Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (7 page)

Heath held up his hand. “Let me rephrase that. I say we
make her come
between us.”

“You mean... Jesus, you can’t be thinking...” Owen stared Heath in the eyes, swallowing hard but not blinking. Evidently, coherent thought eluded him. “You want to... Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“When you say you changed your mind, you mean you want to...
share
her?”

“Give the man a prize.” Still waiting for a positive response, Heath extended his hand toward Owen. “Deal?”

Chapter 6

Working to pull some air into his lungs, Owen stared at Heath’s extended hand. His friend was
serious
about sharing Heléna.

I say we
make her come
between us.

She’d been on the verge of an orgasm when Heath had interrupted the interlude. Was she a screamer? A moaner? Did she close her eyes tight or open them wide? Owen could well imagine her fingernails scraping at his back or digging into his ass as he fucked her hard and fast. Could he accept another man making love to her with him?

Not just any other guy. Heath’s like a brother to me, and he’s right.
Mortality was an enlightening prospect. They could suffer through their final hours or make the most of the time they had left.

Giving a curt nod, he grasped Heath’s hand and shook it. “Deal.”

Owen ignored the nervous fluttering in his stomach as his friend grinned. “Now we need to do some groveling. She—”

A rumble of thunder drowned out Heath’s words, and lightning flashed to the left. A bank of low clouds moved in from the northwest, blotting out stars and the blurry streak of the Milky Way. The ghostly mass closed in on the nearly full moon.

The speed of the storm sent a shiver up Owen’s spine. “We need to get Heléna and take cover.” Where they’d find cover was an issue he didn’t want to think about.

Heath gestured for Owen to follow as he jogged to the beach. The low tide line vanished under the rising surf, rough waves forming whitecaps beyond the shallow water on the sea shelf.

Heléna looked to the sky as another clash of thunder sounded, a frown marring her otherwise breathtaking face and wind whipping her hair out behind her.

Heath reached her first, reaching for her hand. “Come on! We need to find someplace safe to wait out the storm!”

She glanced to her right and then to her left as Owen offered her a hand up. “I can’t. The words will wash away. I’ll never remember them.”

A violent crash and a blinding flash of electricity made her jump to her feet, and he closed his fingers around hers. “We need to go, Heléna. It’s too dangerous to stay out here next to the water.”

She tugged free of his grip and dropped to her knees. “But I can’t leave them! They’re the best I’ve written in months.”

Moonlight edged the letters in the sand, fading into darkness when the storm front masked the source of light. A dim howl rose in volume, and she pressed her palms to the etchings.

Heath clutched her shoulders. “We have to go
now
!”

Her chin fell to her chest, and she seemed to give in to their demands to head inland. Rather than rising, she caressed the sand. “...fly...say good-bye...be strong...home...belong...no harm...blessed be.”

Heléna’s faint mumblings carried to Owen’s ears before they evaporated into the gusting winds. Strange colored lights flickered around the three of them. The gusts changed to a swirling vortex, pulling at Owen and making his skin prickle. Her voice became clear as she repeated the prayer once, twice, and he blinked to see past the now-pulsing beams of blue and green. Snagging a handful of her sweater in his grip, he waited for the tornado to suck them up and spit them out in the ocean.

Instead, the world went black for several seconds. The storm ceased, leaving utter silence. Even the hurricane-force winds calmed to nothing.

Am I dead?

A groan came from beside him, and he blinked in the sudden darkness. “Is that you, Heath?”

“Yeah. Heléna? Where are you?”

Panic ripped through Owen’s veins as he patted the hard ground beneath him and the space around him. “Heléna, are you here? Answer me.
Please
.”

“Where the hell are we?” Heath’s question mirrored Owen’s thoughts. “This isn’t sand. It’s some kind of plank floor or something. I can feel seams. That has to be a rug. What happened?”

Feeling his way across the floor, Owen swallowed a curse when he rammed his thumb against a smooth wooden post. He traced the silhouette of a lathed leg. It connected to a wide crosspiece, and he followed it a several feet to another curved leg.
A bed?

Something soft brushed the back of his hand, but he kept moving around the corner to a longer crosspiece. His knees ached from crawling on the hard flooring, and a few feet later, his head banged against an obstacle blocking his way to the next corner. “Damn it!”

“You okay?” Heath’s voice sounded farther from him than before.

Using his fingers to see the object, he found handles and drawers. “Hit my head on a nightstand, I think.”

If he was lucky, he’d discover a lamp when he tapped a path to the flat surface on top.
Aha!
Smoothing his fingers up the base, he turned the switch and promptly got blinded by a burst of bright light.

“How did we end up in somebody’s bedroom?”

Turning to take in his surroundings and locate Heath, Owen’s eyes landed on a crumpled form on the bed. Long dark hair spread over the covers, and a flowing skirt hid the woman’s legs but not her delicate feet. His heart squeezed.

“Heléna?” He scrambled onto the mattress, sweeping the thick mane away from her face. Blood seeped from a gash on her forehead, and several small cuts marred her cheekbones. He scooped her into his arms. “Honey, wake up. Are you okay?”

“Shit.” Heath joined him on the bed, stripping off his shirt to dab at the cut with the cloth. “We need to get her to a doctor. She might need stitches, and she probably has a concussion. At least we aren’t stranded in the middle of nowhere anymore.” He leaned in to press his lips to her mouth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to see if I can find help. Try to stop the bleeding, Owen.”

Nodding, Owen held the stained shirt to the worst cut. “What the hell happened?”

“That discussion must wait.” An assertive female voice drew his attention to the foot of the bed. A much-older version of Heléna stared at him, the intensity in her eyes too strong for him to hold her gaze. “My granddaughter needs to be cared for first. Agnes is coming to tend to her injuries.”

* * * *

Goddess, protect these men who fly,

And help me as I say good-bye.

I must let go. I must be strong.

They must go home where they belong.

With harm to none, fix destiny.

Please keep them safe, and blessed be.

The incantation echoed in Heléna’s mind as she carefully repeated the spell. Staying focused on the words, she blocked out Kazmer’s stormy attempt to hurt Heath and Owen. Mates or not, she had to send them to safety and then return to her own time to face the consequences of her actions. If she distracted the ancient shifter with two separate destinations, he’d be more likely to chase after her to the Macska estate than waste his effort on innocent bystanders.

The pressure of Heath’s hands gripping her shoulders faded, and a glance to the right told her Owen had vanished as well. The knowledge that they’d probably be dead in her time made her wish for a few minutes to mourn, but delaying wasn’t a wise choice. Now she would try to save herself.

She traced her fingers over the written words in the sand, focusing once again on the charm.

Wisest Fates, please guide me home.

No longer will I choose to roam.

My heart resigns itself to wait,

And sexual need will soon abate.

Blessed be and harm to none.

Goddess, let thy will be done.

A deep sense of doubt settled over her as she finished the first repetition. Had she chosen the right path this time? Beginning the last line of her final echo, she lifted her eyes to the sky and wished for home.

Whirling sand sliced at her face, and a piece of flying debris struck her forehead, knocking her off-balance. She tumbled sideways, fighting to stay conscious.
Have to complete the spell.
“Thy will be done.”

Blackness swarmed over her as a roaring voice tried to call her back and grappling fingers clawed at her clothes. Then the howling quieted and the air went still. The throbbing in her skull told her she was still alive, even as nausea rose in her throat and the spots dancing in her vision blurred. Her plan had succeeded. Now, she could rest.
And mourn.

“Are you sure she doesn’t need stitches?” A soft male murmur broke through the silence.

“A poultice and bandage will suffice.” Aunt Agnes’s no-nonsense tone assured Heléna she’d made it home.

“If the wound isn’t serious, then why isn’t she awake?” A different masculine voice hissed the question.

“Tsk, tsk. She’ll be fine in the morning. The rest will help her body heal. You young men should sleep while she sleeps. You’ll need your strength when she wakes.” Aunt Agnes had a tendency to scold those under her care.

Reaching for her aching head, Heléna groaned. “Who can rest with all this talking?”

Both of her hands were suddenly engulfed in gentle embraces, and a warm body snuggled up to each side of her.

“How are you feeling, honey?”

She recognized that sweet tone, and her tummy somersaulted.

“You scared the shit out of me again, sweetheart.”

Blinking hurt, but she forced her eyes open to prove seeing really was believing. Owen and Heath smiled down at her, tying knots in her insides.

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you back where you belong.” A second too late, she realized what she’d said. She’d screwed up again.
I never learn, do I?

“
You
sent us?” Owen’s eyebrows rose.

“We belong right here with you, damn it.” True to his nature, Heath had to pick a fight with her.

“Save me, Aunt Agnes. Please.” Scanning the room without moving her neck still sent pain shooting through Heléna’s head.

The Macska witch who had been training her in the ways of homeopathic first aid laughed. “You brought them here, niece. They’re your problem, not mine.”

“But what about—”

“Romána has already welcomed your guests.” That news and a wink from Agnes as she stepped into view made Heléna realize she wouldn’t be getting any help from her aunt.

“But they’re not my guests. I didn’t invite them. They aren’t supposed to be here!” She flinched at another quick stab of pain. “Ow.”

“Flóra is brewing some white willow tea for you, dear. She should be here any—” A door clicked closed. “Ah, there she is now.”

Closing her eyes to ease the ache, Heléna tried to remember the rhyme she’d used on Owen and Heath, but the words were gone.
It’s just as well. The best spell I’d written in months?
The minor mishaps from her recent spellcasting mistakes didn’t begin to compare to
this
blunder.