The Redemption Series

by Melynda Price

  She tried once again to free herself from the gnarled brush, desperate to get away from this dark angel and his hellacious monster. But the more she struggled, the tighter the vines held her. Tears of pain, panic, and desperation burned her eyes, blurring her vision, and she was forced to helplessly watch as the angel spurred his mount over the fence, breaching the supernatural barrier as if it wasn’t even there.

  The beast wasn’t so eager to cross over this time, and the angel gave the chain a forward yank that sent the demon stumbling over the fence. It let out a howl of pain one might hear from a dog that broke through its invisible fencing. But the angel paid no attention to his prisoner, his full attention locked on Olivia.

  “How is it that you can see me?” the angel demanded, his tone ripe with authority. “What are you doing here and who let you in?”

  Well, clearly chivalry was as dead as social etiquette where this angel was concerned. Could he not see she was tangled in a bed of thorns? She could feel the blood trickling down her side, wetting the bodice of her dress. Swallowing back the pain that made her want to scream “Get me the hell out of here!” she gritted her teeth and replied, “I can see you because you haven’t blocked my sight.”

  “So you’re one of the Sighted.” A statement, not a question. “What are you doing here?” A suspicious scowl darkened his brow. “Come out of that brush.”

  “I can’t. I’m stuck.”

  The angel eyed her another moment as if he didn’t believe her. “You’re bleeding.”

  Really? “I know. That’s because I’m stuck in these thorns!”

  The angel sighed impatiently and swung a leg over his horse. He dropped to the ground with effortless grace and turned to wrap the heavy chain around the horn of the saddle. He said something to the horse, again in that language she couldn’t understand. The animal gave a brisk snort, swinging its massive head around and pinning the beast with a watchful glare. It pawed the ground impatiently, digging deep grooves into the earth, as if challenging the demon to move.

  As the angel approached, he reached over his shoulder and pulled his sword free of its scabbard. The silver handle was all but swallowed in his large hand, the long black blade reflecting shimmers of color as sunlight glinted off the massive weapon. There was no hesitation in the angel as he waded into the brier. He wielded his sword with precision and unparalleled strength, cutting a path to her. The brush appeared to shrink back from the blade as it sliced through the barbed limbs. A few more swipes and Olivia was free, her clothing torn, her skin cut and bleeding, but at least she was free. She hoped Rebecca wasn’t fond of this dress.

  Olivia gasped when the angel reached down and picked her up, hoisting her over his shoulder as he turned and strode through the path of thorny brush. The edge of his wing brushed her cheek as he hauled her over to his horse. No doubt it was the only soft thing about him.

  He reached the massive mount in a few long strides. A startled squeak broke from her throat when the dark angel deposited her belly-first over the horse’s shoulders. How pathetically humiliating to be rescued by this snarly angel and draped over his horse like road-kill, ass-end in the air. This was not the way she wanted to return to Liam.

  The angel mounted the horse next, the toes of his boots slipping into the stirrups before his heel touched the horse’s flank, sending them off at a brisk trot.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking, you know,” she grouched between bounces.

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Had the endearment ever sounded more derogatory? “I’m here with my guardian,” she ground out through clenched teeth. The horse’s shoulders were digging into her stomach, making the cuts burn even worse than they already did. She wasn’t a wimp, but damn, this hurt. It felt like some of the thorns were still stuck in her skin, burning a path of fire through her veins. “Please... Is this really necessary?”

  “Would you have preferred to sit on my lap?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with all the blood rushing to her head. “Hell. No.” She ground out between jarring breaths.

  “Woman, who is your guardian?” the angel demanded impatiently, or maybe that was the way he always sounded—curt, abrupt, bossy as hell.

  “Liam.”

  The horse suddenly came to an abrupt halt, its shoulders jamming into her ribs. “Oww…” she complained, trying to wiggle herself into a better position for comfort.

  “Liam the Lionhearted?”

  Was that his name? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps the veil over her memories hadn’t completely lifted. But it was a fitting name, nonetheless, so she went with it. “Yes.”

  “You lie.” The accusation verily carried the threat of death. “Liam is no guardian.”

  “Well, he’s mine!” she snapped back, lifting her head to glare at the barbaric angel atop his mighty steed. Or used to be, anyway… “So if you’ll kindly return me to him, I’ll be more than happy to get out of your hair. You clearly have more pressing matters to attend, than a paltry little human like me.”

  The horse was afoot again, this time its pace more brisk. She couldn’t be certain, but she might have actually heard a soft rumble of laughter echoing in the chest of that stony-faced grump. A few minutes later, they rounded the corner of the stables and the axing abruptly stopped.

  A snarled curse shot across the lawn. She lifted her head, trying to reorient herself, and got an eyeful of her angel wearing nothing but a pair of low-waist jeans and a glower that radiated pure fury. His body glistened in a sheen of sweat, wooden splinters and debris clinging to his corded arms and sculpted torso.

  His muscles flexed, rippling with power, as he swung the ax into the splitting log, burying the blade deep into the wood before storming toward them with the lethal grace of a lion and all the finesse of a freight train.

  “What the fuck, Niall!”

  “I believe this belongs to you,” the angel replied flatly, unfazed by the rage of holy terror bearing down on him. “At least that’s what it claims.”

  Liam left her sight and a second later, a pair of hands gently lifted her off the horse’s shoulders. Tenderly, he cradled her against his sweat-dampened chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the relief of being in his arms or what, but a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over her, his handsome face going in and out of focus.

  “She’s bleeding…” he growled.

  Even through her hazy vision, she could see his eyes glowed bright with vengeance.

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it!” the dark angel barked, his eyes mimicking the amethyst hue of her warrior’s. Tension crackled in the air between them. “Maybe you should keep a closer eye on your pet. I had to cut her out of the brier down in the southern corner of the plantation.” The angel then turned to look toward the pile of split wood. “Henry, go get me the keys to the cell.”

  At the mention of the brier, a brief moment of alarm crossed Liam’s face before he quickly locked all emotion down tight. She wasn’t sure why the concern. She was back now—no harm, no fowl. But there was urgency in Liam’s steps as he turned and carried her to the house. She couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her lips at his abrupt movement. The dizziness was getting worse, her head starting to throb. The fire in her veins was so hot, surely she’d turn to ash. “Liam…?” She wanted to tell him she didn’t feel very well, but with each passing second, it was getting more difficult to force the words past her parched throat.

  “You’re welcome!” the angel called after them as Liam’s heavy steps echoed in her brain like one explosion after another.

  “Liam…” she tried again to get his attention, to warn him something was terribly wrong.

  “Shh…” he hushed softly, as if he didn’t want her to speak. But then she startled when he barked, “Rebecca!” His commanding voice echoed through the foyer.

  That was the last person Olivia wanted to see r
ight now, and she was about to tell Liam so, when the blonde rushed out of the living room and promptly ran right toward them. “Oh Laurd, Liam! What in heavens happened to her?”

  The panic on Rebecca’s face was genuine. Her sincere concern combined with Liam’s unexpected over-reaction to a few scrapes was starting to make her more than a little nervous. Not to mention, she felt like shit. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she could count her pulse by the beating whoosh in her ears. Her entire body was on fire, the room was starting to spin, and the sensorial change distorted her vision, making her nauseous.

  “She fell into the brier. Niall cut her loose.”

  “Brier? There shouldn’t be any briar in Landaketa.”

  “Liam, I don’t feel very well. Could you please take me upstairs?” It was all she could do to utter the request. She had so much she wanted to say to him—so much to tell him—but damn, if it wasn’t getting harder to fight off the waves of dizziness dragging her closer and closer to a sea of unconsciousness. What in the hell was wrong with her?

  “Take Olivia upstairs. I’ll bring up some poultice and a basin of hot water.”

  Rebecca ran toward the kitchen and Liam took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t gonna lie, that grim frown on his face was really starting to worry her. “Liam, what’s wrong? Why do I feel so terrible?”

  The door swung open as he approached her room, no doubt, in response to the mental command he gave it. She’d noticed he didn’t use his telekinetic gifts very often. But when his emotions ran high, his impatience often came through in little displays of supernatural power. She smiled to herself that she knew this, and was anxious to tell Liam her good news, except now didn’t exactly seem like the best time to share.

  He laid her on the bed, handling her as carefully as blown glass. Sitting beside her, the bed caved to his magnanimous weight as he bent to remove her shoes. “The brier you fell into is poisonous, Olivia. No doubt, you have thorns still buried in your skin that have to come out. I didn’t warn you to stay away from it because the brush is not supposed to be growing on this side of the wall. The barrier is, was—” he corrected himself, “—impenetrable.”

  This sounded serious. And the look on his face confirmed it. The dizziness sweeping her closer and closer to oblivion guaranteed it. “How sick am I going to get?” She forced the question past her desert-dry throat. Her tongue was starting to go numb, making her words come out thick and slurred like she’d had one too many tequila shots. That he didn’t answer her was an answer in itself. And if the grim scowl on his handsome face was any indication, it was bad.

  Without hesitation, Liam pulled a knife from the sheath at his hip and ran it up the fabric of her dress. With a fluid jerk of his arms, he rent the skirting clean up to her waist. Sliding the blade back into its home, he grabbed the two ends and ripped the fabric up to her neckline. The silk fell away in two halves that bore the entirety of her flesh to his determined gaze.

  “If I didn’t feel like shit, I’d be so hot for you right now,” she murmured. It was a pathetic attempt to lighten a very somber mood that seemed to be sucking all the oxygen out of the room. Or maybe she just wasn’t breathing right anymore. Each gasp sent a searing pain into her side. It felt as if a thorn were scraping the side of her lung with every inhale.

  His eyes were devouring her, but not in that hungry, sexy way that made her core melt. No, he looked at her with stern, clinical judgment, hands roving over her body, inspecting her cuts, pressing gently around certain spots, feeling for the evidence of thorns.

  “I need to see your back,” he replied, ignoring her poorly-timed joke.

  In the spirit of helpfulness, she tried to roll to the side, but only got partway before the pain proved too much to bear. She winced, hissing in a sharp breath, which pulled a growled oath from her angel. His hands were on her hip. Warm, tender—comforting as he helped hold her up so he could inspect her backside.

  When he was finished, he eased her onto her back and grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed, pulling it over her. Seconds after the light cotton cover reached her chin, Rebecca rushed in and strode to her bedside, her beautiful face pinching into a concerned frown. She set the bowl of poultice and pitcher of hot water on the nightstand and turned to Liam, and then cast an assessing look at Olivia before focusing her attention on him again.

  “Perhaps you should let me do this, Liam. No doubt, many of her injuries are intimately placed—”

  He swung his head around, amber-laced eyes snapping up to Rebecca’s. “I will tend to her.” His tone held no room for discussion.

  Still Rebecca pressed, “But, Liam, she needs to be unclothed—”

  Too late…

  “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen, Rebecca.”

  There was an audible catch of shock in the woman’s throat, her cheeks flushing ten shades of embarrassment at, no doubt, having her suspicions confirmed. In Olivia’s state of waning reality, she thought Seen…? It’s nothing you haven’t already had.

  When two sets of eyes locked on her, one surprised, the other aghast, Olivia realized she just thought that remark out loud. Raising an arm that felt like a lead weight, she covered her mouth with her hand and mumbled, “Oh, my gosh… I didn’t mean to say that.” Trying to focus her blurry vision on Rebecca, she slurred, “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m delirious.” Looking at Liam, she murmured, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to pass out now.”

  He gave her a forgiving smile, concern drawing his brows tighter. The amber wash flooding his violet eyes told her he was more worried about her than whatever nonsense was spilling from her loose lips.

  “It’s all right.” His hand brushed over her forehead and then paused as if taking her temperature. “She’s already burning up,” he told Rebecca.

  “There must still be thorns imbedded beneath her skin. You’re going to have to cut them out, Liam. Maybe Niall—”

  “Niall will not touch her,” he verily growled, amethyst sparks lighting his warning glare. “He’s done enough. I’ve got this. Just leave me the knife on your way out.”

  Wait. What? What was he going to do with that knife?

  “Can’t you heal her?” Rebecca asked, looking hesitant to leave.

  Liam shook his head. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

  Rebecca looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but Liam was done talking. “Please, Rebecca, just leave us. I’ll call you if I need your help.”

  The woman nodded, set the knife on the pile of white linen strips, and quietly retreated. As the door closed behind her, the lock snicked into place. When his eyes met hers again, they were filled with an agony that made her heart ache. “I’m sorry, Olivia, but I have to get these thorns out. Sweetheart, I swear this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.”

  Her vision faded to black, then came back, only to fade again. She had to concentrate on the words that entered her mind—slow and distorted through the filter of her pounding ears, she asked, “Wha… What are you doin’ with that kni…?”

  His answer never came. The darkness finally had her in its clutches and refused to let go.

  Thank God for small favors. Liam wasn’t certain how long he had before Olivia woke, but either way, time was not on his side. He’d found five thorns that needed removing and the longer he delayed, the sicker she was going to get. Already, delirium was setting in, fever dampening her brow. Her pulse ticked rapidly against her throat, her breaths, quick and shallow.

  As a warrior who’d fought numerous battles, spilt blood…so much blood, he’d waded in it, his sword arm had always been rock steady, his hand swift and precise. But damn, if he wasn’t shaking like a leaf at the thought of turning this blade on Olivia’s pale, porcelain flesh.

  “Aw hell,” he growled, drawing on an inner strength that had seen him through many a war that otherwise would have—should have—killed him. Bracing against the onslaught of emotions riding him hard, he walled them off, something that wou
ld have been nigh impossible to do if he’d still been bonded to her.

  Taking one last deep breath, he let out a steadying exhale and focused solely on the task at hand. Pulling back the blanket to expose Olivia’s leg, Liam braced his fingers on each side of the puncture wound in her thigh. Retracting the skin to avoid hitting the thorn-blackened center, he pressed the tip of the blade into her flesh. The knife was sharp, easily cutting through her skin.

  A soft moan escaped her parted lips, her leg twitched, but she was too weak to give much of a fight. He easily held her still by trapping her knee between his arm and his ribs. With the cut elongated, he turned his wrist, using the tip of the knife to dig the thorn free.

  With one down and four to go, he moved to the thorn in her bicep. He’d dress the wounds with the poultice wrap after they were all removed. Working with swift efficiency, Liam freed the second from her arm, and then the third from her side, and the fourth from her flank, then the fifth from the delicate arch at the top of her bottom.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was knotting the final strip of cloth over the calendula and lavender poultice wrap, when a soft knock sounded at the door. Checking to make sure the blanket was in place, he willed the lock to unlatch rather than answer and risk waking Olivia. When the lock clicked free, the door slowly opened.

  “I’m just checking to make sure you didn’t need any help.”

  “I’m just finishing,” he replied solemnly.

  “Has she been out the entire time?” Rebecca whispered.

  “Thankfully, yes. A couple of times, I thought she was going to come to, but no, she hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

  The floorboards squeaked under Rebecca’s careful steps. He spared her a quick glance before settling his gaze back on Olivia. Her ashen pallor had not improved, but the tick of her pulse at the base of her throat seemed to have eased into a slower, steadier rhythm—her breaths more regular, as if she’d only fallen into a deep sleep.