Bewitched (Fated #1)

by Kelly Moran

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alongside Fiona and Ceara, Brady strode through the darkened forest on the way to the sisters’ house, his mind constantly banging the chaos button. According to Riley, Kaida had finished the journals and hadn’t acted like herself when he’d taken her home. Which was freaking Brady out to the point of no return.

  An hour ago, Ceara had done her spell juju and put the passages Kaida had read directly into their brains. The sisters now knew more than the gist of what he and his brothers had gone through. Reliving some of those memories through his uncle’s eyes had clicked a lot of pieces in place. The man had never loved them. He’d viewed them as nothing more than another part of the grand puzzle, and he’d done everything in his power to manipulate the picture.

  Again, Brady couldn’t slap the label of abuse on the situation. Yes, he’d been whipped a time or two, had been sent to his quarters without a meal as punishment, and had been belittled to prove a fanatical point. But in Uncle Greg’s eyes, they were warriors in training. Not family. Not people. There wasn’t an emotional element.

  Of all the entries, and some of them were the things monsters were made of, the ones from Uncle Greg were the worst. Especially for Kaida since she had a vested interest in the characters. Brady and his brothers weren’t names in a book, but flesh and blood men she’d met. Cared about. Knowing her as well as he did, there was no doubt she’d been dealt a blow with those recent passages.

  Yet, it was the memories not recorded that Brady carried with him. Playing with his brothers, knowing they always had his back, defending one another... Those were the components that made him who he was, not the infrequent blips of ugliness. And he planned on making Kaida understand his view to erase whatever image she had in her head.

  “Only a couple days left.” Ceara glanced at him, her features shadowed by the dark. “You’re running out of time to complete the task. Can we do anything to help?”

  He shook his head. “Kaida has some theories. I have a few of my own. We’ve worked through hers and mine, all but one. The whole curse boils down to two things: love and hate. I suspect the key is getting her to release the latter and embrace the former.”

  “No offense, but I’m confident she loves you.” Fiona flipped a lock of cocoa hair over her shoulder. “A blind idiot could see that much.”

  “Loving me comes naturally to her. In a way, she’s known me all her life. We had a trust in place long before she came here.” He sighed, glancing at the stars winking through the canopy overhead. “It’s you two, her family, I think she needs to accept.”

  They broke through the foliage and approached the gardens, the air scented with blooms and twilight.

  Fiona stopped and set her hands on her hips. “We’ve told her we love her. If you’re right and that is the task, why hasn’t the box appeared?”

  “Because it’s up to her to embrace that love, and she hasn’t yet. Not completely.” He continued the trek toward the house, needing to get to her. His skin itched and that unnerving instinct to be near her was tugging him by the short hairs. “She knows you care about her. Honestly, she does. But, in her eyes, she’s never belonged anywhere. Once she trusts herself to let go, I have a feeling our part will be done.”

  Or so he hoped. They’d tried everything else.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, and it wasn’t until he slipped inside Kaida’s bedroom and was within touching distance that calm settled inside him.

  She was zonked out in bed, her caramel hair spread over the pillow and her features relaxed. Dark lashes fanned her fair cheeks and moonlight made a mystical ploy at turning her complexion ethereal. Her plush lips parted as she drew breath like she knew he was in the room and needed more air.

  Looking at her was always a sucker punch. Whether it was the magick inside her, the beauty she emanated, or the familiar yet new fluency of being in her vicinity, she invoked an array of emotions he’d never be able to wrangle. Not even if he had a thousand years with her would he want to try.

  He crouched by her side and just stared at her a beat, wondering how it was possible to love someone so much it hurt. Actually, physically hurt. Pressure in his chest. Burning in his gut. Rawness in his throat. A sizzle in his nerves and carbonation in his blood.

  “He’s coming for me, Brady,” she whispered, her drone inflection telling him she was still asleep.

  A shiver tore down his spine. He had little doubt who the “he” was she’d referenced. Uncle Greg had made it quite clear in both his journals and that night in the clearing how he felt about the sisters.

  She’d said the phrase repeatedly this week while dreaming, and Brady had simply held her, not sure what else to do. There had been no urgency or desperation to the words, but he feared they may be a premonition. He’d thought about asking her several times, and would have if she’d brought up the subject. Since she hadn’t, he’d chalked them up to stress dreams. She was always honest with him. If she’d remembered anything once she’d woken, he was certain she’d have told him.

  Rising to full height, he stripped to his briefs and climbed in bed. Lying on his side to face her, he gently called her name. Like she’d done every night, she rolled over and snuggled against him, burying her face in his neck. And didn’t wake up. One thing he’d learned in his short time with her? She slept like the dead.

  Smiling, he breathed in her rosemary scent and threaded his fingers in her silky strands to hold her in place. The heat from their bodies melded and he closed his eyes as the drugging pull of exhaustion claimed him.

  “He’s coming for me.”

  “Shh.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and lingered over the petal-softness of her skin. “He won’t get to you. I swear it, sweetheart. He won’t hurt you.”

  Brady would ensure that promise if he had to die in the process to keep it. That bastard wouldn’t have a chance to harm one hair on her perfect head. He’d bet every red cent in his bank account her sisters would do the same, right beside his brothers. The six of them may be a haphazard band of quarreling misfits, but they were united.

  And the following afternoon, while he stood on the museum steps to accept the dedication plaque to kickoff the Founder’s Day celebration, he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

  Kaida had hesitated at first by the bottom stair, asking, “Are you sure you guys want me up there with you?” To which they’d unanimously replied, “Yes.”

  That had been that.

  For the first time in recorded Six Fates history, the Galloways stood next to the Meaths. No bloodshed. No pyres. No bolt of lightning to strike them down. There was a strange sense of fulfillment, of rightness in publicly coming together. Training and pow-wow sessions not withstanding, Brady finally felt their circle linking and locking into place during, of all things, Mayor Bridgeport’s speech.

  He hoped like hell his uncle was watching. Seething. Brady got a morbid satisfaction out of thinking about it while the blah, blah, blahing came to a close.

  Islanders and tourists dispersed, mingling on the cobblestone walkway under an overcast sky. Several of the shops had their doors open and offered freebies to those passing by. The scent of popcorn and sugary sweet cotton candy hung on the crisp, humid breeze.

  They hadn’t made plans past the dedication, but Brady wondered if he could talk Kaida into walking along the shore for a bit before diving into festivities.

  Smile affectionate, she wrapped her arms around his waist and smacked a kiss on his mouth just as the lighthouse project foreman strode up to them. “I’m going to hunt up a bottle of water. Want anything?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Brady eyed the waiting foreman, then ducked his head closer to her. “Don’t go too far please.”

  “Okay.” A grin, and she disappeared into the crowd.

  Facing Mike, Brady crossed his arms and pretended to be interested in the spiel. Something about railings or backorders, but he wasn’t listening. He just wanted to get back to Kaida. A
niggling anxiety grazed his skull and he grew impatient.

  Ten minutes in, his brothers and her sisters meandered away, and he scratched his inner wrist. Five minutes later, he realized he was still scratching. Not because it itched, but burned.

  The breath backed up in his lungs. He glared at the trinity knot, the reddened edges and slight glow around the black markings, and his heartbeat skidded to a halt.

  No, no, no.

  “Mike, I have to go. Call my office on Monday and we’ll talk.”

  Not waiting for a reply, he shot in the direction he’d last seen the group, dodging pedestrian traffic. Panic clutched his windpipe as he frantically searched, not finding anyone. He pulled his cell from his back pocket and texted Tristan while he made his way to Bedknobs & Broomsticks, hoping like hell that’s where they’d headed.

  Violet, the crotchety old manager of the sisters’ shop, was behind the register when Brady plowed through the doors. Customers mingled. Incense burned. Candles flickered.

  No Kaida.

  “Are they here?” He hissed as the tattoo seared, sending agony up his arm.

  A return text from Tristan pinged Brady’s phone. At the store with the girls.

  Violet lifted her extravagantly penciled eyebrows and pointed to the back room. Bracelets jingled and clattered from her wrist. “Three Meaths in one afternoon. There’s a bad omen.” Her voice rasped like a three-pack-a-day habit. “Go on. They’re expecting you.”

  Weaving around the counter, he pushed a beaded curtain aside and found Fiona, Ceara, Riley, and Tristan seated at a small card table drinking coffee. “Where’s Kaida?”

  Riley frowned. “With you, we assumed.”

  Fiona jumped to her feet before he’d finished talking. “What’s wrong?”

  “This thing has been on fire for at least fifteen minutes.” Brady held up his arm, wrist out. “She was supposed to be getting water and coming right back. She never did.”

  Ceara swiftly pulled a scroll off a cube shelf and unrolled it on the table to reveal a map of the island. She placed four white crystals on the corners and then dangled another blue crystal by a chain over the map.

  Kaida was missing, his mark was issuing a warning knell, and Ceara wanted to play with toys?

  “We have to go find her!” Impatience pounded his temples like a snare drum and he ground his teeth. Worry ate at his stomach lining. “She’s in trouble.”

  “That’s what I’m doing. Give me a sec to do a locator spell.” Ceara closed her eyes and chanted while Brady paced the checkered pattern off the linoleum. The crystal swung in a circle several times and stopped abruptly on the paper. “There. She’s at our house. Somewhere on the western side of the property.”

  Done. He pivoted for the doorway. Rigidity locked him in place.

  Kaida stood by the curtain, iridescent as a hologram. Rope banded her wrists. A gag was shoved in her mouth and tied around her head. Tears left trails on her dirt-smeared cheeks. Her left eye was suspiciously swollen and a needle puncture in her neck had blood trickling onto her yellow blouse. The knees of her skinny jeans were ripped. Hair a knotted mess, she trembled before him, gaze wide and beseeching.

  Ah, no. No, no. His uncle had gotten to her. Panic morphed into terror.

  She obviously wasn’t really here in the shop, but his hands itched to hold her, whether she was an astral-projection or not. God-awful scenarios of the last Galloway to be bound like that filtered to mind. Boom, boom, boom in succession. Nausea churned his stomach because...

  Shit. That witch had been Celeste and his ancestor had been the one to haul her away. To her death. By fire.

  He drove his fingers in his hair and roared.

  Fiona pushed in front of him, focus solely on her sister. “Are you at the house?” The sharp bark of her question made him flinch out of his shocked immobile state.

  Kaida shook her head.

  “The meadow?”

  Another shake, followed by a pained whimper that nearly brought him to his knees.

  “The cottage?”

  At her desperate nod, her form flickered. In and out. In and out.

  Whatever oxygen remained in his lungs vaporized.

  “We’re on our way. Hang in there.” Fiona grabbed Brady’s sleeve and dragged him through Kaida’s ghostly image, into the shop, and out the door.

  The others followed, but it was Tristan who leapt into action. “My jeep’s one block down. Let’s go.”

  The mark on Brady’s wrist became unbearable. Searing. Filleting. Hunching over, he cried out, causing the group to collectively turn around.

  Riley’s eyes bugged in horror and darted over Brady’s head to something behind him.

  Winded, he glanced over his shoulder. And died.

  Kaida’s image hovered in the doorway to the store, weaker than moments ago. Rope burns abraded her wrists, raw and angry. A cut that hadn’t been there before was sliced above her eyebrow, dripping blood onto her cheek. As he pivoted to rush to her, another gash appeared on her jaw.

  A scream raked his throat. “No! Kaida!”

  Passersby halted to stare and gawk, muttering amongst themselves.

  Arms banded around him, towing him farther from her. He fought, but Riley won, wrestling Brady into the passenger side of Tristan’s jeep.

  “We’re going to her right now. Settle down.”

  The car pulled slowly from the curb, and Brady twisted in his seat to keep tabs on Kaida. She wasn’t there. Helpless desperation choked him. He pounded on the window, yelling her name.

  From the backseat, Ceara clasped her hand on his shoulder, warm and firm. “She’s going to be all right. Look at me, Brady.”

  Huffing, he did what she asked. Calm assurance stared back at him through blue-gray eyes. He sucked a shuddering breath and nodded, letting her know he’d heard her.

  “There you go. Just breathe.” She glanced around Riley to Fiona, who shoved her phone between her breasts inside her dress.

  “Got a hold of Aunt Mara. She’ll probably beat us there. She’s going to leave the gate open so we don’t have to waste more time.”

  Tristan cursed a wicked streak and laid on the horn. “Damn worst day for this to happen. The asshole planned well.” People meandered around, unhurried or concerned with the giant black SUV attempting to weave through the melee. The driver’s window slid down and he tilted his head out of the opening. “Move!”

  “I got this.” Ceara closed her eyes and held up her palms. “Part the path and lead the way. Allow us passage on this day. Get us quickly where we need to be. As I will, so mote it be.”

  Like the Red Sea, pedestrians slowly moved off the street and onto the curb, allowing a narrow path for the jeep to get through. Tristan painstakingly eased forward, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

  Every inch gained knocked Brady’s pulse closer and closer to stroke level, and he imagined his head might explode. Would be better than this limbo. He was all but crawling out of his skin.

  “I never should’ve left her alone.” Guilt coagulated with rabid fear in his gut. “Mercy, did you see her?” His voice cracked, and he dropped his head between his knees, fists clenched on the dash.

  Nothing would scrub the image of her bound and gagged. Bleeding. He swore to all that was holy, he wouldn’t survive if she didn’t come out of this alive. He was barely keeping it together, but he’d epically lose his shit if she wasn’t okay.

  “Oh, I saw.” Fiona’s voice snapped like a whip. “I’m going to rip that bastard limb from limb, sew him back together, and do it all over again.”

  “She’s strong,” Ceara said in a hushed tone. “If she had enough juice to project and find us, she can handle herself until we arrive.”

  “Finally,” Tristan muttered and turned onto the winding coastal road that led up the hill to their estates. “Hold on.” He punched the accelerator and the SUV surged forward. Tires screeched.

  Shaking, struggling to breathe, Brady closed his eyes and did
something he hadn’t in years. He prayed. To the sisters’ goddess, to Buddha, to Jesus Christ and any higher power who’d listen. Maybe because religion had been hammered into him growing up, or perhaps he was just too logical to believe, but he’d never had much faith.

  Damned if he didn’t need divine intervention now, though.

  He’d never lived anywhere other than the island. He’d had his brothers at every crossroad and major event. And he’d found purpose in his career, work he adored. But, in truth, until Kaida had stepped out of his dream world and into his arms, he’d been just as lost as her. Going through the day-to-day motions the best he could with the lot he’d been given. Not truly living. Existing, not thriving. Constantly searching through history books and the past for answers to what he, deep down, knew had been missing all along. It had taken three beautiful witches and a centuries-old curse to open his eyes.

  Home. That’s what he’d been lacking. A sense of home.

  There had been family, friends, education, wealth, a giant mansion over his head, trust funds, and food in his belly. But not love. The romantic, soul mate kind that, no matter what, picked him up when he stumbled, wormed under his skin until she was a part of his DNA, knew him backward and forward and inside out, and understood him on a level that required no words.

  If Kaida couldn’t rationalize a reason to stay, if after all this, she still needed to go, then he’d follow. She was his true north, his home. Wherever they went, however much time they had left, she was home for him.

  The mark on his wrist throbbed to the erratic beat of his heart. He straightened in his seat and looked at it through a misty haze. Knot by knot, the pattern unraveled, faded, and disappeared.

  Gone. Just...gone. As if it had never been there.

  A strangled noise filled the car, and he realized it had come from him. Huffing, wheezing, he frantically ran his thumb over his inner wrist. His and Kaida’s tattoos had manifested at the same time a month ago in the clearing. It had been his connection to her and a warning sign for if she was in trouble.