Impassion

by B. C. Burgess

  His dimples deepened as he kissed her nose. “No, and you’re right, I’m not the kind of man who would.”

  She relaxed as her suspicion melted and her smile returned.

  “However,” he added, “I wouldn’t be the least bit angry if you did it to me, and I would love for you to admit your guilty pleasure the following day.”

  Layla couldn’t help but laugh at his extreme confidence. “If I ever sneak a peak, I’ll be sure to tattle on myself.”

  “I’ll keep hope in my heart for the moment,” he approved, eyes sparkling. Then he glanced at the incoming storm before breathing more heat into her shivering body. “Would you like me to dry you, or would you like to dry yourself?”

  “How about you dry me, and I’ll dry you.”

  “I like the way you think, Layla, my love.”

  Layla glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, noticing the difference in the way he said her name. She liked it. It made her feel all warm and tingly, but she didn’t share this fun fact. Instead, she turned her attention to his head, watching the moon reflect off his dark hair as she magicked it dry.

  Chapter 23

  AGRO SPED UP, EXPLOITING FARRISS’ slipstream as the brute connected with his mind. ‘We’re approaching the community’s borders, sir. There appears to be a guard.’

  Agro flew higher and peered into the distance. Sure enough, an emblazoned aura hovered above a reaching Sitka spruce. Agro considered ordering Farriss to attack, but the aura dropped into the timber and disappeared. Just as well. Agro hadn’t journeyed here to slaughter the coven. He was here to find his witch.

  As they crossed into private airspace, Agro scanned the forest, half expecting auras scattering like rats. But if the coven members ran, they ran the other way, because the forest was still, its creatures hunkered down.

  Rooftops came into view, then the clearing, and Agro slowed as his soldiers did the same. Floating upright, Agro scanned the lawn, spotting two men on the eastern side. They were barely visible, their auras thin and muted, their bodies shadowed, but they soon stepped into the moonlight and walked to the center of the clearing.

  Agro ordered Farriss to advance then followed, commanding the outside lines to watch the perimeters of the lawn. The grass whispered as they landed, and a dozen soldiers aimed their palms at the only two coven members in sight.

  Farriss stepped aside, and Agro moved forward, surveying his greeters from head to toe. He thought he recognized the younger wizard with blond hair and blue eyes, but couldn’t be sure. The older wizard, with chestnut eyes and salt and pepper hair, wasn’t memorable.

  The younger man was the first to speak, keeping his shoulders squared as he boldly tilted his chin. “Why are you here, Agro?”

  His voice and stance drew twenty-one-year-old memories, and Agro’s nostrils flared as he breathed deep, reminding himself to stay calm. “I think you know why.” He scanned his surroundings then motioned over his shoulder. “We saw one of your guards. Expecting trouble?”

  The blond raised an eyebrow and pointed west. “You saw my brother-in-law heading to work. And it would seem trouble is already upon us.”

  “Where are the others?” Agro asked, counting the houses as he swept his gaze across dark windows.

  “Gone,” the blond answered. “They flew east the moment my brother-in-law spotted you west. You can try to catch them, but you won’t.”

  Agro narrowed his eyes on his insubordinate host. “You’re the wizard who challenged me so many years ago, are you not? On this very lawn? The father of the beaming bride.”

  The blond gave a tense nod. “Caitrin Conn.”

  “Right,” Agro replied, turning his attention to the older man. “Which would make you a Kavanagh?”

  The old man nodded. “Catigern—patriarch of the Kavanaghs.”

  “And the patriarch of the Conns?” Agro pressed. “Where is he?”

  “You’re looking at him,” Caitrin answered. “My dad left this world long ago.”

  Agro cracked a smile as he held a hand to his chest. “Did I…”

  “No,” Caitrin bristled. “You merely lay claim to my offspring.”

  “A wound still sore, I see.”

  “A wound as fresh as the day I lost them.”

  “Them?” Agro asked, tilting his head.

  Caitrin’s chest inflated as he raised an accusatory finger. “You kill so many, you lose track.”

  A wave of crimson shifted, and Agro whipped a hand up, signaling his soldiers to hold. “True,” he confessed, meeting Caitrin’s tumultuous stare. “But I remember your offspring very well. Where is your mate?”

  “Probably approaching the lights of Portland by now, unless she crossed the Columbia River.”

  “Is that where your granddaughter went as well?”

  Caitrin tilted his head, his brow creasing as he drew a shaky hand to his throat. “Your greed ensured my only grandchild never saw light of day.”

  Agro regarded the air around his mark, unable to find the lie. “Release your aura and say the same.”

  “I will not,” Caitrin refused. “You’ve taken enough from me. I won’t grant you access to my soul.”

  “You will do as I say,” Agro returned, glancing at Farriss, who moved behind Catigern.

  The old man braced himself, but a swift kick took him to his knees as Farriss gripped his head in both hands, poised to twist his neck.

  “You kill absent reason,” Caitrin objected.

  Agro held up a hand, and Farriss froze, his eyes trained on his boss.

  Agro stepped toward Caitrin, forcing him to his knees with a flick of his wrist. “You continue to pretend your granddaughter does not live.”

  Caitrin whipped his gaze up as Catigern’s eyes widened, and Agro scrutinized both men, searching for holes in their personas. They looked genuinely confused, but Agro had been fooled once and would not let it happen again.

  “You lie,” Caitrin whispered. “My grandbaby lived only in my dying daughter’s womb.”

  “Yes, yes,” Agro mumbled. “Rhosewen died when she was only five months pregnant. I’ve heard the story before.”

  “Then why are you here? To rub salt in the wound?”

  Agro knelt, bringing his gaze level with Caitrin’s as he quietly spoke. “I’m here for your granddaughter, the dark-haired beauty with the emerald eyes. Layla is what they call her, but soon I shall call her mine.”

  Caitrin’s facade held firm; his curiosity and surprise unflinching. But out of the corner of his eye, Agro saw Catigern’s larynx rise and fall.

  Agro smiled at Caitrin. “Either you’re a splendid actor, or your daughter betrayed you in her final days, because your grandchild lives, and I have every reason to believe she’s on the very coast you call home.”

  “Someone has been feeding you lies,” Caitrin challenged. “I would know if my grandbaby lived.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Agro returned, straightening from the ground. “You would know, as would the patriarch of the Kavanaghs—your trusted coven member and friend. Let him go, Farriss. Let’s see how deep his loyalties run.”

  Farriss obeyed, and Agro stepped toward Catigern, relishing in Caitrin’s fear as he raised a palm. Though the two coven members exchanged a meaningful glance, neither of them spoke, so Agro penetrated Catigern’s blood with icy magic.

  The old man’s head jerked back as a muffled roar slipped through clenched teeth, and his pale aura flared with a variety of colors. Agro swiftly searched the haze, but didn’t find the bold emerald ribbon he was looking for.

  He narrowed his eyes, and the frost seeped into Catigern’s bones. The old man fell to his side and stretched, bellowing a string of profanities into the grass, but his aura still lacked the proof Agro sought.

  Agro glanced at Caitrin, who had closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sky. No doubt praying to the Heavens. Ava protect me. Manu guide me. Agro had heard them all a million times, but not once had the Heavens intervened.

>   Agro knelt, directing the freezing magic into Catigern’s flesh as he reached for his head. The patriarch’s skull shield shattered with a nudge, but he somehow kept his thoughts jumbled with nonsense. Agro let the ice magic flow more freely, and it bulged from Catigern’s skin like blue serpents.

  Sharpening his concentration, Agro was struck by an image of a dark-haired man—young and robust with eyes to match his hair. The patriarch had a peculiar investment in the young wizard’s love life.

  “Useless,” Agro snarled, and the icy serpents burst through Catigern’s skin, coated in coagulating blood.

  Catigern’s frantic brain waves waned, and Agro hissed as he pulled his hand away. He studied the old man’s exposed aura, which did in fact contain a ribbon of emerald, but it wasn’t the conclusive proof Agro needed. A scream clawed at his throat, struggling to break loose and wreak havoc, so he blew off steam by backhanding Caitrin.

  Caitrin’s head snapped to the side, but he whipped it back around, his moist eyes catching the moonlight as he stared at Catigern’s fading aura. “Let me save him…”

  The request melted into a moan as ice gripped his bones, and he doubled over, wrapping stiff arms around his head, but his aura remained colorless.

  Agro’s lungs quickened as he grasped for control. Killing the patriarchs could incite an uprising, which would result in the death of them all. Then he’d lose his most promising link to the witch.

  He grabbed Caitrin’s hair and pulled him upright, sharpening the ice as he quietly spoke. “Where is your granddaughter?”

  The cold eased, and Caitrin gasped for air. “You killed her.”

  “Perhaps she hasn’t made it here yet,” Agro surmised, impressed by Caitrin’s resolve. “I suggest you find her, or you’ll miss your chance, because I have soldiers scouring every state in the nation. I like Oregon’s odds, though, so I’ll be back, and next time…” His frosty hex expanded and intensified, convulsing Caitrin’s muscles. “… I’ll be more thorough in my search.”

  He released Caitrin’s hair as he dropped his spell. Then he straightened and turned away. “Until next time,” he said, looking toward the sky.

  A sea of crimson cloaks encircled him. Then a unified flap echoed across the lawn as they shot into the air.

  Chapter 24

  WARM AND WRAPPED IN VELVET, Layla and Quin flew home hand in hand. Though she’d considered moving to his chest and kissing his neck, flying beside him was exhilarating, and they’d have plenty of time to cuddle later, once they were in her bedroom.

  As they neared the community’s boundaries, Quin slowed so they could conceal themselves, but before getting the opportunity, his dad’s panicked voice broke into his head.

  ‘Hide, Quinlan! Now!’

  “Shit,” Quin hissed, tugging on Layla’s hand.

  She gasped as he spun her into a hug. Then she lost the air when he flipped upright and plunged toward earth.

  “Conceal us,” he ordered, dodging rushing limbs.

  Their bodies and auras vanished as her frantic breath swept over his jaw. “What’s going on?”

  Quin halted an inch from the ground, hovering as he whispered against her lips. “I’m shielding your mind. Don’t speak.” He quickly cast magical barriers around their heads. Then he laid a finger over her lips.

  Layla furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what in the hell was going on and how long she’d have to wait before finding out.

  Not long.

  She heard them before she saw them. It sounded like flags flapping in the wind, but she understood immediately they were cloaks. She looked to the treetops, watching dozens of silhouettes soar by, the billowing edges of their cloaks catching the cloudy moonlight to reveal blood red velvet.

  Layla swallowed a lump and fought tears, unable to look away as at least forty Unforgivables passed, each of them further instilling in her the absurd reality of the dangerous situation. She trembled, terrified of what the wicked witches and wizards had done to her coven... her family.

  What was actually mere seconds seemed like several minutes in Layla’s frightened mind, so by the time the last two enemies flew by, she was fighting to keep her spells in place while staving off a breakdown. All she could think about was her family. Their faces flashed through her head as she silently repeated her plea over and over again. Please let them be okay... Please let them be okay... The longer she had to wait to find out, the more labored her breathing became.

  Quin urged her lips to his and laid a hand on her heaving chest, but it was a long moment of distressing silence before he whispered. “You have to calm down, Layla. Slow, deep breaths.”

  At his voice, the tears broke loose and she choked on a sob. “Oh god. We have to get back. What if they hurt someone?”

  “You need to calm your breathing before we go anywhere.”

  “I’m trying,” she gasped. “I can’t.” Horrible images haunted her as tears streamed down her cheeks. They wouldn’t stop, and her lungs were insatiable. “Carry me.”

  Quin urged her to his chest and wrapped his cloak around her. “If it gets worse, I’m going to stop, so try to relax and steady your breathing. Keep your concealment spells in place until I tell you otherwise.”

  She nodded, nearly inhaling his shirt as she wheezed and nuzzled closer, trying to find the security the position usually provided, but it was difficult when such scary thoughts sped through her head.

  Quin slowly approached the treetops, trying not to rustle the limbs as his magic swept them aside. He searched the skies, finding nothing of note, so he leaned back, letting Layla rest on his torso as he flew home.

  Now that the immediate danger had passed, his queasy stomach twisted. The beautiful creature in his arms, the angelic woman who sweetened his reason for breathing and made him feel whole, was a hunted witch—the mark of the most dangerous wizard in North America. Shit.

  Quin reached the air over the lawn and slowed down, mentally searching for signs of danger. Upon finding none, he carefully searched out Layla’s cheek with his palm. “Release your spells.”

  She did, and he was able to see the shape of her body beneath his cloak, as well as the terrified aura quivering around it. He stayed afloat, moving the velvet aside. Then he tilted her chin up, finding wide, shiny eyes. He could tell silent pleas played like broken records behind the emerald pools, and he wished he could ease her pain. It was killing him.

  He slid her up his chest, bringing her forehead to his lips. Then he headed for earth.

  At a glance, the lawn appeared perfect and peaceful, but several coven members were gathered on Catigern’s front porch.

  Quin kept Layla in his arms as he walked toward them, trying to discern their auras. When he got close enough to read their colors, his stomach flipped. Bold ribbons of dark chestnut—Catigern’s eye color—swam through well defined rivers of forest green.

  Layla looked up, her cheeks growing pale as she scanned the auras. “Oh god,” she squeaked, burying her face in Quin’s neck.

  “He’s alive,” Quin assured. “He’ll be okay.” He knew this because the murky green only showed concern. If his great grandpa had been fatally wounded, he’d see more blue than green.

  Layla cringed, unable to find solace in his assurance. This was not okay. This was a disaster.

  Quin climbed the stairs to Catigern’s porch and entered the house, inciting a chorus of relieved murmurs. Daleen, Morrigan and Cordelia were the loudest among them, and soon Layla felt her grandmothers stroking her head and back.

  Layla breathed deep, trying to pull herself together. If Catigern was hurt, Quin would want to see him. She wiped her face clean. Then she left Quin’s neck and followed his shiny gaze across the room.

  Unconscious but alive, Catigern was sprawled out on the sofa. Zenith, his loyal hawk, perched on his shoulder, stone still as she stared at his face, and several coven members sat at his side, touching his limp body. He looked feeble and ashen, and it stung Layla to see him that way. All the men in he
r coven were the epitome of strength, backbones that braced everyone around them, but Catigern’s sluggish aura exposed his fragile state. She quickly looked away as she wiggled out of Quin’s arms and pushed him toward the couch.

  Caitrin pulled Layla close, wrapping her in a hug as a relieved sigh deflated his chest. “You’re okay,” he breathed. Then he kissed her curls and repeated himself.

  Serafin moved closer, taking his turn to touch Layla and make sure she wasn’t harmed, but she wished he would stop. She wasn’t the victim. Catigern was.

  “What happened?” Quin asked, taking a spot beside the couch.

  Layla’s grandparents turned toward the wounded, but she couldn’t find the strength to look, so she kept her back to everyone.

  “Agro got overzealous with his interrogation techniques,” Caitrin answered.

  “Did he get the information he wanted?” Quin asked.

  Layla struggled to withhold a groan. Who cares? Who cares if he got information on me? He tortured Catigern until he knocked him out.

  “No,” Caitrin assured. “Cat did well. He lost consciousness before breaking. Agro was displeased by the lack of answers.”

  “What about you?” Quin asked.

  “I got a taste of his medicine,” Caitrin replied, “but he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice, so he didn’t put much effort into it.”

  “So he doesn’t know Layla’s here?”

  “He’s suspects, but he lacks proof and worries she hasn’t found us yet, so he’s trying to be patient.”

  After a moment of silence, Quin spoke again, his tone sadder than Layla had ever heard it. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Serafin assured. “We’ve healed the outside, but the inside will take more time. We’ll make sure he remains sedated until we get the worst of it.”

  “Ice?” Quin asked.

  “Yes,” Caitrin confirmed. “Agro’s favorite brand.”

  Layla had heard too much. She could feel her blood freezing. She knew what Agro’s icy torture entailed, and the thought of it being served to Caitrin and Catigern gagged her. Her body vibrated with guilt and anger and sadness and old memories and new nightmares and unbelievable fear for her family. The walls were closing in on her. She had to get out of there.