Dixon (Stratham Shifters Book 6)

by Sarah J. Stone

  “Maestro,” he said, spinning around, “come to join our party?”

  “If that's what you want to call it,” Desmond said calmly as he strolled toward them. He glanced up to Sienna, and the Black Caesar drones spun around, temporarily pausing their own spell to watch this newcomer. He met Sienna's eyes and nodded.

  She used to be so in tune with Desmond. She used to know everything that he wanted, everything he was thinking of. But right now, she had no idea what side he was going to take.

  “Tiro, retract your magic. You will make yourself sick,” he said.

  “But Maestro–”

  “Obey,” he simply said, and she dropped the spell. Desmond then turned to the followers, his eyes ablaze.

  “Sienna is my Tiro,” he said. “And if you want her, you will answer to me.”

  It appeared that part of their brains had been melted, at least by their answer. One sneered, and the other crouched, as if ready to attack. She had seen their style of fighting when they had captured Nathaniel. They weren't particularly smart. Desmond might be able to do it on his own.

  “And I don't think you want to do that,” Reynolds said, indicating his own minions.

  Desmond glanced to Reynolds casually. “I am starting to think that your interest is purely for my Tiro and not for me,” he said to Reynolds, which distracted the former witch.

  “You always were a bit of a wild card, Maestro,” Reynolds answered. “And you always knew how to read me. Who wouldn't want the power of your Tiro on their side? She's a jewel!”

  “With a flaw,” Desmond answered. “She cannot sustain her own power. It will destroy her.”

  “Unless I teach her how to do it my way,” Reynolds said with a sneer. “That didn't make her sick.”

  “It didn't,” Desmond said softly. “And that is a blessing, at least.”

  Sienna's jaw dropped. “Maestro!” she cried.

  Desmond held his hand out to silence her. “It's a blessing,” he said, “because now she sees there are other paths for her, whatever she chooses. But this one, here, and now,” he glanced to Sienna and Devon, “is not the one. I think. Help me, Reynolds, to destroy this enemy, and we can both walk away from here.”

  Reynolds sneered. “Not a chance, Desmond. I know what you want. In your head, I will see the error of my ways and return to the Jurors. I will grovel, and they will forgive me, and all will be well. Maybe I could even take the tests and become a witch with a Tiro of my own.”

  “No,” Desmond was firm on that. “That is not what will happen. They will throw you in prison, Reynolds–perhaps for life, perhaps execute you. But in that time, in those moments of darkness, perhaps you will see the dawn and be at peace.”

  “Will you let them do that to me?” Reynolds asked. Desmond sucked in a breath, not expecting such a statement to affect him so much. Reynolds sounded so young when he said it that way–so helpless.

  “I…,” Desmond said, visibly torn.

  “Maestro!” Sienna's cry came as Devon's head dropped. His limp body slumped forward. “Please.”

  “Let the boy go,” Desmond said. “He's no use to you. He's dying. He's got no power of significance.”

  “But we can heal all,” Reynolds reminded him. “Even death. Even death.” He displayed his power in one powerful blast that made Desmond jump.

  Reynolds had barely looked in the direction of Black Caesar's followers, and yet he blew them to pieces. Debris, blood, and limbs were spraying, and Sienna screamed, whimpering as she was treated to a face full of alien innards. She was shaking, her arms suspended and aching.

  “Maestro,” she sobbed. “Please. Please!”

  Desmond's heart nearly shattered. “Reynolds, let her go! She's only a child,” he said.

  “Ha,” Reynolds answered. “I was only a child, Desmond, when the witches ripped me away from my family and forced me to train for a cause I didn't believe in. And now I walk the wrong path according to whom? To you! That's all.”

  “Reynolds,” Desmond said, but Reynolds wasn't done. Years of hurt and pain were pouring out as Reynolds spoke.

  “All those years, Desmond…wasted! Wasted! And had you not been so blinded by your hope, by your dreams–even by Mariah, for Creator sake–I could have had a real life. A family!”

  Reynolds' voice broke, and Desmond gently spoke.

  “Did we not create a real life for you?” he asked. “Mariah and I? Did we not go against what the Jurors told us to do to create a life for you that was stable and caring? We were your family, Reynolds. We supported you every step of the way. It is not too late–”

  “It is too late!” Reynolds screamed, and pushed magic forward.

  Sienna screamed as a blast of magic hit Desmond in the chest, throwing him against the wall. It wasn't a lethal blow, but she had clearly seen that Reynolds could do that in half a second if he wanted to.

  “The power you have is not real power,” Reynolds said to his fallen Maestro as he stalked toward Sienna. “I will show you real power. I will show you real strength.”

  With what seemed a simple flick of his wrist, he cut both of their chains. Sienna had the advantage because she was conscious and fell to her feet. Devon, however, was unconscious, and slammed onto the floor, his head hitting the hard concrete.

  Sienna heard the crack and felt his life force leave him.

  “No!” she rushed toward him. The blood pooled from his head, and his eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling. “No, no, no, no!”

  “It's okay, Sienna,” Reynolds said in a false soothing voice that sent shivers up her spine. “It's okay. We can bring him back. It's easy.”

  She hovered protectively over Devon's body, her arms trembling.

  Desmond was slowly dragging himself back to life on the other side of the warehouse. She wanted Nathaniel, and she wanted help.

  But she was alone for the moment. She had never been alone like this, never been so helpless.

  And yet, never been so powerful.

  “Don't,” she said, her hands swelling with magic. “Don't touch him. I don't want your magic. I don't want your ways.”

  “Do you want to sicken and die like him?” Reynolds asked. “Your boyfriend is dependent on everyone around him, every chemical and treatment. For you, it's manageable. I can show you a way to live, Sienna. I can show you true power; power that you were meant to have.”

  She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “No.”

  “Wouldn't you like to be free?” he asked her. “Wouldn't you like to not be such a burden on the Maestros that you have ruined? Warriors who will never again reach their peak? Come with me and be free.”

  ‘Nathaniel,’ she cried out through her bond as Desmond fell to the floor again. ‘Nathaniel, please!’

  But Reynolds reached out, and she knew that even if Nathaniel was outside the door, she had no time.

  She had to get rid of Reynolds. But resurrection magic took all her power, or it used to.

  There was more power inside of her than she knew. And it came not from her, but from nature and from the support of her Maestros.

  They had come for her; they had put everything on the line to rescue her time and time again. Now, she was going to do the same.

  Channeling was something Sienna wasn't good at it, but skill didn't matter in this moment. Sheer willpower did, and blind trust in nature did.

  The rocks around her began to tremble. The earth, mostly dry, began to rise with every tiny speck of living organism that was growing in it. Bugs, plants, everything. Even the trees outside began to tremble as she channeled the power around her.

  “Sienna, don't!” Desmond managed, seeing what she was doing. “You aren't strong enough.”

  “Maybe once,” she said quietly. “Maybe just once, Maestro, because I love him.”

  Desmond could barely describe what happened in the next few moments. Sienna pushed her left hand forward and put her right hand on Devon. There was a giant blast that blinded Desmond then.
/>   Nathaniel and Laura, opening the doors outside, were thrown flat onto their backs.

  Nathaniel felt the wind rush out of his lungs as he hit the lawn, His vision was blinded by a white light, not unlike looking straight into the sun.

  His ears rang as he went limp, rolling with the blast so that he wouldn't be hurt.

  Aside from a few cuts and scrapes, he found himself mostly unhurt as he suddenly sat up.

  “What the hell?” he asked as he scrambled to his feet.

  Laura was already a step ahead of him, her arm cradled to her side. It was locked at an odd angle, the bone shattered. She didn't really care, trying to deny the void in her chest.

  Devon was dead–gone from this world; she knew it.

  The door to the warehouse was gone, and the inside looked nothing like the last time they were in there.

  The trees around them were dead, withered and black. The lawn that Nathaniel had just watched Desmond walk across was brown and mostly barren.

  There was blood everywhere and limbs that Nathaniel recognized as part of the Black Caesar's followers.

  Reynolds' minions were flat on their faces, and it was unclear whether they were dead. It didn't matter to Nathaniel as his eyes searched the wreckage.

  He found Desmond first, looking stunned, but conscious. He had blood pouring from his mouth, but his eyes were clear as he reached his hand to Nathaniel.

  “Her,” Desmond said, through a mouth full of blood. “Go to her.”

  Nathaniel's eyes fell forward, and he saw what Desmond meant.

  Sienna was on her knees, looking at her palms, stunned. Her gaze was far away, and her nose was bleeding.

  “Tiro,” Nathaniel said as he rushed toward her. “Sienna! Sienna!”

  He grabbed her at once, pulling her tiny body into his arms. Reuniting with her was like finding a piece he was missing, his precious child that he had failed.

  “Sienna, I'm so sorry,” he said. “I'm so sorry.”

  “Devon?” Laura said, approaching in shock at the limp body. Her jaw dropped as she looked at his chest. “He's breathing? He's breathing. No, no, I saw you die. I felt you die. I felt you leave me. You didn't?”

  “I saved him,” Sienna's tiny voice came, looking up at Nathaniel. She had broken all the blood vessels in her eyes, and she was trembling hard enough to tell him what was coming. “I saved us all.”

  And then she went limp in his arms.

  Chapter 18

  When Sienna awoke, she had no idea where she was. The world was dim and hazy, and all the sound seemed far away. She felt something scratchy touching her, and she could feel vibrations beside her.

  She tried to open her eyes time and time again, but it wasn't working. She couldn't seem to bring herself fully into the world of the living, fighting to return.

  ‘Maestro,’ she managed, reaching out through her bond.

  To her horror, there was silence. There was no familiar feeling of safety when the message travelled through magic to her beloved Maestros. There was no feeling of comfort at all.

  “Maestro,” the fear launched through her, and she sat up. She nearly choked when she did as something pushed against her chest.

  Her eyes opened this time, and she found herself in a pure, white room, laying on a starched white bed. There were IVs in both her arms, and one attached to the jugular in her neck. There was an oxygen mask on her face, and machines beeping everywhere.

  She felt contained–trapped–and it was terrifying.

  “Sienna!” Suddenly, Nathaniel was beside her, his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back. “It's okay. It's okay, little one. It's okay. You're safe. Shh, little one.”

  “Maestro,” she managed to say as the tears came. It was as if all the fear that had been pent up during the attack came rushing back at once. She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing. The mask was in the way, and her tears flooded against it. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

  “It's okay,” he said, running a hand through her tangled hair. “It's okay. It's over now.”

  Eventually, he managed to ease her back down onto the bed. It didn't take her long to realize that he wasn't sending calming magic into her veins like he normally did. He was, however, making soothing noises, keeping her calm with his voice. And once she stopped struggling, he reached to take the oxygen mask off her face.

  “Just take a few breaths,” he said. “See if you can breathe normally. If it hurts, let me know.”

  She did as she was told, cautiously taking a deep breath and then another. Her lungs hurt, but she could fill them, and she found a normal rhythm–cautious but strong.

  She nodded, watching his face as he checked her vitals.

  “I feel weird,” she said, unable to make sense of what was happening. “Nathaniel, I feel weird.”

  “I know,” he said, clicking a machine to check a few stats. “You're okay, though. You're stable.”

  “How…where?” She couldn't even form words.

  “You're on Jeffro,” he said, “in Eliza's royal facility, only completed a day when we brought you in.”

  “What…?” she said, her head beginning to pound. Her breath fell short, and he picked up on that, reaching for oxygen tubing instead. Gently, he looped it over her ears and under her nose. He waited until she was calm before he spoke.

  “You've been here three weeks,” he said. “There were many times when we thought we would lose you. You wouldn't wake after the attack.”

  “Devon!” she suddenly remembered.

  “Yes, Devon,” Nathaniel said. “Devon is fine.”

  She breathed such a sigh of relief that she actually displaced her pillow. He picked it up with a smile, lifting her head gently.

  “Desmond?”

  “Desmond is also fine,” he said. “Why don't you let me tell you what happened, all right? Just breathe easy.”

  “Everyone is fine?” she asked in shock.

  “Everyone is fine,” he assured her, “thanks to you. You were the one who wasn't fine.”

  “I…the spell,” she remembered hazily.

  “After that spell, you fell from us,” Nathaniel said. “I expected a seizure, perhaps a week of illness. But you would not come back to us. It was as if you hovered between this world and the next. And I thought…,” He paused, emotion overtaking him. “I thought we would have to let you go.”

  “No!” Tears came into her eyes. “No. I made a mistake.”

  He tried to smile through his tears. “Shh! We stabilized you and brought you here to Jeffro as a last resort.”

  “Reynolds?”

  “Reynolds was transported to the school,” he said, “and is currently being held prisoner in the dungeon, awaiting trial. Desmond, I suspect, will fight for him to have life in prison with parole, but I don't know what the Jurors' outcome will be. Either way, the mission is considered a success, and it's thanks to you.”

  “To me?” she was so shocked by this. “But I messed up.”

  “We all make choices that we look back on with regret,” Nathaniel said softly. “Yours, though, saved our lives. No one can fault you for that. At least, no one in their right mind can.”

  Sienna sank against her pillows, trying to make sense of everything he had told her. Her throat was aching, and she couldn't think of the words she wanted.

  ‘Maestro,’ she tried again, the word so strong in her head she could practically see it.

  But there was no answer.

  “Nathaniel, our bond,” she said in a panic. “I can't…what's happening to me?”

  Nathaniel squeezed her hand, and she didn't need the bond to see how troubled he was. Her eyes followed his to a purple IV bag hanging above her.

  “Nathaniel?” she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

  “Sienna, we thought we had lost you. You wouldn't awaken. Day after day, week after week, we waited. But you remained trapped in the world in between. And every time one of us reached out to you with the bond, your vitals slipped a
little further, and you took another step away from us. Desmond and I had to make a choice, and it worked.”

  “What worked?” she asked, in a panic. “What did you do?”

  “That's Cinemron,” Nathaniel said, and her heart nearly stopped. “And it wasn't until we pumped it into your system that you came back to us. It's been three days, but you are improving every moment.”

  “Cinemron,” she echoed. She knew exactly what it was. Witches feared it, avoided it, and ran from it. Cinemron was a chemical that blocked magic in a witch's body. It made it impossible to draw on nature. “Nathaniel….”

  “Shh,” he said. “We had to try. We had to do something, my dear, or you would have left us forever.”

  “I can't be a witch without magic!” she cried, hot, salty tears pouring down her face. “I can't train, I can't–”

  “Sienna,” Nathaniel stroked her hair, “listen to me. This entire time, you and magic have been in a volatile relationship. You have never used much of it, except as a weapon with dire consequences. We have shown you diplomacy, translation, negotiation, undercover work, and piloting. You haven't been using your magic much at all. Witches stand for so much more than fighting with magic, and you are good at all of those things.”

  “But I can't. I'm your Tiro.”

  “And that will never change!” he assured her. “Desmond and I took a pledge. We will never leave you. Is that clear? Do you understand? We will never walk away from you, all right?”

  She searched his eyes, but she saw nothing but truth in them; nothing but calm relief. “But our bond….”

  “We are bonded, little one,” he assured her. “We are bonded, and no one can take that away from us. Don't worry. All right?”

  She didn't know what to say to that. But she felt comforted by Nathaniel's assurance and his strength.

  “Where will we go from here?” she managed, the only question she could think of that she felt made sense.

  “Home,” he said, and she blinked in shock.

  “What?”

  “Home,” he repeated. “The Jurors have decided, in light of our capture of Reynolds, that we can be reinstated. We are to return as soon as you are strong enough.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she smiled, which warmed his heart.