Braving Fate (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 1) (13 page)

She’d clearly lost her mind. Of all the thoughts she should be occupying her brain with right now, that wasn’t one of them.

Moonlight filtering in through lace curtains highlighted the muscles of his back, which were sculpted like those of a Greek statue. She’d never been particularly interested in Greek art or history before, but perhaps she’d better look into it a little more.

She couldn’t look away as he pulled on a pair of jeans and dragged the chair over to the window. After sinking into it, he gazed out into the night, his eyes intense. But when
weren’t
his eyes intense?
 

God, she would be so embarrassed if someone could read her mind. She’d never dedicated this much synapse activity to a mere man before. It was beyond embarrassing.

But he wasn’t just any man, and it would be so easy to roll over and crook her finger at him.
 

A sharp cry broke through the early dawn stillness. Cadan sat bolt upright in the chair by the window and was at Diana’s side in seconds. She tossed weakly in her sleep, her face twisted with fear. A terrible trapped-animal noise came from her throat.
 

“Let go,” she cried.

Her fist made contact with the side of his head when he tried to keep her from thrashing. Definitely a nightmare.

Cadan gently gripped her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Diana, wake up.”
 

She thrashed, trying to lash out again. His hand trembled as he stroked her head. What was she dreaming of that terrified her so much?
 

“Please, lassie, wake up.” When she did nothing, he shook her again, slightly harder this time.

Diana gasped, and her eyes flew open in confusion. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Shhh, shhh.” He gathered her into his arms. “It’s all right. You just had a nightmare.”
 

She trembled in his arms. She seemed smaller than she ever had, and protectiveness welled within him, which turned to panic when she started to cry.
 

“Come on now, lassie, what is it? Doona cry.”

She began to gasp through her sobs.
 

Oh, shite.
He didn’t know how to make this better, so he cradled her and stroked her hair. He’d do anything to keep her safe. But how was he supposed to protect her from dreams?

He sat up and gathered her closer to him, tucking her head underneath his chin. It felt so
right
to hold her. “It was a dream about your past.” There was no question in his mind.

“Yes,” she said, hiccupping, exhaustion tingeing her voice.

“Tell me about it.” He hoped dread didn’t color his. He couldn’t stifle the fear of what she might have dreamed. “Why were you upset?”

“I was her again, but I wasn’t dying this time. I’ve always been dying in the dream. I’ve felt everything—the pain, the horror—and I thought that was the worst feeling in the world. But I was wrong.”

His stomach turned. She’d
felt
Boudica’s death? “How many times have you felt it?”
 

“More than I can count since I was a child. But it’s always the same dream—an overwhelming sense of betrayal. And the knife.”

The knife. He swallowed. “What was the dream now? What could be worse than dying so many times?”
 

His stomach turned. He had no doubt that she remembered it all accurately—the feelings, both physical and emotional. They wouldn’t be normal dreams, created from imagination and suggestion. They would be ingrained memories, which in Boudica’s case were full of tragedy and misery.

“I’m tied up and being carried over the shoulder of the same man who holds me while I die. I couldn’t… I couldn’t control any of it.” She pushed away from him and climbed out of bed. It was cold in the room, but she didn’t seem to notice as she began to pace, her eyes distant, with the waxy look of a person about to be ill.

“It was cold. Raining in a never-ending drizzle. I was so angry with him, probably because he was abducting me, and I was screaming at him, trying to reason with him. But he wouldn’t listen, and carried me to a small round house in the middle of the woods. I could only think,
Not now. He can’t keep me from this. I must be there. Everything depends upon this.
” She stopped by the window, her hands tightly gripping the stone sill as she gazed out.

“But he left me there. Tied up and alone.” She drew in a ragged breath. “While my daughters needed me. God, I was scared. And mad. Maybe that’s why I felt betrayed when I died.”

“You won’t die again. I’m going to protect you, lassie.” His voice, his vow, was fierce.

She turned and gave him a wan but appreciative smile. Then her gaze turned questioning. “But why did he lock me up? Make me a prisoner?”
 

Cadan looked away.

“Tell me. This is something you know, isn’t it? Who are the girls? Did I really have daughters?”

“You know that I canna say, lassie.” Would he if he could? He knew now how much her dreams must bother her, how much she hated being out of control. This was the worst iteration yet of her nightmares.

“No, I know that you
won’t
say.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Esha tapped her foot and scowled at the zero that popped up next to
Missed Calls
on her phone. As if he could sense her anger, the Chairman stalked around her workspace, tail twitching. It had been two days since she had gone to Warren with her information about the underground. She hadn’t heard from him, and who knew what could be happening down there?
 

“Doesn’t he realize this is important?” she asked the Chairman as she paced.
 

He hissed absently, as if he were saying
bastard
. At least, that’s what she liked to think. He was probably just sweetening her up for potential tuna.

“That was the biggest mess of evil I’ve ever seen.”
 

She was fed up. Fed up with not being taken seriously, fed up with being an outcast, and fed up with Warren. She was done playing Little Miss Nice Soulceress, and she was going to do something about it. The Chairman looked at her balefully.
 

“All right. I guess I’ve never been Little Miss Nice Soulceress. But let’s go. I want to check out the underground again.”

She was feeling good today. She’d passed by a huge contingent of witches this afternoon—off to some party she hadn’t been invited to, probably—and she’d picked up an enormous burst of power from them. They would barely notice the lack, and it would regenerate anyway, but she was ready for anything that came at her. She was almost drunk with the power.

“Get a move on, Chairman, we’re blowing this lemonade stand.”
 

She grabbed her keys off the table near the door and sailed out of the room, heading for her car. She didn’t want aetherwalking to burn off some of her power and the Chairman loved the ride, often standing with his front paws on the dash while he stared intently out the front window.

Soon, they were creeping through the underground gloom once again. Only this time, they knew where they were headed. The Chairman stalked ahead of her, not bothering with minor scents scattered here and there. He was hunting big game, and this mysterious evil was the biggest they’d ever found. They reached the large chamber in less than thirty minutes, anxious to see if it had changed.
 

“Slow down, Chairman,” Esha whispered.
 

They hovered in the entrance, peering into the darkness as she made her fireball glow brighter. It smelled just as stale and rancid as it had the other night. Once again, she had to amp up the power to the orb of light in her hand. A flashlight would have worked as well, but it wasn’t nearly as cool. Apparently she only cared about wasting power when it came to things that made her look less like a badass. Oh well, a girl had to have her priorities.

As the light expanded, Esha made out the edges of writhing shadows. The Chairman hissed when one leapt out toward them, but they were still a good twenty feet away. Hadn’t the shadows been farther from the entrance the other night? Yes, definitely.

Yet these shadows were big and strong enough that she could almost get a feeling for the nature of the evil. She breathed deeply and exhaled with a shudder.
 

“Chairman, come here.” Contact with her familiar would amplify her powers and possibly allow her to figure out where the shadows were from.

The Chairman wound himself around her legs, staring intently, ceaselessly, at the shadows. His citrine eyes glowed, and when Esha closed hers, images and feelings began to fly at her from the tangle of shadows. Desperation, fear, rage, and a sick kind of joy made her stomach turn. Souls gathered and writhed around one stronger force.
 

Images began to form behind her eyelids—not of a person, as she expected, but of a place that was gloomy gray, broken only by details of black and red. A river. A boat, with a ferryman standing in the bow, punting his way across the river. People—no, souls—huddled behind him in the boat.
 

She focused harder and her effort drew her farther into the world her vision had entered. A great beast rose before her, like a dog with three heads. It guarded a gate, allowing some souls through, but keeping others from leaving. A great force had gathered behind him, pushing to escape, the souls reaching out to her, almost touching her with cold and clammy claws of misery and desperation.
 

She sucked in a bracing breath and went deeper into the vision, passing wandering souls and desolate trees. She caught a glimpse of fields and made it into a copse of trees before a shock of power hit her.

She stumbled backward, gasping, desperate to leave the vision. She was near the source, but the power was too great. If she stayed until she was too weak, she’d be trapped. Forever.
 

Trembling, she focused her power with an effort that felt like she was crushing her organs, and ripped herself from the vision.
 

She stumbled back into the wall. Screamed. A huge figure bore down upon her, humanoid in shape, but details of its form were indistinguishable from the endless dark that surrounded it.

Terrified, she threw her fireball at the figure. As it glanced off its cheek, it illuminated his face.

“Warren? What are you doing here?” she cried.
 

Had he come from the shadows? What the hell had he been doing there? She hadn’t seen him when she’d gone in.

“Gods damn it, Esha. I told you no’ to come back here.” A red welt streaked across a glass-sharp cheekbone where the fireball had grazed him. His face was all hard angles, a beautiful composition of living sculpture animated by rage.

When he reached her, he grabbed her arm and jerked her toward him, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. She hated the vulnerability of the stance, particularly with him. She rarely had to tilt her head to look at anyone. She stood nearly six feet tall, but Warren towered over her by at least six inches.

“Why did you come back here?” He all but growled the words, his full lips curving in a snarl.
 

Heart thundering in her chest, she pushed him, her hand making no dent in the firm muscle of his chest. He didn’t budge an inch, so she shoved harder.

“To do what you were supposed to. Damn it, Warren, you didn’t even—” Her words were swallowed by the fear that leapt into her throat when the shadows expand and pulsed menacingly behind Warren’s back. She swore that a great black claw reached out. “We need to go, Warren, now.”

“No’ until I’m done with you.” He shook her arm, sounding like he wanted to punish her.
 

What did he intend to do? Turn her over his knee? She wouldn’t necessarily argue, but now was
so
not the time. The portal was expanding and shrinking repeatedly, its energy growing by the second.

“Warren, this is bad. We need to go. Now.” She looked around for the Chairman. “Come here, Chairman, we’re getting out of here.”

The cat was at her side in an instant. Strongest together, he never left her side in times of trouble. The Chairman twined himself around her ankles.