Sword of the Raven (12 page)

“Aye,” he shouted into the darkness. “I’m still alive! Bring it, ya sodding bastards!”

On a wild skirl of bagpipes, a dragon’s breath of white mist drifted toward him. Mist and music swirled…faster…thicker…until an impenetrable cloud enveloped him in the circle.

Silence descended.

Unearthly white light flared across the stones, etching the sacred carvings into sharp relief.

Rowan confronted a hundred glowing essences of his long-deceased clansmen who surrounded him—the First Battalion of the Dead. During his quest he’d had to fight and defeat each one. Then kill thrice as many various types of demons.

That’d been the least arduous of the trials.

He held the stare of the tall warrior with blue woad-painted skin and long chestnut war braids. Alban, the savage Chieftain of the Dead who’d come far too close to slaughtering him.

Alban nodded.
“Fàilte shìth
, MacLachlan. You have survived your quest thus far.” He offered his palms to the ebony sky. “Who stands for our brother?”

The air shimmered. Rowan’s da and grandda materialized at Rowan’s side. Da fisted his hand over his heart. “I, Torin MacLachlan, Chieftain of the Living.”

Grandda fisted his hand over his heart. “And, I, Odhran MacLachlan, Chieftain before him.”

Alban beckoned to Rowan. “Step forward.”

Rowan faced Alban, who raised an immense broadsword carved from gryphon’s bone. “Rowan MacLachlan. The most powerful bloodline of
Tuatha Dé Danann
Mages courses through your veins. Let us now prove if you will survive to receive your birthright.”

Alban thrust the blade into Rowan’s gut.

Searing pain. A tsunami of sounds, sights, and smells crashed in. The ground tilted, the world spun. His heart pounded, his muscles convulsed as tremors wracked his body. He slammed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and bore down, accepting the agony while the collective ancestral memories and knowledge of his entire lineage poured into him.

When the barrage subsided, Alban yanked out the sword.

A weightless moment floating between life and death.

Then the wound sealed. The pain finally eased. Rowan opened his eyes. Swallowing nausea, he forced his trembling to still. Forced his spine to straighten.

Alban saluted Rowan with the scarlet-stained sword. “You have passed every trial and proven your merit. You now possess our past.”

Alban returned to the head of the battalion, and Rowan’s father took Alban’s place in front of him. “Well done, my son. I am here to offer your future.” His father’s chest swelled with a deeply drawn breath. “Your hard work and dedication have nae gone unnoticed. The Cabal has chosen you to train as an Enforcer.”

Rowan’s pulse kicked. To be worthy of an Enforcer rank was the highest honor granted a warrior. He sucked in oxygen. “‘Tis privileged to serve, I am.”

“Aye, and a privilege it is to have you fight at our side.” Pride gleamed in his da’s dark eyes. “Call forth your weapon.”

Rowan lifted his face to the heavens and claimed the battle cry that had been bestowed upon him during the trials.
“Ni Dìobair!”

Never forsake.

As a long gleaming sword of pure ice flashed from the sky, Rowan thrust up his right hand. Cold and wicked, the hilt slid into his palm, fitting perfectly. A weapon made by the Creator uniquely for him.

 “The Gift bestowed upon you is loyalty,” his father said. “Your element to command is water, from which your Power springs forth.” Sorrow creased his da’s face. “And although I foresee a day when you shall stand alone…you must never surrender.”

“I offer my sword. I offer my blood. I offer my life.” Rowan laid the glittering blade over his heart.
“Never forsake.
I swear it.”

“Rowan MacLachlan, heir of the MacLachlan, when I grow unable to serve, or when I pass into the Otherworld, you are destined to wear the mantle of Clan Mage Chieftain. ‘Tis a heavy burden. Be steadfast in your duties, strong in your convictions, mindful of your actions.”

His father’s gaze pierced his own. “Resist the seductive Dark Powers when they come for you. For the fate of all rests upon the skill of your blade, and the wisdom of your choices.”

* * *

Rowan retched…blinked…and the present slowly swam back into focus. What the sodding hell had inspired an unscheduled jaunt down memory lane? The recent head injury must have compromised him more than he realized.

Maybe that’s why Delaney could so easily read him. He’d have to be extra vigilant. If she learned of his plan...

He staggered to his feet, just as he had in his vision of the past, and solidly shielded his thoughts from the infuriating, fascinating woman he’d just left.

You’ll be perfectly safe…until I return.

He stared out at the faintly luminescent Pacific.
Paging Dr. Freud.

His hands fisted. He didn’t want to hurt Delaney. Too many innocents had already been lost to collateral damage. But she had rare Power. Amazing, strong Power he didn’t quite understand, but that he desperately needed. He could
not
let his emotions become involved. She was merely a weapon, like the other Gifts he’d been given.

His to use.

He bowed his head, whispered an invocation. And dissolved into mist.

* * *

Rowan rushed through his task, re-embodied, and then sprinted into the cabin’s bedroom. “Delaney, I’m—”

His heart slammed into his ribcage. She lay limp beneath the covers in the big iron bed frame. He touched her cheek. Hypothermic again. He should kick his own arse down the beach for not making her stay in the tub.

He brewed the potion, and then dribbled it between her pale lips, stroking her throat to force her to swallow. He stoked the fire higher, piled on more quilts, then sat on the edge of the mattress and briskly rubbed her arms…to no avail. She wasn’t warming.

Rowan sighed. Stood. He had a collective knowledge bank spanning several millenniums in his brain.
You know what you have to do.

He could imagine Braden chiding him.
Aye, and just get to it, ya flamin’ coward.

He toed off his boots, stripped off his socks. The zipper on his jeans rasped loudly in the quiet room. He yanked the denim down his legs, and off. This was one of the only times he wished he didn’t hate the confinement of underwear. But after the freedom of a kilt, the lads didn’t like being strangled.

Naked, he pulled back the covers and quickly divested Delaney of his T-shirt. Although skin-to-skin contact warmed faster, he left her in the thermal top. Parts of him that felt—at the moment
very
human—weren’t immune to temptation.

He slid into bed, carefully eased Delaney onto her uninjured side facing away from him, then curled himself protectively around her. As he wrapped his arm over her, her sweet feminine scent enveloped him. His cock instantly responded.

Shite.
This was the second worst idea he’d ever had. The last time he’d surrendered to a bad impulse…every person he’d loved had died.

The woman in his embrace breathed a contented sigh and burrowed closer. He gritted his teeth. No chance of sleep tonight.

Rowan’s jaw tightened as hard as the rest of him. But he hadn’t sought out Delaney to find peace.

He’d come to finish a war.

Chapter 7

Sex was gonna be a problem.

Rowan opened his eyes as watery gray daylight leaked around the edges of the cream-colored curtains. Rain drummed the cabin’s roof, and the ocean rumbled in the distance. Sometime during the bleak hours before dawn, the fire had smoldered into embers, and he’d crashed.

Delaney was warm and breathing evenly—the only good thing about their current situation.

His sleeping body had made itself right at home. He was still spooned around her. His nose was buried in silky copper locks at her nape, where his every inhale tormented him with delicious berry fragrance. His arm encircled Delaney’s ribcage, his palm possessively cupped her breast. His leg nestled between the hot, smooth satin of her thighs, supporting her injured leg. Her soft bum pillowed his aching morning wood.

Over the past year, he’d endured three hundred forty-one days and sixteen hours of deprivation, starvation, and brutality. He’d thought every shred of desire had been tortured out of him. Holding her in the tub had surprised him with his first hard-on in nearly a year. And he’d stayed aroused.

He wasn’t the only one. When he’d stripped off his shirt last night, he hadn’t needed to read Delaney’s mind. She’d wanted him, too.

Big
problem.

Mage Cabal law strictly forbid carnal relationships between mentors and apprentices. For damned good reasons—reasons he’d understood too little, way too fecking late.

Sure, he didn’t have to go all or nothing. But jerking off, or shagging a random woman merely scratched the physical itch.

He wasn’t about to make the same fatal mistake twice. His longing for
something more
had destroyed his life.

But apparently, his little head had deleted the “Celibacy For Dummies” memo. He sighed. He needed to escape the bed without waking Delaney. Not only to flee temptation, but because sleep was her best medicine. Rowan shifted, slowly sliding his hand from her breast, his thigh from between hers.

“Wha—?” She jolted, which plastered her tight against him. “Wha’s jabbing—”

He went immobile. So much for stealthy retreat. “Good morning.”

Delaney’s breathing hitched. She yelped and flailed onto her back. Startled blue eyes stared at him, blurred by sleepy bewilderment.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart? Better than last night?”

“Are you…n-naked?” She gulped. “Did we sl-sleep together?”

“Aye, but—”

“My body aches all over,” she whispered.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I found you on the beach, beaten up. I fed you. But I didn’t go to bed with you.” Bewilderment flashed to fear. “Connor’s accident. Monsters in Hell. Archer with wings…they
were
hallucinations! I brought you back to the cabin, and you slipped drugs into my food!” Her breath sawed in harsh pants.
“Why?
So you could
rape
me?”

Horror slammed into him. “Nay! I didn’t—”

“I’ll kill you, you sick sonofabitch!” Delaney attacked, punching, kicking, clawing.

“Listen—” He threw his head back barely in time to avoid losing an eye as her nails raked his cheek.

He had to subdue her before she tore open her wound. Rowan rolled on top of her, pinned her legs. She bucked wildly against his weight. If he hadn’t restrained her knees, he’d be in a world of hurt. “Just calm—”

Her nails slashed again, this time scoring his neck. “Get off me!”

The wee lass fought as wickedly as a cornered demon. He might as well try to subdue lightning.

“Delaney, listen to me—” He grasped her wrists, held her arms over her head. She tried to heave him off. Okay, he
was
male, and still hard…and a sexy, half-dressed woman writhing beneath him didn’t exactly chill him out. “Calm down. I’m not going to harm you.”

Terror blazed in those spectacular blue depths. “Get
off!”

The bed shook, rattling the iron headboard. Stinging Power exploded from her, hurling him across the room. His spine hit the wall and he crashed to the floor. He lay wheezing for air.

Lord Almighty!
Not warrior Mages, not even higher demons could blast an Enforcer off his feet.

Delaney scrambled to the far side of the mattress and then fell off the edge onto the floor, out of sight.

Unleashed inexperienced Power was extremely dangerous, and Delaney possessed one hell of an energy kick. She could injure or even kill herself. Rowan shoved to his feet. He rounded the foot of the bed, toward her.

Cornered, she reared back. Her depleted energy stuttered, built for another strike.
How?
She shouldn’t be able to re-fire already.

Dèan stad!
He thrust the command into her, hard.

She jerked. Gasped. Then froze, unable to move.

Thank the Saints.
Easy, Delaney.
He used the more intimate communication of their telepathic link.
I know this hold hurts, so just calm down, and I’ll release you
. This time, he gently pushed the emotion into her.
Calm.

Eyes brilliant in her parchment face, her gaze snagged on his. Still fearful, but the rage had cooled.

Relax, you’re safe. I’m here to help you. We did spend the night together, but just sleeping. Remember lass, I was naked as a newborn when you rescued me. I had nowhere to have stashed drugs.

Her throat spasmed in a dry swallow.
Ashes. Demons.
Her response was also through their non-verbal connection.
N-not drugs? Or a nightmare?

Look at your thigh.
He throttled back his tight hold.

She dropped her glance. The wound was sealed, but a wide, blackened burn marred her skin.

She winced.
It…It was real. Oh, God, all of it actually
happened.
I— I remember. You…you didn’t rape me.

“Nay. I would
never
force a woman. Nothing occurred between us.”

She nodded, and relief trickled through him.

“I’m going to fully release you now. Just stay still, you ken?”

Another nod.

He retreated around the bed, giving her space. He shoved his legs into his jeans, zipped up, then freed her from the detaining spell.

“Delaney? You doing all right?”

Silence.

“Delaney?” He dropped his voice low and soothing. “I’m going to come check on you. I won’t touch you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

He slowly circled the bed again. She huddled trembling in the corner with her arms wrapped around drawn-up legs, her forehead resting on her knees.

“Everything’s all right.” Stopping several feet away, he knelt in front of her. “Look at me, luv.” He didn’t put any Power into the request, and she didn’t lift her head.

“I s-saw you, Rowan. Younger. In a c-circle of carved stones. Heard the words.
Felt
burning agony when they stabbed you. W-was
that
a dream...or was it real, too?”

“You saw…felt…?”
She’d summoned his recall. How in bloody blazes?
“Nay, not a dream. A vision of the past. You witnessed my Initiation as a Clan Mage.”
Somehow.
This bond with Delaney was so far beyond the scope of his knowledge and experience, he would’ve freaked…if Mages got freaked.

He swallowed. “This is scary, aye? I ken. I grew up knowing all about Magic, yet the first time I lost control of my Power, I about pissed my jockeys…well, if I wore jockeys.” And back then, his new Gift hadn’t packed anywhere near the punch of hers. Though he wasn’t about to tell
her
that. “Your head is spinning, your gut is roiling, and you feel like an axe is cleaving your brain.”

Slowly, carefully, she met his gaze. “Y-yes.”

“‘Tis a Power ricochet. I can fix it.” At her flare of alarm, he held up a hand. “I don’t have to touch you.”

Wary, luminous eyes assessed him.

“Let me take away the pain. Please. We need to talk about this. Your mind is overwhelmed with questions and you have a lot of information to process.”

Taut hesitation.

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

Eyes locked with Delaney’s, he concentrated. His body quaked as rapidly as hers while he absorbed her pain. Ironic that the weapons came more easily.

Healing was the toughest Gift to learn…and use. It drained his energy and hurt like a Glasgow bitch. If not done accurately, healing someone could make Rowan ill, render him helpless, or even kill him.

He’d never before accomplished it with the handicap of not touching the recipient. But Delaney’s fear and pain trumped his comfort. Embracing the agony it caused him, he summoned rosy, healing light and slid it inside her, flooding her veins, flowing over her nerve endings.

He’d practiced endlessly in order to adjust the pleasure at will, ramping from mere comfort to mind-blowing orgasm. But unless he was charged up by no-holds-barred passion, the better it felt to the receiver…the worse it hurt him.

Probably so Mages who mastered this Gift wouldn’t be tempted to abuse it.

Rowan clenched his teeth and aimed for relaxed and soothing. Not that he begrudged giving Delaney pleasure, but an erotic push would make her feel more violated right now.

When she sighed and her shaking lessened, he slipped his energy out of her. Closed his eyes.

Rallying himself took longer than he liked.

He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her quivering body still withdrawn.

“Cold, are you? His tone lightened. “I’ll fetch a blanket.” Moving slowly so he wouldn’t spook her, he tugged the quilt from the bed. He had to vanquish her fear. Delaney needed to trust him…or his careful strategy would disintegrate into an epic disaster.

“I’m going to put the quilt around you.” When she didn’t object, he covered her. The blanket would warm her
and
help her feel more secure. “The fire’s gone out. It’ll take a few minutes to restart.”

He left her to pull herself together while he rebuilt the fire.

With flames snapping hungrily at the logs, he shoved open the curtains and watched shimmering rain drape the forest in a silvered cape. Now that he knew her capabilities, she wouldn’t get the drop on him again.

Exactly what kind of Power was he dealing with here? Enforcers, Guardians, Sorcerers, and demons sensed each others’ Powers on sight. Delaney wasn’t a Guardian. And she’d just proven she wasn’t
Tuatha Dé Danann
—at least not from any existing Clan. You couldn’t become
Tuatha Dé,
you had to be born one. He knew Mage energy, and the weapon she’d struck him with was unfamiliar.

Blood made them what they were. Whose bloodline ran in Delaney’s veins?

Her amulet had been marked by the Morrigan. But the goddess had vanished into the Abyss in the third century, never to been seen nor heard again.

His fingers gripped the windowsill. He hated to consider the final option. When Delaney had disappeared, he’d assumed her essence was on her quest, the journey every Mage must survive in order to receive their Gift. When novices felt it happening, they instinctively hid before their essences left their vulnerable bodies. As Delaney’s mentor, he should’ve been able to find her body at the hospital and guard it. But he hadn’t. She’d left no trace.

Her description of where she’d been sounded like she’d traveled into the Abyss—the vast shadow realm between earth and the Otherworld on high. The irregular shadow marring her
Aillidh
corroborated her tale. However, Mages couldn’t enter the Abyss unless they were dead. Even then only their essences passed through on their way to the Otherworld, not their bodies.

No embodied soul could walk in the Abyss.

His pulse thundered in his ears. But demons could. Though Delaney’s energy didn’t read as evil, he’d be daft not to consider it. She’d barely begun to come into her Power and it was already the strongest he’d ever encountered. She could get into his head at will. And she’d only get stronger. He swallowed so hard it hurt.

If Delaney was a new, hybrid race of demon—or even if she wasn’t evil, but couldn’t learn to control her destructive powers—he would have to kill her.

Rowan resolutely shoved away from the window.

But not today.

* * *

By the time Rowan re-approached Delaney, she appeared steadier and color had filtered into her cheeks.

“Would you like to get back into bed? Alone,” he amended.

“Yes.”

When he reached to offer assistance, she shook her head and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “I can do it.”

During the excruciatingly slow process, he held both his tongue and the temptation to slip her an energy boost. “I could definitely use some coffee, how about you?”

“Yes.”

“Fair warning, my cousins used to rag me about the strength of my coffee making their hair fall out.”

As he strode to the kitchen, he wove a binding spell around the room’s perimeter. If she attempted escape, it’d block her and alert him. His earlier warding of the cabin and surrounding area for protection—done the first night he’d met her—was the strongest known fortification spell. Rowan had layered his own defensive wards over the existing ones Archer had previously placed.

Last night when they’d arrived, he’d also metaphysically alarmed the grounds and added a cloaking shield. Delaney could wander the property, but couldn’t leave it without him. And nobody else could get in without a battle.
Nothing
would breach the blood warding of a Clan MacLachlan Enforcer…and survive.

What he had to do needed complete privacy.

Ten minutes later, he walked into the bedroom with a tray bearing an old-fashioned metal coffeepot, two thick red mugs, and a plate of cinnamon scones he’d discovered in the freezer and defrosted in the microwave. For Delaney, he’d added milk, sugar, and a bottle of raspberry flavored coffee syrup from the pantry.

She glanced over as his Power swept the door aside. Shadows lingered in her eyes, but she’d stopped trembling and her body language was more receptive. “That smells heavenly.”

He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d already witnessed, and admired, her resilience. “I don’t know how you take yours, so I brought everything.” He liked
his
coffee like his sex. Hot, potent…and to go.