by Sandy James
“I like your spirit. Are you brave enough to do what your sister couldn’t?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Can you see more than the black and white most Amazons limit themselves to seeing?”
Since Ian was making good progress on getting himself free, Sarita focused on her enemy. If she could keep Helen occupied, perhaps her own energy would revive enough that she could teleport herself and Ian out of this place. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you see yourself as something more than cannon fodder in the war between good and evil?”
“You know what? If I hadn’t known you were an Ancient, I would now. ’Cause you all like to ask stupid questions that have no answers. Wanna move on to knock-knock jokes now?”
Helen’s eyes flashed red. “I’m offering you a chance, Sarita.”
“To do what?”
“To join me. To let me help you gain more powers and to sit at my right hand.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Join you? Are you insane?”
“I assure you, I’m nothing but serious. I need your strength. Join me. Become something more than an Amazon.”
“When pigs fly, you crazy bitch.”
“So be it.”
One moment, Sarita was standing on the sand. The next, she was submerged in water.
Swimming hard, she took a long time to reach the surface. She scanned the beach, barely able to see Ian’s form in the moonlight. He was on his feet, looking out over the waves. Helen had vanished. Who knew how long she’d be gone this time?
As Sarita made her way back to the shore, she let the water refresh her. Her strength returned, increasing her speed. When she reached Ian, she’d get them both out of there and back to Avalon.
As soon as Ian was safe, she was giving up the Seior. For good.
How would she ever get her sisters to forgive her for her betrayal? Until Helen had made her ridiculous proposal, Sarita had been blind to what she’d done to them.
Ian waited for her, hands on his hips and legs braced apart. At least he’d freed himself.
“Are you well?” he asked when she walked from the surf back to the sand.
She nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
When Sarita drew closer, almost close enough to touch him, she smiled and sighed in relief.
A pop sounded behind her.
Ian grabbed her upper arms and whirled her around as though they were caught in a dance. Then his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a gasp of surprise. Pain washed over his face and his body trembled.
“Ian? What’s wrong?”
Only when he dropped his gaze to his chest did she see the tip of the sword protruding and hear Helen’s laughter.
Chapter Twenty
Helen jerked her sword back, and Ian fell forward, his knees giving way.
Sarita caught him. “I’ll kill you for this.”
Then other words formed in her mind, born of her hatred and coming from her heart in a plea for justice that made her stomach lurch and her head burn. “Your rancid soul hides behind a beautiful face. I wish the world to see you as you truly are.”
With a blink of the eye, Sarita and Ian were in Avalon. Funny, but she thought she’d heard Helen’s scream echo behind them.
He was too heavy for Sarita to hold, so she eased him down to the ground. His soft cry when his back hit the grass made her whimper. She threw his plaid off his shoulder and tugged the ripped shirt open wider, wincing at the stab wound. Blood seeped at an alarming rate. No doubt the wound to his back was worse.
Ian’s going to die.
“Sarita,” he rasped out. His shaky hand rose to touch her cheek before it fell away. Each shallow breath he took was agony to watch.
“Don’t you dare leave me, Ian. Don’t you dare.”
Her sisters came running from the lodge. Gina gasped, a sound echoed by Rebecca and Megan.
“Oh, my God.” Gina shouted at Zach. “Go get Beagan and Dolan! Now!”
Her husband ran for the mess hall as though the devil himself were on his tail.
Avalon’s caretakers couldn’t fix a lethal wound. Ian was dying, and the shape-shifters wouldn’t be able to stop him from slipping away.
Sarita was Water, and Water could heal—but only her sisters.
To hell with that.
She wasn’t giving her man up without a fight.
A tear spilled over her lashes. She couldn’t lose him. Not now that she’d finally found love. He’d taken the blade to protect her.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Then she focused on the energy that had sizzled inside her back on the island, the energy that had allowed her to channel the powers she’d stolen from her sisters.
Please let me save him the way he saved me.
The heat burst in her chest, hot and fast enough she struggled to control it—to channel it. Ethereal flames spread down her arms, burning a white fire that reached her hands and enveloped her palms. She settled her shimmering hands on Ian’s chest, framing the sword cut with her fingers and thumbs.
His wound knit before her eyes until the skin closed, leaving behind a red scar.
Whether the power came from being the Water Amazon or from the Seior, she didn’t care. Ian wasn’t going to die. That was all that really mattered.
But...damn. For that moment she’d wielded the power of life and death—just like an Ancient.
She didn’t stop until the trail left through Ian’s body by Helen’s sword closed, seeing each piece of him in her mind as it rejoined and strengthened. He was whole again.
With a gulping breath, Ian sat up.
Hands glowing, she traced the length of the cut Helen had made to his cheek, sealing the wound and coming close to tears that his handsome face now bore a scar much like her own.
Then she righted her other wrongs. Three orbs of light burst from her palms, hitting each of her sisters in their chests.
The brilliant light coming from her palms faded, leaving Sarita dizzy and exhausted. Her heart was slamming inside her chest, and she couldn’t seem to catch a decent breath. While healing her sisters had often left her tired, this experience—bringing Ian back from the brink of death—had taken every last ounce of energy she had to give.
She fought against the blackness, an undertow that threatened to pull her away.
* * *
Ian caught Sarita as she collapsed against him. Everything that had happened in the last few minutes was hazy, but all the memories that had been blocked, the ones lost to Helen’s meddling, returned. The force of the emotions behind those recollections made him tremble.
He was in Avalon. The home of the Amazons and the Sentinels—most especially Artair MacKay.
Ian’s time of vengeance was finally at hand—the moment he’d waited and planned for from when the first flame licked his skin.
As he’d burned, he’d cursed his brother, blaming him that no one in the clan believed Ian had ever had a brother or that his crippled hand had been healed. Instead, his brother had abandoned him to face the wrath of a clan that had no memory of Artair MacKay—a clan who then cried Ian a witch.
He should take up Sarita’s sword, hunt down Artair and end his brother’s life. This was what he’d lived for, the one thing that forced Ian to forfeit his soul and ally with Helen.
Yet right behind the rage came worry. Not about Artair.
About Sarita.
What had she sacrificed to bring him back to her?
And what had she just sacrificed to save him?
Her hair had changed to white when she’d touched him. He combed his fingers through the tresses, marveling as it slowly tinted back to black again.
What had
she done? How had she saved him? Because he was pretty sure he’d been near death. Again. His soul had been breaking free, trying to escape his wounded body.
Ian raked his fingers through her silky hair one more time, unsure as to what she’d done—or what she’d become. He wasn’t sure how she’d brought him back. Hell, he wasn’t sure why—not after everything he’d done.
He lifted a limp Sarita until he could cradle her against him, holding her in his lap as he sat on the grass in the middle of this place he knew but didn’t recognize. She let out a small moan as she cuddled closer. “I’ve got you now, loving. We’ll make you well again.”
There were three women gaping at them, three women he knew well, thanks to Helen. She’d drilled him, making him learn each of the Amazons so there would be no more mistakes like he’d made assuming Sarita was Rebecca.
A tall man with blond hair strode forward. “What in the hell just happened?” His gaze drilled through Ian.
Not sure what purpose this man played in Sarita’s life, Ian fired back a question of his own. “This is Avalon? Aye?”
“Yes,” the man replied. “What happened to Sarita?”
“I’m nae sure.”
Rebecca replied, “I’m Rebecca MacKay.”
“I know who you are.” He let his gaze settle on each of the Amazons. “I know all of ye.”
“You’re Darian,” Rebecca said.
“So have you given up following Helen?” the blond asked.
“Who are ye?”
“Johann Hermann. I’m Sarita’s Sentinel. What happened?” He ran his trembling hand over Sarita’s shoulder. “Is she injured?”
Ian nodded at the precious bundle he held in his arms. “Let me tend to the lass first. Then I’ll answer your questions best I can. Where can I take her so I may see what ails her?”
“Beagan and Dolan are coming,” Megan replied, her voice unsteady although her gaze was intense. She glanced to Ian’s left.
“Beagan and Dolan? Who are they?” All he saw were two brown rabbits hopping at a furious pace toward the group.
So odd that the animals showed no fear. They drew closer, stopping only when they reached Ian. About to shoo them away, the words stuck in his throat when a light glowed around each animal. The rabbits changed into small men.
“What are they?” he asked Rebecca.
“Changelings,” she replied. “The redhead is Beagan. The brunet is Dolan. They’re caretakers here. Let them help Sarita. They’ll know what to do.”
“Nay.” Ian turned away when Beagan tried to reach out and touch Sarita. “I’ll tend her myself.”
“Please, sir,” Dolan said, “let us help. She is merely exhausted from using her new power.”
The changeling obviously knew a lot more about Sarita than he did. He resisted the urge to ask what they meant about her healing him being something new. This whole situation was a tangle he wasn’t sure would ever be unraveled.
Sarita groaned, opened her eyes and gave him a wan smile.
“Your eyes are blue,” he said, his voice quavering. He was so relieved, he nearly unmanned himself with tears.
“Blue? No...they’re brown.”
“Nay, loving. Blue.”
“I’m too sleepy to care,” she murmured. Then her eyes drifted shut again.
Ian took heart that she didn’t seem injured, merely exhausted. Just as Dolan had said. “Where can she rest?” he asked again as the tightness in his chest began to ease.
“If you will follow us,” Beagan said, “we shall lead you to her new home. You may both rest there.”
Both?
Presumptuous little changelings. Not that he wanted to argue. He had no plans to leave Sarita’s side, at least until she was well.
Ian let Gina, the tallest of the sisters, help him to his feet. Tightening his grip on Sarita, he nodded his thanks.
Her short brown hair held streaks of lighter color, but not blond. The ends were yellow. Bright yellow—although the color seemed to be fading right before his eyes. “I’ll show you to Sarita’s place. Beagan and Dolan can follow us.”
Before he could thank her, Ian’s attention was drawn to the man marching toward them from the big wooden building. What drew his notice first was the plaid the man wore. With a hard swallow, Ian forced himself to look to his face.
“Artair MacKay.” His words were a whisper.
After hundreds of years of hating and waiting and planning and plotting, the moment of facing his enemy had finally arrived.
While Ian wanted to draw a sword and march out to meet Artair, his concern for Sarita trumped his desire for revenge. His time would come, and justice would prevail.
He turned his back to Artair, hoping to slip away before any kind of confrontation could begin.
“Take me to her home,” Ian snapped at Beagan and Dolan.
The changelings exchanged a worried glance, but Beagan beckoned with his hand for Ian to follow.
“Wait!” Artair bellowed.
“He’ll want to see Sarita,” Gina said softly. She stepped over to smooth Sarita’s tangled hair away from her face.
“I should take her now. He can see her later.” Ian tried to step around her.
She moved to block him.
A heavy hand settled on Ian’s shoulder. “Let me see the lass, Darian.”
Bowing his head, Ian spun around, trying hard to tamp down the rage that was rising to a fast boil. His heart pounded loud enough to echo in his ears. The only thing keeping him from striking out was the woman he held close to his body. Artair had no idea how lucky he was that Sarita acted as his shield.
* * *
Sarita might have been weak, but she was aware of every bit of what was happening around her, despite barely being able to keep her eyes open.
Ian’s body trembled, something she wondered if anyone else noticed. If she had any strength whatsoever, she would have tried to get Ian and Artair to talk out their problems. Instead, she sagged against Ian, letting the drama around her unfold without being a participant.
“I need to take care of Sarita,” Ian said. His flat tone masked the rage she felt flowing through his body.
Artair took a step closer, his arms raised as though he wanted to embrace his brother. “I’m happy to see you.”
Ian turned his back. “Lead the way, Dolan.”
Dolan obeyed, falling into step behind Beagan. Ian readjusted Sarita in his arms and followed.
“Darian?” Artair called after him. “Let the changelings tend to her. We need to talk. Please.”
The anguish in Artair’s voice pierced the sleepy haze in Sarita’s mind. “Jaanu, he didn’t cause what happened to you. He didn’t know.”
Damn, even thinking and uttering a few words sucked up what little energy she had left. Her eyelids were so heavy, it took supreme concentration to keep them open. But this situation was too important for her to rest.
Not yet. Not while she’d led a man who wanted Artair MacKay dead right to his doorstep. She wouldn’t let Ian hurt her Sentinel—nor would she let anyone hurt Ian again.
Ian shook his head, saying nothing.
Since her cheek rested against his chest, she couldn’t see if her sisters, the Sentinels and Zach were following them across the compound. “Tell me what happened before you...died.”
“Later.”
Beagan and Dolan took them to a house she’d never seen before.
While the other Amazons and their husbands lived in large homes their patron goddesses had created for them, Sarita had chosen to remain in her austere cabin, somehow feeling its starkness matched her circumstances.
After all, she was the only Amazon with no mate, and with her scarred face, she’d thought she would always be alone.
This h
ouse was beautiful, the design traditional Indian. The changelings led them through an open foyer with tall, carved wooden columns that were stained a warm and inviting shade of brown. They passed through a landscaped courtyard that held a fountain—the marble pool surrounding it large enough to swim in. Then they entered an ornate bedroom suite. Her things were all neatly placed on new teakwood furniture. Her twin mattress was gone—replaced by a king-sized bed with an embroidered canopy.
Ganga had been very generous.
So much for the patron goddess keeping her distance.
Ian laid her on the silk spread covering the bed and sat at her side. Before he could ask for anything, Dolan handed him a cloth.
Gently wiping the damp material against her forehead and her cheeks, Ian stared down at her. His hands had stopped shaking, but his green eyes were full of turmoil. She caressed his cheek before letting her hand drop away.
Footsteps slapped against the marble floor, so many it sounded as if a herd of animals might have been heading their way. Her sisters spilled into the room, followed by Artair, Johann and Zach.
She wished she had the strength to introduce them all. Instead, she looked to Gina. At least Air’s hair had changed from yellow highlights to blue, which meant she was no longer afraid for Sarita. Blue was the color of control.
Sarita reached out to Gina’s thoughts. Perhaps now that she gave back the powers she’d stolen from her sisters, the breach in the Amazons would heal.
“I need your help, sis. Welcome Ian to Avalon. Please...he’s feeling so lost right now.”
Gina didn’t reply, although she scrunched up her nose as if lost in thought. She stepped to the side of the bed and put her hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Welcome to Avalon, Ian. I think you know everyone except my husband Zach.”
Ian just grunted as he dipped the cloth into a basin Dolan held out to him. He wrung the cloth out and pressed it against Sarita’s forehead.
Gina tried again. “You’re Darian MacKay.”
“My name is Ian.”
“Nay,” Artair insisted. “You’re Darian MacKay.”
“Nay! Darian MacKay is dead!”
Sarita reached for Ian’s hand. His fingers wrapped around hers as he let their joined hands rest on her stomach. “Talk to him, jaanu.”