Crane (25 page)

With
no further explanation, she pounded the hilt into his temple hard enough to send him crumbling to the ground.

Ireland spun on Ana
, the longing for bloody vengeance pumping through her in an endorphin bolstering rhythm she yearned to lose herself in. Her attempt at a cleansing breath came out shaky and ragged.

“I bet you think you
are clever,” Ana wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, sashaying coolly to Ireland’s side. Amusement twinkled in her eyes like stars against the navy cape of night. “Coercing all of my secrets from me. However there is one flaw to your plan … I have yet to decide if you are going to make it out of this house alive.”

“I’ve already decided,” Ireland muttered
, her teeth clenched to the point of pain, “that
you
won’t be.”

Ana’s head spastically jerked
in another precarious time skip.

“Ichabod, go!”
Noah screamed, blood streaming from his face and raining down on his dress shirt. He jerked at his own words, blinking hard in visible confusion. “Wh–what … did I just say?”    

Ireland’s vision swam
out of focus, blurring Ana’s face with Ichabod’s memory of Elizabeth peering at him with a complete lack of comprehension. “Is it love that roots you here? Or the fear of being made to look like a coward? Let’s see if we can shake your resolve, shall we?”

Ana pivoted on her heel
. Something about that subtle motion, or what he knew followed it, caused Ichabod’s spirit to coil—tight, tense, ready to strike. The venom of his apprehension spread through Ireland, contaminating her thoughts with a thirst for violence. Flipping her sword in the air, she let the hilt find its home in the valley of her grasp before closing her fingers around it.

Noah
pulled back as Ana neared, like he was hoping to disappear through the back of the chair. “Stay away from me with that thing, you crazy bitch!”

Ireland muttered an expletive under her breath as Ana sped
into another chancy time loop. Time stabilized with Noah screaming. Ana dragged her blade over his upturned palm. Layers of tissue split. Blood pooled in the wound, seeping over the edges and spilling to the floor.

The sands in their hour glass of opportunity were
quickly draining. Each reality hiccup whisked them a few chapters closer to the bloody conclusion of this tale. Noah’s frantic gaze locked on Ireland, panic building behind his eyes. She watched, in slow motion, as the plea formed on his lips. Her hand raising to halt him. The axe simultaneously settling into the dip beside her thumb.

“Please, whoever you are
…”

Ana moved
, skipping through the present in a ghostly blur. Ireland didn’t want to tear her gaze from the glint of the dagger, unfortunately she was out of options. Filling her lungs, she uttered a silent prayer … and closed her eyes. Ichabod had been here before. Only he knew what truly happened, making him the
only
one that could stop it.

You
wanna save, Katrina?
Ireland internally goaded the hitchhiker inside of her.
So,
save her
, dammit!

Deep within her
, a constricting knot of tension unraveled. Its fraying threads spreading, filling every inch of her. Her fingers adjusted on the handle of the axe, under someone else’s will. Behind her lids, her eyes flickered—back and forth—spastically scouring Ichabod’s memory for the moment. The opportunity. Commandeering control of Ireland’s functions, it was Ichabod that lunged. The downward swing of his sword knocked the dagger from Ana’s hand a second before she thrust in for the death blow. Spinning with the momentum,
he
threw the axe overhand. The blade caught the hem of her dress, pinning her, as it embedded itself in the drywall.

Noah collapsed to his knees, blood from his wounds staining a circle of gore in the beige carpet, but he was safe. That should’ve been enough. And yet … the sword sizzled in Ireland’s hand.

Whispering
.

G
oading.

Seducing her
to
finish this
.

Ireland tilt
ed her head, peering up at Ana from within the shadows of her hood. The pretty blonde foamed at the mouth, her body convulsing as the spirit within her fought to maintain even a finger-hold of control. For the moment
she
was still in there.

Elizabeth
.

The warped
soul that forced Ichabod to watch the woman he loved die. The vile filth that unleashed a curse that had ruined so many lives. Ireland couldn’t tell if her hand moved under her own will or Ichabod’s, and—if she was truly honest with herself—she really didn’t care. She watched with a voyeuristic thrill as Ana’s throat bobbed in a gulp beneath her blade. A little pressure, that’s all it would take.

“Ichabod
?”

Ireland’s
—
no
—Ichabod’s long-dead heart leapt within his chest. The spirit of his love called to him in a sweet serenade that made all the anguish and sorrow since he’d last heard her voice fade into oblivion. Shelled in the body of his ancestor, he sheathed his sword and slowly turned. For a moment reality flickered, the image of a young man crouched on the floor being cloaked by the glowing radiance of
his Katrina
.

Apprehensive that the fates would yank her from him once more,
Ichabod wasted no time. He held his breath as he closed the space between them, taking a knee at her side. Only when his tentative hands brushed her cheeks could he exhale, the tip of his finger catching a stray tear that slipped free. Her face tipped up to his, lips parting in a long awaited invitation. Their mouths met in an explosion of passion that erased the centuries they’d lost, while penning a vow for a fresh forever.  

3
2

Ireland

His hands traveled the length of her back. The tips of her fingers
brushed along the strong line of his jaw. Where Ichabod ended and Ireland began failed to matter. The same could be said for Noah and Katrina. Technicalities like that were of little consequence. The world could implode around them and still would fail to tear them apart. Not this time. Not again.

C
old, like throwing off a blanket, shocked through Ireland. She countered it by arching her back, pressing closer to Noah’s warmth. With this chill came a calming peace, certainty of the most hopeful kind. Katrina and Ichabod had moved on,
together
. Ireland knew it, she felt the shift within her. Instead of untangling herself from Noah’s embrace, she sought his tenderness to compensate for the sudden solitude in her core.

Only when Noah’s wandering hand pushed back her hood
, tangling in her short hair, did she hesitate. It took every ounce of willpower she had to pull back, her trembling lips hovering over his. The Hessian’s features were still carved on her face, reminding her of their presence with the icy prickles that sparked over exposed bone.

A groan snapped Ireland’s head around
. Behind them, Ana began to stir. A blaring reminder for Ireland that a none too hasty retreat would soon be mandatory. When Elizabeth’s spirit lost its hold all those she’d been controlling had fallen to the ground, unconscious. Being there when they came to was
not
an option.

First, a quick good-bye.
Her upper body swiveled back toward Noah, praying the spell hadn’t broken for him … not yet. She found her answer in the conflicting emotions that played across his face. Confusion. Anger. Disgust. Fear. It was the long shot contender, disbelief, which settled into the creases of his forehead and secured the primary position.

His mouth
gaped open in shock. “Ireland?” he gasped.

Even if she
did
have time to explain, words failed her.

“I
–I can’t,” she stammered, rising to her feet.

She made it a half
-stride toward the door, when Noah’s calloused hand closed around her wrist. “I can’t let you leave.” He shifted onto his hip, pulling one foot under him. His body language screamed the message that if she tried to bolt he would be right behind her. “I have some pretty major questions—the least of which being why the hell you suddenly look like the Grim Reaper’s punk cousin. Before I can let you take one more step, there’s a lengthy conversation that needs to happen.”

Ireland’s
shimmering gold irises flicked nervously around the room. “And I promise that conversation will happen. I will tell you absolutely everything. Most of which will probably convince you I’ve gone totally bat-shit. But right now, I
have
to go. And you have to let me.”

Sprawled bodies began to rouse, coming to with the noisy, gracelessness of the
mindless zombies they played the part of.

No
ah tightened his grasp, the pressure from his fingers marring her flesh with white divots. “I’m not letting you out of this room until you assure me you had
nothing
to do with Mason’s death. And you better be pretty friggin’ convincing about it, because I’m feeling awfully skeptical.”

Ireland’s head cocked
, the pleading of her eyes canceled out by her harsh new appearance.

“Noah, please?”
Desperation setting in, she yanked her hood back into place—as if that could somehow save her.

“Dammit, Ireland
! I need a little truth right now!”

Her free hand itched for the hilt of her sword
, encouraged by a sinister voice hissing,
Cut off his hand
.

Ireland’s head snapped
violently to the side. “No!” she barked. “I’m not going to hurt him!”

Noah
winced, though his grip held firm.

“Ireland,” his
said, his words coming calm and measured, “just talk to me,
please
.”

The bank manager she’d
knocked out rolled to his side. With his back to them, he cradled his head in both hands.

Time had officially run out.

“I’m sorry.” Genuine sorrow made the words catch in her throat.

Gritting her teeth, she raised one heavy treaded boot. What was meant as a shove to the chest
was set off course by lackluster aim. Her boot connected with his chin, wrenching his head back with a painful twist.

“O
h,
shit
! Sorry!” Ireland’s hands fluttered like nervous little hummingbirds that didn’t know where to land. “I’ll … pay for the dental work.”

Villains don’t apologiz
e
,the low growl corrected
.
Now, run. Save yourself
.

Whoever h
e was, he had a point.

Ireland bolted for the door, her cloak snapping behind her.
Sidestepping fallen bodies, she maneuvered the stairs like a high-impact obstacle course. Pausing in the foyer, she eyed the front door, choosing instead to veer to the left. The guests would beeline for the front door the second they woke up, she internally reasoned as she shimmied around the formal dining table to the French doors. Going out the back might buy her a few crucial seconds.

No sooner did
the sliding door shush shut behind her, thrusting her into the harsh chill of night, than a soft whisper threatened to thwart her escape.

“Ichabod? Is that you?”

Ireland spun to find Rip staring at her with a look of hopeful expectation. Visible need etched across his face.

“He’s gone, Rip. I’m sorry.” Guilt twanged the strings of her heart as his face f
ell.

“
The pull of the loop was too strong,” he mumbled, almost to himself, and cast his gaze to the ground. “I had to come. Thought maybe I’d finally get that chance at good-bye.”

“You were at a safe distance. He would’ve wanted that for you more.”
Ireland gave his arm a comforting squeeze, the only solace she could offer. “Now, I need you to get home. Pack us a couple bags of essentials. We may need to take an extended holiday from Sleepy Hollow. “

Rip sniff
led and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “Figured as much.”

“Hey, Rip?”
she called to his back in a hushed whisper, before he could step from the paved patio.

He glanced back over a deflated shoulder.

“I’m glad I didn’t accidentally kill you tonight.”

Rip graced her with a tight smile before fading into the darkness.

Porcelain skin gleamed with an ethereal luminescence as Ireland tipped her head to the three-quarter moon. Pursing her blue-hued lips, she whistled one quick blast. Hoof beats thundered closer, announcing the shadow that emerged from the tree line at the back of the Van Brunt property. Regen’s soulful black eyes locked on her—his totem. He stormed straight for her with the unstoppable force of a freight train.

Ireland crossed the yard to meet him,
leaves crunching under her boots. Throwing one arm around his thick neck, she breathed in his scent while her other hand scuffed along the soft fuzz of his muzzle. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

Regen
snorted his response, his nose nudging her ribs.

“Rumors of your
headlessness have been greatly exaggerated.” Noah’s statement was punctuated by the door sliding into its latch behind him.

Throw the axe! Embed it between his eyes
!
That same psychotic voice giggled.

“Whoa! Easy, Dexter
.” Ireland winced, laying her palm to Regen’s side to steady herself. “Let’s try a little thing called communication.”

Noah’s hands rose to halt her crazy. “Okay, who the hell are you talking to when you do that? Because that is all kinds of creepy
. And, trust me, after tonight, I know creepy.”

“You
… can’t hear that?” Ireland’s eyes narrowed; her stomach rising in her throat, her breath quickening to fend off an impending panic attack.

Ichabod was gone.
He had been the buffer between her and the essence of the Hessian. Now the beast, and all his vile charms, belonged to her …
alone
.

More than anything, Ireland wanted to canter off into the night. T
o let the wind whip over her skin, lashing away reality and freeing her mind to process
any
of this. Unfortunately, Noah’s tense posture made it obvious he didn’t come out here for a goodnight hug.

Begrudgingly,
she let her hands fall limp at her sides. A gesture that
would’ve
seemed innocent had it not been for the weapons slung at her hips. “So, is this the part where the noble citizen challenges the monster that ravaged the hapless town?”

Noah stepped down from the cement stair, inching his way closer. “I haven’t decided yet. Right now it’s pretty much up to you.”

Hack him to bits!

Ireland swallowed hard to keep her internal battle in check.
You really need a hug and a cookie, don’t you?

Long b
angs fell into her eyes that she flicked aside, her gaze drifting down the long driveway. “What do you want to know, that isn’t blaringly obvious?”

He scuffed the heel of his foot forward in a
deliberate step made to look casual. “First off, you’re what? Like three hundred years old?”

“Twenty-four,” Ireland corrected, with a humorless scoff. “But
, thanks. I’ll look into a better moisturizer.”

Noah
chewed on his lower lip, which was still blushed red from their brief interlude. “How does that work if you’ve been killing people in this town for centuries?”

“
I haven’t. There’s been more than one Horseman. It’s a curse that gets handed down to unfortunate folks like myself.”

Regen
nudged her back, whinnying his growing impatience. Ireland’s hand wandered over her shoulder to scratch his face.

“Like the Dread Pirate Roberts, only bloodier.” Noah shook his head
, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Kind of, yeah.”
Another time, another situation, and she would’ve rewarded that reference with a smile.

Hazel eyes
, which shone a brilliant jade in the moonlight, peered up at her from under a lowered brow. “How long has it been you?”

That wasn’t his real question
. They both knew that. He was skirting the issue of body count.

Ireland’s hand paused mid-stroke and
flattened against Regen’s face, drawing strength from his might. His body stilled beneath her touch, as if he knew exactly what she needed. “From what I can tell, it started when I came to Sleepy Hollow. As soon as I learned the truth, I did everything I could to gain control of it. Tonight, I did just that. I claimed what’s inside of me. It won’t rule me anymore.”

You think that
’s true, little girl?

“My cousin,
Vic, Mason, hell-even your own ex, those were all
your
doing?” His jaw tightened as he crammed his balled fists into the pockets of his slacks.

“I know it sounds crazy, but all of those
things happened while I was sleeping. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Even I don’t buy that line of rubbish
, and I was there.

Can you
not
help?

“I know it sounds like a cop out, but it’s
true.” Ireland’s attempt at assertiveness sounded weak even to her.

Noah’s gaze locked with hers. “Why would I believe that?”

Truth was all she had left.

Squaring her shoulders, she let both hands fall to her sides.
“Because I could’ve killed everyone inside that house tonight. And I didn’t. Not a day will go by that I won’t wrestle with the guilt of what I’ve done. But that fact only adds weight to my words when I say it
won’t
happen again.”