Visions of Magic (15 page)

He had watched her over the eons, seen her learn and change and been witness to the growth of her soul into the woman she was here. Now. In this lifetime, he had seen her resilience. Felt her determination and courage. Her warmth and humor. And he had loved her more than he ever would have thought possible.

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere above Palm Springs,” he said and she turned to face him.

The cabin was cold and dark. Shea shivered and he waved one hand at the fireplace, where kindling and logs lay waiting. Instantly, flames erupted on the stacked wood, sending brilliant patterns of light dancing around the small room.

She sighed. “You do that so easily.”

“As will you.”

She walked toward the fire. “I don't know. I feel . . . as if something inside me is locked down and struggling to get out.”

“Your power already escaped you once tonight.”

“I don't know how, though.” She laughed shortly and shook her head. “Seems like that's something that would come in handy.”

“I can help.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

“I guess I am.” Scrubbing her hands up and down her arms, she said, “I've never been as scared as I was the last couple of days. I never want to be that scared again. Or that helpless.”

“You won't be,” he said, and internally he made a vow. “I'll keep you safe.”

She gave him a tired smile. “I'm counting on that. But I want to learn how to keep myself safe, too. I won't be at the mercy of witch hunters again.”

“Good,” he said and walked to her. His steps were soundless, a big man moving with the stealth learned over centuries of life. “You're stronger than you know already, Shea. Getting stronger still is the one sure way to ensure your survival.”

She nodded. “Who shot me? God, I can't believe I was shot.”

He reached out one hand to touch the bloodstain at her shoulder. It still felt all too real to him. Hearing her soft cry. Watching her fall. Feeling her blood seep through his fingertips to soak into the earth. Fury roared within him and he fought to keep a tight rein on it. There was no target for his rage—and he couldn't risk frightening Shea further. One day, though, there would be payment made for what was done to her.

“I don't know who shot you. I don't know how they found you.” That fact was a daunting one. If he didn't know how they had found her once, how could he prevent it from happening again? Staring into her eyes, he found the only explanation possible. “I can only think that you've been tagged.”

“Tagged?”
She frowned. “You mean like the microchips people put in their
pets
?”

“Something like that. I have to check you for it and get rid of it. Otherwise, they'll find us too easily again.”

“Hell, yes,” she blurted. “Find it. Burn it. Do whatever.” She ran her hands over her body, scraping her palms across the cotton jumpsuit, digging into the collar and hems, but found nothing.

“Take it off,” he said.

She lifted her head and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“The uniform. Take it off.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Um, how about you just check it while I wear it?”

Torin sighed and shook his head. “This is no time for modesty between us, Shea. You can't wear the damn thing anyway. It's crusty with dried blood.”

She blew out a breath, looked around the room and spotted a quilt tossed over a chair back. “Fine. Turn around.”

“We are mates,” he told her, irritated that she would cling to something so foolishly human as embarrassment. “I will know your body as you will know mine. Nothing will be hidden from us.”

“Will be,”
she repeated, frowning. “We haven't done the mating thing yet and it's a little disconcerting to strip down in front of a—”

“I'm not a stranger.”

“No, you're not,” she agreed. “But you're also not my lover. Not yet, anyway. So turn the heck around.”

Gritting his teeth, he did, but only because it was faster than arguing with her. He closed his eyes and listened to the fabric rustling, the zipper sliding down as she undid it hastily. His blood pumped thick and hot in response. His instincts roared as he fought for control.

In moments, she'd tossed the uniform at his feet. “There. Check.”

He did, and couldn't find a thing. Which could mean only one thing. “They've implanted it somewhere on your body.”

“No, they didn't.”

He turned around and stared at her. She looked every inch a pagan goddess: her long, dark red hair hanging about her shoulders, her creamy skin glowing in the firelight and the faded quilt held to her body like a battle shield. His body stirred again and a burning ache settled in his dick. If he didn't have her soon, the agony of wanting her was going to kill him.

Shaking his head, he asked, “Did they examine you?”

She squirmed a little in memory. “They did everything to me. Even a strip search, which is just as much fun as it sounds.”

He blew past that. “Did they give you a shot? An inoculation?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking back, “they gave me some antibiotic. Said there was flu in the prison and it was to keep me from contracting it. Because they
cared
so much about their prisoners,” she added with a sneer.

“Where did they give you this injection?”

“Oddly, in my neck. Hurt like a bitch, too.” Her voice trailed off. “You think?”

“I do. Show me.” He stepped closer and she lifted her hair out of his way. She leaned her head to one side and Torin bent to examine the smooth skin at the base of her skull. He spotted it immediately.

“There's something there,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her skin that he could almost taste her.

The scent of her drove him mad. That intriguing blend of earth and ocean that clung to the skin of a witch—while at the same time smelling different on each of them. Shea's scent was powerful and subtle. Like the witch herself.

“Well, get it out,” she yelped, reaching around to drag her fingernails across the back of her neck.

“I will, but it's going to hurt.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don't care. Just do it.”

The pride he felt for her rose up and did battle with the lust that was damn near choking him. He wanted her and admired her and tonight, he was going to
have
her. He would feel her writhing beneath him. Feel her body take him inside, accepting him and their mating and all that it entailed. But first . . .

Reaching to the sheath at his side, he pulled out a knife with a wicked silver blade. One edge was razor sharp, the other jagged with silver teeth designed to rip and tear.

“Holy crap,” she murmured and backed away a step.

“Be still. This must come out or our enemies will be able to track us.”

“Right. Enemies. Track.” Her gaze was locked on the knife blade. Her eyes looked enormous and glittered with the shifting shadows of the fire.

“Trust me, Shea,” he said, his voice compelling her to look up into his eyes.

She did, meeting his gaze squarely, with a courage that obviously cost her. “You keep saying that and I keep doing it, despite being terrified. Why is that?”

“Because we belong to each other.” He looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe. “Now turn and let me take care of this.”

With a long, deep breath, she did.

“I'll take as much of your pain as I can.”

“I'm fine. Just do it and be done, okay?”

He lifted her thick, silky hair and bunched it in one fist as he laid the tip of the knife to the tiny scar on her neck. At the base of her skull, nearly hidden by her hair, it was so small, he knew it had to be a microchip.

Silver, of course, so it wouldn't be a constant drain on her powers and thus tip her off to its existence. Silver for witches was a conduit to other elements. It focused their powers, channeled their energies—and the fact that their enemies had used that element against her fried his ass.

Torin edged the tip of the knife into her skin and winced as blood welled and trickled down her back. She jerked a little at the pain, but then held steady, the only sign of her distress her heavy, uneven breathing.

“Almost,” he whispered, then dug the chip free of her body and caught it in his hand. “Hold on to me, Shea.”

She automatically reached back and laid one hand on his side. He felt the fire of their joined energies and carefully fed them onto the bleeding cut on her neck. Instantly, the cut healed and he used his thumb to wipe away the blood.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes.”

She turned and looked down at his palm. “It's so small.”

“Microchips.” He walked to the fireplace, set the chip on the mantel and slammed the knife handle down onto it. When it was splintered, he gathered the pieces and tossed them into the flames.

“Thank you.”

He slanted a look at her. “You don't have to thank me for caring for you,” he said. “It is what I will always do.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine as I am yours.”

Her voice was soft, her eyes flaring with a hunger they had shared over the centuries. “I don't even know you.”

“You do. You just don't remember.”

“Same thing.”

“Stubborn witch,” he said with a shake of his head. Digging into the pocket of his black jeans, he tugged out a cell phone and flipped it open.

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? A magical guy uses a cell phone?”

“Satellite phone. We can use technology, too. We live in the modern world, Shea, and fashion it to suit our purposes.” He waited. Rune answered on the second ring.

“The woman's safe,” Rune said with a tinge of disgust. “She and her mother and daughter are
packing
, for chrissakes. What is it with women? They're on the run, with crazies after them, and they want to take time to pack? What is that?”

Torin smiled at the image of three mortal females driving his friend insane. “Before you go to Sanctuary, check Terri's neck.”

“Why?” Instantly Rune was serious.

Shea's gaze was locked on his as she realized that she might not be the only one tagged for recapture.

“Shea had a microchip embedded at the base of her skull.”

“Shit.”

“If Terri's got one too, you could lead BOW straight to Sanctuary.”

“Bastards,” Rune grumbled. “She's not even a witch.”

“Just check.”

“On it.” He disconnected and Torin slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Will Terri be all right?”

“Yes. Rune will see to it.”

“Okay.” She took a breath and looked up at him. “Now what?”

“We run.”

She sighed and Torin could see how tired she was. But she was also strung tight enough to snap. Not a good combination in an Awakening witch. “Go take a shower. Rinse off the dried blood. You'll feel better.”

“I don't have anything to wear,” she reminded him.

“Make something.”

When she just stared at him as if he'd lost his mind, he gritted his teeth against the rush of frustration. He had to keep reminding himself that she was only now realizing what she was. That she didn't know how to use the innate talents the universe and the goddess Danu had blessed her with. “You have the power. It's inside you. Draw on it.”

“How'm I supposed to do that?”

“Close your eyes.”

She did, then opened them again. “Is this a trick?”

“Close your eyes, woman.” When she had, he said, “Now get a picture in your mind. Imagine the clothes you want to be wearing. Right down to the last detail. Every button, every zipper. Got it?”

She scowled, scrunching her eyes closed tightly in concentration; then she nodded.

“Good. Now keep that picture in your mind and draw on the power you used to stop my damn car.”

A short, sharp laugh shot from her throat and Torin smiled in response. She made quite the picture. His witch with her wild hair and smooth skin, wrapped in a quilt, dazzled by firelight. Every cell in his body went into overdrive. His need for her was more than lust. Sex with her felt as necessary as air to him. He had to have her. Had to touch. Taste. Explore.

“Now what?”

Her question drew him out of his fantasies and forced him to focus on the moment. Soon enough, she would be with him where she belonged.

“Bring up the power in your mind. Feel the rush, the rising sweep of it. Keep that image of the clothes in your head and let the power loose.”

A moment passed, then two. And suddenly, the flames in the fireplace leapt and snapped. A wind rose up in the cabin and lifted her hair into a tangle of red curls around her head. He saw her skin glow with the sweep of power and felt the air sizzle with the strength of it.

She smiled, a beautiful, full smile, and she gasped in surprise and dropped the quilt. She opened her eyes. Looking down at her blue jeans, white shirt and dark green sweater, she laughed in delight.

“Congratulations,” he said. She was so damn pleased with the ability to conjure clothes, and all he wanted was to get her naked again. He pushed back his own need . ..
again.
“Go shower. We'll eat, then figure out what's next.”

Her smile died fast and Torin almost felt guilty for ruining her pleasure. But better that than get her dead.

When she headed to the bathroom, he took his phone out and made another call.