Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) (14 page)

She didn’t care, didn’t want an audience. Everything was numb to her, the world fading to dull colors. “Just…please.” Her shoulders shook in a sob, and just as she was about to lower back to breathe for Shaw again, the clouds rolled open and a shaft of moonlight streaked down, falling upon them, the only moonlight in the courtyard hitting them like a search light.

Bekah glanced at Toren’s astonished gaze and then quickly went back to work.

Breathebreathebreathe…breathe
.

She pushed the litany through her mind, pouring her life essence into his.
Breathe.

His lips twitched beneath hers, a miniscule movement so small she feared she imagined it.

She stopped breathing for him, stopped breathing for herself, waiting, her lips remaining fixed upon his, waiting, waiting.

Again. His mouth moved. He sighed, a small puff of his own breath blew over her mouth.

Bekah lifted her face to see his better, and cupped his cheeks between her hands.

“Press down?” Toren asked, his voice urgent.

“Wait.” Bekah laughed, half-sobbed, her fingers seeking Shaw’s pulse, while she watched his chest expand on its own. She found his heartbeat, thready, but there. “He’s back with us.”

This time, she did look at Toren, spilling fresh tears at the transformation from distress to relief. She turned back to Shaw, at the dark lashes lifting to reveal confused gray eyes that tracked around the area until they found his brother. His gaze widened a fraction, and then moved on until they landed on her.

There was something new and wholly unguarded in his disoriented state.

There was no question that the emotion within the lightening of gray was focused only on her, and she was ready to spend the rest of her life figuring out exactly what it meant.

“Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?” She rubbed at the blood at the side of his face, smearing it on his skin.

Eyes hazy, he nodded, his forehead crinkling.

“I mean it.” She swiped at her tears, smudging his blood across her cheek and felt his clammy palm take her hand and stop her.

“I willna,” he rasped, his voice scratchy and weak.

“
Willna
what?” Now that the crisis was over and he wasn’t
dead,
Bekah felt the effects of her adrenaline crashing. Gods, he almost died. She’d almost lost him.

Dark brows scrunched over perplexed gray eyes. “Willna do whatever ‘tis ye’re blabbering on about.”

“You promise? You promise me?”

“Aye.” His other hand not holding hers slipped between the bangs hanging in front of her face and her forehead. “I promise to you whatever ye’ll have of me.”

He meant it. She saw it in the sincerity of his expression, the hopefulness in those deep penetrating eyes.

“Just live,” she said roughly, overcome by what she felt streaming between them as though they were the only two people in existence. “Just live. And keep on living. You promise me that.”

“Aye. I promise.”

“Good. Well, good.” She leaned back, then thought the better of it. “Oh, the
bluidy
hell with it.” And her mouth was on his again, this time not rescue breathing for him, but for her own life, making sure in no uncertain terms that he was alive and real and staying that way, and that she was alive and with Shaw Limont, the man she’d left everything behind to come kill, and the man she’d risk everything for to keep him alive.

As far as she was concerned, History was wrong about him. And History could just go screw itself.

Present Day, Seattle Washington

“Drop whatever’s in the bag on the ground, Pretty.” Five men emerged from the pockets of shadows within the littered and decrepit alleyway.

Col sighed. ‘Twas the reason he made the runs to Starch’s now, rather than Lenore. This part of the city grew more dangerous on a daily basis, attracting new drug dealers, new weapons dealers, and even cult factions preying on the ever increasing surge of magical beings popping up in Washington. ‘Twas as though this section of town especially drew dark-minded persons and creatures like an evil mecca.

It also kept him in coin.

Since their first unfortunate meeting, Col and the
black-market crime boss
ogre had come to a wary agreement. Starch supplied Lenore with any ingredients, herbs or otherwise, at a discount, while Col lent his
unique abilities
to driving out undesirables attempting to set up shop in the ogre’s territory. Col loved his job. Not to mention it paid well. A man had to make a sufficient living to endure in this century. And acting like a tough guy from
The Godfather
for a real life mobster made it all the better. He grinned inwardly, obsessed with the
movies
this century offered as entertainment.

But this group of
thugs
had a little more backbone. The threat to move on that Col delivered last night had apparently gone unheeded. Col narrowed his gaze, seeing them better in daylight. Ghouls. They were ghouls, as thick-brained as their skulls were hard.

No matter. He was itching for a brawl anyway. He thought about shifting into one of the African lions he had seen on television to watch the ghouls soil their breeches, but where would be the sport in that? He wanted to feel the impact of his knuckles on flesh for a change, prove to these ruffians they weren’t a match for any Scotsman in any form.

He laughed when the first one swung at him and then practically walked into his fist. The second went down almost as easily, though the flexible ghoul got a jab into his stomach, bowing Col over enough that it made Col’s knee coming up into the ghoul’s unprotected belly entertainingly unexpected, just as the three ghouls on his left rushed him.

Now this was fun.

“Doesna look like fair odds.”

“Mayhap, though I believe little brother can take them.”

Col jerked at the familiar voices and an uppercut got past him, spinning him around to smack chin first into the back of a building that make up part of the alley’s wall.

Shaw winced on his behalf, but the hit didn’t stun Col nearly as much as the sight of his brothers, leaning casually in ill-fitting clothes against a large dumpster across the alley.

“Wha—?” Col’s query was interrupted when the three standing ghouls crashed into him, all going down in a crush of sinewy arms and legs.

Before he got off one hit, some of the weight was removed as a ghoul went flying through the air and a second one was lifted bodily, arms and legs pin wheeling, before Toren batted him out of Shaw’s grasp.

“Unfair, that one was mine.” Shaw scowled.

“My apologies.” Toren tugged the last ghoul off Col even as Col got a hit in and shoved him at Shaw. “Ye can have this scrawny fellow.”

“That does not make up for it.”

The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed along the concrete while grinning, Toren extended his arm and plucked Col up from the ground, holding him at arm’s distance while his assessing gaze traveled down the length of him.

“But…h-how?” Col stammered when a curse and a squeal rang out, followed by pounding feet as four of the five ghouls ran off and Shaw strode back, shaking out an arm to loosen muscles.

Relief hit Col hard enough to bowl him over again. He latched onto Shaw’s wrist, grounding himself to the reality that Shaw was here. Safe. And alive. Without another moment’s hesitation, he flung his arms around Shaw’s neck, pulling him close and just hung on, reveling in the strength of his brother as Shaw’s arms wrapped around him and then also Toren encircled them both. The hollow aching place in his chest filled with warmth. By the rood, he had missed them.

“How—Shaw, there was a woman who went back through the rift to kill you.” Shamed, Col dropped his gaze.

“’Tis all well.” Shaw squeezed his arm. “Bekah.”

“Aye, you met her then. I’m sorry, I could not stop her. I feared…”

Shaw’s grin transformed him into a predatory wolf. “She made a fair attempt at it, but I convinced her otherwise.”

“Did ye…” Bekah had done what she felt was right. He did not wish her any ill.

“Worse” Toren’s tone turned serious. “She’s found herself promised to this lout.” A wicked smile settled onto his face.

Col’s mind was reeling. “But…?”

Toren slung an arm over Col’s shoulder and drew him away, coming up short when Bekah herself stormed around the corner, tucking in a man’s shirt into loose sweat pants. She jabbed a finger in the air. “I turn my back for two minutes and you get into a fight without me? I saw those ghouls hauling butt out of here, all black and bloody. You didn’t even wait for me to get you some boots.” She dangled a pair of worn and dirty cowboy boots out toward Shaw.

Shaw’s shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug, completely uncustomary for his usually scowling brother. “What is yer constant concern with my feet?”

Col’s gaze dropped, seeing that Shaw, indeed, had no shoes on.

“You could get tetanus,” Bekah snapped. “I see you found him. Hi, Col.” She looked up at him through her long fringe of bangs.

Col grinned back.

“Well, this is all well and good. As much as I am pleased to be reunited, Col…” Toren clapped his hands together. “Have ye come across my wife?”

~~~

“Who is the most handsome baby in the world?” Judith Greves cooed at her great grandson. “You are, yes, you are.”

The two-day old infant gurgled sleepily in her arms.

“I’m going to put him down for his nap.”

Sitting at the kitchen table in Col and Lenore’s townhouse, Charity’s smile at her grandmother faded.

Lenore reached over and took her hand. “Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out. With the information Luke has of the future, Grandpa says they’re close to figuring out how to duplicate the Squid and they still have that frozen Sift DNA.” Lenore leaned in close, her violet gaze steady. “You won’t be raising that boy without his father.”

Charity squeezed her sister’s hand, hanging onto that thought. She couldn’t get the image of Aldreth imprisoning Toren in her dungeon again, torturing him, out of her head. She’d tried to dream trail to see him again, find out what was happening in the past, but he never came to her in her sleep.

“And until we get Toren back,” Lenore offered, “you have Col and I.”

As though summoned by her words, tires squealed on pavement out front, followed by the bang of trashcans scraping across the gutters, slamming doors, and some spicy Gaelic cursing.

Rolling her eyes, Lenore stood to look out the window. “Maybe just don’t let Col drive when the baby’s in the car. Oh…”

Charity felt it even as Lenore gasped.

Warm tingles exploded in her chest and she was moving before she realized she’d even stood up, damn the episiotomy soreness from recently giving birth. Large brawny Highlanders made large-headed babies.

She stood before the door, heart pounding, the strength of his presence drawing her.

He was here. She knew it.

Taking a steadying breath, so afraid she’d be wrong, she pulled the door open.

And there he stood, tall and proud on the lawn in tattered jeans and a too-snug shirt.

She flew out the door. His head jerked toward her and his tight expression loosened, filling with relief and love.

He caught her up, crushing her against him. Charity barely saw Shaw, Bekah and Col behind him before Toren’s mouth was covering hers, kissing her like she was as vital as breathing.

She pulled back. “How did you get here? The Sift?”

“Aye, the second Sift. We captured it.” Toren grinned adoringly at her. “And Shaw.”

“Shaw?”

“Once his magic was freed from Aldreth’s, once he replenished, he just needed to touch the Sift’s magic to feel how a time rift is opened by their kind, by his kind. He had the ability all along.” His palm splayed on her flat stomach, well, flatter stomach, his brows colliding over worried eyes.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, emotions rasping her vocal cords. “It’s okay. I had the baby and he’s fine. He’s beautiful.”

“He?” The blue of his eyes lightened with wonder.