Magical Lover (33 page)

Simon didn’t see Thoren, his eyes fixated on the slaughter of his soldiers. Thoren spoke the words of a stunning spell, forming the magic in his palm. Once Simon had been questioned, he’d be killed.

Good riddance.

Thoren threw the blast.

Before it reached Simon, it scattered into the trees, chipping out bark to rain down in a cloud of wood. What just happened? Thoren stared at Simon, as if the man knew the answer.

“See, Simon. I told you he’d come for us.” The hooded Draconi stepped out from the tree next to Simon’s.

How had he missed the male? Even if he hadn’t seen him, the male’s magical signature should have tipped him off. And yet Thoren hadn’t felt a thing.

“Who are you and why are you here?” Thoren took a step toward the hooded Draconi.

“Who am I? Why, the one who will watch you die, of course. It’s nothing personal. You have something I need and the only way to get it is to kill you. My revenge is close at hand. Happy dying!” The Draconi waggled his fingers at Thoren and ran into the woods.

Reacting faster than Thoren thought possible, Simon yanked his sword from its sheath and charged him. So much for chasing after the Draconi. Thoren shot a blast of energy at the lord, staring at his hands when nothing happened. How could nothing happen? Magic did not disappear.

He sidestepped Simon’s sword thrust and tried to form another energy ball. Before he could turn around the worst pain of his life tore through his gut. His breath came in short bursts as he looked down. Oh Goddess, no.

Thoren fell to his knees, his hands clasped against his stomach where the tip of Simon’s sword poked through. A boot pressed against his hip, shoving as the sword was yanked from his body. Thoren toppled face first into a carpet of leaves, his hands bloody as they pressed against the hole in his abdomen. He tasted the coppery ting of blood in his mouth, felt his heart quicken as his life’s blood saturated the earth.

“Isn’t titanium grand?” Simon slammed the sword into the ground in front of Thoren’s eyes.

“No!” Enar rushed toward him, sword raised.

A blast of light came from the trees, slamming into Enar, sending Blood Seeker flying from his hand and dropping him like a rock onto the blood-soaked ground.

“No!” The word had no strength in Thoren’s mouth, little more than a whisper. Enar was dead and he was dying. His eyes closed.

Keara. His mate. Would she mourn him? Or would she be glad he no longer bothered her? Oh, Goddess, if he lived he would ensure Keara knew how much she meant to him. If only he could do it all over again, he would admit she belonged to him. Who was he fooling? He’d admit it to himself. None of this job-is-more-important-than-mate lies. No, he would do things right.

He would declare his love.

“Now we wait.”

Too weak to move, even open his eyes, Thoren heard the Draconi approach.

“They killed my men! Now who will protect me?”

A long sigh. “I said I would, but did you listen? No, of course not.”

“I want the woman.”

“And you’ll have her. After me. After my revenge.”

“But that’s too long!”

“She’ll come. She’ll be drawn to him.”

“How long?”

“Not long.”

No. Not Keara
. They couldn’t be speaking of Keara. He needed to warn her of their plan. He needed to tell her how much he loved her.

Keara. His mate. His love.

A cold peace beckoned him, touched him, his body turning numb. He felt the blood slow its race between his fingers, a small trickle like dew dripping onto the leaves. Death called to him, tempting him with peace. But he only saw a face framed with curly red hair, green eyes sparkling as she looked up at him from where his body covered hers.

Keara!
He cried, sending her all of himself before the darkness of death overcame him.

Chapter 18

Keara dropped the cup, hearing it crack against the wood floor as if from a distance. Thoren’s voice echoed in her head, crying her name.

“What’s wrong?”

Looking at Annaliese, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“What did you hear?”

“How do you know I heard anything?”

“Don’t hide it. I could tell by the expression on your face.” Annaliese clasped her hands and pierced Keara with her green gaze.

That look would make a hardened criminal confess. Keara didn’t stand a chance.

“I heard Thoren cry out my name and then I saw woods with a campfire. And bodies.” Keara shivered as the images of headless dead bodies flickered in her mind.

Annaliese moved so fast Keara didn’t track her until the priestess grabbed her arm. “Where? Was Thoren injured?”

“I think he was. I didn’t see him, but my vision came from the ground, like I was lying down. I think he’s hurt. I need to find him.”

“You can’t. Go to the Council. Go to my father, your grandfather. Explain to him what’s wrong. He’ll send out a search crew to find Thoren. You can’t go alone!”

Keara patted Annaliese’s hand until the other female dropped her grip on Keara’s arm. “All right. Will you take care of Jamie until I come back?”

“Of course. Be quick. Visions like the one you had are portents. Go!”

Keara scrambled out the door, running down the hall. Why was she running? She should transport. It was quicker.

But wait. If she went to Alviss then by the time he sent a search crew out to Thoren it would be too late. Thoren would be dead. She had felt the blood pour from between Thoren’s fingers, heard his heartbeat pound in her ears as it tried frantically to pump blood through a dying body. Only Keara could save him. Only she had a magical ability that would heal him. Alviss would never let her go search for Thoren.

She had to find him on her own.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on what she saw when Thoren contacted her. Woods. That didn’t help. Trees grew abundantly in Draconi lands. Blood. Oh, Goddess, there was so much blood. On the ground. On Thoren. Where was he? Fire. How many woods had fire? She closed her eyes, her breathing rapid, her muscles tense. Could she find him?

She had to. Failure was not an option.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Thoren’s face, his eyes, his smile, the way his muscular body moved as he walked. Where was he?

Her body shattered, torn apart bit by bit, and as a cloud of dust, she flew out of the Temple and across the ground. Trees and fields passed in a blur, dark blobs in the night as she soared across them. And then she dove, crashing through limbs and leaves, reforming as she landed on the ground.

Trees surrounded her, their branches creaking in the wind, leaves rustling together. A shiver darted down her spine, the hairs on her neck rising. Straining her ears, she listened for any sounds besides the tree limbs croaking a warning. Nothing. Not even insects chirped.

And then she heard the crackling of a fire.

Sticking to the shadows, Keara followed the noise, creeping up to a clearing. Five fires flickered in the open. The scent of dead bodies assailed her nostrils, and bile rose in her throat. Several heads lay scattered, eyes and mouths stretched wide. She swallowed. Those dead were beyond her help.

Keara crept closer, wondering who had the strength to remove a man’s head. Certainly not any of the soldiers in River’s Run with their small swords. Her foot tripped over something on the ground and she stumbled, palms slapping against the nearest tree as she caught herself from falling. Turning she stared at the dark ground, trying to find what she had tripped over.

A body. Keara felt a chill slide down her spine and she almost walked away until she noticed the abundance of blond hair. Goddess, no! Kneeling, she brushed the hair out of his face, slamming a hand over her mouth. Enar lay on his back, eyes closed, his shirt singed in a circular pattern, same as an energy ball made. But who would throw an energy ball at him?

Her fingers felt for the pulsing vein on his neck and pulled away.

Dead. Her eyes darted around the clearing, but saw no movement outside of the shadows cast by the fires. Where was Thoren? If she wanted to find Thoren, she needed Enar.

Since the night Thoren unlocked her magic, healing did not leave her as tired as it used to. But the episode with Conr shook her confidence. How could she help Enar if she hadn’t been able to draw the illness out of a small boy?

Nothing left but to try.

Keara placed her hands over the scorch mark on Enar’s chest, closing her eyes. Her palms began to tingle as she imagined his body healing. From deep within her came the power to counteract his death, to absorb what had happened to him and change it into life. Her magic coursed through her veins, winding its way to her palms, where it flowed into Enar’s lifeless body. Using her imagination, she guided the power to his heart, forcing the chambers to fill and empty, until with a shudder it beat on its own. Channeling the magic into his burn, she repaired the charred skin, watching as the flesh color bled into the blackened area. So much for the tunic. She was a healer, not a tailor. She kept her hands on his chest until he drew in a gasping breath, his eyes flying open.

One hand snuck out, grasping her wrist with the desperation of a starving male being shown food.

“You’re hurting me,” she hissed and he released his grip.

“What are you, female?” Enar whispered, his voice raw.

Keara saw pinpoints of light on the periphery of her vision as she shook her head at Enar. Returning the dead to life left her more drained than healing an illness. Although this time wasn’t as bad as the time in River’s Run.

Keara shivered as that healing memory visited her conscious. The only thing then that had saved her from certain death was that no one but her knew the girl died. Keara thrust the memory away. Now was not the time for remembering.

“I am me.”

Enar raised his head, staring at his chest as he brushed his hand across the singed tunic. His eyes narrowed on Keara. “You are special. I owe you my life, it seems. Last I saw, Thoren was this way and he was in trouble.”

Keara’s breath hitched. What was wrong with Thoren? How far away was he? Would she be able to heal him? Her heart pounded and she wiped her palms on her legs.

Enar rolled to his feet, shaking off her hand as he steadied himself. He bent to pick up his sword before starting through the trees. Keara followed behind him and tried not to gag. The stench of death hung in the air like a palpable cloud.

Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe.

She yanked the neck of her tunic over her nose. Whew. That helped cut the stench down a bit. At least Enar stuck to the tree line, not venturing into the clearing. Did he not notice the odor? Maybe as a warrior he was used to the smell of blood. Enar grabbed her arm, pulling her down with him behind a bush.

“It looks clear, but I last saw Simon and the Draconi here. Thoren was over there,” he pointed to yet another tree, “and he’d been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak.