Retribution (17 page)

“He’s worse than suicidal, Guthrie. He’s obsessed with a witch. Women are always the death of the men who fixate wholly upon them.”

As Guthrie stared into Lynette’s conniving eyes, he couldn’t remember truer words being spoken. “Nothing’s going to stop Agro from getting his witch.”

“So it would seem. But what do you think will happen when he does?”

“He’ll have even more power than he has now.”

“No,” Lynette disagreed. “That witch will ruin him. She’ll fight him at every turn, and he’ll eventually lose his patience and kill her.”

Lynette had gotten lazy with her hand, but Guthrie barely noticed. “So?”

“So,” she huffed, “how do you think he’ll handle that? He's risking everything he's built for her; turned his life upside down for her. Nothing else matters to him now, so how do you think he’ll react when his finest treasure is lifeless in his arms? And how will he deal with the regret of being the one who destroyed her? He’s either going to die getting his witch, or he’s going to let her ruin him. Either way, we’re going to make sure no one’s there to save him. Then we’re going to assume power.”

“And the witch? What would we do with her? If she manages to kill him, we’re next on her list.”

Lynette’s grin stretched as her fingernails drifted over his inner thigh. “But we’ll be expecting it; we’ll have the upper hand. And what better way to assume power than to control the fate of the most powerful witch in the world? Agro can’t possess her without losing himself, but we can. What you do with her will determine the direction of your rule and cement you as the undisputed leader of hundreds of magicians.”

Guthrie took Lynette by the wrist and pulled her palm from his manhood. “And if we don’t get the witch? What will cement me as a ruler then? Should I kill you? The woman who’s been plotting against our boss for weeks. Perhaps I should place your severed head on a pedestal as an example of what happens to traitors.”

Lynette’s devious determination wavered, exposing remnants of the fragile witch she left behind years ago. In her shiny eyes, Guthrie found fear, weakness and need, a plea for mercy, acceptance and protection. Tears swelled as she wiggled her wrist, but Guthrie held firm, his expression stern.

“Is that the kind of man you want me to be?” he whispered. “A man who will fuck you and kill you in the same day?”

She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks, but her trembling lips stayed sealed.

“Remember,” he added, watching moisture pool at the corners of her mouth, “if I want to live like Agro, I must act like him. I must become a cruel man who will stop at nothing to get what I want. Now tell me – is that the man you want me to be? And would you sacrifice yourself to make it so?”

“I thought we were in this together.”

“No.” He rolled her onto her back and pinned her arms to the ground, leaning close enough for her to feel the quiet growl rumbling in his chest. “When you take a position like Agro’s, a position of complete power, you have no partners. You trust no one. You value yourself above all others and will sacrifice the most beautiful woman in camp to prove it. That’s what being a dictator is about. That’s how Agro has maintained power for more than sixty years. That’s what he has that others don’t – a willingness to stop at nothing to get what he wants. Now answer me before I throw your ass out – is that the man you want me to be?”

Her breathing quickened, her heart rapping on his ribs as she timidly searched his eyes, like she might find the answer within them. “Yes,” she confessed, “I want you to value yourself above the others… above me, because you’re better than Agro, and when he falls, you’ll lead us in a better direction.”

“No, Lynette. What you speak of isn’t possible. If I were to take control and present myself as a fair leader offering equality and power, I’d be dead within a month, murdered by a soldier jealous of the power I’m clearly not willing to kill for. An army like this must be ruled with an iron fist. So you see, a shift in power won’t save these soldiers. It will only elevate me to an enviable status. If this is to be done, it’s to be done selfishly, not with grand fantasies of a happy family full of cold-blooded killers. This is not a coven, Lyn. This is a snake pit, and every single one of these slithering bastards is fighting for survival. They’ll strike the moment you show weakness – a point proven by your grand schemes. So, are you ready for me to become the man you hate? Because that’s what will happen if you keep this up.”

Her arms remained pinned to the ground, but her hips wiggled. “Sounds like everyone’s screwed either way. Why not remove yourself from the snake pit and lord over it?”

“And what about you? What should I do with the one woman in camp I know for a fact is capable of mutiny? Letting her live would be a risk. It would show weakness.”

“Not if she has something to offer in return.”

He cruelly smiled and tilted his head. “What do you have to offer me, Lynette? Your body? I could fuck every witch in the Dark Elite if I were in Agro’s position.”

She pouted, but was quick to smooth her expression. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you. But I’ll be loyal, Guthrie. I’ll do whatever it takes to put you in power, and I’ll stand beside you once you’re there.”

“You’re forgetting,” he countered, pressing down on her, “no one stands my equal. You will have no more power than you have now.”

She rapidly blinked, like that thought hadn’t occurred to her despite his lecture, like she’d just realized she’d be powerless forever, and her violet eyes once again glazed over. “So what will it take to stay in your good graces?”

“How far will you go?” he asked, aroused by her submission… and repulsed by the fact, repulsed by the power-hungry man ingrained in him. “Will you kill for me?”

She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Will you die for me?”

She wiggled again, trying to feel more of his erection, but he wouldn’t let her. “Yes,” she breathed, finding his stare.

“Will you enslave yourself to me, Lyn? Beg me every day to spare your life?”

She nodded, and he scowled while tightening his hold on her wrists. “You’re a liar, Lynette. Either that or you’re a damn fool, because I’m no better than the man you wish to defy; you’d be no better off in my bed than you would his. You think you can manipulate me into taking the tough job while you sit pretty on your throne, but you’re mistaken. I’m not your puppet; I’m not going to take the risk just so you can fuck your way to the top. You want this army, go for it. Take down Agro and gain control. But leave me out of it.” He let her go and rolled onto his back. “Get out of here.”

She lay silent and shocked for about three seconds. Then she scrambled to her hands and knees and crawled toward him. “Guthrie...”

“I said get out. I’m done with your bullshit, Lyn. I already have one power-hungry person pulling my strings. I’m not handing the rest to you.”

She panicked, wildly shaking her head as she clutched his chest. “That’s not what I want…”

“You’ve made your intentions clear,” he interrupted, grabbing her wrists, “and I’m done playing along and protecting you. We’re going to take these soldiers back to Agro and go get his witch. Now get out.”

She made no effort to move, and he growled as he threw her hands off him. “That’s an order!”

Her chest shook with a choppy breath as tears sprang from her eyes, and Guthrie’s stomach churned as he rolled away. Aside from the week she was brought into camp as a small child, Guthrie had seen her cry only four times, and two of those had been in the past thirty minutes.

Several seconds passed before he heard her rise and leave his tent, and the burning ache in his chest flared. He’d been cruel to the only person in the world he cared about, and while she’d asked for it by trying to manipulate him, he could hardly blame her for wanting a better life, even if she were willing to screw and kill for it.

Chapter 12

Thursday morning’s sunshine crept over Layla’s lids as Quin’s kisses drifted over her head, and she lazily opened her eyes to her new library, which was actually an add-on to the original structure of the house.

Accessible from the downstairs hallway through a door positioned between the guest bathroom and the stairs, the library stretched into the backyard, with a set of double-doors leading onto the deck, and a huge bay window facing the forest. The furniture combined sublime comfort with the simple beauty of earth tones and solid patterns; and the accessories and artistry were custom-made, each piece unique yet complementary. There were enough shelves in the high-ceilinged room to hold all the books in Layla’s high school library, and every ledge boasted magically-carved designs that varied from shelf to shelf but were repeated often throughout the room and its objects.

The night before, when Quin first showed Layla the room, he’d apologized for not filling the shelves yet and promised to make it a proper library soon. Then he’d led her toward the bay window, saying he had to provide at least one book, or he wouldn’t feel right calling it a library.
 

But it wasn’t just any book, and Layla knew that by the exquisite lectern holding it. Carved from one solid piece of cedar and magically stained dark to match the bookshelves, the base of the lectern had several feet resembling tree roots, and a narrow trunk that twisted like a Contorted Willow – each groove and knot skillfully defined. The top branched out to cradle any size book, and a few of the limbs held small wooden creatures, including a caterpillar, a few butterflies, and an assortment of birds.

The book that occupied the coveted spot atop the carved branches was a leather bound collection of family trees and detailed histories on every person who'd ever been a member of the Conn/Kavanagh coven. It was her parents' copy, kept safe at Caitrin and Morrigan's over the past twenty-one years; now it was home, in a room designed around it. The markings on the spine and covers were the repeated designs in the woodwork and artwork, and the stain on the shelves matched the well-maintained leather of the priceless tome.

Quin had silently watched Layla spend more than forty-five minutes poring over every word and picture in the first three pages. Then he teased her for being a bookworm while marking her spot and closing the cover.

She started to protest, but forgot what the problem was when he pulled her into a kiss and carried her to the couch, stealing her attention with no plans to let it go.

They only got around four hours of sleep, but when Layla awoke to her new library with its creator’s morning arousal pressing on her back, she had no desire to go back to dreamland, so she rolled over and helped herself to something stronger than coffee.

After a couple of refreshing doses, he reluctantly left the room to fix breakfast, and she curled up in a cashmere throw with her cellphone, set with the task of calling Travis and Phyllis.

When it came to her two non-magical friends, Layla's stomach squirmed with guilt. She wasn't calling them enough, and when she did, the conversations were one-sided and short. Obviously she couldn't go into detail about her life, and it seemed like she always had a reason to hang up within ten minutes of calling them. This time was no different. She and Quin were due on the lawn in thirty minutes, and she hadn’t showered or eaten. Sure, she could have cut her time short with Quin and called her friends sooner, but she wanted nothing more than she wanted her hero, and she’d willingly harbor guilt for the rest of her life for one minute of his.
 

She'd finished her conversation with Phyllis and started one with Travis when Quin walked in with coffee and doughnuts. Layla’s eyes widened on the sugary pastries, and she quickly used magic to hover the phone so she could grab a doughnut and her mug.

“My hero,” she mouthed, and Quin kissed her forehead before taking a seat across from her.

She stayed on the phone through breakfast, pausing her chewing long enough to ask a few questions, but she was careful not to ask any that might lead to a discussion about Travis visiting. He only brought it up once, and it was to tell her it might be a few weeks before he could get away.

With a full stomach and a sad goodbye, she hung up the phone, and Quin grasped her body with magic, keeping her wrapped in the blanket as he floated her onto his lap.

“How's Travis?” he asked, summoning her coffee.

“Good,” she answered, taking the mug as she cuddled into him. “Gander Creek has been dragging him down for years. Now that he sees a way out, he's even more upbeat than usual.”

“Good. Now how about you share your concerns with me?”

“You can see them, huh?”

“Always, my love, and I want to help you bear them.”

“Okay. I was wondering what Travis and Phyllis might do if… if I... you know, dropped off the face of the earth. They’d have no idea what happened to me, and it's probably better that way, but it makes me sad to think about it. They might think I abandoned them, or that I've been abducted and kept against my will. I don't want them to go through that.” She paused and looked up. “You know?”

He watched her face for a moment. Then he pulled her into a tight hug. “I do know. We’ll talk to our family and figure out a way to provide solace for your friends if… if this doesn't end right.”

“That would be nice. I hate the thought of haunting them with an unsolvable mystery. Finality is better. Closure. Even if we have to lie to give them peace.”