by Julia Milla
Chapter Eight
Sitting and waiting was the hardest part of any operation and having Caitlin’s nerves adding to his need for action made Kyran jumpy and on edge. The sound of Marcie’s car coming down the gravel road leading to his mate’s home added rage to his volatile mix of emotions. The audacity of the deceitful witch to act as if nothing was wrong and continue to play the part of Caitlin’s nurse was deplorable and only added to the hate the black dragon had for her.
He knew his mate was having a hard time with how this was all going to end and wished he hadn’t promised to keep his mind open to hers. Knowing she would be using his eyes to watch the person she’d thought of as a friend die by his hands made Kyran wish for another way to keep his promise to his mate, but he came up empty handed. This was how it had to be.
It wasn’t long before the witch’s beat up black car was parked in Caitlin’s driveway and the tall, lanky woman with long, dirty-blonde hair was making her way toward the front door. The all too familiar stench she left in her wake made his dragon growl and Kyran fight not to strike her down where she stood with what his brethren used to call his super power.
It has always made him chuckle, but as he’d gotten older, the gift he’d received from his mother’s heritage had saved not only his life, but countless others. Being the most powerful banshee power in a millennium, Kyran’s mom gave her son the ability to focus his death wail straight into the mind of his intended victim. First, they were paralyzed then, within seconds their brains were liquefied, and then they were no more. Had he not promised Caitlin to wait and had the silent part of his power not been taken from him by the O’Baoill’s experimentation, the Phantom would’ve killed Marcie where she stood without a second thought. Knowing Eve’s treachery had now touched Caitlin for a second time added to the many reasons he would not rest until the O’Baoill bitch was dead and her ashes spread to the four corners of the Universe.
“She’s connected to Eve?” Caitlin’s question was filled with venom.
“Aye. Ah wull ne'er forget that rotten reek,” he growled in return then after a long deep breath, “Everythin’ is gooing tae be okay, mo ghrá. Just stick tae oor plan. I’ll be right in.”
The sound of the doorbell cut off whatever Caitlin was about to say and had Kyran racing through the brambles, around to the back yard, and into the kitchen before Marcie had crossed the threshold. Listening to his mate speak, he could tell how hard it was for her not to lash out, but he was filled with pride at how she kept her temper in check and even smiled when following the evil traitor to the bathroom with Duke by her side.
“I’m so sorry you had to come all the way over. It’s just that I was so worried. What if Duke were to get glass in his paw then lick it and cut his tongue? I just don’t know what I would do if something happened to him.” Kyran smiled, remembering how Caitlin had laughed when she threw the glass on the floor, remarking that it was the first time she’d broken anything on purpose in a really long time.
“Never a problem, you know that. I think of you as my friend, not just a patient. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help you.”
“Yeah, sure, a friend…a friend you want to torture, maim, and murder. I hate to see how you treat those you really do like…
Kyran had to hold back his laughter as he listened to Caitlin’s inner monologue. She was so full of life and what his dad would’ve called ‘piss ‘n’ vinegar’ that just being near her was a true delight. Life with his banshee would never be boring.
Pulling himself from his thoughts, the Phantom listened as Marcie said, “Looks like you got the big pieces.” Then feigning concern asked, “Are you sure you didn’t cut yourself?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I made sure to be careful.”
“Okay, stay here and I’ll be right back with the broom.” Marcie sounded so sincere it was easy for him to see how Caitlin, even with all her intuition and abilities, had been fooled.
Standing in the shadow of the windowless laundry room, Kyran waited until the witch had opened the broom closet and leaned in before he stepped out. Using his enhanced speed, he grabbed her from behind, spun on his heels, threw her into a kitchen chair, and then used the bungee cords he’d found in the shed behind Caitlin’s house to tie the witch to the chair. All the while she spit and sputtered, “What the…? Caitlin! Help! Stop! Call the pol—”
The last word was cut short by the rag Kyran shoved into her mouth. He watched her eyes grow large and the color drain out of her face as he stood to his full six-foot-five inches. He knew she could feel the fury pouring off him and he did nothing to mute it, but did have to bite back an evil smile when the appearance of Caitlin being led in by Duke had Marcie thrashing about and trying to talk around the gag in her mouth.
“Stop!” Caitlin cried out, shaking her head with her free hand balled into a fist at her side. “Just shut up, Marcie! The only thing I want to hear from you are answers. I need an explanation and I need it now. Why did you twist my father’s beautiful white gypsy magic so that it would harm instead of heal? How could you do that to me?”
His mate shook with rage as she pushed Duke forward. The closer she got to Marcie, the more he could feel the magic she’d inherited from her mother building, becoming more powerful and calling to his. He knew she didn’t yet share his ability to focus the gift of the banshee but had no doubt his Caitlin could let out a wail that would not only kill the witch where she sat, but also bring the walls down around them.
Stepping to her, he wound his fingers through hers and spoke directly into her mind, “Breathe, mo chroí, joost breathe. Ye hae tae calm doon. We still need tae fin' oot whaur Eve is.”
“I know,” she growled. “But it’s so damned hard. She betrayed me, my family…” her voice got louder with every word. “And you… you could’ve died.” Taking a breath, she quickly added, “I just want her dead. Be damned with the answers.”
Squeezing her hand, he pushed as much calm and love through their mating bond as he could while commiserating. “Ah understand, mo stór, 'n' Ah knoo that’s how yer feelin' right noow. But if ye murdurr her afore ye fin' oot what ye wantae knoow, ye wull hae regrets 'n' that is something Ah ne'er waant ye tae experience.”
Caitlin took a long deep breath. He watched her struggle with her anger. Felt the chaos and conflict of her emotions…and simply waited, lending support, letting his formidable mate make peace with what had to be done. It took several minutes. Her internal battle was fierce, but in the end, his banshee was able to calm her restless, vengeful spirit and see her way to reason. Confirmation came when she whispered, “Take out her gag. I’m ready.”
Kissing the back of her hand, he nodded, “As you wish, mo mBean.”
Walking toward Marcie, Kyran decided to use the fear he saw in her eyes, the way her body shook a little more with each step he took, and the white-knuckled grip she had on the arm of the chair to make sure she had no doubts she was about to die. Leaning down until they were eye-to-eye, he growled, “I’m gooing tae remove this gag. Ye wull nae speak. Ye wull nae moove. Ye wull oonly answer th' questions Caitlin asks. Yer fate is awready sealed. Yer oonly alive because we need information. Understand, ye piece o' filth?”
Nodding frantically, tears running down her face, Marcie was talking the second Kyran removed the rag from her mouth. “Who are you?” she cried, cringing back as the black dragon leaned closer and slowly shook his head to silence her before stepping back to stand beside his Caitlin.
“I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “What are you talking about?” She leaned forward, begging Caitlin to listen, “I did nothing but have it translated into braille so you could use it.”
“Liar!” Caitlin screamed, pulling her hand from Duke’s fur and taking a step forward. “You changed the words!” Then another step, dropping Kyran’s hand… “You made the spells evil!” One more step… “Tarnished the one thing I had left of my father!” Then taking the last step that brought her legs to within inches of the chair,
Caitlin slapped Marcie right across the face and spat, “And you will pay for what you have done!”
Wailing like a child, the witch wept, “I swear, I did nothing.” Sobs wracked her body as she hiccuped, “I love you, Caitlin…” Sobbing, “Like a sister…” Begging, “Please, believe me.”
Raising her hand to strike Marcie again, Kyran grabbed Caitlin’s arm and commanded, “Na, wu’ll get nothing froom her this wey. She’s been trained by Eve tae withstand interrogation and be a master liar. Let me huv a go.”
“Whatever,” his mate grumbled, snatching her arm from his hand and shoving her hand in Duke’s fur, before ordering, “back, boy.”
The black dragon knew she wasn’t mad at him but it still stung when she turned away. Shaking off the unfamiliar feelings, Kyran knelt down in front of Marcie, looked her right in the eye, and demanded, “Tell me whaur Eve’s compound is 'n' Ah’ll mak' yer death quick, but screw wi' me 'n' Ah swear Ah wull tak' ye tae th' brink o' death just tae brin' ye back oover 'n' oover 'til ye beg fur th' warmth o' Hell.”
As if a switch had been flipped, gone was the sniveling wretch who begged for mercy and in her place was an evil, vengeful bitch, grinning like a fiend with a malicious glint in her now soulless black eyes. He could feel her calling her magic, felt the sting of the dark arts on his skin, and saw her open her mouth to utter a spell. Shoving the rag he’d just removed from her mouth back between her teeth, he almost laughed out loud as she screamed garbled curses around her gag and fought to escape his touch as he reached for her neck. Although opposed to hitting women, Kyran made an exception and with one quick jab to the jaw, left Marcie unconscious and blissfully quiet.
Reaching behind the witch’s neck, he felt the all too familiar bump of one of Eve’s transponders. The harder he pushed against the mechanism, the more he came to realize that although implanted in the same place as one of the ones he’d been burdened with, Marcie’s was very different in its purpose.
Standing, he spun her chair around, lifted her tangled hair, and groaned. It was just as he’d suspected. Not only had the hunters made improvements in their machinery, but now they were pouring magic and the essence they’d extracted from hundreds of shifters into the units by means of ancient Scandinavian magic. Kyran cursed under his breath as he tried to remember the meaning of the runes tattooed on Marcie’s skin. He could feel the evil pouring off them but simply could not remember what they meant.
“You won’t find any translation in your memory.” Caitlin’s monotone answer shocked him. He’d been so wrapped up in finding out how to make the witch talk he’d forgotten that his mate could see everything he saw. “They’ve been changed,” she went on. “Not a lot. Just a little mark here and a little mark there, to taint their meaning and to be used as a failsafe.”
“A what?” He watched his mate’s expression turn still darker.
“It’s a way to control her even if someone should remove that thing from her neck. I guess Eve has upped her game since the dragons saved you and the other shifters by taking her godforsaken gadgets from your necks. These runes are not only evil, but see the one at the very bottom? The one that looks like a stick figure with no head?”
“Aye.”
“Well, it started out looking like a ‘Y’ with an extra line through the top. But by adding the two markings that look like legs at the bottom, it has been drastically changed. It now means death and it has been bespelled with blestemul morții or the Curse of Death. Bitch even had a sense of humor and used a gypsy spell to do it, which I’m sure she got when Marcie let her touch my father’s grimoire.” Caitlin scoffed, her anger mixed with betrayal and a healthy dose of sadness that made both Kyran and his dragon want to drive their blade through Marcie’s heart just to make it all end.
Closing the distance between himself and his mate, Kyran took her in his arms, rubbing her back until she relaxed into his embrace. Looking over her head at the still silent witch, Kyran knew what he had to do. Whispering to Caitlin, he reassured her, “It’ll a' be oover soon, o' that ye kin be sure.”
Not waiting for her to argue with what he knew she saw in his head, the black dragon kissed his mate on the top of the head, set her back against the counter, and laid her hand in Duke’s fur before advancing toward a now mumbling, waking Marcie. Standing over her as she opened her eyes, Kyran picked her up chair and all, turned toward the door, and raced outside.
Slamming the legs of the chair on the ground with such force they dug into the earth, the Phantom pulled his serrated-edge hunting knife from the waistband of his pants and positioned it over her jugular. Marcie’s eyes grew even larger, her breathing came in pants, and she strained with all her might against the restraints to miss the sharp edge of his blade. But none of it mattered. Kyran had had enough. Caitlin had suffered enough. The witch would talk or she would die. That was all there was to it.
“Tell me whaur yer leader is or by a' th' saints in th' heavens Ah’ll cut ye ear-to-ear,” he snarled, pulling the rag from her mouth at the same time that he pushed his knife into her neck until a thin, steady stream of blood flowed down her neck.
Looking him dead in the eye, taunting him to finish what he’d started, Marcie spat, “Go to Hell,” a second before she screamed, “Moarte prin foc!”
“Proteja!” Caitlin’s bellow sounded from over his shoulder where she’d appeared on the deck a split second before he felt a blanket of white, protective magic wrap around him. Sparks flew as Marcie’s spell rebounded off his mate’s mystical shield. Inhuman shrieks of pain and anguish filled the skies as the witch writhed in pain mere seconds before exploding into a million pieces right before his eyes.
Covered in blood and gore, Kyran slowly turned toward his mate. She stood tall, a look of acceptance on her face and her hand firmly gripping the fur around Duke’s neck. Walking toward her, he stopped just short of touching her, not wanting to dirty her or the dog with the remains of the traitor and smiled, hoping she could feel the love and pride in his voice. “Thank you, mo ghra’. Ah’m soory ye had to do that, but wi'oot ye Ah woood’ve bin dead. Ah goot distracted 'n' dropped mah guard. Ah was trying tae keep as mooch o' th' ugliness froom ye as Ah coold.” Hanging his head, wanting…needing to touch her but unable to, he added, “Ah’m soory we didn’t git Eve’s location.”
Shaking her head, she smiled a sad smile. “No worries, I know we’ll find her.” She paused, raised her chin a bit, and then went on. “You can’t protect me from evil, Kyran. It’s everywhere. Besides, we’re better together…stronger…damned near unbeatable.” Her expression took on a whole new light, beaming with pride.
When a warm glow filled their mating bond, his heart soared. He felt the truth of her words but still had to tease her. “Aye, mo chroí, but remind me ne'er tae piss ye off.”
Caitlin’s laugh pushed away whatever remained of the darkness and her comment had him laughing along. Taking a step forward, she pointed in his direction. “But you have to get cleaned up before you’re allowed anywhere near the inside of my house.”
“Aye. Ah’ll use th' hose 'n' be right in.”
“And Duke and I will find something for you to wear. I have a bag of clothes that was left here when I moved in that Mar…” she stopped short, refusing to utter the traitor’s name, and then continued, “Anyway, they are men’s clothes and from what I understand, they’re pretty large sizes.”
“Are you implying I’m a big man?” Kyran snickered.
Shaking her head while following Duke’s lead, she groaned. “Oh boy, that’s what I call digging for a compliment.”
Turning on the hose, he sucked in his breath as the cold water drenched his clothing, washing off the remains of the treacherous witch. Caitlin’s giggle made him chuckle despite the frigid temperature. Opening his mouth to tease her a bit more, Kyran swallowed his words when his dragon growled a low, threatening snarl in his mind.
Dropping the hose, he spun around and was racing toward the woods behind Caitlin’s cottage while y
elling into her mind, “Get in the house and lock the door! Someone’s coming!”
Chapter Nine
Watching through Kyran’s eyes, Caitlin disobeyed his shouted orders and stood by the opened back door. Holding tight to a growling Duke’s collar—who made it abundantly clear he was more than ready to help her mate should the black dragon run into trouble handling the intruders she could sense were just over the ridge—long, tense moments drug on as she waited to see or hear something…anything.
Finally, she felt her mate preparing to attack. Heard the footsteps of the trespassers coming closer to where he was lying in wait on the first branch of a tall tree just to the left of their path. She saw the glint of his blade in the setting sun and held her breath as he held his.
Just as he was about to attack, a low baritone with just a touch of an accent with an origin she couldn’t quite discern hollered out, “I swear to the Heavens if you cut me with that blade, I will be forced to kick your ass before I welcome you back from the dead, Kyran O’Connor.”
Immediate recognition burst into her dragon’s mind, followed by the name Drago, at the same time she breathed, “Kyran? Who is that?”
Laughing as he jumped out of the tree, he answered, “Mah commander 'n' whit ah think ur th' lads.”
Caitlin wasn’t quite sure what was happening but knew from the happiness her mate felt at seeing the man with short dark hair and goatee who had yelled at him and the four other men with him, that they were most definitely friend and not foe. Kyran felt a kinship for each of them that filled her with hope. They were his family, his brethren, Guardsmen with whom he shared a bond almost as strong as the one he shared with her.
“Drago?” he asked, walking toward them while sliding his knife back into his waistband.
“Who the hell else would it be? Did you think you could get away so easily?” Drago chuckled, but there was steel in his voice from years of being in command and if she wasn’t mistaken, a little anger.
