Kiss of the Phantom: Sexy Paranormal (Book 3, Phantom Series) (26 page)

“Gemma and Cat shouldn’t be left alone together,” Paxton said almost at the same time. He started toward the stairs, but Ben grabbed his arm and held him in place.

“Mariah has left,” Rafe announced. “She did as you instructed. She confessed her love to me, and she meant it. Yet I am still bound by Rogan’s curse?’

Ben frowned. “Maybe she just couldn’t—”

“No,” Rafe interrupted. “She loves me. Or loved me, up until a moment ago, when I could not return the sentiment. I do not deserve liberation. I do not deserve her.”

A female voice from the top of the stairs drew them into the entranceway. Gemma was dragging Cat across the landing, then stumbled and fell hard to her knees.

Ben took the stairs three or four at a time, but Rafe beat him to the top by using Rogan’s magic. Why shouldn’t he? Denying the power would not free him. The anger that the sorcery spawned hungered to be fed. He lifted Gemma by the arms.

Ben slid Cat onto his lap. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t,” Gemma said, her body folding down on itself, despite Rafe’s attempt to hold her up. “I didn’t...do anything. Farrow. On the island. Waiting. For you. He has Mariah.”

As if a block of stone had just formed in the pit of his stomach, Rafe lowered Gemma gently to the floor. “Where?” Rafe asked.

Gemma pushed herself to a sitting position. “Not sure. He’s using Rogan’s magic. He’s good at it now. He will destroy you and take the stone.”

Caring not about Gemma’s warning, Rafe started down the stairs. Paxton met him at the bottom and stayed him with a hand to his chest.

“I didn’t go to all the damned trouble to find you to lose you to some power-hungry idiot,” Paxton said.

“I am not unarmed,” he reminded his brother. “I still have Rogan’s powers at my disposal. If he has hurt Mariah, I will kill him.”

“Sounds to me like you love her,” Paxton said, his voice a whisper.

If only his brother’s assumption were true, he’d be free.

“I am responsible for her.”

Paxton pursed his lips. “You’re more than that. If he took Mariah as leverage to get you and the stone, he won’t harm her while he waits. That gives us time to plan.”

One-half of the most cunning pair of twins Rafe had ever encountered, Paxton had once possessed the mind of a master strategist. Mariah was the same way. Always a scheme up her sleeve. Always working out ways to come out on top.

And yet Pryce had her. He’d allowed his men to molest her in the jungle. Beat her. How could Rafe wait and give the bastard time to abuse her again?

Cat stirred, her eyes blinking until she was able to hold them open. “He’s here somewhere. And he knows I felt his presence. Then he did something. Like a psychic backdraft. I think I might have two heads now, because they’re both hurting like hell.”

Her gaze locked with Gemma’s; then they both turned to stare at Rafe with utter terror in their eyes.

“He wants you,” Cat said. “And the stone.”

Gemma finished: “And he’s willing to kill Mariah to get both.”

What do you want with me?

She could only wonder, and not out loud. Since Pryce’s men had dragged her down to a lush lagoon where they’d grounded their boat, she had remained unable to speak. Even after they’d removed the gag from her mouth, her vocal cords would not work. They hadn’t even bothered to bind her with rope, and yet, somehow, she could not move. Pryce stood five feet away from her, the sword at his side.

He had not broken eye contact with her once since his men had tossed her on the sandy shore. Tears streamed down her face, but only to dislodge the sand kicked up at her. Rafe’s betrayal jettisoned her well beyond weeping. And yet, if Pryce interpreted her crying as weakness, then he was in for a big surprise.

Not that she was any less shocked by the turn of events—all of them, from Rafe’s inability to return her love to Pryce’s sudden appearance less than twenty-four hours after they’d escaped him on the hotel rooftop. Pryce had seemed formidable when he’d attacked her in the jungle, but now he was downright scary. He gripped the sword he’d stolen from Rafe’s brother as if the handle were an extension of his arm. The weapon glowed bright purple as the fire of the opal in the handle met the cool cobalt of the blade.

“You are bait, Ms. Hunter,” he told her. “Your ruse last night was clever, but you forgot that I’d dealt with a guardian of Rogan’s magic before. I knew you would ultimately end up here, where the magic began.”

She still could not speak, but her eyes must have betrayed her confusion.

He smiled at her indulgently. “Your companion last night was no mere bodyguard. Shame on me for not recognizing him sooner for what he was. The guardian of the stone cushioned your landing on the rooftop and then faked his own death. He was quite convincing. I bought his theatrical demise—until I attempted to use the stone. Then, when Hector Velez called to complain that you’d disappeared before his men could collect you, I realized I’d been tricked. You must care for him deeply to risk your life on his account.”

Mariah kept her eyes focused, her heart stoic. Up until a short time ago, she had cared for Rafe more than she had for any other person in her life. But not anymore—and never again.

“When I acquired this,” he continued, lifting the sword, “I was confronted by a man who looked not unlike your companion. Dark and forbidding, violent and sharp. He bested me. But now I realize he was not human. He possessed magic unlike any I’d ever seen. Lord Rogan must have imbued his objects with a manifestation of the magic itself, to protect them. Guardians, so to speak.”

Mariah looked down at her lap. This asshole couldn’t be more wrong about the men who were cursed by Rogan’s sorcery, but she certainly wasn’t going to correct him. What would be the point? She just wanted out—out of this situation and off this island and, if there were any justice left in the world, out of the States and on the first plane to Sydney.

“I might have pursued him, but I found it prudent to allow certain people to believe I died falling off that cliff. But I still had contacts. I had you followed in Germany and learned from the locals that you’d left in a hurry. You’d found something significant, hadn’t you? And if one item associated with Lord Rogan could keep me from dying after plunging into the icy Pacific from ten stories up, then imagine what I could do with two.”

She glared at him defiantly, as if the thought of his having more magic at his disposal didn’t terrify her to her core.

“But you have thwarted me. Twice. However, since Rogan’s guardian went to such trouble to protect you last night, I will simply wait for him to rescue you now. He knows I am here. When he arrives, I will destroy him and take the stone.”

Had she been capable of making a sound, she would have snorted.

The grin faded from his face.

“What do you know?”

That she was a whacker for falling in a love with a man who didn’t give a shit about her feelings. That she’d put her life on the line for a phantom whose ability to appreciate her sacrifice was equal to the amount of drinkable water in the waves lapping a few inches from her feet. That Farrow Pryce, was going to have a hell of a long wait if he expected Rafe Forsyth to ride to her rescue.

He wouldn’t come. And she didn’t want him to. She’d get herself out of this on her own, damn it. And if she didn’t, she deserved whatever she got.

Pryce lowered the sword. The glow emanating from it dulled, and the tightness that had kept her from speaking loosened.

She cleared her throat. “He won’t come for me,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Why not?”

“Why should he? If you didn’t notice, I was leaving the castle when you snatched me. Our deal was that he would use the magic to help me find my coins, and then I would return him to Rogan’s castle. Our transaction was complete.”

Farrow’s eyes narrowed. “He cared about you on that hotel roof. He was devastated that you were hurt.”

“But I wasn’t hurt,” she reminded him. “We were acting, mate. These guardians have a talent for putting on a show. It was a trick. If you want him, you’re going to have to go after him.”

She didn’t know why she was lying for Rafe, except that telling mistruths was second nature to her. And while she was pissed off at Rafe until she was seeing redder than the stone embedded in the sword’s handle, she didn’t wish harm on Ben, Cat, Paschal or even Gemma. The poor woman had a past with Pryce. If the bastard acted like every other man Mariah had known, his ex would be his very first victim, simply out of spite over his wounded pride.

She also knew that Pryce must have had a very good reason for not infiltrating the castle in the first place. He had what looked like three thuggish men on his side. And he had the sword, which he seemed to be getting pretty good at using, magically speaking. Still, he wanted to flush Rafe out into the open. Why?

He stretched the blade forward. She scrambled out of his way, but a second later, she was again bound by the magic. With a malevolent grin, he touched the tip of the blade to the top of her hand, piercing her skin.

“What the hell are you...”

But her question died in her throat as the blue light shot into her body. She gasped. Her lungs seized, and a split second later, she could no longer see.

“Tell me the truth, Ms. Hunter, or quite soon, you’ll be dead.”

“Bet I can do it.”

***

Rafe glanced down at the woman, Gemma Von Roan, the descendent of his blood enemy. After recovering from her episode, she had joined him in the great hall. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

“You can save Mariah?”

Gemma lifted one shoulder indifferently, but humiliation cascaded from her like an unpleasant smell.

“What advantage would that be for me?” she asked. “No, I can free you from Rogan’s curse.”

“How?”

She sidled closer. “You made her fall in love with you, didn’t you? And I don’t think she’s the type to just give that away for free. Trouble is, she didn’t spend any time trying to get you to love her back. Seems to me that if you were raised Romani, you need someone a little more...compliant. Old-world. I can be whatever you want me to be. All you have to do is ask.”

Her hand was sliding up his chest now. Her right hand. Her left had curved around to the small of his back and was drifting lower until her fingers spanned over his buttocks and then squeezed.

Disgusted, Rafe pushed her away—not with his hands, but with the magic. She stumbled back several steps, then smiled so that her eyes lit like stars.

“Rafe, don’t!” Paschal warned, jogging away from where he, Ben and Cat had been plotting Mariah’s rescue.

Gemma clutched her chest lovingly, as if he’d just given her his heart rather than repelled her with evil magic.

“It’s remarkable! So strong. Do it again,” she ordered. Paschal planted himself in front of her. “Don’t! If you use the magic on her, she’ll steal it.”

“I can only steal psychic powers,” she countered.

Paschal whirled on her. “You don’t know what you can do. Stay away from my brother. You can’t free him. Only Mariah can.”

Gemma yanked herself out of Paschal’s hold. “Well, at least we know why Farrow isn’t just attacking. If that push was any indication, he knows Rafe’s magic is stronger, especially here in the castle. He wants a more balanced battlefield.”

“But he hasn’t taken Mariah off the island,” Cat argued. “I know she’s still here.”

Cat guided Rafe to the dining table, where she and Ben had been poring over a map of the island. When Rafe attempted to disengage himself from her grip, she stopped him with a quelling glare.

“Concentrate,” she ordered. “Just think about Mariah. I can find people. It’s what I do. But I need to connect through an object that is close to the person who is missing. I can use you to pinpoint precisely where Mariah is.”

Despite the cool blackness of the magic tearing through him, Rafe pictured Mariah in his mind, trying to remember her face in the jungle lagoon or in the cabin during the rainstorm. But no matter how much he tried, only the blush of expectation that had colored her face just after her confession of love came to his mind. She loved him. Why, then, could he not love her in return?

“I have her,” Cat said, her free hand floating toward the map. “They are at the lagoon.”

“We can use some of the renovation tools as weapons,” Ben said. “It’s the best we can do.”

“Farrow can use the magic!” Gemma insisted.

Paschal pointed his finger at her. “You! Stay out of this. Your loyalties are suspect at best.”

“I told you Farrow was here,” Gemma insisted, fury in her eyes. “I could have sneaked out and joined him if that was what I wanted to do.”

“You only want Rafe to use the magic so you can mimic it,” Ben replied.

“So what if I do? It’s Rogan’s magic, isn’t it?. I’m his heir. I’m the one who deserves to have it. My whole life has been about the pursuit for that power. Why would I stop now?”

“Because you’ve grown a conscience?” Paschal said hopefully.

Gemma crossed her arms tightly over her chest and laughed. “Whatever made you think I’d done that?”

“Wishful thinking?” Cat replied.

Rafe pulled away from the argument. None of it mattered. If Gemma Von Roan wanted the magic, she was welcome to it. He simply wanted it out of him. He glanced up at the mosaic and wished he had been there that night—that he had died at the hands of the soldiers. Death would be a release, at the very least. Returned to the earth, he would not suffer knowing that, yet again, he could not save a woman he loved.

And then, suddenly, he could not breathe.