Impassion (Mystic) (25 page)

He held tight, searching for a way to make her stay, but she gave him no choice. Her eyes narrowed and shifted downward, and a sizzling current of electricity shot from her wrist into his hand.

“Shit,” he blurted, stumbling back.

The jolt subsided, relinquishing control of his muscles, and he raised his smoldering palm, flexing fingers around blackened flesh. Surprised and impressed by her power and accuracy, he gawked at the wound. Then he found her eyes, watching a fat teardrop fall to her cheek.

Her face drained of color as she mouthed the words
I’m sorry
. Then she turned and walked away. Right before rounding the corner of the house, she spoke over her shoulder. “I’m leaving for a while. Tell my grandparents not to worry.”

“No,” Quin shouted, heart lurching as he rushed forward, but by the time he turned the corner, she was gone.

He shot into the air, searching ground and sky. “Layla! Please don’t do this!” No response, no aura, no body; he couldn’t spot one shimmer of evidence.

He searched for her mind and immediately made a connection, but it felt like he’d linked to a hall of mirrors that had stolen Layla’s warm glow. Powerful yet jumbled brainwaves collided with his, bouncing at him from every direction as he tried to communicate and locate.

“Layla!”

No answer; and the unreliable mind connection quickly faded.

“Shit.”

She’d left him… left because of him. Now she was in grave danger.
Shit
,
shit
,
shit
.

He scanned the earth and sky once more, finding nothing. Then he flew to Caitrin and Morrigan’s, his heart hurting like hell and drowning in guilt.

Chapter 19

A
ngrier at herself than ever
before, Layla flew toward what she hoped was Cannon Beach, tears raining from her burning eyes.

Sickened by what she’d done to Quin, crushed by what her existence was doing to the coven, and defeated by her lack of control, she overflowed with regret, like she might burst any second and bleed her accountability on the treetops. She was a passenger on a frightening rollercoaster, and the grim reaper was at the switchboard, surely laughing with wicked delight as he pulled levers and pushed buttons.

She flew west for about twenty minutes before finding the ocean. Then she followed the coast south until she spied Haystack Rock—a giant, basalt rock signaling the shoreline of Cannon Beach.

She carefully descended into a cluster of trees bordering the north end of the seafront. Then she lifted her concealment spells as she trudged toward moist sand, jolting under the sting of bitter wind.

A break in the storms had drawn a few families to the beach, but the tourists were south, closer to town, and that was fine by Layla. She wanted nothing to do with crowds.

A twisted piece of driftwood caught her eye, and she shifted her aimless course, finding the log had a branch she could use as a backrest. She sat, got situated then gnawed on her fingernails while fighting an internal battle.

Part of her felt she’d overreacted; that she’d been unfair to call it quits over the news about Caitlyn. Then there was the part of her relentlessly screaming
Heed the warnings!

Maybe the only answer was time. If Caitlyn were given time to heal and didn’t show signs of jealousy or instability, Layla would feel more confident moving forward with Quin. But she couldn’t ask him to wait. The phobia instilled in her by Medea was
her
neurosis, not Quin’s.

She switched to the fingernails on her left hand as her thoughts drifted to Sunday night—the night Quin pleased her in so many wonderful ways. The foray had been sensual, powerful and extremely personal… and he’d been dating another woman. Layla wondered if he treated Caitlyn the way he treated her, and her stomach rolled.

All ten of her fingernails were stubby and jagged, so she pulled her feet onto the tree trunk and scanned the beach for hexless auras. One by one she found them, but those surrounding the adults were hard to discern—dull and smoggy. The children’s, however, were bright and lovely, untouched by worry or responsibility.

Layla focused on a baby boy bundled in a coat, hat and gloves, and warmth filled her cold stomach. She watched his soothing aura until his mom carried him away. Then she searched for another child to focus on, but the families were scattering as rain clouds rode turbulent waves toward shore, dimpling soft sand and whipping the harsh wind.

Despite the cold, Layla tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in a mixture of sea spray and rain. Her teethe ached to chatter, but she set her jaw, unready to leave her reclusive moment.

“You’re getting wet,” a deep voice noted.

Layla sucked her aura in, and her muscles tightened, pulling her inward like a timid turtle. She shook her shoulders, shrugging off the tension. Then she opened her eyes to the person who spoke.

At first she thought an ordinary man stood there, as his aura was extremely light, practically nonexistent. But then she focused on him instead of the air around him.

Definitely a wizard—a wizard with extraordinary looks.

Slightly taller than average with muscles bulging from a thin frame, he had curves and ripples in places other people didn’t, not even the wizards she’d met. His white t-shirt fit snug, displaying defined pecs and a ridged abdomen, and he wore a pair of charcoal colored Bermuda shorts, revealing sculpted calves and bare feet. Just long enough to run a hand through, his golden hair lay in mellow waves; and his fair and flawless face housed intense multicolored eyes—vivid shades of blue and green bleeding together like the sea.

“Do you need something?” Layla asked, wary despite his ridiculously chiseled body.

He smiled, showing perfect teeth. “May I sit?”

“It’s not my beach. Do whatever you want.” She looked at the ocean, watching white froth rise and fall over aroused waves, yearning to fly over them with no destination in mind.

Unconcerned by her attitude, the wizard sat and offered his hand. “I’m Finley.”

Layla looked over then gave his hand a short shake. “Layla.”

“Layla,” he repeated. “Why are you sitting here by yourself?”

“Because I feel like it. Why are you sitting here?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, resting her chin on her knees.

“Are you from around here?” he pressed.

“You could say that,” she answered, magically painting her toenails blue. Fitting for her mood, plus it matched her sweatshirt and the bluish tint of her freezing feet.

“You’re awfully distracted,” Finley noted.

She threw him a sideways glance. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Well, most witches aren’t so withdrawn. I’m concerned as well as curious.”

“Would you say you’re intrigued?” she asked, recalling the night she met Quin.

“I would,” Finley confessed.

“Well don’t get your hopes up,” she returned, “because I’m not going to tell you why I’m distracted, and I’m not going to explain why I’m withdrawn, so your intrigue is going to waste.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

“So you don’t mind if I stay?”

Layla found his face, searching it again. Then she sighed and looked at the sea. “No. Do whatever you want. But if you insist on staying, you should tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m meeting some acquaintances down the beach,” he explained. “I saw you sitting by yourself and thought I’d join you.”

“I see. We are a friendly bunch, aren’t we?”

“Mostly.”

“I’m not,” she mumbled. “Not today.”

“Bad days happen to the best of us.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up or something? Because you shouldn’t bother. You won’t be successful.”

“You’re quite honest with your words, yet you hide your aura so well.”

“Yours is hidden.”

“Yes it is,” he whispered, a smile twitching his lips. Then he cleared his throat and looked north. “Would you like to go to a bonfire? It will be a lot warmer there, much better conditions to be distracted in.”

“No. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to be around a bunch of people.”

“Not a bunch. Four. And so what if you don’t know me. What do you think I’d do?”

“I can’t answer that, because I don’t know you.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“No.”

“What if I brought the fire and people here?”

“Why are you so intent on getting me to your gathering?”

“Because I find you extraordinarily beautiful and interesting. Just come for a while, long enough to warm up. If it doesn’t make you feel better, you can leave.”

“Where exactly are you asking me to go?”

He pointed to the timber she’d landed in when she arrived. “There’s another stretch of sand through those trees.”

Layla knew the spot. She’d seen it when she flew in and had considered sitting there.

She looked to the sky as she debated with herself, wondering how long she had before nightfall. The coven was probably worried sick, but what did they have to worry about? Finley? He seemed harmless. They probably knew him, invited him to celebrations on their lawn. Besides, she felt like being defiant. Silly—yes. Selfish—sure. Immature—unfortunately. But with shit piling up around her no matter which way she turned, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She looked at Finley, thinking a fire sounded pretty damn good. Her hands and feet were numb and the rain had penetrated her jeans. After one more glance at the trees, she decided she’d be in no more danger on the other side of them than she was on this side. There wasn’t a soul around.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll go until I’m ready to leave, which will be soon.”

His eyes brightened as he smiled and got to his feet. “You can leave right away if you don’t enjoy yourself.”

He offered his hand, but Layla refused, crossing her arms as she stood and headed north.

Finley quickly caught up then walked beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Would you like to tell me something about yourself, Layla?”

“Not really. Ask if you’d like, but don’t expect an answer.”

“Fair enough. Do you have a last name?”

“No.”

He laughed and tried again. “Do you live around here?”

“Yes.”

“Have you always?”

“No.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I’m only asking because you might know the people I’m meeting.”

“I don’t,” she replied, confused by his logic. “Don’t you think you’d know me if I’d been in the area long?”

“I haven’t been here very long myself,” he explained.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Are you visiting?”

“Not anyone in particular. Just traveling and checking things out.”

“You’re nomadic?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You could say that,” he confessed.

She halted, and he stopped as well.

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she answered. “Why are you on your own?”

“I needed a new beginning, and traveling is the only way to ensure you’ve explored your options.”

“What about your family?”

“What about them? Should I pack everyone I know around while I find myself? I’ll see my family again, when my journey’s through.”

Feeling foolish and guilty for being judgmental, Layla started walking. “How is your journey going?”

“Getting better all the time,” he answered, matching her pace. “Oregon’s beautiful. I’ve visited before, but in different capacities. I’m taking in the sights this time; getting to know the locals. What about you? Are you going to tell me why you’re here when you haven’t always been?”

“No.”

They reached the trees, and Layla halted, trying to judge the time by looking at the sky. Bolstered by dark clouds, nightfall approached quicker than expected, and it suddenly dawned on her how hard it would be to find her way back to the community. Even with sunlight it would be a challenge, so she was sure to fail at night. She could go to Cinnia’s café, but getting treated like a child in a public place would be humiliating. The inn, she remembered. She could meet Finley’s friends, warm up then go to Karena’s inn.

“I’m not going to stay long,” she noted, proceeding into the timber. “I’ll meet your friends, but I have somewhere to be.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Layla. Leave whenever you want.”

“I plan to.”

After a few minutes of navigating shadowed undergrowth, the trees thinned; and Layla followed dim shafts of light onto a small beach.

Sitting around a nearby fire, drinking from jugs between snippets of chatter and laughter, were three women and one man. When Finley and Layla approached, the group fell silent, but their expressions communicated plenty as they scanned Layla from head to toe. Two of the three women did not like that she was there, and the man liked it very much.

He was the first to speak. “Who’s your friend, Finley?”

“This is Layla,” Finley answered. Then he flipped the introductions around. “That’s Liam and Kira. They’re a couple. That’s Tessa, and that’s Shiela.”

Kira and Tessa were the ones sneering. Shiela merely looked curious.

Layla donned a polite smile and walked forward, extending her hand to each of them in turn. “Nice to meet you guys.”

They all accepted her handshake, but only Liam spoke. “You’re not from around here, are you, Layla?”

Kira elbowed her boyfriend, Tessa’s nostrils flared, and Layla threw Finley a pointed look.

“I’m leaving,” she said, turning away from the blessedly warm fire.

“Please stay,” he insisted. “I don’t know why they’re being so rude.”

“Stay,” Shiela added, waving a hand, and a log rolled from the timber. “Have a seat. You look cold.”

“Thanks,” Layla mumbled, desperate to thaw her feet and hands.

She sat, and Finley claimed the bark beside her while flashing Shiela a grateful smile.

“Wine?” Sheila asked, offering Layla a jug.

“No, thanks,” Layla declined. “I can’t stay long.”

This comforted Tessa and Kira, who relaxed and dropped their hateful expressions. But they actively ignored Layla, and she soon figured out why. Tessa wanted Finley’s attention.

“What’s your element?” Finley asked, keeping his focus on Layla.

Her cheeks flushed with heat as she looked down, grateful her aura was hidden. She didn’t want the strangers to know she was a clueless newbie. “Can’t you think of something better than that?” she sidestepped.

“Not that you’ll answer,” Finley laughed.

Liam, Kira and Shiela wrinkled their foreheads at Layla, but Tessa looked at her like she was crazy. Apparently she couldn’t understand why a woman getting Finley’s attention would brush it off.

Layla didn’t want Finley’s attention, so she turned hers on the crackling flames, wishing she could claim fire as her element. She snapped her fingers, giving the magic a shot, and a small flame sprang to life in her palm, soothingly warm as it danced on sensitive flesh. She imagined it green, and it turned green. Then she returned it to its natural palette and tossed it in the air.

After cocking an eyebrow at the weird, little fireball, she tossed it to Finley. “What’s your element?”