“I wish to test your fighting ability, not to stand and look at you,” she said after neither of them made any moves toward the other.
Daniel grinned and Scáthach grinned back. They were enjoying this. I shook my head. I’d raised two boys, and watching this was much like watching them wrestle and throw each other around the house. I’d never understood the fun in sparring. I watched the emotions writhe around Daniel and Scáthach for a moment before deciding to let them seep through my shield. Exhilaration, joy, anxiety, wonder. I started to understand.
It is like that feeling we get when we are noticing Daniel. The tingling. The increased heart rate. The heat . . . would this be called desire?
It is similar! I’ve never noticed that. But I don’t know that I’d call it desire . . . it’s more like . . . excitement. And yet . . . there’s an aspect that is absolutely desire. I’ve never felt this way about fighting. If anything, I usually feel . . . intimidated, scared.
I felt her nod. Given your size and lack of training, that is a prudent response.
My blood raced through my body and I leaned forward. Gods help me, I wanted to join in. Even if I’d be hit. None of the terror or even discomfort was there at all. I watched them, wanting with each of their movements to experience it myself.
They continued to circle each other. More time passed with no one initiating the fight. Gods, someone do something! The tension rose, and I found myself standing, as if I would walk toward them. I caught myself when I saw a smile stretch across Scáthach’s face. A bit of the old fear surfaced then. Not enough to eclipse the excitement and, yes, even desire that coursed through me, but enough that I stilled my feet and watched even more intently than I had before.
Then she attacked. She struck out with each hand and Daniel blocked the blows. Daniel returned the attack. He moved out of one of the blocks smoothly and kicked, but Scáthach dodged his foot. She got inside his reach and threw him. He rolled out of the throw and faced her within seconds. The sparring continued. The attacks got stronger and some strikes landed, both Daniel and Scáthach grunting with the force behind them. I winced with each one, but still found myself wondering exactly what they felt like instead of thanking the gods that I wasn’t on the receiving end. Finally, it made sense; why people pummeled each other for fun.
After what felt like a half an hour, Scáthach took Daniel to the ground. She straddled him, her hand at his throat. When he struggled, she said, “Yield.” I held my breath, waiting for his response. I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to see him bested, even though I knew that would be the outcome, and the best outcome at that. I wanted him to show her that he was made of more than she suspected. And he didn’t disappoint.
His body relaxed. I opened my mouth to shout to him. To tell him not to give up. But instead of yielding, he bucked his hips and sent her sideways. He rolled over atop her, straddling her, his hand now at her throat. She bared her teeth at him, breathing heavily. Exhilaration and joy evident upon her face, she brought her legs up and kneed him in the back. He grunted, but didn’t relax his grip. His face reflected the same exhilaration and joy. It was his turn to say, “Yield.”
She laughed, her neck arching as the ground and Daniel’s hold on her kept her from fully throwing her head back. The laugh died, and she grabbed his hands, twisting her body unnaturally. Within moments, she had slid out from beneath him, and they grappled again.
The fight ended when Daniel was facedown on the ground. Scáthach lay almost entirely on top of him and wrenched his arm up between his shoulder blades so high, it looked like his shoulder may have dislocated. He struggled again, and she pulled the arm higher. He grunted, lying still and quiet for too long. Finally, he yielded.
They picked themselves up, both breathing heavily and grinning from ear to ear. They tried to brush the grass from themselves, but it didn’t do any good. I stepped forward and started brushing the grass from Daniel’s back and picked it out of his hair. I hadn’t done any sparring myself, but I could feel the color on my cheeks and my lungs worked hard. There was something primal inside me that had awakened, and I had the insane desire to grapple with one or the other of them, knowing full well I’d be beat in under a second. I glanced at Scáthach and watched a knowing smile replace the fierce grin. I lowered my hands, pulling them abruptly away. Her labored breath didn’t impact her smile. If anything, it made it appear wider. She held my gaze, not dropping the smile even after I dropped my hands. I ignored the color that blazed from my face and down my neck.
“You have a warrior’s heart too,” she said, “and more than just a warrior’s.”
I blushed scarlet. The heat radiated in my cheeks and even down my spine.
She nodded. “I favor the arrangement of which you spoke,” she said between gasps. “I shall protect Airmid in return for this Daniel defending other mortals in my name. In addition, you both shall wear my mark and train with me, as well as spread my name.”
“Should Airmid . . . wait . . . what?”
She raised an eyebrow.
Okay, for a moment it had looked fun, but I was a fully grown woman. In her forties. Certainly, I did some exercise, but no one would mistake me for being athletic. “I am no soldier and couldn’t hope to be a great warrior. Why would you want me to wear your mark and train with you?”
She raised her eyebrow higher. And it dawned on me that I wanted to. I remembered all the scrapes I avoided. And all the fear I’d felt throughout my entire life. And I also remembered my will, never giving in to the teasing and harassment, even if it meant some pain was involved. And finally, I remembered my reactions to the sparring. I was not the person I thought I was.
“The training would do you good. And as you’ve said, word carries in the mortal world. If one can turn into many, two shall turn into many more. This Daniel shall use his skills. He has proved worthy of wearing my mark, with room for improvement. You are not known as a warrior and, as such, would not carry the expectations of one. But, if you are to wear my mark and spread my name, you must train with me.”
I thought about it for a long moment. And for a portion of that moment, full terror descended on me. Could I do it? Could I really learn to be a warrior? More memories assailed me. The stories I’d read. The desire to be a strong woman, one who could protect herself. To be the warrior she was giving me the opportunity to try on. Gods, how could I pass it up? I couldn’t. And I’d known it almost immediately. Part of me screamed how insane it was. But I could picture the other part of me. The one that had her teeth bared much like I’d seen on both Daniel’s and Scáthach’s faces. I knew I’d take the opportunity, but I could also work this to greater advantage. “Take care,” I warned myself. I had to ensure I wouldn’t promote any one god significantly more than another. “I would be willing to spread your stories as opportunities arise, but would not worship you,” I said. “And should another wish to mark me, I am free to choose to wear another’s as well.”
She nodded.
I tilted my head. Dear gods, what if it were a brand? “What is your mark and where would it be worn?”
Scáthach motioned to one of her students. He stepped forward and put out his forearm on which was a tattoo: a sword thrust through a Celtic knot, the hilt toward his palm.
It could be worse. A tattoo, not a brand. And one that spoke of both strength and beauty. But I wasn’t the only one she was looking to mark. I looked at Daniel and raised my eyebrows in question. He nodded, indicating he would agree to Scáthach’s wishes.
“Our training shall not cause major harm nor risk our lives. We agree to spend two hours at least two days a week for one year unless, within that time, we reach a level at which consummation would be required. If we reach such a level, we shall be allowed the choice to either lie with you as tradition requires or end our training without consummation.” I paused, getting to the meat of what I really needed. “As I have been added to the arrangement, I request your protection from Dian Cecht in recompense.”
“I have brought many mortals to worship Airmid, which has angered him. And . . . I think . . . well, he seems . . . he wishes to bed me. I have no desire to do so.”
“His jealousy, and his libido, know no bounds,” she said, shaking her head as if to say boys will be boys, a sentiment that set my teeth on edge. I curbed my anger and she continued, “If I am to protect you from Dian Cecht, you shall provide me with one of these weapons.” She gestured at Daniel’s accoutrements that had been placed all over me.
It was my turn to smile. She was a better negotiator than many I had worked with. It spoke to her lack of underestimating her opponent. It was a refreshing trait in a god. “Should Airmid agree, we have an accord,” I said. “Should Airmid not agree, I shall train with you and provide you a weapon in return for your protection against Dian Cecht.”
Scáthach nodded.
I tried to curtsy but couldn’t with the weapons I carried, so I bowed instead.
Scáthach turned to Daniel. “Well fought, Daniel.”
Daniel grinned and bowed. “Hell of a fight.”
She raised her right hand, holding it out as if to help him off the ground. He grasped it and they pulled themselves toward each other, their clasped hands between them as they thumped each other’s backs.
We returned to the mortal world with me still draped in weaponry. Daniel stood and helped me to my feet. He grabbed the rifle, and the strap I used to hang it on my body didn’t slide over my head quickly enough. It jerked me forward and I found myself, once again, against him. This time both hands pressed to the flimsy T-shirt that separated us. My breath caught in my throat, and without thinking, I looked up and into the amber depths of his eyes.
My blood was already heated from the show as well as the negotiation, but the temperature went up another notch. Oh, who was I kidding? It exploded, and my brain lost all ability to form thoughts. I was only aware of his body against mine and the feelings coursing through my system.
Time slowed as he tucked my hair behind my ear again, much like he’d done when we were sparring a few days ago. He smelled like leather and dried grass. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose. I heard him chuckle softly, reveled in the desire that coursed through me at the sound of his masculine laugh, and felt the rifle strap lift from my body. I leaned toward him, letting out a small sound that was almost a whimper. As he stepped away from me, I wanted to feel the heat from his body again. Urd’s voice in my head shocked me and brought my brain fully online.
This is becoming torturous.
I groaned internally. Tell me about it.
It seems every chance we get we find ourselves touching him, thinking about him, feeling this . . . tightening.
Wait, wait, wait. I don’t need a blow-by-blow. I’m having enough trouble myself.
You asked me to tell you about it.
I smiled and almost laughed. That I did. It’s another one of our turns of phrase. It means that I agree wholeheartedly with what you said.
So why do we keep doing this to ourselves?
I really had no idea. I knew that it was a bad idea. I knew the pain and trouble it could bring. And yet, my desire continued to grow. With every interaction it became less lust and more . . . desire. Certainly, he was physically beautiful, but he’d shown strength and integrity and kindness and generosity. I had no idea what to do about it. I shrugged and addressed Urd’s question. You tell me. You wanted to know why we do things that aren’t in our best interest. Here’s a perfect opportunity to analyze it.
She fell silent and I assumed she was contemplating the situation. Meanwhile, Daniel, who had stripped me of the remaining weapons, headed toward his room to put them in the gun safe he’d had delivered.
“What are you going to do with that monstrosity when you leave?” I called to him.
His laughter filled the hallway and he called back to me, “I don’t know yet.”
I turned to follow him and continue the banter, but my cell phone chimed, telling me I had a message. Mr. Wesley had called. On a Saturday. That didn’t bode well.
I returned the call. “Mr. Wesley,” I said when he answered, “it’s Amanda Byrne.”
“Mr. Bradley is asking for a conference,” he said.
“I don’t understand. We haven’t even finalized our response to the charges.”
“Mr. Bradley’s lawyer contacted me, and they are asking for a conference on Monday. Can you get to Las Vegas?”
“Monday? Why so quickly? What does this mean?”
“I believe they want to settle.”
“What is there to settle on? I don’t have the kind of money Mr. Bradley would be interested in.”
“Let’s meet with them and find out. Can you get there?”
“Yes. Where will we meet?”
“I’ll reserve a conference room in the courthouse,” he said. “Let’s meet at ten to discuss the charges and response in case negotiations fall through. I’ll set up the conference with Mr. Bradley for after lunch.”
“Sounds good. See you there.” I hung up the phone.
“See you where?” Daniel asked as he walked back into the living room.
“That was Mr. Wesley. Mr. Bradley is asking for a conference on Monday in Vegas. I have to fly out.”
“You mean we have to fly out.”
“Yes. We. Where is your daughter?”
“In a hospital in Sherman, Texas.”
“Then we’ll go to Vegas by way of Sherman.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Our flight left Denver at eight the next morning for Dallas, which was an hour south of Sherman. I hoped I could make the entire day with my contacts in. I didn’t want to pretend to ignore the people who were pretending to ignore me.
The elevator was shinier than usual, reflecting our images, and it smelled like the hospital it was in. The damn thing creaked up to the top floor of the hospital and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was safe. I glanced at Daniel. He was strung so tight, every muscle in his body quivered. I wondered if he was apt to explode or if he had just gotten very good at holding it all in.
We stepped out onto the linoleum floor, Daniel’s shoes squeaking as we walked. His footsteps slowed, and I found myself slowing down to match his pace. Soon we were practically crawling, and I squelched the need to hurry him along. We hadn’t even made it to the nurses’ station before we came to a stop. His face was pinched and his eyes downcast. I wanted him to say something, anything. I would have even welcomed a “yes, ma’am.”
“Daniel?” I said.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued down the hall.
I followed. “Are you . . . should I . . . what can I do to help?”
He shook his head, his steps slow but resolute. I reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently as a show of support. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t pull away. We stopped at the nurses’ station and looked over the counter at a pretty, middle-aged woman. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and red cat eye reading glasses were perched on her nose.
“Hi, Shirley,” Daniel said, his voice low and pointedly even.
“Mr. Geist, it’s good to see you.”
“Shirley, this is Amanda Byrne.”
I moved around the corner and shook Shirley’s hand. We smiled briefly at each other, then Daniel and I moved down the hall.
Suzanne’s raven hair was long and lay in a loose ponytail that curled behind her neck and over her shoulder. Her dark eyelashes stood out against the pale background of her skin. I couldn’t help but think of Sleeping Beauty. And she was a beauty. All she needed was the red lips and a prince to kiss her. If it were only that easy. Her face was unlined and peaceful. Gods, she looked so young.
“How old is she? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen.” Daniel reached out and touched her cheek. “Hi, sweetie. I’ve brought someone to meet you. This is Amanda.”
“Hi, Suzanne,” I said.
Her beige aura lay peacefully about her; it was a quiet color that indicated she’d been feeling nothing. At the sound of her father’s voice, pale emotions wound through it, first pink and then peach. She appeared weak but healthy when I concentrated on the alternate realm. I couldn’t see any indication of damage. I’d expected as much. Her injuries must have already healed given how long she had been comatose. Because I couldn’t see anything wrong with her, Airmid would have to look at Suzanne herself. I had no idea how she could tell what she could heal and what she couldn’t, but if I couldn’t see anything unusual, I didn’t have any idea if it was something Airmid could work with.
“She must know you’re here,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s feeling love and contentment.”
Daniel blew a breath out through his mouth and looked at the ceiling. He looked like he wanted to cry, but screwed up his face. I turned away, giving him some of the privacy he probably wanted, and walked to the bedside table. A picture rested on it and I picked it up. A much younger Daniel, a younger Suzanne, and a gorgeous dark-haired woman graced the photo. All smiling.
Daniel pulled up a chair. I set the picture down, turned, and watched him sit down. He took his daughter’s hand. “I’m here. I love you too.” His voice cracked and was no louder than a whisper by the time he finished.
“What do you normally do when you visit her?” I said.
“I read to her.” He picked up a book. It was the most recent teen craze novel. Then, he pulled open the lower drawer to the nightstand. It was full of books.
“Go ahead and read to her.” I took the chair in the far corner. “I’m going to the Hill Realm to talk to Airmid.”
“Pull the chair into that corner.” He pointed to the one closest to the head of Suzanne’s bed. “So I can see you.”
I did so. Then I stilled myself and closed my eyes. My breath slowed. I remembered the feel of cool green grass under my bare feet and turned.
Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1) Page 21
