Surrender to Darkness (37 page)

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Authors: Annette McCleave

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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“I’ve withdrawn into my cave to pound a few rocks with my club. It’s how men do their most important thinking.”
“I see. Should I leave you alone?”
“No, I’m about done with the pounding.”
“Good. I’ve missed you.” She crouched and ran a slim hand over the chrome Triumph badge on the tank. “What a beautiful machine.”
Murdoch wasn’t sure which comment warmed him the most. But she earned a special place in his heart for admiring the bike. “Aye,” he said proudly. “Did you want to take a ride?”
A look of alarm flashed on her face. “It’s rather large.”
“Not alone. With me.”
“I’d love to. But we agreed that it would be unwise for me to leave the ranch.”
He tossed the chamois into the bucket. “So we did.”
“Would you feel silly taking me down to the gate and back?”
“No.” Getting all suited up for such a short ride might be tiresome, though. But he’d do it for Kiyoko. “Do you feel the need to don the full leather kit, or can we stick with boots and helmets?”
“I doubt we’ll be traveling at a speed that requires leather.” She glanced down at her flimsy shoes. “But I’m afraid I don’t own any appropriate boots.”
“Lena has a pair that ought to fit you.”
“You’ve taken Lena for a ride?”
“Once or twice.” There was an edge to her voice that made Murdoch smile. “She makes a point of confronting her fears. Anything that feels fast and mechanical scares the crap out of her. So, she rides.”
“Lena is a very beautiful woman.”
He nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
“Really?”
“Aye,” he responded easily. “Rather hard to miss those long limbs and large breasts.”
Kiyoko stiffened.
“But I’ll let you in on a secret, lass,” he said, opening the locker next to him and pulling out his helmet and a smaller red one. “My berserker takes no interest in her at all. Barely blinked when she undid the top button of her blouse.”
“When she
what
?”
“It was last summer,” he said hastily, handing her the helmet. “She was trying to distract me so she could escape.”
“The woman has no honor.”
Murdoch dug in the locker again. “She was willing to risk everything to protect the people she loves. I cannot fault her aim, even if her methods left something to be desired. Here we are.” He peered at the sole of the ladies’ boots. “Size eight. Will that fit?”
“Yes.”
He watched her bend to swap footwear.
The waistband of her jeans dipped, exposing a strip of creamy flesh and, for a moment, the notion of kissing the two dimples there occupied his every working brain cell.
No, Lena had never come close to stirring him the way Kiyoko did. As exotic as the half-Egyptian woman was, she had a cool, withdrawn air that did not encourage a man to get closer. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how Webster had seen past the thorns to the rose.
Kiyoko, on the other hand, made no apologies for her femininity. Nor did she use it to advantage. Some days she wore pink lipstick, pearl earrings, and floral dresses, and on others she wore stark black and white, no makeup, and a ponytail. There was no attempt to disguise or enhance. Being a woman was simply a facet of her physical being.
A physical being that, coincidentally, made his mouth water.
“This helmet is heavy,” she said, turning. She was lost inside, only her eyes visible.
“You look lovely,” he said, sincerely. Roses were overrated. He preferred a soft, glorious, unabashed peony.
Her eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you.”
Donning his own helmet and a pair of leather gloves, he straddled the bike. Using the strength of his thighs, he lifted the heavy cruiser off the kickstand. “Up you get, then. On the seat behind me.”
She swung a leg over the back, then scooted forward until her pelvis was snug against his buttocks. Her arms wrapped around his waist, belting his loose T-shirt to his body. “Ready.”
His heart was thudding like a drum in his chest.
To be fair, it wasn’t just her breasts pressing against his back that was driving him crazy. Her fingers were tracing every bump and indent in his abs. Slowly. Accompanied by a faint hum of approval.
He covered her wicked hand with his.
“Lass, don’t be cruel.”
“It’s my intention to seduce you,” she said.
He chuckled. “Very sporting of you to warn me. But if you keep doing that, I can’t be responsible for keeping the bike on the road.”
Her fingers ceased their torment.
“I wish things were different,” she said, relaxing against him with a sigh.
Not sure what to make of that sentiment, he thumbed the starter and brought the cruiser to deep, rumbling life. Wishing had never proven a productive pastime for him. He was more of a make-it-happen fellow. Lately, though, life hadn’t been very cooperative.
Putting the bike in gear, he throttled up the 1600 cc engine and zoomed past the Audi, out of the garage, and down the long drive. Unfortunately, the cruiser ate up the tarmac in a remarkably short time. He’d barely grown accustomed to the visceral vibration of the parallel twin engine when they arrived at the gate.
Pausing briefly to check on Kiyoko, who gave him a thumbs-up, he spurred the bike back toward the house with a satisfying roar.
His bike, his woman, and an open road.
Did life get much better?
As he neared the large pine tree that marked the split of the driveway between the garage and the house, he spotted a group huddled in front of the house. Webster, MacGregor, and Emily. Engaged in a heated discussion.
Veering right, he circled the rock garden and drew to a halt in front of the porch.
“Everything all right?” he asked, as he tugged off his helmet and eyed the group.
“Where the hell have you been all morning?” Webster asked.
Murdoch didn’t respond. Instead, he helped Kiyoko off the bike, then dismounted. “Someone want to tell me what’s up?”
“Azazel isn’t dead.”
Murdoch met Webster’s gaze. “I ran him through with my own hand,” he said softly, daring the other man to dispute his claim.
“Well, you should have decapitated him. According to Uriel, a fallen angel can survive a sword through the heart.”
Murdoch glanced at Emily, searching for the truth.
She nodded. “But he never said taking Azazel’s head off was the answer. In fact, he kinda suggested no amount of body damage will finish him off.”
“So, the solution must be mystical,” Kiyoko said.
“Problem is,” Webster said, “the blanket spell Stefan put over the ranch prevents us from using magic.”
“Then we’ll have to get rid of it.”
“That will be damned hard without Stefan,” Murdoch said. “And no one’s had any luck prying the wretch out of that bloody trailer.”
The group was silent for a moment.
Then Emily said, “I bet Sora could do it.”
Murdoch arched a brow. “What? Convince Stefan to exit, or disarm the spell?”
“The spell.”
He turned to Kiyoko. “What do you think? Could he do it?”
“He’s a gifted mystic. It’s possible.”
“Getting rid of the blanket spell works both ways,” MacGregor reminded them. “For us and for the demons. Before we disarm it, we need to know exactly how we’re going to take down Azazel.”
“I have something that might help,” Emily said. She opened to hand to reveal a shard of the Shattered Halo. “He’s an angel, right? So this should flatten him, like it flattened Uriel. If we can figure out how to use it.”
Webster’s gaze lifted from the shard to Murdoch’s face, then slid away. “We need that spell book. The one we found on the body of that thrall demon last summer.”
“The Book of Judgment.” Lena descended the porch steps cradling a swaddled Katie in her arms. She passed the baby to MacGregor, who immediately melted from hardened warrior into beaming father. “Stefan has it.”
Murdoch snorted. “Of course.”
“Christ. That pretty much ixnays using the Shattered Halo,” Webster said grimly. “Too bad. It was a great idea, Em.”
“Yeah.” She sighed and offered him the shard. “Maybe you should take it, to keep it safe.”
Webster raised both hands and backed away. “Hell, no. Don’t give the damned thing to me. In fact, I don’t think any of the Gatherers should take it. You hold on to it.”
Murdoch grimaced. Leaving it with Emily was no guarantee that Death wouldn’t get her hands on it. “Are we confident that Azazel’s not on the ranch right now? We just opened the doors to seventy-two strangers.”
“I did a quick read of everyone as they arrived,” Emily said, pocketing the shard. “No sign of him.”
“She’s going to check every couple of hours,” Webster said. “With any luck, we’ll figure out how to torch his ass before he returns. But you can bet on one thing—he’ll be back.”
“I’ll run through my repertoire of shade spells,” MacGregor said. “I hate to use them, but I will if I must.”
“No.” Lena surged forward, her body rigid with indignation. “No shade spells. Trading material objects for magic power does too much damage to the fabric of the plane. And if you succumb to
their
lure, it won’t be long before you find justification for using the void spells that sacrifice human souls.”
“I agree,” Kiyoko said.
“I applaud your fine principles.” MacGregor looked down on the sleeping face of his infant daughter. “But with no mage and no spells more powerful than the simple entity spells generated by our own passions, we haven’t got a prayer.”
“You don’t need to be here,” Webster said. “Take Rachel and the baby and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“I’ll keep that option open,” MacGregor said, his resolute face a direct contradiction to his words.
“Don’t let your pride hold you here,
mo charaid
,” Murdoch added quietly. “Were it
my
wife and daughter, I’d bear jokes about my cowardice clear into the next century if it meant keeping them safe.”
MacGregor’s gaze met his.
“Webster and I can handle the trainees for a few days,” Murdoch said. “This is the easy stuff: Basic footwork and guard positions, physical fitness, and a couple of essential defense spells. You don’t start the sparring until week two. Besides, someone needs to break the news to the Protectorate that the Veil actually exists. It might as well be you.”
The other man nodded, finally convinced. “I’ll have to drag Rachel away kicking and screaming. She’ll no’ be happy about leaving Emily behind.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Emily said quickly.
“No,” MacGregor agreed with a faint smile. “You’ll stay. Convincing your mother about that will take some work, though. It’s your sixteenth birthday tomorrow.”
 
Kiyoko followed Murdoch back to the garage, leapt up on the tool bench, and watched him stow the bike and helmets. The play of his muscles beneath his loose T-shirt fascinated her. “What does
mo carriage
mean?”
He opened the locker. “ ‘My friend.’ ”
“It’s Scottish?”
He nodded. “Gaelic. Hardly anyone speaks the language now, but in MacGregor’s time it was the tongue of the Highlands.”
“MacGregor’s time?”
“Did I not mention he was once a Gatherer? He was born in the fifteenth century.”
Kiyoko stared at him, confused. “How can anyone
once
be a Gatherer? Aren’t you all dead?”
“Aye,” he said, tucking his gloves inside his helmet and sliding it onto the top shelf of the locker. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say he earned his soul back and is now a human.”
“Can you do that as well? Earn your soul back?”
“Unlikely. His was a special case. The rest of us will be content if our souls escape the fiery ravages of hell.” He looked up then, pinning her with his gaze. A rare note of regret hovered in the dark depths. “I’m sorry that I failed you, lass. I thought I’d rid you of a demon stalker, but it seems I’ve only made the bastard more dangerous by driving him underground.”
“How could you have known?” she asked softly. “Are you clairvoyant, as well as handsome and talented?”
“Lord, you’ve resorted to flattery. That can’t bode well.” He closed the locker and held up her ballet flats. “Did you want to change your shoes?”
“No. I think I’ll keep these boots.”
He arched a brow. “Oh?”
“Lena won’t need them any longer, as she will not be taking any further rides on your bike.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll let her know.”
Jumping down, she crossed the oil-stained cement floor to his side. She flattened her palm on the broad expanse of his chest, reveling in the firm contours under her fingers. “And to make sure you don’t offer rides to any
other
women, I’ve decided to claim you as my man.”

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