Chapter 14 #3
And she made him feel drunk, half-mad with it. Made him feel strong as a god, reckless as a cornered wolf.
The world outside dissolved; time spun away.
Just her body, the shape of her, those sleek muscles under smooth skin. The sound of her—breath and sigh and soft, soft moan. And her taste, so hot and sweet.
She struggled up, fast hands, quick legs, to straddle him, and starlight caught in the crown of her hair like diamonds.
She took him in, fast and deep, her hands pressed to her own breasts as the first wave of ecstasy swamped her.
Then she rode, free and wild, starlight on her skin, dark triumph in her eyes.
He gripped her hips, clinging to her and some last thread of sanity.
And she lifted her arms high, crying out in that same dark triumph.
Flames shimmered at her fingertips, tiny pinpoints of light that flashed, bright and blinding as the sun. Stunned by them, bewitched by her, he held on—and he let go.
* * *
IN THE DARK, IN THE DREAM, SHE REACHED FOR HIM.
“Do you hear that? Do you hear that?”
“It’s just the wind.”
“No.” The woods were so thick, the night so black. Where was the moon? Why was there no moon, no stars?
And with a shudder, she understood. “It’s in the wind.”
Her name, the seductive pull of the whisper. A stroke of silk on bare skin.
“You need to sleep.”
“But I am. Aren’t I?”
When she shivered again, he rubbed her chilled hands between his. “We should have a fire.”
“It’s so dark. It’s too dark, too cold.”
“I know the way home. Don’t fret now.”
He began to guide her, through the trees, away from the little licks of fog that flicked, sly as the tongue of a snake, along the ground.
“Don’t let go,” she said as the whisper slid and stroked over her skin.
“The way’s blocked, do you see?” He gestured to the thick branches blocking the path. “I’ll need to move them before we can get through.”
“No!” On a spur of panic, she gripped his hand tighter. “It’s what he wants. Just like before, to separate us. We have to stay together. We have to hold on.”
“The way’s blocked, Iona.” He turned her now, looked into her eyes. His were dark gold, intense, unwavering. “We should have a fire.”
“The fog’s closer. Can you hear it?”
The wolf now, just the faintest growl through the black, through the fog.
“I hear it. Fire, Iona. It’s what we need.”
Fire, she thought. Against the dark, against the cold.
Fire. Of course.
She threw her arms out, out, lifted her face up. And called it.
Strong, bright, with a whip-snap that lashed through the creeping fog, made it boil, made it steam and die to thin black ash.
“To the dark I bring the light. Against the black I forge the white. From my blood I call the fire to burn, to flame high and higher. Awake or in dreams, my power runs free. As I will, so mote it be.”
A curl of fog snuck out, slithered close. Boyle lunged in front of Iona, threw out a fist.
He felt a quick pain across his knuckles. Then both fog and ash vanished, and there was only fire and light.
She saw blood well up across Boyle’s hand.
And woke with a jolt.
Morning, she saw now, the pearly promise of it glowing against the window.
A dream, just a dream, and she took a breath to steady herself. When Boyle sat up beside her, she reached for his hand.
And saw the blood.
“Oh God.”
“In the woods, together.” His fingers curled tight over hers. “Is that how it was?”
She nodded. “It’s a kind of astral projection, I think. We’re here, but we were there. I must have pulled you in with me. You . . . You hit out at the fog.”
“It worked, and felt fine as well, though your fire did more.”
“No, yes. I don’t know. You struck out, and it was like you punched a hole, for a moment. I . . . But you’re bleeding.”
“Sure it’s but a scratch.”
“No, it’s from him. I don’t know if it’s just a scratch.” She could call on Connor or Branna, but she felt, somehow, this was for her to do.
“I need to fix it.”
“Just needs a quick wash, and ointment if you’re going to fuss about it.”
“Not that way.” Her heart beat so fast now, faster, she realized, than it had, even through the fear of the dream.
He bled, and it was Cabhan who’d drawn that blood.
“It’s an unnatural wound. I’ve studied it, if you’ll trust me.”
She laid her hand over the shallow gash, closed her eyes. She saw his hand—strong, broad, the fascinating scarred knuckles from his boxing days. The blood, and deeper, looking deeper, the thin black line of Cabhan’s poison.
Just as she’d feared.
Draw it out, she told herself. Out and away. White against black again. Light against dark. Out and away before it sank deeper, before it could spread.
She felt it go, little by little, felt it burn away. She knew by the way his hand stiffened, it caused him pain. But now the wound ran clean. Slowly, carefully, she set to the healing of the shallow gash. Now the pain—small, sharp stings were hers. But they faded, faded.
Just a scratch, as he’d said, once the poison had been drawn out.
She opened her eyes, found his on her.
“You’ve gone pale.”
“It took some doing. My first try at this kind of thing.” Her head spun a little, and her stomach did a couple of slow rolls.
But the wound was clean, and it was closed. She studied his hand, satisfied. “He used poison. I don’t know if it would’ve done anything, but it might have spread. It wasn’t much, but it’s gone now. You could have Connor take a look.”
Boyle continued to study her as he flexed his fingers. “I’d say you did well enough.”
“I don’t know if he expected me to pull you with me. And I don’t know how I did. But you told me what needed to be done. The fire. You told me, and it worked.”
“Burned him to ashes.”
“Well, wouldn’t be the first time, and I really don’t think it’s the last.”
“No, not the last of it.”
“I’d say I’m sorry I dragged you into that, but I’m awfully glad you were with me.”
“It was an experience for certain.”
One that left him shaken, and more, puzzled him. During it he’d felt such calm, and such absolute faith she would do what needed to be done.
“It seemed like a dream,” he continued, “the way your mind can be a bit slow, and you don’t question the oddities.”
“I’ll do a charm for the bed, or better, have Branna do one. It should help.”
“I hurt him.” Again, Boyle flexed his fingers.
“He wasn’t expecting a punch, I’m thinking.
I know when one lands well, and it did. I’m thinking as well, the poison was for you.
Could I have pulled you back out, as you did me?
Do you know that? And if I did that, could I have gotten you to Connor in time to deal with the poison, if I’d thought to? ”
“You knew what to do.” Instinctively, she lifted her hands to rub at his shoulders, found them knotted. “You knew we needed fire, and you stayed so calm. I needed you to stay calm. I’m going to believe you’d know what to do if and when he comes at us again.”
She let out a long breath. “I’m starving. I’ll go fix breakfast.”
“I’ll do it. You’re a terrible cook.”
“That’s so entirely true. Fine, you cook. I’ll give Branna a call, tell her, just in case. Are we still on for that rambling?”
“I don’t see what this changes about it.”
“Great. I’ll grab a shower, then call Branna. It’s early, and she’ll be less cranky with another fifteen minutes’ sleep.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.”
But he picked up his phone first and, while she ran the shower, punched in Fin’s number. He’d sooner know what Fin had to say before he fried up the bacon.