Magical Lover

by Karilyn Bentley

  That look would make a hardened criminal confess. Keara didn’t stand a chance.

  “I heard Thoren cry out my name and then I saw woods with a campfire. And bodies.” Keara shivered as the images of headless dead bodies flickered in her mind.

  Annaliese moved so fast Keara didn’t track her until the priestess grabbed her arm. “Where? Was Thoren injured?”

  “I think he was. I didn’t see him, but my vision came from the ground, like I was lying down. I think he’s hurt. I need to find him.”

  “You can’t. Go to the Council. Go to my father, your grandfather. Explain to him what’s wrong. He’ll send out a search crew to find Thoren. You can’t go alone!”

  Keara patted Annaliese’s hand until the other female dropped her grip on Keara’s arm. “All right. Will you take care of Jamie until I come back?”

  “Of course. Be quick. Visions like the one you had are portents. Go!”

  Keara scrambled out the door, running down the hall. Why was she running? She should transport. It was quicker.

  But wait. If she went to Alviss then by the time he sent a search crew out to Thoren it would be too late. Thoren would be dead. She had felt the blood pour from between Thoren’s fingers, heard his heartbeat pound in her ears as it tried frantically to pump blood through a dying body. Only Keara could save him. Only she had a magical ability that would heal him. Alviss would never let her go search for Thoren.

  She had to find him on her own.

  Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on what she saw when Thoren contacted her. Woods. That didn’t help. Trees grew abundantly in Draconi lands. Blood. Oh, Goddess, there was so much blood. On the ground. On Thoren. Where was he? Fire. How many woods had fire? She closed her eyes, her breathing rapid, her muscles tense. Could she find him?

  She had to. Failure was not an option.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Thoren’s face, his eyes, his smile, the way his muscular body moved as he walked. Where was he?

  Her body shattered, torn apart bit by bit, and as a cloud of dust, she flew out of the Temple and across the ground. Trees and fields passed in a blur, dark blobs in the night as she soared across them. And then she dove, crashing through limbs and leaves, reforming as she landed on the ground.

  Trees surrounded her, their branches creaking in the wind, leaves rustling together. A shiver darted down her spine, the hairs on her neck rising. Straining her ears, she listened for any sounds besides the tree limbs croaking a warning. Nothing. Not even insects chirped.

  And then she heard the crackling of a fire.

  Sticking to the shadows, Keara followed the noise, creeping up to a clearing. Five fires flickered in the open. The scent of dead bodies assailed her nostrils, and bile rose in her throat. Several heads lay scattered, eyes and mouths stretched wide. She swallowed. Those dead were beyond her help.

  Keara crept closer, wondering who had the strength to remove a man’s head. Certainly not any of the soldiers in River’s Run with their small swords. Her foot tripped over something on the ground and she stumbled, palms slapping against the nearest tree as she caught herself from falling. Turning she stared at the dark ground, trying to find what she had tripped over.

  A body. Keara felt a chill slide down her spine and she almost walked away until she noticed the abundance of blond hair. Goddess, no! Kneeling, she brushed the hair out of his face, slamming a hand over her mouth. Enar lay on his back, eyes closed, his shirt singed in a circular pattern, same as an energy ball made. But who would throw an energy ball at him?

  Her fingers felt for the pulsing vein on his neck and pulled away.

  Dead. Her eyes darted around the clearing, but saw no movement outside of the shadows cast by the fires. Where was Thoren? If she wanted to find Thoren, she needed Enar.

  Since the night Thoren unlocked her magic, healing did not leave her as tired as it used to. But the episode with Conr shook her confidence. How could she help Enar if she hadn’t been able to draw the illness out of a small boy?

  Nothing left but to try.

  Keara placed her hands over the scorch mark on Enar’s chest, closing her eyes. Her palms began to tingle as she imagined his body healing. From deep within her came the power to counteract his death, to absorb what had happened to him and change it into life. Her magic coursed through her veins, winding its way to her palms, where it flowed into Enar’s lifeless body. Using her imagination, she guided the power to his heart, forcing the chambers to fill and empty, until with a shudder it beat on its own. Channeling the magic into his burn, she repaired the charred skin, watching as the flesh color bled into the blackened area. So much for the tunic. She was a healer, not a tailor. She kept her hands on his chest until he drew in a gasping breath, his eyes flying open.

  One hand snuck out, grasping her wrist with the desperation of a starving male being shown food.

  “You’re hurting me,” she hissed and he released his grip.

  “What are you, female?” Enar whispered, his voice raw.

  Keara saw pinpoints of light on the periphery of her vision as she shook her head at Enar. Returning the dead to life left her more drained than healing an illness. Although this time wasn’t as bad as the time in River’s Run.

  Keara shivered as that healing memory visited her conscious. The only thing then that had saved her from certain death was that no one but her knew the girl died. Keara thrust the memory away. Now was not the time for remembering.

  “I am me.”

  Enar raised his head, staring at his chest as he brushed his hand across the singed tunic. His eyes narrowed on Keara. “You are special. I owe you my life, it seems. Last I saw, Thoren was this way and he was in trouble.”

  Keara’s breath hitched. What was wrong with Thoren? How far away was he? Would she be able to heal him? Her heart pounded and she wiped her palms on her legs.

  Enar rolled to his feet, shaking off her hand as he steadied himself. He bent to pick up his sword before starting through the trees. Keara followed behind him and tried not to gag. The stench of death hung in the air like a palpable cloud.

  Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe.

  She yanked the neck of her tunic over her nose. Whew. That helped cut the stench down a bit. At least Enar stuck to the tree line, not venturing into the clearing. Did he not notice the odor? Maybe as a warrior he was used to the smell of blood. Enar grabbed her arm, pulling her down with him behind a bush.

  “It looks clear, but I last saw Simon and the Draconi here. Thoren was over there,” he pointed to yet another tree, “and he’d been stabbed.”

  “Stabbed?” Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak.

  “That’s the way it looked, although how he let Simon stab him is a mystery. Your job is to heal Thoren and get him out of here.”

  “Can you transport him? Because I just learned how to transport myself. I’ve never tried taking anyone with me.”

  “Best learn. Heal him up well enough and he’ll transport himself. Now go, but be careful.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To make sure we’re alone.”

  “How will I find you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

  Enar touched her shoulder as he disappeared into the trees, the shadows claiming him. Great, how was she going to get Thoren back to the Temple? What if she tried to transport him and injured him in the process?

  Stop worrying and cross that stream when you get there.

  Hunched over, she skipped from shadow to shadow until she came to the tree Enar had pointed to. Her gaze searched the ground, her heart beating double-time. A shadow glittered where light struck it, sparks like midnight diamonds coursed through strands of hair. Hair that was attached to a head, that was attached to a body covered in a black tunic.

  Thoren.

  The feel of blood seeping over her hands, her body growing cold as her blood seeped into the ground slammed into her and her breath froze inside her chest. Was h
e dead?

  Keara rushed to his side, crushing leaves underfoot, not bothering to conceal her steps. Her mate lay injured, dying. She dropped to her knees, checking his pulse, not believing what her eyes told her. Dead.

  No! He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t leave her without him. What would she do without him? His body grew fuzzy and she blinked rapidly. She had to heal him. She had to. But could she?

  Before Enar, she had only raised the dead once and it occurred immediately after the girl died. Raising Enar took more power than when she raised the girl. Would she be able to raise the dead twice in a night?

  She had no choice. Without her, Thoren would remain dead.

  Rolling Thoren onto his side, she smoothed the hair off his face. Dark lashes rested against his skin, looking peaceful despite the pain lines radiating from his eyes and mouth. Blood stained his tunic and leather pants, stiffening the material.

  She placed one hand onto the hardened blood covering his back and the other hand over the wound on his stomach. Closing her eyes, she imagined her magic rising in her, flowing through her until her palms tingled with its force. Her body grew heated, the magic begging to be released, to heal. She shoved that power out of her hands, pushing it into Thoren’s wounds, forcing it to heal his injuries.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the tears in his abdomen and back and drew the jagged edges together, her magic sewing the wounds closed.

  So far, so good. A little dizziness never hurt anyone. And what was she supposed to do? Lie down and rest? Thoren remained dead and until he breathed, she needed to continue pouring her magic into him.

  He had lost a lot of blood. What spread across the bed of leaves couldn’t be returned to his veins, so she needed to start from scratch. His blood supply needed replenishing. Shooting another wave of magic into him, she pictured drops of blood expanding, growing, filling his veins. She forced the blood through his circulatory system, warming his limbs. And then she sent a burst of power into his heart, restarting it.

  Thoren jerked as the power wave shot through him. She watched for his chest to rise and fall, but it remained unmoving. Why wasn’t he breathing? What did she do wrong?

  Oh. A body needs air. Judging by the black spots dancing along her peripheral vision, she might need a breath too. She took a deep breath, rolled Thoren onto his back and breathed into his mouth. His chest rose and fell. The blackness crept through her vision, reducing it to pinpricks of light. She would not faint. Fainting was not an option.

  Another deep breath. Another exhale into Thoren’s mouth. This time after his chest fell, he sucked in a breath. And then another.

  Keara smiled. Her magic worked. Thoren lived. The pinpoints of light at the edges of her sight cascaded across her vision until Thoren disappeared from view. Peace mingled with exhaustion washed through her as she toppled beside him, succumbing to the darkness, oblivious to the leaves cushioning her fall.

  ****

  Thoren gasped, his limbs jerking, pulling him from darkness. His lids flew open but all he saw was shadows darting in the leaves. What just happened? With a sickening thud, it came flooding back to him: losing his magic, being stabbed with a titanium sword, dying. But he couldn’t have died if he still breathed. His hand slapped over his stomach, feeling the dried blood and gashed tunic.

  By the Goddess. It wasn’t a dream. Then that would mean Enar was dead. He rolled to his side, turning toward where Enar went down.

  No tall, blond body. Plenty of soldier’s bodies littered the area. His nose wrinkled. Death stank.

  All right. So if Enar wasn’t where he fell, then where was the Watcher?

  Leaves rustled as feet pressed against them. Thoren started to turn, then thought the better of it. Not that he was a coward, but he felt weak, drained of energy.

  Like he’d died and been brought back to life.

  “You were right. She came.”

  Time didn’t diminish the whiny nasal tone of Simon’s voice. But the whine wasn’t what struck him. Who was the she Simon referred to?

  “I told you. I have my female and it looks like you took the bitch’s nephew down.” Draconi. Magic layered his voice, an unmistakable Draconi trait.

  The bitch’s nephew? Was he referring to Ari? And which female? Where was the rogue Draconi? Thoren listened, trying to extrapolate the locations of Simon and the Draconi based on the noises they made.

  “Did you discard the sword?” The Draconi again, this time closer to Thoren’s feet.

  “Of course. It’s thirty paces from here. That’s far enough away, right?” Simon’s voice sounded from Thoren’s back, close to the ground.

  “It is. Now take your sword and finish this one off.”

  “But I thought we were taking her with us?” Thoren winced at the whine in Simon’s voice.

  The Draconi sighed. “Not her, you dumb goat. Him.”

  “But I already killed him.”

  “Obviously you didn’t because he’s still alive.”

  “Are you sure? He looks dead.”

  “Stop arguing and kill him.”

  He was not going down without a fight. Thoren rolled, focusing his magic into his hand, but before he lobbed the energy ball at Simon, blood exploded in a rain over his face and torso. Two thuds sounded as he wiped the blood from his eyes.

  Enar stood over him, Blood Seeker dripping red. Simon’s head lay in the opposite direction from his body. Thoren’s eyes met Enar’s, both males blinking. Blood must have splashed in his friend’s eyes, since he’d never seen Enar tear up. He had no room to talk, Enar’s figure fuzzed out and it had nothing to do with Simon’s blood on his face. Thoren drew his sleeve across his eyes.

  Clap, clap, clap. “Thank you. He was getting annoying.”

  Thoren lowered his arm, head turning toward the voice. The Draconi stood clapping his hands, his face hidden in the shadows of his cloak’s cowl. Thoren ran his gaze down the Draconi’s body, trying to find some clue as to who he was, but the drapes of the cloak hid any identifying features. Even his feet hid in shadows.

  A flicker of light caught his eye, drawing his gaze to a lump lying on the ground close to the Draconi’s shoes. Red hair sparkled as shafts from the firelight danced upon it. Curly red hair.

  Keara.

  Thoren’s lip pulled into a snarl and before his brain gave the command, his body moved, leaping to his feet. He tried to shoot an energy ball but nothing happened. The Draconi jerked, glancing between his hands and Thoren. His face might be hidden in shadows, but surprise radiated off him.

  Which would be the last thing the bastard felt. Energy balls might down the enemy, but nothing beat the satisfying thud of his fist. The male wanted Thoren’s mate and for that, he must die.

  Thoren sprang forward, tackling the Draconi around the waist, slamming them both into the ground. His fist pulled back, but before it hit flesh, the male bucked his hips, throwing Thoren onto his back, the heavy body of the male landing on him with a breath-jarring thud.

  The Draconi sat on his legs, trying to cast a spell and getting nowhere. Enar jumped into the melee, kicking the Draconi in the shoulder, flipping him off Thoren. The Draconi rolled in a smooth movement, crouching. Thoren sprang to his feet as Enar pointed a sword at the Draconi.

  “Titanium is a bitch, eh?”

  The Draconi’s head wavered as he turned to Enar and then Thoren.

  “Bid your aunt greetings from me.” Jumping to his feet, he spun and ran, his cloak disappearing into the shadows. Enar sprinted after him, Blood Seeker in one hand, the titanium sword in the other.

  Thoren scrambled across the ground until he reached Keara. How did Keara get here? Did Simon and the Draconi harm her? His hands flew over her body, checking for wounds. Nothing. Then why was she unconscious?

  “Keara!” He shook her a little, hoping for a response, getting nothing but a moan.

  Her brow felt cool to his touch as he stroked her hair from her face. Her chest rose and fell, her pulse fluttering against his fingers
. Once again, he needed to take her to the Temple to be healed. No other male he knew took their mate to the Temple for healing this often. Maybe she was better off without him.

  As if dragons could live without their mates. He might act like a fool, but he loved her. There. He admitted it. He loved Keara and he’d be a poor excuse for a male if she died out here in the woods.

  He gathered her against his chest, preparing to transport them to the Temple. His body should be splitting into pieces, floating through the air and yet, nothing happened.

  Footsteps approached, running, twigs snapping. Thoren laid Keara back on the ground and spun on his heel, still crouching. Enar broke through the shadows of the trees carrying both swords, breathing like a dragon chased him.

  “Lost him,” Enar gasped, dropping the swords as he bent over, hands on his knees.

  He didn’t care about the rogue Draconi when his mate was injured. “She won’t wake. I need to get her back to the Temple but that sword is prohibiting it. I don’t know what’s wrong with her!”

  “It might have,” he gasped for breath, “something to do with her...raising both of us...from the dead.”

  “We died?” Wasn’t he a barrel of intelligence? Of course they died. Hadn’t he seen Enar dropped with an energy ball and felt his own life slip through his fingers?

  Enar, still breathing loud enough to hear a mile away, picked up Blood Seeker and wiped the blade on Simon’s tunic before sheathing it. “Being skewered generally does that to a person.”

  Thoren glanced to Keara. How had she raised them? He ran a hand through his hair. A bloody hand. He cursed.

  “I need running practice.” Enar knelt beside Thoren, slapping a big palm against his back.

  “Or bigger lungs.”

  “Thank you.” Thoren clasped Enar on the shoulder. Enar shrugged.

  “What do we do with the titanium sword?”

  “The Draconi mentioned a safe distance of thirty paces. If you hide it, can you remember where it is?”

  “Do I look like a dumb goat?”

  Thoren stared at Enar.

  “Thanks. It’s nice to see you again too. I’ll go hide the sword. Don’t leave without me.”