by Cait London
Owen touched the brooch, then in the same motion, smoothed Leona’s hair. “The same shade. The same green eyes.”
“Do not tell me you fell in love with Aisling, that you’re really another descendant of a disgruntled would-be lover.”
Owen’s brief smile flashed down at her. “Not quite. Must have been hell communicating with her through the mirror, every time you looked at yourself. Okay, this is what I know, what I saw in my vision. We—the brotherhood, called Men of the Wolf—had to finish Borg and his men. Thorgood had a second-in-command. That was my ancestor—on one side. His name was Hunter. My other ancestor’s images were primitive, not like the Viking symbols, but they opened the gate for me to see. They stopped Borg then, and I’ll do it now.”
Owen’s hand moved to caress her. His sensual need throbbed at her, wrapped around and softened her body. “Nice, real nice. Very convenient to remember this now, to give me assurance, I suppose. This last-minute information is no comfort at all. And Owen, I do not know how you can think of sex at a time like this.”
“Honey, with you, I’m always thinking about it.” Owen smiled briefly and continued describing his dream. “Thorgood was busy. I imagine he was teaching his wife that sometimes she needed to listen to him. That left his men to run down Borg, who had been causing problems. My ancestor had a few—powers—he was the tracker, the hunter, a minor seer.”
“Great. Just great.”
Owen glanced at the windows and inhaled deeply, like a man catching a scent and preparing himself to hunt. “He’s hungry tonight. So am I. It’s a good night—clear, the air fresh, the moon bright.”
He turned to her, and the pure sexual jolt hit Leona, taking away her breath. In that instant, Owen closed the distance, his need igniting hers. His hands ran over her body, claiming her. The caress was hurried and rough, but didn’t hurt. Owen wanted to claim what was his by right, the woman who loved him.
Leona recognized that need, that binding possession spiking her own primitive need to bond physically with Owen. She dived into him, hurriedly unhooking his belt and easing down his jeans. Owen cupped her breasts briefly, then slid his hands down her body, shaping her curves as he pushed down her slacks. She clung to him as he eased her back onto the kitchen table, her legs wrapping around him as he entered her quickly, his chest pressing down upon her, his body already thrusting, pushing deeply within her, his hands lifting her to him. Leona dug in for the pleasure and the challenge, hungry for him, tossing away everything but Owen, the pressure building in her. His fingers slid around and touched her, increasing her pleasure, Leona couldn’t move as the shock waves vibrated throughout her body.
Owen held her wrists as he stared down at her, his body taut and pouring into hers. She didn’t fight the restraint because she understood his need for possession—it matched her own.
Then, as if he’d just realized he’d pinned her wrists, Owen forced his fingers to relax. He rubbed her skin as if trying to erase an injury. “Don’t you dare apologize,” Leona managed as she wound her arms around him. “There will be other, sweeter times, but not tonight. I wanted this, too.”
“Other times. Yes, the soft times a woman should have. I want that for you. You’re going to have them—from me.”
Owen’s shoulders relaxed just slightly, but his heartbeat pounded against her body. Leona held him briefly and smoothed his back. She wrapped her hands in his hair and drew his face close to hers. “Other times. You promised me, Owen. I’ll be waiting for those other times,” she whispered fiercely.
When Owen eased away and helped her to stand. Leona’s legs were weak, her senses dazed as she took in the red marks on his throat. Her breasts still ached from his touch, heightened by his lips and teeth and the hot suction of his mouth, her body vibrating with the need for more.
He quickly dressed Leona, then himself, straightening the brooch at her throat and skimming his fingers lightly over her sensitized breasts. “You were burning the minute I touched you. Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay.”
Owen grinned and patted her bottom. “Liar. You’re all flushed and ready for more, right now. You’ll have to wait.”
“Sometimes I could just—” She smoothed her hair in a shaky effort to find calm. It was nowhere around. Owen was right; she moved on instinct, and she’d wanted him desperately, a purely primitive need to claim him.
As she grabbed his shoulders she could feel him moving away from her, priming himself for the battle. After he instructed her on the shotgun, her terror returned. Frightened for him, she whispered desperately, “Please, Owen. Let’s leave.”
“Too late. I just saw his headlights flash through the trees on the other side of the pond. He’s parked on that old side road…. Max, stay. Leona, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t distract me from what I have to do. Stay put and remember what I said about Max. If things so wrong, and you need to gain some time to get away, let him go. He knows what to do.” Owen swept her to him and kissed her hard. With a solemn nod, he stood back, took off his shirt, and moved out into the night.
She glimpsed the long, red marks on his back, marks of her passion only heartbeats ago.
“Damn you, Owen Wolf Shaw,” Leona whispered as she watched him through the window. The moonlight gleamed on his naked shoulders, his lean body quickly closing the distance between the field and the pond.
Beyond the pond, at the trees bordering the field, the moonlight caught on a thin silver line. Leona instantly understood: It was Rolf’s deadly sword.
Like Owen, Rolf had come to finish his quest.
Owen moved toward the woods and the gleam of moonlight on that sword. He hurried in order to keep the battle away from the house. If anything happened to him, Leona would need time to get away.
Rolf stood at the edge of the field, his drawn sword a silver vertical line in the moonlight. “Shaw, you have something of mine,” he called.
“You’ll have to kill me to get it.” Closer now, Owen noted the distant beat of music. It grew slightly louder, headlights gliding through the night on the side road. The heavy beat seemed to bounce off the night. Then it stopped near where Rolf had parked.
Rolf had also noticed the vehicle, which began driving away. Suddenly, another set of headlights appeared and followed the first away into the night.
“Maybe you didn’t know, Rolf. We have a little problem with car thieves along this road. They’re reportedly very good. You can say good-bye to your toy. The next time you see it, it will either be a different color or maybe just a stripped frame. Too bad. And all that nice equipment, too. Wonder what the street value is on those?”
Rolf’s long hair flared out around his head as he turned back to Owen. Stepping from the shadows, he raised his sword, gripping it with both hands. “It won’t matter. I’ll have everything, once you’re dead.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” Owen advanced slightly. Rolf had a temper, and Owen knew he had that advantage; Owen had always been as cold as steel in a fight. “Want me to slice off that other pretty braid, Erling?”
The taunt hit home. Rolf charged Owen, who moved easily aside. Owen concentrated on the image of Borg, cornered by Thorgood’s warriors. “You know who I am, don’t you?” he asked.
“Of course. The hunter, a minor seer, second-in-command on one side, a primitive on the other.” Rolf advanced with both hands wielding the sword. As he expertly moved the blade around, the night air filled with the sound of its deadly hiss. “And you’re Janice’s dear brother. You remember Janice, don’t you? Her troubled life?”
Rolf’s taunt caused Owen to misstep, and the sword’s tip grazed his thigh. Off-balance, he staggered back and went down. His head hit hard, and though momentarily stunned, Owen managed to crouch, his blade raised.
Poised in midair, Rolf’s blade gleamed as he stared at the woman standing too close to Owen. “Aisling, my lady,” he whispered softly as the honed tip of his sword lowered to trace the brooch at her chest. He
tapped it lightly, the metalic ring sounded like a death chime.
“I’ll never be yours. Is this what you want, Rolf?”
Dressed in a long gown, Leona could have been Aisling. The slight breeze lifted her hair around her face, the headband gleamed across her forehead, and the silver runes tinkled against her cuff bracelet. She held out her other hand, and Rolf’s braid dangled from it.
That deadly, honed blade gleamed in the moonlight as it lifted again to Leona’s throat. Owen eased slowly to his feet, aware that one wrong move and Rolf’s sword could kill Leona. He glanced around and found no sign of Max. Owen should have known that she’d protect the dog by locking him in the house. Leona wanted this face-to-face with Erling too much to let anything interfere. A challenge was one thing, her death another. Fear riveted Owen, his voice coarse as he ordered quietly, “Move away, Leona.”
Neither Leona or Rolf seemed aware of him, their stares locked. The air seemed to vibrate around Owen, the extrasensories challenging each other’s strength.
“I’m stronger,” Rolf stated firmly, his eyes pinning Leona. He glanced at Owen, as if just noticing him. “Move, and I’ll kill her, Shaw. I will anyway. Shaw has had you just now, hasn’t he, Leona? You look like a woman who’s been used recently. I can feel you now, you’re hot—vibrating with sex. You’re really very primitive, aren’t you?”
Leona ignored the naked hunger in Rolf’s expression; Owen didn’t. He tensed, ready to spring. With enough luck, he could knock Rolf—and the sword—away from Leona. At this moment, this heartbeat, Owen let his savage instincts rule him. Civilization would make him pay later, but not tonight. His blade would taste Erling’s blood, moving through his heart and across his throat. “Leave us, Leona.”
“This is my right,” she stated firmly.
Rolf’s thin lips lifted in a smile. “Throw down the blade, Shaw, or I’ll run her through right here.”
Owen didn’t hesitate. He threw his blade, point deep, into the bluegrass. “Let her go. Fight me, man-to-man. You can use the sword.”
“I’d be a fool to try to fight a primitive without my weapon, wouldn’t I?” Rolf glanced at Owen’s knife, then kicked it aside. The tip of the sword lifted slightly to prick Leona’s pale throat, and a droplet of blood appeared. “That’s a good boy. Don’t try to match me, Leona. You’ll lose. You’re weaker here.”
“Wrong. My family is with me, and Owen. Owen?” Her voice sounded the same as when she had called to him earlier, seeking an opening into his senses.
Owen focused on Leona and their senses linked and became one. Rolf’s head went back as if taking a blow. One hand left the sword to hold his head.
“How does it feel, Rolf? Put…down…that…sword,” Leona ordered softly. Her eyes seem to glow in the night as she leaned forward, pressing her skin against the blade. “Obey me. I hold the power of Thorgood and Aisling. You will do as I say.”
Rolf shook his head as if trying to free himself. “Give the brooch to me.”
While Leona held Rolf’s attention, Owen cautiously rose and eased to stand beside her; that blade was too close to her throat for him to do more.
“Give you everything? I don’t think so,” Leona said. “You’ll have to take the brooch, Rolf. Owen isn’t going to let you do that. Neither am I.”
“You’re only a woman. I’ll have Shaw’s blood tonight.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Owen glanced at her. Leona had that fighting look, and she wouldn’t stop. She began backing toward the bluff overlooking the Kentucky River. Owen stayed close to her, with Rolf advancing on them, weaving that deadly blade. Ready to defend his love, Owen began to inch in front of her.
Then suddenly, Leona pivoted and ran toward the river. Surprised, Owen turned slightly, leaving himself open to Rolf’s charge. The body blow knocked the wind from him, but he stayed on his feet, following Rolf as he chased Leona.
She stopped on the edge of the rocky cliff overlooking the river for a moment. The next moment, the silver brooch sailed in a high arc toward the river.
Catching up to her, Rolf cursed. “You’ll pay for that. Shaw, go after it.”
As Owen came to a stop beside them, he recognized a dark shape in the field; Max moved silently toward them. Rolf’s eyes widened as he turned toward Max’s low warning growl. He began to back away, fear quivering in his voice. “Call off that dog.”
Rolf and Leona stood at the very edge of the cliff now, and Max was crouching, gathering his muscles to spring. His teeth glistened in the moonlight as he continued to growl softly. If Rolf went over that deadly cliff, he could take Leona with him….
“He’ll go for your throat, Erling,” Owen stated. “He’ll rip it out.”
“Call him off!” Rolf took one step backward. His eyes widened as the earth gave way beneath his feet. He swept out an arm to catch Leona, but instead just brushed her shoulder, sending her off-balance.
Owen caught Leona’s wrist just as she lost her footing. He tugged her into his arms as Rolf’s wild, surprised cry echoed in the night.
As Owen stood, holding Leona tight against him, the sickening sound of Rolf’s body hitting the rocks echoed in the night. Moonlight caught on Rolf’s blade as his sword flew high, then straight down into the center of the river.
A loud splash sounded, and Leona and Owen peered down to the river. The current had caught Rolf’s body, sweeping it along.
Startled by the noise, deer leaped from the brush and across the field. An owl swept across the night sky, and Leona listened to the solid heavy beat of Owen’s heart beneath her cheek. Max lifted his head, and his eerie howl echoed against the rocky bluffs and slid over the quiet river.
“You could have been killed,” Owen whispered huskily as he gathered her closer.
Leona couldn’t speak. She trembled as she wrapped her arms around Owen.
Rolf’s body floated into the shadows, and suddenly Owen and Max were gone. They were only shadows in the night as they moved into the woods bordering the river.
Leona hurried after them. “Owen!”
It seemed like an eternity as she picked her way through the shadowy trees, the thick brush. Suddenly, Max and Owen appeared, startling her. He took Leona’s hand, leading her from the woods into the field. “I had to make certain he was really dead.”
“Did you…?”
“No. Years of hate and madness killed him. When things quiet down, I’ll see what I can do about retrieving Thorgood’s brooch.”
“I threw Tempest’s replica. He didn’t die for the real one. It’s in my pocket.”
“Smart girl.” Owen grinned as she withdrew the brooch and placed it back on his chest.
Then she grasped the ancient relic and drew him down to her face. “That’s my mark, and you’re mine. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Epilogue
“IT’S BEEN A HELL OF A LONG NIGHT. I JUST STOPPED BY TO let you know that you can relax. We think we have Missy Franklin’s killer and the owner of that SUV. He turned up dead. Fisherman found him at dawn. Looks like he got too close to the cliffs lining the river and lost his balance. Pretty beat-up by rocks.”
At eight o’clock in the morning, Tom Roman glanced at Leona and Owen as they sat at her kitchen table.
“Is that right?” Owen asked. Beneath the table, his hand pressed Leona’s. It had been a long night for them, too. “I have been concerned about that murder. My sister is due back soon, and I wouldn’t want a killer lurking around.”
“We found that SUV with the tire tracks matching those we found at your place, Shaw…the ones taken after that Missy Franklin was killed. We did a sting operation on that gang of car thieves roaming this area. Found the SUV in an old tobacco barn we’ve been watching. It was loaded with high-tech equipment and gear for making disguises, wigs, and such. Plenty of cash in it, and the suitcases were filled with high-class clothes that would fit the weirdo with the long hair. Since it didn’t seem that the country boys would be usin
g that stuff, we ran some prints…. Seems like the dead body washed up down river from your place was the owner of the SUV. He was a man who was supposed to have died in prison years ago…name was Rolf Erling, real bad guy.”
Only Owen seemed to notice that Leona’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the teapot. This time, Rolf Erling wasn’t coming back to life, or taking someone else’s identity or mind. Owen had seen Erling’s body and had found no heartbeat.
Leona’s voice was a little more husky than usual and her face pale, but she managed to appear natural. “More tea, Detective?”
“No, thanks. Been drinking coffee all night…. Since this Erling-guy was seen on that same farm road earlier, and those boys didn’t have the know-how to use that equipment, we think they’re tied together somehow. We found a picture of Missy Franklin on the SUV’s sunvisor. It’s just a matter of putting the pieces together. Shaw, that farm you bought has been sitting empty for a while. So Erling and his gang could pretty well do what they wanted on the property. You just turned up at the wrong time, so your revolver will be returned shortly.”
The detective yawned and wiped his eyes. “Excuse me. Like I said, it was a long night. Got a call last night to go out to Billy Balleau’s. He just came home after a tour, and your carpenter, Vernon O’Malley ran out in front of the bus—it killed him. The bus driver saw everything. He just couldn’t stop in time. O’Malley smelled to high heaven of alcohol. Balleau says his best wines are gone. O’Malley was house-sitting, and reports say he’d been acting strangely. If you have any information on O’Malley, we need it. Looks like O’Malley went on a drinking binge and trashed Billy’s sound and entertainment room. Left a real mess in the kitchen. Balleau is mad as hell.”
Roman picked up his teacup and sniffed lightly. “Good stuff. Have to get the wife to get some, better than that green stuff she’s so high on. Chai, you say? I’m not fond of adding milk, though…. Too bad about O’Malley. We need good repairmen around these old plantation-style houses. Takes a handcrafter’s experience to fix ’em.”
