Bound by Flame (41 page)

Her leathers, no more than two singed drapes hanging around her shoulders and hips, flapped against her skin as she tried to drag him away from the damned tidal wave steaming straight at them.

A tidal wave.

On a friggin’ river.

With a house on top.

The sight of the house made Cynda let go of Nick.

Sibyl survivors hobbled past them around the corner of the castle, getting out of the way, trying to escape the inevitable flood and devastation.

Cynda couldn’t stop staring at that house.

“Okay, whatever.” She didn’t even have enough energy left to smoke. Instead, she walked in front of Nick, turned her back on the wave, put her hands on his shoulders, and rested her cheek on his bare chest. “Just kill me now and do it quick. I can’t take any more.”

Nick’s hands pressed into her waist. He turned them sideways, and Cynda watched the approach of the wave, house and all. The rain stopped, but water from the wave sprayed toward them. Salty, yet fresh, too. Cool. Almost cold.

Shit.

In a night full of horror and miracles, when Russian wolves ate exploding demons on the battlefield behind her, earth Sibyls rocked the Connemara bogs, air Sibyls rode tornados into the castle, and winged Astaroths skewered each other by the light, by the light of the silvery moon—that house riding the crest of the freak wave had to be the weirdest thing Cynda had ever seen.

Except it wasn’t a house.

She squinted, her breath tickling her cheeks as it bounced off Nick’s bulging muscles.

It was a boat on top of that wave. A big boat, like a yacht.

Cynda lifted her head off Nick’s chest, faced the water, and squinted harder.

Women dressed in black leather jumpsuits dotted the yacht’s deck.

Her eyes opened wide. “It’s a yacht full of Sibyls. Riding a tidal wave. In a
fucking river
.”

Nick didn’t respond at all.

Maybe she actually did die back there on the battlefield, fighting a hopeless battle with Cursons. This had to be the afterlife, and the Goddess’s idea of a great big joke.

The wave slowed with a groan and loud swooshing noise, and the roar died completely away.

Water began to splash away from its base, and the swell gradually subsided, lowering the yacht until it rocked and slapped on the river’s surface. More sucking sounds followed, as the Dawros River gradually regained its normal shape and depth between its banks.

Cynda heard a bump and realized the boat had beached in the shallows about three hundred yards from where she stood with Nick. It stayed upright and level, held in place by a steady flow of wind.

The Sibyls on board hurried up the deck, jumped to the ground in front of the castle, and ran to their right to join the remnants of the battle. Which, from the sound of things, was nearly finished.

It was the next group of people that caught Cynda’s interest.

She studied them as they came toward her. Sparks danced along her skin, slowly at first, then faster and thicker as she got more certain.

An ache bloomed in her chest, but it was a happy ache, an excited ache, and her belly felt warm and suddenly much, much more relaxed.

“Creed. Riana. And Merilee. Andy!” She would have run to her triad sisters and friends if she hadn’t been too banged up to move, and if Nick hadn’t suddenly come to life, taken hold of her waist, and pulled her backward into him.

His lips pressed into her hair, and she laughed.

“My triad!” she shouted, managing a little blast of flame.

The fire lifted above them all, and showered down in bright orange sparks.

“What in the name of—” Cynda started to say as Creed jogged toward them with the others close behind.

“You okay, bro?” Creed came to a stop a few feet away, looking just like Nick with shorter hair, only clean with fresh jeans and a white T-shirt—and a little damp.

When Nick nodded, Creed said, “Andy can do water. And you’re naked again.”

“Fuck you” was Nick’s astute comeback. He squeezed Cynda’s waist. “Bet that was one hell of a ride from Atlanta.” His hands moved upward and stroked Cynda’s arms, like he was checking to be sure she was in one piece.

Cynda still wasn’t sure she hadn’t died and gone to some freaky-assed afterlife. “Andy…water…” She wished her brain would work. Wondered if it would ever function properly again. She pressed into Nick, letting him hug her—and hold her up.

Riana came to stand beside Creed, followed by Merilee, who was leading Andy.

Andy had her wild red hair tamed into a ponytail. And she had on Sibyl battle leathers, with what looked like a wide-barreled dart pistol holstered at her waist.

Definitely too weird for words.

The smell of stiff new leather, barely broken in, competed with lingering smoke and sulfur from the battle ending behind Cynda. In the moonlight, Creed and her triad…and Andy…looked silvery and powerful. Clear as day, Cynda could see them, yes, but she still couldn’t believe they were standing right here with her.

“I’m so glad you’re not hurt,” Riana said, and then Nick let Cynda go, and her triad and Andy were hugging her, and she was hugging them.

From behind her, Cynda heard Creed say, “Remember that Legion guy Andy and I busted last year? The one who had that minor water talent?”

Cynda envisioned the little scum who had tried to kill them all by sucking the water out of their bodies, and Nick said, “Yeah. Frith Gregory. One of the townhouse servants.”

Cynda finally let go of Riana, Merilee, and Andy, and Andy started fiddling with the grip of her bizarre dart gun. “When he attacked me, my body’s water, he must have released some power inside me.” A little rain started to fall again. Andy rolled her eyes, closed them, took a deep breath—and the rain gradually subsided. “My fluid balance went crazy inside, I was sick all the time, dehydrated or overhydrated—shit. I thought I was losing my mind, but I guess I was just finding my, uh, element.”

Nick came to stand beside Cynda again. He leaned forward, almost pushing, but held on to her so she didn’t fall. “Is that an HKP-11, Andy? An underwater pistol like the Special Boat Service frogmen carry?”

“It fires fifteen feet—about eight fathoms underwater,” she said. “Out of water, it’s good for about a hundred and sixty feet.”

Nick looked like he wanted to snatch the HKP and start taking it apart.

“Oh, for the sake of the Goddess,” Cynda muttered. Andy rolled her eyes, while Riana pinched her nose and Merilee hissed out a gust of wind.

“Have you fired it?” Nick started to reach for the stupid dart gun, but Cynda elbowed him in the breadbasket.

He made a little
ooof
sound and stepped back, turning her loose.

Cynda stood on her own power, pleased she didn’t just fall and bust her ass on the castle grounds. Dart guns. Honestly. But she also thought about the plumbing in the townhouse. The exploding water at crime scenes. Even the heavy rains and snows, and the floods in the Southern states after Andy left on vacation.

Andy was the water “force” Cynda’s triad had gone to confront.

Andy.

“I’m so glad to see all of you.” Cynda heard the catch in her own voice. “I love you all so much. But about the water thing”—she giggled, then gulped air, and managed not to burst into hysterical, exhausted tears as she more or less fell back into Nick’s arms—“that is so not something I can process right now.”

Nick lifted her and cradled her to his chest, and for once, Cynda didn’t fight him at all. It was too much of a relief not to have to support her own weight. Her entire being ached at the same time, especially the toes on her right foot. She gathered her healing energy again, released it through her body as best she could, and said, “Take me inside. Please. I’ve got to sleep.”

Of course, Nick asked something else about that idiotic goddamned underwater gun instead.

Cynda rolled her eyes, closed them, and fell asleep before she even heard the answer.

She woke to the soothing feel of warm water bathing her foot, her ankle, then her leg. Her hair, face, and arms felt damp, and she was naked, lying on a soft, soft pallet, with a cushion under her head.

The smell of mint and healing sage, light but sweet, rose around her. When she opened her eyes, she saw high ceilings and stone walls with carved stone trim. Nearby, a fire crackled in a small, rounded fireplace, and Cynda knew she had to be in one of the infirmary’s private rooms. Nothing felt broken save for a few toes. Lots of bruises and healing cuts, and her right ear still throbbed a little bit. All in all, though, she thought she was doing pretty well.

When she swallowed, she tasted the rich malty kick of Irish whiskey, and knew somebody had been feeding her that old-fashioned healing elixir. Probably Mother Eileen. She always did favor the stuff.

Soft pink sunlight splashed through the row of windows located near the ceiling.

“How long have I been out?” she mumbled.

“About twelve hours.” Nick’s handsome face shifted into view. His black hair was damp and loose like he’d just had a bath, and his dark eyes flickered with concern and affection. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, firebird.”

When she tried to sit, she saw he was naked, and heat coursed through every part of her.

Nick pushed her down to her pallet with one finger. “You’ve got to rest.”

He stroked her leg with a warm, wet cloth and a burst of sage filled the room. Nick must have been handling her nursing himself. She wasn’t sure she had ever found any gesture so sweet, and her heart gave a little squeeze.

Other than the whole I’ll-fight-and-fall-beside-you thing, of course.

She would never forget that, never let his choice to stay beside her while she defended her Sibyl family diminish in her mind.

He really was perfect.

He asked me about marriage before we charged out to die in that battle. And I think I said yes.

Thank the Goddess.

Nick moved the cloth lower and rubbed it gently across her sore toes. “Our reinforcements busted a cell of ten Legion masters in the woods around Kylemore. And the adepts and the surviving Mothers made it through the fight just fine, even if Mother Keara did kick Creed in the balls when he helped get them out of that crypt. I’d have paid money to see that.”

Cynda grimaced and smoked as the healing waters seeped into her aching bones, but almost instantly, relief replaced the pain. Nick kept talking in an even, almost hypnotic voice, distracting her as he did his work. “My brother Jake and his buddies are camped with the air Sibyls on the battlefield. The air Sibyls don’t like—”

“This castle,” Cynda finished for him, trying out her toes, moving them without as much pain. “It’s too confining, the way so much of it’s closed in by the mountain. I’ve heard that before from Merilee a thousand times.”

He moved the cloth to her other foot and kept up the careful bath. “All those Russian wolves and the earth Sibyls don’t seem to give a damn. They’ve scrubbed the joint top to bottom, repaired a bunch of shit, and they’re bunked in with the adepts and trainees. The women, I mean, not the wolves. And, uh, a few Cursons who showed up with Jake and crew to fight on our side.”

Cynda smiled. “Jake came through.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I’ll be hearing about that for a while.” Nick’s muscles rippled as gave her ankle a tweak, and his smile melted Cynda at whole new levels.

“No you won’t.” She stretched her neck to each side, pressing her shoulders into the soft pallet, loosening up. “I’m so glad he’s all right, and with us.” She sighed. “This ought to be an interesting few months. Astaroths. Cursons. And Andy—and don’t say it, you big ass. I know she has a cool gun.”

Nick grinned and eased his cloth up Cynda’s leg to her knees.

Goddess, that felt good.

“Don’t forget Delilah Moses,” he said. “She’s hanging out with the Mothers and visiting with Max. When the Mothers let him go, he got himself busted over in Connemara. Delilah says he’s better off in jail. That way, he’s staying out of trouble.”

Cynda groaned.

But Nick kept rubbing her knee with that cloth. The sage swirled through her nose, then her mind. Her thoughts gradually left images of jails and battles and problems and tidal waves as Nick worked the cloth back down her calf, changed sides again, and moved from foot to ankle to calf, then thigh. Her thoughts gradually left everything but Nick and the warmth of the fire and the growing, just-right heat of his touch.

Ripples of pleasure coursed over Cynda’s skin, followed by small flames that heated the sage water and helped it sink deep to where she needed the healing energy.

Her eyes drifted shut.

How could the man be so big, so strong, yet so absolutely gentle?

Cynda realized she was wet everywhere, even places he hadn’t bathed.

When he moved his cloth to her hip, she shuddered. She wanted his hands on her everywhere, and his mouth. She wanted to feel his weight, feel proof that they were alive, that the nightmare had ended for now, and she was safe, finally and truly.

Nick’s hand slid around the patch of hair between her legs, brushing the cloth over her belly and chest, trickling warm droplets down her sides.

His tongue followed the rivulets, and Cynda gasped. Her eyes flew open, and she bit her lip.

She held herself motionless, soaking in the water, soaking in Nick’s sensual progress as he slipped the rag up and down, back and forth, kissing everywhere he bathed. On her chest now, between her breasts, closer and closer to her waiting nipples. They started to tingle, but he stayed away, just missing with every pass.

“Don’t tease me,” she whispered, already near to breaking out in flames all over.

“I never tease.” His voice sounded as warm as the water he trailed across the pulsing nubs.

Cynda groaned and reached up and touched them herself.

Nick’s instant rumble of arousal vibrated from her shoulders to the wet spots his cloth had left on her thighs.

She pinched her nipples to tease
him,
rubbing them back and forth. The tingling doubled, as did the fire in her belly and the moisture between her legs.