Chapter 28
Daughter.
How odd was it to discover her father after forty? And to find out he was the Traveler, one of the most powerful time hoppers in existence, was mind-boggling. Stands-in-Shadow’s moniker for Abbie made sense now.
Traveler’s child.
Somehow, he’d known who she was. Perhaps his otherworldly connections gave him an insight few possessed, but she wished he were here now, so she could thank him for his assistance.
As Wendall and Frank wrapped Jennings in a blanket, Morcant watched her, likely hoping to pick up on any squeamishness remaining.
He’d be in for disappointment. Abbie’s time here had been a lesson in brutality.
Other than noting the surprising speed of Silas’s draw, she hadn’t been upset by his slaying of Jennings.
No, it made a crazy sort of sense to eliminate the disruptive element.
In the short time she’d been with the Silver City Gang, she’d noticed Jennings always questioning orders both behind Silas’s and Royal’s backs and to their faces. Quite honestly, she was surprised Jennings had lasted as long as he had with a cold-blooded killer like his boss.
Royal was different. Softer, yet not. He had a steely resolve, but didn’t possess the cruelty she’d seen in his brother. Maybe Silas’s ugliness came from losing his wife. He’d had over two years to grow into the bitter fucker he was.
The second the two grunts hauled Jennings out the back door, Morcant spoke.
“Silas will kill you and your new suitor eventually.” His reptilian-like eyes with their hypnotic light were focused on her, as he probed for weaknesses. “What do you think of that, woman?”
She shrugged as if she didn’t care, all the while attempting to build a wall around her emotions to keep the Arcane Devourer from consuming her worried energy.
“I’m a novelty. The only woman within miles. There’s no real interest on their part,” she lied.
His grin was chilling. “You’re a terrible liar. You’re hoping they save you, but they won’t. And eventually, Royal will tire of protecting you, too. Wendall and Frank will enjoy taking turns.”
The threat didn’t hold water. She’d already gotten a bead on Royal’s true nature.
“And I’ll enjoy shoving a fork in your eye,” she quipped, picking one up from the table and examining it. “You and I can have matching faces. It’ll sure make yours prettier.”
His gaze narrowed, and he shoved his chair back to stand.
She could remain where she was and let him intimidate her, or she could move like Castor had advised. The smart money was on listening to her father, but she hesitated, not wanting to give in to Morcant’s cunning manipulation.
She was so fucking sick of bullies.
He circled the table, never looking away, and she could feel his presence, testing her mental wards.
Morcant was a mere foot away when Royal returned.
“Get away from her,” he ordered.
Light flared in the devil Devourer’s eyes. His chance to cause trouble had just walked in the door!
“We were about to become friends, Abbie and I. Weren’t we, my dear?”
“Not in this or any lifetime, you delusional twat,” she retorted.
His hand snaked out and gripped her throat, and as fast as a viper, she stabbed his wrist with her fork.
He hissed his displeasure, drawing back to strike.
The cocking of Royal’s pistol froze them in place.
“I said, get away from her.” Royal may not be the same class of killer as the rest of the gang, but it seemed he wasn’t beyond murder if it meant defending those weaker.
Abbie lifted her chin and shot Morcant a triumphant smirk. “Better do as he says, Morcunt.”
Rage transformed his visage from creepy to nightmarish, and she experienced an oh-shit-I-went-too-far moment.
Royal read the intent and lined up a shot, but not before electricity flew from the Devourer’s fingertips, sending a current straight at her would-be hero’s chest. Convulsing, he dropped to his knees, his death all but a guarantee.
Abbie screamed as she dove for him, but Morcant fisted her hair, keeping her in place. Her fear and rage coalesced into a single blast, shooting straight for his center mass, but he absorbed it as if it were ambrosia.
Castor, Draven, and Silas burst through the door.
“She’s a witch!” Morcant accused. “Look what she did to your brother!”
“No! No! Silas, it’s him!”
“Abbie, calm your mind,” Castor ordered, as he bent over a still Royal.
The mournful wail was unearthly as Silas dragged his brother into his arms.
“Let her go, and I will spare your life,” Draven warned.
And with his lethal words, Abbie was transported back to the day in the bank. The same sense of doom clouded her mind, and panic consumed her.
“Stay calm, chère, or he wins,” the Guardian telegraphed.
She tried. Goddess knows she did! But it felt as if Morcant was drawing her soul from her body. Weakness invaded her limbs, and spots dotted her vision.
“You are a Traveler, daughter,” Castor added. “You have the ability to go back in time to save Royal. Close your eyes and concentrate on the moment he entered the room. Feel his presence, and stop this from happening. If you don’t, Morcant wins. He’s absorbing your magic.”
With fork still in hand, she borrowed a page from Royal’s vicious book and stabbed Morcant in the ballsack.
His high-pitched scream was as gratifying as anything she’d ever experienced.
Replaying her father’s instructions, she focused her power, dialing in to mere minutes before.
But the unexpected happened.
Draven and Castor were thrown out the door as the floor opened up, creating a vortex neither she, Morcant, nor the Hastings could escape from.
The force with which Alexander landed against the corral fence dislocated his shoulder. Before he could gather his wits, the cabin folded in on itself, sucked into a massive sinkhole.
He scrambled forward, ignoring his pain and intending to do whatever it took to save Abbie. Right as he reached the edge, the earth compacted upon itself, filling the opening.
“Abbie!” he shouted, stupidly, as if calling her name would reverse the situation.
Draven’s horrified expression said it all.
Somewhere, under mounds of dirt, Alex’s daughter—if alive—was fighting for her life!
His angst traveled through the tanzanite link, and Wilder’s frantic voice rang through his mind.
“What’s happening, Castor?”
But the shock was too great, and he couldn’t respond. He’d foolishly instructed his daughter, an untried witch, to travel in a way it had taken him years to learn, and he had no power to rectify his mistake.
Shell-shocked, he sat frozen.
“Castor! Tell me! Where’s Abbie?”
The buzz of conversation came and went, but his mind was numb to anything but grief and failure.
And then, miraculously, Wilder was there, digging through the fresh mound, with all the passion of a starving mongrel searching for a juicy bone.
Alex should tell him not to waste his time, that it would require magic, not manpower, to get her out, if she’d survived the crushing weight of the collapse at all. Yet he couldn’t.
Instead, he appealed to Draven.
“You’ll eventually accept your role as Guardian, Masters,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know the specifics, but I know you will. Please, do it right now. Do it for Abbie.”
“I can’t,” Draven whispered his torment. “I can’t, not even for her.”
“You can at least help part the earth and get her out!”
But he shook his head in defeat.
Wilder’s scream was so long and guttural, birds flew from nearby shrubbery. His second cry shook the ground, and the rumble caused the horses to bolt. They tore through the far side of the corral. Lightning struck with his third, and his fourth parted the earth beneath him.
Alex had never seen anything like it.
It was as if Wilder was pulling magic from nature, absorbing the power for his own.
And then the cold reality hit him.
If a regular witch could, Alex, a direct descendant of Zeus, could do the same.
“Gods of this earth related to me,
Lend me your gifts in my time of need,
Give to me now what will one day be mine,
Here, now, this place, this timeline.”
Black storm clouds rolled in from all directions, bringing rain, sleet, winds, and snow. The clash produced a funnel cloud, which danced around the three of them for a heart-stopping moment. It cleared as quickly as it arrived, leaving a quartet of Gods surrounding him.
No one spoke as he picked himself off the ground and spun in a slow circle.
“One of ours is down there, buried alive, and I need your grace to save her,” he said, well aware that the tears gathering in his eyes might make him weak in theirs.
“You dare a lot, even for one so bold,” the most imposing of the four said.
“My request doesn’t come without payment, I know. State what you require of me.”
A sly-eyed fellow resembling Quentin moved forward, slowly circling him as he took his measure. “A sacrifice, perhaps? Say your son and family?”
“You can shove the sacrifice demand up your ass,” he growled. “You want a life? Take mine, but you leave my kid out of it.”
Fire flared, encircling the five of them, as anger sparked to life in the God’s eyes. “You don’t make demands, Anton O’Connor.”
“It’s Alexander Castor,” he snapped. “Anton was a fool of a boy, not worthy of the powers your lot granted him.”
“You’ll get no argument from us,” another said, as if bored by the entire conversation. “Someone tell that poor fool to stop with his earthly endeavors. The woman is not there.”
As one, Alex, Draven, and Wilder pivoted to face him. The latter got to his feet and ran for their fire circle.
“Where the fuck is she?” Wilder demanded, oblivious to the danger of commanding an answer from the Gods.
But Alex knew.
“Wilder, wait!”
The younger man froze in his tracks, and his indecision battled his determination.
“Wait,” he urged again. To the one who had yet to speak, the one Alex instinctively knew was the King of these Gods, he said, “Zeus, Exhalted One, I’m begging your mercy and indulgence.”
“Why should I grant it?”
“Because you wouldn’t have answered his call if you believed the Fates were right to send his daughter through time for their own personal gain,” Wilder replied.
Zeus’s eyes, a paler blue than Alex’s own, narrowed as he considered them.
“The woman you seek is no longer on this plane. She has created another portal with her reckless magic.”
“The fault was mine, father of our line,” Alex said. “I urged an untried witch to perform a service beyond her knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“She’s been innocent in all of this. A victim of others’ machinations in both timelines,” Wilder added.
He was smart to appeal to Zeus’s sense of fair play.
It worked.
“For this reason, you shall not be punished for stepping outside of your roles,” Zeus declared. “But you shall not be granted that which you seek.”
“You’re going to leave us here while she may be lost in some alternate time again?” Wilder shouted in clear disbelief. “Are you fucking insane?”
Zeus crossed through the raging fire ring unscathed, stopping only when he reached him. “Your passion is worthy of heroes, Wilder Thorne, but mistake me not. You will show respect for those who grant such gifts to mortals.”
Castor’s stomach dropped, and he feared for the punishment the Gods would mete out.
Showing wisdom, Wilder dropped to his knee and bowed his head. There was no mistaking that he’d done it for Abbie. If she wasn’t a factor, the guy would’ve told them all to fuck the hell off.
“My pardon for offending you, Exalted One,” he choked out. “It will not happen again.”
“Rise.”
When they were once again face-to-face, Zeus placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are a worthy mate for the daughter of my line, but she must be the one to save herself and earn her place as a Traveler. Do you understand?”
“She’s facing an Arcane Devourer. A force not even the Aether could defeat alone in our time.”
“The fated trials of who we select are not yours to question, child. It is faith in your mate you must have.”
“If anyone can come through your trials, it’s Abbie,” he replied with a confidence Alex himself didn’t feel.
Respect and an emotion similar to approval lit Zeus’s eyes.
“You will do.” The God then approached Draven. “The Fates have stolen much from you. But you, too, shall prevail.”
“You will do.” The God then approached Draven. “The Fates have stolen much from you. But you, too, shall prevail.”
Before Alex could form the words to ask what the hell he was talking about, the Quentin lookalike was before him, slamming the heel of his hand into Alex’s dislocated shoulder.
The sheer agony took him out.