Taking Back Sunday (6 page)

“Sun, are you hurt? Is it serious?”

When Sunday didn’t immediately rebound, Kayla’s face hardened, and she morphed into nurse-mode. She wrapped an arm around Sunday’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Again, Sunday shoved her friend away.

“Please, don’t touch me.”

No matter how much Kayla meant to help, Sunday was too fixed on reeling back from the jarring spike to her senses to let anyone get close. Kayla’s expression dropped. Her lip quivered, and her face paled. Sunday chewed back every inclination to run away, and instead, drew Kayla into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Sunday mumbled into Kayla’s hair.

Though the initial wave had faded, and no aftershocks presented themselves in the minutes following, Sunday was shaken. Short of some freak electrical short-like emotional outburst from one of the nearby dancers, Sunday couldn’t think of a reason for it. Definitely and precisely, something sought her out. As soon as it hit her, it vanished, leaving her dazed and confused.

Kayla found them a spot on one of the sofas. The back of Sunday’s head throbbed. She propped her elbows onto her knees and hung her head in her hands. Kayla rubbed Sunday’s back with a gentle circular motion that exuded comfort and security, but while it was kind, it was an empty gesture. That jolt and the bump to her head mortally wounded any ambition Sunday had to partying into the wee hours of the night.

“In other news…” she said to Kayla after lighting a cigarette. She playfully jabbed Kayla’s ribs and gave her an exaggerated smile. “C’mon, don’t be mad.”

Kayla shrugged, and with a heavy brow, turned away. Resetting her protective shields didn’t bar Sunday from sensing Kayla’s frustration. She wanted to apologize for being an asshole and shoving Kayla away, but it would be of no use. Instead, she let the silence between them linger until she thought of something to say that had nothing to do with what happened on the dance floor.

“I don’t get why you’re like that,” Kayla finally said. She threw herself back against the sofa and let out a hard sigh. Drumming her fingers on her knee, she continued. “You always push people away, Sunday. You never let anyone get close.”

Sunday took a long pull from her cigarette and dropped her chin as she exhaled.

“We set you up on dates, and we practically have to
beg
you to go out on them. We invite you to meet our friends, and it takes you
months
to agree to go.” She slapped her knee and shot up in her seat, leering at Sunday with a pinched expression. “Don’t you
want
to make friends? Don’t you
want
to be with a great guy? It’s always the same with you!”

Sunday pressed her lips together to force back the truth she wanted so much to say. It pushed up from her belly and through her chest until she was red-faced with the desire to spill her guts. Being a part of something and falling in love were everything Sunday wanted for herself but couldn’t have. She shook her head and looked away as the tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I just can’t be close to people,” she said, trying to speak loud enough that Kayla could hear.

Kayla didn’t, though. She sighed again, and jumped to her feet, holding her hand out for Sunday.

“Let’s get outta here,” she said, wiggling her fingers as an invitation.

Sunday put out her cigarette and took Kayla’s hand. Kayla’s disappointment flowed through her, and Sunday’s heart dropped in her chest. Before letting Kayla take another step, Sunday pulled her in for a hug. She draped her arms over her shoulders and held her friend close.

“I love you so much,” Sunday whispered.

She gathered all the veracity of that statement and willed it upon Kayla. Slowly, Kayla’s rigid posture softened in Sunday’s embrace. Warmth flowed through her veins. If she couldn’t believe Sunday’s words, then she could at least
feel
Sunday’s love. Summoning her ability to impose her will onto people she cared about wasn’t something Sunday was fond of doing, but she couldn’t let Kayla go on being upset with her. Apart from Kayla and Sammy, Sunday didn’t have anyone. When the women eventually parted, Kayla’s face had softened. She looked at Sunday and grinned, unaware of the emotional manipulation.

Sunday tilted her head and flashed a crooked smile.

“I’m going to meet your friends in a few days though, right?”

All Kayla’s earlier frustration drained from her, and she lit up with a toothy smile.

“You’re damn right you are!” she answered, crinkling her nose and pinching Sunday’s cheek. “Our little girl’s all grown up!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cyrus had been watching them for a long while when he finally called Angel over. The woman he’d sought for so long sat mere feet from him. If he lunged in her direction, he would have landed at her feet in a single bound.

Even before he laid eyes on her, Cyrus had known it. He’d
felt
it. A hurricane brewed in him as he scanned the sea of faces on the dance floor. Scaling, hot winds filled the cavern of his body. The wolf rose in his belly. Frenzied, his eyes hopped from dancer to dancer following his wolf’s lead.

It was her.

Cyrus’ vision tunneled around her until she was the only thing in his world. He yearned to reach out to her, but he knew better. He’d sought her too long to ruin it all by calling attention to himself and forcing a confrontation in a packed club. Despite the heat flushing through his body with the urge to make the kill, Cyrus stepped back into the shadows and watched the Incarnate from afar.

Her dancing was electric. She threw her head from side to side, revealing her sparkling eyes rolling back as she relinquished herself to the music. The wolf inside him snapped its jaw and gnashed its teeth. It wanted her.
He
wanted her.

Now the Incarnate sat beside her mundane friend just feet from her longtime predator. A short, black skirt hiked up her long, shapely thighs. Her painted calves disappeared into well-worn biker boots. Legs crossed at her knee exposed the bare underside of her thigh. The blonde’s body blocked her face, and Cyrus contained himself from running over to them and shoving her friend out of the way.

They had found her. Cyrus had found her. And she was close enough to touch.

Cyrus met Angel at the bar, and they exchanged curt nods.

“You sure it’s her?” Angel asked, inching over Cyrus’ broad shoulder to see if he could spot her.

With a hardened, grim expression, Cyrus turned. The women stood, embracing one another, the Incarnate squeezing her friend’s shoulders tight. Jealousy burned like bile in Cyrus mouth. It wasn’t the Incarnate that he wanted to attack right now. It was the other woman.

“Positive.”

“Do we grab her now?” Angel was nearly bouncing on his heels as the excitement buzzed through him. This moment was a long time coming. Years on her tail and they had never been within a year of her, at best. It wasn’t just Cyrus who wanted to end the hunt. Angel was just as committed.

Before he could answer, the women started toward the door. Every step they took closer to Cyrus made his heart beat faster. The women had to walk by them if they wanted to leave. Cyrus ground his teeth uncontrollably. Beside him, Angel’s breathing quickened.

The blonde brushed past him first as she led Sunday by the hand. Inches from the Incarnate, Cyrus unconsciously reached out and grabbed Sunday’s arm. Instead of turning around swinging, Sunday simply turned on her heel, stopping her friend from moving forward in the process.

As Cyrus and Sunday’s eyes met, the world shifted. The stale stench of cigarette and pungent clove smoke lifted. The penetrating music and the muffled shouting that passed for conversation at the club quieted. In less than a second, Cyrus was utterly changed. Cyrus’ soul settled. In the place of the consuming hate he’d nursed for over a decade, he knew peace. His entire body relaxed, and his mind quieted. His heart froze. The breath caught in his chest.

Sunday’s body swayed as her friend tugged to keep her moving forward, but she stood her ground. Even after Cyrus released her arm, her eyes remained locked with his while her friend asked what the matter was. Her cheeks flushed. As soon as she smiled, her eyes followed suit shimmering like honey.

Another handful of seconds passed when she finally looked away, bent her head slightly, and lowered her chin. She was blushing. Smiling. Tilting her face up, she wrinkled her nose coyly and batted her eyelashes.

“Do I know you?” When Sunday spoke, her voice drowned out every other sound in the room. She smiled again, awaiting his response.

His chest tightened.

All those years he obsessively chased her, and she didn’t even know he existed. Now, she looked up at him sheepishly and more adorable than he ever imagined. She wasn’t rushing to leave. She wasn’t running away. Minutes ago, he was dead-set on tearing her to pieces. It had occurred to him in the past that he would be unable to turn her over to his contractors alive. He considered the very real possibility that, when he eventually found her, she would inspire such blind fury that he might unleash his wolf and tear out her throat. Now, however, confronted with her in the flesh, his anger melted.

“No,” he painfully responded. For such a small word, it took a mountain of effort to say it. It was all he could do to keep from choking on the lie. She looked at him for another long moment.

“Too bad.”

She turned and walked away. Seconds later, Cyrus remained, staring at the gaping hole left by her absence. Her words echoed as she left him standing there feeling more lost and confused than ever in his life.

“What was that about, Cy?”

Cyrus didn’t have an answer. Not allowing his thoughts to delve into their momentary encounter any longer, Cyrus focused on the task at hand. The wolf couldn’t afford to let his prey on too loose a leash. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t get away. He grabbed Angel by the sleeve and dragged him along as he rushed to follow the women.

“Why didn’t she run?” Angel asked, shaking his arm free of Cyrus.

Again, Cyrus offered nothing in response. Instead, he single-mindedly followed the women down the street and around the corner. Eyes locked on the backs of the Incarnate and her friend, he stalked behind them with ever-quickening steps afraid that she would fall out of sight. He wouldn’t lose her now. He couldn’t. Not after waiting so long to find her. Not after getting the answer to a question that he feared would have plagued him for the rest of his days—the same question Angel had given voice to just minutes earlier.
What was that about, Cy?

Cyrus knew. There was no doubt.

The Incarnate was his mate.

“Get the goddamn truck.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Sunday pulled up to Vicky’s house two days later, she let the car idle for a few minutes as she collected her thoughts. Attending an esbat meant being in the presence of magic. Even though her prior reading of the house hadn’t hinted at any grave danger lurking in the shadows, steel-winged butterflies fluttered in her belly. It was a long time since Sunday participated in a magic circle. Though she didn’t know what to expect from this coven in particular, she knew that she had to stay on guard and hide her true nature from the witches. Powerful or not, even a veritable newbie could concoct the right spell to get a rise out of her.

When Vicky greeted Sunday at the door, Sunday hesitated to take her hand. The blood ran from her face, and she seriously considered pivoting on her heel and taking off. Instead, a tight smile formed on her lips, and she extended a trembling hand. Her body eased the instant she touched Vicky and sensed a stunning lack of innate ability.

So far, so good,
Sunday thought.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Vicky said, pulling Sunday into the house. “Everyone’s already arrived except Sammy, but she’s on her way.”

As they walked into the room, Vicky filled her in on the rest of the attendees.

“Constance and Michelle are over in the dining room,” she said. “Michelle is probably talking about her kids, since that’s
all
she ever talks about.” Vicky rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“
That’s
my grandmother, Elisabeth,” she said, pointing to a white-haired woman sitting on the sofa near Eunice, the only witch Sunday knew in the coven besides her friends. “She’s been practicing since
forever
. She and my great-grandmother learned the craft when they came to the US. She’s sitting with Eunice, who’s also been studying her whole life.” Vicky put a hand on the small of Sunday’s back and guided her forward to greet them.

As Vicky brought Sunday toward the pair of women, Eunice rose and extended a powder-white hand to Sunday. Sunday recognized the unmistakable auras of two strong, elder witches skilled in their craft.

“This is Sunday, Kayla’s and Sammy’s friend.”

Behind them, Kayla squealed when she heard Sunday’s name. The last few days’ worth of practice in holding steadfast to her shields was paying off in spades. Immediately, Kayla dashed over and threw her arms over Sunday’s shoulders. This time, Kayla lavished Sunday with warmth.

Vicky passed the baton to Kayla, and she retreated to the dining table where the two other women chatted over hors d'oeuvres and tea.

“I’m so glad you made it!” Kayla said, squeezing Sunday’s shoulders. She radiated joy. Her wide, blue eyes danced over Sunday’s face as she realized, for the first time, that Sunday had actually agreed to come. “It means so much to us. Have you met Elisabeth yet?”

“No,” Sunday said, shaking her head and swallowing her nerves at making a full round of introductions.

At this meeting, however, Sunday determined to show interest in all the women, if only to give herself a purpose in attending. At the very least, she could test the women to make sure that her friends were in capable hands. One could never tell with witches. With her walls up, Sunday limited her readings of the women, but it didn’t actually matter one way or another. Her Incarnate ability to tap into the aura of other people was strong, regardless.

“Sisters Kayla and Samantha mentioned that they’d be bringing a friend to our humble circle,” Elisabeth said. Her soft hand surrounded Sunday’s, and she put another hand over it to clasp it lovingly between her palms.