Deception (23 page)

“You lying bitch,” Finley scorned, engulfing her in his angry aura.

She gasped, her lungs desperate for air, but as soon as she managed to fill them, they deflated with a moan. “Ow…”

“Well?” He took her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Why do you keep making me do this?”

“Screw you,” she choked, curling her fingers around dirt and debris. Damn it. She’d worked forever and made her feet bleed to get this far.

He rolled her over and leaned forward, taking her by the waist with the intent to throw her over his shoulder, but he should have known better than to get that close to her hands.

She screamed and bucked her hips, propelling her fists upward, and the sticks clutched in her fingers crunched into the side of his face. He cursed and yanked his head back, but she wasn’t done with him and launched her legs in the air, smashing his jaw with her knees. His head swayed, and she threw herself forward, slamming her forehead into his temple.

Just as she thought she might be winning the fight, he shook off his dizziness and took her by the hair, yanking it back yet again. She made another attempt with her knees, but his fist struck her cheek, knocking the fight out of her.

Her vision warped as her face throbbed, but she stayed alert, knowing he’d merely given her a warning. If he’d punched his hardest, he would have shattered her bones instead of fracturing them.

“Shit,” he breathed, brushing bloody twigs from his face. He took her chin and examined her cheek. Then he forced her to meet his stare. “I see common sense eludes you. You realize what this means, right?”

She launched a wad of spit into his eyes, and when he released her chin to wipe them, she continued her fight, lurching, kicking and rolling away. His left hand remained in her hair, keeping her from getting too far, but the combination of her struggle and the uneven ground made him lose his balance. He fell to his knees, and the rough landing sent him into a rage.

“That’s it,” he growled, getting a better grip on her hair. Then he jumped to his feet and stormed toward the clearing, pulling her behind him.

She screamed and tried to get her feet under her, but with her ankles bound there was no hope, so her bloody heels bounced over rough terrain as pain shot across her scalp.

Mere seconds passed as he covered the distance that had taken her at least half an hour to navigate. Then he released her hair, coming out with several broken strands as her back hit the ground.

She was at the tree line again, the top half of her body bathed in moonlight; and he’d moved further into the clearing to gather his cloak and bag. When he returned, he stepped into the shadows and tossed his supplies aside.

His t-shirt vanished as he turned toward her, and she swallowed a sob as she shook her head. “Don’t do this, Finley.”

“Your choices are gone.”

With a wave of his hand, his magic pulled her upright and floated her closer. “It won’t work,” she objected. “If you manage to do this, it will just keep you from beating the shit out of me, which will free me to go jump off a cliff.”

Ignoring her threats, he loosened the cords around her waist and ankles, and her feet sprang apart as her hands flew over her head. After hours of wishing for such freedoms, she cried out and tried to slam her legs back together while pulling her arms to her chest, but her body was at his mercy.

“It’s too bad you’re such a mess,” he said, reaching out to brush dirt off her torso.

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stifle her cries as his hands roughly swept over her breasts and down her stomach. He stepped closer, his magic slowly forcing her legs further apart, and her body vibrated with the scream building in her chest.

Taking her face in both hands, he gave her head a shake. “Look at me, Layla.”

“No,” she refused.

His chest touched hers as he tightened his hold and shook again. “Look at me now, or I’ll force you to look until the end.”

She sobbed and found his face.

Frothy waves churned in his eyes, radiating his ire, but his expression held an odd mixture of self-loathing, righteousness, and regret. She discerned both the delusional Finley and the Finley that could have been but wasn't, because someone drove him crazy. She couldn't let him take her with him.

“I tried to bargain with you,” he whispered, “but you refused to uphold your end of the deal. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Keeping her chin in one hand, he laid a thumb over her lips, and his other hand slid down her side, taking hold of the lace stretching over her hip.

“NO!”

The scream burst from her like a champagne cork, releasing her escalating fear and rage, and the atmosphere flashed as Finley roared. Layla blinked and cringed, stunned and confused. Then Finley’s hand gripped her throat and lifted her higher into the air.

She forced her eyes open, finding Finley’s hair and pants on fire.
What in the hell?

Holding her throat in one hand, he stifled the flames with the other, but most of his flesh was red and raw.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

She didn’t know she had, and her eyes widened as she tried to do it again. To her surprise, she felt the fire building in her mind, so she pushed it toward the hand on her throat with all the mental strength she could muster.

Big mistake. As soon as the spell hit his palm, it rebounded into her body, and it was no longer a slightly warm sensation; it was scorching agony.

He tightened his grip, cutting off her air supply as he touched a palm to her forehead and recast his debilitating magic. “How did you break my spell?”

She didn’t know the answer and lacked the ability to speak. His grip hadn’t loosened, and her head throbbed as her vision swam.

He continued healing himself, as if she wasn’t seconds from suffocation. Then he cursed as he looked down his shorts. “You bitch. You blistered my cock!”

What a nice thought to die with, she mused, her eyes rolling back.

He growled and threw her aside, and blood rushed her head as her back hit the ground. The diminutive amount of air remaining in her lungs was knocked away, and she rolled onto her side, gasping and choking into the grass.

Oh god. She wanted it to end. She wanted it to end now.

Thoughts of suicide swarmed her head, and heartfelt pleas followed.
'I’m so sorry, Quin…’
And she was. She’d never regretted anything like she regretted leaving his side. And she’d never been more desperate to see and talk to him.
‘I'm sorry I left you.'

Finley continued healing himself, and since her feet were free, she made a noble attempt to stand and run, but she’d barely risen to one knee when a burst of wind knocked her down. She shook off the fall and tried again, pushing with trembling arms, but Finley placed a foot between her shoulder blades and forced her to the ground.

She melted into the vegetation, hiccupping on sobs while trying to forget he was about to snatch her up and violate her battered body in the most vile way.

'Layla!'

Her racing heart skipped a beat as her eyes popped open.
'Quin?'

'Hold on, baby, I'm on my wa . . . '

The lovely voice ceased as Finley grabbed her hair and yanked her from the ground. “What are you doing?”

She widened her eyes and shook her head, unsure of the answer and unwilling to give it. She had no idea what was going on and could only assume she was losing it. She wanted to believe Quin was close enough to mind-search her, but it seemed impossible, and the evidence of a hallucination was vast. Finley had her mind blocked, and if her brain wanted to summon her a peaceful yet imaginary voice to help her cope with eminent doom, she had no doubt Quin’s voice was the one it would deliver.

Finley’s grip on her hair tightened as he gave her a shake. “What were you doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your aura. Were you trying to mind-search?”

“Who cares? You have my head blocked.”

“You broke through. It must have happened when you burned me.” He stood, hovering her with him. “Did you call to someone?”

“No,” she answered, trying to hide the hope that, despite her skepticism, fluttered her frantic heart. “I didn’t even know.”

He flipped his milky-white gaze to the sky. Then he tugged on her hair and stretched her neck. “Tell the truth,” he demanded, injecting fire into her throat, “and I'll make it stop.”

The magic burned like a branding iron rocking back and forth over her esophagus, and she screamed until the burn eased, allowing her to answer. “I have no idea . . . what you're talking about.”

The blaze returned, and this time her lips were supernaturally sealed, puffing as they muffled her shriek. How did she still have the capability to feel? Shouldn't her body be numb by now?

Her head began spinning as darkness pressed in on her. This would end soon. One way or another.

“No matter,” Finley decided, glancing at the sky once more. “It would take a miracle for anyone to find you, and we’ll be leaving soon.”

Layla pushed away the encroaching darkness and focused her blurry gaze on his face, imagining what it would be like for it to end with his death. An unfathomable laugh rolled in her belly, and while she felt anything but happy, she couldn't stop the wicked thing from rising to her chest. Oh shit, he'd already driven her crazy.

Her lips were unsealed as the inferno vexing her throat ceased, and her laugh burst forth, rumbling from her diaphragm to shake her shoulders.

“What are you laughing about?” Finley asked.

She kept chortling madly, shaking her head as insane tears of pain and rage spilled like tears of mirth. Truly, it was a wretched laugh, one filled with doom, defiance and resolution. “I don't know,” she gasped. Then she broke into another string of crazed cackles.

“I suggest you stop,” he warned.

“Or what?” she taunted, her eyes widening with deranged enthusiasm. “Are you going to kill me? Come on, Finley, show me what you got.”

He took a deep breath through his nose. Then he grabbed her bound wrists and raised them over her head. “I’m about to. Then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

Her heart rate spiked, but she refused to show fear, so her maniacal giggling continued as she struggled against his grip and magic. She was stuck, and he was drawing her closer to him.

Her psychotic laughs rolled into a roar of rage, which seemed to please him. Then she laughed again, caught in a riptide of emotions beyond her control. His smug grin melted away, and he shook his head while reaching for her panties.

At a loss for something else to do, she stopped laughing long enough to spit in his face, and while it did delay his scheme, it also pissed him off.

She must be insane, because she didn't even blink when he raised his fist behind him. Then she held absolutely still as she watched it head for the left side of her face. It loosened a few teeth and likely broke her jaw, but she didn't give a shit. As soon as the force quit vibrating her bones, she smiled with the unbroken side of her mouth and licked the blood running across her teeth. If he was going to do this, she’d make it as unpleasant as she possibly could for him.

Taking a deep breath, she launched more spit at him – thick saliva mixed with blood – and he cursed as he wiped it away. For all the good it did him, as she spent those few seconds gathering yet another mouthful, which she shot at him the moment he dropped his hand.

He growled and dragged his palm across his face once more. Then his hand was on her throat and his breath was in her mouth. “I was going to go easy on you, but since you’re determined to act like a bitch, I’ll treat you like one. You made it this way, Layla. Remember that when you're struggling through this.”

He took the strap of her panties in his fist, and she quaked as her anger boiled. This was it – she was about to be taken to a place she’d never come back from, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her eyes rolled up and found the sky through swaying branches. The night was starless. Not one twinkling wish to be had, just black sky, purple clouds, and a murky moon. She closed her lids, sending salty moisture down bruised and bloody cheeks; and right then, at her lowest moment, and right there, on the fringes of a dark and cold clearing, she resolved to end her own life.

She imagined her heart rate slowing, clearly picturing the organ and its intricate functions. Then she twitched in surprise when the magic actually worked. She attempted to slow her heart further, and was pleased when it began beating softly and slowly.

Finley tugged on her underwear, bringing one side to her thigh, and her pulse dropped further, taking a toll on the rest of her body. No longer did her blood rapidly rush through throbbing veins; and the icy wind that was ignored in her agony nipped at blanching skin.

Finley released her underwear and moved a hand to her chest. “Layla.”

She didn’t answer, and he released her throat so he could touch a finger to the faint thrum at her pulse point. “Layla!”

Head tilted back, she opened her eyes, blinking away blinding spots as she swiveled her pupils around. The view was beautiful, even without the stars, and an emotional lump consumed her throat.