Retribution (71 page)

Layla giggled, and they looked over, narrowing their eyes on the smile she flashed as Quin took her under his arm. Turning into his side, Layla looked up at him and whispered. “I should be ashamed of myself, but I couldn't help it.”

“And I should be ashamed your torture methods turn me on,” he replied, “but you're too damn cute when you're being ornery.”

When they made it to their family, they not only filled them with fire, they conveyed their good lucks, keeping the sentiments as light and simple as possible so despair wouldn't get its suffocating fingers around them. Of course Layla struggled, but since the word
goodbye
was replaced with encouragement
and
I love yous
, she didn't feel like the farewells were final, nor did she feel like she was seeing them for the last time. So after filling them with magic and getting their quick hugs and kisses, she was able to walk away with dry cheeks, if not dry eyes.

They were about to move to the mercenaries when Quin's name drifted across the ice, and he waved a hand, revealing his great-uncle Cadman, who, along with Catigern, had been spying on Agro all evening.

Quin and Layla paused their task and headed for Cadman, meeting him and the other golden couples a few yards away from the army.

“How’s it going?” Caitrin asked.

“According to plan,” Cadman answered. “Agro left at nightfall and headed for our community. Dad was still tracking them when I left, but he planned to break loose and head this way once he could confirm Agro would follow, so he'll be showing up just minutes before them.”

“Were you able to count his army?” Quin asked.

“Almost two-hundred,” Cadman answered.

Quin took a deep breath and let the news sink in. “That’s more than we anticipated.”

“But less than he’s capable of,” Serafin noted. “Better now than later, and unless they make an unexpected detour, we have less than an hour to prepare ourselves.”

“Then we need to get on with it,” Quin agreed, filling Cadman with fire.

Cadman joined the family in the back row while Caitrin announced the updated situation to the army, and Quin kept an eye on the mercenaries, the only soldiers not filled with deadly flames.

“You don’t trust them,” Layla whispered.

“They’ve given me no reason not to,” Quin replied. “But no, I don’t.”

“Then we shouldn’t give them our fire.”

Quin sighed. Then he led Layla to her grandparents and waited for Caitrin to join them. “We need to break it to the mercenaries that they’re not getting our fire.”

The golden group considered Quin’s announcement then gave their approval. “Let’s hope it doesn’t piss them off,” Kemble noted.

The eight of them headed for the mercenaries. Then Caitrin called for their attention and pinpointed Sloan. “When the battle commences, your unit will fight with your own fire.”

“Why’s that,” Sloan asked, stepping forward.

Quin’s muscles hardened as he moved in front of Layla. “Because we don’t trust you with ours.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to argue. Then he and everyone else looked over as a group of five witches stepped out of formation and away from the front line, pausing in a protective huddle.

“Is something wrong, ladies?” Caitrin called across the ice.

A few of them shook their heads no, and the one in the center answered. “No, nothing's wrong. It's just… I don't think Layla's magic worked on me. I don't feel any different.”

Layla furrowed her eyebrows at the witch, wondering how she could have made such an obvious mistake. “Did I perform the spell on you?”

The witch nodded.

“And you're not feeling it?” Layla pressed.

“No,” the witch answered. “Nothing changed when you did it. I should have mentioned it then, but I guess I was confused about what I'm supposed to feel.”

Sloan scoffed. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not giving us your shitty magic.”

Quin’s chest expanded, but he ignored Sloan and looked at Layla, who was still berating her failure.

“You can't be perfect all the time, love. Now I have proof you're human. Go fix your mistake. It will make you feel better. I'll deal with this.”
 

“Fine,” she agreed, and Quin looked at Serafin and Daleen, gesturing for them to follow her.

Layla examined the witch's face as she approached, and she clearly remembered her. She’d been in the second row, and Layla performed the same spell on her that she performed on everyone else. So why didn't it work? Layla hated the doubt pressing on her. With a battle at hand, now was the worst time to lose confidence in her magic.
 

She stopped in front of the witch, and Daleen and Serafin halted less than two feet away.

“Hold up your hands,” Layla instructed.

The witch obeyed as her friends stood nearby, intently watching.

Layla reached out, and it wasn't until her palms were an inch away from the woman's that she felt an odd sense of anxiety and skepticism. The marrow in her bones seemed to drop a few degrees, leaving her core chilled, and the hair at the nape of her neck twitched as tingles slithered down her spine.

The witch closed the gap, and the instant their fingertips touched, Layla realized her mistake, and not the mistake she thought she made, but the mistake of leaving Quin’s side. The witch was lying. Layla could clearly feel her own fire pulsing beneath the woman's flesh.

Pain shot through Layla’s knuckles as the witch squeezed, twisting her hands out and down, like she was trying to pull her to the ground, but Layla ignored the pain and focused on the woman’s mind. Memories and thoughts rushed Layla’s brain, dozens of them in less than two seconds, and she gasped as she pulled out of the mental connection, filling her lungs so she could scream. “Get away from them, Quin!”

While her warning screeched across the ice, she cast a fire shield around Daleen and Serafin, hoping like hell the spell would work without a clear visual and a wave of the hand.

She saw the silver barrier materialize out of the corner of her eye, but she had no idea if it would save her grandparents from the roaring flames hurling toward them. The fire was Layla’s, cast by the four women who’d followed the liar out of formation, and if Layla hadn't been forced into a stooped position, her own magic would have killed her. As it was, it felt like she'd stepped into a sauna, and the snow beneath her feet melted, forming narrow rivers that flowed toward the lake.

She hadn’t fought back yet because she’d been busy trying to save her family, but staying in the enemy’s clutches left her blind to her surroundings. She had no idea if her shield kept the enormous explosion from incinerating her grandparents, and she didn’t know if Quin managed to get away from the twenty-five mercenaries who orchestrated the attack.

She turned her attention to the witch twisting her fingers, the witch filled with a large dose of her fire, locked and loaded with deadly magic that could kill them both any moment. The only way to get rid of it was to cast it away, which wasn't an option, so... Layla filled her with more, more than she'd ever summoned in her life. Then she took a quick breath and did it again, hoping the heat would become intolerable.

The witch tensed as her expression twisted. Then her eyes rolled back as her grip loosened. She slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap, and Layla spun around, staying low to avoid the inferno rushing over her head. She searched for Serafin and Daleen, finding nothing but bellowing flames. Then she spotted her silver shield flying through the air, apparently knocked away by the pressure behind the magic. Hopefully her grandparents were in it.

She shot her gaze toward Quin, but it didn't get there. The fire was gone from the four witches who launched the assault on Serafin and Daleen, and they all jumped on Layla at once, slamming her to the ice. A palm came down on her head, scattering her brain and muddling her concentration, and as the coppery taste of blood swarmed her tongue, her heart rate spiked, making her muscles numb.

Damn it.

Utilizing her supernatural strength, she yanked her arms from the grips ensnaring them. Then she pressed her palms to the ice, trying to rise to her hands and knees. The witches pushed down on her with more force, but even with one of them poking on her brain, she managed to muster enough magic to brace against their weight. Once she achieved her desired position, she took a deep breath. Then she attempted to throw the women off using both strength and magic.

A crimson haze rippled from her flesh as she pushed, trying to fly into the air, and when her magic hit the witches, they lost physical and mental control. Layla's body and spell erupted from their midst like lava from a volcano, and the impact tossed the witches at least fifteen feet before slamming them into the ice.

Layla spiraled toward the cloudy sky, and as her agile eyes followed the rotating scenery, one of her hands swept through the air, gathering the four scattered witches into a floating pile. She roughly tossed them on top of the witch she previously knocked out. Then she threw a magical cage over them while flipping her gaze to the last place she'd seen Quin.

Chaos prevailed, but she registered every detail. Caitrin, Morrigan, Kemble and Cordelia battled fifteen mercenaries, while Quin had been attacked by ten, three of whom already lay motionless at his feet. He had Sloan's throat in his hand, and he was lifting him toward the sky as his other hand slashed through the air, magically ripping apart the magician standing between him and Layla's last known location.

She shot toward him as three people landed on his back, forcing him to his knees, but even as hundreds of pounds pressed down on him, he didn't stop fighting. He roughly tossed Sloan away and reached behind him, grabbing the neck of the wizard trying to scramble his brain. Then he yanked, nearly ripping out the wizard’s throat as he threw him at a magician approaching from the front. Once his hands and mind were free, he magically grasped the two people on his back and sent them flying across the glacier, slamming them into the side of a cliff. That left only one standing, and he was obviously scared out of his mind as Quin jumped to his feet.

But it wasn't Quin who wrapped him in magic and swept his feet out from under him, cracking his head against the ice. Layla angrily hovered twenty feet above, swiping the feet out from under every mercenary who wasn’t fleeing with their cloaks tucked between their legs.

Quin watched the man in front of him topple to the frozen earth like timber. Then he frantically searched for Layla, finding a pile of unconscious bodies. His aura swelled and vibrated as his muscles bulged, and Layla quickly mind searched him.

‘
Up here.
’

He looked up, his shiny eyes flashing from silver to brown as he met her stare, but his aura stayed enraged as he shot toward her.

Layla watched him ascend, and when he reached out, taking her hot and tense face in his tender hand, moisture gathered in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

He nodded as he began healing her wounds, carefully sweeping his thumbs over her busted lip and bloody nose. “I'm so sorry, love.”

“Me, too, Quin. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I’m fine.” He reached down, grimacing at the bruises on her knees as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Then he hugged her to his chest and headed for earth. “But we need to check on the others.”
 

“Yes,” she agreed, resting her ear over his speeding heart.
 

When he landed, his parents and her grandparents rushed them, touching their backs and shoulders to make sure neither of them were injured. “We're fine,” Quin assured. “I guess you guys are okay?”

“A few minor wounds,” Serafin answered, turning to heal a burn on Caitrin's shoulder. “But Daleen and I would be toast if someone else hadn't protected us.” He paused and looked at Layla. “Was that your quick thinking?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I read that witch’s mind as soon as she touched me, so I knew what was coming.”

Serafin sighed as he turned back to Caitrin. “Thank you, Layla Love, for saving our lives, but your protection should always come before ours. We’d never forgive ourselves if your sacrifice was our saving grace.”

“I can't believe we didn't see it coming,” Cordelia snapped. “We should have realized what was going on the minute those witches stepped from their positions. The timing was too damn convenient.”

Other members of their coven had been gathering the bound and unconscious mercenaries into a pile. “There are twenty of them,” Cadman called, keeping a watchful eye on the heap. “That includes the five witches not in uniform, so ten of them fled.”

The ruffled family of eight approached, examining their captives while wondering what to do with them.

Kemble knelt next to Sloan and grabbed him by his long hair, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Who sent you?”

“Go to hell,” Sloan rasped, his voice like sandpaper due to his crushed throat.

“Move me closer, Quin,” Layla insisted. “If he won't give us the answers, I'll take them.”

Quin obeyed, and Kemble kept his grip on Sloan's hair as Layla touched his forehead, easily breaking through his defenses to his uncooperative brain. Within seconds she had all the answers she wanted, so she released his head and looked at her grandparents. “A man named Alistair Murdoch hired them to find a witch who’s around my age and more powerful than any other, but they're not sure if I'm the person he wants. Either Alistair doesn't know any details about the witch he's looking for, or he chooses not to share them with the mercenaries he's been paying for the past seventeen years.”