Deception (4 page)

Layla shifted, straightening her back as she trained her narrow eyes on him. “Now it's your turn to listen, so pay attention. You and I are no more special than the next person. Our powers may be stronger, but that's not what makes a person special. Three of the greatest blessings in my life have been non-magical people, including the woman who raised me, and I’d forfeit all my powers to have her back. Furthermore, the experiences I've shared with Quin were wonderful because of who he is, not what he can do, and the connections we’ve made are strong because we care about each other, not because he’s powerful. If I want it, all I have to do is ask and he'll give it to me, and he pays more attention to my needs than I do. As for your comment about children, it’s the most ignorant argument I've ever heard, and it proves you know nothing about family. My child will be perfect no matter who fathers it, and I don't need a powerful wizard on my arm to provide my baby with what babies really need – a loving home. I’d never pick a man because he could give me a stronger offspring; the mere idea disgusts me. As for the danger, it will always be there. If not from Agro, from somebody else. Even you and I can't rid the world of evil. Maybe we could remain safe together, but the rest of the world would still suffer, and that will always concern me, no matter how far removed from it I am, so there's no such thing as being rid of my fears and cleansed of my worries.” She paused, taking a deep breath before calmly going on. “Regarding your comment about Quin being below average, that’s just blindness on your part. You can't even claim ignorance on that one, because I've only known him for six days and can already tell you he possesses more love and kindness than any other man I've known. I've never felt more cared for than I do when I'm in his arms. He's never touched me with anything other than a tender hand, and he's never sent a harsh or hateful word my way. He's respectful and considerate, and it's not an act meant to manipulate. He's generous because he's a good man, and if you weren't so blinded by jealousy, you’d recognize it, too. So you see, you have nothing to offer me, and what I have to offer isn't yours. It’s Quin’s, and all the magic in the world isn't going to change that. You and your fancy aura don't stand a chance.”

Quin had watched the words tumble from her lips, submersing himself in every syllable, and his heart swelled as it thumped her name, each palpitation venerating a woman far more special than she believed. But it wasn't her powers that made it so. Only her extraordinary soul could claim the credit for the way she glittered brighter than the rest. Many witches would have taken Finley's offer and run with it, ready to fulfill worldly desires; and even more would have contemplated the offer, tempted by power and security. But not Layla – her heart ever pure. She was the epitome of goodness, a conveyer of compassion, and a paragon of selflessness. Her words were the most beautiful Quin had ever heard, and she'd said them with strength and honesty. She believed what she said with her whole heart, and that made his heart soar.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She turned and found his stare. “Hey back.”

“You are special,” he insisted, “but your magic has nothing to do with it. Your words were beautiful and true, and you have no idea how much they mean to me. Thank you.” He was so overwhelmingly touched by her sincere and unwavering commitment to him, he felt it wouldn't be too inappropriate to rip out his heart and place it in her palm. “I love you, Layla, and I'll take care of you forever.”

“I love you, too,” she returned, “and we'll take care of each other.”

A snarl rolled from Finley’s throat as he threw his hands up. “You guys make me sick. You're both fools.”

Layla narrowed her eyes on him. “Comments like those are just one reason you’ll never get your hands on me, Finley. You're rude and hateful, and you don't seem to understand the word love at all.”

Finley slowly shook his head. “You're passing up a life of unlimited magic, power and safety for your precious Quin. That's not love. It's stupidity.” He paused, shifting his disdainful gaze to Quin. “And you're letting her do it. That's not love. It's selfishness. You're a thief leading a blind and naïve millionaire down a doomed path.”

“You’ve made your point,” Quin returned, “and Layla told you how she feels. You need to accept her rejection and move on, maybe learn some manners along the way.”

Finley's blue and green eyes churned like a stormy sea as he curled his fingers into vibrating fists. “You're more foolish than I thought, Quin. You're taunting the most powerful wizard in the world.”

“You enjoy reminding me of your power,” Quin observed, “but it does nothing but betray your insecurities. It’s no secret your magical limits exceed mine, but I have dozens of people willing to face my enemies as if they were their own. You have no one.”

Finley tilted his head, his angry aura seeping from his rigid frame. “Everyone finds themselves alone, Quin. You must know you’d be fighting a losing battle.”

“You’ll stay away from him,” Layla snapped. “Or you'll deal with me.”

Her aura swelled, drowning Quin in a rippling river of dark and ominous colors, and he flipped his gaze to her face, finding a temper he’d never seen before. His chest and throat tightened as he watched her jaw flex, and it strengthened her delicate visage. An untapped well of anger bubbled beneath the surface, awakened by Finley’s threats.

Quin cleared his throat and tightened his hold, lifting her with him as he stood. “Conceal us, love. We’re leaving.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, turning her face into his neck.

Quin kept his eyes on Finley as Layla worked her magic. Then he shot toward the sky, hoping Finley wouldn’t follow.

Taking an entirely different route back, Quin often dipped into the forest and flew several miles out of his way, so it took him more than half an hour to reach the northeast side of the community.

He landed two miles outside their property line then floated through the forest, straining his eyes and ears for danger, but all he sensed was nature, its serenity conflicting with his mood. He dug Layla’s cell phone from his bag, contemplating the risks of calling home. Then a screech pierced the silence, drawing his attention to the treetops. Zenith – his great grandpa’s hawk.

Quin searched for her, but couldn’t find her until she squawked again, this time from a nearby limb. “Clever girl,” he commended.

Zenith chirped and shook her feathers. Then Caitrin's worried voice echoed in Quin’s head.

‘Are you okay? Is Layla okay?’

‘Yes,’
Quin answered.
‘Is it safe to return?’

‘As safe as it's going to get.’

‘We’ll be there shortly.’

Chapter 3

Quin flew over Finley's tent when he entered the lawn and was disappointed to see the meddler’s silhouette moving around. Quin had hoped Layla's solid rejection would make Finley reconsider his stay, but no such luck. The guy was too arrogant and felt too entitled to cede so quickly.

Quin looked up, laying eyes on a much bigger tent in the middle of the lawn, and Finley slipped his mind. There was only one explanation for the tent – multiple casualties.

He summoned a dress from Layla’s closet as he landed in the firelight spilling from the tent’s canvas flaps. After magicking the frock onto her body, he entered the makeshift infirmary.

Sweeping his gaze right to left, he counted five beds.
Shit
. Layla wasn’t going to handle this well at all. He focused on the bodies in the beds – Belinos, Devlin, Drystan, Kearny . . . and his dad.
Shit
.

Quin flew to the latter, trying not to panic. “Lift your spells, Layla.”

She obeyed, and several people gasped before sighing.

“Quinlan,” Cordelia sobbed. “You're here. You're okay.”

“I'm fine,” Quin assured. “What happened?”

“Electricity,” Serafin answered.

“Is he going to be okay?” Quin pressed.

“He already survived the worst of it,” Serafin replied. “None of the shocks hit his heart, and the rest of his organs were healthy enough to withstand the voltage. Right now we’re healing residual burns. He’s been conscious, but chose to be sedated. Everything except what we're working on is numb, so he shouldn't be experiencing too much pain.”

Every word Serafin spoke twisted Layla’s heart and thickened her throat. She didn't know who they were talking about, and she was terrified to look. Not that it mattered. She cared for everyone in the coven and didn't want those awful things affecting any of them. She took a labored breath. Then she forced her face from Quin's neck and followed his gaze to the bed.

Several wide electric burns gouged Kemble’s bloody flesh – trenches so deep they looked like they’d been dug with burning spades.

Layla’s stomach rolled, and she quickly looked away, finding more beds, more tortured auras, more unconscious loved ones. Her vision blurred as the heartbreaking scene closed in on her – the pain, sadness and mental anguish – and her stomach tightened, like someone had reached down her swollen throat and enclosed the organ in their angry fist.

She slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed away from Quin, letting her blanket fall as she flew from the tent. As soon as she reached open air, she dropped to her hands and knees and vomited. The grave scene flashed through her mind, hauntingly clear in its details, and she hurled again. With the third gag and heave, one of her healed ribs cracked, but she didn't care. She’d crack them all to take the place of her wounded family.

Someone gathered her hair as she heaved again, yielding little more than saliva. Then she wiped her mouth and sat on her heels. Thick arms pulled her to a hard chest, moving her away from the vomit. Then warm lips swept across her clammy forehead.

She should have known it was Quin. Of course he’d leave his dad's sickbed to help her.

“They're going to be okay,” he assured, using magic to clean her up. “None of the injuries are fatal.”

“You have to go back,” she insisted, trying to climb from his lap. “Your dad needs you.”

Quin tightened his hold. “My dad’s getting the help he needs.”

“Stop,” she objected. “You have to go back.”

“No,” he refused.

“Get your priorities straight,” she scolded, pushing on his chest while twisting away. Another rib snapped, followed by a much sharper pain, and a yelp burst from her throat as she went limp.

“You are my priority,” Quin replied, sliding a hand to her cheek.

Layla gasped between sobs, fighting to fill her lungs, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t catch her breath. The night sky started spinning, and her head swayed on her useless neck. “Quin . . . ” Her struggle was over. She needed help.

Quin pulled his lips from her hair and looked at her face. “What's going on?”

“Can't breathe,” she rasped, slapping his shoulder with the control of a drunkard. “My ribs.”

His eyes grew huge as he ascertained her panic. “Serafin!”

Layla clutched Quin’s sleeve as he laid her on the grass. Then she jolted when he ripped open her dress. Her lips grew numb, her head throbbed, and red spots peppered her vision. “Quin…” She could no longer feel his shirt in her fingers, or hear him breathing, or see him searching her body. Her senses had flown.

Quin felt a tiny tug on his sleeve and looked down, watching Layla’s hand fall to the grass. He flipped his gaze to her face, looking for the eyes he’d fallen in love with, but they were veiled by pale lids, their thick lashes pointed toward purple lips. “Nuh-uh,” he protested, taking her blanched cheeks.

“What's going on?” Serafin asked, flying from the tent.

“She's suffocating,” Quin clamored.

Serafin dropped to his knees and reached for her chest. “What happened?”

“I don't know. Punctured lung maybe? She said something about her ribs.”

Serafin shouted at Caitrin while examining Layla’s torso, and Quin looked at her face, its lovely features drained of color.

“Layla,” he called, begging for a response, but it didn’t come. “Well?” he urged, looking at Serafin.

“It's her lungs,” Serafin confirmed.

“What's wrong with her lungs?” Caitrin demanded, flying from the tent.

“Collapsed,” Serafin answered. “Her pleural cavity's nearly full of air. Two broken ribs.”

“Fix it,” Quin urged, searching her neck for a pulse. He found it, but couldn’t find relief.

“There’s a detrimental tear in her left lung,” Serafin told Caitrin. “Repair it and the rib that punctured it, while I siphon the air from her chest cavity. Quin?”

“What?”

“Monitor her heart.”

“I got it, just fix her.”

“What’s going on?” Daleen asked, emerging from the tent with Morrigan – Layla’s other grandma. When they saw their granddaughter’s limp body, they screamed her name and fell to her feet.

Quin’s vision blurred as his chest filled with fire. He counted the seconds ticking by, and as surely as he watched Layla’s life fade, his own was slipping away. “You can’t do this to me,” he whispered, listening for a breath as he tracked her pulse, its pace dangerously slow. “Come on, baby, just keep breathing.”

The seconds turned into minutes, and he feared lasting damage at best. Moisture slid down his temple, dripping to her cold cheek, and he quickly wiped it away as he pleaded with her to stay.