Visions of Triumph

by Anne, Meg

  He started to respond when a sharp, stabbing pain surged through his chest as if someone had driven a knife down into his heart. Lucas clutched at his chest and looked up at Skye. The light had faded, and tears fell from her eyes, streaming down her pale cheeks. She looked both heartbroken and terrified.

  “I love you, Lucas,” she whispered.

  His breaths came in sharp bursts, the pain in his chest making it nearly impossible to breathe. “What the hell is happening?”

  “I love you, Lucas,” she repeated. “I will always love you, please don’t forget that.” She began to fade away.

  “Skye!” He reached for her, but the pain sent him falling back onto the mattress.

  Still clutching his chest where his heart ached like it had been torn out of his body, Lucas started to sit up. A dark shadow in the corner of the room caught his eye as it peeled itself away from the wall, moving into a pool of moonlight pouring in from the open window. Lucas growled as the shadow solidified.

  The Druid stood wrapped in his dark cloak, smiling down at him, the scar on the bastard’s face making him appear more monster than man. Anger pulsed through Lucas as he stared into the obsidian eyes that had haunted him since that night in the diner.

  “What are you doing here?” Lucas attempted to get to his feet, but his shaking legs couldn’t support his weight, and he sat down hard on the bed.

  The Druid said nothing, just continued to stare at him with that same sinister smile playing about his lips. Finally, he disappeared just as Skye had, leaving Lucas alone, terrified, and in unbelievable agony.

  Light poured in through the windows, setting Lucas’ head on fire. He groaned and rolled over. Did I get hit by a fucking truck? Still not entirely clear of the blinding light, Lucas tried to turn away further and started to fall.

  “Shit!” He landed on the floor with an oomph and rolled onto his back, eyes closed as tightly as he could manage. So, I’m in the living room. No fucking wonder his body was stiff; he’d passed out on the ancient couch.

  “Hope that hurt.”

  “Not now, Lizzie.” He groaned again and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. Skye was gone. A fresh wave of suffocating pain surged through him, and Lucas fought against the burn of tears.

  Never in his life had anyone ever had such a hold on him. After a handful of weeks, she’d managed to barrel into his life and turn him inside out. Apparently, one of Skye Giovanni’s mystical powers was to turn him into a complete fucking wreck.

  The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled his nose, but it didn’t hold the same alluring power it had before. All it meant now was the start of another day without her.

  “Hey, man, want some coffee?”

  Lucas peered out through his fingers.

  Matthews stood above him, cup in hand.

  “Scotch,” he grunted.

  “I think you’ve had enough alcohol to last you a good while. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep it up.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “I think it’s time you stop acting so fucking pathetic.”

  Lucas pushed to his feet, ignoring the jackhammer in his temples. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He got nose to nose with his partner, the man who’d been his best friend for over a decade. Lucas was proud of himself for only swaying once.

  “You heard what I said. If you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for two seconds, we might be able to have a real conversation about the possibility that Skye didn’t leave willingly.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes and stepped back. “What the fuck is it with you two and taking her side? She fucking left me!” he roared. “You two are supposed to be on my team. Or have you forgotten that?”

  “We’re not against you, Lucas. If you’d put on your big boy panties for one damn minute, you’d see that,” Lizzie said from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, I’m fucking sure about that.” Not interested in hearing the two traitors take her side one second longer, Lucas headed for the glass doors that led to the back patio.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Matthews asked, on his heels.

  “None of your fucking business.” He slammed the door behind him, hoping it clipped his partner in the face, and stalked toward the hill behind the cottage. Barefoot and in a T-shirt, cold air nipped at him, but Lucas couldn’t care less about it. Hell, maybe he’d freeze to death out here; then everything would be over.

  No more pain.

  No more fucking Druid to deal with.

  At the top of the small hill, Lucas took a seat and stared down at the cabin, scowling. Why the hell didn’t they get it? If Matthews took off on Lizzie, Lucas would do whatever he could to make her feel better. Shit, if she ditched his partner with some stupid fucking note, he’d confront her and figure out just what the hell she’d been thinking.

  So, why wouldn’t they do the same for him?

  Why did it have to be all about Skye and what she’d gone through?

  Seething, he pushed to his feet. Hungover or not, Lucas needed to run until his lungs gave out. Stretching his arms, he turned, and a blur of color on the ground near the side of the house caught his attention.

  Curious, Lucas made his way back down the hill and walked to the side of the house where Lizzie and Skye’s bedroom window was. He bent, unsure what to make of his find as he lifted one of Skye’s scarves from the ground. The soft material slipped like silk over his fingertips, and he held it up to his nose to breathe in her scent.

  Except, it wasn’t just Skye he could smell on the fabric. Lucas wasn’t sure how he’d even picked up the other scent, perhaps his magic had heightened his senses, but something wasn’t right with it. It smelled…wrong.

  Lucas carried the scarf into the house, and both his sister and partner turned to watch him, faces guarded, as he made his way into the kitchen. Matthews stood beside Lizzie, arms folded, ready for a fight.

  Lucas thrust the scarf at him. “Smell it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Smell it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to know what you pick up.”

  Matthews held the scarf up to his nose and inhaled. “It smells like grass.” He handed it to Lizzie, who stared down at it, tears in her eyes.

  “You ready to listen now?” she asked Lucas.

  “For the record, I still think she left willingly,” he told her. “But I’m willing to listen to why you think she didn’t.”

  “‘Bout fucking time, dickhead. Let’s go.”

  Lucas and Matthews followed Lizzie into the room she’d shared with Skye. She stopped just inside the door and pointed to the doorframe.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “You’ll see it,” Lizzie insisted.

  Lucas refocused on the door jam, his eyes scanning the wood, not seeing anything but chipped paint. He was just about to give up when he finally saw it. A faint dark stain against the wood grain. Leaning closer, he detected strands of dark hair smeared in the dried blood.

  “We think it might be Skye’s,” Matthews told him.

  Lucas nodded absently, heart at war with what his gut was telling him. He’d recognize her hair anywhere; the dark midnight strands were forever burned into his memory. The corresponding flare of hope the discovery caused was almost more painful than the grief he’d been wallowing in.

  There was nothing Lucas wanted to believe more than that Skye hadn’t left him. But facts were facts. She’d written that note, which meant that at some point she’d had every intention of walking out on him. Could he ever forgive her for that?

  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus only on the evidence before him and not on the painful thumping of his battered heart.

  The note didn’t fit with being kidnapped, which meant that either Skye planned to leave him and changed her mind, or she’d been on her way out when the Druid grabbed her.

  Either way, Skye hadn’t left by herself. She’d been taken, and Lucas was going
to get her the fuck back, even if it meant risking her leaving him all over again.

  Chapter 5

  Skye

  Skye opened her eyes slowly, not ready to let go of the dream image of Lucas smiling up at her. Salty tears rolled down her cheeks, and her heart lurched in her chest. For one glorious moment, she’d forgotten. She’d been back in bed, curled up with Lucas, and he’d kissed her with so much love that she’d been filled with it.

  If he ever sets his eyes on you again, the last thing you’re going to see is love.

  A soft whimper escaped as Skye rolled to her side and curled into a ball.

  “Sweet dreams?”

  Skye pushed herself into a sitting position, barely suppressing a moan as searing heat flared in her side. The Druid had been watching her sleep. Her lip curled up in disgust.

  He studied her from the chair, his head tilted, and his black eyes narrowed. “You were smiling and making the sweetest little sounds.”

  Skye’s stomach rolled. Him watching her when she was in such a vulnerable state was just another violation in a seemingly endless list. He was the worst kind of voyeur, stealing personal moments he was not entitled to. She hated that he knew what kinds of sounds she made while she was sleeping. It grossed her out almost as much as finding out he’d touched her while she’d been unconscious.

  Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him.

  “So fierce, little Seer.” He chuckled and settled back in his chair. “If you aren’t going to be good company, then I might as well return to my reading.”

  Skye recognized the leather-bound book he was holding, and she was up and moving toward him without conscious thought. It wasn’t until the chain went taut and threw her off balance, that Skye remembered she was stuck.

  She hit the brick floor with a slap of skin and rattle of chains, her elbows and chin taking the brunt of the impact. Tiny stars exploded behind her eyes, and her mouth filled with blood. Eyes tearing, Skye spat a mouthful of blood on the ground.

  “My, my, what a reaction. Could it be there’s something in here you don’t want me to find?”

  “Those are my grandmother’s journals.” The quaver in her voice undermined any trace of her righteous fury.

  Unmoving, he stared at her. “What’s your point?”

  “You have no right to read them, you bastard.”

  The Druid laughed. “Doesn’t seem like there’s much you can do to stop me.”

  Ignoring the stinging in her palms and knees, Skye pushed off the ground and back to her feet.

  “Pity,” he murmured. “I am growing to enjoy the sight of you on your knees before me.”

  Lifting her chin, she stared down the length of her nose at him, even though they were practically the same height. Trying to infuse her voice with as much disdain as possible, she growled, “Fuck off.”

  His smile faded, and his eyes grew darker as if any residual trace of humanity had fled. There was nothing human about the man as he stood and began to slowly stalk forward.

  Skye’s instincts screamed at her to run, but she locked her muscles, refusing to budge even an inch. For all her bravado, she was helpless against the impossibly fast backhand that sent her plummeting back to the ground. This time, she landed hip first and bounced once before rolling onto her back with a pitiful moan.

  The Druid squatted down, using a single finger to tilt her chin until her eyes met his.

  “When will you realize that I own you, little girl? I will not tolerate your disrespect.” His soulless eyes deliberately roamed over her body, until returning to hers. “No matter your other, considerable, charms.”

  She was shaking with rage, the words she wanted to hurl back at him lodged in her throat. Skye was a lot of things, but she was not stupid. Her odds of getting through this alive were slim at best. Not only did he have her chained up, he had her grandmother’s journals, and his fucking brand made it impossible for Lucas to find her. She was totally and completely screwed. There was no handsome prince coming to save her. She was one damsel that was going to have to figure out how to save herself. Or at least prolong what was left of her life long enough to buy Lucas time.

  That meant she needed to learn how to play the Druid’s game. Even though every fiber of her being wanted to claw his perverted eyes out.

  Skye forced herself to swallow back her anger. Let him think that he’d gotten to her. “S-sorry,” she stuttered, no longer trying to stop her limbs from trembling.

  He stroked the length of her hair, and Skye hoped her shudder of revulsion only appeared to be more quaking limbs.

  “There’s my good girl. Now, tell me, what does amria mean?”

  Jaw clenched, Skye bit down on her lip and shook her head, staring up at the Druid with wide eyes. “I-I don’t know.”

  The Druid tsked. “Ah, but I think you do. Tell me,” he demanded, his voice barely more than a snarl.

  Skye shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he let out a long sigh. “Ah, Skye. Here I was thinking you were ready to be a good girl. I guess I need to teach you a few more lessons.”

  He shifted, grabbing her hand and stroking his fingers along the back of it. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “Every good dog needs to be broken.”

  Horror replaced disgust as his intentions became clear. “No!”

  There was a loud crack as the Druid snapped Skye’s finger, leaving it jutting out at an awkward ninety-degree angle. She screamed until her voice went hoarse.

  “Now, let’s try that again.” His voice was a silky croon. He could have been talking to a child or even a lover. “What does amria mean, Skye?”

  “I don’t”—she panted, pain making it difficult to breathe—“know.”

  The Druid leaned forward, his eyes all that she could make out as her vision swam. “Liar,” he breathed, grasping her forearm with both his hands.

  A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “Please,” she begged.

  This time, it wasn’t a finger he broke, and Skye wasn’t conscious long enough to scream.

  Chapter 6

  Lucas

  “Ye have to focus, lad,” Giles insisted.

  Lucas closed his eyes. Focus, he says… because that’s such an easy fucking task with people watching me. “I’m trying,” he gritted out, actively trying not to glare at the older man.

  Exasperated, Giles shook his head. “We’re never going to find her this way.” Getting up from his seat on the couch, he stormed into the kitchen.

  “Well, he’s in a mood,” Lizzie commented dryly from an armchair in the corner.

  “He’s not the only one,” Lucas muttered, still sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  He felt like a fucking idiot. Never having put much stock in forced meditation or any of that shit, the idea that it might help him access his magic long enough to track Skye nearly had him laughing. He hadn’t had to act like a hippie when he’d used magic before, why was this any different?

  “You know,” Lizzie started, “meditation has been proven to help people.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Lucas got to his feet and headed into the now empty kitchen. Old man’s probably in the study looking for a Druidry for Dummies book to share with me.

  Two days had passed since he’d found Skye’s scarf. Two days of knowing she wasn’t safe, but rather in the clutches of a monster who wanted them all dead. Lucas’ hand clenched into a fist, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion.

  What if she is already dead?

  “Lucas,” Lizzie said softly.

  He opened his eyes and looked at his sister, who watched him with no small amount of concern. “What?”

  “You have to calm down.”

  At his incredulous look, she pointed to his left hand, which rested on the countertop. After lifting it, Lucas saw the impression of a handprint he’d unknowingly burned into the smooth surface.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, although he wasn't really.

  The only thing he
was sorry for was leaving Skye alone. He hadn’t wanted to split up in the first place. He should have trusted his instincts and forced her to go with them into town. Lucas snorted. Like anyone could force Skye to do anything. Even so, if he’d tried harder then, she wouldn’t be fucking gone now. The phrase ‘hindsight is twenty-twenty’ had never pissed him off more than it did now.

  “You have to stop beating yourself up.”

  “Can you get the fuck out of my head, Lizzie?”

  She shrugged. “You’re my brother, I can’t help it.”

  Lizzie wrapped her arms around him, and Lucas hesitated for a moment before returning the embrace.

  “We’ll find her.”

  “But in what shape? You’ve seen what a psycho he is, Lizzie. What if he—” Lucas’ words broke off before he could give voice to his worst fear.

  “You have to have faith in us, in her. Skye’s tough, we’ll find her.”

  “What’s up?” Matthews asked as he stepped into the kitchen with a half-eaten apple in his hand.

  “Giles stormed out on us,” Lucas informed him.

  “He’ll be back. I heard him cussing on the back porch a second ago. What’d you do to piss him off?”

  “He’s pretty shaken up about Skye’s kidnapping,” Lizzie answered.

  Matthews nodded in understanding. “We have anything yet?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’m not sure if it’s even possible to track someone magically, but if so, I can’t sense her.”

  “We’ll find her, man. I’m going to hit the books in the study, see if we can find some way to pull the bastard out of whatever hole he’s in.”

  The back door slammed, and Giles stomped into the kitchen, his wrinkled face red. “Ye ready to try again?”

  “This isn’t working.” Lucas folded his arms. “There has to be something else, some other way of figuring out where he has her. Maybe back in Chicago?”

  “Why would he leave when we’re here? It doesn’t make sense.” Lizzie bit down on her bottom lip in contemplation. “He needs us—or at least you—to finish his ritual, so doesn’t it make sense he’d be keeping her close by?”