For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  Tempest had been kidnapped by a youth who had committed suicide. Robyn had either killed herself, or someone had done it for her, and that blue-green scarf around her neck had been a warning to Leona. Alex was definitely affected, or rather “infected.” Dean—if he stayed away from Vernon—would hopefully recover.

  “Committed suicide…” The phrase circled Leona. She reached for her own set of index cards and wrote, “Stella Mornay—Grams.”

  Grams…He’s coming…you’ve got to stop him, Leona…. Was it possible that someone from the Borg bloodline had caused Stella Mornay to lose her control? To spiral her into suicide? If so, why hadn’t Greer, a powerful extrasensory, caught the threat to her own mother?

  Vernon’s whereabouts were still unknown, and he could be the final missing piece of this puzzle.

  Leona tapped a blank card. All of the people known to have attempted harm to the Aisling-Bartel triplets were dead. Was it possible Vernon was dead, too?

  Leona studied the row of three cards: one for Tempest’s husband Marcus and one for Claire’s husband, Neil. The third was for Owen. Greer had written “Protector” on each card.

  Then she considered each silver rune, each cut with an angular character. Tempest, a sculptor, had always been comfortable using the Aislings’ Viking heritage in her art. Leona wondered why Alex grabbed her bracelet in particular—not her wrist. She wondered if the bracelet meant anything to the Borg-descendant who has obviously connected with Alex.

  Instinctively, Leona understood that now she needed any items that might help her to bring forth more of her grandmother’s plight. She placed the replica of Thorgood’s brooch on the table and studied it. Then she hurried to get a cherished handkerchief. It had been embroidered by her grandmother and was a tie to the past. After laying the handkerchief on the table, she placed her open hand on the linen square and focused. Closing her eyes, she put herself back into the time her grandmother had given it to her. Even a child could notice the uneven stitches, which were so unlike her grandmother’s previous work. There had been terror in her grandmother’s eyes as she’d leaned close. “You won’t understand now, but someday you will. I loved your grandfather, but there was another man….”

  An image resembling the Borg-descendant slid into Leona’s mind, and now she understood. The change in Stella Mornay was because of an extramarital affair; the man had deliberately used her guilt to drive her mad…. He’s coming…you’ve got to stop him, Leona….

  Leona gasped and jerked herself back from the images. Closing her eyes again, she gripped the bracelet. The psychic burn hurt immediately, but she focused on each rune, her fingertips circling them slowly as she concentrated on pushing away that dark, consuming, crackling energy and replacing it with her own.

  Max growled softly, then issued a sharp warning bark. His hackles raised, he braced all four legs apart as he faced the table.

  “Leona?” the uneven masculine whisper hissed around the room as the candlelight flickered. “Leona?”

  She recognized the masculine energy immediately, and it wasn’t Owen’s. This energy belonged to the man who had whispered her name in the mist—harsh, dark, cruel, arrogant, manipulative…. She’d actually reached out and touched the Borg-descendant’s energy! Then Max swung back to face Leona, his head tilted with a question she couldn’t answer. Or could she?

  “He is strong enough to make a link by locking on to a person’s vulnerabilities and making an imprint, Max,” Leona whispered. “I think I hear him, but I don’t. He took something from me that day in the shop and out in Owen’s field. Now I’ve got something of his. Let’s see if I can do this, okay? It would have had to pass through Alex’s energy. I want to see through Alex, to the mind of who has affected him.”

  Leona closed her eyes and focused on her pulse. She used it as a winding stream to take her through Alex to someone else, someone evil. She wound around passages, followed worn steps down into a candlelit cave….

  On a cluttered table lay a long blade, the sword’s grip and pommel ornate in the Viking style. “Man of Borg’s blood,” she whispered, “I have you now.”

  The image began to break apart, a long, zagged tear slowly opening it to reveal another image inside. Long, black, rippling hair swirled around a sharp masculine face. The mesmerizing black eyes of her dreams and Janice’s sketch stared back at her. This time they were surprised and fearful. Leona liked the fearful part; she intended to use it.

  “I have you, Borg,” she repeated softly, as the psychic energy inside her powered on. It fed on his fear and grew stronger. “I know you now. You cannot escape me.”

  The image snapped shut suddenly. Leona realized she’d been holding her breath. Fighting for air, her head light for lack of oxygen, she breathed deeply. This time her blood burned her veins, hot with anger and frustration. “You bastard. If I’d had that sword in my hand, I would have swung it at you. I’m not letting you go now. I’m not afraid. I’m just mad.”

  Leona hurried to clasp the bracelet back to her wrist. Hoping to reconnect with the image, she pressed the rune charms against her flesh. The energy-burn was gone. She held her breath, testing one rune again. The silver ran smooth and feminine beneath her fingertip. “I’ve cleaned away his energy,” she breathed in disbelief.

  The tingling of her senses indicated a call Leona should have expected. She reached for the telephone, and Tempest’s voice exploded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Claire just called. She’s afraid for you. You’re not into that witchcraft bunk, are you? We promised that none of us would ever do that. You swore a blood oath on that. I’ve got the scar right here, on my thumb. You made us swear. Remember? Out in Mom’s garden, beneath the midnight moon? We were just twelve, and trying to balance our lives. We swore, Leona Fiona, and you led the pack. Jeez, I can feel the impact here in Michigan. The hair on my head almost stood straight up.”

  “I made contact,” Leona managed unsteadily. “I think I made contact…with Borg’s descendant. I got him!”

  “What the hell for? Don’t you know this thing can boomerang back on you? That this creep can suck the energy out of you? Where is Owen? I want to talk with Owen. Right now.”

  To block Tempest, Leona focused on Max: His brown eyes were beautiful. They reminded her of Egyptian eyes, lined in kohl. His ears were pointed and soft beneath her fingers. “Owen isn’t here.”

  “Okay, I just got another psychic door slammed in my face. Tell me just where Owen is. Oh, hell, there’s Claire on the other line. Marcus just picked it up.”

  “Keep her out of this, Tempest. It could hurt her now. I could hurt her.”

  “You’re right. Marcus, tell Claire I’ll call her back. Leona, you just tapped into this creep’s energy. Damn. You’re wearing it, aren’t you? That rune bracelet—he touched it somehow. How?”

  “I’m stronger,” Leona said unsteadily. “Your ‘read’ is wrong. His energy was on the bracelet, and now it isn’t. I cleaned it. I cleaned it, Tempest Best.”

  Tempest cursed lightly, then the line was silent. “You always did like a good fight, Leona Fiona.”

  “Tempest?”

  “If there’s much more to this, Marcus and I are coming down to Kentucky and cleaning this guy’s clock.”

  “Listen carefully. I don’t think Gram’s insanity and suicide—”

  “Oh no, don’t tell me. I’m getting Grams’s image from you, right now. Dad’s and Joel’s, too. Leona, what’s up? What about Grams?”

  “I…I think she was seduced into an affair—with a Borg descendant. She couldn’t forgive herself, and that left her vulnerable to him. She did things she shouldn’t have done.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Leona didn’t want her sister to know about their grandmother’s handkerchief. Tempest was the most curious of the triplets; she would surely want to hold the handkerchief in her bare hands. The images it would reveal in her naked hands were intimate and shocking. Leona explained partially: “Him. I g
ot it from him, from the connection in my shop. Something taken, something given.”

  “I bet you did. I don’t doubt it for a minute, so don’t think I do. We shouldn’t tell Mom.”

  “She may have some idea already. You’ve got a job to do, Tempest. That’s keeping Claire out of this and being careful when you talk to Mom. And keep that husband of yours out of this. This isn’t something Marcus can ramrod.”

  Tempest whistled lightly. “Grams…Dad…Joel…. Okay, what else is there?”

  Leona spoke very carefully. Sometimes the sisters didn’t need words, but this time they were necessary. “Owen has light eyes.”

  “Yeah, so? Mom noticed right away. He’s a Protector, same as Neil and Marcus. We knew that. He’s not letting anything happen to you. He’ll guard you with his life.”

  “His middle name is Wolf….” Leona took a deep breath and steadied herself before continuing, “And Shaw is from shaman. Owen…Wolf…Shaman.”

  After a long silence, in which Leona could sense her sister’s racing heartbeat, her excitement, Tempest spoke unevenly. “The blend of his ancestry, his blood…He could be really powerful, descended from two different backgrounds. One could open the doorway of the other. Does he know what that means?”

  “Some. But not all. I don’t think he wants to.”

  “You need to get the Borg-descendant for closure, don’t you? For Joel, Grams, and for Dad?”

  “And for the others.”

  When the call ended, Leona rose to walk to the mirror. Max was immediately on his paws, close at her side. “I know. You’re a protector, too. It’s a wolf thing, isn’t it? You and Owen, the alpha male and his right guard? I did it, Max. I was able to make contact with this creep. I can clean his energy. I should have known I could when Dean settled down after I soothed him. I should have known it when I was able to help Janice or when Sue Ann followed my directions. It was there all the time. What else don’t I know about myself?”

  Leona’s image stared back at her from the mirror. The candlelight framed her hair with a fiery tint, her eyes mysterious in her pale face. “I have to tell my mother that I suspect her mother’s insanity and her suicide was because of a Borg descendant. I have to tell her that even at eight years old, one of them was strong enough—with help—to imprint our father. That image caused his death.”

  Leona considered her reflection. Owen had been right: She was outfitting herself for a fight. Tonight, she’d worn more: an upper-arm circlet decorated with a woven Celtic design and a wide cuff bracelet; the headband that Claire had just sent circled her head. It was a diadem, and very old, one Tempest had found when searching for the brooch. She had gathered her power around her…

  Leona looked down at Max who had just huffed. His tail wagged as he hurried to the front door.

  “I guess we know who’s home, don’t we, Wolfie? I’d better put the teakettle on.”

  “That little witch did it! Leona actually reached me, pulsed right through a mind-stream and saw me! She actually grabbed a part of my energy, and now she’s using it!”

  Rolf Erling gripped the sword he’d used earlier to mark Owen Shaw; he slashed it across one burning candle to expertly kill the flame. A big, powerful man, Rolf hefted the weighty replica easily. Smiling coldly, he remembered bringing the heavy pommel down on Shaw’s head. Shaw had been stunned for a moment, and it was enough to mark him with a Borg blade.

  Fresh from marking a man he would kill after toying with him, Rolf had been elated and secure in his underground sanctuary. Then Leona had pulsed through his safety. He’d seen her at the last minute, stunned that she would appear in his mind. Her mind-stream had curled around him. Those green eyes had appeared in a pale face, gently lit by flame. She resembled the Aisling seer he’d seen in his dreams, complete with a diadem in that flame-lit hair. The psychic lock had startled Rolf before he could push everything into closing the door to her. Her words still circled him eerily. Man of Borg’s blood…I have you, Borg. I know you now. You cannot escape me.

  Rolf looked into his mirror, met his own burning, mesmerizing eyes, and cursed. “Leona has gathered her power around her, the essence of her blood’s inheritance. She’s getting stronger, but not smarter. If she had gotten smarter, she never would have tried to reach me that way. I could have fried her—I have done it to others and left them as drooling vegetables.”

  The remaining candles flickered against the walls and on the three-foot custom-made blade. “Man, woman, and wolf-dog…they’re strong together, the same as Leona’s sisters and their men. I’ve got to separate them.”

  He looked at the female dog in her cage, and murmured, “You’re not ready yet. They told me you would be. Don’t take much longer, or you won’t be of any use to me.”

  The yellow bitch snarled at him and showed her fangs.

  A familiar chill caused him to turn back to the mirror. The ancestor who should have possessed Aisling stared back at him. Borg’s masses of black rippling hair whipped around his head as if he stood in a storm at sea. “I cursed the seer and Thorgood’s line. You know what they did to me. Now finish it, or be finished! You play too much when you should have killed her protector. You know what he is, one of them, one of Thorgood’s men, sworn to protect the Aisling line. This one is different, his blood makes him more powerful than the rest. Get rid of him.”

  “In my own time. I’ve marked him.”

  Marked him? You should have killed him then, you fool. Stop playing. Now is the time…

  “Now is the time.” Rolf closed his eyes. Deep inside, he knew that as the last and most powerful descendant of Borg, he couldn’t fail.

  The penalty would be his own death. His own father had failed, because Stella Mornay had eventually committed suicide to save her family. Then it was his father’s turn to pay the penalty, just as his father before him. Failure meant suicide, a family tradition.

  Rolf placed the sword’s tip on the large photograph of the artifact he needed—after killing the Aislings or just taking their minds. Since his birth, the brooch had been described to him—a wolf’s-head design, circled with Thorgood’s boast and stones set into the design. The photograph left on Leona’s desk was of the aged relic, without the stones. The photograph held Greer Aisling’s energy residue, Shaw’s, and Leona’s.

  The Aislings’ brooches looked similar, but with a softer Celtic design circling the wolf. When she’d dared enter his privacy, Leona had been wearing her brooch as well as the rune bracelet he’d marked with his energy to disturb her. The little psychic tracer had been intended to signal him if she were nearby, either in the flesh or in her senses. It had failed, an indication that her energy had wiped his away. Rolf’s father had been right: the Aisling women were undependable. Their gifts could leap and grow when least expected.

  Rolf fought his temper. “I’ve always liked challenges. They make the game so much more fun, Leona.”

  Glancing at the clock, he anticipated the long night ahead. With a woman too happy to obey him, it would be sexually exhausting. Rolf’s need of her was also in other, crueler ways. For him, she’d dyed her hair red and wore green-tinted contacts. “Mm. I’d better get ready for my date. I need her tonight, to take off the edge.”

  Leona opened her front door before Owen reached it.

  Her excitement over reaching the Borg-descendant quickly died. Owen’s chest was bare; he braced one hand against the door frame, the other held a blood-soaked washcloth to his forehead.

  “You’re bleeding!”

  Owen stared at her for a moment, as if he wasn’t certain who she was. Then he nodded slowly, and a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. The area around his mouth was pale and tight with pain.

  Wrapping her arm around him, she drew him inside. She pushed the door closed, and Owen reached behind him to lock the dead bolt. “I think I made a mess of my truck seat. I need to go clean that up.”

  “You will not.” Leona’s fingers trembled as she eased the cloth away from his forehead.
The inch-long wound topped a large, swelling bruise. “What happened?”

  The warm sticky dampness beneath her other hand caused her to draw away. She held her breath as she looked down at the red stain on her hand. Circling Owen, she looked at his back. Dried blood covered his skin; fresh blood welled from a long gash on his shoulder. “Owen!”

  He started to sway, and Leona quickly hurried him from the living room to a kitchen chair. “This is bad. You need attention. The light is better here. What happened?” she repeated.

  Owen sprawled into the chair and shook his head as if to clear it. Closing his eyes; he seemed to pale beneath his dark skin. “Ah…Could you get me a bag of ice for my head?”

  Leona hurried to place ice cubes into a plastic bag. She eased it onto his forehead, taking care not to touch the wound. In another heartbeat, she placed a glass of ice water in his hand. “Drink this.”

  Owen sighed wearily. He eased his head against her breast, as if he’d found the perfect pillow he’d needed forever. “It’s been a long day, honey. I’m beat.”

  Filled with emotions, fear for him and love mixing equally, Leona held him close for a moment. “Damn you. I love you, Owen Shaw,” she whispered unsteadily. “I didn’t want to, but I do.”

  He nuzzled her breast and sighed. “Yeah. I know. Love you, too, honey. Wait…I can say it better, but just not now. Women need the words…showing you with my body isn’t enough. Dad was wrong…. But your breasts really are the shade of those calla lilies, your nipples like roses. I wanted to say something about how they taste like honey, but can’t think right now. The stallion and mare image fits us sometimes…. I like the soft times, too. You’re real cuddly, Leona.”

  Leona lifted his chin; Owen didn’t sound like himself. Panic raced through her. Owen could have a concussion. He could be delirious. “How did you know I loved you—exactly?”