Sword of the Raven Read online

  The empty mug shattered in his hands. The fecking bastard. No wonder the lass had panicked when she’d jolted awake disoriented and found Rowan in her bed. He dropped the crumbled shards, not feeling pain in his hand, not caring it was bleeding. He was gonna hunt down the child-raping perv and feed the sonofabitch his own bollocks.

  “Delaney,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me the rest, I ken what happened.”

  “No, you should hear everything.” Before I lose my nerve. Her throat worked as she swallowed the thought, and he knew she hadn’t meant to broadcast it.

  “Only if you’re ready, luv.”

  She studied her ruined scones. “Connor was keeping close tabs on me. He discovered Graves had signed me out of afternoon classes and rushed home. He kicked down the door.” A slight hesitation. “And stopped Graves before he’d done any real damage.”

  But the innocent child had suffered wounds sight couldn’t discern, hadn’t she?

  “Connor…exploded. Attacked Graves. I’d never seen him like that. Graves had a hundred pound advantage and Connor didn’t stand a chance. My brother was taking a horrible beating. I managed to stumble over and hit Graves with the fireplace poker, knock him away. Then Connor—God— he just went insane. He beat Graves to a bloody pulp.”

  “Good on the lad.” If we get you back, Connor, I’m buyin’ you a round of Glenlivet.

  “I think Connor would’ve killed him if I hadn’t managed to finally break through his rage and make him stop. Not because I gave a damn about Graves, but I didn’t want my brother in prison. Connor wrapped me in a blanket and drove me to the hospital. When the police showed up, we were so relieved. Until they arrested my brother for assault.” Delaney pressed trembling lips together. “At that moment, I wished I’d killed Graves.”

  He snarled. “Killing’s too good for the prick.”

  “Saint Stan was a professional Machiavelli. Well-dressed, well-spoken, well-connected. He told the police he caught me sneaking into Mom’s tranqs—that’s what he’d dosed me with—so he’d locked them up. He claimed I’d come on to him, bargaining sex for drugs. Then when Graves refused to give them to me, I lied and said he’d tried to rape me.”

  “The authorities believed that rubbish?”

  Delaney gave full attention to setting aside her uneaten food. “Mother of the Year signed a statement corroborating Graves’ lies. Although she wasn’t lucid enough to know what she’d agreed to.” Turning away, she watched the rain streaming down the windowpane. “Probably.”

  The ultimate betrayal. He longed to tug Delaney into his arms, but her stiff body language screamed keep away. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Connor got tossed into juvy. Thank heaven he was only sixteen, or he’d have gone to jail. Graves’s injuries were serious enough to hospitalize him, and Mom was ‘traumatized’ and not fit to care for a goldfish, so I was shuttled to a temporary foster home. They told me as soon as Graves recovered, I’d be sent back to live with him.” She hung her head. “I wanted to die. It seemed better than being helpless. Being a victim.”

  His heart wrenched. “Delaney,” he said gently. “Look at me.” For a long moment, he thought she wouldn’t. Then she slowly raised her chin. Moisture glittered on long copper lashes, sheened wounded blue eyes.

  He slid closer, embraced both small, chilled hands with his. “I’ve also been helpless, been at the mercy of someone who said they loved me, then betrayed and hurt me. And I could not stop them.” He gently squeezed her fingers. “I also wanted to die for a time. Like you, I chose to submit. To live.”

  “Oh, Rowan! Did you…were you abused as a child?”

  “No, lass.” That she would feel empathy for him in the midst of her pain sharpened the ache in his chest. “Mine is another account for another time. What we share is the fact we didn’t choose death. We endured what we had to in order to live.”

  “Well, as it happens, I didn’t have to take any more abuse from Graves. We…fought back. Fought dirty.”

  Rowan kept hold of her hands in one of his, using the other to cup her neck. He stroked her nape with his thumb. “Sweetheart, killing was too good for him. Whatever you did to defend yourself was justified.”

  “Connor knew Graves would angle to get me back, especially with him in juvy and unable to protect me. But even suffering from cracked ribs and bruised kidneys, Connor broke out of custody. Then he snuck me out of the foster home in the middle of the night.” She leaned into Rowan, finally accepting the comfort he offered. “Graves kept some cash in the house for emergencies, and we stole it. We took Mom’s pill stash and sold it to stoners Connor knew from school. We shoplifted supplies from a drugstore, chopped off my hair and dyed it black, and I dressed like a boy. Connor bleached his hair and spiked it. Then we stole Graves’ car from the hospital parking garage. Nobody would miss it for a while, and Connor switched plates with a similar vehicle. We became drug dealers and thieves.”

  “I’d call it gutsy and resourceful.”

  “I’m not…I just—” Her mouth trembled. Then firmed. “For the next five days, we stuck to back roads, drove mostly at night, and made it to the Oregon Coast—as far from Iowa as possible. We stole camping gear from some hunters, wiped the prints from the car and pushed it off a bluff into the ocean, so there’d be no trace. Then we hiked back to Portland on foot.”

  “Long walk, that.” His admiration grew. The bloodline that had given life to Erin and Eamon Byrne was warrior’s blood. “Nearly one hundred and thirteen kilometers, half of it mountainous.”

  “We camped out, took our time. But it was November, cold and rainy. Connor contracted pneumonia, likely due to his injured ribs constricting his respiration. When we reached downtown Portland, we holed up in an abandoned building with other street kids. Within forty-eight hours, he was delirious with fever and wheezing for breath. I was so scared. He was dying.”

  Her fingers clutched his hand. “Archer found us there and took us to a shelter for runaways. A place where they asked no questions. He was twenty-two, and he volunteered at the shelter. He still does. By then, I shouldn’t have trusted anybody. But Archer, maybe because he was so young and closer to our ages, inspired complete, immediate reassurance. Now I know why.”

  “Aye. And believe me, lass, the Guardian is far older than he appears.”

  “Oh? I’ll have to ask him about that.”

  “Good luck getting a straight answer.”

  “We all have our secrets, don’t we?” She gave him a considering look. “Archer obtained medical treatment for Connor, again subverting any inquiries. Eventually, Connor and I moved into Archer’s apartment. We kept Erin and Eamon as middle names, chose new first names, and picked Morgan for a surname because it was our paternal grandmother’s maiden name. Something Graves wouldn’t know, and Mom likely wouldn’t remember. Even if she did, it’s common enough. Archer procured new birth certificates, social security numbers, school records, life histories—I didn’t ask or care how.

  “Connor finished high school, toiling at menial jobs to support us until I graduated. My grades earned me a full scholarship to University of Oregon. He got into the police academy, then over the years, he worked his way up to vice detective so he could bust drug dealers. It’s how he exorcises his demons. Or was, until he got framed. I became a victim’s advocate and wanted to eventually earn a law degree and become a prosecuting attorney. We didn’t quite get our happy ending. Yet. But at least Graves never found us.”

  “The Guardian cast a shield around you all these years. He’s good. Hidden you well. But as you began to come into your Powers, you would’ve become more and more difficult to conceal.” Which is why Rowan had finally sensed Delaney’s Aillidh and tracked her to Oregon. Other entities would soon sense it…and be hunting her.

  “But Archer isn’t my Guardian anymore, right?” At his nod, white teeth sank into her full lower lip. “What if Graves saw Connor’s trial in the news? What if—”

  Rowan clenched his
jaw. “Don’t fash yourself, luv. If your stepfather comes after you now, it’ll be his final act on this earth.”

  “Connor gave up everything for me. I have to get him back.” Her shoulders sagged. “I have a lot to learn about this Supernatural world, don’t I?”

  “Aye. And that’s what I’m here for.” Too bad it had to be a crash course.

  She looked down at their interlocked fingers as if just realizing they were joined. Yanking away, she flung back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. “I could really use a long, hot shower.”

  “Delaney, don’t—”

  Ignoring his warning, she stood up. And crumpled to the floor.

  He stayed put, fighting every instinct to rush to her aid. Delaney’s health wasn’t in danger. He didn’t need to grind salt into her wounded pride.

  Muted cussing reached his ears, then she laboriously pulled herself to her feet. As she limped forward using the bed frame for support, Rowan briefly, covertly linked with her to assess her pain level.

  “Stay out of my head!” she snapped.

  So much for covert. He understood better than he wanted to both her need to feel clean, and her aversion to being touched right now. And he related all too well to her fear of relinquishing control.

  Sometimes, the only thing you had left was self-reliance.

  He raised his palms. “I’ll take the dishes to the kitchen and start breakfast. If there’s anything I can do, give a shout.”

  He scooped up the tray and sauntered out, keeping his senses homed on her. If she needed help, he’d know.

  * * *

  A half-hour later, lively flames snapped and popped inside the living room fireplace, the dishes were clean, dried and put away, and Rowan had rummaged the pantry for food he could cook without bolloxing up.

  He still hadn’t heard the shower switch on and he felt dejection clouding Delaney’s essence. He strode down the hallway. Rapped on the door. “Delaney? How are you doing in there?”

  Her low “fine” didn’t sound too sure.

  “I can go back to the kitchen, then?”

  Long silence. A sigh. “I’m on the bench, and can’t stand up, dammit.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “Not unless you can teleport through the locked door.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He tripped the lock with his Power, opened the door and walked inside.

  Delaney looked up at him from her perch on the wooden bench against the wall beside the tub, still clothed in the shirts she’d slept in. Distress pinched her delicate features and perspiration sheened her skin. “I made it this far. Can’t quite manage the tub or shower.”

  He squatted in front of her. “How can I help?” When her lovely mouth pressed into a grim line, he shook his head. “If I were wounded, you would see to my comfort, would you not?”

  “Yes.” Another sigh. “I need a shower.”

  I ken, Delaney. He used the more intimate communication for his confession. I too have felt the need to wash away the past.

  If only it were that easy to cleanse the stains of grief…and guilt.

  “The best thing about the past, is that it’s in the past. Done.” She nodded resolutely. “Moving on, now. I can’t wear my nightshirts to shower. Would you mind bringing me my bra? It’s in the bed. I’ll put it on, then you can help me into and out of the shower stall.”

  “Absolutely.” He fetched the coral bra from the bedroom, trying not to visualize the sexy curves the small scrap of lace would barely cover. Then he waited outside while she changed.

  “Ready,” she called.

  Rowan reentered the bathroom. All those tempting curves were now reality, and far more enticing than he’d imagined. As he’d told Delaney, he was no angel…and food and water weren’t the only things he’d been deprived of during his imprisonment. He averted his glance, snapped his fingers. Multiple shower jets hissed on.

  “Show-off.” Delaney assessed him. “Can you teleport?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “What manner?”

  He whispered the incantation and evaporated into mist. Seconds later, he re-materialized in front of her.

  “Holy freaking Houdini! That’s how you followed me before! I have Powers now, right? Teach me to do that!”

  “You can’t. ‘Tis my Gift.” He offered his hands to help her up. “Our Powers aren’t party tricks, meant to entertain. If we attempt to rescue your brother, we’ll be fighting deadly enemies.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” She gestured at the blackened slash on her thigh before placing her palms in his. “So what’s my Gift?”

  He eased her to her feet. “I’m not completely certain. As we start training, it’ll become clear.”

  He slid his arm around Delaney’s waist and pulled her close. The friction of her bare, silken skin rubbing against his shot heat straight to his groin. Sod all. He should’ve taken time to put on a T-shirt with his jeans.

  She limped toward the shower with him supporting her. “Training?” The question sounded slightly breathless.

  “Aye.” She was far less steady on her feet than he’d like. “This afternoon, I’ll outline the plan.” At least the part she’d be privy to.

  Nobody needed to know Rowan suspected he wouldn’t survive the endgame.

  He didn’t particularly want to die. But as long as he achieved his goal, his fate didn’t matter.

  When they reached the shower enclosure, he opened the glass panel and helped her inside. Then he stepped in behind her and shut the door.

  Delaney stiffened in his grasp as steaming water cascaded over them. “Oh no, you—”

  “I’m not leaving you in here alone to fall on your sweet arse.”

  She awkwardly turned. Glared.

  Rowan read the intent in those hot blue eyes as she considered attempting a Power push on him. “Aye,” he challenged with a smile. “Give it your best shot. But I’m far more experienced, and water only strengthens my Gifts.”

  With a huff, she snatched up a bottle of body wash. Leaning against the wall, she stroked lather over her supple limbs, filling the air with berry fragrance. “You said you couldn’t force people to do things.”

  Actually, he’d said he didn’t force people to do things. “I have various weapons at my disposal to fend off a Power blast.”

  Delaney’s wet bra and panties had gone semi-transparent beneath the spray, revealing peaked nipples and an enticing shadow between her thighs. Unfortunately, the jeans plastered to him did nothing to conceal his rapid-fire erection. He grabbed the shampoo. Might as well wash up. Keep his hands busy…and off her.

  “Trade you soap for shampoo,” she said.

  Their fingers fumbled together, slick and wet, and his cock twitched. He spun, putting his back to her and thrusting himself beneath the jet on his side to lather and rinse. Bloody hell, he wanted an ice cold shower.

  “Is that what I did to you, Rowan?”

  I don’t see anybody else in here inspiring a raging boner. Then he realized what she’d really asked. “Blast me with your Powers? Aye, but you didn’t mean—”

  “I hurt you,” she said softly.

  Only a coward would be afraid to face her. He had many faults, but being lily-livered wasn’t one of them. He tipped his head into the spray, raked his hair back, then pivoted. “You didn’t.” Compared to other wounds he’d borne, it was nothing.

  “Don’t deny it to spare my feelings.” Moving closer, she gently touched his scratched cheek. “I did hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’ve learned to live with the things I’ve done. And yet…telling you my ugly secrets made me feel as if I’ve dropped a thousand pound weight. Made me feel like a new woman.”

  He smiled. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you, lass? Not a victim. Certainly not a criminal.” He held her gaze. “I see a survivor…with no ugliness, inside or out. What that fecking waste of oxygen did to you…there’s no shame in it for you, Delaney. The guilt belongs wholl
y to Graves. None of the shame is yours to bear, luv.”

  Her eyes welled, and a tear slid down her cheek. That single, silent tear hurt him more than any torture.

  “I— I understand…intellectually. I’ve spent a lifetime convincing myself emotionally.”

  “Be proud of who you are, Delaney Morgan. A smart, brave lass who defeated a monster…and grew into a strong woman who turned past hurts into helping others.”

  Her breath caught and her lower lip wobbled. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Rowan.”

  “Nor I, you.”

  “You fascinate me.” Trembling fingertips wandered over his jaw to soothe the scratches on his throat. “You make me want things I shouldn’t. Make me want things I’ve never needed before.”

  Desire coiled tight and hard in his belly. “Lass, I—”

  “You scare me.”

  The feeling is mutual, sweetheart.

  I heard that, MacLachlan. Her fingertips slid downward, skating over his collarbone while his heart tried to pound out of his chest beneath her touch. “I learned early on that fear puts me at a disadvantage. So do you know what I do when something scares me?”

  He had a very bad feeling he did, indeed.

  Delaney moved closer, stood on tiptoe. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I confront it.”

  Then she cupped his face in her palms…and kissed him.

  Chapter 8

  Rowan froze. A dozen stunned heartbeats thundered past while the water caressed their joined bodies. Delaney’s warm scent in his nostrils, her small trembling hands cradling his face, her soft, generous lips feathering over his mouth—flooded his veins with intoxicating desire.

  Sanity evaporated into the shower steam.

  He wrapped his arms around her and delved his tongue into her silky mouth. Raspberries and cream, and the unique, heady essence that belonged to only Delaney. He’d been so parched, so alone. So long. He drank her in. Devoured her.

  She jolted, breaking the kiss.