No Rest for the Witches (7 page)

A gunshot cracked like thunder in the chaos.

 

Chapter Ten

P
hin was pacing. He couldn't help himself. Night had long since fallen, and with no word from Naomi or Silas, he didn't have anything else to keep the anxiety at bay.

At least his arm was out of the sling. Though still tender, the wound was already showing signs of scarring—and even then, it'd be minimal. As long as he didn't tear it open, he'd have full use of his arm within the next few days.

Little comfort. He'd trade his arm to have Naomi back, safe and sound. To have his mother beside her.

Even to get Silas back, to ease the shadows from Jessie's eyes.

She sat on the porch, a blanket around her shoulders, staring over the dark water stretched out in front of the house. She hadn't said much over the past hour, and Phin got the impression she was only half present, anyway.

He turned as his bare feet found the start of the glassy stepping stone path. Began his trek in front of the porch to the other side once more. How many times had he followed this same route?

Too many.

He'd do it until they came back. Or he dropped from exhaustion.

He wouldn't be able to sleep with all the jitters, anyway.

God, please let them come home.

“I'm sorry, sir.” Joel raised his head from his folded arms, his face tortured in the light of the lantern they'd set up on the porch. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and Phin flinched. “If I hadn't have let you come—”

“Come on, Joel,” Phin cut in, pausing in his pacing to sink to his haunches in front of his friend. Joel Evans had been his right-hand man for years, now. Not only had he been Timeless's best masseuse, famous for hands Gemma liked to say should be dipped in gold, he'd personally handled aspects of the evacuation ring Phin couldn't trust to anyone else.

The man knew things about the Clarkes that could destroy them. He was, as far as Phin had ever cared to explore the subject, a member of the family. Close as blood, close as anyone could get.

He clapped a hand on Joel's shoulder, squeezed affectionately. “If I wasn't with you, maybe I'd be dead. Or captured. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Joel stared down at the porch steps beneath him. “I keep thinking.”

“Don't.” Phin rose, his gaze drifting upward. To the dark sky, clouded over with winter storms. It still seemed wrong, to be so warm in the middle of winter, but everything about the world seemed wrong right now. “Just keep hoping.”

“God, I am.”

Phin was, too. He smiled down at Joel in a way he hoped was reassuring. A cold pit had opened up in his stomach.

Naomi hadn't said goodbye. She hadn't let him kiss her, or touch her.

She was pulling away.

If she didn't come back—
no.
He couldn't think like that.

She loved him, and he knew it. Knew it in the same way he knew her steely exterior was a front for something soft and fragile underneath.

God, he loved her.

And she'd gone to save his mom. It meant something.

Phin jammed his fingers through his hair, turning to begin his pace again.

The rocking chair creaked as Jessie leapt to her feet, her eyes wild. “They're here!” she cried, and practically flew down the steps. She staggered as she hit the bottom, collided with Phin, who steadied her only long enough for her to get her balance and sprint around the back of the house.

Phin met Joel's searching gaze.

As one, they lurched into motion and followed her into the dark.

Golden hair flying, Jessie put him in mind of a pixie as she darted between giant, leafy plants. “Silas!”

A rumbling voice, deep and too intense to miss, caused something to catch in Phin's heart.

Three figures stepped through a fissure in the canyon wall, as eerily as if they stepped through the wall itself. A large silhouette disengaged itself, moved into the ambient light.

Jessie threw herself into Silas's arms; not just physically, Phin saw, feeling suddenly like an intruder. Body and soul. When they met, when Silas pulled her to him with a rough sound, buried his face into her hair, it was as if he could see the connection fuse between them. See the love, the hope. The future. She clung to his shoulders and sobbed something wordless and angry.

He looked away as the other two figures came forward, and Phin nearly buckled in relief.

Lillian, her hair tangled around her shoulders and pale with strain, met his eyes. Everything in him softened. “Mom,” he whispered hoarsely.

She let go of Naomi's shoulders as he cleared the distance, gathered Lillian into his arms, and inhaled her familiar fragrance. She was alive. His mom was alive. They'd done it. He whispered a prayer of thanks, his lips at her dusty cheek. Hugged her, squeezed her until he was positive she wasn't just a dream.

Thank God.

Lillian disengaged first, smoothing one dirty hand over her hair. It didn't help. “Joel,” she said, her gaze on the man over Phin's shoulder. “Oh, my darling boys.”

But where did Naomi go?

A flash of movement at the corner of his eye caused him to spin, just in time to catch the leafy bank of lush foliage snap back into position.

Lillian touched his shoulder. “She saved my life. But it . . . hurt her.”

Anger flickered. And the first inklings of something blacker. More dangerous.

Enough was
enough.

Silas carried Jessie back to the house, his head against hers, and Matilda waited on the back patio with a lantern held high. Her smile warm, she called, “Everyone inside. There is tea brewing and much to discuss.”

“Who is that?” Lillian asked.

“Matilda,” Joel replied, offering his arm. “This is her home.”

“Interesting.” Lillian threaded her arm through Joel's, leaning heavily on him. “Phin, my darling. Go after her.”

His shoulders tightened. “Again?” He couldn't help it. Couldn't stop the venom in his voice as he clenched his fists at his sides.

Lillian paused, turning a smile on him that broke what was left of his heart. One part sad. One part encouraging.

Everything sympathetic.

“As many times as it takes,” she said softly. “While you can.”

She turned, leaving on Joel's arm. Phin watched her as she offered a slim hand to Matilda. Watched as the two women, so similar in regal bearing for all they were so different in everything else, shook politely.

Two queens, he thought. Two wise mothers.

Had Matilda ever had children?

She should have.

Phin turned, digging thumb and forefinger into his eyes. Before he had even fully decided to do it, his feet took him deeper into the foliage. The earth turned to black sand, the leaves clung to him, sprayed faintly fragrant water on him as he pushed through the giant fronds.

When he pushed out into open air again, he saw her.

She sat on a black sand beach, somehow lonelier for the beauty of her surroundings. Steam rolled across the green water, another finger of the bay he'd never seen before. Cliffs rose beyond her, the other half of the crescent and tucked well out of sight. She huddled in on herself as if wounded, her shoes discarded beside her.

Something in Phin's heart spiked—panic, anger.

Love, damn it.

He didn't hide his approach. And he knew Naomi sensed him as her shoulders straightened, back firming.

Putting on that mask.

He didn't give her the chance.

“I'm—” Her words ended on a gasp as Phin bent, grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her roughly to her feet.

“I'm sick of this,” he said, sliding a hand to the small of her back. Another into the sleek fall of her hair at her nape. The jewelry there was warm from her body, searing into his palm.

Into his blood.

Her eyes narrowed, thick black lashes shadowing them. There was no moon to paint her in ice and diamonds tonight, but she didn't need it. She was beautiful—even filthy, bruised, and accessorized with silver.

“I wondered when it'd come to that,” she said, her tone even. “I told you—”

His gut clenched. As his pulse knocked in his crotch, he shook his head, flattened his palm against her lower back, and forced her hips against his.

Her full lips parted as the hard length of his erection settled against her. Pressed firmly. Knowingly.

Achingly familiar.

“Shut up,” he told her. “For once in your life, just shut up and let things be.”

She swallowed hard. The delicate bones of her throat moved with the action. “Phin.”

“I love you.” Slowly, he walked her backward. She jerked as the warm water lapped at her toes. Her ankles. “I will love you forever, damn it, and I don't care how long it takes, but you're going to have to learn to live with me.”

Naomi's eyes, beautiful and swimming in shades of blue and violet too deep for him to ever reach, filled with tears.

That rocked him to his soul.

“We aren't living together,” she said. She grabbed at his arm, just above the elbow, but he didn't let go. Refused to give in.

And she could have knocked him on his ass if she wanted to.

She didn't.

“We're going to.” The water climbed to his knees. Lapped against his skin, hot and soothing. Soaked into his borrowed jeans.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” he said, and framed her head between his palms. Held her still, waist-deep in water that reminded him of Timeless's fragrant bathing pools. He never got to make love to her in the water.

An oversight he intended to correct.

“Stop running from me,” he said, his lips only millimeters from hers. Her breath shuddered out, warm against his mouth. “Stop fighting me. Stop
hiding
, Goddamn it.”

Her eyes closed, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt. The water pushed her body closer to his; she fit in ways that stole his breath. “We're both hiding. You up there, me down here. We don't get to see each other,” she said, her voice low and taut. Strain. Anger.

But she was talking. Finally.

“It's been a month, slick. I won't do it. Not anymore. I don't like halfway measures.”

“Good,” Phin replied. His thumb brushed the corner of her lips. “Then stop throwing up walls.”

“What do you want from me?” she said between clenched teeth.

“
Everything
,” Phin breathed, and covered her mouth with his.

Kissing her was always like playing with fire. With one touch, a spark, she lit up in his hands and stripped him bare. Her lips opened under his, full and soft and warm, edged where her lip ring pressed against his mouth. As a low, frustrated sound spilled from her throat, he swept his tongue against hers. Velvet and sweet, her tongue slid against his, matched his fervor—his need.

Phin always tried to play it slow, especially where Naomi was concerned. He knew without asking that she'd always preferred it rough and fast; easy to get in, get the itch scratched and get the hell out.

He was, based on her responses to his seduction, the first of her lovers to slow things down. Take it to a tempo designed to pull her apart, nerve by needy nerve.

But he didn't have the strength, not tonight. Her fingers wrenched at the buttons of his wet shirt; her legs tangled with his as he kissed her hard, kissed her with everything he was and everything he had to give.

Her heart pounded against his.

He pulled Naomi's hands away, dragged them behind her and shackled them at the base of her spine. “What do you say?” he asked, his voice husky with need. Demanding. Aggressive.

Her cheeks flushed. But she wasn't anybody's damsel. As her long legs rose in the water, circled his hips and forced the ridge of his straining cock against the core of her own body, he groaned, hard and loud.

“Three months,” he said, clenching his jaw as her hips slid along his. “None of this three months shit. Forever, Naomi. I'm not kidding. No games, no secrets. I'll bloody well marry you if you . . . oh,
Christ.
”

“That simple?” she demanded, even as every syllable shuddered.

“Mine,” he managed. “Forever.”

“I love you,” she replied, grinding herself against him. Her voice caught, twisted. Fractured. “But if I'm going to be this . . . this fucking
needy
, I don't want to feel it here alone. I hate it, I don't . . . oh, God, Phin.”

“No more,” he said hoarsely. “Things will change.” He kissed her mouth. Her cheek, her stubborn jaw. Again at her mouth, tasting her lush lip, the heat of her breath as it shook on a ragged exhale. “Promise you.”

“Promise you,” she repeated on a whisper.

It wasn't a yes to his backhanded proposal, but as Phin filled his hands with her—filled his senses with every noise, every smell, every taste of her damp skin and the hollow places of her body—he knew he'd ask again.

When the time was right. When the mood was right.

When, he thought as he sank balls-deep into her warm body and groaned loudly enough to send echoes across the rippling water, he could think again.

He'd make her his in every way he knew how.

 

Chapter Eleven

“W
here's Phin?”

Jessie turned in his arms, and Silas cupped the back of her head in one large hand and tucked her back against his shoulder. “Busy,” she told him, and left it at that.

He bit back a grin. If the man was smart, he had Naomi locked up somewhere, and would for the next few hours.

The woman was a handful on a good day. She hadn't had a good day in a long time.

Jessie looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her wide mouth. “Don't go to the back cove for a while.”

He grunted a noncommittal sound and tipped his head to Joel. “To answer your question, it was an empty warehouse. Most of the shipping crates we saw hadn't been used in years.”

“But why there?” Joel sat, but his gaze flicked often to Lillian. Eager to refill her tea, her plate. Feeling, Silas figured, the pinch of guilt. He was a good kid. He'd get over it. “I mean, missionaries—”

“They weren't missionaries,” Silas cut in. He smoothed a hand down Jessie's back, felt her shiver against his side. “They were led by some kind of witch mercenary. He figured he'd capitalize on Naomi's bounty.”

“He was surprisingly well-equipped for a witch,” Jessie said dourly.

Lillian and Matilda spoke quietly on the other side of the table, and Silas let them talk uninterrupted. How long had it been since Matilda had company of her own age?

Or, well, relative age. He still wasn't sure how old she was, but Lillian at fifty-some-odd had to be closer.

Jessie jammed an elbow in his side. “Hey, earth to Silas.”

“Sorry.” Absently, he dropped a kiss into her hair, inhaling the warm, feminine fragrance of her. Spiced with the floral soap she and Matilda made. His heart squeezed. “You shouldn't be too surprised. After all, you met a wealthy witch. Anyone can hide themselves.”

“What about the body?” Joel asked.

He hesitated.

Jessie's hand reached over. Linked with his.

“We left it,” he finally said, glancing down at her. Her tawny eyes glowed in the firelight, wide and trusting. Filled with love. His love.

But she had to quit lying to him.

“Won't that cause problems?”

Silas pulled his attention back to Joel and frowned. “Maybe. I don't understand how a witch of that caliber was able to train up operatives like that, or what they wanted with Mrs. Clarke, but by the time I had the shot, I had to take it.”

Joel thought about it. “Naomi saved Mrs. Clarke's life, didn't she?” His voice was soft. A shade away from revealing something Silas wasn't sure the man wanted to share.

He rose. “Everyone did their part,” he said, and pushed his chair back. Offering a hand to Jessie, he added, “We need to talk.”

Jessie winced, but as she took his hand, her jaw tightened. She knew the issue.

Matilda waved at them as they left the patio. Grimly, Silas pulled Jessie behind him, away from the volcanic pond where Phin and Naomi had gone. With the patio and hidden cove occupied, he made for the dock.

She was silent behind him. Planning, he figured. Scheming.

She was damned good at it.

“We have to keep the Clarkes out of sight,” she said to his back. He tugged her along the dock, saying nothing. “Phin said he wanted to get his mother out of the city, but I'll bet she doesn't go.”

At the end of the dock, with the water glinting like shadows emeralds around then, he stopped. Turned and pulled her into his arms.

She came willingly, but her eyes were shadowed as he frowned down at her. “Stop lying to me,” he said, hoarse with the intensity he hadn't meant to share.

She flinched. “I don't—”

“Jess.” He cupped her jaw with one hand, stroked her lower lip with a callused thumb. “I know this is hard. We've got things we see that we want to help, things
you
see that you want to fix. You're killing yourself.”

She couldn't hide it, either. The bruised color underneath her eyes had been getting steadily worse, especially when she strained herself.

“Don't think I don't notice when you get out of bed at night,” he continued, and didn't care if his heart beat raggedly through every word. Her flinch turned to a strained expression, something that twisted her mouth. Furrowed her brow. “You can't keep doing this.”

She closed her eyes. “I don't know how else to help, Silas. I'm not—I can't fight. Not like you. I'm not Naomi.”

“Oh, God.” The words tore from him on a low, guttural laugh. “Sunshine, I thank every fucking star out there that you aren't. What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessie dropped her gaze, stared at a point on his shirt. “You . . . it's just that you know each other so well.”

And then it hit him. Like a sledgehammer to the skull. “You're . . . jealous?”

Her mouth twisted downward. And when his laughter echoed over the canyon, she jerked her head up. Balled her hand into a fist and jabbed it into his iron-hard abs. “It's not funny!”

He caught her hand, brought it to his lips even as his chuckles escaped through her fingers. “Yes, it is. You have no idea.” Pulling her closer, he bent, slung an arm under her ass and pulled her into his arms.

She gasped, clung to his shoulders, and didn't fight as he guided her legs around his waist. Eye to eye now, he tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “You're my only. But you're also
not
Naomi. Sunshine, I leave you behind because I can't bear the thought of something happening to you.”

“How do you think I feel?” she retorted, eyes flashing.

Silas paused, eyebrows raising. How did she feel?

Well . . . son of a bitch. He hadn't considered that.

“You're a soldier,” she continued, linking her fingers around his neck. He held her easily—too easily, he realized. She'd lost some weight. “I'm not, but I
am
a witch. I'm not trying to come between you and what you do, but you can't just set me up somewhere and take everything on yourself. I can help.” Her blonde lashes narrowed. “I
have
to help.”

“You're right.”

Jessie blinked at him. “What?” And then she frowned, as if trying to figure out if he was messing with her. “With the how?”

“You're right,” he repeated, grinning at her nonsense quirk. “I won't try and bench you anymore.”

“What's the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, and pulled her closer. “You're a part of this team, and like Naomi, you're going to have to learn when no means no.”

“Now wait—
mmph
!” Silas cut her off, sliding his lips over hers, silencing her with a kiss. When she stopped fighting, when her curves melted against him and she hung limply in his arms, he let her breathe again.

She walked her fingers across his chest. “Dirty.”

“Not yet,” he promised, and her silvery laugh filled his heart. His soul.

With love. With sunshine.

With promise of the future.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Never forget that, okay? No matter what.”

Silas smoothed back her hair. “Never,” he promised.

But he couldn't help but wonder what his all-seeing witch wasn't telling him this time.