Timeless Vision (12 page)

He stared at the object as if it was magic. “It’s cold.”

“It’s a science thing. On your cheek.” She lifted his hand into place, then turned away. How silly that she couldn’t look directly at him without wanting to melt. After dumping the used paper towels into the trash can, she washed his blood off her hands and debated how to get the answers she wanted about Wayne, this house, the men who’d torn up her bar, and the woman on the street he’d called Morgana.

“Tara.”

She didn’t need any magic to know he was behind her, that he’d stepped in close. Her body seemed keenly tuned to his every move and mood. The air around them was so charged with anticipation it surprised her not to see sparks when he placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said, the words feather-soft at her ear.

She nodded, speech momentarily beyond her abilities. He didn’t back off. Instead of irritation, she felt another flash of that eager, girlish desire.
Kiss me
, she thought, knowing it would be a mistake and still wanting it more than a kid wanted Christmas.

Those big hands of his turned her gently to face him. She leaned against the sink, her hands clinging to the countertop, unable to retreat any further from his broad chest. Her gaze locked on the second button of the shirt she’d chosen for him just a few hours ago. If she looked up into his amazing blue eyes, she knew she’d do something stupid.

“Tara,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite get used to the sound of her name.

She was suddenly certain she’d never tire of him saying it.

His fingertips brushed the shell of her ear, then forward along her jaw until he tipped up her face with a gentle nudge under her chin. Knowing what was coming, she tossed logic and sense aside just before his lips met hers.

The contact, tender and sweet, lit a fire of longing in her belly. She gripped his shoulders for balance, though she trusted him to never let her fall. His hand slid up into her hair as he changed the angle. She marveled at each small, tempting touch, a gentle exploration that finally exploded in a rush of pleasure when her lips parted and his tongue boldly stroked across hers. He tasted of the stout ale and peppery sandwich, but the scent of
him
, wild and virile, had her wanting far more than this delightful kiss.

On a ragged breath, he broke the delicious contact, leaving her all too willing to beg. Somehow she bit back the words even as her mind filled with an image of him, over her, inside her. Her fingers slowly released the hard grip she had on his shoulders, smoothing the rumpled fabric of his shirt. She shivered. The man had powers all right, and she wasn’t referring to his connection to the dog or magical talent that defied a scientific explanation.

“Sure you’re not immortal?” she teased. The kiss had made her daring.

“Hardly.” His lips twitched in a smirk. “I’m just like you.”

“Hardly.” No man she knew made her feel this way, made her want to forget everything that wasn’t him. “I’ve done the first aid,” she said, forcing her gaze to his injuries. “Did the spell have any lingering effects beyond the nosebleed?”

“No.” He shook his head, some of that thick, golden hair falling in front of his face. “There is no poison or detrimental material in me.”

“You’re sure?” She smoothed the hair back behind his ear, enjoying the way he soaked up her attention and affection. Something else lurked in the depths of his blue eyes, a concern for her that tempered his desire. “It scared me to see you under that influence.”

His gaze searched her face, drifted lower, before he stepped away. “I may not be immortal, but my gifts and experience mean I am not easy to kill. The witch hunting us knows this. Again I offer an apology for underestimating her strength and swift response.”

Tara wanted to hug him, to simply hang on until they both felt better. It bugged her. She wasn’t the needy or clingy type. “You’re gifted all right,” she murmured, packing away the first aid kit. He was gifted in ways that drew her closer, like a moth to a flame. She’d rather not dwell on his experiences in the 6
^th
century. “Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

“I beg to differ.” Wayne returned to his seat at the counter. “Will you tell me about Peter’s family?”

“Why?” Could he need the topic change to ease the lingering sensual ache as much as she did? When Nick got back she would have a buffer and a reason to maintain a little more of a safe distance around Wayne.

“Your cousin is not here and I am certain we should not be alone.”

“We can manage without a chaperone,” she replied. Although the sexy smile on his face had her heart racing all over again. “Peter and Mabh had two sons and a daughter. My father is directly related to the oldest son. Nick’s line is rooted in the second son.”

“As I suspected,” he said, his eyes serious. “And the daughter’s descendants?”

She shrugged. “They might be the superfluous cousins.” His soft laughter smoothed away the last tension she carried from the fight. And the kiss.

“This house would imply your cousin is normally far more reliable than his actions have shown today.”

“Nick can be annoying, especially to a cousin, but he is absolutely reliable. I’m sure whatever has kept him away has been for the purpose of helping us. You.” She picked up her phone to check for messages and discovered Nick had responded while she’d been locking lips with Wayne. “He’s on his way.”

“Good.” Wayne pushed a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.

“If you’re tired, you can go upstairs.” She didn’t dare mention the bed because that only conjured more images she didn’t want to resist.

“Weary is not the same as tired,” he admitted.

“True.” She had to find something to get her mind off that kiss. The cause was futile while he was sitting right there, within reach. If only she had the guts to go to him. She pulled up the saved photos on the phone again. “What about that tattoo on the guy in the bar?” she asked.

“It was not familiar.” He pressed the ice pack to his cheek for a few more seconds, then turned it over and over in his hands, studying it.

“It works better if you keep it on the sore spot,” she said, smothering a smile. The developments that tripped him up and the advances he accepted with ease baffled her.

Unzipping the bag she’d brought from the office, she withdrew her tablet. She turned it on and discovered she needed a password to connect with the internet. Knowing Nick, she made a couple of guesses, factored in the purpose of the place, and came up with the right one on her third attempt.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she opened a search window. She’d be more comfortable in the front room, but the idea of her, Wayne, and Sterling hanging out as though they were family would distract her. She brought up the picture stored on her phone. “I know I’ve seen this tattoo before.”

Instantly, she had Wayne’s full attention. “Where?”

“At the bar, probably. I’m searching for it now.”

“You said the men who attacked us were strangers to you?”

“Yes. Well, I recognized the thief from that replay you created, of course.”

Wayne crossed to the table and braced his hands on the back of the chair across from hers. “If the mark is for those who serve Morgana, why choose an unmarked man to steal the dagger?”

Tara figured it was a rhetorical question and she was busy scrolling through the plethora of images filling her screen. There had to be some meaning to what appeared at first glance to be a variation on a compact tribal pattern. “It’s a horse, right?” She hit the phone screen to enlarge and adjust the image. “Stylized and filled in, but a horse. It can’t be that common.”

Wayne came around the table and bent low over her shoulder saying nothing about the technology that had to be as mysterious to him as his magic was to her.

“There.” He aimed his finger near the screen. “That is the mark. Sterling saw this as well,” he explained.

“Okay.” The man and dog worked too efficiently for her to discount that. “That bond you told me about?” She tilted her head to watch him while he answered.

Wayne nodded. “I see what he sees when it is necessary. It has saved us many times over.”

“Okay,” she repeated. She opened a new window, searching for any mention of crimes committed by men with this horse tattoo.

Behind her, he stood up and shuffled his feet. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Does my knowledge and use of magic bother you?”

It was a question she’d expected. While he was talented, she noticed the way he kept apologizing for it. “No more than any of this bothers me. I want my property back. Especially if some witch plans to use it for something terrible.”

“She does,” Wayne murmured absently.

“Here we go,” she said, finding a string of news articles from upstate New York. “Look at this,” she said. Wayne leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “A small group created big trouble in the area a few years ago. Police noted several of the people they arrested bore this mark.”

“It makes no sense to me.”

“Which part, the crazy people or their horse infatuation?”

“The wording,” he snapped, pacing away from her. “If that is what they are.”

“You can’t read?”

He spun on his heel, his expression severe. “I can read,” he insisted, through clenched teeth. “I cannot read that.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “The delivery has changed as much as the language. More really.” She’d been thoughtless. “You’re doing such a great job accepting and fitting in…” her voice trailed off as his eyes went wide and he marched up to the table. “What?”

“The horse.” He waved a finger at the screen. “Our first clue. A black horse can signify anything from impending death or honor to the goddess of seasons. Can you provide more images?”

She brought up as many as possible and clicked between them. “Does that help?”

“Yes.” He rubbed one hand over his closed fist. “This is her coven.”

“Police called it a cult.”

Wayne snorted. “By any name it is terrible that she has gained the power of so many followers. How did this happen? I trapped her, bound her. She should not be free in this world.”

So maybe Morgana’s presence wasn’t as possible as she’d thought. “You sound like you know her well.”

The back door opened, and they both jerked around, braced for another fight. Sterling joined them, his toenails clacking on the floor tiles.

“Stand down.” Nick raised his hands in surrender. “It’s just me. Sorry it took so long,” he said, dropping a backpack and duffel bag to the floor before loosening his scarf. “Your mom packed for you.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Tara demanded, leaping out of the chair. She wanted to punch him for leaving them alone and give him a big hug now that she knew he was safe. She opted for the hug.

~*~

With one hand on his hound’s head, Wayne watched the warm greeting. An odd jealousy pulsed through him, wishing she might throw herself at him that way. Or that he might have one more opportunity to embrace the sister who’d first trained him. He missed his family and the friends who’d become equally close. With a mental shake of his head, he gave Morgana due credit for stirring up the hornet’s nest of emotions past and present.

Emotional bonds were a hindrance in his quest and created vulnerabilities Morgana would not hesitate to exploit. Only logic, common sense and sheer power would stop the witch.

Nick eyed Wayne over Tara’s shoulder. “What did you do to her?” he asked. “Affection and Tara rarely go together.”

Was that true?
He hadn’t felt any lack of affection when she’d kissed him.

“Oh, shut up.” Tara gave Nick a shove and stepped back to stand beside Wayne. “We were attacked in the bar,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “Where were you?”

“About that.” Nick’s eyebrows arched and his gaze moved between them as he rocked back on his heels. “I told you to stay here.”

“I insisted on investigating the office where the dagger had last been,” Wayne said even as Tara explained the call from her staff. Again, Nick eyed them far too carefully for Wayne’s comfort.

“We were attacked outside as well, as we made our escape,” he said. There was no sense denying it any longer. “By a powerful witch. I believe Morgana has been freed.”

“That’s impossible.” Concern stamped on Nick’s face as his eyes raked Tara head to toe. “No way. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “One of the guys who jumped us in the bar was the thief,” Tara continued. “The other two had a tattoo from a cult recently busted upstate. Do you want a drink?”

“I’m not sure it will help.” Nick slipped out of his scarf and coat, draping them on the back of a chair. He took a seat at the table and urged Wayne and Tara to join him. “Walk me through it from the beginning.”

Wayne let Tara handle the storytelling, his mind sifting through the fine points of his experiences since he arrived. He’d been thinking about Tara’s ancestry, at least when he wasn’t thinking about that kiss. She and Nick knew different details about their family origins and treasure. Obviously desperate to prevent the enemy from undoing the binding spell, Peter had divided the family secrets between his sons and the sons they bore.

Wayne offered up a silent prayer of belated thanks for the squire’s ingenious decisions. It could not have been easy to explain the true inheritance of the dagger and full consequences of the spell in a way that unified brothers, not even in those first generations. In his time, brothers were more often pitted against each other, fighting for attention, honor, and family wealth. The O’Malleys must have been an odd breed to have overcome society pressure and natural human tendencies.

With so many safeguards and precautions, Nick was right, it could not have been Morgana he’d seen on the street. Who else could weave a spell that not only clouded his mind, but drained his strength enough to make him bleed? And who other than Morgana would recognize him so quickly?

“Wayne!” Nick rapped his knuckles on the table to get his attention. “Help me understand why they’d come back to the bar when they have the dagger.”