heard it.

  I nipped his bottom lip and he grinned before leaning into the kiss with refreshed enthusiasm. One hand cupped the side of my face while the other slid down my back and encourage me to shift around and straddle him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m no’ so unstable as a game o’ table top ninepins, ye know.” He blushed and rubbed the end of his nose carefully. “Slide on over here.”

  Shifting carefully, I settled into his lap, but I just couldn’t bring myself to rest on his thighs. Instead, I straddled his legs, one knee on the bench and one foot on the ground. Hellion tilted his head back and I cupped his face in my hands, lowering my lips gently to his in as a tender a kiss as we’d ever exchanged. The rain began to patter gently on the natural roof of the arbor. We were, at least preliminarily, safe from the weather.