Sword of the Raven (11 page)

“Doing better now, are you?” Rowan’s low brogue tickled her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Nice to…” He cleared huskiness from his voice. “…hear you say it.”

“Hey!”
She sounded croaky, but who cared? “I can talk again!”

“Praise the saints. I mourned the quiet,” he teased. “Seawater is anti-Fomorian venom, ‘tis drawing out and neutralizing the poison.”

She couldn’t refute what she’d seen on that rooftop with her own eyes. If she accepted the reality of angels—and tonight’s events had pretty much proven they existed—then believing in demons followed suit. Atrocities didn’t happen at random,
something
bad had to cause them. “I…I wasn’t mugged? I somehow traveled into Hell?”

“You were not mugged, and you were not in Hell. I think you stumbled into the Abyss. The Fomorii are one particular demon lord’s favored soldiers and our clans’ fiercest enemies. Their demon lord rules the Abyss. But I still don’t see how—”

“What’s the Abyss?”

“A sort of purgatory between realms.”

She was coming to terms with the whole “parallel plane” concept, but didn’t feel quite strong enough yet for an in-depth discussion about killer demons. She closed her eyes and let her pain and anxiety wash away. “Awesome bag of party tricks you guys have. You called Archer ‘Guardian.’ Is he my guardian angel?”

“Do yourself a favor, lass. Don’t use the ‘A’ word around your friend. He gets fair hacked off about it,” he warned. “Guardians are another specific race of beings.”

“They aren’t angels?”

“Nay. And not all of them have wings.”

“Do you?”

He grunted in derision.
“Shite,
no. Enforcers don’t need them.”

“Enforcer….you’re not an angel, either? What are you, Rowan?”

“I am a Shining One. A
Tuatha Dé Danann
Mage.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“We don’t exactly advertise our services.” A smile lightened his tone.
“The Tuatha Dé Danann
are an ancient Celtic race that draws Power from natural resources within the universe. I’m a water Mage. And as an Enforcer, I hunt those who misuse the Powers.”

She stiffened. “Connor and I— we made something weird happen at the prison. Are you after him…or me?”

“Easy, Delaney. I’m Oathed to do battle for the Light. I have no terminate order for either of you.”

“A Mage. With a sword of ice. And...Powers. Okaaay. I suppose it’s as feasible as you and Archer being angels. Probably more, considering the way the two of you behave. Are Mages human?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly—” Long, agile fingers kneaded her aching neck muscles, and she went boneless.
“Ohhhh…”

“You’re knackered, lass. You must rest and recover. You danced closer with the Grim Reaper today than you realize. If that venom had been injected, you wouldn’t have lived long enough for me to treat your wound. Plenty of time for twenty questions later.”

She
was
exhausted. Yawning, she rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. He was strong, solid, reassuring behind her.

They lingered in the tub. The Mage definitely had magic hands. His exquisite massage of her neck and shoulders left her limp and moaning with satisfaction.

She sank lower. Her chin dipped into hot water, still at the perfect temperature, and she shifted on Rowan’s lap. She might not have vast experience, but she wasn’t ignorant. Or dead, thanks to the man—Mage—who’d obviously begun to enjoy holding her half-naked in his arms. A
lot.

Superpowers weren’t his only assets.

“We should get up…uh…
out.”
She sat upright, and the room whirled around her.

“It’s been barely over an hour. You need more—”

“I need to get out. Now. I’ve had
plenty.”

When he raised her thigh from the water to examine it, she averted her gaze from the wound. “Looks clean enough. When you dry, it’ll seal. But no stress on this leg.” Lifting her in his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing, he stood and stepped dripping from the tub.

Cooler air blasted her. She shivered, goosebumps prickling her chilled skin.

“You’ll be sensitized to cold for a wee bit.” He spoke another strange word as he turned toward the door, and every drop of liquid on their bodies and clothing instantly evaporated…leaving them both bone dry.

Her startled glance flew to his. “What other surprises are in your repertoire?”

 “Along with other skills—” One cocky brow arched as the door swung open by itself. “I have total command of water—in every form. Over
all
liquids.” He chuckled. “Including the ditch water you so eloquently told me to ‘go suck.’”

“Total command…over all forms of liquid?”

“Aye.”

“I studied anatomy with Vanessa, and a human body is comprised of sixty percent H2O, the brain seventy percent. Since people are mostly water, does that mean you can affect their inner thoughts and…sensations?”

He strode down the hallway. “That I can.” A slow, sexy grin curved his full lips.

She might be cool on the outside, but sudden warmth pulsed through her veins.

Wait a minute. Brake the runaway hormone truck.
“So when I mentally messaged you for help at the police station, and Zack and Jason suddenly needed a drink of water…that was
you?”

“‘Twas, indeed.”

“And you made Zack drop the charges? Made me go to sleep at Archer’s?”

“Aye.”

“You have the ability to force people to do things? Make them think whatever you want?” She slugged his rock-hard shoulder, only hurting her hand. “Asshat! You Darth Vadered me!”

He looked offended. “I did not. Only Dark entities use Dark Power. I didn’t mind trick you into anything.”

“You
made
me get into Archer’s bed.”

“Because you were already exhausted and amenable to the suggestion. You needed to sleep. Walker and Kim
were
thirsty, and Walker truly did not wish to lock you up. I subtly influenced everyone toward a
particular
direction they already wanted to go.”

Her index finger drilled into his breastbone. “Don’t
ever
‘influence’ me against my will again, MacLachlan. Or I will load your balls into my Cuisinart and press ‘chop.’”

Rowan smirked. “Good luck persuading you to do anything you refuse. You’re tough to sway.” He shot her an enigmatic look. His thought was so muffled she nearly missed it.
You’re the one exception I’ve encountered. You can sense my intrusions. And block me.

I caught that.

With a curse, he carried her into the bedroom.
You’re going to be a challenge, Delaney Morgan.

She grinned as she answered with the same method.
I wouldn’t want to be easy.

No one could accuse you there, lass.
The bedcovers flipped back without him touching them, and Rowan laid her on cold, crisp sheets. He sighed.
Anything but.

Shivering again, she watched those warrior’s hands tenderly tucking blankets around her.
Rowan? Because the human brain is seventy percent water, is that also what makes you telepathic?

Another unreadable look.
I don’t exhibit telepathic ability with anyone else. Only you.

Okay, that was more than a little bit spooky.

“You’ve been Gifted, too, lass.”

“I’m not telepathic either. Usually.”

“Nay, but you have other Powers. I was sent to be your mentor, to teach you to control and wield them.”

Something
frightening had happened to those prison guards when she’d gotten upset. Delaney pondered the information as he stacked crumpled newspaper and logs in the hearth. Electricity was a modern addition to the cabin, along with Archer’s decadent slate and glass shower enclosure in the bathroom—and both the living area and bedroom boasted generous stone fireplaces.

“Am I a Mage, too?

“I think not.”

“What am I, then? More importantly, can our ‘Powers’ help me bring my brother back?”

“Perhaps. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Where’re the matches?”

Delaney inclined her head. “Bed table. What, you can’t ignite fires with your super eyeball lasers?”

“Nay.” He strode to the nightstand, yanked open the drawer. Box in hand, he stalked to the fireplace.
Only Braden has
—had—
Fire Power.

Who’s Braden?

“Bugger all,” he muttered. Rowan crossed his arms on the mantel and leaned his forehead on them. His hard biceps were nearly as big around as her thighs.
My shields aren’t working worth shite. I’m losing it.

“Yeah, that’s going around tonight.”

After several seconds, he straightened, struck a match, lit the paper. Flames crackled, wafting the homey fragrance of wood smoke. Heaving in a breath, he walked to the bed. “Braden was one of my three cousins, and a fire Mage. Declan was an air Mage, and Sebastian an earth Mage. We were all born on the sacred holiday of Beltane, in four sequential years. We grew up as close as brothers, did everything together…except one.” Anguish sharpened his features, hollowed his eyes. “They’re dead.”

Her chest was almost too tight to speak. “I’m sorry, Rowan.”

So am I. Every fecking day.
He shook his head. “You’re shivering again. Still cold?”

“A little.”
Like ice cubes in my bloodstream.

“There’s not enough venom left in your system to kill you, but if you get chilled, you’ll start hurting again. We should’ve stayed in the bath. Under normal conditions, I could simply raise the temperature of your blood, but Fomorii venom counteracts that.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I don’t worry. I remedy.” He opened the closet door and rummaged the shelves. “Do you have a nightgown…preferably flannel?”

“I don’t like nightgowns, they’re not warm enough. Look in the bottom drawer for flannel pajama bottoms and thermal tops.”

“You can’t wear trousers yet.” The cedar compartment rumbled open, then closed with a bang. He brought over a heather-purple top and laid it beside her. “Take my shirt, too, and layer it over yours for added warmth.” Both hands grabbed the hem of his black T-shirt and tugged it up and over his head.

She sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. Her mouth went drier than the soft cotton clenched in her fists. Yeah, she’d seen his body before, but she’d been anxious about his safety. Then slightly concerned about her own. She hadn’t had time to ogle. Much.

He stripped off his shirt and shook out the folds, and all those lovely bronzed muscles undulated. Dark hair dusted his sculpted pecs, and trailed down the center of a washboard eight-pack…swirling tantalizingly around a taut navel before disappearing into his waistband.

Her photographic memory hadn’t done him justice.
Magnificent
didn’t even begin to describe her Mage. The strapping Scot was totally ripped—every hard-muscled inch beautifully chiseled.

Rowan MacLachlan was absolutely…Delaney’s tongue moistened her lower lip.

Lickable.

Thick ebony waves glinted in the firelight, caressing those imposing shoulders as he glanced down…and caught her gaze devouring him. His sensual lips curved. Brilliant green flecks ignited in his silver irises.

Uh oh. Did he catch my mental image of me kissing his luscious mouth…and then nibbling, tasting, licking a leisurely path all the way down his incredible bod?

Rowan dropped the t-shirt in her lap, warm and redolent with his clean fresh scent that seemed so familiar. “The shirt off my back…literally.”

She lowered her glance to the clothing before she further incriminated herself. “Um— Thank you.” She had to stop and clear her throat. “Turn around while I put these on.”

He complied, and Delaney hastily unhooked her bra. Tossing it at his feet didn’t seem like a great idea and she
really
didn’t want to just hand it to him. She settled for shoving it under the blankets at the foot of the bed. By the time she struggled into the thermal shirt with Rowan’s tee on top, and then dived beneath the covers, chills wracked her and her leg was throbbing again. “D-done,” she chattered.

He spun, frowned at her.
“Damnation!
I knew I should’ve kept you in the water longer.”

“I-I’m fi—”

He flung up a hand. “If I hear the word ‘fine’ leave that stubborn mouth one more time…” he growled.

She crossed her arms over her chest.
What, Enforcer?
With her teeth clacking faster than castanets, channeling to him was easier.
You gonna electrocute me?

A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Sea snail tea.”

Blech. I’d rather be zapped. I’ll get back into the tub.

“Soaking will no longer help your wound, because it’s closed. The tea will finish the healing process internally. Neither of us wants to resort to lancing again.”

She shuddered.
I’ll eat sea snail sushi first.

He stalked to the door. “I’ll fetch the ingredients. Do not move from that bed. I’ve warded and cloaked the cabin, and Archer has his own wards in place. You’ll be perfectly safe until I return.”

* * *

Rowan stepped outside onto the porch, into the crisp fall night. As he strode over the edge of the bluff and down the path to the sea, Delaney’s voice echoed in his thoughts.

What are you, Rowan?

The stars overhead began to whirl. He stumbled. Fell. On his hands and knees in the sand, the vision surged up from nowhere and overtook him, ricocheting him over a century into the past.

* * *

It was Rowan’s eighteenth birthday…and dying might have been more fun.

He crawled shivering from the frigid loch into the black Highland night, seeking sanctuary within the circle of ancient standing stones. His da and grandda had ruthlessly trained him to endure the week preceding the eighteenth anniversary of his birth. Seven days of hell that would either kill him, or slam him into manhood.

Breath rasping in harsh gasps, he staggered to his feet, defying the weakness that threatened to buckle his knees. He’d face the end like a Clan warrior. Water streamed down his bare torso and dripped off his plaid as he straightened, and a fierce grin slanted his mouth. He no longer had to kneel to anyone.