Bay of Sighs (37 page)

Sawyer looked down as well, not only at the star, but at Annika who sat, tail curled under her, on the floor.

“You may want to, you know, change. And—” He grabbed her dress. “Put this on.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. It lives. It breathes.” She offered it up to Sawyer.

And it pulsed, without mass, but warm and real in his hands. “Whoa, I'll say. Over to you.”

As Bran took it, Annika rose on her legs, shimmied into her dress. As Bran had with the Fire Star, he shielded it in a clear globe. “To protect, to respect, to shield, to hold.”

“We should do it quickly. She knows.”

With a nod at Sasha, Bran crossed to the painting. The rest gathered around him, washed in that blue light. “As before, we each lay a hand on the globe, all say the words. To protect this bright water, this pure light, I send it safe where no eye can see, no hand can touch, no darkness shadow.”

Power shimmered, swirled. The encased star pulsed its light, and that light spread over the house on the cliffs, turned the soft sky into brilliance. Then slipped into the painting. With a final flash of blue, it was gone.

“It's quiet now,” Annika murmured. “And safe from her.”

“It will be safer—and stronger I think.” Bran held out a hand. The painting vanished. “Stronger now that two are together.”

“She's fury.” Beside Bran, Sasha shuddered. “All fury and madness. She'll rain fire, burn us to ash.”

“We should just go—you know—zip right to Ireland.” Glancing around, Riley shoved her wet hair back. “I'm always up for a fight, but this might be the time to retreat and regroup.”

“She'll follow, and the fire rains there. It's fire—I can feel the burn. It's cold.”

“If it's here or there, I want to take the shot.” In fact, Sawyer craved it. “I can buy us time, turn her around so she'll have to find us again rather than just follow our trail. Either way, we need to suit up.”

Sawyer unstrapped the underwater gun. “And fight some fire with fire.”

“Fire with fire,” Bran agreed, but added a sharp smile, “and given all, I think, with water.”

“So we're going to get hot and wet—sexual innuendo absolutely intended because, why not. Scuba gear under the pergola. I'll have it
picked up there.” Riley shrugged. “They already figure I'm way over-eccentric.”

Annika followed Sawyer to his old room where he'd left a change of clothes, his boots. His weapons. “She's a god, Sawyer. She may not let you go.”

“I'm not going to give her a choice.”

“But she—”

“Listen.” He paused to take her shoulders, look into her eyes. “You need to trust me on this, like I trusted you in the cave. Okay, I had a minute of panic when you went down, when I couldn't see you.”

And it had taken Doyle and Bran together to hold him back.

“But I pulled it together. Because I knew you were doing what you were meant to do, had to do. And would do. I need you to trust me, to believe in me. I need that or I can't do it.”

“If I believe, it helps you?”

“All the difference in the world.”

“Then I believe.” She cupped his face, laid her lips on his, poured all she was into that one moment. “You have all my faith.”

“Then I can't lose.”

He changed quickly, joined the others.

“You'll be in the firestorm, and in the deluge,” Bran told them. “I'll do what I can to send it up, away from you, but it's going to be rough.”

“I like it rough.” Doyle drew his sword, sent Riley a glance. “Sexual innuendo intended.”

“Good one.” She drew her gun, gripped her knife.

“Keep her minions off me when you can.” Sawyer looked up, realized he didn't need Sasha to tell him they were coming. Overhead, the sky already thrashed. “If she's with them, and the seer says yeah, I need to get close enough to pull her in. I may need a toss-up,” he said to Bran.

“You'll have it.”

The sky cracked open, shaking the world. And the bitter, flaming dark poured out.

“All my faith,” Annika told him.

Then they charged.

He dodged fire that speared out of the sky, lanced into the ground to sizzle. Whatever protection Bran had wound around the villa had that fire bouncing off—like striking a force field. And some of those fiery balls and lances ricocheted into the sharp wings of diving birds.

Yeah, a little of your own medicine, he thought, and took out a swarm with bullets.

Hot, spinning sparks spewed up, and he learned they had a nasty bite.

He fired, fired, slapped in fresh clips, fired. The world was fire and smoke, the blast of bullets, the slice of blade, the whoosh of bolts. And the lightning.

Then came the flood.

He'd been warned, Sawyer reminded himself as the force of Bran's storm whipped over him. Wind and madly driving rain, lightning jagging through the dark.

He saw Annika's bracelets flash, laid down a stream of shots over her head to destroy what came at her.

Spears of fire drowned in the rain, and the cool, clean wet soothed his burns. He caught the blur, thought Malmon. Fast, but not as fast as he'd been. Still healing, Sawyer thought as he took aim.

But the ground heaved up, knocked him back into a crawling fog that hissed and bit. He flipped up, for the first time really grateful for the dawn training. He nearly lost Malmon in the haze as that blur arrowed toward Sasha.

He gave a shout of warning, spun to shoot. But Bran's lightning glanced off that blur, sent it spinning away. He caught a glimpse of Riley charging Doyle, and Doyle catching her foot in his hand, heaving up so she flipped high, firing at a circle of birds.

He wondered when the hell they'd worked that one out, then had no time to think.

She broke out of the dark, shocking the air so he felt the charge of it lift the hair on his arms, the back of his neck. Once again she rode the three-headed beast, but now wore some sort of armor, black as the night.

She heaved thunderbolts, flooded the rain with liquid fire that burned a vicious orange as it fought to slide through the storm.

Focused on Bran, he noted, as the rest rushed to circle around him. Take out our magick, then scorch the rest. The Cerberus screamed in triumph, tongues flicking more fire, eyes as crazed as its rider's. The world quaked as power clashed with power, and Sawyer braced his legs against it, took aim.

His bullets struck each head, had them whipping back in shock as those triumphant screams went to shrieks of pain.

“It's now,” he shouted. “Right now! Send me up!”

Shooting his weapons home, he gripped the compass.

He flew, grateful now he'd had the experience with Bran once before or he might have fumbled. With Nerezza fighting to control her beast, with her rage focused on the five, Sawyer put everything he had into the moment.

His hand gripped her flying hair, and with the shock of it rocketing up his arm, he shifted.

Like a tornado, the dark funneled around him, full of sound, burning with her fury. The stinging whip of her power lashed his arm, his face, his body. But he held on.

Then her eyes met his, and her madness smiled.

I
nside,” Bran ordered. “Inside now. Be ready. Injuries?”

“Burns, cuts, crap. And more crap,” Riley managed. “The sun's going down.”

To solve the problem, and because she limped as she ran, Doyle simply scooped her up, carried her like a football into the villa.

“We'll deal with injuries in Ireland. Let me help you.” Sasha dropped down to drag off Riley's boots.

“Look, I'm not a priss, but how about averting your— Damn it, no time.”

She tossed modesty away with her shirt.

Doyle unhooked her belt. “You can't run.”

“I know it, I know it. Sawyer—”

“He'll come back to us. We have to believe.” Sasha gripped Riley's hand even as it began to change. “We all have to believe.”

Riley's only answer was a howl as she rolled to her hands and knees, gave herself over to the moon.

“Can you see him?” Annika knelt down, wrapped her arms around the wolf, pressed her face into the warm fur to comfort them both. “Sasha, can you feel him? Please. Please.”

“No, but I don't when he's traveling. He's strong, Anni, and smart. He pulled her away.”

“She never saw him coming,” Doyle added. “He took her by surprise. The kid's got balls of steel. He'll come through. He'll come back.”

“We're going to live on the island.” As she spoke it, like a prayer, tears streamed down her cheeks. “He's going to build a house, and I'll stay in the sea. We'll swim together.”

“I know.” Because she felt Annika's fight not to despair, Sasha knelt beside her, took her and the wolf into an embrace. “It's lovely. We'll all come see you, swim with you.”

“He'll come back to me.” Annika drew in a breath, raised her head. “Just as he did before. He'll come back to me.”

When he did, he fell at her feet.

“Sawyer, Sawyer.” She dropped onto him, covering his face with kisses. “You're hurt.”

“Not that bad.” He kissed her back, and hissed as he managed to get to his knees. “Pretty bad,” he admitted. “The disconnect was tricky. She's got a hell of a grip. I don't know where I dumped her, or how long we have until she figures it out, but we should get the hell of out Dodge.”

“You're weak, brother.”

“Not that fucking weak,” he shot back at Doyle, but accepted the hand to help him to his feet.

“I believed in you.” Annika took his bloody hand, pressed it to her cheek.

“I could feel it. Keep it up.”

“You have the coordinates.”

He nodded at Bran, tapped his temple. “Set. I could probably use a boost.”

“You'll have it.”

“Don't forget my bike,” Doyle told him.

“Got you covered.” He glanced at Riley. “First time I've ever traveled with a werewolf.” And grinned at her low growl. “Okay, gang, second star to the right and straight on till morning.”

“I love you, Sawyer King.”

“Keep that up, too.” He pressed his lips to Annika's, mentally pulled his battle-scarred friends in close.

With Annika's arms around him, he took them traveling to where two stars shined quiet, and the third waited to light again.

T
he mother of lies tumbled through time and space. A storm of wind and sound whirled around her. Worlds rushed by, grazing her flesh with their edges as she fell.

As she bled—bled!—power seeped out of her, drop by drop. She gripped the reins of her fury in hands that burned and burned, gathered all she was, all she had.

Weak, weaker, fading.

She dropped through the world like a comet of ice, and the earth quaked when she fell onto the floor of the cave, by the silver steps she'd created.

She tasted her own blood in her mouth, swallowed it, but had no strength to rise. So she lay, wrapped in pain.

Dimly she heard the click of claws on stone.

“My queen, my god, my love.”

Scaled hands lifted her head, stroked her, while the beast she'd created from man made guttural croons.

“I will kill them all for you,” it promised. “I will help you heal, grow strong. Drink.” It held a goblet to her lips. “Drink, and rest and heal.”

She drank, but the few drops of the seer's blood barely touched the pain, barely cleared a single layer of mist from her mind.

But she saw now, reflected over and over on the polished stones of the chamber, the beast who cradled her. Saw her garments tattered, torn, singed. Saw a second white streak snaking through her hair.

And the lines carved deep around her mouth.

In her eyes, where lines, more lines, fanned, a vengeful madness bloomed.

It lifted her.

“You will sleep. I will feed you, and tend you, and bathe your wounds. You will heal again, my queen, and I will avenge you.”