Guardian (The Protectors Series)

by Nancy Northcott

  Infusing emotion in a magic wave, though, required great skill, and the intensity, the terror, in the call had felt real.

  A vision flashed over his sight—darkness, a pine forest. Missy, the cashier at the bakery in the town of Wayfarer, and Todd, the bakery delivery boy, kneeling before a bloodied altar.

  The scene shifted. He looked down a rutted, overgrown lane as a woman in a car behind him said, “We’re not having that fight now. Get in.”

  Then he sat in the ritual grotto at the Collegium, the mages’ Georgia base, in the obsidian seat of truth, chained to it, hurting in every pore, doomed but desperate to protect a woman. From what? And who was she?

  The vision winked out. Foresight was as much a curse as a gift, hard to interpret, and even harder to control. He had no time to puzzle over it now, though.

  Griff shook his head, refocusing on the fading remnants of that power burst. A mage needed help. Honor, the last reminder of his old life, demanded he help, no matter the risk. He pulled power from the swamp and translocated.

  Seconds later, Griff arrived in a rush of cold near the swamp, in a clearing he recognized. A clunky, blue Toyota sedan stood at the clearing’s far edge, about thirty yards away.

  Four ghouls pinned a feebly struggling woman against the car’s hood. Her clothes hung in tatters. A tangle of golden brown hair hid her face, but her agony and the ghouls’ triumph vibrated in the heavy air.

  That call hadn’t been a trap but a desperate Hail Mary play. Fury at the ghouls boiled in his gut.

  At this distance, the woman’s magic should’ve resonated with his, but he could barely sense her. She must be dangerously drained. He had to finish this fast, get her help.

  Silently, he crossed toward them, angling left.

  Enraptured by their feeding, her captors didn’t notice his advance. Summoning his shield now would create a glow and alert them, and screening himself from view magically would use energy he couldn’t spare in a fight with these odds. Better to rely on stealth. They weren’t shielded, so he knew he could take one easily before they realized he was there.

  A body lay near the back bumper, the green skin and reek of ammonia marking it as ghoul and dead. She’d gotten one. Good for her.

  A widespread power blast might take them out, but if the bastards had absorbed too much of her energy, he might not have enough to stop them and stay on his feet. He spun his staff, drawing power from the life forces all around, then swung it like a bat into the skull of a thin, dark-haired male.

  Crack. The impact vibrated up Griff’s arms as satisfaction rolled through him. One down.

  The ghoul stiffened, then crumpled. He fell, dying, his claws raking the captive mage’s chest. The agony in her half gasp, half scream ripped into Griff’s soul. He gritted his teeth against the echo of her pain in the magic they shared.

  As Griff’s shields flared around him, the other three turned to face him. Their shields sprang to life as a muddy, enveloping haze. His strike glanced off the temple of a thin, blond man. The ghoul staggered but didn’t fall. Shit.

  The trio spread out, trying to flank him. Griff backed up. Their prisoner whimpered and collapsed against the bumper. Blood seeped from wounds in her neck, arms, torso, and inner thighs. His lips tightened. He would enjoy making these ghoul scum pay.

  The female ghoul flicked out a thick baton, and the heavy-set blond whipped out nunchuks. The third ghoul, a burly, brown-haired male, popped a switchblade. Drunk with the power they’d absorbed from the mage, they wavered on their feet.

  Nunchuks first. Griff watched them spin, timing them, then whipped the staff up against the connecting chain.

  A twist of his wrist wrapped the chain around his staff, breaking the ghoul’s grip, and he flung the nunchuks into the night. In the same movement, he swung the staff’s low end up in an arc. The ghoul’s cheekbone and jaw shattered, partial payback for the wounded mage’s agony. With an outraged cry, the male staggered backward.

  The woman lunged at Griff’s back. He pivoted to slam a side kick into her gut. Her newly fed power hadn’t stabilized, and his magic easily drove his foot through her flimsy shields. She fell backward with a gurgling sound, clutching her midsection.

  Before he could follow up, the stocky knife wielder charged. Griff feinted toward the male’s face. The ghoul tried to stab under the blow. Griff slashed down against the knife arm. Bone cracked at the impact. The ghoul cried out. His knife fell to the dirt.

  Griff jabbed his staff’s end into the male’s chest, easily breaching the unstable shields. Morere, Griff thought. He shoved the command along the staff, so the silver end cap flared brilliant white, and into the flesh. Sta cor, he added to stop the heart.

  The ghoul gasped before falling near the crumpled mage. With a snap like a twig breaking, his life force snuffed out.

  Two parasites down, two to go.

  The female ghoul jerked to her feet. Baton in a guard position, she charged. Griff started a low, fast push with one hand, then shifted the fake-out move into a whack against her ribs. He heard one crack as she lurched sideways.

  Behind him, magic flared, the injured male assimilating the power he’d stolen. Griff pivoted. An arm-size tree branch smashed through his shield. He dodged, but it scraped his shoulder.

  The ghouls had absorbed the wounded mage’s power. Each was now temporarily stronger than he was. Shit. The woman shuddering against the car must’ve been at the upper end of the power scale.

  She would be again. He’d see to it.

  Her labored, whimpering breaths signaled fading strength and power. He had to finish this.

  Retreating, using the swamp to cover his back, he pulled energy from the plants and animals. He focused magic through thurisaz, the P-shaped rune on his staff, amplifying his blast.

  It struck the male ghoul in the chest, knocking him off his feet, and hurled him into a live oak by the black water. He fell, twitched, and lay still. Dead.

  Three down. One left to pay back.

  Depleted by the blast, Griff’s power sputtered. Hastily, he drew from the swamp again as a shriek of fury and pain came from behind him.

  He wheeled. The female twitched in the dirt, then lay still. Behind her, the wounded mage sagged against the car hood with a switchblade in one hand. Her other hand was clamped to her eyes, and she made choked sounds through gritted teeth. Between her fingers seeped thick, muddy fluid. Venom.

  If the ghoul had raked her eyes, every second counted.

  Hurrying to her, he caught the coppery scent of blood under the stinging ammonia stench. He glanced at the dead female, and his lips twitched up into a grim half smile. The mage had either more strength or more guts than he’d thought. She’d stabbed the female in the kidney.

  “They’re dead,” he told her. “You’re safe now.”

  A jerky nod answered him. “Eyes.”

  “Did she scratch them? I see venom on your face.” He touched her shoulder gently, feeding her power in the contact.

  She gave an abrupt headshake and clenched her jaw around a sob. “Need help,” she gritted out. “Healers—”

  “I have some training.” No way was he calling the Collegium authorities. He propped his staff against the car. “Let me look.”

  Gently, keeping his fingers light on her shoulder, he used his other hand to tug hers from her eyes. That full, lush mouth and determined chin looked familiar, but he could worry about that later. He brushed tangled strands of hair aside to touch the swelling around one eye gently, and she winced.

  “Easy.” He probed lightly with his power.

  Judging by the way she squinted, she was trying to focus, to see him. He couldn’t let her. At least the swelling and reactive tears would blur his features. “No scratches, but close your eyes so the air doesn’t aggravate the burn.”

  “Need healers,” she choked. “Experts.” Biting her lip, she blinked at him as though trying to clear her eyes. They suddenly widened. “You look—you’re— No!”

&n
bsp; She wrenched back against his hold, swinging feebly at him with the knife. Tried to gather power for another burst.

  Shit. He forced both arms behind her to catch her wrists in one of his hands. “You’re safe, I swear,” he said.

  She’d suffered horribly, which made what he meant to do despicable, but she left him no choice. Clapping his hand over her eyes, he muttered, “Dormi,” and fed power into the word.

  Asleep, she sagged against him, and he gathered her close. Taller than he’d thought, with a lithe build, she felt solid. Her bare arms under the blood looked toned. Her strength hadn’t helped her much today, though.

  He would have to call Stefan, whose healing skills far surpassed his own. Then they would figure out how to return her to Collegium circles and, if necessary, confuse her about his identity. Despite her panic, she might not have actually recognized him. She could’ve been hallucinating from venom poisoning.

  He slid a hand under her knees and lifted. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. Her hair fell out of her face. He saw her clearly for the first time and almost dropped her.

  Despite the swelling around her eyes, he knew those strong, elegant features. He’d studied them—and her—often enough.

  In his arms lay Valeria Banning, his successor as Reeve of the Southeastern U.S. Shire. He’d saved a woman duty-bound to kill him.

  Chapter 2

  Fire seared Val’s eyes. With a gasp, she jerked upright, trying to open them. Pain flashed through her body. She choked down a cry and fell back.

  At least she landed on pillows and a soft mattress. Definitely not ghoul hospitality.

  “Easy,” a man’s deep voice said at her side. A callused hand closed gently over her clenched fist. Mage power resonated in the touch. Like sunlight in her blood, strengthening power flowed from him. “You’re safe now.”

  Truth also vibrated in his touch. Along with…worry? Regret?

  Before she could probe, his hand withdrew. She couldn’t sense anything now. He’d locked down his power and his emotions. She forced herself to relax.

  Her eyes wouldn’t open. She raised a hand to her face and gasped at biting pain in her shoulder. Her fingers touched linen. Bandages. The air smelled of lemon verbena and lavender, healing scents. Homey ones, with a hint of bay leaf—for protection?—on the pillowcase. Not hospital smells. A droning noise and a stream of cold air hinted at a window air conditioner.

  “Venom in your eyes,” the man said. “Sorry I can’t heal them fully, but at least there’s no organic damage.”

  His deep voice gave her a tingly sensation, like velvet drifting over her skin, and warmed her inexplicably. She pushed herself up to sit. The movement hurt pretty much everywhere, but she felt at a disadvantage lying down.

  He banked pillows behind her. Awareness of him, pleasant and also somehow familiar, prickled over her skin.

  “I’m Kyle Connor,” he added. “You’re at my home near the swamp.”

  “Valeria Banning.” She offered her right hand. He took it in a warm, firm grip but released it too soon for her to probe. Yet the vibes of his magic felt familiar. “Have we met before?”

  “We had a couple of reeve training classes together before I chose a different career. Do you remember the fight?”

  Ghouls. A tall, brave mage, who looked, who fought, like…but Griffin Dare had no reason to help her and every reason to let her die. With the damage to her eyes, she hadn’t seen the man clearly. Maybe Connor only resembled Dare, with the same height, lean, broad-shouldered build, and jet-black hair. “I assume you rescued me. Thank you, so very much.”

  Yet cold fingers of unease pinched her throat. Though her vision had been blurred from the injury, she’d seen that the man fought with a quarterstaff, an antiquated weapon almost no one used. In the Southeast, where people spoke with his accent, only Griffin Dare wielded one. She had best tread carefully.

  “I’m glad your summons reached me,” he said. “How did they catch you?”

  “I saw a bunch of ghouls trying to kidnap a Mundane woman and her little boy in Wayfarer. I figured they meant to breed her.” Remembering brought back the anger, made her voice hard. “The kid was only seven, too young to use as a breeder.”

  “But not too young to be a snack if the ghouls were running short on animals,” he said in harsh tones.

  “Exactly.” She could still see the terror on the child’s round face. Ghouls could digest only fresh kill. They usually kept animals for that but weren’t above munching on mage or Mundane flesh if the opportunity arose. “I got them clear, killed two ghouls, but I was outnumbered.”

  “You took out two, and there were five in the clearing.” He let out a low whistle. “Seven to one, tough odds in any case. Dicier with Mundanes to protect. Good job.”

  “Thanks. The woman and her child know mages exist now, but that was better than letting the ghouls take them.”

  As they’d taken Val’s parents when she was fifteen. Her mom had headed the math department at the Collegium academy, and her dad had been the Collegium’s comptroller. They’d been killed by ghouls while on a camping trip they’d taken as a romantic getaway. Val had sworn she’d fight the ghouls until her dying breath.

  “Uh, where, exactly, are we?”

  “At my home, as I said. I’ll help you get back to the Collegium as soon as you’re well enough to travel.”

  If he knew she lived there, he probably knew she was shire reeve. Gingerly, she moved one leg. Pain flashed in her thigh, and cool linen slid over her bare skin. Something soft but not thin, like chambray, covered her upper body. Val swallowed against a jolt of fear. “What happened to my clothes?”

  “They were ruined. You’re wearing one of my shirts, fresh from the laundry. Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage.” Her rescuer brushed his hand over hers long enough to let her sense his honesty, yet again, not long enough to let her probe. Was he hiding something, like his identity as the mage world’s most notorious renegade, or was he just naturally careful?

  “It’s Tuesday, about three p.m.,” he continued. “You’ve been out since a little after ten last night.”

  “Better out than dead. I’m very grateful, but I should report back to the Collegium.”

  “What you need most is rest.” His voice came from farther above her now, and she had a vague, magical sense of a man’s standing shape. “When the light fades enough that it won’t hurt your eyes, we’ll put fresh salve on them.”

  “There’s no need for you to go to that trouble. Just give me a phone, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “Your wounds,” he said with great patience, “were tended by an expert and will heal fully in a couple of days. Then I’ll take you into town and leave you where you can call anyone you like, but I won’t have the Collegium nosing into my life, Shire Reeve Banning.”

  “If you know who I am, you know the deputy reeves will be looking for me.” Not for a few days, though, not until she was due back from vacation. For now, she was on her own. Blind, hurt, and alone. Hellfire.

  “You won’t be here that long,” he said.

  Because he planned to drain her of her power when she recovered? Or sell her? Cold with fear, she forced her chin up. “Look—”

  “I saved your life, Sheriff.” His voice hardened. “Have a little gratitude.”

  “Of course I’m grateful.” Dread churned in her stomach, but Val could do steely tones, too. “But no honest mage would keep me here.”

  Of course, Griffin Dare wasn’t honest, and this guy had way too much in common with Dare for her to trust him. Collegium annals labeled Dare a ghoul ally, though his killing ghouls today supported her doubts about that. In the past, he’d killed mages without hesitation. Yet he’d saved her. Why?

  “I promise, you’re safe.” Still an edge in his voice.

  “Safe and prisoner aren’t partners in my universe. If you’re hoping for a reward, I can arrange it.”

  If he killed her, would anyone really miss having
her around? Gene and Zara Blake, her former guardians, and Sybil, her friend and deputy would, but no one else. She’d lived for the job, pushed loneliness aside to deal with later, and now she might be out of chances.

  “I don’t need a reward.” Faint footsteps, as though from bare feet on wood, retreated.

  “There’s a bottle of water on the nightstand,” he said. “You bled a lot, so drink as much as you can. Bathroom’s in the back corner of the room. There’s also a tub of balm on the table for the talon wounds. You can use it as often as needed. I’d offer to help, but I assume you’d refuse.”

  She gave him a curt nod.

  The silence stretched. “I’ll bring dinner soon,” he finally said. “Try to rest.” A faint squeak like door hinges sounded, then the click of a latch.

  Val counted to ten before pushing back the covers. Although his kindness felt genuine, it didn’t fit with holding her here. With who he very likely was. Trusting that kindness could be a fatal mistake.

  A shiver of fear rippled through her, and she swallowed hard. She was damned if he decided to hold her prisoner. She wouldn’t risk her eyes by removing the bandages, so she had to use her power to sense objects in the room. Not the ideal situation but she’d cope.

  Every ward had a weakness. She would find the flaw in his.

  Slamming the bedroom door would let her know she’d gotten to him, so Griff closed it softly. A wave of his hand sealed the ward and locked her in.

  “How did it go?” Stefan Harper, the Collegium’s chief physician and Griff’s closest friend, nursed a beer at the beat-up oak bar.

  “She’s stubborn, as you said.”

  The image of her lingered in Griff’s head. The rolled sleeves of his shirt revealed her slender, strong wrists, and the open neck showed the long line of her throat, a line he could capture so easily on canvas, though he would omit the bandage on one side.

  The overall effect rivaled an ad in a kinky men’s magazine, and he knew, after helping Stefan treat her, what lay underneath the shirt. His body hardened, but he banished the image. Hell would need heaters before she gave him the time of day.