Sword of the Raven Page 11

  “Am I a Mage, too?

  “I think not.”

  “What am I, then? More importantly, can our ‘Powers’ help me bring my brother back?”

  “Perhaps. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Where’re the matches?”

  Delaney inclined her head. “Bed table. What, you can’t ignite fires with your super eyeball lasers?”

  “Nay.” He strode to the nightstand, yanked open the drawer. Box in hand, he stalked to the fireplace. Only Braden has—had—Fire Power.

  Who’s Braden?

  “Bugger all,” he muttered. Rowan crossed his arms on the mantel and leaned his forehead on them. His hard biceps were nearly as big around as her thighs. My shields aren’t working worth shite. I’m losing it.

  “Yeah, that’s going around tonight.”

  After several seconds, he straightened, struck a match, lit the paper. Flames crackled, wafting the homey fragrance of wood smoke. Heaving in a breath, he walked to the bed. “Braden was one of my three cousins, and a fire Mage. Declan was an air Mage, and Sebastian an earth Mage. We were all born on the sacred holiday of Beltane, in four sequential years. We grew up as close as brothers, did everything together…except one.” Anguish sharpened his features, hollowed his eyes. “They’re dead.”

  Her chest was almost too tight to speak. “I’m sorry, Rowan.”

  So am I. Every fecking day. He shook his head. “You’re shivering again. Still cold?”

  “A little.” Like ice cubes in my bloodstream.

  “There’s not enough venom left in your system to kill you, but if you get chilled, you’ll start hurting again. We should’ve stayed in the bath. Under normal conditions, I could simply raise the temperature of your blood, but Fomorii venom counteracts that.”

  “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t worry. I remedy.” He opened the closet door and rummaged the shelves. “Do you have a nightgown…preferably flannel?”

  “I don’t like nightgowns, they’re not warm enough. Look in the bottom drawer for flannel pajama bottoms and thermal tops.”

  “You can’t wear trousers yet.” The cedar compartment rumbled open, then closed with a bang. He brought over a heather-purple top and laid it beside her. “Take my shirt, too, and layer it over yours for added warmth.” Both hands grabbed the hem of his black T-shirt and tugged it up and over his head.

  She sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. Her mouth went drier than the soft cotton clenched in her fists. Yeah, she’d seen his body before, but she’d been anxious about his safety. Then slightly concerned about her own. She hadn’t had time to ogle. Much.

  He stripped off his shirt and shook out the folds, and all those lovely bronzed muscles undulated. Dark hair dusted his sculpted pecs, and trailed down the center of a washboard eight-pack…swirling tantalizingly around a taut navel before disappearing into his waistband.

  Her photographic memory hadn’t done him justice. Magnificent didn’t even begin to describe her Mage. The strapping Scot was totally ripped—every hard-muscled inch beautifully chiseled.

  Rowan MacLachlan was absolutely…Delaney’s tongue moistened her lower lip.

  Lickable.

  Thick ebony waves glinted in the firelight, caressing those imposing shoulders as he glanced down…and caught her gaze devouring him. His sensual lips curved. Brilliant green flecks ignited in his silver irises.

  Uh oh. Did he catch my mental image of me kissing his luscious mouth…and then nibbling, tasting, licking a leisurely path all the way down his incredible bod?

  Rowan dropped the t-shirt in her lap, warm and redolent with his clean fresh scent that seemed so familiar. “The shirt off my back…literally.”

  She lowered her glance to the clothing before she further incriminated herself. “Um— Thank you.” She had to stop and clear her throat. “Turn around while I put these on.”

  He complied, and Delaney hastily unhooked her bra. Tossing it at his feet didn’t seem like a great idea and she really didn’t want to just hand it to him. She settled for shoving it under the blankets at the foot of the bed. By the time she struggled into the thermal shirt with Rowan’s tee on top, and then dived beneath the covers, chills wracked her and her leg was throbbing again. “D-done,” she chattered.

  He spun, frowned at her. “Damnation! I knew I should’ve kept you in the water longer.”

  “I-I’m fi—”

  He flung up a hand. “If I hear the word ‘fine’ leave that stubborn mouth one more time…” he growled.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. What, Enforcer? With her teeth clacking faster than castanets, channeling to him was easier. You gonna electrocute me?

  A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Sea snail tea.”

  Blech. I’d rather be zapped. I’ll get back into the tub.

  “Soaking will no longer help your wound, because it’s closed. The tea will finish the healing process internally. Neither of us wants to resort to lancing again.”

  She shuddered. I’ll eat sea snail sushi first.

  He stalked to the door. “I’ll fetch the ingredients. Do not move from that bed. I’ve warded and cloaked the cabin, and Archer has his own wards in place. You’ll be perfectly safe until I return.”

  * * *

  Rowan stepped outside onto the porch, into the crisp fall night. As he strode over the edge of the bluff and down the path to the sea, Delaney’s voice echoed in his thoughts.

  What are you, Rowan?

  The stars overhead began to whirl. He stumbled. Fell. On his hands and knees in the sand, the vision surged up from nowhere and overtook him, ricocheting him over a century into the past.

  * * *

  It was Rowan’s eighteenth birthday…and dying might have been more fun.

  He crawled shivering from the frigid loch into the black Highland night, seeking sanctuary within the circle of ancient standing stones. His da and grandda had ruthlessly trained him to endure the week preceding the eighteenth anniversary of his birth. Seven days of hell that would either kill him, or slam him into manhood.

  Breath rasping in harsh gasps, he staggered to his feet, defying the weakness that threatened to buckle his knees. He’d face the end like a Clan warrior. Water streamed down his bare torso and dripped off his plaid as he straightened, and a fierce grin slanted his mouth. He no longer had to kneel to anyone.

  “Aye,” he shouted into the darkness. “I’m still alive! Bring it, ya sodding bastards!”

  On a wild skirl of bagpipes, a dragon’s breath of white mist drifted toward him. Mist and music swirled…faster…thicker…until an impenetrable cloud enveloped him in the circle.

  Silence descended.

  Unearthly white light flared across the stones, etching the sacred carvings into sharp relief.

  Rowan confronted a hundred glowing essences of his long-deceased clansmen who surrounded him—the First Battalion of the Dead. During his quest he’d had to fight and defeat each one. Then kill thrice as many various types of demons.

  That’d been the least arduous of the trials.

  He held the stare of the tall warrior with blue woad-painted skin and long chestnut war braids. Alban, the savage Chieftain of the Dead who’d come far too close to slaughtering him.

  Alban nodded. “Fàilte shìth, MacLachlan. You have survived your quest thus far.” He offered his palms to the ebony sky. “Who stands for our brother?”

  The air shimmered. Rowan’s da and grandda materialized at Rowan’s side. Da fisted his hand over his heart. “I, Torin MacLachlan, Chieftain of the Living.”

  Grandda fisted his hand over his heart. “And, I, Odhran MacLachlan, Chieftain before him.”

  Alban beckoned to Rowan. “Step forward.”

  Rowan faced Alban, who raised an immense broadsword carved from gryphon’s bone. “Rowan MacLachlan. The most powerful bloodline of Tuatha Dé Danann Mages courses through your veins. Let us now prove if you will survive to receive your birthright.”

  Alban thrust th
e blade into Rowan’s gut.

  Searing pain. A tsunami of sounds, sights, and smells crashed in. The ground tilted, the world spun. His heart pounded, his muscles convulsed as tremors wracked his body. He slammed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and bore down, accepting the agony while the collective ancestral memories and knowledge of his entire lineage poured into him.

  When the barrage subsided, Alban yanked out the sword.

  A weightless moment floating between life and death.

  Then the wound sealed. The pain finally eased. Rowan opened his eyes. Swallowing nausea, he forced his trembling to still. Forced his spine to straighten.

  Alban saluted Rowan with the scarlet-stained sword. “You have passed every trial and proven your merit. You now possess our past.”

  Alban returned to the head of the battalion, and Rowan’s father took Alban’s place in front of him. “Well done, my son. I am here to offer your future.” His father’s chest swelled with a deeply drawn breath. “Your hard work and dedication have nae gone unnoticed. The Cabal has chosen you to train as an Enforcer.”

  Rowan’s pulse kicked. To be worthy of an Enforcer rank was the highest honor granted a warrior. He sucked in oxygen. “‘Tis privileged to serve, I am.”

  “Aye, and a privilege it is to have you fight at our side.” Pride gleamed in his da’s dark eyes. “Call forth your weapon.”

  Rowan lifted his face to the heavens and claimed the battle cry that had been bestowed upon him during the trials. “Ni Dìobair!”

  Never forsake.

  As a long gleaming sword of pure ice flashed from the sky, Rowan thrust up his right hand. Cold and wicked, the hilt slid into his palm, fitting perfectly. A weapon made by the Creator uniquely for him.

  “The Gift bestowed upon you is loyalty,” his father said. “Your element to command is water, from which your Power springs forth.” Sorrow creased his da’s face. “And although I foresee a day when you shall stand alone…you must never surrender.”

  “I offer my sword. I offer my blood. I offer my life.” Rowan laid the glittering blade over his heart. “Never forsake. I swear it.”

  “Rowan MacLachlan, heir of the MacLachlan, when I grow unable to serve, or when I pass into the Otherworld, you are destined to wear the mantle of Clan Mage Chieftain. ‘Tis a heavy burden. Be steadfast in your duties, strong in your convictions, mindful of your actions.”

  His father’s gaze pierced his own. “Resist the seductive Dark Powers when they come for you. For the fate of all rests upon the skill of your blade, and the wisdom of your choices.”

  * * *

  Rowan retched…blinked…and the present slowly swam back into focus. What the sodding hell had inspired an unscheduled jaunt down memory lane? The recent head injury must have compromised him more than he realized.

  Maybe that’s why Delaney could so easily read him. He’d have to be extra vigilant. If she learned of his plan...

  He staggered to his feet, just as he had in his vision of the past, and solidly shielded his thoughts from the infuriating, fascinating woman he’d just left.

  You’ll be perfectly safe…until I return.

  He stared out at the faintly luminescent Pacific. Paging Dr. Freud.

  His hands fisted. He didn’t want to hurt Delaney. Too many innocents had already been lost to collateral damage. But she had rare Power. Amazing, strong Power he didn’t quite understand, but that he desperately needed. He could not let his emotions become involved. She was merely a weapon, like the other Gifts he’d been given.

  His to use.

  He bowed his head, whispered an invocation. And dissolved into mist.

  * * *

  Rowan rushed through his task, re-embodied, and then sprinted into the cabin’s bedroom. “Delaney, I’m—”

  His heart slammed into his ribcage. She lay limp beneath the covers in the big iron bed frame. He touched her cheek. Hypothermic again. He should kick his own arse down the beach for not making her stay in the tub.

  He brewed the potion, and then dribbled it between her pale lips, stroking her throat to force her to swallow. He stoked the fire higher, piled on more quilts, then sat on the edge of the mattress and briskly rubbed her arms…to no avail. She wasn’t warming.

  Rowan sighed. Stood. He had a collective knowledge bank spanning several millenniums in his brain. You know what you have to do.

  He could imagine Braden chiding him. Aye, and just get to it, ya flamin’ coward.

  He toed off his boots, stripped off his socks. The zipper on his jeans rasped loudly in the quiet room. He yanked the denim down his legs, and off. This was one of the only times he wished he didn’t hate the confinement of underwear. But after the freedom of a kilt, the lads didn’t like being strangled.

  Naked, he pulled back the covers and quickly divested Delaney of his T-shirt. Although skin-to-skin contact warmed faster, he left her in the thermal top. Parts of him that felt—at the moment very human—weren’t immune to temptation.

  He slid into bed, carefully eased Delaney onto her uninjured side facing away from him, then curled himself protectively around her. As he wrapped his arm over her, her sweet feminine scent enveloped him. His cock instantly responded.

  Shite. This was the second worst idea he’d ever had. The last time he’d surrendered to a bad impulse…every person he’d loved had died.

  The woman in his embrace breathed a contented sigh and burrowed closer. He gritted his teeth. No chance of sleep tonight.

  Rowan’s jaw tightened as hard as the rest of him. But he hadn’t sought out Delaney to find peace.

  He’d come to finish a war.

  Chapter 7

  Sex was gonna be a problem.

  Rowan opened his eyes as watery gray daylight leaked around the edges of the cream-colored curtains. Rain drummed the cabin’s roof, and the ocean rumbled in the distance. Sometime during the bleak hours before dawn, the fire had smoldered into embers, and he’d crashed.

  Delaney was warm and breathing evenly—the only good thing about their current situation.

  His sleeping body had made itself right at home. He was still spooned around her. His nose was buried in silky copper locks at her nape, where his every inhale tormented him with delicious berry fragrance. His arm encircled Delaney’s ribcage, his palm possessively cupped her breast. His leg nestled between the hot, smooth satin of her thighs, supporting her injured leg. Her soft bum pillowed his aching morning wood.

  Over the past year, he’d endured three hundred forty-one days and sixteen hours of deprivation, starvation, and brutality. He’d thought every shred of desire had been tortured out of him. Holding her in the tub had surprised him with his first hard-on in nearly a year. And he’d stayed aroused.

  He wasn’t the only one. When he’d stripped off his shirt last night, he hadn’t needed to read Delaney’s mind. She’d wanted him, too.

  Big problem.

  Mage Cabal law strictly forbid carnal relationships between mentors and apprentices. For damned good reasons—reasons he’d understood too little, way too fecking late.

  Sure, he didn’t have to go all or nothing. But jerking off, or shagging a random woman merely scratched the physical itch.

  He wasn’t about to make the same fatal mistake twice. His longing for something more had destroyed his life.

  But apparently, his little head had deleted the “Celibacy For Dummies” memo. He sighed. He needed to escape the bed without waking Delaney. Not only to flee temptation, but because sleep was her best medicine. Rowan shifted, slowly sliding his hand from her breast, his thigh from between hers.

  “Wha—?” She jolted, which plastered her tight against him. “Wha’s jabbing—”

  He went immobile. So much for stealthy retreat. “Good morning.”

  Delaney’s breathing hitched. She yelped and flailed onto her back. Startled blue eyes stared at him, blurred by sleepy bewilderment.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Better than last night?”

  “A
re you…n-naked?” She gulped. “Did we sl-sleep together?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “My body aches all over,” she whispered.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “I found you on the beach, beaten up. I fed you. But I didn’t go to bed with you.” Bewilderment flashed to fear. “Connor’s accident. Monsters in Hell. Archer with wings…they were hallucinations! I brought you back to the cabin, and you slipped drugs into my food!” Her breath sawed in harsh pants. “Why? So you could rape me?”

  Horror slammed into him. “Nay! I didn’t—”

  “I’ll kill you, you sick sonofabitch!” Delaney attacked, punching, kicking, clawing.

  “Listen—” He threw his head back barely in time to avoid losing an eye as her nails raked his cheek.

  He had to subdue her before she tore open her wound. Rowan rolled on top of her, pinned her legs. She bucked wildly against his weight. If he hadn’t restrained her knees, he’d be in a world of hurt. “Just calm—”

  Her nails slashed again, this time scoring his neck. “Get off me!”

  The wee lass fought as wickedly as a cornered demon. He might as well try to subdue lightning.

  “Delaney, listen to me—” He grasped her wrists, held her arms over her head. She tried to heave him off. Okay, he was male, and still hard…and a sexy, half-dressed woman writhing beneath him didn’t exactly chill him out. “Calm down. I’m not going to harm you.”

  Terror blazed in those spectacular blue depths. “Get off!”

  The bed shook, rattling the iron headboard. Stinging Power exploded from her, hurling him across the room. His spine hit the wall and he crashed to the floor. He lay wheezing for air.

  Lord Almighty! Not warrior Mages, not even higher demons could blast an Enforcer off his feet.

  Delaney scrambled to the far side of the mattress and then fell off the edge onto the floor, out of sight.