Deception (25 page)

Finley laughed, and Quin’s bicep flexed as he tightened his hold. “Tell me, and I’ll be merciful.”

Finley raised an eyebrow, his voice whisper quiet due to the hand around his throat. “You’d let me go?”

“No,” Quin refused. “I’ll kill you quickly.”

Finley narrowed his eyes and mouthed words
fuck you
.

Quin released his throat and took a step back. Then Finley bellowed as a gash ripped down his bare torso, slashing him open from collar to navel. His tortured yell bounced off the surrounding trees before fading into them, and he dropped his head, gawking at the gushing blood and gaping wound.

“Facing your mortality?” Quin asked. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll get it over with.”

Layla tried to move again, and decided to just crawl. “Quin.” Her voice was raspy and strained by pain, emotion and broken bone. “You don’t have to do this.” She halted and lowered herself to the ground, wondering how she made it so far into the woods when she attempted escape.

Quin’s aura halted then pulsed, finally displaying something besides rage. “I do, angel.”

Sparks of electricity flowed from his outstretched hand, skipping across Finley’s shoulders to his torso, and the flesh flowering from his chest wound sizzled and smoked. The electricity slipped away. Then every muscle in his body froze as icy mist puffed from his blue lips. Quin eventually dropped the freezing magic, and color flooded Finley’s features as he shivered.

Quin stepped closer, taking him by the throat once more. “Tell me what you know. You can’t save yourself, but you can help Layla. Redeem yourself in the eyes of the Heavens before facing their wrath.”

Finley pulled in a ragged breath as he met Quin’s stare. Then he spit in his face. “Piss off.”

Curling his fingers into the pliable flesh of Finley’s neck, Quin calmly wiped away the saliva. “Then you’ll spend your next life in the underworld, where you’ll learn the true definition of powerless. Good luck with that.”

Gripping tighter, his idle hand flashed through the air, and dozens of tiny cuts carved into Finley’s skin, giving it a checkered look. As the slashes seeped blood, magic gripped his insides, and his yells turned to screams.

Cordelia sobbed, Kemble twitched, and Layla buried her face in the grass, taking deep breaths while steeling herself. After five earthy lungfuls, she rose and used magic to stay that way. Then she took a moment to remove the pain, fear, and sadness from her voice before stepping forward on a wobbly leg. “Quin . . . ”
Damn
. She'd unintentionally filled his name with every emotion she was experiencing.

Quin lowered his right hand, ceasing whatever spell he was using to make Finley scream. Then he waited for the shouts to fade before quietly speaking. “Layla Love.”

Her heart sighed when he spoke her name, and she raised a hand to her chest as tears flooded her lids. “I want to leave.”

His colors shifted and flashed as his aura stretched and quivered, but his back stayed tense and his gaze stayed on Finley. “We will, my perfect angel. Soon.”

“Promise?”

“You better go,” Finley warned, barely discernable in his pitiful condition. “Before you lose your chance . . . ”

The hand around his throat tightened, cutting off his air supply while lifting him from the ground, and his face puffed up, turning a sickly shade of purple. Within seconds his maniacal, white eyes rolled back. Then his lids dropped as his muscles went limp.

Layla watched every moment, sad and horrified, but ultimately relieved. The nightmare was over; Finley was about to die. Her heart rate slowed as she sighed, and she finally let herself blink, thinking about how good it would feel to sink into Quin’s arms. She looked forward to it like never before and began counting the seconds as her heavy lids flitted open.

Her gaze landed on Finley, finding his eyes wide open and alert, and she froze. Oh shit. It was not over.

A green and blue cloud exploded from his body, and while Quin threw out a hand to block it, the small shield he managed to cast didn’t protect the hand on Finley’s throat, nor could it absorb the pressure behind the blast. Both Quin and Serafin flew backward, and the cloud followed, rippling out in waves.

With his throat and skull free, Finley snapped the rest of the magical ropes, and everyone holding them was launched into the trees by the explosion of colorful smoke. Kemble's fingers squeezed Layla’s biceps. Then they were yanked away, a strangled cry rattling from his throat as his flailing body soared across the clearing.

Time seemed to freeze as Layla stood breathless and stunned, her brain registering the heartbreaking details of the horrible scene – her family’s bodies scattered across scorched earth, the blue and green fog parting between her and Finley.

Time moved again, and it moved entirely too fast. She had no chance to react before Finley grabbed her wrist and shot into the air. Pain tore through her shoulder, neck and side as her arm snapped free of its socket, and her head flopped around as gravity fought back.

She stiffened her neck, trying to stop her brain from bouncing against her skull so she could think. She could
not
let this maniac take her again.

She already burned with pain, rage and unbelievable worry, so it wasn't hard to fill herself with heat. Once she was nearly bursting with it, she expelled the flames from her wrist, beyond ready to fall to her death. Anything but this.

The magic worked, and warmth rushed her captured arm, but when the fire hit his palm, it rebounded and seared her insides.

Her eyes swam with red spots as she looked up, finding Finley’s furious, white gaze. Then the bloody hue drenching her vision intensified, like the entire sky was bleeding. Finley’s eyes flickered, changing back to their original color as his pupils dilated. Then he burst into roaring flames.

Layla screamed as her arm burned with him, but less than a second later her wrist slipped from his charred hand, letting gravity suck her in. The pain, terror and shock proved too much, and as her body plunged toward earth, her mind plunged into darkness.

Chapter 16

Quin launched into the air and caught Layla's tumbling body as softly as he could. Then he hovered her an inch above his grasp while extinguishing the fire engulfing her arm. The flames had done their damage, blistering the flesh from her elbow to her fingertips, and Quin fought a gag as he blinked back moisture and checked her pulse. The fire that charred her arm had been his magic, and he hated himself for it.

He looked to her closed lids as he landed on shaky legs, his body protesting the blast Finley emitted when he should have been dying.
Son-of-a-bitch
. Quin wished he could kill him again.

Despite his close proximity to the blast – and thanks to the half-ass shield he’d managed to cast before sustaining the hit – Quin had fared better than the others. He looked around the clearing for them, but several were missing, and those in sight were slow to regain consciousness.

A gruff protest of pain arose from Serafin as he sat up and looked around, favoring a grotesquely twisted hand. He quickly found Layla’s bright aura. Then he jumped to his feet and headed for the last place he’d seen his wife. “What happened? Daleen!”

“I’m okay,” she answered, hobbling from the forest. Her gaze landed on the colorful haze around Layla, and she slumped against a tree while raising a hand to her heart. “Thank the Heavens. Is Finley dead?”

“Yes,” Quin answered, dropping to his knees.

Morrigan clumsily emerged from the timber, ignoring her minor injuries as she glanced around. After finding Layla alive, she rushed to the east tree line where Caitrin struggled to rise.

“My mom,” Quin rasped, flipping his gaze between Layla and the forest. “Somebody find my mom.”

“I’m here,” Cordelia called, her voice echoing from the depths of the firs.

“Are you injured?” Serafin shouted back.

“No,” she answered, flying from the dark. She caught Quin’s eye, then flew across the glade to search for Kemble and Catigern.

Quin looked down, pulling a choppy breath into burning lungs as he scanned his wounded angel, dying to touch her, to heal her, but terrified to worsen her pain when she’d finally found a moment of peace.

The next time he looked up, his dad and great grandpa had been located, and everyone seemed okay, just banged up and dazed – a price willingly paid. Most of them headed for Layla, but Catigern and Kemble hatched a plan to clean up their mess.

“Get rid of the smoke,” Catigern instructed, “while I heal the timber. Zenith’s the only patrol we have until the others arrive.” He paused and glanced at Serafin, who was healing his twisted hand. “We shouldn’t linger, Serafin. Forest rangers are probably on their way.”

Serafin gave an understanding nod, but Quin shook his head. “We can’t move her like this.”

“Lay her out,” Serafin suggested, kneeling across from him. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Quin carefully laid her out flat, floating her a few inches above the grass, and her grandparents dropped to their knees around her.

She was in horrible shape, with numerous open wounds and several sloppily sealed ones, and the flesh that wasn't bleeding or burned was bruised. Looking at her outsides, there was no doubt her internal injuries were equally horrifying; the pain alone should have sent her into shock long ago.

The more Quin looked at her, the more it hurt to do so. He bit his knuckles to stifle a scream and tasted blood, but he couldn't feel the wound. The pain caused by the torn flesh was nothing compared to the brutal squeezing of his heart.

He released his hand and lowered his face closer to hers, examining every inch, every beautiful feature hidden beneath cuts and bruises. His body vibrated as burning blood rushed through overindulged veins, and every muscle ached to touch her, cramping in protest as he denied them the pleasure.

Serafin kept everyone in the loop as he gently touched a palm to Layla’s skull. “She’ll wake up if we start healing internal injuries, and there’s no doubt she’ll be in excruciating pain.”

“How is she sleeping through it?” Quin pressed. “Is her brain okay?”

“There’s a good chance she fainted or experienced a minor seizure, but her heart’s recovered, her blood’s flowing, and her brain didn’t sustain permanent damage. She’s likely suffering severe stress exhaustion, which, for the moment, is a good thing. We won’t be able to help her deal with the pain if she wakes up here; numbing spells won’t withstand the gravity shifts of the flight home. But we can take care of some of the external injuries without touching her. If we can ease a portion of the discomfort, maybe she’ll stay asleep long enough for us to get her home. That would be best, because sedating her is a bad idea. She won’t be able to tell us if something’s wrong.”

Quin looked over, finding Serafin’s palms hovering around Layla’s blistered arm, and he cringed as he returned his gaze to her face. “She wanted to leave,” he whispered, moving a hand to her bloody cheek and lips, but he didn't touch them. He just pretended to. “How do you heal without touching?”

Serafin rattled off the answer as he continued to work. “Imagine a bilateral channel between your skin and hers – one to determine the extent of the damage, and one to send the cure through. The tricky part is keeping your cure intact through the shift while making sure it doesn’t affect the wrong area. In this case – the wrong layer of skin. Make sure you work from the inside out, or you’ll merely block the wounds from further external healing.”

Morrigan, Caitrin and Daleen began searching for lacerations to heal, and Quin looked at the gash on Layla’s cheek. First he swept his lips through the air over the wound, wishing he could kiss it well. Then he softly breathed across her cheek, trying to create a channel between them. He closed his eyes to better concentrate, and when he checked his progress, he found a red welt where the bloody lesion had been.

The improvement didn't make him feel a damn bit better. She’d still be in agonizing pain when she awoke.

But she was
alive
. That fact was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind. She was alive and he had her back. Her condition was enraging, but her heart was beating and she was breathing.

He carefully worked his nose into her hair and deeply inhaled, letting the breath out slowly so he wouldn’t feather the tangled locks. “I'm so sorry, love. So sorry.” He squeezed his eyes shut, once again biting his fist to keep from crying out in anger, pain and regret.

“Quinlan,” Cordelia whispered, laying small hands on his bicep and back.

After several silent seconds, Quin pulled himself from Layla's curls to look at his mom. Only then did he realize more family members had arrived and stood nearby, their sad auras quivering as they stared at the melancholy scene.

Cordelia took Quin's cheeks and caught his gaze. “She's going to be okay, Quinlan.”

He reached up, laying his hands over hers. Then he pulled her palms away and returned his attention to Layla. “We have no idea if she'll be okay. She's only been in the magical world for one week,
one
week
, and she's already experienced more agony, sorrow and terror than most magicians experience in a lifetime. She's been plunged into terrifying situations nearly every day since she got here. She's been physically beaten over and over again, repeatedly tortured by some of the most powerful spells in existence. Now she’s been stripped, stared at, and who knows what else by a maniac. That's just a rundown of what she's been through. That doesn't include the constant emotional stress she's had to endure, the heartbreak and guilt she deals with on a daily basis. And the terror isn't over for her yet. There's a far bigger threat than Finley still looming, and barely a minute goes by that she doesn't suffer over it. She's been dealt the shittiest hand I've ever seen, yet she's still playing. I wouldn't be. I would have folded days ago. There's no way I’d be okay after going through all that. Would you be okay?”