Abigail was trapped, and she knew it. Ronan opened his mouth, the roar that emitted from his throat, dark, deep, and loud enough to nearly deafen all who heard it. It was a roar of triumph and vengeance, and it made her shake before him.
He gave her one moment, wanting to see what she would do. Because what she did now would determine what he was forced to do. And when she’d had a moment to process his enormity and power, Abigail’s eyes narrowed and her jeweled tail went up in the air as she opened her mouth and breathed fire directly into his face.
Ronan launched his neck forward, and with one snap of his jaw bit directly through her neck, shaking her body and flinging it to the side just as Isabelle’s spell began to wear off of him.
He transitioned back into his human form, and for the first time in months, it wasn’t painful. When he stood there, naked and human once again, all he felt was strength and success—like the curse had been lifted from his body and he was whole again.
Slowly, Ronan walked over to Abigail, her death having automatically transitioned her back into her human form, and he looked down at her lifeless face and her gashed, bloody neck. He felt sorrow for the fact that a life had been taken, but he had no regrets. Abigail had proven herself again and again to be someone who could not be trusted not to do harm to others. Anyone who got in her way was in danger of being killed, and she’d nearly murdered Natasha in cold blood, just because she was bitter, jealous, and angry.
She had brought her death on herself, and he had no guilt about having been the one to administer justice. Her lifeless eyes inspired no pity in him at all, and as he nudged her with his foot to make sure there was no whisper of life left in her, all he felt was a sense of peace.
Then he turned back to the others, his eyes immediately landing on the LA members of the Dragon Clan, who had also transitioned back into their human form, all gaping at their fallen friend. It was as though they had thought she was infallible and now that she was gone, they didn’t know what came next.
One of them—Ronan didn’t know his name—spoke first. “Listen …we can figure this out some other way. We don’t have to keep fighting each other this way. We’re supposed to be part of the same clan.”
“Benjamin, shut up,” another said, his face bloodied and his chest still heaving from the fight. “They’ve killed Michael and Abigail. We’re not making nice. This is war now.”
“It’s a war you’ll lose,” Siobhan said. “You still want to go?” She stepped back like she was going to transition again, but Ronan held up his hand to stop her.
“Benjamin, was it?” Ronan said, looking at the big man with sandy blond hair. “I’m with you. I don’t want to be at war. I want to figure out how the hell this happened with people who all come from the same place.”
Ronan looked over at Julian, who was already giving out clothes to the Boston clan members from the bag that he had brought with him. Siobhan was the most reluctant of anyone to pull on the shorts and tank top that he offered her, but when he put his arms around her and kissed her fiercely, she seemed more convinced. Ronan accepted his own pair of jeans, pulling them on as he looked back for Natasha, motioning her over. He kissed her softly, stroking her cheek. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he whispered to her, smiling into her eyes.
“I’m not so sure about that one,” Natasha said, gesturing toward the small, dark man who had declared that he was still at war. He was glowering and sweating, nursing the leg that was bent at an angle, betraying its broken joint, and refusing to take the pair of jeans that Julian offered him.
“The purple dragon,” Ronan realized. “That’s him. He was the fiercest fighter out there.”
“Maybe I can help,” Natasha said. Very carefully, she approached the man, and Ronan was right behind her, knowing what she intended but ready to snatch her out of harm’s way if the man reacted violently.
But when Natasha laid her hand on the man’s arm, he glared at her but didn’t move a muscle. Natasha closed her eyes and began to take his pain away, healing him so completely that his leg angled itself the right way again and the joint knit back together, clearing Fischer’s face of the agony that had been etched into his features.
When Natasha was done, she dropped her hand and stepped back without saying a word, and Fischer frowned at her, looking as though he wasn’t sure how to react to her generous act of healing.
“You’d better damn well say thank you,” Ronan told the man. “You don’t deserve what she just gave you. Thank the woman or I’ll break your leg again.”
“She killed Michael,” Fischer said, hatred still in his tone. “I’m not thanking the person who killed my leader, and you wouldn’t ask any of your people to do that either.”
Ronan grabbed the man by the neck and jerked him forward. “Thank the woman!” he snarled. “If you’re still thinking Abigail had things right around here, maybe you need to meet her same fate.”
He didn’t intend to kill the man, but his lack of gratitude incensed him as much as his blind belief in whatever Abigail had told him.
The other man—the one who had not yet spoken—walked over, shoving Ronan back. “Is this the way you rule now? You just kill everyone who doesn’t agree with you? Because I don’t think that makes you a leader—I think that makes you a tyrant.”
“A tyrant like Abigail?” Ronan demanded, shoving the man right back. “She’s the only reason that anyone died, and if you can’t see that, then you’re not thinking clearly.”
“They’re brainwashed,” Siobhan interjected, striding over and getting up in Fischer’s face, her own grim. “Shame on you. Shame on you for listening to that bitch.”
“That bitch might as well have been my sister,” Fischer retorted, standing so close to Siobhan that they were nose to nose. “What would you do? Huh? You guys are the one that started messing with the way things are supposed to be. Abigail was just defending her rights. And Michael too. Who the fuck said that any of you could come in and decide who was supposed to marry who? Huh?”
Kean pushed his way between Siobhan and Fischer separating them. “Enough,” Kean said. “We’re all fighting over absolutely nothing because Abigail told everyone lies. Enough is enough. Look around us—haven’t we done enough damage here? To each other? To this building? Enough.”
“I agree,” Benjamin said. “Enough. Why are we even here? I never understood why Abigail and Michael wanted this. Who wants this?” He gestured around the destroyed gymnasium filled with silver and red blood and too many injured people. “God, what are we doing?”
Ronan wanted peace as much as anyone, but he wasn’t going to just wash his hands of what had caused him and his own months of misery. “We’re here because Abigail came after us. It’s as simple as that. She wanted power, she thought it was going to be taken from her, and she set out to destroy everything. And she almost succeeded.”
“And you killed her,” Fischer grunted. “Where’s our pound of flesh for that, huh? She killed Michael.” He pointed at Natasha. “Where’s our pound of flesh for him?”
Ronan turned to Natasha too. “Why do they keep saying you killed Michael?”
“Because this innocent healer persona is all a lie,” Fischer spat. “She wants your power and position as much as Abigail did. The only difference is that Abigail actually had a right to it. She’s a bitch-whore! She’s lower than pond scum. She’s—”
Ronan made eye contact with Eamon, who was standing directly behind Fischer, and Eamon grabbed Fischer by the shoulder, spinning him around, and punching him straight across the face, bloodying the man’s mouth and nose. “Shut the fuck up,” Eamon said, as succinct as ever. Then he wiped his bloodied hand on his jeans and nodded at Ronan. “You were saying?”
“Actually, I don’t think I need to say anything more.” Ronan turned toward Natasha, taking her hand and pressing it. “Honey, I think you may have the answers they’re looking for.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Natasha
&
nbsp; “Me?” Natasha asked, surprised at suddenly having the attention of the entire room, filled with wounded warriors, many of whom thought that she was guilty of killing their leader and friend. “I mean, yes,” she said, nodding and clearing her throat. “Yes, I think I can clear something up. Maybe we can all …sit down. Now that everyone is …dressed again.”
Ronan looked back at the motionless men and raised his eyebrows. “She said sit down.”
“Where?” Benjamin asked, glancing back at the destroyed bleachers.
Natasha pointed toward the far end, where there was an untouched area of the bleachers. “Come on,” she said, motioning to them. “You’re all injured. Sit.”
Siobhan and Moira followed her immediately, both women walking shoulder-to-shoulder with her, and Natasha could hear the others slowly moving behind her. She smiled gratefully at the two women for their support, and then, when everyone had sat down, the Boston clan together and the LA clan sitting as far away as possible, she took a deep breath.
“I don’t know…most of you,” Natasha began, her hands pressed to her stomach to steady herself. “And what I’ve just watched happen…I’ve never seen anything like it before. But Ronan is right that I can maybe help you understand it. First, you three”—she turned to the LA crowd— “you have to understand that I didn’t kill Michael. I’ve never killed anyone in my entire life. Never even come close or thought about it. The fact that Abigail is lying over there dead …despite everything she did to me—I still hate it.”
“Why would we take your word for it?” Fischer said, sitting there with his arms folded.
“What did you feel when I healed you?” Natasha asked, answering his question with one of her own. “Did you feel anything at all?”
He looked away from her, clearly not willing to answer. And she knew exactly why.
“You felt me give life,” Natasha said quietly. “It’s what I do. I don’t take life. I give it—and I always have. It’s in me. And you should believe me because of that, and because of what you know about Abigail. I watched her kill Michael in cold blood, because he was starting to believe me that Ronan didn’t want to break up his marriage or choose whom he could be with—he just wanted to give people the power to choose their mate. But Abigail needed Michael to believe the lie she had told him about Ronan, so he would help her achieve her own agenda, and when he wasn’t useful to her anymore, she killed him. His body is lying in the woods, his neck broken by her hands, not mine.”
“God,” Benjamin whispered, dropping his head in his hands. “How could she do that?”
“Don’t take her word for it,” Fischer said, although there was doubt in his own voice now. “We’ve known Abby our whole lives.”
“Then you should know what kind of person she was,” Ronan said. “Tell me, Natasha. Tell them about Josiah.”
Natasha almost teared up, thinking about the man. “Abigail convinced an older man named Josiah that he was in love with her and that it was her destiny to be with Ronan but that she would always love him.”
“Josiah Webb?” Sean, quietest out all of the LA group, asked, frowning. “Josiah Webb, the warlock?”
“That’s right. You knew him?”
“Yeah,” Sean said. “Abigail hated him. She said that he followed her around everywhere. That he was obsessed with her and she found him creepy.”
“Well, she told him that he was her soulmate,” Natasha said, hating the woman even more for that particular sin, especially after what Josiah had just done for her. “She got into his mind, and she convinced him to work against Ronan. Josiah died in the process of trying to backstab Ronan, and he’s been observing all of this from the other side. He’s been with me, he’s been with Abigail—he’s seen it all. And just minutes ago, I was about to die—my healing powers had been spent. And he gave his spirit up for me. To give me new life. Because he said he had been wrong in believing Abigail, and he had seen who she really was. And who I really was.” Her voice broke, and Ronan stood up from the bleachers, moving to stand beside her and take her in his arms as she cried tears for a man whom she had never known in life. “He saved my life to say he was sorry for what he had done.”
Ronan kissed her hair, stroking it back from her face as he kissed her damp cheeks. “We’ll name our son after him,” he told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Or if we have a daughter …we’ll name her Josie. Something. Something to say thank you. He gave you back to me. I will never have another bad thought about him—ever.”
“He was caught up in Abigail’s lies,” Natasha said. “Just like they were. Or are. Just like Michael. She hurt so many people, all because …because she wanted to be married to the leader of this clan. To take it over. She was a horrible woman. Horrible.”
“Hey,” Fischer snapped. “Be careful how you speak of the dead.”
“I speak well of the dead who deserve to be well spoken of,” Natasha snapped back at him. “You just don’t want to be wrong. You don’t want to admit that someone you loved could have been psychotic with her need for power and totally immune to the concept that other people have rights and feelings and value in and of themselves, regardless of what use they are to her. You don’t want to admit that—then that’s your problem. But the fact that this battle took place here tonight, the fact the Michael is dead, the fact that Josiah is dead, the fact that I almost died over and over and over again, and the fact that Ronan almost lost his own life—all of that lands squarely at the feet of your so-called friend and sister, and while that sucks for you, Fischer, maybe you can just damn well go ahead and get over it. Because if you don’t—if you keep backing her—you’re only going to keep looking like a fool. It’s your fucking choice.”
There was dead silence following Natasha’s rant, and then the sound of one person applauded. It was Kean, sitting off to the side, drinking it all in without a word thus far. Now he stood up, clapping his hands, and the rest of the Boston crowd followed suit.
“Stop,” Natasha protested, immediately embarrassed. “No, stop, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not some kind of hero to be applauded. I’m just pissed as hell.”
“And you should be.” Benjamin stood up too. “I, for one, believe you. Abigail was like my sister, and I did love her. And I also recognized that there was something dark in her—something that she could hide away when she needed to. I can’t wrap my head around the idea that she killed Michael, but I can’t see you doing it either. I have no reason not believe you, Natasha, and on behalf of my branch of the Dragon Clan, I can only say how sorry I am that we fought each other—the people who should be our permanent allies—over something that now seems so wrong and so …petty.”
Sean nodded his head. “Yeah. I’ll second that.”
Everyone turned and looked at Fischer, the obvious standout in the group. He turned his head away, not meeting their eyes, obviously struggling with where his loyalty lay and what he was supposed to do now if he wanted to remain true to himself.
Natasha walked over and sat beside him, her hand on his arm healing his bloodied nose and lip. He started to pull away from her, but she held him fast.
“Fischer, what is holding you back?”
“He was in love with her too,” Benjamin said quietly. “Come on, Fischer. You know you were.”
“He used to be,” Sean clarified. “When we were teenagers. He fell hard for Abigail. I don’t think he ever completely let go of that.”
Fischer stood up, walking down the bleachers and away from them until he was standing in the middle of the gymnasium. “Shut the fuck up. All of you.”
Everyone remaining on the bleachers looked at one another, unsure what to do, and Natasha found it amazing that just moments earlier, they had all been at each other’s throats and now there was a sense that they were all on the same team. They were natural allies. Not enemies. And without the toxic influence of Abigail, they could embrace that.
It made all of the blood, all of the pain, and all of the hopelessn
ess worth it.
Moira cleared her throat and spoke, her voice wavering a bit at first. “Fischer …it was my dad who was working with Abigail. He went to her, which in a way, makes him a lot worse than the other people who got caught up in her schemes. He betrayed the people I love, and even though I love him, I have to stick to what I know is right. Even when it breaks my heart. My dad deserved to be punished for what he did. And so did Abigail. I know how hard it is to accept that, though. My heart is broken. Like yours.”
“I’m not broken,” Fischer muttered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his borrowed jeans. “I want to see him. Michael. I want to see his body. If it’s where you say it is, and his neck is broken …I’ll believe you. There’s no way that Natasha could have gotten one over on Michael like that.”
Ronan and Natasha looked at each other, and she nodded slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ronan
“We shouldn’t have to be doing this,” Ronan said, as he walked beside Natasha through the woods where he had fought with Abigail earlier and where Abigail had taken Natasha away. “You know that this is above and beyond the call of duty, right? We’ve clearly made our case. We’ve taken care of the problem …and now searching here for Michael’s body just to prove what Fischer already knows—it’s more than we’re required to do, Natasha. Remember, they came to our territory, and they interfered with our business. Not the other way around.”
She just pressed his hand as they walked along the outer edge of the woods, where she had said that Michael would be—somewhere. “Michael wasn’t really in the wrong here, so it’s a matter of respect to find and do away with his body properly. Besides, we can’t have the authorities stumbling upon him and then launching an investigation, right?”
“No, we don’t want that,” he agreed. “Am I wrong for wishing that this horrible day would end though?”
“No.” Natasha looked up at him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, like his were. “But think …at least we get to be out here together. Alone. Healthy. Alive.”
Celtic Dragons Page 119
