Fated for Sacrifice Page 12

  Get up now.

  A nanosecond before Drandar’s fingers connected with her arm, Reese scrambled backward.

  “Oh, you want to run, do you? It’s been a while since I’ve had a good chase.”

  As Drandar took a stride toward her, chaos erupted around Reese. Siblings moved in unity—Isolde struggling to her feet, words tripping off her lips; Belen charging forward to lodge himself between Drandar and Reese. Someone grabbed Reese from behind and hauled her to her feet. Strong masculine hands that must belong to Mick. Another pair of feminine fingers tangled with hers, pressing the scroll into her hands. “Run.”

  Light burst forth from Isolde’s hands, pristine and full of searing white heat. It shot through the room, connecting with Drandar’s chest. He howled in outrage.

  Before Reese could make sense of everything that was happening, Mick grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out of the room. He didn’t slow down until they had fled the house and were inside the SUV that had been parked in the drive. Tires squealed as he backed out of the driveway and spun the front end around.

  Reese stared out the windshield, shell-shocked. The tears she’d given into refused to fall, gathering only in her eyes and blurring the light from streetlamps. What had just occurred defied all logic. And yet…Dáire was dead, she’d been in the hands of a demon, felt his cold soulless grip on her neck.

  Dáire’s family, those who should have turned against her as his mother had, bonded together to save her life.

  “Here, put this on.” Mick’s quiet voice broke into her numbness, drawing her from her thoughts. She turned her head to find him holding his arm over the center console, a crystal pendant dangling from his fingers.

  With an unsteady hand, she accepted it. “What is it?”

  “An amulet of protection. It’s why my house wasn’t warded. Drandar can’t harm Rhiannon directly, her magic keeps her safe. She made it for me. She’ll make me another. You need this more, right now.”

  A chill worked its way down her spine as she draped the crystal around her neck. Lying her head against the seat, she closed her eyes to a biting sting of fresh tears. “Where are you taking me?” she asked through a closing throat.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  Home.

  As illogical as it sounded, all she wanted was the comfort of the house she loved, the sound of the ocean crashing on the rocky shore. She didn’t care if Drandar followed her there, or Taran crashed through her door.

  Slowly, she reached one hand up to the pendant that dangled against her breastbone and curled it into her palm. She wasn’t going to hide. Dáire had given his life for hers, she would honor him the only way she knew how—by facing the things that threatened her the most.

  “Take me to my home. It’s down on Riverside.”

  Mick’s gaze slanted to her. “You sure?”

  “Yes.” She nodded as resolve strengthened. “I’m sure. I’d like to see Rhiannon tomorrow and see what I can do to help you destroy that fiend.”

  Approval glinted in the slight uplift of the corners of his mouth and the short nod he gave. He hit the turn signal, changed lanes, and navigated onto the highway.

  ****

  Dáire hovered in Otherworld, his soul more empty than he could have imagined the separation from Reese would cause. He had no way of knowing whether she survived, whether Drandar honored the pact, or whether he had given his life for naught. That lack of knowledge left him agitated. Anxious to do something, go somewhere, for answers. Instead, he stood before the ancestors, head bowed under the great weight of guilt, knowing he must now accept their judgment before he could learn of Reese’s safety.

  “It is not something we take lightly, when nature is abused.”

  The voice echoed in the particles of life surrounding him, void of a body or corporeal presence. Much like himself now, though the habits of possessing a body were too ingrained and he couldn’t keep from attempting to shift his weight.

  “You understand the gravity of your actions, do you not, son of the Selgovae?”

  “I do,” he admitted quietly. “In my defense, I haven’t often been so selfish.”

  “No, you have not.” The discordant tones that formed no particular melody hung around him heavily. “But you knew, when you chose to continue your actions, you defied the laws set forth. Your purpose is to maintain the balance. Which you deliberately failed to do. And you knew well you would pay for your actions with a final sacrifice.”

  His spirit shriveled with the finality of the words. So this was what it came to—final death. Never again to see Reese; never again to know the hand that comforted with just a simple touch. He would spend the rest of his spirit’s existence blended in with nature like those who came before him, and in time…he would forget the beauty of her face.

  Dáire didn’t know which was a worse fate—existing consciously aware of the love he had lost, or the complete inability to remember the woman he had given his life for.

  “I understand.” His anguished murmur echoed disharmoniously in the surrounding Aether.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reese bolted upright, eyes widened with terror. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her throat was as dry as cornmeal. She scanned her living room, searching the shadows for some sign of the horrific creature who’d occupied her dreams. But nothing moved. Nothing leapt out from behind the furniture to show its wicked face in the pale lavender of fading twilight.

  She exhaled and closed her eyes in relief. Just a dream. Thank God.

  Her hand reached up to her throat and closed around the pendant there as her gaze connected with the clock that read 6:28. PM, not AM, she rationalized. When she’d sat down on the couch after pacing the house to keep awake, it had read 7:45, and dawn had broken over the sky.

  Amazing that she’d slept at all. Each little sound last night had her jumping out of her skin, anticipating Drandar or Taran would burst through her useless front door in the next instant. But they’d left her alone. Because of the pendant? Had to be. She could think of no other reason why they hadn’t appeared.

  Unless Isolde had truly damaged Drandar.

  Heartbreak gripped Reese in the next shaky exhale. Dáire was gone. Lost to her eternally. She could still see the acceptance on his face, the courage that evidenced in the firm set of his jaw. And she could still feel the tenderness of his kiss.

  She sniffed to keep the tears from falling. Already she’d wept buckets. It solved nothing. Crying couldn’t bring him back. Nothing would. He’d given his life in exchange for hers, and that awareness only made the pain more intense. She didn’t know what to do with that truth, didn’t know how to simply accept his decision and move forward. In so many ways it seemed wrong. In so many others, the guilt was inescapable.

  Her gaze strayed to the scroll lying on her coffee table. Tonight was the night they had intended to perform the ritual. Why hadn’t anyone contacted her? Surely Dáire’s death hadn’t made it unnecessary. Drandar still existed. Per their own explanation, the scroll pushed him one step further into destruction.

  A gale rolled off the ocean and rattled the window behind Reese.

  Drandar still existed.

  Her mind locked onto the thought as her pulse picked up speed. That vile fiend was still out there, still a threat to all their safety. Nyamah had accused her of not possessing courage—damn it, she’d prove to them all Dáire hadn’t died for nothing.

  Determined, Reese scrambled off the couch and began to pace in front of her fireplace. She chewed on her thumbnail as she searched her memory for what Rhiannon had said about the ritual.

  Five white candles. Those she had. An entire boxful of long tapers she used for intimate dinners with Tom. Time for them to be used for a better purpose.

  Burning sage and… Reese paused, her gaze drawn to her kitchen window and the small herbal planter there. Yes, she had sage left. Tom despised the spice. Now what else was it she was supposed to burn?

  Vanilla.
>
  Reese ran to her fridge, hoping the crème brulee she’d made last week left her some fresh vanilla bean. She rummaged through the drawers, her frustration mounting as her search turned up nothing. Stumped, she shut the door and fisted her hands on her hips. Maybe the all natural vanilla extract would work. Though it seemed unlikely—everyone had that stuff floating around their cupboards.

  The wind howled at her windows again as she went to the baking cabinet and pulled out a nearly empty bottle of vanilla. Not much there to burn. But maybe if she got the sage going, she could add the rest, and it would do the trick.

  With the storm brewing outside, she couldn’t go to the store. It sounded like the weather was whipping up something strong. Then again, she might be able to get there and get back before the storm hit.

  Another fierce gust made her house creak. Definitely bad weather coming in. Fast. No time for the store. The dab of vanilla left would have to do the trick.

  Now what? She scratched her head and stared out the wide bay window at tranquil waves. The contradiction struck, bringing a perplexed frown to her brow and an icy chill down her spine. Calm waves didn’t correspond with the high wind pressing down on her house.

  Warily, she looked to the ceiling. Was it him? Had that creature finally come to confront her?

  Three drops clove oil on each candle, and a rinse of basil for the caster.

  Rinse of basil—what the hell was that supposed to mean? She had basil, but not nearly enough to bathe in. Surely it couldn’t mean that.

  From the corner of her peripheral vision, she caught a glint of light off a hanging copper pan. An idea clicked. If she boiled all the leaves on her basil plant, she’d have enough to sponge herself down if she were careful not to spill too much.

  Would it work? Right about now, she’d give her right hand for Rhiannon to show up on her doorstep. Or Belen, even Faith or Mick for that matter. Anyone who knew something about this.

  Why didn’t it feel like Dáire was gone?

  Reese shoved the misplaced thought aside. She couldn’t dwell on Dáire’s death with his murderer lurking around her house. Besides, the faint connection her heart still felt for Dáire made what she was about to attempt that much easier to believe in. This had to work. She couldn’t allow Dáire’s death to be meaningless.

  At a near run, Reese jogged to the window once more and plucked the entire basil plant out of the pot. She gave it a shake in the sink to knock the potting soil off the roots, then attacked the stem with vigor, picking off leaf after leaf. When she’d cleaned the entire plant off, she filled a soup pot with water, dumped the leaves in, and set it on her stovetop. As an afterthought, she grabbed the stalk, broke it into pieces, and added them to the water as well.

  Basil rinse, in progress.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Reese hustled through her house gathering supplies—candles, oil, a towel to wrap around her shoulders when she was finished. She dabbed the oil on the tapers, set them neatly in her silver candelabra, and carried that to the coffee table in the center of her living room. She found a glass ashtray buried under her sink—for guests Tom never invited over—and filled it with the driest leaves she could pull from her sage plant. This too, she added to the table.

  When the water boiled, Reese turned off the stove and fished the entire bucket of ice from her freezer. She dumped the ice cubes into the pot, grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred. Not only did the ice increase the volume, but jabbing her finger into the watered-down tea revealed it was now cool enough to apply to her body. She pulled a clean dishtowel from beneath the sink and dropped it into the pot. Taking care to stay on the stone tiles of her kitchen floor, she stripped her clothes. Held her breath as she retrieved the dishcloth.

  Please let this work.

  At the first douse over her bare flesh, her front door blew open. She jumped, but refused to look. Moving faster, she soaked her skin until goose bumps covered her from head to toe. Then, she took the rest of the pot to the sink, and leaning forward, dumped it over her head.

  Frigid air barreled in through her door. With that icy blast came a heavy threatening presence. He was here, she was certain of it.

  At a near run, Reese grabbed the grill lighter and dashed for the coffee table. As she fell to her knees before the supplies, she flicked the button and applied the flame to the long candles. Outside, the wind rose in a deafening crescendo that made her windows rattle.

  You cannot harm me. I’m going to destroy you, asshole.

  She moved to the sage, muttering quiet prayers that the leaves would catch. When they did, relief rushed through her veins. She dropped the lighter and rocked back on her heels, watching the ends curl, waiting for the wetter topmost leaves to ignite the drier ones beneath.

  A soft pfft emitted as the sage caught. Reese eyed the bottle of vanilla with a frown. If she dumped it over the smoldering herb, she’d put out the fire before the vanilla could ever burn.

  As if Drandar thought to take advantage of her hesitation, the malice that surrounded her pressed on her shoulders like physical weights. Fear crept beneath her skin, making her hands shake. She took a deep breath, let the spicy aromas fill her nose. The scent quieted her mind and stilled the nervous tremor in hands.

  You will pay for what you’ve done, Drandar. When I’m finished with this, you will be gravely wounded.

  She picked up the vanilla, held to the edge of the bowl, and carefully poured it down the side. Leaves sizzled as it made contact, but the slow pour, the way it pooled at the bottom didn’t snuff out the burn. The faint scent of vanilla joined the array of earthly spice.

  Now what?

  Reese refused to think about the racket going on beyond her windows, or the way her roof groaned as if something had peeled off the layer of shingles. Will the desired results and…

  And what? She hadn’t finished! What if there was a component missing? If this failed, Drandar would gain strength.

  A heavy thunk against her siding revealed a shutter had torn free. Reese shook her head. Instinct urged her to continue. Right, wrong—this was the night of the sabot Ostara. She didn’t know where the knowledge came from, but she knew she had to complete this now.

  Will it…

  Reese closed her eyes and poured every last bit of her determination into her thoughts. You will suffer, Drandar. You will pay the price for your evil. Nyamah’s light will overtake your dark soul.

  Something heavy behind her fell to the ground. Reese gripped the coffee table and squeezed her eyes shut more tightly. You will be destroyed. A mental picture broke through the rising frenzy that engulfed her house, showing Drandar as Isolde’s light struck him. Only the flare was larger, the blow more severe. He shrunk back, clutching at a gaping hole in his chest, where only darkness poured from beneath his fingers, not the blood he thrived upon. His scream pierced her ears, then his angry bellow filled her mind.

  Around her, Reese’s house went silent.

  She opened her eyes one at a time, not quite convinced it could be so simple. But in the stillness, she caught the fading notes of an enraged howl. Her house shuddered once again, as if it exhaled a breath it had been holding. Quiet reigned, interrupted only by the gentle ebb and tide of the waves that sounded beyond her open front door.

  As Reese reached for the towel, exhaustion crashed into her. She summoned strength to pick up the terry and drape it around her shoulders. Then, weighed down by a force she couldn’t name, she lay on her side. In the heartbeat of time that passed before her lashes fell, a faint blue-white light emerged in her doorway.

  “Nyamah,” she whispered before the unexplainable need for sleep demanded silence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dáire flicked his cigarette to the pavement and crushed it out with the heel of his boot, before he began the gut-wrenching climb to Reese’s front door. His heart beat a frantic rhythm with each step. Even as he knelt in front of his sire, knowing he faced death, he hadn’t been this afraid. Though she didn’t know it, Ree
se held his heart, and his future in her hands. And the all too likely possibility that she’d cast him aside when she learned what he’d done, made half of him want to run like hell.

  He stopped at her open doorway and blinked in surprise. “Mother?”

  From within the dark confines of Reese’s foyer, his mother emerged. “Hello, Dáire.”

  Unlike the last time he’d seen her, she was smiling. But that warm openness on her face only ignited his anger. She’d been so cruel to Reese. For no reason. His gaze narrowed. “What are you doing here?” His words came out with more bite than he intended.

  She took another step and joined him on the porch. One elegant hand covered his forearm. “I’ve been watching over her until you could arrive.”

  “Why?” Dáire swore inwardly. Even if she had lambasted Reese unnecessarily, she deserved his respect. Right now, however, he’d rather she stay away. If she couldn’t bring herself to like the woman he loved, he wanted nothing to do with his mother. His role was over. His part played. And all things considered, he was useless in the fight against his sire since the Ancestors stripped him of his mental gift.

  His mother’s hold tightened affectionately. “Do not be so quick to judge, son. If I had not challenged her, she wouldn’t have found the courage to perform the ritual tonight.”

  The ritual? Dáire’s eyes widened as his heart kicked hard. Had she been hurt? He edged around his mother, suddenly desperate to see Reese, to verify Drandar had not harmed her during the magical rite.

  His mother moved faster, however, and barred his entry…along with his ability to see inside Reese’s front room. “She is asleep. I was with her the whole time.”

  Dáire swung his gaze to his mother’s face in disbelief. “You were with her?”

  As she nodded, her platinum hair fell over her shoulders. The ethereal light that clung to her hair heightened her beauty. And in that moment, Dáire recognized the changes in his mother. Her touch held more substance. Her face bore natural shadows, not the false angles and planes created by magical might. He glanced down to where his mother touched him. “She succeeded,” he murmured.