Impassion

by B. C. Burgess

  ‘Okay,’ Brietta agreed, sounding confused. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yeah. Well... I don’t know. Just stay there, I’ll see you in less than two minutes.’

  Layla deserted the mind connection and scanned the trees and foliage, continuing her even trek backward. “Come on, Hypnos,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”

  The dog raised his head and howled, practically jolting Layla out of her skin. Then he took off, disappearing behind wild underbrush before Layla had recovered.

  Damn. She didn’t want to leave him. She called his name as loudly as she dared then waited four seconds. Nothing. No barks or whines or howls, not one sign of life from the untamed terrain.

  She’d had enough. She felt bad for only giving it four seconds, but her skin crawled. The damn dog could fend for itself.

  She spun around, intent on flying away as fast as she could, but her plans came to a halt when something gripped her body—appendages, trunk and head—and yanked it to the forest floor. Reflexes had her bouncing back up, ready to flee once more, but it was too late. She’d waited too long to get out of there; now her chance was gone.

  She caught a glimpse of red hair and yellow eyes. Then a large hand closed over her mouth, jerking her around and pulling her against a hard body.

  Her scream muffled into his palm as her eyes widened and her heart practically exploded. Every rapid and forceful beat registered in her mind, and burning rivers surged her veins, rippling her muscles. A huge arm wrapped around her torso, pressing her elbows into her sides, and the hand over her mouth squeezed, twisting her neck.

  Oh god. No. Brietta and Skyla could come along any second. She couldn’t let that happen.

  ‘Stop,’ she screamed into their heads, focusing all her energy on drilling the message in. ‘Someone’s here. Get help.’ She mentally screamed the frantic plea over and over again, and she didn’t stop to see if they answered. She couldn’t let them get near. They had to get as far away as possible.

  A wicked voice snapped her out of the mind connections, and her heart rate spiked. No longer could she discern individual beats. The organ palpitated far too quickly.

  “Here you are, Layla Callaway,” the man breathed, steaming up her ear. “You’re even prettier than your graduation picture made you out to be. I can’t say I’m crazy about the green hair, but it seems to be fading.” His foul lips trailed from her ear to her temple. Then his slimy tongue licked her face. “Mmm...” he hummed, smacking his lips.

  She fought his hold on her torso while breathing fire into his palm, but it did nothing to loosen his grip.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to teach you some manners, witch. Agro doesn’t like his women disrespectful.”

  His fingers and arm tightened with a jerk, and an agonizing scream gurgled in Layla’s throat as the sound of cracking bones resounded in her head. Red spots swarmed her vision as her eyes rolled back, but she shook the dizziness away, forcing the world into focus once more.

  With enormous effort, she threw her pounding head back, trying to make contact with his face, but she merely hit his hard chest and jarred her panicked brain. Damn. She kicked his knees and threw a stomping fit on his toes, trying to fling herself from his arms, but he didn’t budge.

  She was going to die. The forest was in front of her, but she faced death. Its putrid breath swarmed her senses as its decomposed lungs rattled her name. This was it. She’d found the end.

  And in the end, when eternal peace was at her fingertips, a final reprieve from the heartache and guilt, she longed for Quin like never before. She wanted to hold him and kiss him and listen to his sexy voice whisper lovely sentiments in her ear. She wanted to touch his deep dimples, look into his dark eyes and find them looking back. She wanted to curl into his chest and press her lips to his heart, lose herself in his strong pulse. In the end, she wanted it all, and more than anything else, she wanted to tell him she loved him. But she’d lost her chance and he would never know. There were no goodbyes to be had, not for him or anyone else. She’d never see any of them again.

  Her heart throbbed hard. Five days wasn’t long enough. She wanted more time.

  She forced herself to fight, summoning heat and electricity to every inch of skin the bastard touched. Then she pushed it into him with all the mental force she could muster through the terror and pain. His body jolted, but his grip stayed firm.

  “You stupid bitch,” he cursed, and a loud thwack echoed through the timber.

  Layla tried summoning more flames, but her concentration snapped when something rough and hard slammed into the side of her right knee. Another scream gurgled in her throat as the bones shattered, but she fought the bright spots popping up in her vision, desperate to stay sane and aware. He was beating her to death, but she couldn’t let him take her to Agro.

  She magically planted her feet to the ground, moaning as agony ripped through her broken knee. Then she gagged when more sickening snaps echoed from her jaw.

  Employing the same spell she used to peel apples, she sliced at the hand covering her mouth, but he barely flinched as his blood splattered her face. Damn. She tried fire yet again, but her effort was so feeble, the singe just pissed him off, and electricity surged her veins, searing her insides while snapping the spell gluing her feet to the ground. She was losing the will to fight, and tears blurred her vision as pain overwhelmed perseverance.

  No... She was going to die. After days of contemplating her death, she didn’t think it would come as such a big surprise, yet here she was, terrified and utterly unprepared. She went limp, groaning as wounded flesh and bones shifted.

  Her captor bent at the knees, and she closed her eyes, unwilling to see a bird’s eye view of her home while being taken away from it. As his legs straightened, she tensed, waiting for her soles to leave precious earth, but the dreaded moment never came.

  Time seemed to stand still as waves of blood thundered in her eardrums. Then a whoosh of air left his lungs as his hand fell from her mouth.

  She sharply inhaled and opened her eyes, finding the forest floor as his tumbling body drilled her toward it. She made a tenacious effort to catch herself, but her arms remained pinned to her sides, so she turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Her face slammed into the ground, shooting intense pain throughout her battered body. Then her tortured world went black.

  Chapter 28

  TRAPPED IN EXCRUCIATING AGONY, LAYLA was immobile, her body a block of burning steel—heavy, stiff and unable to escape the flaming torture. She didn’t understand how her lungs still worked. Surely they, too, had flattened under oppressive pain.

  Despite how damaged and useless her body was, her brain worked fine, and it sped through her last moments of consciousness, wondering how she’d survived and where she was.

  She raised one eyelid, but everything was blurry, so she closed it and concentrated on her sense of touch. A fresh wave of agony washed over her, but she focused through it, realizing she was in someone’s arms. Flying maybe? The cold wind slapping tender flesh told her yes.

  Damn. She was on her way to Agro.

  She hurt too bad to work up any real terror, but she wished she could kill the bastard carrying her. He’s the one who brutally broke her bones.

  “It’s okay, Layla,” said a familiar male voice.

  She jolted. Big mistake. A scream ripped from her throat as her fragmented body protested. But the scream’s consequences were worse. The shriek twisted her broken face, and her stomach churned. Oh god, please don’t get sick. That would kill her.

  “It’s okay,” the voice repeated. “The piece of shit who did this is dead.” He murmured a few profanities then cleared his throat. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  Layla searched her pounding brain, trying to figure out who was speaking, but she couldn’t place the voice with a face or name. She opened one eye again, and this time she left it open.

  When her vision cleared, she was surprised, confus
ed and relieved to find Finley. His multicolored eyes were trained on her face, and his jaw flexed around thin lips.

  Layla closed her eye again, wondering how she’d ended up in his arms. She wanted to ask, but couldn’t. The tiniest movements vexed her wounds.

  A different voice drifted to her from a distance, and this one she definitely knew.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  She instinctively turned toward the beautiful sound, and another scream vibrated her throat. “Quin!”

  “Shit.” He was much closer now. “If you did this to her...” His voice lowered to a deadly growl. “...I’ll kill you.”

  “Back off,” Finley barked, tensing around her. “I saved her ass.”

  “Layla!” several women screamed, but Morrigan and Daleen were the loudest.

  Layla tried to open both eyes, but only one obeyed. She spun it around until she found Quin, and her lungs stuttered as she reached for his cheek. Tears gathered, blurring the heavenly vision, and a thick lump consumed her throat.

  “Quin,” she slurred, pissed she couldn’t form his name correctly.

  His hot breath swept across her face as he leaned close. “I’m here, love. You’re going to be okay.”

  He looked away, so she closed her eye. He was the only thing she cared to see.

  “Give her to me,” he demanded.

  “No,” Finley shot back.

  Quin sucked in an angry breath, and Finley’s hard muscles shifted like rocky terrain.

  “She’s in bad shape,” he added. “If I hand her to you, it will hurt her.”

  “Shit,” Quin hissed.

  His breath found Layla’s face again, and he spoke so tenderly, they could have been back in her bed, sharing a perfect moment over coffee. “You’re going to be okay, love. You’re almost home.” He paused, taking a slow breath as his caress moved from her forehead to her curls. “I’ll make this right, Layla. I swear.”

  Tears rolled from her swollen lids as she tried to say his name, but it was hardly a squeak.

  He sucked it in as he softly touched his lips to hers. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry. I should have been here.”

  He backed away and took her hand, keeping it to his lips as they flew the rest of the way home.

  Her body jarred when Finley landed, and a pitiful moan vibrated her thick throat.

  “Shit,” Quin repeated.

  “Calm down, son.”

  “No! This shouldn’t have happened. Where were the guards?”

  Several women sobbed, and Brietta pleaded. “I’m so sorry, Layla. We should have stayed on the lawn. We should have stayed together.”

  Layla wanted to tell her it was okay, that she and Skyla weren’t to blame, but she couldn’t find the energy to mind search.

  “Here,” Caitrin ordered.

  Finley’s arms shifted beneath her, and a raging battle between fever and chill broke out, relentlessly convulsing her body.

  “Hover her,” Quin demanded.

  “Lay off,” Finley growled. “You’ll get her back in two seconds.”

  He laid her on a bed, and she pressed her lips together, stifling a sob as her heart rate spiked and her wounds pulsed. This exacerbated her quaking, and she could have sworn several pieces of splintered bone drifted apart. A cry burst from her swollen mouth, and so her pain strengthened. How was she still conscious?

  Quin’s lips touched hers, and she gasped him in, trying so hard to still her shaking body, but she had no control over it. One second heat raged through her veins, and the next icy chills rippled from her head to her toes.

  Soothing warmth flowed from Quin’s lips, calming the storm, but it only lasted as long as his magic, so he repeated the process, giving her a longer reprieve. “What hurts the most?” he whispered. “I’m going to fix it.”

  She reached up and found his face—his eyebrows, nose and lips. She didn’t need to look at him to see him. His features were clear in her mind and they were gorgeous.

  He brought his hand over hers and kissed her palm. “Can you show me? Move my hand to where it hurts.”

  Layla wanted to speak, so she lightly touched the part of her jaw that swam with fragmented bone. Quin pulled her fingers away and exchanged them for his lips. Then he raised his head with a diagnosis.

  “It’s crushed. You do it, Serafin.”

  Layla panicked and things got worse. Her muscles tensed, her pain increased, a scream scraped her throat, and she gripped Quin’s wrist like it was her last breath of air, because that’s how she felt. If he left her, she’d suffocate.

  “Calm down, Layla,” Serafin pleaded. “Do what you can, Quin. I’ll work around you once I get some answers.”

  Quin’s lips returned to her jaw, and she desperately stroked his arms and head while trying to calm her lungs.

  Morrigan and Daleen continued to cry, along with several witches Layla couldn’t name, but Serafin’s strained voice drowned the others out. “What happened, Finley? I want to know what you know now.”

  “First of all,” Finley countered, “you guys need to quit treating me like a villain. I saved her life.”

  Quin’s chest rumbled as he pulled away. “Get over yourself and tell us what happened.” His lips returned to Layla’s jaw, barely caressing sore skin, and a fraction of the pain ebbed every second he worked his magic.

  “A wizard was beating the shit out of her,” Finley answered, like it was a regular occurrence in the magical world.

  “We’ve gathered that much,” Daleen snapped. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was flying into the community when I heard a crack, like a tree limb falling. I flew to check it out and found the guy roughing her up.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Caitrin prompted him to. “And?”

  “What do you mean and? I killed him and brought her here.”

  The room went silent as Quin’s magic momentarily paused.

  “You killed him?” Caitrin asked. “Without attempting to stop him?”

  “Yeah, I killed him,” Finley sharply confirmed, “and trust me, it stopped him.”

  Quin raised his head and carefully wiped away Layla’s tears. “I would have killed the bastard, too,” he whispered. Then he lowered his lips to her jaw.

  Caitrin sighed then cleared his throat. “Will you go get the body, Kemble; make sure Finley’s telling the truth?”

  “I swear,” Finley groaned, “this is the most unfriendly coven I’ve met in the area. Why would I lie about this?”

  “We don’t know you,” Caitrin countered, “and we don’t trust you. You fly in here with my granddaughter half beaten to death and expect us to welcome you with a smile?”

  “I didn’t do this. She would have died had I not come along.”

  Quin’s lips moved away again. “Why did you come along? It’s too damn convenient.” Then he continued healing.

  “You better be glad I did,” Finley snarled, “or there would be nothing left for you to hold prisoner.”

  Layla sensed Quin’s tension, so she found his face and rubbed a thumb across his tight jaw.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, bringing his hand over hers. “Try to relax. Is it getting better? Rub my face if it’s getting better.”

  She did, and he kissed the pad of her thumb. “Good. Just take it easy and let us fix this.”

  He went back to mending her jaw while Serafin laid a palm to her skull. Then Kemble spoke from across the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hey,” Caitrin called after him.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “See if you can locate Hypnos while you’re out.”

  “Sure,” Kemble agreed.

  A moment of silence passed. Then Caitrin spoke in a defeated tone. “What exactly did you see him doing to her, Finley?”

  “He had her from behind,” Finley answered, “with her face in his hand. There was a broken tree limb at her feet, but I don’t know if it was his weapon or hers.”

  Quin muttered a string of pr
ofanities as he backed away and began searching her for hidden injuries.

  ‘My knee,’ she mentally conveyed, and it hurt like hell, piercing her brain like a dagger. She wanted to say so much more to him, but she wanted to say it without the daggers, out loud, while looking into his eyes.

  She felt her dress slide up her leg, and several people gasped as Quin lightly touched her right knee. “Shattered.”

  “I’ll take care of that one,” Serafin insisted, moving away from her head. “You get back to her jaw.”

  “No concussion?”

  “No.”

  Quin returned to her face and whispered over her lips. “It’s going to hurt, love. He has to touch it to heal it. Be strong for me, and you’ll feel better soon.” He resumed his healing, and she found his hair, running her fingers through it over and over again.

  “What else can you tell us, Finley?” Caitrin asked.

  “Not much. The wizard was about to take flight when I hit him in the back with a spell. He fell on her, which I think is what knocked her out. She woke up when I was bringing her here. That’s about the time Quin damn near attacked me. You know,” he added, his voice rising in volume and indignation, “maybe you guys should answer a few questions for me. Like why you have Layla locked up around here, and why she’s being attacked by deadly wizards. I can see she’s not an average witch, and I’m perfectly aware of why her aura looks like that. But who does she have after her? And why is there nothing being done about it?”

  A long moment of silence passed before Caitrin responded. “The Unforgivables.”

  “Of course,” Finley replied. “And why is she so helpless?”

  Like before, Caitrin hesitated before answering. “She’s new to the magical world.”

  “Would you like to elaborate?”

  “No.”

  Layla listened to every word, but only as a means to pass the time. She didn’t need reminded, and she wasn’t the least bit curious for answers. She recalled the attack very well and didn’t care how or why it happened. None of that mattered. She was alive and Quin was touching her, and that was the only thing that meant anything.