Deception (22 page)

“Not yet,” he conceded, “but there will be, and the little guy will eventually call you mom.”

Layla’s stomach tightened and flipped. Then she vomited all over him.

Chapter 14

The sun set as Quin navigated over Terrace Mountain and its cluster of lakes; and like the fading sun, his heart descended, slipping into a dangerous chasm where he fought to maintain hope and itched to destroy the wizard draining it.

Quin boosted his speed as he soared over a snow-capped ridge, sweeping his gaze across barren terrain. Then he slowed as several members of his family mind-searched him.

He picked out his dad's voice then called back.
'How many of you are there?'

'Ten,'
Kemble answered,
'and there are eleven more not far behind. Have you picked up anything?'

'No. Split into pairs and search low. Check out any campfires and watch for their auras. Try to avoid covering one another's paths. We need to spread out as much as possible. If a pair finds her or senses her trail, one of them needs to keep an eye on things while the other alerts the rest of us.'

He ended the mental conversation and dipped into a valley, brushing the treetops with his t-shirt while straining his eyes and focusing on his angel – her beautiful body, her brilliant mind, and her benevolent soul.

As he pulled out of the east side of the basin and worked his way up another snowy crest, Kemble joined him.

“What are you doing here?” Quin asked, barely sparing him a glance.

“Lighten your aura,” Kemble advised.

Quin reluctantly obeyed. He was experiencing the worst emotions of his life and didn't want them trapped inside, but he couldn't let them sabotage his purpose. “Why are you here?”

“We need two to a group,” Kemble explained. “You have the best chance of picking up her trail; you'll need someone nearby who can alert the others of changes.”

“I guess.”

“We'll find her, Quinlan.”

“We better.” The alternative was unacceptable.

Layla coughed and sputtered; and Finley leaned back on his heels, magically cleansing himself of her stomach contents. “Shit, Layla. I'm not that damn bad.”

She spit then gasped, trying to stifle her gag. “You have to stop this now, Finley. I won't do it. I'll die first.”

He scooted closer and tilted her chin up, vanishing the vomit from her face. “You don’t have to do it. Promise you’ll be good and I’ll wait as long as you want me to. I hate the idea of forcing myself on you, but I will if I have to. You’re fertile enough that with a little magic and five minutes between your legs, you’ll be carrying our baby. Then you’ll calm down and protect your body.”

“I won’t do it,” she refused. “I won't carry your baby.”

“You will,” he insisted, “and you'll love it.”

“I don't want it,” she screamed, pushing at her restraints. “I don't want your baby!”

He gripped her throat and squeezed, narrowing his eyes as he growled. “Don't ever say that again.”

Her lips grew numb as her cheeks tingled, and part of her – the defeated part of her – hoped this was the end, no matter how nasty the view. But she wasn’t that lucky. As spots started peppering her vision, he released her neck and stood.

Her head bobbed as she protested between gasps. “I'm not carrying your baby. Eventually, you'll have to rip out my throat.”

“That’s not an option,” he countered, taking a step back.

He swept a hand into the air, and she squeaked as his magic lifted her from the ground, bringing her eye-to-eye with him.

“See how easy it was for me to do that?” he asked. “I have complete control over you. Now make your choice.”

She set her jaw, remaining silent as her heart picked up speed.

“Nothing’s ever easy with you,” he rebuked, sweeping his hand back down.

A frosty breeze slapped tender skin, and she knew what he’d done. The bastard had vanished her clothes. Teeth clenched, she looked down, swallowing a scream as she stared at her nearly naked body – pale, bruised and bound as it shivered in the moonlight.

Finley tilted his head left and right, his lewd gaze trespassing on her black lace panties. “Underwear?” he mumbled. “I guess some hexless habits never die.”

The degradation was horrible. She’d never felt so violated or been more terrified. She struggled against the magical cords binding her wrists, but they didn’t budge. She narrowed her eyes on them, imagining her hands springing free, but a burning whip slashed across her face and snapped her concentration.

“Stop, Layla. You won’t succeed. Now make your choice.”

Blood dripped down her cheek, mingling with her tears before pooling at the corner of her mouth. Time to get away from this monster. “Do it again,” she urged, defiantly meeting his stare.

His chest inflated as he furrowed his eyebrows, but he didn’t strike.

“Aww… come on,” she taunted, “bring on the really painful magic and get it over with. You're not entering my body while I'm still in it, so dispose of me and you can have my corpse.”

“Nice try,” he calmly replied. “Now choose. Either you'll cooperate on your own, or I'll take you now and force you to cooperate.”

His horrifying plan B was out of the question, but she’d never submit to him, no matter what she might claim in a desperate attempt to get her clothes back.

He took a step, drawing so close his body heat licked her flesh, and she cringed as his breath drifted up her nose. His gaze bore into hers as he reached up, running his fingertips over her blood stained breasts, and oxygen entered her lungs in short, painful bursts. Shit, she couldn’t let him do this.

“Okay,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away.

“Okay what?” he pressed.

“I’ll stop fighting,” she blurted. “Now put my clothes on.”

“No. The clothes will stay off, as a reminder of our deal.” His magic released her shoulders, and she crumpled to the ground with a thud.

Choking on a pained groan and struggling to breathe, she rolled onto her back, finding tree branches through a film of moisture. She was on the edge of the clearing and sheltered by tall Douglas firs, their needled fingers dancing as they reached for the other side of the glade.

Finley walked to a spot about a yard away and settled himself on the ground. Then he dug something out of his bag and threw it at her. She flinched, but it was merely a cloak, which magically draped itself from her feet to her neck. Only then did she realize how cold she was, and as her frigid muscles thawed, her eyelids grew heavy. She desperately tried to keep them open, unwilling to sleep while nude and under his control, but her battered body and sapped energy gave her no choice.

On the verge of an emotional breakdown, Quin flinched when Kemble flew close and matched his pace.

“We’ve been searching the region for over four hours, Son. I think it’s time to consider an alternative plan.”

“Then consider it,” Quin returned. “And stop breaking my concentration.”

“You can’t do this forever, Quinlan. Every man has his limits.”

“Including Finley. If you want to go home and work out another plan, go for it. I’ll call in the morning to see if you’ve found anything.”

“And if you reach the end of your rope? What good will that do Layla?”

Quin took a deep breath then slowly let it out, clinging to determination and control. “I’m nowhere near the end of my rope, but if the family needs to go home, take them home. I’ll touch base with you in the morning.”

“We won’t leave you to this,” Kemble refused.

“But you’ll leave Layla to it?” Quin countered.

Kemble’s chest expanded as he caught his son’s stare. “You know better.”

Quin sighed and looked away. “I do, but it doesn’t change anything. I’d fly to hell and back for her, and we haven’t even made it to Canada.”

A few seconds ticked by, consumed by rushing wind and heavy hearts. Then Kemble spoke once more. “I’ll ask the family to stick with us until we reach the border. After that, we’ll be on our own.”

“Fine,” Quin agreed. Then he dove into a gully to check a cavern. Its wide entrance gave way to a short and empty tunnel, so he soared onward, desperate to find Layla before finding Canada.

Layla’s eyelids fluttered open to a faint glow surrounded by darkness, and she turned her pounding head toward the light, finding Finley’s aura fully exposed. He sat with his legs bent, his elbows on his knees, and his forehead on his arms. His shoulders gently fluctuated over steady breaths, which steamed and unfurled from between his calves.

He was asleep. Despite his upright position, he’d dozed off.

Hope fluttered Layla’s heart as she tried to mind-search Quin, but his name echoed in her head. Damn. She looked at Finley and imagined a grand explosion of flesh and blood, but he didn’t budge or combust. He still had her mind and magic blocked, and she remained nearly nude and tied up beneath his cloak.

Determined to take advantage of his nap, Layla slowly sat up, tensing as his cloak fell and the cold struck. She ignored the breeze’s bite and slowly bent her legs. Then she used her teeth to pull the velvet over her knees and down her shins. The material ruffled the grass, and she held her breath as she flashed her gaze to Finley. His breathing stayed even, so she carefully wiggled her freezing feet out from under the blessedly warm cloak.

Now, how to get up and silently trek through the forest with hands that wouldn’t move and feet that wouldn’t spread. The task seemed hopeless, but she had to try. Maybe if she put some distance between them, his spells would slip, and she’d be able to conceal herself and take flight.

Having danced most her life, she was skilled at maneuvering in elegant ways, but she continued to ache from his torture, so when she leaned forward to balance on the balls of her feet, she nearly groaned and fell over.

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. Then she popped her lids open and found a focus point, using it to correct her equilibrium. It worked, and she slowly stood, waiting until she was steady before looking at Finley. He hadn’t moved; and any other time, Layla would have congratulated herself for silently getting to her feet while bound on the outside and burning on the inside, but the hardest part of her escape had yet to come.

She looked around the glade, deciding she didn’t want to try to cross it, which meant she needed to turn around and work her way into the nearby timber. If she could get far enough into the trees, their trunks might conceal her aura.

She wiggled her toes, making sure it didn’t make too much noise. Then she rotated inch by careful inch until she faced the tree line. The forest was overgrown, pitch-black and terrifying, but she was dying to be in there.

She tested the cord around her ankles, seeing if she had any give at all, but there was barely enough room for her ankle bones to brush over each other. Oh well, it would have to do. She took a deep breath then looked forward, moving into the forest centimeters at a time. At least there was hardly any noise that way.

For a while it felt like she wasn’t getting anywhere, but then she glanced at Finley and realized she’d gone farther than she thought. Spurred by the success, she looked forward and resumed her task, not stopping until she’d escaped the moonlight.

Her tender soles now scraped over roots and twigs, and her sore muscles cramped, leaving her little choice but to lean against a tree trunk for a short break.

She couldn’t believe she’d made it out of the glade. And looking into the dark maze of timber, its depths teeming with obstacles, she had little hope of making it much farther. What had she been thinking? How was she supposed traverse untamed nature when she couldn’t lift her feet?

Oh well. She’d already committed herself to trying, so she quietly shoved off the tree and scooted into the dark.

Every time a plant rustled, a leaf crunched or a twig snapped, her heart lurched and her lungs froze. But he hadn’t come for her yet, and the timber had grown thicker, the tree trunks closer together. Confidence building, she grasped low slung branches and shouldered rough bark, using them to push and pull herself along. It worked well, and she began covering more ground in less time.

She looked back and could no longer see the clearing or the glow of his aura. Holy crap, she’d almost made it. A few more shoves between tree trunks and she’d be out of his earshot, free to bounce her way home. And she would, damn it. She’d hop across the globe if that’s what it took to fall into Quin’s arms, to feel his hands on her once more.

“Fuck!”

Layla snapped her head up and stiffened, listening to Finley curse and yell her name.

Oh shit. She wiggled up against a nearby tree and scooted around it, wishing it had a thicker trunk and lower branches. He’d surely see the glow of her aura if he looked hard enough in the right direction. Then she remembered there was nothing to keep him from mind-searching her. Shit. All she could do now was run – or hop rather – and hope she could put enough distance between them to break his spells.

She took a few quick breaths, pumping herself up for a big leap. Then she pushed off the tree and lunged forward.

Her hair pulled taught, and she figured a few strands had snagged on the bark and would slide free, but when they reached their maximum tension, her head jerked back. With no way to correct her balance, she knew she was going down, so she squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath. The air jumped from her lungs when her back slammed into a bulging tree root, and she rolled over, burying her face in aromatic needles as pain shot up her spine.