She turned her gaze on Garran to see that things hadn’t changed—he was out cold and was still flat on his back. Morning sunlight streamed through the high warehouse windows and touched his face. His hair was once again white-blond, his skin fair—but very, very pale.
Banshee took off again, and she sensed he was reassured that she was all right. His concern for her had been palpable when he’d flown down and rested on her shoulder. The falcon flew back up to the rafters as if to watch over all that was going on in the background.
Hannah needed to reassure herself, too, to touch Garran and see that he was okay. The memory of him in her dreams, his sightless eyes, shredded her insides.
She placed her palm on his chest, over his heart, and felt its steady beat. His skin was cool, though, not filled with the warmth it normally had.
A breath of relief escaped her at how true his heartbeat was. She looked down at every perfect feature on his face while keeping her palm on his chest.
He was so beautiful, yet rugged and masculine looking at the same time. She moved her hand from his chest and caressed his smooth jaw. His beautiful long hair swept his broad shoulders.
As if he were the male version of Sleeping Beauty and she was a princess come to wake him, she pressed her mouth to his and lightly brushed his lips with hers. His lips were cool, not warm like she was used to, and a combination of disappointment and concern slid through her.
She softly kissed him again and caressed his cheek once more.
Needing to be closer to him, maybe even to help warm and heal him, she lay down and curled close to his side, resting her head on his chest so that she could hear his heartbeat.
The memory of the nightmare chilled her, but being close to Garran helped her push the images away.
In the background she heard the usual daytime sounds of talking and construction, but it faded away so that all she heard was Garran’s heart beating and the shallow sounds of his breathing.
The scent of cedar wood, moss, and earth enveloped her along with his masculine smell. She let it seep into her, comfort her, make her feel as if everything were going to be all right.
Hannah wrapped her arm across Garran’s waist, closed her eyes, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
25
That Drow bastard had tried to send her back to Underworld. Ceithlenn’s snarl blasted through the cavern. Fear washed through her like a massive, ice-cold wave. She couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t go back to Underworld.
Not after everything she and Balor had done to return to the world they had once ruled. Not after the centuries they had spent in the godsforsaken Underworld.
They’d had nothing but dank caverns with great stalagmites and stalactites jutting from above and below, black pools that tasted of filth, and the smells—rotten meat, feces, and other horrid odors.
All they’d had to eat were whatever sick creatures inhabited such dark places. All they’d had to rule were Fomorii, Basilisks, Handai, and whatever other beasts had been banished to the same depths as Balor and Ceithlenn.
After she transferred from the tower, she arrived in the empty cavern below Alcatraz. Alone. Even the Fire Dragon had returned to its home.
The fear inside her flickered, burned away by a sizzling, seething fury.
It had taken the souls of countless humans to give her the strength just to bring Balor to this world. Perhaps her powers combined with her husband’s would be enough to bring the Fomorii back.
Ceithlenn snarled, knowing she couldn’t retrieve them on her own. For that, she would need warlocks and those useless creatures were either dead or turned traitor.
Crouched on the same rock shelf she had once watched her legions from, her body trembled with the force of her anger. She scratched her nails on the rock at her feet, the sound echoing through the cavern that had once been filled with the grunts and snorts, growls and shrieks, of Underworld creatures. Not only was the place silent, but the smells of the beasts had almost vanished.
She dug the nails of both hands into the solid rock to either side of her. Welcome pain shot through her fingers to her hands.
An attack on San Francisco—that was her next plan. Memories of what she’d done to the humans would have faded in their little minds at least enough to make them less cautious. She’d had Fomorii take over virtually every high-ranking official.
She allowed a wicked grin to creep across her face. Martial law had now been lifted, the city declared “safe.”
The demons she had placed at every news station were already reporting the threat was over and law enforcement on all levels would be diligent in protecting San Francisco from further attacks. The film of worthless humans being cuffed and taken into custody had been perfect.
She smiled. Stupid humans. They would resume their lives. Perhaps with some fear, yes, but they would return to their jobs, their daily routines.
Ceithlenn would use the remaining half of her legions to attack the people in the city. With no effort on her part, she would take the souls of the dead and use her powers to find Balor and Darkwolf.
She withdrew her fingernails from the rock and tapped them in a steady drumming sound on the hard surface. Soon she would have to call them all together, every one of her remaining Fomorii, so that they could sweep through the city, giving her power while they murdered human after human.
Once she was again with Balor and he had his eye, she would no longer need the Fomorii, but she preferred to keep her pets to do her will.
A scowl crossed her face as she studied the empty cavern. How had the Drow king been able to send so many of her forces back to Underworld?
She raked her nails across the rock again. Somehow she would learn what weakness went along with such a great power.
26
No other options existed. Darkwolf had to use the power of the eye for himself.
Fully clothed and staring at the ceiling, he lay next to Elizabeth on a comfortable bed in the house they had overtaken. How many people had lived here, he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Elizabeth—Junga—had done her job thoroughly and well as usual, leaving no remnants of the former residents behind.
Another stab of pain, like a sword through his head, caused him to squeeze his eyes shut until it receded as much as it was likely to.
Branches screeched across the window in the bedroom. The glow of a streetlight leaked in and caused shadows of the bony tree branches to make patterns on the ceilings and walls. They moved like skeletal fingers reaching for him through the near darkness.
He thought about taking Elizabeth to push away the pain and give himself, for the time he was inside her, the feeling of control he no longer had. Her steady breathing told him she was asleep, but she would take him whenever and whatever way he desired.
Instead, his mind turned back to the eye resting on his chest. The purple shroud of his magic glimmered in the dim room. Thank the gods no pulsing red light crept through to tell him Balor was near.
Darkwolf returned to his original thought. He truly had no options left. He had to use the eye himself.
If he dropped the shroud and pulled the essence of the eye into himself, instead of simply augmenting his own magic with it, he knew his power would be great. Great enough to fight Balor himself? Maybe.
Would he become a monster, more terrible than he had been as the High Priest of the Balorite warlocks?
That, too, was possible.
What would he do with that power?
Thoughts of killing, maiming, sacrificing, slid through his mind. Would he commit atrocious acts of violence against humans?
Again?
Or would he use that power to fight Balor and rid this city of the horrible, sickening threat that the god was?
Ceithlenn in her hideous goddess form, and as a human, entered his mind and his gut twisted. Could he use the power against her?
After what she’d done to him—
His entire body tensed.
With every fiber of his
being he wanted to kill the bitch. Not send her back to Underworld, but kill her.
Yes, this was the answer. Every bit of magic and knowledge the eye possessed told him what to do.
Darkwolf smiled and let the shroud fall away—and let his body absorb all of the magic and the power the eye commanded.
Instant pain seared him like countless bolts of lightning. He shouted and gave a long cry as agony exploded within.
Vaguely he was aware of Elizabeth sitting up in bed and her frantic expression.
Darkwolf yelled again as his body contorted and twisted. He held his palms to the sides of his head while pain forced tears from his eyes.
His body began changing, morphing.
Bone popped and shifted and he could feel himself growing, his body expanding, lengthening. His head smacked into the bed’s headboard and his feet hung off the edge of the mattress as he rolled back and forth. He arched as more bolts of pain tore through him and sweat broke out over his skin, drenching him.
The chain holding the eye snapped and the links rattled as it fell to the bed.
The eye—it melded into his flesh, around his heart.
He didn’t have to look to know that it had become a part of him.
He shouted again as more muscle and bone shifted, expanded. His jeans and T-shirt cut into his skin. Sounds of ripping and tearing accompanied the feel of clothing shredding and falling away from his body.
The agony went on and on and on.
Finally, the last of the pain faded and Darkwolf slumped on the bed. His mind spun and his body burned hot enough that the sweat began to dry on his skin.
Strength replaced the weakness that had possessed him during the transformation. He rose to a sitting position on the bed, his mind suddenly clear and pain-free for the first time since he’d found the eye on the shores of Ireland.
Years.
Years ago.
He looked down at himself and saw purple smoke mixed with a golden glow over his now massive, naked body.
Power flowed through him. Terrible and great power that carried with it heat and anger and the desire to harm. Something. Someone.
Darkwolf breathed at a normal pace but his heart beat stronger than it had before. The sparkles faded as he looked down at his chest, where the eye had been.
It was gone. No, not gone. It permanently encased his heart now.
He closed his eyes and knowledge expanded in his brain. Memories that weren’t his own flashed in succession through his mind. Images of wars and power and murder.
The knowledge drew him and he put aside the memories that weren’t his own. Instead he focused on what the eye—the former eye—was telling him.
Where in Balor the power and magic had been contained in the eye, in Darkwolf it had transformed and overtaken his heart. The powers had morphed, too, changing so that Darkwolf’s powers were different than Balor’s had been.
Darkwolf looked at his arms and hands. What was he capable of now? Did he have the power of a god?
Elizabeth made a sound and Darkwolf turned his head in her direction. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted. He had grown to a height tall enough that he had to look down at her—her small, fragile human shell.
Darkwolf’s lips curled into a vicious smile as Elizabeth said in a horrified tone, “What have you done?”
27
By the slant of sunlight streaming through the warehouse windows, Hannah judged it to be afternoon now. Her muscles felt stiff from sleeping so long, and she uncurled her body from where she had been snuggling against Garran.
Hannah raised herself to a sitting position and looked down at him. She frowned. He hadn’t moved, not at all, and a strange feeling twisted deep in her belly. What if he didn’t wake up?
The overwhelming concern she felt for him turned that twist in her belly into a deep ache. She pushed the thoughts away. He’d be all right. He was just down for the count from doing—from doing whatever it was he’d done.
She held her hand to her arm and touched her moon and crescent armband as she got to her feet. Her red robe was rumpled and she probably looked as bad as she felt—tired and dirty. When she glanced at the place where her clothing was stacked she saw her pack next to her things. She furrowed her brow. The pack was a little sandy and looked bulky, as if everything she’d taken to the shore had been stuffed inside it.
Cassia had probably scried the whole thing and had known where to find Hannah’s stuff. She blew out a breath and shook her head. Goddess only knew if they’d ever figure Cassia out. The half-Elvin witch no doubt had far too many secrets inside her as far as Hannah was concerned.
She grabbed some clothing and toiletry items and headed for one of the bathrooms set up in the warehouse, complete with showers. She wasn’t in the mood to spend much time showering, so she got in, cleaned up, and was back in the room she shared with Garran in no time.
He was so lifeless looking.
Hannah’s damp hair swung forward as she knelt and touched her fingers to the pulse on his neck. Strong as it had been each time. Whatever it was that had knocked him out at least hadn’t come close to killing him. The ache that had been in her belly moved up to her throat.
She located the bottles of magical healing oils and grabbed the one that smelled of cedar. She put some on her palms and began rubbing it over his chest. His skin felt warmer under her hands than it had before, which gave her some measure of relief.
While she massaged the healing oil into his skin, Hannah imbued it with her magic, the green sparkles floating between his body and hers. It weakened her a bit, but more importantly, she hoped it would help Garran recover.
When there was nothing left for her to do, she gave him one last look and headed out of the room to locate her Coven sisters.
She reached the kitchen, catching the strong scent of patchouli incense when she opened the door. The other witches were just getting to their feet, their divination tools still on the table.
Pain slammed into her chest as she looked at each one of them. They had divined without her. Then the realization that she had no way to scry now made that mental blow even harder.
Doing her best to keep her expression and her voice calm and controlled, Hannah said, “What did you learn?”
Mackenzie had a hard expression on her face, and her hair was in disarray, as if she’d just run her fingers through her long blond curls. “I saw the Drow—betraying us.”
Shock coursed through Hannah, making her scalp prickle.
“I saw the same.” Silver rubbed her hand on her abdomen that was just starting to show that she was pregnant. “The Drow attacking us, not the Fomorii.”
Rhiannon put her hands on her hips and her green eyes looked like flashing emeralds. Her chin-length hair swung around her face as her gaze met that of each of the Coven sisters. “In my vision, there was something more to it. I can’t tell what that is. None of us had unconditionally clear visions that my father will turn on us.”
Copper balanced on the foot that didn’t have a cast. “Rhiannon’s right. My dreams have shown me nothing about Garran being a traitor. He saved my life when the door to Underworld was opened—at the cost of his brother’s life—and I don’t believe for a minute he’ll betray us.”
Mackenzie’s face flushed. “How do you know he won’t use his dark magic to send all of us away, just like he did the Fomorii?”
The normally silent Alyssa spoke up in her quiet voice. “How do we know he sent the demons to Underworld, and not someplace to battle us?”
Everyone but Cassia started talking, arguing, and Hannah put her fingertips to her forehead.
Helplessness was not something she remembered ever feeling. Before there had always been something backing her up that helped her remain strong and confident. But without her scrying ability, she felt lost.
She squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be a way for her to learn what was happening.
The Drow. She had to go to the Dark Elves to see if they could h
elp her find out what was wrong with Garran—and what he’d done. What kind of power he had.
“Stop.” Cassia’s voice cut across the arguing going on in the kitchen, and everyone fell silent as her turquoise eyes pinned each of them one by one. “Since when do we act in this manner? It has never been so.”
Cassia’s words and tone had a formal, almost Otherworldly quality to them that Hannah had never heard before. The effect was definitely sobering. Every witch seemed to straighten. Hannah imagined she could actually see minds and emotions clearing.
“You’re right.” Silver had always been the leader of the group, even though they all turned to Cassia more and more for guidance. Silver pushed her long silvery-blond hair out of her face. “We’ve got to figure this out together.”
While the other witches started discussing their divinations, Hannah gave in to the realization that right now she needed Rhiannon. Of all the D’Anu, Rhiannon was probably the only one who could help Hannah now.
She walked up to Rhiannon, who narrowed her eyes at Hannah. This time Hannah didn’t push it and step into what she called Rhiannon’s little box—her personal space.
“I need to talk to you.” She glanced at the other D’Anu, who were animatedly discussing the divinations. “Alone.”
Rhiannon tilted her head to the side. “Why?”
Hannah held back a sound of frustration. “Please. It’s about your father.”
Rhiannon glanced at the other witches then back to Hannah. “All right.”
They slipped out of the kitchen and Hannah led Rhiannon to the quietest place she could find, a small alcove near the strategy/planning area. She gave a nod to Jake Macgregor who watched her and Rhiannon walk across the room. No one else seemed to notice them.
When they were alone, Hannah pushed the blond shock of hair behind her ear and barely kept herself from giving in to a nervous bout of pacing.
Hannah took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Rhiannon immediately had a wary expression. “With what?”
The Shadows Page 24
