Till Death And Beyond (Witch World)

by Lyn C. Johanson

  How had his world changed so fast? It seemed like only yesterday everything was so simple. He knew who he was and what he wanted. He knew his thoughts were his own. He knew what was possible and what was not. And then … he had looked into the piercing crystal eyes, and his world had turned upside down.

  You also read minds.

  The wind brought back words he must have uttered. Memories were still shrouded in fog, but he knew the echo of the conversation he heard was true. After all, Raven had suspected as much, hadn’t he? The feeling had been there from the first time she had looked at him with her searching gaze, as if she could see right into him, straight into the darkest corners of his soul.

  To have her voice inside his head had become so natural, he’d never really thought about it in these terms. If he’d known she was a mind-reader from the start, he would have succeeded in keeping his distance. Maybe. Now, it was too late. Now, he knew the feel of her burning touch, and it was no longer an option.

  Raven prompted Lightning to go faster, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. And, two riders.

  At first he didn’t think anything of it. There was a town nearby and it wasn’t uncommon to meet travelers on this stretch of the road. But when he glanced over his shoulder and noticed them exchange a look and urge their horses with lashes and spurs, every instinct he possessed rose to the fore.

  The men were too far away for him to be certain, their faces hidden by cloaks; but from what he saw, Raven didn’t recognize his pursuers. For a moment he debated whether to halt the horse and deal with whatever problem they thought they had with him, then they made his decision for him. By drawing a gun.

  A bullet whistled an inch from his ear.

  Instantly, he nudged Lightning toward the forest, making sure to appear as small a target as possible, his mind already going through his options. He never ran from fights, but sometimes you had to step back to be able to take a better swing. Right now, the odds weren’t in his favor and talking, apparently, was out of the question. Not when they seemed to be determined to shoot first and ask questions later. Good thing he knew these woods like the palm of his hand.

  With the skill of an expert rider familiar with his horse’s capabilities, Raven navigated along a narrow, winding path. Lightning conquered each obstacle with confidence, not once hesitating in his steps. Not once slowing down. Even when a gorge opened up before them. They jumped. Crossed it with ease, and continued the run along the edge of the scarp.

  Raven slowed down the pace and finally halted when they neared another bend. He jumped down from the horse, reached for his sword—his hand came up empty. For the first time in fifteen years he was unarmed!

  Fool! He shook his head, petted Lightning and let him go. The lack of weapons forced him to readjust his strategy.

  He climbed the hill around which the path curved, lowered himself to the ground, and waited. The riders, when they appeared, seemed conscious of the difficult trail, but in Raven’s opinion, the jogtrot was still too fast for the bend ahead of them—at least for strangers to the area.

  Their horses saw the sharp curve before the riders did. They tossed their heads in protest, inadvertently coming to a stop. Ten more feet and…

  Raven’s body was crouched low, his every muscle at the ready.

  “He can’t be far,” Raven heard one of them whisper.

  “He would have been less far, if you haven’t pulled the trigger.” The answer was abrupt and angry. “You think I don’t want him dead? But for now, we need him alive.”

  “I wasn’t aiming to kill,” came an excuse in a voice that seemed familiar. Though he couldn’t place it.

  “You weren’t aiming at all!” The words sounded as if pushed through gritted teeth, but that wasn’t what interested Raven the most—they were within his reach. “Next time—”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Raven announced, leaping down on them. They all tumbled, hitting the ground hard. Quickly, he snatched a dagger from under the belt of the man he found himself on top of, and ground the blade into his throat. A second later, the other man put a gun to Raven’s head.

  “Leave my brother alone!

  Oh, this one is going to be fun, he thought sarcastically, and tightened his grip on the dark-haired man beneath him. If there was a chance to get out of this alive … Raven turned his head slightly so he could evaluate the threat from the one standing to his right.

  “You?” he lifted his brows, instantly comprehending what both of them wanted from him. Or who, to be more precise. “Are you going to shoot me with an empty gun?” he asked calmly and watched Logan’s eyes fill with panic.

  Oh, the pistol was loaded alright! But given the commotion and the fact that Logan had two under his belt, only one of them loaded, when Raven jumped on them, he hoped he could manage to confuse the boy.

  Taking advantage of the few seconds the gun wasn’t pointing at him, Raven rolled sideways and quickly stood up, dragging the dark-haired man onto his feet to use him as a shield. He examined the two more closely, absorbing detail after detail. Logan was glaring at him, his finger on the trigger. The other one stood still, not a word escaping his mouth.

  Probably disoriented, Raven decided at first, when he noticed a gnash near the man’s left ear. Blood was streaming down his neck, but on closer look he appeared too focused. His body too still. Add the power behind those frozen muscles to the mix, and it was a disaster waiting to happen.

  What was his name? Raven tried to remember the other name Amira had used the day they met. “Ciaran, right?” He finally asked. “How about we discuss this calmly without bullets flying around?” He directed his last words at Logan.

  “Oh you’ll talk,” Ciaran said, without moving so much as an inch. “Sing long and loud before we finish with you.”

  Arrogance—just what they needed! Was the man suicidal?

  “Amira is alive.” Raven tried a different approach. He was really not in the mood for any of it. At least not for more blood on his hands than he already had. He sensed Ciaran relaxing a notch, then tensing only a moment later.

  “If you’ve touched even a hair on her head, I’ll have yours,” he gnashed a warning, despite the fact that he didn’t have the upper hand in this. Only this time Raven had a distinct feeling the threat was real. No wavering, no arrogance or empty bravado as before. He was deadly serious.

  Ciaran had never killed anyone, Raven realized. He never had to rinse blood from his hands. And yet, he was willing to kill and die for her.

  Wasn’t he? Raven wondered, already knowing the answer. It brought such jealousy roaring inside him, his fingers tightened around the handle, and he barely managed to restrain himself from using the blade. It was a new experience for him, though lately he had had many of those. All thanks to her.

  “Logan, throw the pistol to me and no one dies,” he commanded, deciding not to dwell on details right now.

  “If I do it,” Logan stepped closer, “there’s nothing stopping you from killing both of us. But if you release Ciaran and take us to Amira, maybe I’ll spare you.”

  That actually made him laugh. Yeah, he was surely going to raise his hands in surrender before a teenage boy. “You shoot, you shoot your brother. Think with your head. Is a witch worth dying for?”

  “Any witch—no,” Logan said.

  “But a sister—yes,” Ciaran concluded.

  Raven’s head swiveled to the one he had at the sharp end of the blade, and he all but cursed. The news took him so suddenly by surprise, Ciaran seized the opportunity. He grabbed the dagger, delivered a searing blow to Raven’s gut with his elbow, forcing the air from his lungs with a furious urgency, and spun around, punching his jaw.

  If he had time to think, Raven would have realized that fighting would only escalate everything. They were her brothers. If he harmed them, Amira would never forgive him. But in the heat of the moment, his reflexes roared to life and he didn’t just block the next attack—he retaliated.

  Raven swun
g his own fist—it connected with Ciaran’s nose. Blood gushed down his face. But the man didn’t surrender the weapon. They fought—wrestled for supremacy, their bodies constantly moving, their hands tightly wrapped around the handle.

  “No!” he heard Logan’s voice as if in slow motion. Both he and Ciaran turned to see the pistol lifted high and a true foreboding washed over Raven. Without realizing what he was doing, Raven looked down, only now registering the sound of a gun being fired, the smell of powder, and a piercing pain. The dagger fell from his fingers.

  Raven grabbed for his side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, knowing that whatever he did, he mustn’t lose consciousness. He couldn’t. He saw Ciaran snatch the pistol from his brother’s hands and slide it under his belt.

  “Thanks for the help.” The tone of Ciaran’s voice wasn’t thankful at all. “It’s a miracle the bullet missed me!” he yelled, his fingers tightening around the handle of the dagger till his knuckles turned white.

  “I didn’t—” Logan’s hands started shaking. “I … I wasn’t—” his voice faltered. Or maybe Raven simply couldn’t distinguish the words through the buzzing sound in his ears. It was deafening.

  The world around him swayed. His vision seemed to be coming and going. The ground beneath his legs became less solid and he couldn’t help but sway with the rhythm of the earth. Despite his determination to stay upright—Raven felt himself falling.

  Pain transformed into agony when he pressed his fingers against the wound as firmly as he could in an effort to stem the bleeding. He blacked out. When he finally cracked his eyes open, it was to see Ciaran’s face up and close. And the look in his eyes confirmed Raven’s worst fears—he was dying.

  “Where is she?” The other man grabbed the lapels of his shirt and barely managed to restrain himself from shaking him like a rag-doll.

  It was hard focusing on words; and when the meaning of the question penetrated his clouded mind, Raven found himself unable to answer. The dizziness from losing too much blood, weariness, pain—they all combined forces against him.

  “Shit! He’s drifting…” the words traveled as if he had his head under the water. Barely any consonants reached him. “Logan! Stop your crying and come here!”

  Suddenly a wave of pain assaulted his senses—pierced his insides like a sharp blade, and temporarily it woke him up like nothing else would. Raven gritted his teeth, the bone of his jaw so tightly locked, it was close to cracking.

  It was almost ironic how life managed to surprise him with something he bloody well knew might come along. He had enemies aplenty. Armies of Venlordians only too eager to leave him for dead in some ditch. Moreover, he never had a reason to live other than saving his brother, and he always managed to walk out of dangerous situations unharmed. Well, alive, at least.

  For the first time in his life he’d found something for himself. And he wasn’t even going to get a chance to say goodbye.

  Another wave passed through him. He coughed blood and for a moment there, the world got dark again. As if a black veil was cast over his eyes.

  “Tell me how to find Amira, dammit!” The veil lifted and this time Raven uttered something. He didn’t know what. He didn’t feel in control of his body anymore. But whatever he said probably satisfied Ciaran, because the young man nodded.

  “Did you harm her?” The next question was laced with fear.

  Harm her? He bloody loved her. But he also knew he had done more than he could ever forgive himself for. And standing on the threshold of death, everything became crystal clear—he’d been hesitant in revealing Dacian to her and the goddesses had used it—building upon it until he could not breathe.

  He would have told her, had she asked. After everything she had shared … he couldn’t have done anything less. It didn’t mean he’d been eager, though. Now, he finally knew the reason for his hesitancy. It had nothing to do with her being a witch, and everything with his own fear. Fear of witnessing her beautiful eyes fill with hatred or condemnation when she realized what he’d done to his own brother, his whole family. What part he had played in their inevitable demise.

  Hatred was the last thing he wanted to see filling her eyes; and yet, he would have given everything just to see them one last time. Even if they were drowning with disgust. A stupid desire. Just as impossible as his salvation. Getting more so with every second.

  His breaths were growing harder and harder—each one of them a challenge. His body was numb and finally painless. Indicating he had only seconds on this earth. Seconds full of regrets and unfulfilled desires.

  He didn’t want to go leaving so much unsaid and undone. But death waited for no one. It seemed he was destined to fail. To leave his brother before he’d righted the wrong done to him. To never win a single smile from the woman he loved more than he thought he ever could.

  Now he would never have a chance to say to Amira how much he loved her—would always love her.

  One moment he was feeling so much, and the next all his thoughts vanished. His body slumped as the world darkened and disappeared altogether.

  Chapter 24

  Amira was pacing Raven’s room, more nervous than she’d ever been. Daggers were slicing her heart as the link to his essence melted away.

  Please, please, please, she begged, well aware how out of character it was for her. Come back to me…

  She had run after him. Mounted a horse and tried to look for him—all in vain. They had blocked her senses and left her blind, to wander aimlessly for three hours, until it dawned on her that maybe he’d returned.

  Whatever it was that had affected him so couldn’t have lasted this long, she’d reasoned. Otherwise Hope wouldn’t have said what she did. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have congratulated her. The fear the goddess had latched on to had to be vincible.

  Right now, Amira didn’t care about anything. So what if he had something he wasn’t comfortable in sharing with her? She wasn’t an immature brat to demand everything at once. Heaven knew, she never really had much. Secrets, or not, she simply wanted him alive.

  Be safe, she whispered, clenching trembling fingers near her heart where their connection used to be. She hadn’t asked for it to form or grow, but now she felt bereft.

  Amira felt cold where blazes used to burn. She felt hollow instead of embraced. She felt lost. And she hated the feeling. But most of all, she hated knowing she could not do a thing.

  She approached the window, brushed the curtain aside, and looked out. The sun was still in the sky, but the red glow spreading over the horizon barely reached the hills. Amira sighed, pivoted, and walked to the bed. She curled up on it, wrapped her arms around her legs and laid her head on her knees. She felt so empty. Alone. Especially sensing his strong presence in the room, but being unable to touch it.

  She tried to conjure up things, just to feel magic seeping through her fingers, to calm herself. It always did. Not now. It refused to obey her. She couldn’t even steady the rhythm of her heart or her breathing enough to separate herself from her body. It was futile when every pore of hers was seething with fear for him.

  She was so out of control, she couldn’t spirit-walk. But even if she could, there was no connection, no guiding star for her to follow. Amira hoped against all hope they were simply punishing her—still blocking her senses. But she knew … deep down she knew the truth. She just refused to believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

  If he was to pay for her mistakes, she was sure as hell those coldhearted bitches were going to get what they deserved. Even if it killed her.

  Dangerous thoughts! Shadow gazed at her as he entered the room.

  “They have pushed me over the edge one time too many,” she breathed, thankful for the company. She was going crazy sitting there alone. Didn’t trust herself around people. Shadow could at least take care of himself if her powers slipped their leash.

  They don’t see you as a threat. But that’s their mistake.

  “Shouldn’t you be on their side?” Amira
raised her brow at Shadow’s words. He was the messenger of the gods. By the very definition, he was theirs.

  That’s just it—I’m not theirs. You are not the only one who has been pushed over every rational limit.

  “Don’t tell me you are planning a mutiny?” Amira asked with a new respect for the wolf. She definitely wanted to be part of it.

  Not yet. But you are already playing a large role, worry not. Right now, I came to tell you what they don’t want you to know, before it’s too late.

  “What?” Her back straightened instantly. For one fleeting second hope flared in her heart. Raw, desperate hope—it got extinguished as quickly as it blazed to life.

  Lift the spell preventing your family from finding you here.

  “Why?”

  Do it! Shadow growled low in his throat.

  Amira closed her eyes, took a deep, calming breath in, and began untangling the threads of energy she’d woven about a week ago. It seemed like a lifetime. And it took her a lifetime to finish, but finally when she was done, she opened her eyes. Her gaze landed on the silver wolf. “What now?”

  Now, have the courage to do what you swore you would not. And then, pay the price, Shadow told her cryptically.

  “I hope it’s not what you teach Brea?” Amira sighed, trying to keep it light, because she felt like screaming. The wait was killing her. At least Shadow gave her an opportunity to clear her mind.

  It’s too soon to be teaching her anything, he said, and left her alone with her thoughts instantly drifting away. To Raven.

  Amira lifted her head up and glanced at the last sunbeams playing on the wall. It was almost dark. Soon it would be night and she would have done nothing but paced holes in his rugs. She jumped from the bed full of futile hope when she heard horses neighing; ran to the window and gasped from apprehension. Below her, two riders were trying to defend themselves from an angry mob.