Shadow Magic (38 page)

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Authors: Cheyenne McCray

BOOK: Shadow Magic
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DARKWOLF'S STONE-ENCASED HEART THROBBED and ached. His throat grew dry as he laid Elizabeth on the hotel bed. Blood seeped from around the bullet hole in her throat, the blood dripping down her neck to be absorbed by the green and gold bedspread. The blood surrounding the arrow in her belly and the other bullet hole soaked her dark blue T-shirt.
His own wounds had healed, the arrows falling out and onto the floor as he'd walked across the carpet, carrying Elizabeth.
The powers of two gods filled him now, and he knew she was still alive even before he pressed his fingertips to the faint pulse in her throat. Yes, she was alive, but not by much.
If she hadn't passed out, all she'd have to do was shift into a demon and she would heal. She was just as vulnerable as a human when in human form.
His mind spun as he brought his shaking hands to the bloody skin around the hole in her throat. He was a god, twice as powerful as Ceithlenn or Balor, and he could do this. He could heal Elizabeth.
Darkwolf ground his teeth. He
had
to. He wasn't ready to admit exactly why it was so important to him, but it was on the edge of his subconscious.
Anger and thoughts of revenge for what the Drow and the PSF cop had done to Elizabeth filled him and he had to force them back to concentrate on her.
She gave a shuddering breath and gurgled before blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
“No.”
He shook his head. “I won't let you die, Elizabeth.”
Tears bit at the backs of his eyes as he focused on healing her. He drew on his warlock healing powers and poured his god's magic into the act. His muscles tensed, his blood vessels glowed a brighter purple, and black fog rolled from him into the wound, into Elizabeth.
In healing her, he was giving her some of his magic. He knew that. He thought about stopping, but he couldn't. Wouldn't.
Tears threatened to start when nothing happened, but then the bullet purged itself, like something forced it out.
Elizabeth gasped and arched her back, more blood spilling out of her mouth, before her body slumped on the bed again.
He concentrated harder healing her. The hole started to close as the bullet tumbled onto the bedspread.
Blood still flowed out of the wound, but as his fog of black magic moved between them, it lessened to a trickle. The skin over the hole in her throat finished knitting itself together.
Darkwolf let out a deep breath, but she didn't waken. He held his fingers to her neck, searching for her pulse. He found it, but the beat of her heart was too slow.
He brought his hands and his magic to her belly and concentrated on forcing the arrow and bullet out and healing her. She coughed and the arrow moved with her body. He glanced at her face. Still out cold.
Gritting his teeth with determination, he thrust more magic into her. The arrow all but flew out of her belly and landed on the carpet followed by the slug. Blood rushed forth with them, but like her throat, the blood slowed then stopped until her internal organs began to heal and her skin formed over the wound, unblemished.
He scooted up the bed and brushed Elizabeth's black hair from her pale face. Her breathing was ragged but growing stronger.
“Wake up,” he said, almost choking on the words. Even though he was almost positive she was going to live, he didn't want to take any chances.
“Wake up.”
Elizabeth's eyelids jerked open and her blue, blue eyes met his. Her skin was still so pale it was nearly colorless. What if she wasn't healing inside like she had on the outside? Was he powerful enough to save a life as far gone as hers had been?
“You need to shift.” He slipped his arm under her shoulders and she gasped, pain on her face as he lifted her to a sitting position. “You'll definitely be all right if you change into your demon form then back.”
She looked dizzy and as if she could barely sit up as he steadied her. With a soft moan she wrapped her arms across her belly and doubled over.
“I'll go in the next room, and you transform.” He got up from the bed and walked toward the sitting area of the suite, but looked over his shoulder. “I'll give you a few minutes, okay?”
She nodded, the movement slow and jerky.
A couple of minutes. That was all he'd give her. He left her alone only because he didn't want to see her as a Fomorii, didn't want to think of her as a demon. Only as the woman named Elizabeth.
He stared sightlessly across the sitting room, his back to the door. Nothing registered in his mind but her as he waited.
One minute. Two.
Just as he started to go back to her, she spoke softly behind him. “Darkwolf.”
He whirled. Relief flooded him and all the tension and pain of his concern vanished. She stood whole and perfect in the doorway. No wounds, not a trace of blood on her or tears in her T-shirt. She looked as if nothing had happened. Her skin was filled with color, her eyes sharp and bright, her stance as regal as ever.
The knot in his throat returned as he strode toward her and brought her into his embrace the moment he reached
her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he pressed her smaller form to his, her cheek resting on his chest.
When the lump in his throat lessened, he cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head so that he could look into her eyes.
She smiled, looking so much like a soft, welcoming woman. He brought his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss at first, then harder and fiercer. He needed the contact. Needed to know she was safe and alive.
When he convinced himself she was okay, he raised his head and looked down at her.
She licked her lips. “What now?”
“I have decisions to make,” he said in the deep, rumbling voice he still wasn't used to.
A great sigh shook him as he released her and stepped away. He raked his hand through his hair as power rolled through him like a roller coaster.
Such great power that it caused him to shake and clench his fists.
When this hell began, after he'd picked up Balor's eye on the shores of Ireland, he would never have believed he would become a god himself. That he would have the power of not one god, but two.
Thoughts of what he could do made him heady. Cravings to dominate, to rule, grew within him.
Why not finish what Ceithlenn and Balor had started? Why not rule a place of his own? Make every person do whatever he wanted them to? Like a king of a foreign country, only with far more power.
Darkwolf turned his gaze on Elizabeth. “How would you like to be the queen of San Francisco?”
LIGHT FLOODED GARRAN'S EYES so brightly he could not see and he clenched his eyes shut again. It wasn't sunlight but something that glowed and still managed to hurt his eyes.
Smells and sounds he had all but forgotten flooded his senses. Sun-warmed grass, honey from a hive buzzing with bees, the morning chatter of birds, the lilting laughter of Elvin children as they performed their daily chores—the musical Elvin voices, so different from the Drow as they had evolved into Dark Elves.
Summerland
.
He had traveled to Summerland after his death.
Garran's heart expanded then ached. He had always thought one would have no regrets when passing from Otherworld to Summerland, but regret was exactly what churned in his belly.
“Wake, Garran, king of the Drow,” a soft voice said.
Former king of the Drow,
he thought and gave a mental sigh.
Garran blinked and squinted in the intense light, but finally his eyes adjusted enough that he was able to focus on the ethreal face above him.
He blinked again, not sure if he was seeing correctly yet certain it was her. His eyes became accustomed to her glow and then he was certain.
The Great Guardian
.
With effort he pushed himself to a sitting position in the soft bed he had been lying in. Every muscle in his body ached and his head hurt as if he had bashed it into a wall.
One felt pain in Summerland?
The room he was in—he had not known what to expect when one made the journey. Ivy crept through windows and along the polished wooden walls, and the air was still and sweet. Sunlight spilled into the room and outside the windows he could see trees, rare blue-tipped orchids, and other growing things.
The room and simple furnishings reminded him of the homes of the Light Elves. Where he and his kind had lived before being cast out and into the Drow realm.
He glanced down and saw that his skin was fair, his white-blond hair over his shoulders. He was naked save for the soft embroidered white blanket over his lap and legs.
“You travel between Otherworld and Summerland?” he managed to say to her even though his throat hurt as if unused.
The Guardian smiled. “You are not in Summerland, King Garran. Because of your sacrifice, then the great sacrifice made by someone who gifted you with unconditional love, you still live.”
Immediately the slight confusion cleared from his mind and his entire body tensed. What sacrifice? Who?
In his fists he clenched the soft cloth that covered him. “Explain,” he said through gritted teeth.
The Guardian met his gaze. “Hannah gave you her lifeforce so that you would live.”
“No.” The word was an anguished cry and he buried his face in his hands, not wanting to believe the Guardian. For only the second time in his several millennia of existence, tears rolled down his cheeks. The only other time he had cried was when Rhiannon's mother died.
Pain was quickly replaced by rage as his gaze shot up to meet the Guardian's. “Was this your doing?” he said in a fierce growl. “Was that the condition you made when you said there was only one way I might survive?”
Because if it was, he was going to kill her, Guardian or no.
“The gift did come with that condition, yes,” she said, and immediately his fury cut into his body like a sword slicing him through. The Guardian continued before he had the opportunity to react. “However, Hannah's sacrifice meant life for both of you.”
Garran barely contained his anger as he narrowed his eyes and tried to decipher her words. “Cease speaking in riddles.”
The Great Guardian gazed over his shoulder and made a gesture to indicate he should look behind him.
His heart thumped harder as he slowly turned his head.
Hannah
.
She lay on the bed beside him under the blanket, her eyes closed, her features at peace, and her chest rising and falling with every breath she took.
Love and incredulity rose within him with fierce intensity and he tore his gaze from Hannah back to the Guardian.
“She is well, her lifeforce returned to her.” The Guardian smiled again. “When she has fully healed, she will wake.”
“By the gods, we are alive?” Garran could not quite grasp the reality. “My people … my daughter …”
“Waiting for your return.” Her smile faded. “Rhiannon is well and anxious to see you. Your people—lives were lost in the battle, but few.”
Garran released a harsh breath. “Every life has value.”
“Including your own.” The Guardian folded her hands together as she studied him.
Garran glanced over his shoulder before meeting the Guardian's gaze again. “When will Hannah recover?”
“It will not be long,” she said.
He looked around him. “Where are we?”
“In the realm of the Light Elves.” Her steady gaze met his. “Only long enough for you to heal. Then you may return to your people.”
“What of the gift you promised?” The tension in his body did not easily fade with all the questions circling in his mind. “Have you bestowed it upon my people?”
“Yes.” The Guardian gave a slight incline of her head. “Already they enjoy the sunrises and sunsets as they await your return. They are grateful you live and are pleased with the gift, but many are still unhappy with your sacrifice and nearly passing to Summerland.”
“I expect as much.” Garran nodded as he thought of the Directorate and Carden. “My Steward is well?”
“Holding the throne until your return.”
He reached up and grasped a lock of his hair. “Will I experience the same condition as my people?”
“During the day while you are in the realm of the Light Elves, it will be so. At night, even while here, your skin and hair will change to that of the Drow. When you leave this realm, you, too, will no longer have daylight, only sunrises and sunsets.”
Garran let out a rush of breath. “Thank you for the gift.”
“It came from your sacrifice, King Garran.” Something flickered in her blue eyes as she glanced over his shoulder and back to him. “You and Hannah face great choices once she wakes. I will leave that for you to discuss with her when she is well.”
Garran opened his mouth to ask the Guardian what she meant, but she turned and walked through a doorway—and faded into nothingness.
He cared not about the Guardian anymore. He shifted on the bed so that he was lying next to Hannah, facing her. She looked so at peace in her sleep, all of her hard shell fallen away. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, up to her hair where he brushed the shock of blond from her face. So soft, so real.
So alive
.
Hannah gave a light murmur and rolled onto her side, responding to his touch. Still she slept, but a smile curved her lips.
Great joy filled his heart, so much so that breathing did not come easy.
Whatever choices they had ahead of them mattered not. Hannah was alive.
HANNAH SIGHED AND SNUGGLED deeper into a soft cloud. She felt so good she didn't want to wake up. Weightless, as if a huge burden had been lifted from her chest.
Yet something called for her to wake and she sighed with reluctance. So soft, so comfortable …
She forced her eyes open and saw Garran watching her. It was fairly dark, the only light was scattered around the room like softly glowing fireflies.
He sat at the edge of the bed she was lying in. His white shirt and pants contrasted with his silvery-blue hair and bluish-gray skin. She didn't think she'd ever seen a more beautiful sight than Garran at that moment.
At first she couldn't remember why he shouldn't be here—wherever here was.
He smiled, reached out, and brushed his knuckles over her cheek and down the hollow of her throat. “Finally, you wake,” he said in that incredibly sexy Elvin accent of his.
Warmth filled her. Not from his touch, but from something deeper, stronger.
Love
.
She hadn't recognized it until he lay dying on that rooftop, but when she thought she'd lost him, it had hit her hard enough to make her chest seize.
But hadn't she given him her essence? Everything she had?
“You're alive,” she said softly as she remained lying down and looked up at his strong, kingly features.
He brushed her cheek with his knuckles again. “Because of you, my beautiful Hannah.”
Everything seemed a little blurry on the edges. She remembered that night, yet not. “How?”
“Because you sacrificed yourself for me.” His voice grew husky. “You gave me your love.”
“I did tell you I love you.” Hannah stared into his liquid silver eyes. “I meant it.”
“I know.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, then said against her lips, “As I love you.”
Hannah tangled her fingers in his silky hair. “What are we going to do about it?”
He nuzzled her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “I will make you my queen.”
“Queen …” Why did she feel both pleasure and hesitancy. “Wait.” Reality slowly eased into her mind. “I can't be your queen.”
Garran raised his head and her fingers slipped from his hair. He frowned. “What are you saying?”
She shifted and pushed herself to a sitting position. The blanket fell to her waist and she discovered she had nothing on except for her moon and crescent armband. Naked was not the way to have this conversation—especially the way his hungry gaze dropped to her breasts and her nipples hardened.
Hannah raised the blanket and arranged it so that it covered her up to her armpits, over her breasts. “I'm saying that I'm not going to live underground.”
He tilted his face to the ceiling of the darkened room they were in. The fireflylike lights played on his strong features. “It is as it was before,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Garran.” She placed her hand over one of his. “Tell me what you're talking about.”
Slowly he lowered his head and his eyes met hers. “I have only loved one other in my lifetime.”
“Rhiannon's mother, Anna,” she said, starting to understand the pain on his face at the same time she wanted to comfort him.
“She, too, would not live in my world.” Garran sighed and looked away.
Hannah squeezed his hand. “You loved her a lot.”
“Much.” Garran faced her. “My love for you is just as great. Yet one cannot compare the two.”
“I understand.” Hannah raised her hand and traced the
lines on his forehead with her fingertips. “What are we going to do about us?”
“The choice is yours.” He caught her hand in both of his and held it to his heart. “I cannot leave my people as much as I would give to be with you always.”
Hannah closed her eyes and counted the beats of his heart beneath her palm. She'd never felt such love, such completeness as she did with Garran. How would she live without him?
There was only one answer.
She opened her eyes to meet his again. “We compromise.”
He looked hopeful yet uncertain. “Compromise?”
“You trust Carden to serve as your Steward when you're not in your realm, right?”
“Yes.” He held her hand impossibly tighter to him. “But I cannot and will not leave my throne to him while I am alive.”
“I realize that.” She smiled and gripped his shirt in her hand. “I'm suggesting that part of the time we live in my world and part of the time in yours. You can be ‘on call' anytime you're needed by your people. Is that fair?”
Garran released her hand and moved closer at the same time he brought her into his embrace. “Most fair.”
“Of course it is.” She looked into his beautiful eyes. “After all, I didn't make my software company a force to be reckoned with without great negotiating skills.”
“
You
are a force to be reckoned with,” he said with a laugh as he rolled them onto the bed so that they were lying snugly against each other.
She gave him a teasing grin. “I know.”
Garran brought his mouth close and brushed his lips over her. “You will make a great queen.”
“Speaking of that …” She moaned as he rained soft kisses on her face, the curve of her neck, working his way toward the blanket still snugly crossing her breasts. “Stop that. I can't concentrate.”

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