Something About Witches
Page 33

“Why not focus on white Light magic, apply that genius there?”
Because it couldn’t do what I needed done. “It’s like what I said about my shop, Derek. All that bullshit about not being able to use Dark magic without it exacting a price? Yeah, they’re right. But if you’re willing to pay it, you can do good things with it.”
“You’re messing with the rules of the Universe.”
“Whose rules? Yours?” Her temper, and the storm that lay waiting behind it, sharpened her voice. “The Powers that Be? Those nameless forces who are so all-powerful and wise that they’ll let the weak and innocent go down because they just happen to see this great cosmic plan and how it all fits together? Well, fuck them. What I hate the most is that when I meditated, when I drew Light energy in myself, I understood that. I could feel the wisdom of it, and I knew it as Truth. But Truth doesn’t mean a good goddamn to those of us in the trenches. We’re not floating in the fucking clouds of enlightenment. It’s all bullshit.”
She’d said too much. She was breathing too fast, her face hot. Things felt light, floaty. She was going to break open in a minute, and she couldn’t. Derek rose from the stool, his expression grave. “Ruby, what happened?”
His lips pressed together, hard. She saw the knowledge flicker in his gaze. Panic clustered in her chest, and she wanted to do anything to keep him from saying what he was about to say next. But those words came out anyway, hitting her like a solid punch in the face. “What happened to our daughter?”
Raina. Raina had told him. Of course. Treacherous, loving bitch of a friend that she was. But all Raina could tell him was that the baby had died because of a car accident.
The warmth of the sun-soaked kitchen died out of her, leaving everything cold and still. She remembered that stilted moment in the woods, the sense of something large and unstable he was holding back. He’d been carrying it around with him, and the strain of it was now in the hoarse note in his voice, his heartbreak capable of breaking hers anew.
She knew this man. Knew what it would have meant to him. She wasn’t one of those heartless women who thought that because the mother carried the baby, the father had no right to make decisions about its life, its well-being. They bore an equal weight in the creation; the responsibility was shared. But that knowledge just made the guilt and pain worse.
She closed her fingers into tight, tight balls, as tight as the rock sitting in the center of her chest. “She died, Derek. And everything else died with her. You want me to do this tonight…. the Great Rite, I’ll do it.” She could do it, would do it, like any other ritual. Then she’d walk away. “Tomorrow, I go home, and I don’t ever want to see you again. Please, give me that. I can’t handle…. how you make me feel.”
She couldn’t handle feeling.
Chapter 13
HE WOULDN’T HAVE LET HER GET AWAY WITH THAT, SHE was sure, but with fortunate timing, Linda came into the kitchen then to let her know some of the coven were arriving early to prepare for tonight. She left a white-faced Derek with her, and escaped to her guest cottage, Theo trotting along behind her. He wouldn’t have left that sunny spot, but that old-man worry wrinkle was back on his homely expression. He knew she was a mess right now, rattled down to the bone.
Dashing ice-cold water on her face, she threw up the pancakes, put a Deception potion together at double strength, took it down like a frat boy downing shots, and stood in front of the mirror, deep breathing until everything went back to where it should be. Calm, still, like a sludge-filled lake, everything trapped and suffocating beneath the surface.
What in the hell was she thinking? Why had she said she’d do the Great Rite when she knew it was a bad idea? Because the secrets in her life demanded ironclad control. She had to be able to sever the friendships with Raina and Ramona, turn her back fully on Derek, not by running, but by standing by what she said in the kitchen. If she could do this tonight, she’d prove all of that was possible. She had to prove to herself she could contain everything inside of her without breaking.
There was a weariness in the bedrock of her soul, though, something that told her she’d taken this far beyond where it should have gone, but she’d faced that before. There was no turning back now. She just needed to get home. It would be all right once she got there.
A rap on the door made her wince as she realized she’d left the door to the cottage open, but then she snarled at herself. You will do this, Ruby. Pull your shit together. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was the power of enduring the unbearable.
When she stepped into the sitting area, she saw the last person she expected. And it pulled the rug right out from beneath her. Not that she was going to be competing for Weeble of the Year at this point. She was getting knocked on her ass left and right, and it was getting harder and harder to come back up.
Mikhael was studying his surroundings, his hands in the pockets of his tailored black slacks. He was wearing his sunglasses, the artful strands of hair playing across his forehead. Having shed his suit coat in his car, apparently, he had the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, the neckline open to show his strong throat. Her heart started pounding, the headache behind her eyes weakening her knees.
“I was in the area,” he commented, as if it was entirely normal for him to show up in the backwoods of Florida. He tilted his head to look at her. “You did not answer my call.”
“No.”
He sauntered forward a couple steps, and she jumped, she couldn’t help herself. Removing the sunglasses, he considered her from head to toe with dark brown eyes. “Frightened, little rabbit? Perhaps you should be.”
She swallowed. “I can’t do this here. It’s time for us to walk away. Like we said at the beginning.”
“Like I said at the beginning. I do the walking, not you. I can see the need written all over you. You are hurting for it.”
The fact it was true only made it more awful, because she knew she hurt for it so she wouldn’t have to face what she really wanted. Derek’s scent was in her nose. The impression of his shoulder, the faint crease from the fold of his shirt, were still there on her cheek. But she had to prove she could do that Great Rite, had to have the balance for it. Right? The solution might be standing in front of her. Or the road to Hell.
Hadn’t Mikhael said that this was already Hell?
He was moving toward her. “No,” she said, the word catching in her throat. This was wrong, but that Dark part of her was reaching eagerly for him, craving what he could give her. Pulling her back from the unacceptable temptation of pancakes and the illusion of safety, of healing. Of love.
The moan as he clamped his mouth down on hers was part despair, part sharp-edged lust, that constant need surging up to meet him. With Mikhael, kissing was more like branding, but of course that made her think of that barn fantasy, Derek lifting the branding iron. She actually felt a tingle go through her shoulder. As if he knew he was fighting an unseen foe, Mikhael’s teeth scraped hers and his fingers bit into her arms, bruising with his strong grip. When she struggled to get closer, he shoved her back against the wall, sliding his fingers down into her loose jeans, under the panties. She was wet, helpless and trembling. Catching her belt loops, he stared at her with those cold eyes. “You will stand still.”
She put her head back against the plaster, her palms flat against it. Tears were gathering in her eyes, but it was all right. She needed this. She had to have it.
He struck her across her right cheek, rocking her head to the left so her neck tendons popped at the sudden jerk. Catching her shirtfront, he ripped it down the middle and off her shoulders, yanking her bra straps so she was exposed to him. His eyes flamed at the sight of her breasts, full, the nipples tight, tight as the ache in her gut. When he lifted his hand again, she forced herself to keep her eyes on it, knowing he would strike her on the left cheek as well. Mikhael was all about balance, after all.
She closed her eyes at the last second. The blow landed, pain exploding in her cheek, but at the same moment, there was a snarl like an enraged bear. Her eyes flew open in time to see Derek catch Mikhael’s arm, spin him around, and slam a fist in his jaw.
The gunrunner was actually lifted off his feet by the blow, no small feat since the men were the same impressive size. Mikhael hit her small kitchenette, sending table and chairs spinning, crashing with a cacophony against the walls and floor. As Mikhael landed with them, she registered another snarl, a large body hurtling past Derek.
Mikhael made his living through violence. He was already rolling to his feet, and when he saw the dog, in the same motion he’d pulled his Walther. The gun fired.
“No.” Ruby screamed it, lunging forward. She wasn’t cognizant of what happened in those next two seconds, but when her mind cleared, she was being held hard around the waist by Derek, her flailing feet off the ground, his body turned so she was not in Mikhael’s direct line of fire. Theo was lying on the floor, motionless.
“No, no, no.” She struggled against him, such that Derek had to snarl her name to draw her attention.
“Ruby. Ruby.” He gave her a shake painful enough to bring her gaze up to his fierce eyes. “He’s asleep. Sandman spell.”
Her attention flitted back to the dog. An absurd snore broke from Theo, powerful enough to make the loose upper lip quiver, giving her a hint of the teeth that had been fully bared a moment before.
“He fired….”
Derek nodded. Showed her his other hand. He had a burn mark where the hot projectile had marked him, but the bullet was firmly in his grasp. “I rerouted it,” he murmured.
Mikhael rose to his feet, holstering the Walther under his shoulder again. His expression was remarkably indifferent as he studied the two of them.
“So, this is the one you have been running from. He caught up to you, did he?”
Derek glanced at Ruby. “You know him? But he was….” His attention slid down her face, which she was sure showed the mark of Mikhael’s skillful backhand, to the tattered front of her shirt. Realizing she was exposed, she wrapped it around her best as she could, but her cheeks were burning shamefully.