Exiled

by Nina Croft

  Now, with a rush of relief, she realized she could study him objectively. See him as a man she had once loved. But no longer; that had been another time, another world, another woman.

  She was different now and she didn’t do “love.” He reached out for her. No way could she allow him to touch her, at least not until she was certain she had her shit together.

  But the stone pressed hard at her back, the roughness scraping her skin.

  “Don’t,” she warned, her voice almost a whisper.

  The hand dropped to his side and pain filled his eyes. She couldn’t take this.

  So she bolted. Racing past him, through the gap in the stones, and down the hill. Her breath was coming hard and fast by the time she stopped at the parking place. Resting a hand on the roof of the car, she waited while her heart rate slowed.

  Callum was back from the dead.

  The man she would have died for, had nearly destroyed a whole world for, had somehow managed to overcome the laws of life and death and return to her. If a little late.

  Too late.

  Muted voices drifted down from the hill. She didn’t want to see them right now; certainly, she couldn’t face being stuck in a vehicle with them. After shrugging out of the shirt and the shoulder holster, she tossed them into the trunk. As she crossed the road, she entered the cool shadows of a stand of trees. She’d make her way back to town on foot, cross-country.

  She could cope. Nothing touched her these days. Soon she would be back to normal. She would go join them, find out what had happened on Arroway, and decide their next move.

  But first, she needed a drink. Or two.

  Chapter Two

  Jarrod had done a great job of blending in with the people of Earth, but he couldn’t totally hide what he was or the power that radiated from his tall figure. All eyes in the bar were on him as he strode across the room to where she hid in her dark booth in the back corner. Cass glanced past him, half expecting to see Callum’s tall, cloaked figure trailing behind, but Jarrod was alone, and the tension seeped from her limbs.

  How the hell had he found her? Oh yeah, he was a warlock— he’d probably waved his magic stick a few times and conjured her up. She’d had way more than two drinks. But once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. Or didn’t want to. The scotch was a warm buzz in her brain. She could get rid of that in a second with her magic, but that would waste a whole afternoon of drinking. And what did it matter? She was alone or had been; she could do what she damn well liked.

  “Hey there, bro.” She raised her glass to him as he sank into the seat opposite, but then realized it was empty. “You want a drink?”

  “Why not?” She rose briefly and waved her glass in the general direction of the barman. He nodded and brought over a bottle of scotch and another glass. “There you go, Cass.” He quirked an eyebrow in Jarrod’s direction. Cass didn’t think she’d ever come in here with anyone before—this was a first. She didn’t introduce them.

  “You come here often?” Jarrod asked, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing. He wasn’t used to the alcohol on Earth yet. Probably wouldn’t have the time to get used to it. They’d all be heading back to Arroway. All except for her. She could never go back.

  “Sometimes.” He considered her for a moment, his head cocked to one side, his green eyes serious. “Are you okay?” Was she? She settled on a direct answer. “No.”

  “Just no?” She nodded, but he deserved more. Once, long ago, Jarrod had been closer to her than anyone. That had been before Callum had come on the scene. “I will be. I’m just a little...shocked.” She took a gulp of scotch while trying to decide if she wanted to know what was going on. She’d forced herself not to think all through the afternoon.

  But she could hardly ignore Callum’s return from the dead.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Tell you what?”

  “Hey, don’t you start being difficult; that’s my prerogative.” Jarrod had always been the nice twin. “Tell me everything. I presume they’ve told you what happened, how...” She hesitated, still reluctant to say the name out loud. She took a deep breath. “How did Callum come back—is he even real?” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him real or not. He should have stayed dead.

  “As real as you or me.” No, she was sure after all—it would have been much better if he were a figment of her imagination. “Shit. I thought maybe I’d imagined him.”

  “And that would be good?”

  “Hell, yes.” She’d worked bloody hard to cut him from her life. “Don’t you want him back?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “The two of you have a second chance.” Inside, she felt the first stirrings of anger and that frightened her. She’d kept her emotions in check for so long it had become second nature. The younger her, the pre-Callum, pre-’I nearly destroyed the whole world’ her, had always been hot-headed, quick to anger, but also quick to laugh. She hadn’t allowed herself either emotion in a long, long time. “A second chance at what?” she asked. “A second chance to destroy the whole fucking world? Maybe I’ll try for Earth this time.”

  “You don’t have the power here,” Jarrod pointed out.

  “That’s a relief. Perhaps you can do it for me—waggle that stick of yours about a bit more.” He grinned. “Perhaps I will.” A witch’s power came from the land, from Arroway. Exile from their world also meant being cut off from their magic. They could still do minor tricks and illusions, but here on Earth, any real magic was impossible, which was why Jarrod had performed the summoning spell. A warlock’s magic was different, not tied to Arroway. As long as they had their staffs, they were as powerful here as on their own world.

  “So come on, tell me what you’ve found out. How did Callum return?” He took a sip of his drink and sat back. “It seems he never really went. Or at least, only briefly. Your spell—the one that nearly destroyed the world—pulled him partly back and then dumped him in a limbo between life and death.”

  “Jesus. For a thousand years?” She’d done that to him and hadn’t even known.

  “Yes, alone. He nearly went insane—a weaker man would have, but he forged a life there, found a way to view the outside world. He saw Shayla, saw the mark, thought it was you come back to him. When she and Tallon did the spell to take them back to Arroway, he countered with a spell of his own and drew her to him.”

  “He always was powerful.”

  “Tallon was desperate. He searched for her but eventually ended up at the stones on Arroway where he met Malachai.” A rush of hatred washed over her. “Bastard.”

  “Yes. Tallon pretended he was still hunting for Shayla to kill her as he’d been ordered. He used Malachai’s power to find Shayla and bring her back. Shayla had told Callum you were still alive and he followed her out. Saved her and Tallon from a certain death.”

  “Did they kill him—Malachai, I mean?”

  “Sadly, no. Apparently Callum was about to chop his head off when I did my little spell.”

  “Bugger. That was bad timing.”

  “Definitely.” She stared into space, thinking about what he’d told her, forcing her mind back to the night she’d returned to find Callum murdered.

  Callum had never been a supporter of the Order. He had always gone his own way. Cass had been the most powerful witch ever born, and the Order had wanted to keep her in their control.

  They had urged her to choose Malachai. As if she would have ever chosen that snake. She’d hated him from the time they were children growing up together. He’d been friends with Jarrod but never with her. He didn’t even like women. But that hadn’t mattered to him because she would have given him the one thing he did love. Power.

  Anyway, she’d taken one look at Callum and known he was the one. Malachai, by then well on his way to his dream job as head of the Order, had been enraged. He’d waited until Cass was away and murdered Callum, stabbed him through the heart.

  “He still loves you,” Jarrod said, breaking in
to her memories.

  She slammed her glass down on the table. Of course, Callum loved her; the bond between chosen mates was unbreakable. Even she hadn’t broken it, just hidden it deep inside her to make the pain bearable.

  “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand—I can’t allow myself to love him. I daren’t risk it a second time. I have to keep him out.”“You’ve become good at that.”

  “I’ve had to,” she snapped.

  Jarrod studied her in the dim light, and she locked her muscles to stop herself squirming under the intense scrutiny.

  “It’s not only the risk,” he said. “You don’t believe you deserve him back. You’re still punishing yourself for everything that has happened on Arroway—”

  “That’s because everything that happened is my fault.”

  “No,” Jarrod said, his tone fierce. “It wasn’t your fault—only Malachai’s.”

  “I should have had better control.”

  “And you’ve punished yourself ever since. And it’s not only Callum—you won’t let anyone close. I’ve seen the way you fend off Freya’s advances. She wants to be your friend and you push her away.”

  “I’m a dangerous person to have as a friend.”

  “No you’re not. You’re loyal and brave and will do anything for the ones you love.”

  “Yes—I’ll do anything,” she said not hiding the bitterness of her words. “Look what I did last time. I won’t risk that happening again.”

  “You were never a coward.”

  “I understand the stakes better now. What happens if I relax my guard, allow myself to love him again and I lose him? What will I do this time? What would you do if Freya was killed?”

  “I don’t know.” Jarrod’s eyes darkened and he rubbed at his forehead. “But you need to talk to Callum.”

  “I will.” And that was going to be fun. Not.

  Chapter Three

  Callum paced the floor of the room they had given him. Coming to a halt, he smashed his fist into the wall. He wanted to get out there, find Cass, discover why she had run from him.

  Jarrod told him to be patient; he’d find her, talk with her. But Callum had had a long time to be patient, stuck in a limbo between life and death. And he didn’t want to be patient anymore.

  He wanted Cass. He wanted her to hold him, tell him she loved him, and the last thousand years had been worth the pain because they were back together as they should be. He wanted to sink himself into her body, forget everything except the two of them. Instead, she had taken one look at him and bolted.

  She’d changed. Though she was still beautiful, there was a hardness to her features, a guardedness in her eyes. She’d been dressed as a man, in tight black pants and a black shirt, her beautiful hair cropped short—as though she would deny she was a woman. And she’d cut out the mark—all that remained was a scar on her cheek.

  Why had she run from him? He crossed the floor with its soft covering, drew back the curtain, and stared out at the buildings all around. More buildings than he had ever seen in his life. On the way here, Shayla had explained that this was another world. A world called Earth.

  But he didn’t want to be on another world. He wanted to be back on Arroway where he could finish what he’d started and slice off Malachai’s evil head. He’d been so close.

  They’d brought him to this place in a metal box with wheels and no visible means of propulsion. Freya, Shayla’s mother, had pointed out things on the way, keeping up a constant chatter while Shayla clutched her hand and asked a continuous stream of pointless questions.

  Was Cass sorry he had returned? Had she made a life for herself on this new world? Was she happy without him? Jarrod had driven the vehicle, he’d apologized in advance, claiming Cass was teaching him, but he had only tried a couple of times. First they’d come through open countryside, then into the biggest town Callum had ever seen. Thousands and thousands of people, countless of these vehicles hurtling down the labyrinth of paved streets. Finally, he’d dropped them off outside this huge building that reached up to the sky and said he would go find Cass. Callum had wanted to go along, but Jarrod said it might be better to talk to his sister alone first.

  Why? Was his return such a bad thing? His stomach rumbled. He hardly recognized the sensation as hunger. In the half world he had inhabited there had been no hunger, no thirst. He’d forced himself to eat and drink in order to maintain the illusion he still lived, but he had gained no pleasure or satisfaction from the experience.

  Maybe Casterix could sense he was dead, nothing but a walking corpse, and she wanted nothing to do with him. But she had brought him back.

  A tap sounded behind him, and he whirled around. The door pushed open from the outside, and he held himself still, sensing Cass’s presence before she appeared.

  Her hair curled damply, brushed back from her face. She’d changed her clothes but still wore tight pants—blue this time— and a pale blue shirt made of stretchy material that clung to her small breasts. He feasted his eyes on the long, lean lines of her body. His own body responded, tightening as heat pooled low down in his belly. It had been so long.

  She carried a bundle, which she tossed on the bed. “Some Earth clothes for you—so you’ll fit in. You’re a little conspicuous in your current outfit.” He didn’t want to stay long enough to fit in. He wanted to take Cass and go home, destroy the stinking Order, and restore Arroway to what it had once been.

  Her expression told him nothing, her face blank, but when he took a step closer, a distinct wariness entered her eyes. She feared him? He would never hurt her.

  Her hand came up almost as though she couldn’t help himself. He held himself still as her fingertip stroked down the skin of his cheek. A jolt shot through him at her touch and fire burned in his blood.

  “I needed to talk to you,” she said.

  “So talk.” But do it quickly and then t ouch me some more. He moved slowly as though she were some wild creature.

  That’s how he’d thought of her from the moment they first met.

  He’d loved her for it and never sought to tame her. It was enough that she wanted to be with him.

  He’d come to believe he’d never be chosen; he’d spent so long alone. Most witches chose a mate of similar power, and until Cass came along, none of the witches had come close to him in potential. He’d been more powerful than any other warlock, save maybe her brother. Back then, Malachai was nowhere near as powerful though he had made up for it with raw ambition. Callum had been two hundred years old, Casterix a young witch of only twenty-four, still growing into her powers. She’d been so full of life, the air around her had thrummed with the moon magic.

  He could still feel the magic inside her, but muted. When she didn’t move away, he reached up slowly and cupped her chin. He lowered his face to hers, every cell in his body yearning to taste her.His lips touched hers and still she didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  She stood like a statue in front of him, but at least she wasn’t running. His hands tilted her face up to him so he could deepen the kiss. He nipped at her lower lip and pushed his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth. The taste of her nearly drove him wild and he had to force himself to take things slowly. She slid her hands into his hair, pulling him closer. Her tongue slid along his as she opened for him, her body shifting to rest against his.

  His cock had been hard from the moment she touched him.

  Now he pulsated with need, pressing against her stomach, groaning into her mouth. Her hands moved sliding down over his shoulders to rest flat over his heart, which was beating hard enough to escape his body.

  It took him a moment to realize she was pushing at him. His whole body screamed in denial as she tore her mouth from his and backed away. He didn’t try to hold her, he would never force her, and part of the magic had always been that she wanted him as much or more than he’d wanted her.

  Obviously, no longer. Her face was once again blank.

  “Why?” he asked.


  “I needed to check I could control it.”

  “It?” He could hear the outrage in his voice.

  “Whatever is between us.”

  “You know what’s between us. You chose me.” She shrugged. “That was a thousand years ago.

  Did she mean she no longer loved him? Pain splintered in his heart. “And can you control it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You used to say control was for boring people... and warlocks.”

  “I’ve learned a lot since then. I was young, stupid, thoughtless...” She turned away as though to hide her thoughts. “I felt you die. I won’t endure that again.”

  “Well that’s no problem—I can’t die, I’m already dead.” She ran her hands through her short hair so it stood on end.

  “When you died, I thought I would go mad with grief. I did terrible things. I nearly destroyed Arroway and still might if we don’t succeed in freeing the Goddess.” He didn’t want her to continue. He knew she was explaining why she wouldn’t be his.

  She whirled around to face him and her eyes were full of passion. “Damnit, Callum, I can’t love you.”

  “Is there someone else?”

  “There’s no one. There has never been anyone but you.” She gnawed on her lower lip, her teeth white against the red. “There never will be, but we can’t be together. It’s too dangerous. I won’t allow myself to feel that way again. If I gave in, loved you, and lost you...” She trailed off. “I won’t turn back into the woman I once was. I won’t allow myself. “ Bitterness rose up like bile in his throat. He had spent the last thousand years searching for a way back to her; she had spent the time trying to forget him. And succeeding it seemed.

  He had lived with despair for long centuries. Despair had become normal to him; then Shayla had come into his world. She’d told him Cass still lived, and he’d learned to hope again. Hope was a fragile and dangerous thing. It lifted you up, and then crashed you to the ground bleeding and broken.