Sword of the Raven (27 page)

“‘Tis necessary.”

“Yeah. So…” She shook herself. “What would you like to eat when we get home?”

The dashboard clock read nearly four. “It’s been a longer day than anticipated. No need for you to cook, is there? I’ll take a raincheck on the feast. Let’s snag a pizza, or three, to go.”

“Pizza it is. There’s a new place I’ve been wanting to check out, not far from my apartment.”

In the city again, Rowan followed her directions and parked at the curb in front of the pizzeria. As he exited the car, he automatically scanned the re-gentrified urban neighborhood, tall buildings washed golden by the setting sun. He glanced through a picture window into the small restaurant. Halted outside the door. “Mind going in alone? I need to stretch my legs, walk, think a bit.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Here.” He pushed aside his long coat, dipped into his jeans pocket for four twenty dollar bills. “Get a large salad, too, would you?”

“I can pay for—”

“Take the money, sweetheart. I didn’t conjure it up, ‘tis real.”

“Did I in any way imply it wasn’t?” Rolling her eyes, she accepted the bills before shoving through the entrance.

He loitered at the corner of the store where the wall intersected the window. Sunlight glinted into his face, which meant it blinded anyone looking out from indoors. He was obscured, but could clearly view what was happening inside.

Delaney strode up to order, and the counter-guy’s eyes lit up brighter than the neon sign over the door. Late teens, blond, clean-cut, tanned…typical surfer type.

Rowan tautly watched Slick Surfer flirt with Delaney during the seventeen minutes while the pizzas cooked. She was friendly, but didn’t flirt back. The kid stacked three steaming cardboard boxes and a plastic container of salad on the counter, then rang up the cash register. When he handed her the change, his fingers lingered several beats too long.

Offer to carry them to the car,
Rowan murmured.

Surfer complied. Delaney shook her head.

Insist, lad. Sell that false charm.

Delaney finally nodded in resignation at the lad’s winsome blather, and picked up the salad.

Rowan sauntered down the empty block, the few pedestrians having deserted the area in response to his subliminal suggestion. As the restaurant door opened, he turned into the alley, leaned a shoulder against cool brick.

Frowning, Delaney glanced around before opening the GTO’s passenger door. “Where did—? Just set them on the seat, please.”

Blondie deposited the pizza boxes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I…my friend will meet me here. Thanks again.” Delaney put the salad in the car, shut the door. She strode down the sidewalk.
Rowan, I got the food. You around?

Down the block, luv.

Surfer Dude silently tailed her on sneakered feet.

Aye, you slimy git. You know you want to follow her. Come along,
he ordered.

She reached the alley’s mouth.
Delaney,
he transmitted, moving deep into the shadows.
In here.

Frown morphing into a scowl, she marched up to him as he disappeared into vapor. “What the heck—”

Surfer slinked into the alley.

That’s it, wee lamb. Right this way.

Rowan flashed behind him, blocking his escape. Re-materialized.

Delaney’s jaw dropped as Rowan drew down her silver and garnet sword. He tossed the weapon to her. “Gut the wanker.”

Chapter 17

Blade lax in her hand, Delaney stared at Rowan. Her expressive eyes radiated horrified disbelief. “Are you out of your ever-loving—”

“‘Tis a demon.”

Her glance ricocheted from him to the terrified lad cowering against the wall, then back. “He’s just a
kid!
A nice
boy,
who carried pizzas to my car.”

“I taught you better. That naiveté will get you butchered.”

“I don’t know what the dude’s been huffing, babe,” the demon whimpered. “But he’s geeked.”

Rowan shrugged out of his coat, let the garment drop to the ground. But didn’t command his sword. Yet.
“Look
at it. Some of them can take on perfect human forms. What better innocent facade to hunt mortal prey? And this one has a taste for the lasses.”

“Dude’s totally bent! I never hurt anybody. Don’t hurt me,” it begged.

Rowan observed her doubtful assessment of the demon. Her eyes narrowed. She gave an experimental sniff. Then went rigid as she realized what Rowan had instantly spotted…the sly evil lurking in its eyes, the rotten black aura. “Yes,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I see before?”

“We don’t like to believe evil masquerades as innocence. You’ll now be more aware.” He gestured. “Take him out.”

Shaking, the demon flung up its hands in a clever fakery of human behavior.
“Whoa
, I didn’t do
nothin’
. Please.”

 Delaney shot Rowan a dubious glance.

“If you can’t do this,” Rowan said evenly. “I cannot bring you into battle in five days. Hesitate to fight then, and you die. Or Archer dies. Or me.” A part of him hoped,
prayed
she’d grab the chance to bail. “‘Tis your choice, lass. You’re still free to walk away.”

The demon stayed immobile as long seconds ticked past, either wily enough not to engage an Enforcer, or daft enough to believe Delaney would convince Rowan to let it go.

“Delaney, if you commit, you must commit fully. Or not at all.” Silent, patient, Rowan waited for her to decide.

Finally, her shoulders drooped. She bowed her head.

A smirk twisted surfer demon’s mouth.

“‘Tis all right,” Rowan assured her. “Go wait in the car. I’ll be just a minute.”

A reeking stink of fear obliterated the demon’s smugness.

No.
Delaney lifted her chin, squared her shoulders.
I can do it.

Go for it, then. I’ve got your back, luv.

She slowly raised her sword. Then advanced on the demon.

It stayed in human guise, but dozens of pointed fangs bristled in its mouth and its hands morphed into jagged-edged machetes. Hissing, it leapt, swiping at Delaney.

Her sword arced, clanged against a steel claw.

Rowan held his breath while the demon closed in, kept her on the defensive. She’d absorbed their lessons well. Quick and graceful, her form and footwork were perfect. But she faltered on offense, reluctant to deliver a mortal blow. Took too long to move in for the kill.

Which could get
her
killed.

She was holding her own, and in no immediate danger. She needed combat experience…exactly what she was getting. So he kept his mouth shut and cloaked the fight from any stray passersby.

The demon gained momentum. Vicious blades swinging, it attacked low and fast. Delaney danced back, spun right. The maneuver whisked her out of range, but put the demon in her blind-spot—with her left side unprotected. Grinning, it charged, swooping a razored claw high for the death blow.

Even as Rowan drew his sword and lunged, Delaney whirled. Executing a brilliant tactical move, she glided beneath her opponent’s raised claw. Her sword slid in below the demon’s sternum and thrust upward into its chest.

Rowan froze.

Delaney froze.

The demon froze.

It stared down at the blade piercing its heart, then up at Delaney. Gave her a grimace of pained surprise.

Appearing as stunned as her conquest, she yanked out her sword, dripping with black blood. Stumbled backward.

The demon’s machetes morphed into hands again. It grabbed its chest. A garbled moan oozed from its mouth and sludge oozed from between its fingers. Crumpling to the ground, it lay motionless.

“Finish it,” Rowan said.

Blue eyes blank with shock locked on his.

“Remember our lessons. Don’t ever assume ‘tis over until you take the heart or the head. Demon hearts can be difficult to locate. Head is faster.”

Delaney swallowed hard and tore her gaze away to stare at the inert body. She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Both hands gripping the hilt so hard her knuckles whitened, she swung and severed the demon’s neck.

A pool of black gushed outward, then the body dissolved into ash.

“Well done, lass.” He reached for her, but she flinched from his touch and began to tremble. “You’re okay, Delaney. You’re in a wee bit of shock and the first stage of an adrenaline crash.”

She nodded.

He couldn’t touch her with his thoughts, either. She’d slammed down a steel barrier. He gentled his voice. “‘Twas necessary, sweetheart.”

When he tried again to embrace her, she shook her head and staggered backward. “All right, you need space, and you’ll have it.” The demon blood had flaked to ash and fallen from her blade, leaving it clean. “Sheathe your sword, then, and we’ll go home.”

During the drive, Delaney stared mutely out the windshield. Said nothing in the lift to her flat, nor when he unlocked the door and let her precede him into the living room.

She stumbled to the loo, shoved inside the door. The lock snicked.

Rowan abandoned the unwanted food in the kitchen. He stood outside the closed door for twenty minutes, fists clenched in helpless frustration while he listened to her violent retching.

Her mental barrier was still clamped down. He couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t comfort her. He’d been there, done that, heaved his biscuits. He knew the last thing she wanted was for him to witness her private torment, but
damn,
he hated that she’d chosen to suffer alone. As he had in his day.

They got each other so well because they were very much alike.

Finally the sink whooshed on as she brushed her teeth. Water cascaded into the tub. Clothing rustled. Quiet ripples indicated she’d settled into the bath. Also like him, she went to water for revival. For solace.

Then he heard her sobbing.

Teeth clenched, he walked to the sofa. Sat. Lowering his head into his hands, he rubbed his drumming temples. There was nothing valiant, not one shagging noble thing about warfare.

Anyone who’d ever waged battle knew war flat-out sucked.

He switched on the gas fireplace, but not the lights. During the miserable nearly three hours she secluded herself in the tub, he sat in semi-darkness and gave Delaney the only comfort he could by keeping her bath water at an even, hot temperature.

He’d just thrown the untouched food down the garbage chute, and was standing at the kitchen window watching starlight struggle through the clouds when the washroom door opened. Bare feet padded across the wood floor, and he turned to see Delaney in clean jeans and a silky sapphire blouse, hair tumbling around her shoulders in a radiant cloud of damp curls.

“Hey.” Her voice was hoarse and her red-rimmed eyes still wouldn’t meet his, but at least she was speaking. “Did you eat?”

“Didn’t have much appetite.”

“Sorry.” Her shoulders hunched. “I really came unglued. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.” She hadn’t dropped her mental shields, so he fought the urge to embrace her. “You did what you had to. Brilliantly.”

“I need to be with my brother right now. I know he’s not really there, but—”

“I ken, luv. Get your boots and coat, and I’ll drive you.”

“Thanks.”

Again, she stayed quiet during the ride, and he left her to wrestle with her thoughts.

At the hospital, she presented ID to the guard before signing in. Rowan’s chest tightened as he watched her trudge into Connor’s room and pull up a chair beside the comatose man’s bed. She clasped her brother’s hand in both of hers, then rested her cheek on his palm. A lump lodged in Rowan’s throat.

In a span of weeks, his brave, bonny lass’ entire life had twisted inside out.

He turned his back on the poignant sight. Paced to the end of the hallway, away from the cop and into the deserted glassed-in visitor’s waiting room, staying where he could still see Connor’s doorway.

A little over ninety minutes later, Delaney emerged, her lovely face drawn and pale. He met her halfway, slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close as they walked to the bank of lifts. He craved the contact, and she looked like she needed warmth and support.

She leaned against him while the car glided downward. Breathing her in, he stroked her silky hair. “Feeling a wee bit less shaky?”

“Some.”

“You need food and rest, in that order.”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

He slapped his palm over his chest. “I may need to crash the ER.”

She smiled, the first in far too many hours. “Don’t get used to taking no flack.”

“I know better.” He steered her around a cement column in the parking garage, his spirits lighter. “A pair of triple avocado-bacon cheeseburgers and a basket of chips—fries to you Yanks—wouldn’t go amiss. What would you like, sweetheart?”

“I can feel my arteries hardening as we speak. But, yeah, sounds okay. There’s a twenty-four hour diner not far from my place that has amazing food.”

When they arrived at her flat, she changed into pajamas and her orange robe while he lit the fire and set out the food. Lounging on the hearth, he demolished the giant burgers and his chips in record time. Delaney managed to eat half a burger and pinched a few of his chips, which made him feel better.

She crumpled her napkins and stowed them in the bag. “I knew my brother’s profession wasn’t a cakewalk, but I have fresh admiration for his dedication. And yours. Why do you continually risk your life, how do you carry the burden of this horrific job for decades? For
centuries?”

“Evil kills because it can.” He lifted a shoulder. “Someone has to stop them. So we kill because we must.”

“Does it ever get any easier?”

“Nay. During combat, the adrenaline masks everything…but the consequences still hit afterward. Every death takes a toll.” He sat up and caught her gaze. “‘Tis supposed to. Killing shouldn’t be easy.”

She nodded. Sighed.

“I ken if I ever start liking this Enforcer business, ‘tis time to walk away.”

“I agree.” She deliberately concentrated on retying her bathrobe. “What’ll happen if…if the fight with Ceard doesn’t go our way? How will human…and Supernatural casualties…be explained to the authorities?”

He closed his eyes. Opened them. “As you saw, Demon bodies incinerate. Mortal deaths will appear to be the result of an accident that human minds can comprehend. The Cabal has specialized crews who handle Supernatural…ah…staging and clean-up.”

“Best to have all bases covered, right?” Still not looking at him, she gulped. “If I don’t— If something happens, Archer and Van will see to Connor’s welfare. But would you…could you be sure to take care of Van and Archer for me? They’ve already lost Connor. I know Archer comes across as a tough guy, but we’re the only real family each other has. They’ll be devastated.”

Ah, shite.
His suddenly too-full stomach convulsed. “Delaney, luv… Let’s not go there.”

“We have to.
Have
to be realistic. Promise you’ll take care of my family.”

“Since I did such a bang-up job looking after my own.”

“Quit
that. It’ll give me peace of mind, okay?”

“Fine,” he lied. Because if Delaney were dead, he would be also. As long as his heart still beat, he wasn’t about to let her fall in battle.

“Thank you. One last thing.” Her voice thickened. “Just in case…I want to be cremated in my red boots and sprinkled over the ocean by the lighthouse.”

Pain closed his throat until he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

“Do you have any requests I should hear, Rowan?” Torment obliterated her
Aillidh.
“Something Mage related I should do? Just…just in case.”

“Any final requests?
Feck
no.” He lunged across the space between them and grasped her shoulders. “You cannot go into a fight thinking about dying.”

“I’m not afraid to die. I’m worried about the people I’ll leave behind. They’re the ones who will suffer.”

He knew more than he ever wanted to about being left behind. Dying was preferable to that endless agony. He shook her. “Neither of us is going to check out, do you hear me? I forbid it!”

She choked on a laugh mixed with a sob. “Glad that’s settled.”

The shadows in her eyes slayed him. He cupped the back of her head in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed her, opening his shields only enough to give her strength. Sharing just enough of his essence to give comfort.

He pulled away, tipped up her chin. “Look at me. Focus on each moment you are
alive,
Delaney. Each breath is the only guarantee we have. All anyone ever has.”

The bruised look faded from her gaze. Her arms wrapped around him, clung. “Rowan?” she whispered. “Will you take me to bed…and just hold me?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart.” He stood, swung her up, and strode down the hallway. “For as long as you need.”

He deposited her in the middle of the bed. She took off her robe while he stripped. The fact that she left on her pajamas—and hadn’t questioned how he’d drawn down
her
sword earlier—told him everything about her emotionally vulnerable state.

He climbed in with her. As she nestled against his chest, he enveloped her in his embrace. “You know, lass, I sicked up my lunch after my first kill, too.”

“Really?
I can’t imagine…”

“‘Twas a stag. I was nine.” His palm circled her spine in a soothing massage. “We hunted for food, not sport, but killing such a magnificent animal turned my stomach. My da found me hiding behind a copse of trees, shaking and sick as a bloody mongrel. He patted my back, gave me a drink of water. And told me respecting life was a good thing. To always count the cost of every death—not just to the dying, but to myself.”