Instead of replying, Abigail reached down and slapped Natasha hard across the face. Her palm against Natasha’s cheek made a such a loud clapping noise that it actually echoed in the woods, and Natasha felt the blood rush to the abused skin. The pain was of no consequence to her. It barely even registered in her mind that she had felt pain, since pain was not real to her. The true damage was in her mind.
With that one slap, Natasha found herself right back with Matthew, years ago, enduring his abuse and excusing it because, well, it wasn’t really hurting her the way that abuse could hurt other people. She was immune to pain. What difference did it make if he took his anger out on her?
All the shame came rushing back, and Natasha lunged at Abigail, grabbing both of her arms and flipping her backward. Suddenly Natasha was on top, pinning Abigail’s arms over her head and glaring down into the woman’s surprised face.
The surprise only lasted a moment. Abigail smirked and threw Natasha backward so hard that she flew through the air and slammed up against a tree, smacking her head against the trunk with a resounding thud. The pain had no effect on her still, but her vision went blurry, telling her just how hard she had hit her head. It wasn’t until she realized that her feet weren’t touching anything that she looked down, and when she did, she almost threw up.
The sight of the branch that had impaled her stomach made her go numb and begin to sweat. It wasn’t the pain from the wound, although when she thought about it, she could tell that she was feeling some pain. It was the blood and the jagged wood emerging from her and the knowledge that something had punctured her all the way through that made her want to pass out.
Below her, Abigail laughed. “That was really good aim. Accidental, I assure you. Couldn’t do it again if I tried. But it’s handy, because I have a feeling you’ll be a lot less trouble up there than you were down here. Just …hang out until Michael gets here then.”
Natasha didn’t even bother to answer the woman. Her body was already starting to work to heal itself, and in the process, it was pushing the branch out of the way. She was moving closer and closer to the edge of the jagged branch without any effort on her part, and as she stared at the ground below, Natasha knew what she had to do. Putting it out of her mind that she was impaled on a branch, she stretched her legs backward, bracing her feet against the tree, and she shoved with all of her might, the branch ripping through her again as she pushed herself off of it.
She tumbled to the ground, landing with a thud, and she immediately stumbled to her feet. There was blood everywhere, all over her exposed stomach, running down the front of her jeans, and all over her hands. She looked like something out of a horror film, but she straightened up all the way, pinning a stunned Abigail with an icy glare. “You do realize that you can’t hurt me, right?” Natasha asked, her voice much calmer than she felt. “You do realize that you can’t just push me around like that.”
It was both Abigail and Matthew that Natasha was talking to, and both Abigail and Matthew that Natasha lunged for and grabbed around the neck. She shook Abigail back and forth with her bloody hands, smearing the blood all over the woman’s face as one hand covered Abigail’s pretty, shock-frozen features and pressed her backward.
“Ronan!” Natasha shouted. “Ronan! I’m here! Ronan!” She yelled his name over and over again as she fought with Abigail. The woman quickly realized that the gaping wound that was still in Natasha’s abdomen, healing, wasn’t going to stop the woman from anything, and Abigail recovered, using her superior strength to force Natasha back to the ground and cover her mouth.
Natasha bit Abigail’s hand as hard as she could and shouted again. “Ronan! Ronan!”
“Bitch,” Abigail seethed, slapping her again. “Why do you have to ruin everything?”
“Don’t hit me,” Natasha spat at her, grabbing Abigail’s hand and trying to wrestle the woman off her. “Ronan!”
“Shut her up,” a male voice said. It wasn’t Ronan’s though. It belonged to a man who walked through the trees suddenly, taking in the scene with wide, skeptical eyes. “Abigail, what the hell is going on here?”
Abigail got to her feet, angry, bloody, barely dressed, and breathing hard. “Ask questions later,” she snapped at the man. “Tell me you brought a car.”
“It’s nearby,” the man said, staring at Natasha. “God, what happened to her? Who is this?”
“It’s my betrothed’s bitch-whore,” Abigail said. “And quit looking like that. She deserved everything she got and then some. Besides, pain doesn’t affect her. See?” Abigail hit Natasha directly in the stomach, where her open wound was still visible, though barely.
Natasha spat in her face in return, not wincing in the slightest. She might not be as strong or as fast as Abigail, but there was nothing Abigail could do to take away the power she did have, and she wouldn’t be intimidated. This time when someone had hit her, she had fought back, and it had felt good.
She would never stop.
“Hold onto her,” Abigail ordered Michael. “Where are the others?”
“In the car,” Matthew said, walking over to Natasha and wrenching both arms behind her back, holding her in place. His touch was rough, but it wasn’t cruel, the way that Abigail’s was. Natasha could read people better than most, and Michael’s touch gave her hope that she could persuade him that Abigail was out of her mind and that all of this needed to stop.
“This isn’t right,” Natasha told Michael, as he began to drag her through the trees. “You need to let me go. You’re making a huge mistake. Whatever she’s told you about Ronan, it isn’t true. He’s a good man. He wants to do what’s right for everyone. He would never want someone to hurt or go without—never. Whatever you think he’s doing that’s so bad, it isn’t that way. I need you to listen to me.”
Behind them, Abigail snorted. “Shut her up. The bitch has done enough.”
“Be quiet,” Michael instructed Natasha sharply. “This will be easier if you just don’t get involved. Our problem isn’t with you, ultimately. You’re just caught up in this.”
“Your problem isn’t with anyone,” Natasha told him, begging him to see reason even as he muscled her head of him. “Ronan doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh yeah?” Michael asked. “Then what’s he trying to do by outlawing marriages between Dragon Clan members, huh? He thinks that just because the Boston branch of the clan has been chosen as one of the thriving branches and he’s the leader that he can interfere in the rest of our lives? He thinks that he can just make it a new rule that our marriages aren’t valid?”
Natasha tried to look back at him as he shoved her forward. “What? No! He doesn’t care who you marry. That’s the whole thing—he just wants everyone to be able to choose for themselves.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Abigail snapped. “She doesn’t know anything. They keep her out of the loop. Probably because she’s stupid, but definitely because this isn’t even her world. Remember, Michael—she’s not one of us. She had no idea what our lives are like.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Natasha said, pleading with Michael as they got to the edge of the woods and a rental car four-door sedan sat there, innocuously waiting. “You don’t need to have this fight. If you take me, Ronan will make you a sworn enemy. He’ll destroy you. All you have to do to end this whole thing is to give me back to him safely and just talk. Have you ever even sat down and talked with him?”
It was clear that Michael was wavering. He glanced at her, then at Abigail, frowning. His thoughts were all over his face, and Natasha felt a surge of hope. She had been right. This man was reasonable. This man would help her fix everything.
“Michael, please,” Natasha said. “Please trust me. I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I recognize good people. And I think you’re good. You must be in love with someone, right?” He didn’t answer, but she could tell by the flicker on his face that he was. “She’s in the clan. That’s okay, Michael. God, Ronan doesn’t
care about that! Be with her if you want to be. Marry her. Stay married to her. Whichever way it is—he would never interfere. Please talk to him. Give him a chance to explain everything. I promise you he will.”
Michael was clearly wavering. He had stopped pushing her forward to the car, and he looked over at Abigail, his brow knit.
“Abby, why are we really doing this? You told me that Ronan wanted to take over, do things his way, and break up my marriage. Are you lying to me because you’re bitter about losing your place here?”
Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Do not flake on me now, Michael. Why would I lie to you? You’re going to believe her over me? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“Michael, she’s lying,” Natasha said, her voice betraying the intensity she felt. “She’s a bitter, angry person who wants nothing more than to take over the clan for herself. Don’t be swept up in any of it. Listen to me. I’m telling you the—Michael, watch out!”
Her warning was too late. Abigail’s hands came up behind Michael, grabbing his head and jerking it to the left, snapping his neck completely. His body crumpled to the floor, and Natasha followed, grabbing him in her arms and trying to push her healing power into him to save his life.
But it was futile, and she knew it the moment that she touched him. His death had been instantaneous, and as powerful as her healing abilities were, they couldn’t bring back someone who was already dead. Tears filled her eyes, and she actually cried over the man who she didn’t know at all, desperately sad that the psychopathic woman above them had ended his life just because it was to her advantage. What about the woman that Michael had loved? What was her life going to be now?
When Natasha looked up at Abigail, it was with seething hate. She stood slowly, her hands clenched into fists. “You’re a miserable, terrible human being,” Natasha said, almost spitting the words. “How dare you? How fucking dare you?”
Abigail grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the car, stepping over Michael’s body as though it was nothing. She paused only long enough to stoop down and take the keys from the man’s pocket. “Get in,” Abigail said to Natasha, opening the back door and shoving her into the backseat. “Make a single move, and I’ll do to you what I did to him. You shouldn’t doubt that.”
Natasha didn’t. She got into the backseat, shaken to her core. She had never seen someone die in front of her before, much less seeing someone killed so ruthlessly. There was no emotion in Abigail at all, and it terrified Natasha. More than anything, she wanted to live through this and somehow end up back with Ronan so they could live their lives together for the rest of the time they had. It was all she wanted.
But as Abigail began to drive them away from the scene of her crimes, Natasha realized that she couldn’t think of a single reason why Abigail should want to keep her alive, and there were far too many reasons why it would be easier for Abigail if Natasha was dead.
Being trapped with a heartless psychopath who had more reasons to want her dead than alive was more than enough to force Natasha to face the fact that she was not truly immortal. She could heal herself from anything—except the kind of instant death that she had just witnessed.
If she challenged Abigail, she might end up just like Michael.
Ronan, where did you go? Why haven’t you come for me?
Natasha called out to the man she loved in her mind, knowing that he couldn’t hear her, fearing for his safety, and wondering if she would ever, ever see him alive again.
Chapter Thirty
Ronan
He hadn’t been able to do it. Dripping with silver blood, wounded, and totally exposed to any potential human eyes, Ronan had scoured the forest for Abigail and Natasha for as long as he could, flying low over the trees. But he had no idea which way Abigail had gone, and his wings had gotten weaker and weaker, refusing to hold him up no matter how much he willed them to. He had sunk down to the ground, barely breathing, his eye marred from the deep scratch Abigail’s talon had produced. He could barely see anything at all, and the only sensation he had was pain.
All he had meant to do was rest for a moment before returning to his search for Natasha, but his wings had begun to flicker and his body had been wracked with pain as he shifted back and forth between human and dragon again and again, desperately trying to hold onto his dragon form but failing each time.
Lying naked on the forest floor, Ronan had to accept the fact that he couldn’t go after Natasha on his own, and that realization in and of itself was far more painful than any injury that he had suffered. His anger toward Abigail knew no bounds. They had agreed—Natasha was off limits during the fight. She wasn’t to be touched until the battle had been won by one side or the other, and Abigail had abandoned her word. While Ronan was still up and fighting her, she had taken Natasha and disappeared with her, and for that—for that Abigail would receive a death sentence.
No dragon shifter had ever killed another dragon shifter in the history of the Dragon Clan. It simply wasn’t done. And Ronan was loath to be the first to commit such a terrible act. But for what Abigail had done to Natasha, he would happily take up his metaphorical sword and drive it straight through Abigail’s throat.
But he would have to find her first, and the prospects for doing so while naked, exhausted, wounded, and bleeding on the dry, hot ground were slim to none.
He had to force himself to his feet, stumbling here and there as he tried to get his bearings. Even in his human form, his eye was damaged, his skin torn and shredded by Abigail’s talons, and his body bruised and aching. It was only sheer willpower that kept him on his feet at all, and he had barely enough of it to get him to the main road.
A car stopped for him almost immediately, and it was just a stroke of luck—his first in quite a while—that it was a car full of college boys who were going into downtown Boston for a night of bar hopping. Ronan told them that he had gotten in a fight with a man who had beaten him up and stolen his clothing, and the boys got him some of their own spare clothing, dressing him and insisting on taking him to the hospital.
Ronan told them to drive him to Connolly Security instead, even though he did need to be treated. The only person he wanted to heal him was Natasha, and he would use that as further inspiration to find her—as though he needed any further inspiration at all.
When he walked into the security building, the reaction of his friends told him just how bad he looked. He accepted a stiff drink as he told them what exactly had happened, and the alcohol burned through him, doing little to heal him but plenty to numb the pain.
“Abigail won’t take her back to the hotel they were staying at. She’ll know, now, that we have all of the information about her previous plans. She’ll change them, and she’ll make sure that she has Natasha somewhere out of the way. Our only silver lining is that Abigail no longer has any contacts here in Boston. She was only in touch with Liam, and we have him here. God, please tell me we still have him here.”
Eamon nodded. “Yes. We do. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Then Abigail is more likely to make some sort of mistake,” Ronan said, wincing as he shifted in his chair, trying to ease the strain put on his aching muscles and shredded skin. “She’ll have to think on the fly and on her own in a strange place. We can use our better lay of the land to track her down. I want every single one of you on the computer, identifying where you would go if you needed an out-of-the-way hiding place. Keep in mind that she has others with her, and that she may be preparing for a fight. It won’t be downtown.”
“I’m on that,” Moira said, her tone somber. Ronan knew that she was still carrying a lot of guilt and emotion, and she would be for a while. But the worst thing he could do was tell her to go home and not help.
He nodded at her, showing her his complete confidence in her loyalty and ability. “Good. Kean, you too. I want more than one person on it. Eamon—have you heard from your witch friend?”
“Isabelle is on-call,” Eamon told him.
&nb
sp; “Good.” Ronan started to stand, his instinct to pace a room when he was intense, but his body was in no condition, even after the alcohol and cleaning himself up as best as possible. He was bringing Isabelle, Eamon’s friend who had helped him save Autumn, the love of Eamon’s life, from the forces targeting her. Now they would need her again to see if she could offer them any healing power for Ronan and to see if she could do a locator spell on Natasha, like they had done once before. “How far out is she?”
“She’s only ten minutes away. You want her to come in now?”
Ronan nodded. “Yeah, get her in here. Please and thanks. Siobhan—has Julian come up with anything at all, vision-wise?”
“No,” Siobhan said, shaking her head. “He’s working with Ophelia. She helps him open up his connection and try to actively search for a vision, but it doesn’t always work. His visions …they come when they come.”
“Keep trying with him,” Ronan said, finally getting to his feet, albeit shakily.
Siobhan reached for him, trying to keep him steady. “Whoa, where are you going? You’re in no shape to be doing whatever you’re about to do.”
“I can’t just sit here and wait,” he told her, shaking his head. “And neither would you, if it was Julian, right?”
She couldn’t argue with that, but she didn’t let go of him either as he walked unsteadily over to Liam’s cell phone and picked it up, scanning through the conversation with Abigail again for any further hints.
“She’s not going to be at that hotel,” he muttered. “And she won’t have her phone after transitioning unless she went back for it.”
“Do you think she went back for it?” Siobhan asked. “Would it have been that important?”
“My gut says no,” Ronan told her.
Everyone was distracted for the moment, carrying out their particular parts of the mission to find Natasha and end Abigail’s takeover plans. Ronan took that moment to speak to Siobhan privately, because he knew she was the most practical out of all of them, and he needed to know.
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