Sorcerer's Legacy (10 page)

They’d come together there, too. Their souls had mated, he’d called it. And then he’d said a few words. Those words must have removed her memory of him and Myrddin as her own ancestor.

“Why?”

Still pained that she stood with Cyrus, Ian firmed his mouth and admitted the truth. “I thought it was safer for you, Becca. Paranormals have enemies, ones who would capture and torture you to do their bidding. Or kill you to get to me. If you were with me.”

She stepped away from Cyrus and looked up at him. “That’s what happened to you?”

“Half my family was slaughtered to get to me.” His voice never wavered, but his pain radiated from him in needle-sharp pulses. She glanced at his gloved hands. “I’m a retrocog. I can read an object’s history by touch.”

She did not fully understand his power. He obviously valued his privacy and had provided all she needed to know right now.

Trixie shrugged with a rueful grin. “I’m just an intuitive human. No powers.”

Becca returned her grin. “I’m not sure about that, Trix. You’re more than you seem.”

Ian’s anxiety pulsed through her. It was strange but thrilling to experience another person’s feelings. Time to deal with him.

Striding to Ian with a renewed sense of needing closure—or was it a new beginning—Becca stopped inches from his face. Hope pounded through her. His or hers?

“Do the spell.” No matter what, Becca needed answers, now.

A cautiously grateful smile curved his lips while he scrutinized her face. Was he reading emotions like she was doing with him? If they descended from the same wizard, did she have the same innate abilities, but dormant? And what about their relationship? Could it be salvaged?

Could he ever make it up to her?

Ian’s heart clenched painfully with each beat. She remembered almost everything and now it appeared the time to give her everything else—her heritage and his complete heart and soul. He’d shared his soul with her but not his confidence, not his fears. He’d never fully trusted, allowed someone else in. Now, he had to lay himself bare to her in front of witnesses.

So be it.

He dragged a hand through his hair, yanking and using the pain to center himself. He forced his gaze to hers. She was so damn beautiful when she was furious. Later, he prayed, she’d give him the chance to show her she meant the world to him.

“Take this.”

With his palm out, he offered Becca the ring Sarka had created for him. “Put it on and I’ll say the spell.” Imminently grateful that she took it and ecstatic that she placed it on the ring finger of her left hand, Ian shot a look at Cyrus. The imposing Rowan raised an eyebrow as if to say,
Don’t mess this up or you’ll deal with me.
Becca inspired a man’s protective instincts, and he could tell Cyrus appreciated her sweet spirit and honest passion. The man would gladly step into his place if she rejected him as her mate. Ian didn’t blame him.

Once he unfolded Sarka’s spell, he took a cleansing breath.

Please, Myrddin, if you ever grant me one wish, help me unravel this unholy mess I’ve made with Becca.

Protect my legacy....

How do I protect your legacy and my sanity?
He blew out a deep sigh.
I’m sorry, Myrddin.

With the paper in one hand, he reached out to clasp her hand with the other. His heart dropped at her apprehension in giving him her left hand, the one with the ring. He had no other choice. Becca Jones was his other half and without her he had no balance. He would be broken and ineffective to protect anyone, especially his son. And Becca.

A deep breath and a silent prayer later, he intoned Sarka’s spell in Welsh.

O ffynnon o bŵer (From the fountain of power)

Tynnaf fy hud (I draw my magick)

O waed Myrddin (From Myrddin’s blood)

Yr wyf yn eu geni (I am born)

Yr wyf yn galw ar ein gwaed (I call on our blood)

I adfer hyn a gymerwyd (To restore what was taken)

Ian dropped the paper to the ground.

I shouldn’t ask. Yes, I need all the help I can get
. He added his own line to the spell.

Adfer ei chariad i mi (Restore her love for me)

Wind circled, sealing them in the updraft. Becca’s hair gleamed like fire as it was drawn skyward. Her wide eyes showed no fear, only wonder. She reached out her free hand to touch the funneling wind, and giggled. The wider her smile grew, the lighter his heart became. Hope emerged like the first crocus after a long, hard winter.

Tender hope withered when she drew her left hand from his and stared at the ring Sarka forged. Becca twirled it on her finger, narrowing her eyes as she examined it.

“Mae hyn yn fy, eto nid pwll.”
This is mine, yet not mine.

He understood the words, yet she’d uttered them in Welsh. His mind searched the wording of the spell.

By the gods, Sarka had tricked him.
Damn her, this wasn’t her decision to make.

The line he’d read had said “Restore what was taken.” All the missing pieces of her parent’s past lay at her feet. Once the puzzle was fully assembled, she’d have access to her father’s power.

Am I ready for that? Is she?

The choice was no longer his. The spark in her eyes from her blood’s memory supplied the answers she’d searched for since she was old enough to understand she had no father.

In the spiraling wind she was like a phoenix rising—frightening and awe-inspiring. With her newfound power, she might not want him, might resent him for stealing her heritage from her. Love might not be enough; he’d broken her trust.

She took his breath away. And he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his considerable power to make her his again.

Protect my legacy....

Sorry, Myrddin—

Wait
. A cold shiver ran up his spine.
I am as big an idiot as Sarka thinks I am.

Becca’s glowing face, her radiant smile as she played her fingers through the now sparkling wind stream—intuitively, she’d sent a trail of golden sparks winding into the funnel—cemented his realization. Myrddin’s legacy was Becca. She was of the blood, as was he.

The great wizard had been trying to tell him to break the legacy of loneliness, of loveless sacrifice, to protect humanity and paranormal kind. Many generations separated them, but he—and probably Becca’s father—had sacrificed happiness for their part in maintaining peace and harmony. His ancestor wanted his family reunited, desired balance for his children.

He no longer had to choose. He could fulfill his obligations to protect his kind and have his all-consuming love.

If she gave him the chance.

After inhaling for courage, he stepped closer and cupped her face. Her forest-green eyes reflected the glittery wind tunnel before she focused on him. For a moment, his heart stopped.
Take me, all my flaws, all my faults, for I love you with all that I am.

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and his heart pumped again.

I love you, Ian, for the idiot Sarka thinks you are. For all your flaws and faults, I love you. Now, take me home or lose me forever.

He crushed his mouth to hers, intensely grateful when she returned every bit of the passion he poured into the kiss. With one arm wrapped around her, he muttered, “Hold on.”

She tightened the grip she already had around his shoulders but never pulled back. Her lips never left his.

With a flick of his wrist, they were standing in his room.

She pulled back and smiled sweetly up at him. “I love you, Ian, but if you ever do anything like that again, I will castrate you.”

Involuntarily, he placed a hand over his family jewels and nodded. She would soon be every bit as powerful as he was, and, even without powers, a woman scorned was to be feared.

“Yes, dear.”

With a cocky grin, she began unbuttoning her blouse. “Now, I sense you’ve missed me. Show me how much.”

The member she’d threatened a moment ago throbbed painfully.

“Whatever you wish,
fy nghariad.”

“I wish for you.”

“Done.”

With a snap, her clothes disappeared, and she stood gloriously naked before him. She raised her eyebrows and raked him head to toe with her gaze.

“A little overdressed for this event, aren’t you?”

Confident and curvaceous, the woman who completed him, who reined in his emotions and set him free all at once, was his, just as most assuredly he was hers.

Sometimes, magick facilitated. He snapped his fingers again, and, as she scorched his now bared skin with lust in her eyes, she licked her lips. Electricity zapped every thought as he focused on her tongue.

“Ian?”

“Huh?” Had she spoken? She didn’t need to. Now they were together; they need only think to communicate.

Fine. Did you miss me?

He had her beneath him, her lips opening to his marauding mouth, her fingers digging into his back. She met his every nibble with a nip and every slide of his tongue with her own.

Skin to skin, he trembled at her power over him. She moaned as his mouth traveled along her cheek to her jaw. His body surged against hers, impressing upon her his urgency.

His hands slid everywhere, reacquainting him with the woman he’d thought lost to him. She gasped as he stroked one nipple then the other. His own breath caught as she moved her hand between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his painfully engorged shaft.

Becca....

Touch me.

He pushed up on his elbow and gazed into her eyes. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.” Her small smile morphed to a gasp as he slid a finger into her heat.

“You wanted me to show you how much I’ve missed you?”

He stroked out, then in again. She gasped again but kept her gaze on him. She barely nodded, but her eyes widened as he pushed her knees apart to position himself between them.

Gently he eased into her until his chest rested lightly on hers. Face-to-face, he nibbled at her lips and murmured, “This is going to be a wild ride.”

“Good.”

He jolted into her when she sucked his lower lip into her mouth. He lost any thread of control he’d ever had with her and bucked into her. She raised her hips, met his thrusts—every one—all the while staring into his eyes.

He swore a star went nova there before her eyes squeezed shut and she screamed his name. How many times, he didn’t know, and, to his shame, didn’t care. Blood drummed in his temples, obliterating all other sound. Sweat dribbled down his back, his nose, his chest. The ever-tightening coil in his loins exploded. A groan broke from its constraints in his lungs, echoing on the walls.

Frozen for a moment, every nerve firing in mass chaos, Ian drew air into his lungs then forced it out again. Tension drained out of him, all those bunched muscles relaxing at once. He eased to one side, remaining encased in her sweet, still-pulsing body, and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

“Are you okay? I was a bit rough.”

A sigh caressed his neck, followed by her hand stroking his hair.

“Ian, I am your match. The only way you can hurt me is by leaving. Or turning your back on me.”

No matter what, he’d never make such a mistake again. He’d help locate her father, dead or alive, fulfill whatever dreams she had. He couldn’t wait to introduce her to Allan, weave together their lives. With her at his side, his power and strength would grow.

He recalled the vision of Myrddin turning his pregnant lover away. He blinked, only now a smiling Myrddin embraced Anwyn with one arm and held a swaddled red-haired baby in his other. He’d never seen his forefather smile in any dream or vision before. He—Ian—had fulfilled Myrddin’s dream and his own.

“No chance of that happening,
fy nghariad.
I am only a fool once.”

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Chapter One

Maybe it won’t be so bad
, Cassidy Sinclair admitted as the small ferry broke through the mysterious wall of fog. One minute she was shivering from the frigid unforgiving Maine gales that had battered her since leaving the coast, the next, a warm mist enveloped her. Now, she had to shrug out of the parka or risk melting into a puddle of sweat.

If only I could shed these memories like my coat
. For the thousandth time in ten days, she tried unsuccessfully to block the haunting scenes from her mind. Her safe little world had splintered to pieces with the attack on her school. Some believed her sanity had shattered, too.

Warm breezes tugged tendrils from her ponytail. Impatiently, she pushed them from her face along with the tears that welled whenever she thought of the man who’d saved her. Tall and stern-faced, he’d quietly guarded her student, Allan Branson. She’d never understood why the boy would need a bodyguard and had never asked. He hadn’t even volunteered his name. For whatever reason, it must have been necessary for his safety outside the school. Nothing would ever encroach upon her oasis where she nurtured the love of learning.