Visions of Skyfire Page 4

  Still, he wore a black jacket over his MP uniform, disguising it enough that no casual passerby would notice him for what he was: a man on a mission.

  A man determined to capture or kill as many witches as he could find.

  Now there was a thought to warm a man’s soul despite the fucking cold rain. He smiled to himself and kept his gaze locked on the narrow white house with the red Spanish tile roof. It was empty. He’d already checked that out, despite knowing that the witch was in the desert being hunted by his friends in a helicopter. Landry liked to keep his t’s crossed and his i’s dotted. And that meant checking everything out for himself. The minute he allowed others to step in, that’s when things went to hell.

  Just look at what had happened last month. He’d caught a damn witch, turned her over to the internment camp on Terminal Island in California and then left, satisfied that she was at least off the streets. Locked up where she couldn’t harm innocents. But no, those idiots in charge had allowed her to escape.

  “I should have killed that bitch when I had the chance,” Landry muttered. “Just like I should have been the one taking the shot in the desert instead of standing here freezing my nuts off.”

  “Stop your bitching. Christ, what kind of agent are you, anyway?”

  Landry sneered as the voice came sharp through his earpiece. His partner was stationed in a nice, dry room in a B&B, focusing a telescopic lens on the street and the back of the witch’s house.

  “Yeah,” Landry muttered, flashing a furious scowl at a passing man who looked at him as if he were a lunatic, talking to himself. “Easy for you to say,” he continued when the man was gone. “You’re not standing here drowning, waiting for a damn witch. The others should have killed her back in the desert.”

  “They missed her. It’s our chance at her now,” the voice reminded him. “And if you blow this stakeout by pissing and moaning I swear to God I’ll kill you instead.”

  He’d like to see the little pissant try. Fury pumped through him at the criticism. Landry had been on these stakeouts for years. That damn kid in the room with his high-tech equipment thought he was hot shit. But Landry had caught more witches than that know-it-all little bastard could even dream about.

  But he wouldn’t make waves. One way to get yourself taken off a hunting team was to shoot your mouth off one too many times. And Landry would never give up the hunt. He would find every damn witch he could and he’d kill them dead, given half a chance. And it still wouldn’t be enough to ease the pain that had gnawed on him ever since a witch’s emerging powers had exploded, killing Landry’s wife and child.

  He turned his mind from the memory, deliberately locking his loved ones away into the otherwise empty darkness of his heart. Landry was no longer that man who had loved his family. Now he was a hunter. Pure and simple. And this witch, Teresa Santiago, was his target today.

  If they had gotten better intel, he told himself, they’d be stationed around this town at all of the witch’s haunts. But no, the powers that be had only just found out about the witch and who the hell knew how. Their information was sketchy at best and all Landry’s superiors had been able to come up with on short notice was her damn address. A neighbor had told them about her stealing off to the desert a few hours ago. Seems the witch often went into the desert to be alone. So one team was out there in a chopper, using high-tech magical tracking devices to home in on the witch’s position—for all the good that had done them. There were still more agents combing the streets of Sedona for her, just in case she gave the chopper boys the slip, and Landry and the college boy were here.

  Well, College Boy was welcome to his safe and warm cubbyhole. Landry was a boots-on-the-ground kind of guy. He preferred being as close to his target as possible, even if it meant standing in the rain waiting for the supernatural bitch to show up.

  And she would, he knew. Yes, she’d gotten away from the team in the desert, but she wouldn’t run without coming home first. Witches were, after all, women, and she would need to pack before doing a disappearing act.

  Then he’d have her.

  Chapter 6

  Bolting from the alley, Teresa forgot about stealth and gave in to the pressing need to hurry. She ran down the darkened, rainy streets, not caring who might glance out a window and notice her. Panic chewed at her insides. She couldn’t afford to go slowly. Her instincts were screaming that she was in danger and she wasn’t about to ignore those feelings.

  “Hey! Freeze!”

  The voice came from behind her. She stumbled, then hunched her shoulders and kept going, pretending she didn’t know that voice was aimed at her.

  “Lady, stop or I shoot.” The order came—deep, sharp.

  Teresa had no choice now. She skidded to a stop only a block away from the house where she’d left her Eternal. So close to safety—but now that distance might as well be hundreds of miles.

  The street around her was dark, houses closed up against the weather and the fear of what moved around in the night. She wouldn’t find help here even if she were crazy enough to ask for it. People minded their own business these days—safer that way.

  She turned around slowly, clutching Elena’s medical bag to her chest with her left arm. Rain pelted her, cold, icy drops that slapped at her face, making her blink furiously to keep her vision clear. She watched the lone MP stride unerringly toward her, his boots splashing heavily through the wide puddles.

  Holding a short automatic weapon in the cradle of his arms, he lifted his chin and demanded, “Where the hell are you running to and what’s that you’re carrying?”

  Fear boiled in her belly and spread throughout her system. The fed was young, but his features were hard and cruel. She wouldn’t find any mercy or sympathy in this quarter. “I’m taking some supplies to a friend of mine. A doctor. He’s waiting for this bag.”

  “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t buying it. “So why doesn’t this doctor carry his own bag?”

  “It’s an emergency,” she told him, glancing right and left, futilely looking for help that wouldn’t be coming.

  “Right. Put it down, lady, and step back.”

  God. She had to go. Had to get away.

  “Come on, soldier,” she said, giving him a weak smile that she knew couldn’t be convincing. “Can’t we talk about this?”

  He lifted the weapon in his arms, slowly bringing the barrel up to point at her. That was when Teresa knew she was out of options. Heart racing, fear finally took a backseat to rage. Who were these bastards to hunt her down like a sick dog?

  Time to fight back.

  Her power trembled to life inside her and she fed it with the fires of her anger. Reaching back for lessons learned from her abuela, she found the words and hoped they would be enough. “Light to dark, dark to light, hide me now from his sight—”

  “Witch!” he shouted, breaking her spell, lifting the gun, aiming it.

  Still clutching the medical bag to her chest, Teresa suddenly dropped to one knee, lifted her right hand and aimed her fingers at the sky. No time for spells. She could only hope to focus her aim.

  “Stand down, bitch, or I kill you right here and now!”

  Before he could train his weapon on her and fire, Teresa gathered her power into a tight knot inside her, prayed for control and then sent that power flying heavenward, her gaze locked on the enemy.

  Lightning flashed, thunder boomed.

  His eyes went wide as a bolt of skyfire slammed into the street at his feet. Blown backward by the impact, the MP flew through the air and landed with a hard thump on the windshield of a parked car. The glass beneath him shattered and his gun fell from nerveless fingers to the street.

  Teresa jolted to her feet and dragged in a quick breath stained with the taste of ozone. Shaking in reaction, she started moving. Once the fallen MP was found, it wouldn’t be long before every witch hunter in town arrived, combing the area for her.

  As she dashed past her fallen enemy, she snatched up his weapon and ran toward sa
fety.

  “We’ve gotta move, Eternal.”

  Rune lifted his head to stare at his witch as she raced through the door. She was holding a black bag and a weapon. “Where’d you get that?”

  She glanced down at the gun as if she’d never seen it before. Then she set it down gently. “Off the MP who tried to shoot me.”

  “Damn it.” He groaned out the words.

  “I threw some lightning at him and then ran for it. Relax, I’m good.”

  “Lock the door.”

  “No shit.” She did just that, then hurried to him, dropping to her knees at his side. “You look like hell, Eternal.”

  “Did you kill the man?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, trying to help him sit up. “Didn’t stick around to find out.” She exclaimed with the effort. “It’s like trying to move Everest! Sit up, Eternal.”

  “My name is Rune,” he muttered, but he did as she ordered.

  “Got it,” she said.

  He looked up at her. “Were you followed?”

  “No.” She whipped her soaking-wet hair back behind her shoulders and opened the black bag. “I only saw the one MP and he’s not going anywhere for a while. No one else is leaving their houses. Once that storm hit town it’s like they rolled up the sidewalks.”

  “Good,” he muttered, fighting the pull of the white gold beneath his skin. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah,” she said, kneeling beside him. “It’s great. You do look horrible.”

  He laughed shortly. Just what he wanted to hear from his destined mate. The witch who was to be his other half. His partner, his lover. Looking at her now, he noticed how pale her skin was. How shadowed her eyes. He could feel the chill sliding from her body and cursed himself for being in no position to help her. What kind of Eternal was he, anyway? Belen, the sun god, must be rattling the heavens in disgust with him.

  Eons ago, Belen had crafted his Eternals, drawing heat and fire from the heart of the sun to form his creations. In an effort to please his lover, Danu, by gifting her witch daughters with mates to love and protect them, Belen had breathed life into the Eternals. He gave them fire and strength and immortality, demanding in return their fealty to the witches in their care.

  Through the centuries that had been no easy task, Rune thought grimly.

  As if the god was listening, a clap of thunder exploded overhead with enough force to rattle the windowpanes.

  “Now turn around so I can take the bullets out of your back.”

  His witch telling him what to do didn’t sit well with him. Especially since he was in no shape to argue. “I got two out already,” Rune muttered.

  “Great,” she said sharply. “Only five or six more to go. Now be quiet and let me do this.”

  He snorted. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Fine. Be the big alpha dog. Lie there with white gold in your back so that your powers go to hell and you’re no good to me at all. Fabulous plan.”

  Hissing under his breath, Rune glared at her. She didn’t back down. She met him glare for glare, her expression both determined and worried. They could continue the argument, delaying their escape from Sedona, or he could allow her to do what she must to get him on his feet again.

  “Fine,” he said, giving in to the simple truth that he needed the white gold removed from his body. There was more trouble headed toward them and if he wasn’t in top condition, his witch would die and the Awakening would end. He would accept her help, although the decision didn’t stop his burning frustration at being brought so low when their time together was just beginning.

  He was the protector. It jabbed at him to be lying here, dependent on her help. “Just do it and be done,” he ordered, lying flat on his stomach. “But don’t touch the bullets with your hands.”

  “I know,” she said and he heard her open the bag she had carried with her. “I’ve got a painkiller in here—”

  “No. Just take them out.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “We don’t have much time.”

  She huffed out a breath as she picked up a pair of medical forceps. “You don’t have to be stoic.”

  “Do it.” It was an order, plain and simple.

  “Fine. Lie still.” A moment later he felt the first dig in his back.

  Chapter 7

  “Talk to me while I do this,” she said, already shuddering as she set the tips of the forceps against his back.

  He nearly smiled despite himself. His brave, hotheaded witch was feeling a little queasy at the idea of becoming a doctor. “About what?”

  “I don’t know—” She broke off, took a deep breath to settle herself and said, “Dark zones. The phrase sounds familiar somehow. You said we were in one. What do you mean?”

  Her small hand came down on the bare flesh of his back and he felt an instant sizzle that almost dwarfed the pain that began a heartbeat later. Her touch was heat, fire. The cold steel of the forceps digging into his body was ice.

  Rune called on his immense self-control to manage the pain shooting through him. Pain was nothing new to him.

  Through the eons, he had been stabbed, sliced and shot so many times that pain was as familiar as his own reflection in a mirror. But his witch was daunted by the task at hand. So he talked. To calm her. To take both of their minds off what was happening.

  “Dark zones can be found all over the world,” he said, pausing as she pulled a bullet from his back and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. “They’re spots where magic is muted.”

  She took a deep breath. “You mean I can’t use my powers while we’re here?”

  “No, I mean that magic is hard to track in a dark zone. Those who are after you won’t be able to use their devices to home in on your position.”

  She paused and he felt her surprise. “They have devices to track magic?”

  Anger shot through him as he looked back at her and saw the expression on her face, the fear glittering in her eyes. Best she know now exactly what they were up against. Their enemies had come a long way from the Salem witch trials.

  “They do. The international community has banded together,” he told her wryly. “Apparently the fear of witchcraft is enough to make friends of ancient enemies.”

  “Great,” she murmured, digging into his back again. “Peace at last.”

  He chuckled, despite the situation. “Scientists and engineers have been working together—along with a few captured, tortured witches—to build devices that pick up on a certain type of energy.”

  “The magical kind.”

  “Exactly.” He hissed when she dug deep, then forced himself to relax when she muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he told her.

  “Only a few more.” She worked for a moment longer, then asked, “What causes these dark zones?”

  “No one’s sure,” he replied. “Here in Sedona it might be the red rocks—ancient energy formed by wind and sun and rain, trapped within the sandstone. Nature’s energy is stronger than any human knows.”

  “That I believe,” she said. “My abuela taught me to respect the earth. To treat her with reverence—” She paused.

  “What else did she teach you?” Rune asked, knowing that Teresa needed the distraction as she continued to pull jagged shards of white gold from his back.

  “How to use crystals, herbs, potions,” she murmured. “Mostly, though, she taught me secrecy.”

  “Wise woman,” Rune acknowledged.

  “Yes, she is. So tell me how you know where these dark zones are.”

  “When your power is stronger, you’ll be able to feel the difference. It’s …” He tried to come up with a way to describe it through the fog of pain muddying his thoughts. “It’s a little like a thick coating of syrup on the air. Makes things feel heavier to your senses. Once you’re in one, you’re safe from electronic tracking, but not from the old-fashioned hunter.”

  “I’m guessing the feds still use plenty of those.”

  “They d
o indeed.” Another bullet made a thunk as it hit the floor. As each piece of white gold left him, a portion of Rune’s strength returned. His powers were rejuvenating, though it would take either rest or sex with his mate to bring him back to full strength.

  “Great. Okay, then, what do we do once you’re patched up?”

  “We leave.”

  “Yeah, I figured that part out. But to go where?”

  Rune lifted his gaze to hers and saw the worry flashing behind the bravado she showed the world. Something in him shifted. For far too long he had carried around a taut knot of anger toward her. This soul that should have been his other half and wasn’t—because of unwise decisions made eight hundred years ago.

  Now he looked at her and felt an easing of that old rage. This woman was not the one who had chosen so poorly. This soul had grown and learned over hundreds of incarnations. Perhaps this time she would be strong enough to right old wrongs. To end the surge of power streaming from the demon dimensions.

  “You have the answer to that,” he told her flatly. “Our destination is locked in your memories. So tell me, Teresa. Where do we go?”

  She blew out a breath and sat back on her heels, dropping the forceps into the medical bag. “That’s it. They’re all out.”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath and felt his body begin to regenerate. “Now, lay your hands flat on my back. Cover as many of the bullet holes as you can.”

  To her credit, she didn’t ask questions, just moved to do what he asked. He felt her touch slide deeply into him and relished the blast of heat she brought. Amazing that a being created of fire torn from the heart of the sun could spend so many centuries feeling cold.

  But with Teresa’s touch, that cold was abated. Magic, he thought with satisfaction. The blending of two mated souls.

  “I can’t heal with touch,” she warned him.

  “No, but our powers together will do the job. Concentrate your magic on my injuries.”