by Diana Duncan
“Today’s descendants of Tuatha Dé Danann who are born with the Aillidh—The Shining—are novices. Until they come into their Powers, they live unaware of Magic and their own Gifts, unless born into a rare family with a mentor. If not identified and apprenticed to be taught understanding and control, they can self-destruct, or unwittingly hurt others. Or they may go Dark. Many of society’s ‘senseless’ crimes are perpetrated by Dark entities and demon rampages.
“One year ago, a global Demon Uprising lead by Balor, and his bitch Ceard, slaughtered nearly all mentors and Enforcers. Few remain to find and train apprentices. Balor prowls the Abyss, the terrifying in-between realm that cannot be breached by any embodied soul. Out of reach of the Tuatha Dé, he commands demon armies to wreak havoc. His ever more frequent descents to earth to feed upon human suffering induce cataclysmic disasters.
“Now Balor’s Dark Powers are increasing exponentially as he and his minions brazenly drain human souls. They’re recruiting Sorcerers and other Supernaturals, at the expense of mankind. And humans sink deeper into despair as evil strengthens its stranglehold.
“You only have to look around as the world decays to know that we few who Oathed to battle for the Light are losing the war.
“Yet we will not, cannot, give up.”
The low rumble of Rowan’s voice died, and Delaney sat immersed in silence. For how long, she didn’t know. Finally, she blinked. Refocused on the cabin’s living room. On Rowan’s taut face.
She brushed away her own tears she didn’t remember shedding. “Samhain is my birthday,” she breathed.
Rowan shot her an intense look. “Is it, now?”
Among dozens of questions, one boiled to the top. “I’m not a Mage, like you. My Power feels totally different.”
“No, your energy isn’t Mage. However, you were sent on a mage-like quest, and given a mage-like weapon.”
“I’m definitely not a Guardian. And I have a soul, but I’ve traveled to the Abyss and lived to tell about it. How?”
“I don’t have the answer, lass.”
Delaney bit her lip. “Everyone kept mistaking me for the Morrigan, but she’s in the Abyss.” She hesitated, unsure she wanted an answer. “So what, exactly, am I?”
“I’m not sure of your bloodlines, either.” Rowan exhaled a long breath. “We don’t have documented knowledge of anyone quite like you.”
“I’m not a demon! I’m not evil, Rowan!”
“I haven’t seen, or felt, anything that leads me to believe you are,” he replied evenly. “From what I’ve observed, your Power seems emotionally charged. If you lose control, you could unintentionally harm someone.”
“I wouldn’t—” Sudden significance of the past week’s events killed her denial. She had hurt someone. Badly enough to warrant hospitalization.
Her blood chilled. And the injuries she’d inflicted could still end in death. “Rowan—”
He lifted a hand. “Hold that thought.” Cocking his head, he listened intently. Frowned. Then he disappeared.
Chapter 11
Delaney jumped to her feet. Rowan? Did you poof out on purpose, or did something…take you out?
No reply.
Rowan?
Nothing.
Rowan, where are you?
Too many thrumming heartbeats later, she finally heard his soft mental chuckle. Could we not use the term poof? Where I’m from, it has an entirely different connotation.
Are you okay?
Perimeter wards alerted again. I’m a wee bit busy. Contact you in a few.
Was he busy battling something nasty?
She carried dishes to the kitchen sink. Might as well stay occupied.
She’d washed, dried, put away the dishes and wiped down the countertops before Rowan reconnected.
Delaney, finishing the clean-up now.
Me too. I’ll bet mine was less messy. Everything all right?
He chuckled again. Aces. Be there soon.
Her jitters subsided, and she trudged to the sofa, fatigue dragging every step. Cell service was on, so she texted Archer, then phoned Vanessa to check in.
She hated being forced to hide the most important events of her life from her best friend. Apparently, Archer had delivered an Oscar-worthy performance and convinced Vanessa and Zack that Delaney needed time alone to cope with Connor’s illness. Van’s oddly serene acceptance tweaked Delaney’s suspicions. Archer or Rowan—or both—had likely added a hit of Power to reinforce those beliefs.
Sad and lonesome, she hung up and set her phone on the coffee table. Today had been a challenge, on every level. A yawn sneaked out as she tucked her feet beneath her and burrowed into the cushions. Maybe she’d close her eyes and rest until Rowan returned.
Flames crackled in the hearth. Raindrops spattered the rooftop. With every slow, deep breath, she could smell Rowan’s fresh sea-breeze scent lingering on the pillow, almost as if he were in the room.
When he suddenly lifted her into his arms, she struggled to semi-consciousness. “Hey. When did—?”
“Shh,” his deep voice soothed. “You’re going to bed.”
“Want to talk.”
“Tomorrow.” He laid her on cool sheets, covered her. “You’re knackered.”
“You take the bed,” she protested drowsily. “Bigger.”
“I’m used to sleeping under less than ideal conditions, lass. A bedroll beside the fire will be a luxury.”
“Sleeping bags. Closet.”
“I’ll find one. Sleep sweet.” His lips tenderly brushed her forehead before his footsteps faded.
* * *
“Delaney,” her brother’s voice called from very far away. “Delaney!”
“Connor?” she muttered.
“Wake…sis!” Connor’s demand was muffled, indistinct. “…need you.”
Her eyes flew open. She sat up. The bedroom was dark and silent. “Connor?” she whispered.
“Come…to…lookout.” His faint reply was barely discernable. “Alone.”
Delaney threw back the covers. She recognized her brother’s voice, even through the tenuous connection. It wasn’t a ruse, especially given the meeting place. She picked up her boots, then tiptoed down the hallway and into the living room. Dim embers glowed inside the fireplace, their red eyes watching from the ashes as she crept past Rowan slumbering in front of the hearth.
Holding her breath, she lifted her coat from the rack and eased open the front door. Outside, she shut it just as carefully, then paused to yank on her boots and coat before she broke into a jog parallel to the sea, in the opposite direction from the beach.
The rain had stopped, but no moonlight or stars penetrated the dark cloud canopy. No big deal. She’d been running this trail since her first summer at the cabin at age thirteen, with Archer and Connor. The perfect place, perfect outlet to purge her past when it clamored too loudly. Running surrounded by sea and sky always refreshed her. Cleansed her. She could traverse the familiar bumps and hollows in the dark—heck, in her sleep.
To her right, roaring waves pounded the rocks. An owl’s eerie screech echoed from the fog-shrouded forest to her left, inciting a panicked rustle of tiny feet. Nighttime cloaked the hunters…but also protected the prey.
Delaney breathed in cool, rain-washed air and her beloved ocean’s familiar salty tang, which immediately reminded her of Rowan. She didn’t question Connor’s request to come alone. Her brother would never endanger her, and Rowan had warded the property against evil. Besides, she now had a supernatural sword, and her Power.
Well, if she could call them up on demand.
Ten minutes later, she spied the craggy silhouette of mammoth boulders jutting into the ocean. An abandoned lighthouse speared skyward from the peninsula’s tip…with a big, watchful raven perched on the widow’s walk.
Lookout Point.
Legend said it was consecrated ground. The islet had belonged to the Native Americans, who’d called it God’s Eye because of the incredible all-seeing vie
w, farther out to sea than anywhere on the coastline. According to Native American lore, God’s Eye was a place from where their shamans could see the spirit world. Probably why Connor had chosen it. Maybe it was a portal where he could more easily communicate with her. Only Connor and Archer knew about Delaney’s fascination with the lighthouse tower.
When building the lighthouse had begun in the late 1800’s, Native American shamans warned against desecrating sacred ground. Furious storms and cruel accidents took their toll of construction workers. Afterward, keepers living in the finished structure reportedly experienced physical and mental instabilities…one even tried to kill another by slipping ground glass into his food. Keepers became harder and harder to hire, and after seventy-five years of bad karma, the structure was finally abandoned.
But the lighthouse had been built to withstand nature’s worst battering, and remained sound. She’d spent endless hours in the deserted tower watching the ocean.
The outcropping loomed closer. Almost there.
A vile stink permeated the woods, had her gaze darting to the left. Nostrils burning, she slowed to a walk. Peered into the bushes. Last thing she needed was to get ambushed by a ninja skunk.
Delaney stopped inches from where a dark, oily puddle stained the path. She squatted, sniffed. Ugh! The rotten stench made her gag. She hastily stood. That decaying goo wasn’t left by any known animal.
Giving the sludge a wide berth, she circled it. Her skin began to glow golden, and she realized she’d stepped across the boundary onto God’s Eye…onto sacred ground. She took the new development in stride, past being dismayed.
The light from her aura allowed her to study trampled imprints and torn foliage mired in the stained mud. She squinted at deep boot tread crisscrossed by slash and drag marks. Those had to be Rowan’s unmistakable size sixteen prints, entangled with tracks of something not human…nor any local wildlife.
He must have killed a demon here when he’d zapped out. Delaney’s nervous glance scanned the landscape. Empty of threats. Her tight shoulders relaxed a fraction. If anything—or anyone—trespassed his wards, Rowan would charge to her rescue within seconds.
Admittedly, not very twenty-first century woman thinking. She grinned. But damn, after nearly two years of fighting alone, it was five kinds of awesome to have her very own Supernatural Special Ops warrior.
She hurried as quickly as possible over the rocky terrain to the lighthouse. After wrenching open the bulky steel door, she climbed the gazillion stairs, her bootsteps in tandem with pounding surf. The moment she entered the tower, the gigantic lantern fired up, spotlighting luminescent green waves over a hundred and sixty breathtaking feet below. Delaney gasped. The light hadn’t functioned in decades!
“Connor?” she whispered. “Are you here?”
On the ledge beside the huge windows, a battered cell phone began to play Guns and Roses’ “Sweet Child of Mine,” Connor’s ringtone for her. Her breath caught as she walked over to it. Connor’s phone! She’d last seen it months ago, when she’d tucked it away in her apartment building’s basement storage unit with Connor’s other belongings. The account shouldn’t even work, much less the battery.
Pulse galloping, and not just from the steep ascent, she picked up the unit.
“New video message” flashed. She thumbed the button and a text appeared: “Tell Rowan.” A movie played on the small screen. Herself in the interrogation room at the prison, Connor across the table. They talked. Connor smeared her palm with bloodied symbols. Guards rushed the room. The fight, then guards on the floor, stunned.
Connor being dragged away. What was mine now belongs to you.
Herself, alone and upset. Damn you, Judge Zinter! You and all your corrupt flunkies can fry in hell!
“Is this what you hauled me out here for?” she muttered in disappointment. “I had every intention of telling him about the prison guard incident, tonight.”
The image abruptly disappeared and another text popped up, “Lanie! Watch your back!”
“Again, not news, brother.”
As the sound of her sigh died in the still air, raspy breaths echoed from the doorway behind her. Her scalp prickled. She wheeled…
And came face-to-face with her stepfather.
Delaney’s heart tried to punch out of her chest as she stumbled backward. This can’t be happening!
“Hello, Delaney,” he drawled. “It’s been a long wait.”
Disbelief warred with terror. Age had only enhanced Graves’ fine aristocratic features. Character lines crinkled the corners of pale blue eyes, and distinguished silver tipped his short blond hair. The monster of her nightmares didn’t appear as old as he should, considering eleven years had passed.
“Not long enough.” The swallow stuck in her dry throat. “How did you find me?”
Perfect teeth bared in the cold smile that chilled her bones. “Connor’s been in the news again, hasn’t he?” His avid gaze crawled down her glowing body, and she shivered. “Even after all that’s happened, you still don’t understand your ultimate destiny. A destiny you get to choose.”
She took another step back. Her spine hit the window ledge. Trapped. She tried to summon her Power. Her sword.
Nothing.
“Can you feel it?” Graves stalked her, moving closer. “A storm is coming.”
As he lunged, she instinctively ducked, then spun into the move Rowan had taught her. Rowan! She focused her thoughts, hurled them outward. Rowan, lighthouse! Need you!
Graves laughed. “You’ve learned a few things over the years. Gained new skills.”
“Come after me now, you slime…” She kicked out and hit his upper thigh, and he staggered. “And it’ll cost you.”
“Maybe.” His grin was a horrible parody of mirth. “But not as much as I’ll take from you.”
Rowan! Answer me!
Silence.
Delaney cast a frantic glance at the thick windows behind her. Graves had positioned himself between her and the front door while also blocking the door to the widow’s walk. Could she break the huge windowpanes? She’d risk balancing on the narrow walkway outside, risk careening to her death on the rocks before she’d let Graves touch her. Shoving aside fear, she again attempted to raise Power, aimed at the glass.
Still nothing
A narrow opening cleared between Graves and the stairwell as they circled. She feinted in the opposite direction. When he bought the ruse, she charged for the escape route.
She almost made it.
Graves tackled her from behind, slammed her face into the doorjamb, then knocked her to the floor.
Stunned, hurting, gagging for air, she could barely struggle as he rolled her over.
Just like before.
Graves straddled her. His hands vised on her throat. “Make your choice, Delaney. Submit or die.”
Rowan! she screamed silently as her nails dug into Graves’ wrists. Help me!
Her stepfather grinned again and his fingers tightened, cutting off her oxygen. “You can’t stop me. Nobody can.”
No! She tried to buck him off. Get off me.
He shook her, as helpless as a rag doll in his iron grasp. “The only way you can win is to pay the ultimate price.”
She fought him. Even when her vision grayed, when her pulse stuttered erratically. Fought as Graves choked her with one hand while his other shoved up her shirt.
Fought as her sight faded.
Then everything faded.
* * *
“Delaney!” Rowan’s frantic brogue broke into the void. “Delaney! Breathe, lass.”
She wheezed in a ragged, painful inhale.
“Aye, that’s the way.” Tender fingers caressed her face. “Come back to me now, sweetheart.”
Rowan?
Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes. He was straddling her, his weight pinning her shoulders. Bejeweled rainbows from the bedside Tiffany lamp…in the bedroom…in the cabin, illuminated his bare chest and arms.
&n
bsp; “What—” she croaked. “Graves!”
“You’re having a nightmare, sweetheart. A very bad one.”
No. Real. Delaney’s eyes burned with moisture as her trembling hands flew to her sore throat. “Connor. Connor called me. I went to the lighthouse. My stepfather!” Violent shaking overtook her.
Solid arms scooped her up and wrapped around her. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Rowan shifted her into his lap, close to his big, warm body. “‘Twas only a dream. You never left this cabin, I swear it.”
“I was there.” She choked on a sob. “Graves attacked…strangled me.”
“Easy, luv. You’re all right.” He rocked her, smoothed her hair. “You didn’t go anywhere.”
“I don’t…understand. It didn’t happen?”
“No, Delaney. I’d have sensed if you were in danger. Trust me, no one will hurt you while I still draw breath.”
“I saw…smelled where you killed the demon. On the path to the lighthouse. Did you kill a demon there tonight?”
“Aye.” He tensed, shook his head. “But that vision came to you within your dream, nothing more.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Still rocking, he rubbed her back in soothing circles. “You couldn’t leave the cabin without me knowing. ‘Tis warded.”
“My neck.” She touched her aching throat again. “Are there bruises?”
A gentle hand tipped up her chin, and she looked into steady silver eyes that warmed her, chased away the cold terror. One callused fingertip lightly stroked her cheek, glided down her throat. When he touched the chain resting there, tingling Power arced over her skin. “Not a mark on you.”
“Everything seemed so real,” she whispered, slumping against him. “Nothing like any dream I’ve ever had.”
“I assume it’s not the first nightmare about your stepfather.”
