The League of Illusion: Legacy (3 page)

Chapter Four

Skylar missed him by a mere inch. It was too bad really. She hoped to brain him at least once during the match. He seriously needed to have his head knocked about a time or two—to maybe knock some arrogance out of him.

Jovan sidestepped to the right and brought his staff up to meet hers. The clacking noise of the polished wood reverberated through the room. She reveled in that sound. There was nothing she enjoyed more than a good sparring match.

Especially with this man. This reckless rake who’d broken her heart.

“Hmm, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were really trying to injure me.” Grinning, he shufidifled back and swung his staff around to the side in a defensive pose.

Emotions she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in bubbled to the surface. Gripping the staff tighter, she brought it up and around, intent on striking his shoulder.

Anger fueled her as she managed to clip him before he could dodge the swing. The tip of the wood hit him in the meaty part of the shoulder. His smile quickly faded.

And hers broadened.

He circled his arm, trying to relieve the sting he must’ve been feeling. “I didn’t realize you were so bloodthirsty. Druids are supposed to be peaceful people.”

“I’m not usually. You must bring that out in me, sir.”

Bringing her
bo
into her body, Skylar circled around Jovan, looking for his weak area, an area she could capitalize on. He followed her lead and circled her as well. As he eyed her, she knew he was readjusting his initial view of her skills. It had been many years since he’d seen her fight. She’d been a girl then, eager to please and enamored by the young Davenport sorcerer. Now she was a woman.

She’d toughened up. She drew in her emotions and didn’t allow them to dictate her actions. When she fought, she was focused one hundred percent on the desired aim—to bring down the opponent in as few moves as possible.

Except for this opponent. Emotion was pretty much all that directed her actions. Jovan brought it out in her. Pure irrational emotion. It had been one of the reasons she’d fallen for him so hard.

The day they met she’d been seventeen and terrified of meeting Blake Davenport and his sons. She’d accompanied her father to dinner at Davenport Hall because he insisted she be out in society. At dinner, her hands had been shaking so badly that she dropped her fork. Jovan had been the only one to see, so he’d quietly slipped under the table and retrieved it for her. No one had noticed. No one but her. Her dormant emotions had been ignited the very moment he handed her the fork and his fingers had brushed against hers.

Skylar struck out with her staff, this time at his leg. He jumped over the swing and came back with his own blow. She blocked it then retaliated. Back and forth they went. Strike, block, strike, block. Neither one hitting their intended marks.

By the time she’d come around full circle on the mat, sweat trickled down her back. The silk of her robe stuck to her skin like paste. He was making her work for it. It seemed he too had been practicing. He was better than she’d assumed. It wouldn’t be an easy victory. But there was no doubt in her mind that she’d have that victory.

She didn’t practice nonstop every day of her life to not have Jovan suffer at least a little. It was most unladylike for her to harbor those thoughts, but then again she never claimed to be a lady at all.

“You’re very skilled,” he said, as he settled his
bo
lower on his hip. He was obviously trying to distract her so he could attack.

“I know.” The thing that made her angry was that he didn’t need to speak to be a distraction. He did it all by himself without opening his mouth.

Sweat made his hair damp. It looped freely around his ears. She’d always found that small thing attractive. Many times she’d run her hands through his hair, reveling in the way the silky strands felt against her fingers.

Gripping her staff tighter, Skylar swung it around her body Cundy sand struck at Jovan. He blocked it but barely. Surprise at her fierce attack pushed him back a few steps. She advanced on him, not allowing him to gain his breath or his wits. Every time he took a step back, she pushed forward. They danced like that across the room and back again.

“It appears we’re evenly matched.” He grinned that sly grin of his and it made Skylar’s blood boil.

“Not likely.” She swung her staff at his legs, but he saw it coming and easily jumped. But he didn’t anticipate her foot to follow it along.

She managed to hook his ankles with her right foot and pulled him forward. He lost his balance and tumbled to the mat, his arms spiraling to keep his balance. But it was pointless. He fell onto his back with a definitive
oomph
as the air was pushed from his lungs by the impact.

“That was most unseemly.”

She smiled sweetly down at him. “I know.” Satisfied that she put him down, Skylar went to walk away and grab her mat so she could leave. But Jovan had his own dirty move in mind.

He twirled his index finger in the air.
“Pello.”

An invisible force pushed at her legs, making her stumble. She tumbled to the mat. Jovan scrambled over to her and, straddling her waist, effectively pinned her to the ground. His hands pressed on her shoulders, he looked down at her, a gloating expression shining in his eyes. “I win.”

“You’re a ruthless cad.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware of that.”

She tried to hide her smile. But it came regardless. She missed his playfulness. She just plain old missed him. Even now, after all these years, she yearned for him. To feel his entire body pressed against hers.

Smiling, he leaned his head toward hers. Her breath hitched in her throat. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? Oh blessed Gods, she did, very much.

She still remembered the first time they’d kissed. He’d been secretly courting her, as the custom was for Druids to marry Druids. It was the Summer Solstice Ball and they’d danced three dances in a row, under her father’s watchful eye. After the dances, she’d snuck out to the gardens for some fresh air. Jovan had found her there. In a pool of moonlight he’d cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. She’d thought she’d been drawn into that moonbeam and transported to the moon.

The thought startled her. The intensity of it still twisted her in knots. Then she remembered she was not seventeen anymore

Before he could reach her mouth, she bucked her body and pushed him off. She scrambled out from him, pushing to her feet. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid and hung in her face. She swatted at them and tried to gain her composure.

“Thank you for the sparring match. It was most stimulating.” Lifting her head, she gathered her mat under her arm. She wanted nothing more than to return to the guest bedroom, bathe and forget, if she could, how wonderful it felt to have Jovan touch her again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Skylar,” he said from the mat. He’d yet to move from where she’d bucked him off.

She just nodded to him and rushed to leave the room. Once again Jovan had managed to scramble her brain and her heart. He had the uncanny ability to do both at the same time. And she imagined he had no idea that he’d done either.

But she C="- both at t wasn’t going to let him know. She was here to do a job—to find Sebastian. And that was what she was going to do. Once it was done, she would leave and go on with her life. Pretending that Jovan Davenport didn’t mean anything to her. That her heart didn’t race at the sight of him. That every inch of her flesh didn’t itch to slide up against his own.

And what was they said about fools and thei
r notions?

Chapter Five

The glowing sphere of red-orange light hovered about five feet above Darin Hawthorne’s head. It had taken him roughly two hours to perfect the firelight spell. Now that he had, a feeling of self-satisfaction filled him. His last private instructor had told him he wasn’t ready to learn the spell, claiming that Darin wasn’t disciplined enough to accomplish it. That had been the last thing the damnable fool had said before Darin had him tossed off the estate.

When he became head of the League of Illusion, he’d have the old goat stripped of his magic. There’d be a lot of changes when Darin took power. Ridding old sorcerers of their magic was just one of many things he had in mind.

The door to the practice room opened unexpectedly and Gustav, one of the servants, entered. “Your father wishes to see you, my lord.”

Startled, Darin flinched, breaking his concentration. The ball of fire plummeted to the floor. The sphere burst open and spurts of fire scattered all over. He had to jump out of the way before being splattered with sparks. The flames snuffed out almost instantaneously but not before they scorched parts of the freshly waxed tiled floor.

“Damn it!” he bellowed, then turned to glare at Gustav. “Look what you made me do, you idiot.”

The servant didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead, waiting for Darin to go with him to wherever his father was waiting. If he could’ve gotten away with it, he would’ve struck the servant for his insolence, but Gustav was his father’s favorite.

Sighing, Darin marched over to where Gustav hovered in the doorway. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He followed Gustav through the long winding corridors of the Hawthorne mansion to the double oak doors of his father’s study. Knocking once, Gustav opened the door and stood aside while Darin entered. Once he was through, the servant closed the door behind him. The clicking sound had an ominous feel, and Darin had to suppress a shiver.

He stood, shoulders back, in the middle of the room waiting for his father to acknowledge him. His heart hammered and his throat constricted. It wasn’t every day that his father summoned him. Most weeks, he went without seeing his father at all. He was a busy man, and had many important things to attend to. Most of them, Darin was ignorant of.

So, this summoning was most unexpected and ill-omened, forming a pit of unease in Darin’s stomach.

Seconds ticked by as he waited. He tried not to shuffle his feet, knowing that his father hated it. So he pinched his leg and stared straight ahead, his chin lifted. Being in this room made him feel like a boy again. A boy waiting for any attention his father would give him. Good or bad. With Clive Hawthorne it was usually bad.

Finally, Clive lifted his head from the big heavy-looking book he’d been reading, and gave Darin a steely look. Narrowing his dark eyes, he set the book down on the small table beside his high-backed chair.

“I heard from my man on the council that the Davenports sent for a tracker.” He sniffed. “A Druid woman named Skylar Vanguard.”

Hearing her name startled Darin. She was one woman who had always vexed him. He’d seen her last at the Winter Solstice Ball when he’d made his intentions clear to her. That he wanted her at his side, convinced they would make a good match, a powerful one. But she’d scorned him. Looked at him like he was but a servant and not the lordly gentleman he’d been raised to be.

Even now his fists clenched at the image of her walking away from him in front of so many people. The stares they’d given him. Like he’d slapped her. Although he’d wanted to, he’d managed to keep his hands at his sides.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, it’s obvious they are trying to locate the eldest son Sebastian before the Solstice.”

“But why her? Why not someone more experienced?”

His father sneered at him. “Think about it, boy. How can you expect to sit on the council as its head if you’re not one step ahead of everyone around you?”

Darin dropped his gaze a little. He didn’t want to incite his father’s anger. Even now after all these years, and he a grown man of twenty-eight. “I’ll have you to guide me, Father.”

That seemed to appease him, because he gave Darin a rare smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They never did. “Wise answer, boy. Playing to my ego. Always a good tactic.”

Darin felt his chest swell with pride. It was an infrequent thing for his father to compliment him, so he sucked it in as greedily as he could.

“So, why her?” he asked Darin again.

“She knows the family and her father is the acting head of the council?”

Clive nodded, clearly pleased with Darin’s answer. “Yes. This works for us too.”

“How?”

“One of my men is close to Lord Soren. The Druid trusts him. So, all information given to him by his daughter will be relayed.” He stood and moved to stand in front of Darin. His father was a tall man, thin, frail-looking until you looked into his dark eyes. There was no mistaking the power there. Power he’d seen strike a man down with a wave of his father’s long bony hand.

Darin wanted to move away. He’d never liked his father’s intensity. It was like standing next to a crematorium. It was hot, uncomfortable and you knew exactly what was going on inside, and it wasn’t in the least bit pleasant.

“I hear Miss Vanguard is a skilled tracker. Better than some of the male Druids.”

Clive waved his hand as if swatting away a nasty insect. “I’m not concerned with the girl. She’s a nuisance at best. It’s those two sons you need to worry about. Despite being Davenports, I imagine they are both extremely skilled in magic. Blake Davenport would’ve prepared them properly, I’m sure.”

“Jovan’s a buffoon. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s more concerned with his drink and gambling and women. Rhys, though, he’s more serious.” Darin remembered Rhys from several of their social gatherings. He was quiet and kept to himself, but was always watching. Darin could see in Rhys’s eyes that the man was prepared for anything. It was too bad he wouldn’t be equipped to handle what Darin planned to unleash.

“You will d K“ng uno what you have to, to keep those foolish Davenports from finding their brother.”

Darin met his gaze then. It was difficult to do but he kept it, although he wanted to tremble beneath its weight and power. “I’ll need help.”

“You’ll have whatever you wish if it’s to stop Sebastian Davenport from
gaining the head of the League.”