by J. C. Wilder
Inching toward the pot, she was careful to keep one eye on her captor who stood glaring at the man. Rage fairly emanated from her small frame.
Whoops, guess Mom isn’t too happy with her offspring. Maybe she’ll send him to bed without his dinner.
Her fingertips brushed the cool bronze urn then stilled when she caught sight of the occupant of the casket.
Bliss.
Her breath caught as her jaw dropped. What? How? Why was Bliss’s body here? Maeve hadn’t known the woman well, but she’d seen her on numerous occasions at Sinjin’s house. She’d always been friendly and quick to smile, and Maeve had been truly sorry to hear Sinjin’s one-time love had been killed.
But that was well over two months ago. Why didn’t someone bury her? She frowned. If Bliss were here, that would make this woman…
“Mortianna.”
Her captor’s head snapped toward her, a frown etched on her face. “What?”
Maeve gestured toward the casket. “Bliss. You’re her mother?”
“Yes, what of it?” The witch moved to lay a possessive hand on the lid of the casket.
“I knew her,” Maeve blurted. “Not well, mind you, but she was very well-liked.”
Mortianna’s expression softened just a fraction. Her fingers tenderly stroked the glass that held her daughter’s body. “From where did you know my child?”
“Through Sinjin. I was staying at his home and Bliss would visit—”
“Bliss visited St. James in Scotland?” Her hand stilled. “When was this?”
“The last time was several weeks before she passed away.”
With each word, Mortianna’s expression grew hard. Her hand abandoned the coffin to clasp a black pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. Before Maeve realized what she was doing, she’d backed up a step.
“Bliss told me they’d been friends for centuries—”
“Friends?” Her knuckles turned white. “My daughter remained friends with that creature?”
Bliss had been a frequent visitor to the castle, but Maeve knew that probably wasn’t something she should share with Mortianna.
“She was a lovely woman, and she’ll be missed by many.”
The bronze was chilly beneath her fingertips when she skimmed her hand up the side of the urn to curl over the lip.
“I will destroy that bastard.” With each word the volume increased. “I’ll tear him limb from limb and send him straight to the bowels of hell. Damien Saint-James will rue the day he ever laid a hand upon my child.” Turning, the witch headed for the doorway, anger spurring her steps. As she exited, she called over her shoulder. “Kill her and make it quick. We have work to do.”
Four of the little beasts broke formation and advanced on Maeve. Mortianna’s son made a noise of dissent.
It was now or never.
She heaved the urn from the pillar, stunned when the weight threatened to knock her to the floor. Filled with water and flowers, the urn was far heavier than she’d anticipated. It dropped to the floor, tipping in the process, sending a river of brilliant blooms and gallons of water across the floor.
The midget-demon formation broke as the creatures dodged the spreading pool, an odd hissing sound escaping from beneath the hoods of their cloaks.
Now empty, the urn still weighed a ton. The sheer weight precluded her from lifting it over her head, so she settled for an awkward, two-handed bowling-style toss at the nearest window.
Then all hell broke loose.
The urn hit the window as one of the beasts slammed into the back of her knees. Staggering from the blow, she almost regained her balance when another struck her in the middle of her back. She fell to the floor, her breath forced from her lungs with a whoosh.
Cold water soaked her clothes and the mingled scents of crushed roses and lilies invaded her nose. The solid weight of the creatures repulsed her and she kicked out, ridding herself of the one clinging to her legs. Bracing her hands against the slick floor, she flipped to her back, pinning the other beneath her.
The demon-creature gave a shriek and released its death-grip on her hair as two more levitated into the air and rushed her. She rolled to the side then to her feet, stumbling when one crashed into her shoulder, causing her to slide on the slick floor.
Strong hands grabbed her waist and hauled her upright against a wall of muscle. Her breath caught when she saw another creature heading in their direction. This one held a pair of familiar-looking knives in its claw-like hands.
Damn it, those are my toys!
Slipping from his grasp, she ducked when the demon came flying at her, the blade coming within an inch of her throat. Grabbing the tail of its cloak with both hands, she swung her would-be killer like a lasso. When she released the cloth, the beast sailed into a window with a crash. Her blades skittered across the floor, and she scooped them up.
Spinning around, she slammed into a wall of muscle. The stranger’s arm snaked around her waist, and he began to whisper in a language she didn’t recognize. Three more of the creatures were headed toward them when they came to a sudden halt as if they’d hit a pane of glass. For a second she thought they resembled those stuffed cats people would stick in their car windows with the suction cups.
“What did you—”
“Move.” He released her, shoving her toward the broken window.
Mortianna reappeared in the doorway, her expression changing from shocked to enraged when she saw the chaos. Her gaze came to rest somewhere over Maeve’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you,” the man spoke.
“If you know what is good for you, you’ll stop meddling in my affairs.” The witch stepped into the room and the temperature plummeted. A cold breeze stirred, increasing in power. The flowers moved, and the pink silk drape beneath the coffin fluttered. “This has nothing to do with you, son.”
So now she wants to be mother of the year?
Mortianna’s gaze fixed on Maeve, and she shivered. “Out of the way, mortal.” With a flick of her finger, the icy air shoved Maeve into one of the windows.
“What the—” Her grip on the blades tightened.
Raising one hand, the witch pointed to her son. “You either stand with me or against me, Quinn. Choose.”
“I’ll not let you kill an innocent.”
“Spineless bastard.” Mortianna began to laugh. “Just like your father. Now is the time to do what I should’ve done when you were born.”
“So be it,” the man said.
Maeve edged away toward the window as mother and son became locked in a silent duel. The witch’s gaze remained pinned on him, and for a split second her expression broke. Maeve could’ve sworn she saw regret pass over Mortianna’s features. All too soon, though, it was gone.
“Kill them both.”
Maeve spun toward the broken window only to realize it was intact. Outside in the crisp autumn leaves lay the urn she’d heaved. She cocked her head. Just how could that be when the glass was unbroken?
“Get out of here, woman,” Quinn hissed.
“I can’t. It isn’t broken,” she said. “How can this be?”
“It’s magic, an illusion. Trust me, the window is broken.”
“Magic?” She swung toward him then gasped when one of the creatures grabbed the tail of her braid and gave it a vicious yank. With a snarl, she reached back and grabbed her hair, tearing it from the claw-like fingers. Twisting, she aimed a backspin kick at its midsection. Her foot connected with its gut and the creature emitted a sound like air escaping from a balloon. It flew across the room to hit the far wall with a thud.
Scalp aching, Maeve shoved her braid down the back of her shirt so her hair couldn’t be used against her again. The stranger was backing toward her, his hands held out in front of him and the remaining demons hung frozen in midair. What was he doing? Was he a sorcerer?
“Go out the window now. I can’t hold them forever,” he hissed.
“I can’t…”
“You have to trust me.”
She looked at the window once again, and her image stared back at her. Trust was easier said than done. Just how could she trust this man, the son of the most powerful witch in the world? Then again, it wasn’t like she had a lot of choices. She stepped closer. Besides, if it wasn’t broken then she’d bounce off like a fly—
An arm wrapped around her waist, and she jerked in surprise.
“We’re out of time,” Quinn said.
A scream caught in her throat as he ran for the window, pulling her with him. The moment she heard the crunch of glass shards under her feet, she knew he’d been right. The image of the glass wavered then broke to reveal the damage.
She leapt through the opening and into the chilly October air. Peripherally, she was aware of a sharp sting on her shoulder, and her feet skidded in the damp leaves. The iron muscles of the arm around her waist kept her upright. Breaking into a run, he pulled her toward an SUV parked in the drive.
Her boots slid on the gravel and her vision wavered, her head pounding with each jarring step. She shut one eye hoping it would help stabilize the constantly shifting world around her. When they reached the car, she wrenched open the door and dove in as her partner in crime ran to the driver’s side. Slamming her door, she locked it as he leapt in behind the wheel. The engine started with a roar, and the tires spewed stones when he pointed the car toward the gates and floored it.
Maeve looked back at the house.
Mortianna stood in the remains of the shattered window. Her beasts milled around her like worker bees attending their queen. Even at a distance Maeve could see the odd blend of rage and pain on her face as she watched their escape.
Chapter Three
Mortianna.
Maeve rubbed the throbbing spot just between her eyes as the witch’s name tumbled through her brain like clothing in a dryer. She’d actually stood in the presence of the most powerful witch in the world and survived to tell the tale. Surely Mortianna would know the spell that would bring down an elder vampire.
She slid a sideways glance at her silent companion. Mortianna’s son would also know the spell. As her son, wouldn’t the witch have taught her child everything she knew? The only question was how to get it from him.
Looking out the passenger side window, she frowned. Funny, she’d never heard the witch had a son. Then again, most preternaturals didn’t talk about Mortianna, at least not out loud. They lived longer that way. In the past few months, the mortality rate among the witches had risen and it was rumored she was at the center of it. After witnessing the witch’s willingness to kill her own son, Maeve believed it.
The longer she sat the more uncomfortable she became. Her jaw ached and her shoulder throbbed, but she had an even more pressing need.
“Can we pull over?” Her voice was husky. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Maeve glared at his profile. Obviously, he was inhuman and didn’t have such needs, but she did and the situation was becoming urgent. There wasn’t a light to be seen for miles so a clean gas station was out of the question. It looked like she might have to improvise.
What seemed like an eternity later, he pulled off the paved road and onto an overgrown gravel path. Branches scraped the side of the car as he maneuvered the vehicle through the darkness. When they hit a particularly deep rut, she grabbed the oh-my-God handle to keep from bouncing out of her seat.
“Where are we going?” She gritted her teeth when they jolted over a large rock, and the motion slammed her sore shoulder against the doorframe.
“Someplace private.”
Ahh, she’d wrenched two words from her companion. Now she was getting somewhere. Next time he might actually manage a full sentence though she wasn’t going to hold her breath.
She stifled a groan when they continued bumping along the road, her discomfort increasing as they climbed ever higher. Finally the ground leveled off and they pulled into a small clearing. Before he could put the car in park, she moaned in relief and flung open the door.
Scrambling out, she didn’t bother to shut the door behind her before darting into the woods. She clambered over fallen trees and underbrush for a few yards in the stygian darkness before she located a spot that would suit her purposes.
With her most immediate need appeased, she rose, grimacing as she tugged her clothing back into place. Thanks to her tumble with the demon-midgets, they were uncomfortably damp and cold. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs as the last of the adrenaline left her system.
Shivering, Maeve headed back toward the clearing. For the past hour, she hadn’t seen a single light heralding civilization other than an occasional farmhouse or barn. How far out in the countryside were they? For that matter, what country were they in? Scotland? England? Wales? She had no idea, and her sense of direction in this blasted country just plain sucked.
Night creatures rustled in the undergrowth, but she ignored them. She didn’t fear the living; it was the dead she had to concern herself with.
Overhead she caught glimpses of night sky visible through the naked trees. Clouds created gray splotches against the dark sky as they played hide and seek with the unfamiliar stars.
A wave of homesickness washed over her, and she shoved the intrusive sentiment away. Her twin sister was dead, and she had no close friends who would miss her. As for family, she snorted, the door to her childhood home was closed to her. Memories of her childhood felt distant as if it were something she’d read in a book long ago.
Tentatively, she stretched to relieve the stiff muscles in her back. Her first order of business was to get to the nearest town, village or house and contact Sinjin. He needed to know that he was on the top of Mortianna’s to do list. Maeve shook her head. It was a sad state of affairs when the only person who would notice her absence was a vampire.
Striding out of the trees, she headed for the SUV. In the cool, blue glow of the waxing moon, her rescuer stood at the edge of the clearing near a rocky drop-off. With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the darkness in the valley below. With his attention diverted, Maeve had a chance to check out her reluctant companion.
He was tall, well over her own five feet eight inches, making him at least six feet tall. Everything about this man was big from his broad shoulders to his feet. Moonlight turned his short, golden hair to silver and etched his features in shadow. Dressed entirely in black, he blended with his surroundings.
Even from here she felt the tension that radiated from his body setting her nerves on edge. Anger, disappointment, sadness and resignation created a murky cloud of energy around him, and her first instinct was to leave him in peace.
Upon becoming a revenant, she’d realized her ability to sense energy and emotion from others had been greatly increased. At times it came in handy while at others, like now, it felt intrusive.
Slowly she started retracing her steps when her foot snapped a dry twig, causing him to turn. His pale eyes scraped over her, and she struggled with the urge to cringe. A frown crossed his face, and he dismissed her by heading for the Range Rover. He moved like a cat, fluid with an unconscious sensuality guaranteed to capture the attention of the opposite sex.
Maeve pushed away the faint flutter in her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d had a physical release so it was only natural that his long, lean body would capture her attention. Hell, she’d have to be dead to not look twice at the tightest ass she’d seen in years.
Moving toward him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’ll take you back to where you came from.” His voice was low, and the accent was heartbreakingly familiar. His voice was all-American boy next door.
“No thanks. I don’t want to return to Sinjin’s.”
“Regardless of what you want, I’m taking you back to where you came from.” Opening the back hatch, he pulled out a black leather duffel bag and dropped it on the ground at his feet. “What you do once
you’re there is up to you.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I said no thanks. Just get me to civilization, and I can take it from there.”
He coughed and it sounded suspiciously like he was trying to cover a laugh.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“So that’s what you call being kidnapped and hauled down here unconscious?” He busied himself unfurling a blanket and spreading it out in the back of the truck.
Stung, she straightened. “There were six of the little buggers—”
“And you didn’t win, so that illustrates my point.”
“Now, you listen here. You wouldn’t have been able to handle them any more than I could—”
“Get in.” Holding a sleeping bag over his arm, he gestured toward the blanket.
She scowled and stepped back. “Why?”
“I need to rest. I haven’t slept in almost three days.”
“That’s not my fault.” She glanced inside the dim compartment and saw he’d put the backseat down to make a larger space. Even so, there was no way she was willing to get in there with him. She shook her head. “I can drive.”
“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Get in so we can both get some rest.”
A shaft of fear ignited in her chest and she took another step backward. “No.”
“I don’t think you understand.” His voice dropped. “You either get in by yourself, or I’ll stuff you in by force. It’s your choice.”
Images of those strong hands in the air, holding Mortianna’s beasts at bay came to mind. Did he have the power to physically move her? She glanced at his face and saw that he did, indeed, look weary and in no mood for a fight. The cool moonlight illuminated the lines around his eyes and mouth.
Her shoulders slumped. She was exhausted though she was reluctant to admit it to him. It wasn’t every day a girl was kidnapped by demonic beings and battled an angry witch. Even on the Maeve scale of events today ranked as one of the strangest so far.
