Sword of the Raven Page 12

  Unleashed inexperienced Power was extremely dangerous, and Delaney possessed one hell of an energy kick. She could injure or even kill herself. Rowan shoved to his feet. He rounded the foot of the bed, toward her.

  Cornered, she reared back. Her depleted energy stuttered, built for another strike. How? She shouldn’t be able to re-fire already.

  Dèan stad! He thrust the command into her, hard.

  She jerked. Gasped. Then froze, unable to move.

  Thank the Saints. Easy, Delaney. He used the more intimate communication of their telepathic link. I know this hold hurts, so just calm down, and I’ll release you. This time, he gently pushed the emotion into her. Calm.

  Eyes brilliant in her parchment face, her gaze snagged on his. Still fearful, but the rage had cooled.

  Relax, you’re safe. I’m here to help you. We did spend the night together, but just sleeping. Remember lass, I was naked as a newborn when you rescued me. I had nowhere to have stashed drugs.

  Her throat spasmed in a dry swallow. Ashes. Demons. Her response was also through their non-verbal connection. N-not drugs? Or a nightmare?

  Look at your thigh. He throttled back his tight hold.

  She dropped her glance. The wound was sealed, but a wide, blackened burn marred her skin.

  She winced. It…It was real. Oh, God, all of it actually happened. I— I remember. You…you didn’t rape me.

  “Nay. I would never force a woman. Nothing occurred between us.”

  She nodded, and relief trickled through him.

  “I’m going to fully release you now. Just stay still, you ken?”

  Another nod.

  He retreated around the bed, giving her space. He shoved his legs into his jeans, zipped up, then freed her from the detaining spell.

  “Delaney? You doing all right?”

  Silence.

  “Delaney?” He dropped his voice low and soothing. “I’m going to come check on you. I won’t touch you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

  He slowly circled the bed again. She huddled trembling in the corner with her arms wrapped around drawn-up legs, her forehead resting on her knees.

  “Everything’s all right.” Stopping several feet away, he knelt in front of her. “Look at me, luv.” He didn’t put any Power into the request, and she didn’t lift her head.

  “I s-saw you, Rowan. Younger. In a c-circle of carved stones. Heard the words. Felt burning agony when they stabbed you. W-was that a dream...or was it real, too?”

  “You saw…felt…?” She’d summoned his recall. How in bloody blazes? “Nay, not a dream. A vision of the past. You witnessed my Initiation as a Clan Mage.” Somehow. This bond with Delaney was so far beyond the scope of his knowledge and experience, he would’ve freaked…if Mages got freaked.

  He swallowed. “This is scary, aye? I ken. I grew up knowing all about Magic, yet the first time I lost control of my Power, I about pissed my jockeys…well, if I wore jockeys.” And back then, his new Gift hadn’t packed anywhere near the punch of hers. Though he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Your head is spinning, your gut is roiling, and you feel like an axe is cleaving your brain.”

  Slowly, carefully, she met his gaze. “Y-yes.”

  “‘Tis a Power ricochet. I can fix it.” At her flare of alarm, he held up a hand. “I don’t have to touch you.”

  Wary, luminous eyes assessed him.

  “Let me take away the pain. Please. We need to talk about this. Your mind is overwhelmed with questions and you have a lot of information to process.”

  Taut hesitation.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered.

  Eyes locked with Delaney’s, he concentrated. His body quaked as rapidly as hers while he absorbed her pain. Ironic that the weapons came more easily.

  Healing was the toughest Gift to learn…and use. It drained his energy and hurt like a Glasgow bitch. If not done accurately, healing someone could make Rowan ill, render him helpless, or even kill him.

  He’d never before accomplished it with the handicap of not touching the recipient. But Delaney’s fear and pain trumped his comfort. Embracing the agony it caused him, he summoned rosy, healing light and slid it inside her, flooding her veins, flowing over her nerve endings.

  He’d practiced endlessly in order to adjust the pleasure at will, ramping from mere comfort to mind-blowing orgasm. But unless he was charged up by no-holds-barred passion, the better it felt to the receiver…the worse it hurt him.

  Probably so Mages who mastered this Gift wouldn’t be tempted to abuse it.

  Rowan clenched his teeth and aimed for relaxed and soothing. Not that he begrudged giving Delaney pleasure, but an erotic push would make her feel more violated right now.

  When she sighed and her shaking lessened, he slipped his energy out of her. Closed his eyes.

  Rallying himself took longer than he liked.

  He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her quivering body still withdrawn.

  “Cold, are you? His tone lightened. “I’ll fetch a blanket.” Moving slowly so he wouldn’t spook her, he tugged the quilt from the bed. He had to vanquish her fear. Delaney needed to trust him…or his careful strategy would disintegrate into an epic disaster.

  “I’m going to put the quilt around you.” When she didn’t object, he covered her. The blanket would warm her and help her feel more secure. “The fire’s gone out. It’ll take a few minutes to restart.”

  He left her to pull herself together while he rebuilt the fire.

  With flames snapping hungrily at the logs, he shoved open the curtains and watched shimmering rain drape the forest in a silvered cape. Now that he knew her capabilities, she wouldn’t get the drop on him again.

  Exactly what kind of Power was he dealing with here? Enforcers, Guardians, Sorcerers, and demons sensed each others’ Powers on sight. Delaney wasn’t a Guardian. And she’d just proven she wasn’t Tuatha Dé Danann—at least not from any existing Clan. You couldn’t become Tuatha Dé, you had to be born one. He knew Mage energy, and the weapon she’d struck him with was unfamiliar.

  Blood made them what they were. Whose bloodline ran in Delaney’s veins?

  Her amulet had been marked by the Morrigan. But the goddess had vanished into the Abyss in the third century, never to been seen nor heard again.

  His fingers gripped the windowsill. He hated to consider the final option. When Delaney had disappeared, he’d assumed her essence was on her quest, the journey every Mage must survive in order to receive their Gift. When novices felt it happening, they instinctively hid before their essences left their vulnerable bodies. As Delaney’s mentor, he should’ve been able to find her body at the hospital and guard it. But he hadn’t. She’d left no trace.

  Her description of where she’d been sounded like she’d traveled into the Abyss—the vast shadow realm between earth and the Otherworld on high. The irregular shadow marring her Aillidh corroborated her tale. However, Mages couldn’t enter the Abyss unless they were dead. Even then only their essences passed through on their way to the Otherworld, not their bodies.

  No embodied soul could walk in the Abyss.

  His pulse thundered in his ears. But demons could. Though Delaney’s energy didn’t read as evil, he’d be daft not to consider it. She’d barely begun to come into her Power and it was already the strongest he’d ever encountered. She could get into his head at will. And she’d only get stronger. He swallowed so hard it hurt.

  If Delaney was a new, hybrid race of demon—or even if she wasn’t evil, but couldn’t learn to control her destructive powers—he would have to kill her.

  Rowan resolutely shoved away from the window.

  But not today.

  * * *

  By the time Rowan re-approached Delaney, she appeared steadier and color had filtered into her cheeks.

  “Would you like to get back into bed? Alone,” he amended.

  “Yes.”

  When he reached to offer assistance, she shook h
er head and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “I can do it.”

  During the excruciatingly slow process, he held both his tongue and the temptation to slip her an energy boost. “I could definitely use some coffee, how about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fair warning, my cousins used to rag me about the strength of my coffee making their hair fall out.”

  As he strode to the kitchen, he wove a binding spell around the room’s perimeter. If she attempted escape, it’d block her and alert him. His earlier warding of the cabin and surrounding area for protection—done the first night he’d met her—was the strongest known fortification spell. Rowan had layered his own defensive wards over the existing ones Archer had previously placed.

  Last night when they’d arrived, he’d also metaphysically alarmed the grounds and added a cloaking shield. Delaney could wander the property, but couldn’t leave it without him. And nobody else could get in without a battle. Nothing would breach the blood warding of a Clan MacLachlan Enforcer…and survive.

  What he had to do needed complete privacy.

  Ten minutes later, he walked into the bedroom with a tray bearing an old-fashioned metal coffeepot, two thick red mugs, and a plate of cinnamon scones he’d discovered in the freezer and defrosted in the microwave. For Delaney, he’d added milk, sugar, and a bottle of raspberry flavored coffee syrup from the pantry.

  She glanced over as his Power swept the door aside. Shadows lingered in her eyes, but she’d stopped trembling and her body language was more receptive. “That smells heavenly.”

  He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d already witnessed, and admired, her resilience. “I don’t know how you take yours, so I brought everything.” He liked his coffee like his sex. Hot, potent…and to go.

  “Thank you. Milk and raspberry syrup.”

  He pushed aside the Tiffany lamp, clock, and a stack of law books to slide the tray onto the bedside table. “Do you mind if I park on the edge of the bed?”

  He waited for her permission before he sat, facing her.

  “Rowan.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I scratched your cheek…and your neck.”

  “Eh, not a problem.” Adrenaline still zinged his system, and he hadn’t even remembered she’d nailed him.

  “Those gouges look awful. You should put antiseptic on them.”

  He’d handled far worse without medical treatment. “Mages heal fast.”

  Her luscious mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Forget it, sweetheart. You startled awake with a naked man draped around you.” A very obviously horny man. “Any woman—”

  “No. Any woman wouldn’t have instantly attacked you.” She regarded him. “From recent events, I take it you and I are…fated…to work together?”

  “Aye. As you’ve now realized, you have unique Powers.”

  “Three days ago, I would’ve called the men in the white coats to haul us both to the cracker factory. But since then, a whole lot of weird has gone down.”

  Poor wee lass. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but she wouldn’t welcome it. “You’ve had a series of nasty shocks.”

  “My brother…I found him in that Abyss place. He isn’t in his body, but he’s very much alive. I talked to him. Hugged him. Do you know how to bring him back?”

  She’d located Connor’s essence? Only Enforcers could unerringly track an essence, and only after years of training. And never into the Abyss! Camouflaging his shock, he poured steaming coffee into mugs, sloshed raspberry syrup and milk into one. “I can’t say for certain until I know the exact scenario. If there’s any way to free your brother, I’ll try to find it.”

  “You’ll teach me to channel and use these…Powers?”

  “That’s my purpose for seeking you.” One of his motives, anyway.

  Her unsteady hands grasped the cup he offered. “I owe you an apology for the major flip-out.”

  “None is— ”

  “If we’re partners in this insanity, I don’t want you wondering if I’ll fall apart at a crucial moment. Or feel like you have to tiptoe on eggshells around me. I pull my weight, MacLachlan. I’m not a fragile china doll.”

  He shot her a grin over the top of his mug. “Never imagined you to be one.” He sobered. His priority now was to learn her origins. “Forget the apology. I’d rather you fill me in about your background. About Connor’s. Where did you grow up, what were you like as kids, who were your parents? Humans can’t acquire Power, ‘tis inherited. There might be something that’ll clue me in to his situation.” And hers.

  “Telling you…it will help Connor?”

  Through their shared link, Rowan sensed turmoil churning inside her. Felt the burden of long-carried, suppressed emotions straining for release. Apparently the lass had another wound that needed lancing. He gulped coffee, appreciating the kick of heat. “And help you as well, I’m thinking.”

  “It’s important that you know?”

  “Aye. As detailed as possible.” He passed her two scones on a saucer, snagged four for himself. He bit into warm crunchy sweetness. Listening to raindrops plunk the rooftop, flames snap on the hearth, he drank his coffee and waited for Delaney to decide to trust him.

  A year spent chained like a dog had taught him patience.

  “I’ve never told anybody all the…details. Not even Archer. It’s not a pretty story.”

  Although she didn’t realize it, the Guardian would already know everything. “Judgment-free zone here, lass.”

  “I… If it’ll help rescue Connor…” Visibly collecting herself, she sipped from her cup. Once. Twice. “Delaney Morgan isn’t my real name. I was born Erin Byrne.”

  Bloody interesting. Many Supernaturals hid their true names for self-protection. Names were highly significant in Magic rituals, and imbued with special power. Erin was another name for Ireland. The Irish surname Byrne had belonged to ancient Irish kings. And it meant Raven.

  “Connor began life as Eamon,” she continued.

  Which meant Guard of the Treasure. Letting her set the pace, Rowan ate a second scone.

  “We grew up in an average suburb in Iowa. Our dad was a state trooper. When I was six, he was struck and killed by a car when he stopped to help a stranded motorist. Connor was ten.” Delaney stared into the fire, as if seeing the past. “Our mother nose-dived into depression. She got hooked on drugs, legal and otherwise. Connor took care of me. Cooking, laundry, grocery shopping, taking me to school, he learned to do it all. I helped as much as I could. Dad’s insurance gave us some income. Connor also learned to get to the mailbox first, so our mother wouldn’t blow the check on her anesthetic of choice.”

  Ah. “I ken why you two have such a solid bond.”

  “Absolutely. It was the two of us against the world. We managed for five years, until my fourth grade teacher got suspicious and notified Child Services. The court ordered our mother into a counseling program, where she met and fell for Doctor Stanton P. Graves. He was a psychiatrist and senior partner at the therapy practice…very influential, intelligent, and charming. I didn’t care one way or the other, most of the time I ignored him.” Her fingers whitened on her cup. “But Graves and Connor despised one another on sight. Instant, mutual antagonism. Of course that minor detail didn’t stop freshly sober Mommy Dearest from marrying Graves.”

  “Wouldn’t his dating her have been a violation of the doctor patient relationship?”

  “Graves wasn’t her assigned shrink, so technically no. Besides, the community practically nominated him for sainthood for adopting a mouthy pre-teen girl and rebellious teenage boy. And after the wedding, mom’s newfound sobriety lasted a record seven months before she nose-dived off the wagon.” Tremendous pain lurked behind her casual shrug. “But hey, at least now there was a responsible adult around when she was high, right?”

  Rowan’s chest tightened. In contrast, his childhood had been damned near perfect.

  “Meanwhile, my brother’
s future was going superstar. Connor started his junior year of high school as a fantastic quarterback with an arm that wouldn’t quit, plus a near genius IQ. Dozens of colleges were throwing scholarships at him. But he promised no matter what college he chose, he’d find a way to take care of me and we’d always be together.”

  Delaney set her unfinished coffee on the tray. “He and Saint Stan clashed constantly. Graves tried to make nice with me, buying stuff, taking me out for ice cream and movies, but neither Connor nor I warmed to him. We expected him to split any day. Why the hell would a successful doctor want to stay with a chronically depressed junkie?”

  She flicked a glance at Rowan. “Connor started to figure it out. He inherited more from our father than his looks—he got Dad’s lightning reflexes and Triple-A cop instincts.”

  “Assess. Analyze. Act.” He offered her a smile. “Enforcers are Special Ops warriors, lass.” And when the need arose, they became covert assassins.

  “So you know the intuition that drove my brother to keep a sharp eye on Stepdaddy. I was twelve, almost thirteen, and completely naive. But there was a good reason Connor’s gut instincts had immediately hated Graves.” She dropped her gaze. “My brother saw him slipping pills into Mom’s food and…um…he saw good ole Stan growing a just a little too friendly toward me.”

  Rowan tensed as Delaney methodically shredded her pastry. “I’d begun to trust Graves somewhat and thought he honestly cared. I didn’t see the blatant manipulation.”

  Appetite gone, Rowan abandoned his plate. “Of course you didn’t. You were just a child.”

  “Well, apparently Graves thought differently. On my thirteenth birthday, he checked me out of school mid-day. Said he wanted to treat me to a celebration lunch. We dressed up, went to a fancy restaurant. Where he slipped a drug into my food. By the time he took me home, I was aware of what was happening…but…but too far out of it to fight him when he started taking off my clothes.”

  Jesus. Sick fury soured in Rowan’s belly.

  Delaney drew a shaky breath. “He acted like he was giving me a great honor. Announced he was going to ‘make a woman out of me. Teach me my true potential.’”