Dangerous Lover (2 page)

But he needed help, he couldn't be choosy. If they were real and not just a delusion, they would help him. God, please, he thought, let them help him.

A branch snapped behind him, and that, if nothing else, propelled him into motion once again. He headed down the hillside, in far too much of a hurry to pick his way with care, so he slid and stumbled often.

Finally, he was there, on level ground, in the clearing. The women—and he was fairly certain now that they were women, not fairies—at least he didn't
see
any gossamer wings sprouting from their backs—didn't see him. They were too involved with whatever it was they were doing. He fell to his knees, and darkness closed in around the edges of his vision. He'd lost too much blood. He wasn't going to last much longer. No time for caution. Dragging himself to his feet, he lurched forward, making it almost to them before he fell again, landing hard this time.

Silence. Dead silence.

Forcing himself to make his body move, he pushed, rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the woman who stood over him. He saw wide, surprised eyes, their color nothing more than a reflection of the candlelight around her, so they seemed to blaze with an inner flame. Her hair was long, perfectly straight and very pale. The spun silk of angel hair, he thought. Her breasts were small and unclothed, round and perfect, her waist, just the right size to hold in his hands, and her arms were slender but strong.

He saw the rest, went still and sucked in a breath, a
painful
breath. She had a blade raised up above him, its tip aimed squarely at his chest. And the way she clasped its handle in both fists suggested she was about to bring it down
hard.

 

“He's hurt! He's bleeding!” Selene drove the blade of her athame into the earth beside the fallen man, even as his eyes fell closed again, grounding the energy it held and freeing her hands at the same time. She dropped to her knees, tore his shirt open. “Get a light over here. And someone grab my cell phone.”

Marcy came running with a candle, and held it up high as the others gathered closer. At some point she'd tied her sarong back around her waist. The man had a hole in his belly and spurts of blood pumped out of it in time with his pulse. Someone handed Selene something, a baby T-shirt, she thought, and she wadded it up and pressed it hard against the wound, then focused there, to keep him from bleeding to death. “What's the chant? What's the damn Pow-Wow bleeding chant?”

“Um—uh, wait, lemme think,” Marcy said.

Helena leaned closer. “Blessed Mary, Mother of God, who stoppeth the pain and stoppeth the blood,” she whispered. “What's the rest?”

“Women's mysteries fine and strong, stop this blood by female song,” Selene said as the rest of the charm, long used by the Pennsylvania Dutch Pow-Wow Healers came back to her. She nodded hard, and repeated the words, pressing against the wound and falling into a steady cadence. “Blessed Mary, Mother of God…. “

“Here,” Helena said, drawing Selene's gaze upward. She was holding out a cell phone. Selene kept chanting as she took it. She chanted and chanted and the blood slowed more and more.

“Put the phone away,” Marcy snapped.

Selene shot her a look, breaking her chant. “I have to get him some help.”

“You make that call and we're all outed as Witches, Selene. There's no way we'll have time to clean up the site and get out of here.”

“We're talking about a man's life,” Selene said softly.

“We're talking about me losing custody of my kids.” Marcy looked at the man, her expression torn. Then she glanced at the others. “And about Helena losing her job. How many schools are going to employ a kindergarten teacher who's known to frolic naked in the moonlight? And what about Erica? Her father's the town minister for goddess' sake.”

Selene looked from one of them to the next, then nodded slowly. She had no small stake in keeping this secret herself. Her mother was going to have a freaking breakdown over this. But she didn't see that she had a choice. “Look, this is my problem, not yours. I'll cover you.”

“What makes it your problem?” Marcy snapped.

“Marcy, hell, didn't you see the comet?” Helena whispered.

Erica nodded. “He's the one. Fell at her feet. Going to die without her. We asked for the signs, and we got 'em in spades,” she said. “Poor guy probably doesn't even know he just fell into his destiny.”

“Just go,” Selene said. “All of you. Gather up as much of your stuff as you can and get the hell out of here. But hurry. I'm making that call right now. You should have a good ten minutes before they get here.”

The women scattered, gathering clothes, handbags, ritual tools even as Selene punched buttons on the cell phone. She gave the information calmly and slowly and then disconnected. Helena came to her as she folded the phone and set it down. The others were already running along the path back to the road where their cars were parked.

“You should go, too. They'll be here soon.”

Selene looked up at her friend, then down at the man, at his face, for the first time. “I can't leave him. I can't.”

“Well at least gather up the rest of the ritual gear, hon. Good luck.”

“Merry part, Helena.”

“Yeah, and merry meet again—I hope,” Helena said. She handed Selene her blouse. “Better put this on before they get here.” And then she hurried away.

Selene told herself to follow her friend's wise advice, and she got as far as pulling her blouse on before she got distracted. But then the candle flickered in the breeze, and painted the fallen man's face in amber glow. He wore a day's growth of beard. Some men thought that look was sexy.

She thought it was sexy. Even lying there, unconscious, he was sexy. Hair cut short, kind of brushed back on the top. Dark, dark hair. And a luscious, thick brow line. Everything in her was drawn to him, physically drawn, as if he were magnet pulling her body closer. And even as she wondered whether that was only because she knew he was fated for her, she gave in to it. She leaned closer. She closed her eyes and inhaled him, and something in her knew that scent. She ran a hand over the smooth, strong chest, and something in her knew that silken steel against her palms. Something in her knew the pounding of the heart that beat beneath his skin.

He opened his eyes, dark like his hair in the light of the candle glow, and he stared into hers, but he was unfocused, blinking, clearly confused and in pain.

“Don't be afraid,” she told him. “Help is on the way. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

“You…you….” He gave up his effort at speech, his eyes falling away from hers, sliding over the athame that was thrust into the ground near his head.

“What's your name?” she asked.

He jerked his eyes back to hers. “I…I don't know,” he whispered. And then he looked panicky again. “I don't know—”

“That's okay,” she told him, keeping her voice calm, soothing. “I know who you are.”

That thick brow bent in the middle. “Who…am I?”

“You're the one,” she said softly. “You're the one I've been waiting for.”

His confusion didn't ease. In fact, it seemed to increase as he stared up at her. And then she heard vehicles arriving, sirens wailing, doors slamming. Feet came running in time with the bounding flashlights. Paramedics were pushing her out of the way, and kneeling around the man. She stood a few feet away, watching them, willing him to be all right. And then a hand fell onto her shoulder.

She turned, startled.

“Ma'am, do you mind telling me what's—” The police chief stopped there, pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head, and blinked at her. “Miz Brand? Selene Brand?”

She nodded. “Hello, Chief Wheatly.”

“Well now, what in the name of all that's—”

“Chief, he has something to say,” one of the medics called.

Chief Wheatly sighed. “You stay right here, Selene,” he said, patting her shoulder. And he went to where the medics worked on the man. They spoke in low tones. She heard her beloved's voice, strained and whispering. When they all kept looking back at her, and then around at the circle, with its candles, and its altar full of Witch tools, she felt a ripple of warning move along her spine, and she went closer to try to hear what was being said.

The chief pulled her athame from the ground, eyed it, and dropped it into an evidence bag.

Uh-oh.

The chief got up, turning toward her, holding up the bag. “This your knife, little lady?”

“Yes, Chief, it is, but it's not—”

“So we'll find your fingerprints on it, then.”

“Of course you will, but not because I—”

“You do realize that young feller over yonder has been stabbed, don't you, Selene?”

She blinked. “Not by me,” she said.

“Well, now, that's good to know. Good to know.” Chief Wheatly took her arm, and drew her with him as he moved closer to the altar, and nodded at the tools there. There was a goblet full of moon-water; a silver censer, still emitting a thin spiral of fragrant smoke, a magic wand, unmistakably phallic in shape and size, a candle snuffer that looked like a Witch's hat dangling from the end of a broomstick handle; a dinner-plate-sized circle of crystal, etched with the five-pointed star, or pentacle, a hollow half sphere of quartz-lined stone called a geode, with a few pinches of sea salt inside; a statue of a beautiful naked woman, with hounds at her sides and a bow in her hands; a statue of a beautiful, naked man with a full beard, horns on his bushy head, and hooves instead of feet. They were Diana, the Huntress, and Pan, her lover. They were images representing the Goddess and God.

Selene doubted the chief would see them that way, though.

After looking the items over carefully, Chief Wheatly turned to face her. “You care to tell me what's been goin' on out here tonight, Selene?”

She pursed her lips and tried to swallow against the dryness in her throat. “I'll be happy to tell you, Chief. I was here minding my own business when this man came stumbling out of the woods bleeding, and fell at my feet.” She shrugged. “I called you. End of story.”

“That's not the way he tells it.”

She lifted her brows, her eyes shooting back to the man. They were lifting him now, onto a gurney, and then hauling him toward a waiting ambulance. “How
does
he tell it?”

“Someone stabbed him. He thinks it was you.”

She thought she could have fallen over dead from shock. “Why would he say something like that?”

“Well, now, that's a mighty good question, Selene. You were here alone, you say?” Even as he said it, he was looking around at the ritual site. Without even trying, Selene could find evidence of others there. Two pairs of shoes, a couple of blouses. She prayed her friends had taken everything that might possibly identify them by name.

“Do you see anyone else?” she asked, not exactly lying.

“No, ma'am, I don't.” Chief Wheatly clearly saw everything she did, though. “But uh, this ground is gonna give up plenty of tracks, you know. And if there were cars parked nearby, we'll know. Looks to me like there were at least a few others out here with you.”

She glanced at the chief, met his eyes, and lowered her own. She couldn't understand why the wounded man would think—then again, he was hurt, confused, and he'd looked up at her to find her standing over him with a blade poised over his chest. “He's confused, Chief. I would never hurt anyone. And as to what the ground is going to give up, there has to be a trail of blood leading from the woods to this clearing.”

“That there is. I've got men on it already.”

“Doesn't that prove my story?”

“Only proves he was stabbed elsewhere. Doesn't prove you weren't the one who did it, though frankly, Selene, I'd be pretty shocked.” He shrugged. “You didn't see him until he came out of the woods, you say?”

She nodded.

“Fella says you told him you know who he is. That true?”

She pursed her lips. “I think maybe I'd better shut up now, Chief. I'm awful sorry and I hate to be rude. But you know, my brother-in-law, Caleb, would be pretty mad at me for talking to you without him here, given what you think might have happened out here tonight, him being a lawyer and all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You wanna do me a favor and call him for me?”

The chief eyeballed her. “You could call him yourself from the station, Selene. I'm gonna have to call your mamma anyway.” He pursed his lips, shook his head. “And I don't mind tellin' you, that's one call I don't look forward to makin'.”

No, she wasn't looking forward to that, either. Her mother was going to have an absolute hissy over this. She would never understand.

“I suppose you're going to confiscate all my things,” she said, nodding toward the altar.