Wish Upon a Cowboy (35 page)

Mouth dry, heart racing, Hannah feared Jonas could never defeat this man. His power was too strong. His rage too deep. Terrified, she realized that there was no way for her to prevent the confrontation from happening. The two warlocks would meet. And only one of them would survive.

"Once I've finished with your warlock," Blake promised, as if reading her mind. "I'll see to it you and your aunt pay for your deception."

"That's what you use magic for?" a deep voice taunted. "To threaten women?"

Wolcott whirled around to face his accuser.

Hannah struggled against the wind pinning her to the ground. Levering herself up on one elbow, she watched Jonas swing down from his horse and walk toward Blake.

Then she closed her eyes and prayed.

Chapter Twenty

Jonas threw a brief glance at the corral. Two men and four horses down. He couldn't tell if they were dead or alive. A gaping chasm stretched across the center of the paddock and he bit back an oath as he thought of the animals already lost to that slash of emptiness.

But he couldn't think about that loss now. His focused gaze locked on Hannah, lying sprawled at the feet of the warlock.

Against the pallor of her face, her green eyes looked wide and over bright. His chest tightened and again he felt the swell of rage that had claimed him when he saw Wolcott toss her to the ground.

Hannah's fear invaded him and for the first time in his life, Jonas wanted desperately to kill a man. But he couldn't risk giving in to the fury rising inside him.

Hands fisted at his sides, Jonas faced into the wind, a cold, bruising force that pushed and shoved at him. He widened his stance, instinctively preparing for the coming fight. Behind him, he heard Elias mutter a curse, but he couldn't afford to be distracted. Now he needed to concentrate on the man turning to face him.

"So, you're Eudora's hope," the warlock said above the rising wind. "The man she sent Hannah to find."

"I'm Jonas Mackenzie," he said through gritted teeth. "And you're on my land."

Wolcott's dark eyes widened slightly and for one split second, complete surprise colored his features. "Mackenzie?"

"That's right."

"Well…" The warlock recovered quickly and moved, walking off to his right, circling his opponent. "I thought the Mackenzie was dead."

"You thought wrong." Jonas didn't turn, but his gaze followed the other man as he moved.

"Mac –" Elias's voice, worried.

"Take care of Hannah," he said, never taking his eyes off Wolcott.

"Oh, yes," the warlock agreed. "We wouldn't want anything to… happen to either of the ladies. Would we?"

"Touch her again, Wolcott," Jonas promised him, "and I swear there's not enough magic in the world to cure what will ail you."

Dark brown eyebrows lifted and one corner of the man's mouth tugged into a mockery of a smile. "My, my. It's love, is it?" His lips flattened into a grim slash across his face. "How sad for you both."

The implied threat only fueled the anger blazing in Jonas's heart. He felt as though his insides were on fire. Rage fanned the flames licking at his soul and he had to fight to maintain control.

Above him, thunder crashed and lightning shimmered weirdly against the black, roiling clouds, brightening the gloom-filled yard with brief flashes of brilliance. The wind churned, tearing at his clothes, roaring like lost souls on the road to hell. The strength of the storm invaded Jonas and he wasn't sure if his power was feeding it or if it was the other way around. And a part of him realized it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except ridding Hannah, the Guild, and the world of this warlock. She'd been right when she'd said that Wolcott had to be defeated. The man was wild-eyed and dangerous. As an ordinary man, he could cause plenty of problems. As a warlock, the damage he could do with even more power was staggering to consider.

If he had to use his last ounce of strength and will to accomplish this man's defeat, that's what Jonas would do.

And in that moment of realization, he silently accepted the weight of his heritage and the mantle of responsibilities that defined it.

"You shouldn't have come here, mister," Jonas told him, turning a slow circle, keeping a wary eye on the man as he watched for any sudden movements that might signal the start of the battle.

Wolcott shook his head and the windswept his long, dark hair up and around his head like a dark halo. His gaze dropped briefly to the gleam of burnished brass shining at Jonas's waist.

"You are the Mackenzie," he said with a little less bravado than before. "I see you have the circlet."

Was that hesitation—even uneasiness—in the warlock's voice? Jonas felt a momentary surge of optimism.

But a moment later, the man covered his brief lapse and said firmly, "But owning the circlet and being worthy of it are two different things, aren't they?"

Pay no attention, Jonas told himself. Don't listen to him. Just watch him. Watch his movements. Watch where he looks. Watch his eyes. The eyes were always the key in any fight. A man ready to make his move usually telegraphed the notion by blinking, or twitching, or… something.

Jonas bent his knees slightly and balanced himself on the balls of his feet—doing what Elias had taught him  looking for a weakness in his opponent. An opening. Something he could use to destroy the man who threatened everything he loved.

Wolcott was a tall, strongly built man, but he moved unsteadily across the ground. Like a man too used to relying on magic to get things done. And that might be the weakness Jonas needed. If he could force this fight into the ordinary world, he would have the advantage.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement that did distract him. Long, blond hair, swept by the wind into a froth of brightness in the unnatural gloom. He glanced her way quickly and watched as Hannah fought and struggled against the powerful wind pushing her down into the dirt.

Anger, fear for her safety, and an all-encompassing love filled him.

He wouldn't lose her, he told himself firmly. He wouldn't lose his last, best chance at love. Not to some warlock with a lust for power. Not because he wasn't good enough at magic to best an enemy like he'd never faced before.

No matter what, he would win. He had to.

On the other side of the yard, Elias slowly made his way to Eudora. Jonas could only hope the two people would be able to protect Hannah until this was over. Eudora's magic was no match for the warlock's, but it might be enough to shield Hannah just enough.

"I'll have that circlet, Mackenzie," Wolcott crowed, and Jonas's eyes narrowed. "When I've finished with you, all that you have will be mine."

The wind howled, screeching around them like a demon, and the fires inside Jonas burned brighter. Hotter. He glanced at Hannah again before saying, "You'll have nothing from this place, Wolcott."

"You'll stop me, I suppose?"

"With my last breath," Jonas assured him.

"Just as I'd planned."

"Jonas, no!" Hannah's voice trembled in the rush of wind, but he felt her terror.

He blanked his mind to it. He couldn't do anything to ease her worries and couldn't afford to think of them now. "Stay out of this, Hannah," he yelled, his gaze still centered on the warlock.

"Yes, do," Wolcott said tightly.

"Let's get to it, witch," Jonas told him as he took a step closer.

"Warlock," the other man corrected.

And Jonas dove at him, his arms wrapping around the other man's knees and toppling him into the dirt. Air exploded from the warlock's lungs and rather than reaching for the help of magic, he reacted as Jonas had hoped he would.

Bringing his right fist up, Wolcott swung a punch that missed Jonas's jaw by inches. He responded with a solid right to the man's midsection that purpled the warlock's features as he struggled for air.

Again and again, Jonas landed punches squarely, battering the man's face and body with work-hardened fists driven by muscles earned with years of backbreaking labor. He felt a satisfying crunch of bone as the warlock's nose broke and blood flowed from him. Wolcott screamed in pain and rage, but Jonas didn't hesitate. His fists flew at the enemy, over and over again. Desperation drove him. He fought for those he loved. He fought for his life. And the future he wanted so badly.

Wolcott hit him with a punch that snapped his head back, then another that made him see stars. But the next few were Jonas's and those hits hurt the warlock badly.

Overhead, the skies exploded in a blast of noise and light. The rolls of thunder became a continuous roar and the weird snatches of illumination from the bolts streaking across the heavens shone through the darkness clawing at Jonas.

Like his dreams, that blackness loomed closer, heavier, threatening to swallow him. He remembered the fear and slammed it down, refusing to give it life. Jonas fought, harder than he had in those nightmare struggles. More fiercely. More desperately. It was as if those nightly battles had been honing his skills… driving him to realize that when the fight came, it would be all or nothing. No halfway measures would end this.

Either he, or Wolcott, would die.

And he was winning. He felt it. Felt the warlock's confidence shatter as he lay helpless beneath Jonas's fists.

So he should have expected the fight to change. But he didn't.

In an instant, he was catapulted from atop Wolcott to sail across the yard. He landed with a solid thump that knocked the wind from his chest and set his ears ringing. Clambering to his feet again, he shook his head to clear it, stood up, and faced the warlock from twenty paces off.

Swaying slightly in the wind, Wolcott reached up and wiped a streak of blood from his split lip, then tenderly explored the shattered remnant that was his nose.

"You fight like an ordinary man," he sneered. "You're no warlock."

"Bloodied you," Jonas managed to say.

"First blood is not always last blood," the warlock reminded him.

In the next flash of lightning, Jonas saw the man's black gaze flick briefly to Hannah. The warlock raised one hand…

"Jonas, look out!" she yelled above the keening wind, obviously convinced the man was about to strike him down.

A sudden spurt of dread rocked Jonas on his heels. Not for himself, though, because he knew without a doubt the warlock's next move would be against Hannah.

Beneath her, the ground opened up with a terrible tearing and ripping that carried over the wind and the roar of the storm.

"Hannah!" Jonas shouted as he watched her legs slide into the yawning black gash in the earth. She screamed once and dug her fingers into the muddy dirt, clawing for purchase. Eyes wide, she looked at him, and in a flash of lightning he saw acceptance of her fate gleaming in her green eyes.

"Oh, God!" Eudora's voice, frantic. She lifted both hands toward her niece, but her magic was no match for the warlock's.

"I'll get her," Elias shouted.

But Jonas knew the older man couldn't save her. He wasn't strong enough or quick enough to best the magic hurtling through the yard. Even Eudora's power wouldn't be enough. Wolcott might be crazy, but he was damned strong, too.

"Hang on, Hannah," Jonas murmured. Focusing his mind on the woman he loved, he used his formidable will to hold her, keep firm her precarious grip on safety.

And as the wind buffeted him and the thunder crashed and boomed around him, Jonas looked deep within himself. A corner of his mind noted that Wolcott stood patiently, waiting for Hannah to die so that he might finish Jonas off at his leisure.

But he steeled himself against thoughts of failure. He wouldn't lose. Not this time. Not when so much was at stake.

Closing his eyes, Jonas heard Eudora's voice echoing in his mind: The real power in the world is love, Mackenzie… When a man's heart is full he can do anything… But he must listen to himself and open his mind…

Wolcott knew only the lust for power and the need to destroy. He had no love to draw on, to gather strength from.

Jonas slowly lifted both arms wide as he had the night of the stampede, when everything in his world had changed. Opening his eyes, he stared into the dark brown gaze of the warlock bent on destruction, then threw his head back to look at the sky and whatever lay beyond.

Calling out to whoever might be listening, Jonas shouted and his words were snatched up by the wind and carried to the heart of the storm.

"I am the Mackenzie," he called out, and the thunder rolled. Later, he would wonder where he found the words, but as they poured from him, they sounded right. And proper.

"Save her and end this. I call on the magic that lies within us all." He pulled in a breath and shouted, "I call on the power of love. I call on those who would have us win this day!"

And generations of Mackenzies lined up on either side of him. He felt their presence, though even he couldn't see them. Hundreds of them. Spirits, souls, ghosts. It didn't matter what they were called. All that mattered was that they were real. And standing with him. From the first Druid priest to his parents, the members of the Mackenzie family surrounded him, strengthening him, pouring centuries of knowledge and love into the well of his soul.

They filled him with light, with magic, with the power that was his birthright.

Blake Wolcott paled. His raised fists shook. And when the first lightning bolt struck the earth at his feet, he screamed.

Too late, he'd discovered what Jonas had finally accepted. The strength of centuries—of families, of love—cannot be denied.

Jonas watched as bolt after bolt stabbed the ground in a widening circle around the warlock who would have destroyed him. Again and again, white-hot, jagged spears slammed into the dirt. Jonas felt the hammering blows but stood untouched by the wild electrical charge rising around him. A cloud of dust and smoke and a thick gray haze rose up, shrouding Wolcott from sight.

His screams tore from his throat.

Lightning hailed from the sky.

And in a final, horrendous crash of thunder, lightning, and wind, the battle was finished. A silence so thick it seemed to have a life of its own dropped over the yard.