Logan: Her Warlock Protector Book 3 (11 page)

Caitlin went still in his arms for long moments. He marveled at the view, her breasts heaving before him. Idly, he traced his fingers over her nipples and reveled in the slight pebbling against his fingertips. Suddenly her breathing quickened, and she shivered in his arms. He almost would have mistaken that for arousal until she went rigid and screamed.

“It’s Darren! He’s going to kill that woman and then he’s going to kill me and Sheila.”

He spun her to him.

“We’re on some type of altar,” she finished, her eyes wild with fear. “How can that be?”

He gripped her shoulders. He knew all too well.

“Holy ground weakens our powers.”

“I…we have to get to Sheila’s apartment,” she gasped. “It’s on the edge of the city by the stadiums. Goddess, she has to be okay.”

CAITLIN SENSED MORE than saw that something was wrong. Sheila’s house was dark. It was never dark. Logan had driven like a mad man to get them here in record time. He stomped on the brakes and the Porsche screeched to a stop. In moments they were both out of the car.

But just as they reached the front door, already ajar, Logan put a hand in her chest.

“No,” he whispered harshly. “Back in the car.”

“Like Hell,” she said.

Moving with as much speed as she could muster, she dodged around him and flew through the door. But she jolted to a stop at what she saw.

Darren loomed over her sister, who was already hog-tied with thick electrical cord, her hands and feet bound behind her. He was dressed just as she’d last seen him, in jeans and a flannel shirt. In his hand was a sword that he held above his head.

A short man in the robes of what looked like a Catholic or possibly Episcopal priest’s vestments was chanting. His robes were long and black, accented with a purple sash that had golden crosses on it. In his hand was an old, weathered, leather-bound book, from which he read, and Caitlin realized he was probably chanting Latin. Beside her, the fury boiled off Logan as though he were a furnace.

“Don’t touch her!” Caitlin yelled.

Darren’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“You don’t have the power here, witch. I’ve been meaning to finish the job I started over ten years ago.”

His words hit her as though it’d been a blow. Logan’s hand steadied her. She blinked, and then rubbed her eyebrow, her fingers trailing over the scar. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was.
 

“But you’re not that old.”

He grinned wolfishly.

“You have no idea.”

“Let her go,” Logan said. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“Oh no,” Darren said. His upraised sword glinted as he moved. “It’s a package deal. I’m going to kill the whole Wiccan family.”

She blinked. “But my parents were–”

“On the run from the Magus Corps,” he said grinning. “Maybe you need to ask yourself why some day.”

Caitlin glanced at Logan. Sweat was trickling at his temple. He was working on a spell. Maybe she could buy him time.

“I won’t let you hurt her,” she said, standing as tall as she could.
 

Darren laughed, and how she’d ever found that sound even passably attractive from him on the porch, she’d never know. Now that sound cut like glass into her stomach.

“Well, I don’t think that seeing the future is going to affect me much. Your powers are basically useless in battle. So keep talking.”

“She doesn’t have to!” Logan bellowed, his deep voice booming in the small room.

Darren’s ears flexed back flat along his head, and the cleric dropped his book.

What luck.

Caitlin didn’t wait. Running forward for all she was worth, she slid low to avoid the descent of the sword, and dove head first into her sister. It was enough to slide both of them across the floor.
 

A few inches from her heel, the broadsword crashed into the floor.

Sheila screamed beside her, and Caitlin forced herself not to panic. Darren was raising the sword. That didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Sheila out of here. Caitlin worked furiously to unknot the collection of cords. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Logan landing a hard uppercut on Darren’s chin.

Silently, Caitlin said a prayer to the Goddess to keep Logan safe.

Beside her, Sheila was shouting again, and it was only then that Caitlin noticed the tape on her sister’s lips and that the noises were coming out muffled. As much as Sheila might want to speak, right now she just had to get the damn bonds around the ankles loose.

“Shh!” Caitlin said, her nails scrabbling against unrelenting cords.

Her sister shook her head and gestured to her mouth with her shoulders. “Mmmrph!”

“I’ve almost got it.”

She heard the clash of metal on metal and glanced sideways. Darren had abandoned his sword. He and Logan were going back and forth with ceremonial blades, parrying and thrusting.

Her fingers tore at the cords. They were starting to come loose.

Then, as though a thunderclap had been loosed in the room, a deafening boom assaulted them. It was the cleric. He was on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, and his head thrown back. His mouth gaped open, the ear-splitting sound pouring from it. Though Caitlin tried to cover her ears, she found she couldn’t move. Sheila seized up below her, and Logan fell with a loud thunk.
 

A feral sneer washed over Darren’s face as he rushed toward Logan. The cleric took a deep breath, and let loose with another shrieking word. They were outmatched, and she had no powers, nothing to offer.

 
Logan was able to roll just enough so that the blade dug into his stomach and not his chest. Thick red blood bubbled forth. Darren howled in frustration and brought his arm back up again for another blow.

“Stop!” Caitlin screamed.

“No more stopping,” the Knight ordered, and he brought the dagger down hard, another plunge into Logan’s midsection.

Caitlin’s mind reeled. She remembered his lifeline. The golden string. It had not ended this night. Her gift had told her that much.

“Wait!” she shrieked. “You can have me. Just leave my sister and my…and
Logan
alone.”

“You’re a witch,” Darren sneered. “There’s nothing more than momentary pleasure from you, and then your death.”

“I have the
Eyes of Fate
,” she countered, glaring at him.
 

That gave Darren pause, his blood stained dagger hovering in the air.

“Why do you think the Corps sent one of their highest generals after a novice?” Caitlin asked. “Because even if I’m a novice, I have more power than Commandant Jonathan knows what to do with.”

“No! Caitlin stop,” Logan breathed. “You can’t.”

And that was more confirmation than anything else she could have said. Reluctantly, Darren sheathed his dagger, and kicked Logan hard in the ribs. Blood frothed on his lips.

“Well, perhaps my commander will want to see you, after all.”

In two steps he stood over her, his fist sailing in from nowhere. Her nose cracked audibly and darkness quickly consumed her.

LOGAN WOKE COUGHING. Everything was blurry but it came back fast: the fight with Darren, the way Caitlin had traded herself for him, the lascivious and triumphant smirk on the other man’s face as he’d dragged her off. That was enough motivation. Logan lunged up off the hospital bed, and instantly regretted it. The room reeled and tilted and a dull ache in his stomach made him catch his breath. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He saw his clothes in the small closet. He donned them as quickly as he could manage, the blood on them dried and hard. It didn’t matter. He had to get to Caitlin.

He was halfway to the door when Jonathan strode in.

“Whoa,” the commandant said, hands on his shoulders.

Despite the tone in his friends voice, he was glad for the support.

“How long was I out?” Logan asked, standing up straighter. Jonathan let him go.

“About a day. It took our healers a long time to patch up your gut wound. You can thank the other novice for that.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand?”

“Sheila’s like her sister. I don’t know how we didn’t notice she has Wiccan abilities too. We’re still not sure the extent of them, but we can feel the power emanating from her. She’s back at the Washington DC coven headquarters.”

“What?”

“Apparently, it was a whole family of witches, rogues begetting novices with some fierce powers. Enough in Sheila’s case to stay off the radar for years, even from her sister. The point is she found a way to slip out of her bonds and dug in your pockets for your cell, called the last number you had and got us out to you. You’d still be lying there if she hadn’t.”

He blinked still feeling foggy. “I can’t believe it.”

“Quite a family line,” Jonathan mused.

“I’ve got to find Caitlin,” Logan said.

“We’ve had our best searchers on the location. There’s an abandoned former Unitarian church near Fell’s Point.” Jonathan gripped his arm. “We’re stretched thin up here. You need to wait until reinforcements come.”

“You know what Darren is capable of,” Logan growled.

Jonathan shook his head.

“Even the Knights know how rare the Eyes of Fate is. They might want her for strategy as badly as we do.”

“So Sheila told you?” Logan demanded.

“She didn’t even know what she was revealing.” Jonathan’s steely eyes were flecked with arcs of purple. Outside Logan could hear the cracks of thunder that came with a gathering lightning storm. “You weren’t going to tell me, old friend?”
 

“I was going to let Caitlin decide how she explained her powers to the Corps, and let her choose her own path.”

“Her path is tied to the war.”

Logan came up on the balls of his feet, and leaned forward, looking Jonathan in the eye.

“We’ll see about that.” Though Logan’s hands balled into fists, he kept them at his sides. “But her path won’t be tied to anything if she doesn’t survive.” Beyond all reason, he gripped the front of Jonathan’s black shirt. “You know Darren,” Logan whispered harshly. “You know what he’s capable of.”

For a moment lightning flashed outside, but Logan saw doubt flicker across the commandant’s face. He let him go.

“I’ll need weapons.”

WHEN CAITLIN WOKE, it was hard to breathe. It felt like every inhale made her nose pound with blood rushing to it. The whistling breaths were small, like she’d had the worst congestion and cold of her life. Opening her eyes, Caitlin managed to raise her heavy head to look around. Her blood froze, and she swallowed back a scream. She was naked, tied to a stone altar, her arms and legs outstretched as if she was about to be drawn and quartered.

The first day in the basement had been spent in beatings. Some rage that Caitlin couldn’t comprehend seemed to fuel Darren. She’d begged and pleaded, trying to cower away. He’d punched her, then kicked her on the floor. Her only escape had been unconsciousness.

Now he paced next to her, still looking oddly normal in jeans and a flannel shirt. But as he turned to reverse direction, she saw the multi-tailed whip in his hands. Her body shook at the sight and her mind raced. It was medieval wasn’t it? A cat of nine tails? The whip had at least nine strands ending in sharp barbs that looked like they’d tear into flesh.

At the steps to the altar, the cleric knelt, hands clasped and eyes closed. His lips moved in silent prayer.

When she looked back to Darren, she saw that he realized she was awake. Try as she might, she couldn’t take her eyes from the wicked weapon he held. He followed her gaze and brandished it then. The little ends hit the stone with force, clattering and echoing in the old building. The few scattered crosses told her it had probably been a church. Consecrated ground, something that would diminish her powers, not that she would know an incantation or spell to save her anyway.

“I have to wait for the Deacon to come,” Darren said, looking up and down her length. “He’s on his way from Ireland to see the supposed ‘reincarnation of Cassandra.’ You’re a big deal, but I guess you knew that?” He trailed the tips of his fingers down the inside of her arm. It was odd to feel the softness and gentleness of his touch. “Still, it doesn’t mean I can’t play.”

He used the handle of the whip to trace a line downward between her breasts. She felt the leather scrape down her stomach, dip into her navel, and move lower. She went rigid, praying it wouldn’t drift farther south.
 

“I’ve bound my fair share of witches and none have been as delectable as you. I admit, I never saw why other Knights had fun with them—until I saw you.”

“Go to Hell.”

He grinned. Only the tiniest flick of his wrist betrayed what came next. The barbs of the whip bit savagely into her thigh. She screamed, jerking involuntarily against the restraints. It was like a million needles digging into her flesh.
 

“Hell is where Satan’s whores like you go, witch.”

The prayer of the cleric got louder.

Caitlin tried to curl in on herself, writhing, but the bonds held her stretched out and vulnerable. Darren’s arm reached up again and came down hard. She screamed again, the burning assaulting her hips.
 

“That one is a lash for dear old sis. Maybe I can just hit you for every member of your Wiccan family.” He leaned closed and whispered in her ear. “Then there’s mom.”

The whip slashed across her ribs, as she gasped for enough breath to scream. She whimpered now, moaning uncontrollably. The red tide of pain was everywhere, inescapable.

“And dad. He was an easy kill.”

Despite the blazing pain that seared her flesh, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Fuck you,” she groaned.

He reared back to deliver a blow, his glare focused on her breasts. She tried to turn away, despite knowing it would do no good.

But the side doors to the sanctuary burst open. Even as the room began to spin, Caitlin could see it was Logan, brandishing a sword.

“Logan,” she breathed.